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spiritualgateway · 3 years

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The crisis virus

written by Steven Black:

While you look around and get the impression that the whole world has gone crazy and is going nuts, you have to realize: This is all perfectly normal and has happened over and over again. With the pest plague, the cholera and the Spanish flu – people reacted with unreasonableness, resentment and rebellion, against ordered measures.

With the plague, people selectively believed that bad winds, an unfavorable constellation of Mars, Jupiter and Saturn or the contaminated water were to blame because the Jews were poisoning the wells. As a logical consequence of such thinking, persecution of Jews throughout Europe occurred. Entire Jewish quarters were burned down and their inhabitants murdered.

Oh yes, a punishment by God was also possible. Even then, in the early 14th century, quarantine and isolation were ordered – as a very late measure.

In the case of cholera, 1831, quarantine and isolation were also applied. From the chronicle of the german city Stettin of this time, one learns:

„The burial of the deceased, buried in a special newly built churchyard […] aroused fear and horror, especially among the lower classes of the inhabitants. These precautions were made even worse by the complete blockade of traffic, which deprived a large part of the inhabitants of their livelihoods and probably also their means of subsistence. The lower classes could not bear this state of affairs and, believing the most absurd rumors, saw in the precautions taken only the means to their perdition.

„The prolonged duration of the cordoning off increased the bitterness, the excitement grew with each passing day, so that the workers most affected were finally inclined to use force to overturn the hated coercive rules.

„…because the agitated crowd, misled by some troublemakers, was under the delusion that cholera and security measures were only being used „to exterminate the common rabble.

The Spanish Flu, 1918 – 1919, rolled over the globe in three successive waves and claimed millions of lives. Conjecture and conspiracy theories arose among the most diverse peoples. Some saw the disease as the devil’s work of German agents, and Germany was suspected of either using insidious biological weapons or poisoning aspirin tablets from the pharmaceutical manufacturer Bayer in order to win the world war. Another theory, widespread at the time, was that the flu had been imported from Spain in tins, which had been poisoned by the Germans who had brought the Spanish canneries under their control. Or it was oraculated that the cause was consequential damages of the war by poison gas missions, which were caused by the exhalations from the mountains of corpses of the battlefields. And of course there was also the evergreen that it was a punishment from God …

First with the second wave, the danger was really recognized and flu alarm systems were introduced, quarantines were imposed over ports and railroad stations, isolation stations in hospitals were set up. „Social Distancing“ was ordered, mass gatherings were prohibited. Schools, theaters, markets and churches were closed. The use of face masks and disinfectants was recommended and in some areas made mandatory by law.

Those who refused to wear face masks were fined. By the way, later studies proved that the prohibition of mass events and the requirement to wear a mouth-and-nose mask reduced the death rate in American cities by up to 50 percent. Where it was not prescribed by law, i.e. only announced as a recommendation, there were many more deaths. The same thing is currently happening in Sweden.

The Corona Virus – today

100 years after the Spanish flu, a new medical crisis is entering the global stage. And just as with the plague, cholera and Spanish flu, where fear and uncertainty accompanied the daily events, the most colorful rumors and theories are flourishing. There seems to be a lid for every pot.

Some political party sees the Corona virus as an obvious foreigner epidemic. Logically, migrants must be to blame for it too. Within the extreme right groups the old perennial argument is active that the Jews are to blame for Corona.

Many vaccination critics freak out at the name Bill Gates, who allegedly wants to decimate humanity and enslave it with microchips. He has the WHO, the media and Angela Merkel personally in his pocket. Then there are people who believe that the new 5 G technology is the real cause of the Corona virus. The Qanon community believes that the virus is merely an excuse for Donald Trump to free thousands of poor, tortured children from underground tunnels.

There are an ever increasing number of people who believe that the virus is nothing more than a normal flu. There is also the idea that this Corona virus does not exist – it would all be just an excuse to get rid of cash and have a controlled financial crash. The usual suspects also know exactly from whom and why – of course to enforce the infamous New World Order, either by the „Deep State“, the „Kabale“ or the „Illuminati“.

A few fundamentalist church officials also took up the same cause:

In a text entitled „A Call for the Church and for the World – to Catholics and all people of good will“, signed among others by the German Cardinal Gerhard Ludwig Müller and initiated by Archbishop Carlo Maria Vigano, former Pontifical Ambassador to the USA, the Corona measures were sharply criticized. The signatories had previously spoken out against bans on worship because of the corona virus and they are all arch-conservative opponents of the current pope. The text stated: „It is a fact that under the pretext of the Covid 19 epidemic, in many cases inalienable rights of citizens have been violated and their fundamental freedoms have been disproportionately and unjustifiably restricted, including the right to freedom of religion, freedom of expression and freedom of movement.

It was further stated that there is reason to believe „that there are forces that are interested in creating panic among the population. Their goal is to permanently enforce „forms of unacceptable restriction of freedom and the associated control over persons and the persecution of all their movements“. „These illiberal attempts at control are the disturbing prelude to the creation of a world government that eludes all control“.

Personal note: By the way – dear church idiots: What about the „forms of unacceptable restriction of freedom“ of my mind, by your religious doctrine? Or „the associated control over persons“, where you let people slide around on their knees and establish a sense of sacrifice by having a figure nailed to a cross worshiped? But a „God’s world government“ would be all right with you, wouldn’t it?

Anyway, I don’t really expect an answer to that. But what else you should know – the signatories represent an arch-conservative, right-wing current within the Catholic Church. They fervently hate the current pope because he accepts homosexuality and divorce as facts of life and is open to pro-migration and capitalism-critical positions. It is also no coincidence that these clerics of all people are waving their fear of a „new world order“ around. The whole thing is organized by a notorious ultra-right-wing populist – namely Steve Bannon. The man who brought Donald Trump to power through tons of fake news and conspiracy theories.

By the way, there are strong indications that the art product „QAnon“, a fictitious Internet personality, is a product of Steve Bannon. He is the thinking head and mastermind of the so-called new right.

The American government, led by Donald Trump, sees itself as the victim of a Chinese conspiracy initiated either by a mysterious „Deep State“ or preferably by the Democrats – which is one and the same thing in his case. Evangelical clerics see the Corona virus as a punishment from God for homosexuality. A handful of doctors contradict the official statements and believe that the Corona virus is little more than a common flu. The population would get scared over nothing and wearing masks would be very unhealthy. And in the chest tone of conviction, many an empathy-free idiot rambles that it would only affect pre-existing patients who would have died soon anyway. You know, just collateral damage …

In the USA, the president himself is the main accelerator of emotional states. There were protests against the curfews in several US cities and about 3000 demonstrators, some of them armed and wearing Trump campaign caps and flags, took to the streets in Michigan. Encouraged by Donald, who tweeted „Free Michigan,“ dozens of gunmen entered the parliament building in the city of Lansing.

In Germany and Austria, people suddenly took to the streets and demonstrated against the corona measures of their government. Against an alleged panic-mongering, against an allegedly intended compulsory vaccination, against the curtailment of their basic rights, against an allegedly threatened freedom of opinion, against the obligation to wear masks, against an alleged „Corona dictatorship“, against a „New World Order“ by Bill Gates and much more. What one would not have thought possible before, happened now:

People who call themselves „leftists“, right-wing conservatives, neo-Nazis, people of the freeman movement, spiritual people, and also people who had never been involved with any of the groups mentioned before, stood together in a public square and chanted „We are the people“. And of course they did not wear masks, and of course they did not keep a „minimum distance“. With righteous indignation they held flyers in their hands where „The Basic Law“ is written on them and lamented a loss of it. Although the basic right to personal liberties was only limited due to the situation and receded into the background in favor of the basic right to personal integrity of EVERYONE, suddenly not only the Corona virus seemed to mutate.

A wide range of people suddenly mutated into virus specialists and health experts, legal luminaries and political insiders. It was not at all helpful if individual physicians and virologists publicly held different views, which are not in accordance with the scientific consensus. These people were suddenly elevated to „heroes of „truth“ and made anti-witnesses of the establishment.

Like moths to a flame, all the discontented, angry opponents of the system, critics of capitalism, right-wing populists pouring oil on the fire, bawling bald-headed people and „Merkel must go“ yellers flocked together and mingled with yoga practitioners, meditators, as well as people who simply wanted a „better system“. Emotional fire accelerators like KenFM, Sven Liebich, Lügenstöckl, NPD offshoots and various AFD supporters moderated the „happening“ and it did not take long until this situation led to the foundation of a new party – called „Resistance 2020“. Founded by Victoria Hamm, the Sinsheim swindle doctor Bodo Schiffmann and the Leipzig lawyer Ralf Ludwig.

The appeal of „Resistance 2020“ continued as long as Covid 19 and the restrictions imposed by governments were highly active. In the meantime this has abated. First the chairwoman Victoria Hamm stepped down from the party (because of internal differences of opinion), her replacement, the chairwoman of the supervisory board of „Humanimity“, Sandra Wesolek, also threw in the towel soon after. And now also the founder and vice-chairman of the party, Bodo Schiffmann, has left Resistance 2020. Only Ralf Ludwig remains, who keeps the coma patient „Resistance 2020“ alive.

In conclusion – it will not yet be completely silent about the topic Covid – 19, but it slowly fades in its importance. At least for the moment. If we are lucky and there will be no 2nd or third wave, it will stay that way.

Crisis intensification

Another topic has now captured the attention of the world, people and media – a topic that has never been completely absent: racism and police brutality in the USA.

The violent death of the African-American George Floyd, after a police operation, was followed by peaceful protests in the USA, but there were also riots and looting. And as in dealing with the corona virus, Donald Trump shifts to denial of the structural problem, puts the blame on others and does just about anything to pour even more fire into the heated atmosphere.

Under the hashtag #blackllivesmatter, which has been known since 2013 and is a name for an African-American civil rights movement, people are gathering again to demonstrate against state arbitrariness, police brutality and unfair treatment of dark-skinned people. Previous slogans of the movement, such as „Hands up, don’t shoot“, „White silence is violence“, „No justice, no peace“, „Is my son next?“ are being used again, including the now popular „I can’t breathe“ and „BlackOutTuesday“.

It is no longer just a movement of the „black community“. Within just a few days, numerous politicians, celebrities and large companies have raised their voices and spoken out in favor of the BlackLivesMatter movement. More and more representatives of the video game industry are also joining in. Sony, for example, has refrained from presenting the new Playstation 5 due to the current situation. But also companies like Microsoft, Activision, EA, Massive Entertainment, Square Enix, Bethesda, Naughty Dog, Disney, Marvel, Warner Bros, and many other global big players made clear statements against racism and expressed their solidarity. Over 50 influential companies have donated large sums of money to the movement.

Yes, Soros‘ Open Society Foundation is one of them (about $33 million), but is rather outdone by all others, especially FORD Foundation and Borealis Philanthropy (about $100 million). Also worthy of mention are the Hill-Snowden Foundation, Solidaire, the NoVo Foundation, the Association of Black Foundation Executives, the Neighborhood Funders Group-Funders for Justice, Anonymous Donors, and many more.

It is already becoming apparent that this issue could potentially break Donald Trump’s neck and prevent his re-election. „Poor Donald“, after his mismanagement in the Corona crisis became visible to everyone, now police brutality and racism challenge him. And here again he reacts headlessly and impulse-driven instead of showing presidential leadership. Instead he meets the problem in the familiar perpetrator-victim reversal tactic.

Incidentally, the same thing happens as in the Covid 19 demonstrations in Austria and Germany – extreme right-wing „withe supremacy“ agitators mingle with the demonstrators. They incite people and loot, start brawls and set fire to buildings. Incited by Donald Trump, who simply claimed that it was „the ANTIFA“ that was firing up the demonstrations, his followers do everything in their power to discredit the movement and make it look bad in the eyes of the public.

In a series of messages, a Twitter account called „Antifa US“ had called on protesters to march into neighborhoods and „take what is ours“. Twitter itself had cleared up the fact that behind this account „American Identity Movement“ is the extreme right-wing formerly known as „Identity Evropa“, that was behind the protest and deleted the account.

Blacklivesmatter is a movement that I wholeheartedly endorse. What I find less good about it is that this conglomeration of people is happening on the streets while the corona virus is still highly active in the world. There is also no question of keeping a distance, a large majority can be seen wearing masks during the protests, but not all of them. I fear that this will have some unpleasant consequences. But the German demonstrations against a „Corona dictatorship“ and against police arbitrariness and brutality by blacklivesmatter could not be more different.

The sense of demonstrating against a world domination by Bill Gates and an alleged forced chippings or because one is forced to wear a mask temporarily stinks against blacklivesmatter. This is about addressing really important issues of the human species. The core statement of „Blacklivesmatter“ is – “ stop treating us like shit!“

It did not take long, of course, for the rumor mill to start bubbling on this topic as well and the „usual suspects“ went peddling „THE truth“ about it to everyone. You know, from „it’s all a government diversion“ to George Floyd wouldn’t be dead. It would all be a false flag operation and George Soros would be behind the protests. Xavier Naidoo also tells his followers about it and although the man from Mannheim had his own experiences with racism, he is not too stupid to devalue the blacklivesmatter movement. He described the demonstrators who are now taking to the streets against racism and police violence as hypocrites. And ends with a whataboutism rant – „anyone who comes up with an organization called Black lives matter is a divider“.

Naidoo justified his statement by saying that for him all lives count. Sounds plausible on the surface but clearly demonstrates that he did not understand the fundamental problem at all. Naidoo parrots something he has probably read or heard from Alex Jones or another opponent from the disinformation movement. The blacklivesmatter movement has been struggling with such whataboutism arguments from the beginning, since 2013. Not surprisingly, „All Lives Matter“ is often used as a counter-argument by the racist „white supremacy“ groups.

Barack Obama found good words for this: „I think the reason why the organizers use the term „Black Lives Matter“ was not because they wanted to imply that other lives do not matter. They are saying that there is a specific problem in the African American community that does not exist in other communities. This is a legitimate problem that we need to address.

Sounds logical, right? It is. Let’s say you broke your arm and you go to the doctor. He won’t tell you – „all bones count“, but will turn to the current problem. The bone that is just broken. If your house is on fire, the fire department will not tell you “ all houses caunt“ – they will simply put out the fire.

If you come to blacklivesmatter with alllivesmatter, you are part of the problem not the solution. This tries to ignore or disguise the problem by directing the criticism behind it to another topic.

It is definitely crisis – and virus time

A virus form that is completely unknown to most people is going around and is at least as infectious as Covid 19. They are mental and emotional viruses. Positive, negative, destructive and constructive viruses of all kinds. Created by humans every day and they influence all humans, more or less.

We are usually not used to accept the idea that our thoughts as well as our feelings and the words we utter have substantial meanings. Substantial is literally meant here – both thoughts, emotions and words contain substances that act as carriers of their expression. Through which the respective content of thoughts, feelings/emotions and words is transported, which always involves an „inaudible“, complex bundling of frequencies and takes on form, sound and tones. We do not „just think“, we generate a thought form for it, depending on the intensity of our respective thoughts – a kind of „pale being“.

And we do not „just feel“, we generate emotional signatures that can be perceived, „read“, felt and recognized by other people, consciously or unconsciously. We do not „just talk“, our words always convey a large context of mental and emotional content. Whoever listens carefully can often discover contradictions in the words, because the transported feelings are not in harmony with them.

As the person we are, we resemble a piano. We are a musical instrument with many keys and tones, with which the most diverse vibration frequencies can be expressed. Depending on how well we have learned to handle our instrument and how the individual tones are tuned, it will decide how harmonious or disharmonious our personal sound, our own melody, is. Everything we think, feel, say or do sounds through us and creates sounds that are received by others.

The more sensitive a person is or the better he can listen, the more contents of his counterpart he will be able to perceive. How aware someone is or is not of these levels, however, is basically irrelevant. The thought forms, emotional content, sounds and frequencies of other people are also perceived unconsciously. Basically, we all speak through individualized codes – the spoken or written words mean nothing in themselves. The linear arrangement of symbols (letters) that form words has a meaning for us because they are charged with emotional and mental sounds that form a kind of overall picture. We all encode such images on a daily basis and send them out from us. And we all decode every day a huge accumulation of sent consciousness images – which we have either seen, heard or read.

How much we are influenced by the opinions of other people or media – their generated images – depends to a large extent on our own identity structure. And on the respective topics that are founded in it.

Our exchange of information and images becomes a virus – either constructive or destructive – when it spreads in wide circles and becomes more and more emotionally charged. Our thoughts, emotions and the words we speak not only influence ourselves, but also other people. This means we infect other people with our ideas. And other people infect us with their ideas. If an idea or assertion fascinates, impresses, captivates or outrages us, it can go so far that we forget the origin and, spurred on by the charge of an idea, run amok with it.

All of us together are embedded in a collective frequency field, which is reflected in personal, national and global situations. None of us is virtually „an island“, we all manipulate and influence each other. We can hardly escape this, unless we have no contact to other people anymore. But even then it would probably be difficult to escape the collective astral field.

The collective field contains positive, negative, destructive and constructive viruses of all kinds. We encounter emotional and mental viruses all the time, but nowhere in such a concentrated form as in the „social media“. In this respect, the Internet is a single, gigantic virus slingshot. And all of us who make use of it cannot get away with it.

The opinion of others

The technical development of the Internet has made it possible for us to be exposed to a storm of opinions and views on a daily basis in a way that has never been possible before. About 22,510 GB of data are fed into the Internet every second. That is about 2 billion GB per day (exactly 1,944,864.00 GB [2015]). YouTube has a monthly data volume of about 16 Exabyte (Exabyte = 1018 Byte). About 3 million videos per hour are consumed on YouTube. There are 1. 012 315 000 websites on the net. About 16 million of these websites are hacked annually.

About 4 million new blog entries are written every day, 80 million photos are uploaded to Instagram, 618 million „tweets“ are posted – that is 7130 tweets per second. Facebook processes 2.5 billion pieces of content, 2.7 billion likes and 300 million photos every day. All in all, this adds up to a daily data volume of more than 500 terabytes, just for FB alone. About 4 billion search queries are made daily via Google and 10 billion videos are viewed on YouTube. And these numbers will increase, the rush on our inner senses will become more and more intense.

One drama after the other is being chased through the internet every day. An ever-increasing number of bloggers and websites vie for our daily attention. And hardly anybody takes the time to ask themselves, is it really true what I hear or read? What is it really about? And what would be even more important: Does it really have anything to do with ME? Is this really MINE? Or did I just get infected with an emotional virus that is related to a personal topic?

Although we humans generally assume that we have reasonable opinions and justifiable arguments, or that we see the world with clear eyes – this is rarely the case. Each of us lives in our own reality and we all believe that the world is as we secretly assume it to be. The perspective of how we see the world is largely based on the filter of our own beliefs.

One of the effects that has come through the Internet is the amazing development that many people have become aware of how the mainstream press often reports manipulatively or at least with omission – and sometimes doesn’t present the whole picture. By the way, this is not the fault of the press. Nobody can cover all sides of a story, and certainly not in a single article. If you want to know halfway exactly what’s going on, you have to make an effort yourself and look at different perspectives. But the same people then believe every shit that somebody says on YouTube. Actually, many people today don’t believe anything anymore.

But „alternative facts“ to the corona crisis, you believe them. Doctors who are not virologists or virologists who have not been up to date in this field for a long time, we listen to them more than to the top specialists.

We believe that a statesman who uses victim reversal as a means of perpetration. People who lament with a chest sound of the conviction that the Basic Law is in danger – we let ourselves be influenced by that. We reject a black civil rights movement because we allow ourselves to be persuaded that this means that not all lives count. One encounters „BlackLivesMatter“ with WhiteLivesMatter or „AllLivesMatter. Or if someone once again complains – „you’re not allowed to say all this anymore“ – we agree with indignation. Not realizing that he/she has just said it on Facebook, Youtube, Twitter, blogs, etc. Which of course leads the statement ad absurdum, but somehow we don’t really notice it anymore.

A youth movement for environmental awareness, „Friday for future“, is met with „Friday for poverty in old age“. Renewable forms of energy, such as wind turbines that generate renewable electricity, are met with „but they kill innocent insects“. If you read somewhere, in any newspaper, that right-wing extremist violence has increased again in the last year, you don’t have to wait long for someone to comment „hey, what about left-wing violence? A women’s movement for sexual abuse and violence is countered with the argument that there is also abuse of women against men. An African-American movement against police brutality and structural racism is countered with „and what about racism against whites? Particularly deep-seated – „what about racism against Germans?

What is actually wrong with us?

Why do we let „whataboutism arguments“ manipulate us? Why can’t we see through the transparency of such cheap maneuvers and recognize that they distract us from the actual core of a situation or a justified criticism and divert our attention to another area?

Besides all the positive and constructive things the Internet stands for, there is also a dark side to it. Among other things it is misused for a modern form of witch hunts and witch burning. Angela Merkel, Greta Thunberg, Barack Obama, George Soros, Bill Gates, the Rothschilds, Rockefeller and many other public figures are burned at some Internet stake every day, applauded and cheered. And this comes not only from the right, but from all sides. If you look at the comments on such postings, you can observe the violent reactions, where a storm of indignation, anger and hatred is unleashed, which is then projected onto the designated persons.

The art of differentiation seems to have become a lost art.

There is such a variety of information and opinions, often colored by interests, sometimes just imaginatively lied about and only partially true, that it would basically take some time and energy to separate the facts from rumors and lies. A personal effort that hardly anyone is willing to put in, or perhaps doesn’t have the time.

But that is what we all have to learn.

Media competence

Without media competence, we run the risk of drowning in the flood of information. Not only reading texts, but also watching YouTube videos or films today requires more and more critical discernment. The critical filtering of information, comments, text content and the images offered in addition, is proving to be an ever increasing challenge. Today, for every x any topic, completely different and often contradictory opinions are in circulation. And we are experiencing the phenomenon that people often only read the headlines of articles and not the whole article. The attention threshold has become extremely low for some people. Headlines alone can lead to emotional convulsions …

It is important that we learn to understand how communication works and how information affects us. When we read or hear words, we don’t just sort the meaning of the words and sum them up in a particular context. We also record all the unsaid, the energetic, mental and emotional signatures that the speaker or writer gives to their words. It is already scientifically known that in communications, brains are synchronized. To a synchronization of brain waves that goes beyond mere speech processing. It will not be long before we discover that this synchronization does not only occur in spoken communication, but in any kind of communication, even when the information is transported via screens.

If we identify with what someone writes or says because something within us resonates with it, then synchronization occurs with the mental, intellectual and emotional content that is presented to us. Emotional content of all kinds affects the heart field, the glands and the electrochemical energies of the body, i.e. the energetic environment in the body, which causes either an increase or decrease of the personal energy level.

The question that arises is, what do I focus my personal attention on? And can I think for myself or do I simply take over every piece of information offered to me, which includes concepts and perspectives from other people that I usually don’t even know? If we take over everything that strangers prepare for us, we are condemned to walk around with concepts that are not our own.

But the only person who has a responsibility here, what kind of information he lets into his system, is me. The only person who is able to differentiate between the information and my personal feeling about it is me. The only one who can learn to check the opinions of others is me. Nobody will do that for me.

Nevertheless, it is also true that constant effort, investigation, checking and research is no guarantee for a secure knowledge – sometimes you are simply confronted with the fact that you cannot know at the moment! But you can learn to endure that.

What we see is in my eyes, in many respects, an expression of a massive crisis of orientation and a resulting upheaval. Humanity is beginning to define itself anew, once again. We are moving from an age where people were rather „prisoners of their consciousness“ and their experience, to an epoch where people understand that they are NOT their consciousness. But that his consciousness is an attribute, a quality, his very own being and his creative power. And how this is expressed, lies in his very personal responsibility.

The old psychological self of humanity, which accepted oppression of the weak, predator capitalism, perpetrator-victim conversion, wars, exploitation of earth and humanity, will be replaced. But this old energy is struggling for survival. Hard and fierce. We are far from being through this.

One thing can be sure – the next crisis is waiting. And again it will be driven through the Internet village in an over-dramatized way. Where will you stand then? To which side will you then give your spiritual support? What will you be guided by? Your reason and your own views after you have dealt with the situation to some extent or will you follow the emotional pull that was triggered by the opinions of others?

What kind of sound will you add to the overall melody?

Until next time same station

DISCLAIMER: Nothing you read here is THE truth. It is my truth. My perception and how I see things – now, in this moment.

THE INFORMATION SPACE

#crisis #virus #consciousness

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 4 years

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Moonlight Chapter 20: Magdalene

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 20/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Nineteen+

Chapter Twenty-one+ >>

Severus paused at the top of the steps leading into St. Thomas’s Church and exchanged a glare with the green copper head of a wild man that stood guard over the door. He tugged at the sleeve of his dark gray suit, agitated that it was not nearly long enough. In spite of Mr. Frost’s insistence that Muggle clothes became Severus far better than the ‘damned clerical dress’ that was his usual attire, Severus hated wearing them. They reminded him of all the days of his childhood that he had spent in clothes from Cokeworth Priory's charity bin that had neither matched nor fit. It wasn’t as though his father had been unable to afford proper clothing for his son. Tobias Snape had never paid for anything that he could get for free. And he had been very good at getting things for free. Ever since Severus had attained his majority, he had taken all of his clothing, magic and muggle alike, to Mr. Frost, Cokeworth’s venerable tailor. The man was free with his opinions about Severus’s sartorial sins, but he did good work and he was far more affordable than Madame Malkin’s or Twilfitt and Tatting's in Diagon Alley.

But the christening of the Lee child was to be held in this Muggle church, and so Muggle clothes it had to be. The brass knocker dangling from the wild man’s mouth was rough and heavy in Severus’s hand, and he was once again plagued by the indecision that had been troubling him all afternoon. A fit of good humor had addled his brains after his pleasant excursion to Romania, and he had accepted the Lees’ invitation to the event. He hated changing plans once they were made but, the closer the actual day came, the less his mind dwelt on Miranda and her smiles, and the more it dwelt on everything that could go terribly wrong. Being caught in a church with his Muggle-born lover and a slew of Muggle-loving purebloods would not do much for Severus’s precarious reputation among the Dark Lord’s minions. Not that it was terribly likely that any of those minions would cross his path today in this church or at the Embassy afterwards. He had gone to Spinner’s End to change after his classes, rather than risk leaving Hogwarts dressed as a Muggle, and had lost some time taking a circuitous route from Spinner’s End to St. Thomas’s in an attempt to ensure he was not followed. Beyond going home now and forgetting the whole thing there wasn’t much else he could do. With a sigh that was equal parts irritation and resignation, he jerked the ominous door open and took his decision.

“Bless my soul, Severus, you did come!” exclaimed Molly Weasley in a loud whisper.

She appeared from the shadows of the dimly lit church. It was late afternoon on a lethargic, cloudy day, and the flickering candles grouped around various pictures and statues provided more light than what managed to filter in through the windows. For a terrible moment he was sure that she was going to attempt to embrace him, but thankfully she stopped short and her outstretched arms dropped to her sides so that her hands might fidget with her bag. She looked a mess, her dress a clash of patterns and colors that had no business being seen in the same room, let alone on the same person. There was a reason that Severus stuck to black and gray.

“Molly,” he said shortly, barely inclining his head to her.

“It’s so good to see you somewhere outside of a meeting about You-Know-Who or a meeting about one of my children making trouble,” she went on bravely.

“Indeed.” Merlin, how long was this tête à tête going to last? “I was under the impression that Arthur would be here as well.”

“He should be along any minute once he finishes up at the Ministry. Did you have a nice day at school?”

“Not particularly.”

“That’s a shame. I hope it wasn’t one of my children’s fault.”

“No more than it is any other day.”

“Aren’t Aaron and Rachel lovely people? They’ve come by for dinner a few times and it’s so sweet to see a nice young couple right at the beginning of starting their family. Makes you nostalgic, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Her eyes widened and she started laughing. “How silly of me, of course you wouldn’t know. Yet. Arthur tells me you have a friend that you’ve been hiding from everyone and that she’s quite a catch. Maybe you will know before too long.”

Severus was starting to feel dizzy from Molly’s chattering and, worse, the back of his neck was getting hot the way it did when he was particularly embarrassed. He had a strong desire to turn up the collar of his coat and he wished that he had left his hair down instead of tying it back. All of his usual masks were gone in these wretched Muggle clothes, so he made do tugging at his sleeve and glaring at his companion.

“I hope that Arthur was not remiss in explaining to you the dangers both to Miranda and to myself if you were to repeat that nonsense anywhere, even to our allies,” he said coldly.

The effect was instantaneous. She stopped laughing, the smile fell from her face, and the intelligent woman who sometimes hid behind the facade of the doting mother revealed herself.

“I understand completely,” she said seriously, putting a hand on his arm. “And while I’m sorry that things have to be this way for you, I am happy to know that you find other things to do with your time besides disciplining students and risking your neck. Your secret is safe with us.”

She gave his arm a brief squeeze that he supposed she meant to be consoling, and released him.

“I am aware that you and Arthur are capable of keeping a secret,” he allowed.

They lapsed into a silence that lasted long enough for her to return to fidgeting with her bag and him to wonder if he would fray the hem of his sleeve with tugging on it. He would have been perfectly happy to remain silent until the others arrived, but he was concerned that Molly would not allow such a thing to happen. In an effort to avoid speaking any more about his friend, he attempted to think of some topic of conversation, but neither magical tactics nor the behavior of potions students seemed quite the thing for the occasion.

“How did you meet her?” Molly asked abruptly, returning to the unfortunate topic.

Severus could feel his eyebrow start twitching. “By the caprices of fate.”

Thankfully he was preserved from having to continue that explanation by the noise of the door opening and the arrival of the rest of their party. Both he and Molly turned at the sound, perhaps equally grateful to be rescued, and Molly was halfway across the church to meet the group before Severus could blink. Amidst the tumult of embraces, introductions, and the crying infant, Severus took the opportunity to drift up the aisle, making a show of studying the stained glass pictures in the windows as he worried the hem of his sleeve. The sun outside made a feeble attempt to break through the clouds, and the rich colors of the glass responded with a pleasing glow. Judging by the obscured, but undressed figures and the riot of animal and plant life, it depicted the Garden of Eden. He busied himself picking out the various flora in an attempt to ignore all of the doubts that were creeping to the fore of his mind.

“You look nice,” Miranda said, her light step coming to a stop next to him.

She was near enough that he could feel the warmth of her body, but she did not attempt to touch him. He looked from the window to her and, from the blush that pinked her cheeks when he did, he rather suspected that his own face was betraying how pleased he was to see her.

“And you appear to have recovered from your illness,” he replied.

“Now, I already admitted you were right. I don’t think I should have to keep stroking your ego.”

“But it makes me so agreeable when you do.” Her flaring temper amused him, as usual, and he could not deny even to himself that at that moment he didn’t give a damn if all the Death Eaters in the Dark Lord’s army burst into the church and caught him.

“I don’t think you’d know agreeable if it bit you.”

“Fortunately I have you to explain these things to me. And perhaps I merely commented on your appearance in order to admire it.”

This won him a smile, and, as the others were busy settling the child and speaking to the priest, he allowed himself the indulgence of returning it with one of his own. The sun outside the window continued its mission to break through the clouds, drawing his eyes back to the image.

“There is a fascinating mix of plants in this window,” he observed.

“Is there?”

“Yes. There are chamomile and comfry tangled together with belladonna and cicuta. I had thought that this was supposed to be a picture of paradise, but perhaps it is some other strange, Popeish thing.”

“No, it is the Garden of Eden. But it’s before the Fall.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Before the Fall, all of the plants were helpful and benevolent. It was only after that some became deadly. Or, that’s what my brother Columba used to say.”

“I see.”

“I’ve always wondered what those sorts of plants were like before. What sort of good use they might have been put to.”

“Interesting question.”

Footsteps approached and a well-dressed but obviously sleep-deprived Aaron interrupted their conversation. His face was haggard enough that Severus decided not to glare at the new father when he gave Severus’s back a friendly slap.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal Miranda for a while, Severus. Thanks for being here,” Aaron said.

“Of course,” Severus replied.

He followed the Americans to a small alcove in the back of the church where a pair of clerics and the rest of the company were waiting. Severus fell back to stand behind Molly, the other extraneous person in this business, and his height enabled him to observe the rite from that spot. A pale but lovely Rachel cradled the infant who was all but swallowed up in a voluminous gown of satin and lace, and the efficient, owlish priest began intoning Latin texts with a rapidity that bespoke his understanding. At first Severus took the trouble to translate the words to himself but, before long, the rhythm and the quiet lulled him and his mind began to wander.

During his childhood, Severus had gone to service most Sundays, morning and evening. As Tobias had refused to darken the door of Cokeworth Priory, unless it was to receive some embarrassing form of charity that the Snape family did not actually require, this had been a welcome escape for both Severus and his mother from Tobias’s mercurial temper. Severus had found the morning service to be tedious, especially when it was interrupted by overlong and circular sermons, but he had found Evensong to be much more pleasant. There had been something about the way the afternoon light would break into the run-down church. It lit up the sad, neglected space, making it seem clean and otherworldly—almost magical. Sometimes, if they were lucky, Tobias would be gone when Severus and his mother returned home, and they would spend the rest of the evening together. Those were the times when his mother had given him the most attention, and he had held those moments close during the long hours and days when she had none to give. If he were asked, he would say that he had seen too much evil in the world to believe that God and Christianity were anything other fables and fairy stories, but he did remember the peace of those Sunday afternoons with something that bordered on fondness.

That same magical afternoon light broke through the clouds now, and came slanting in through the windows of St. Thomas’s, haloing the infant, her tired parents, and Miranda in its radiance. As Miranda held the child over the font, her face displayed an open, honest joy that made Severus’s breath catch to see.

“Magdalene Tokoyo, ego te baptizo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spritus Sancti,” the priest murmured, pouring three measures of water over Magdalene’s head.

The infant blinked, as though surprised, but did not cry. Silence really was the order of the moment, and Severus found that he could recapture that fleeting feeling of peace that he had experienced during Evensong, far from his tormenting father. He could forget for a moment about the Dark Lord, and Albus, and the war, and Potter, and all the rest of it. He could just be.

*****

“Eh, you’ll be in the same boat soon enough, Severus,” Aaron observed between puffs of smoke. “It’s only a matter of time before…”

“Before what?” Miranda interrupted as she came out onto the Lee’s charmed porch. It was a nice piece of spell-work, just worn enough to seem real. Aaron, Severus, and Arthur were seated in the group of well-used chairs that looked out over the white painted wood and onto a lawn that was a replica of Aaron’s childhood home. The false sun had set, and the sky was a hazy grey as the stars started showing their faces. There was even a breeze of sorts, and it was easy to pretend that they were not far underground. Aaron’s face was jovial and pink, Severus was giving the man a narrow glare, and Arthur was staring up at the slow-turning fan on the ceiling of the porch, apparently trying very hard not to laugh. Miranda raised her eyebrows in order to give Aaron the ‘you’d better quit while you’re ahead’ warning.

“Oh nothing. Nothing at all,” Aaron hedged, offering Miranda a cigarette.

“No, thanks. I’ve been sent to collect Severus. Rachel wants to thank you for the present you gave to Maggie.”

“That would be preferable to continuing this conversation,” Severus said.

He rose silently and followed Miranda into the living room, both of them pretending not to hear the laughter that erupted from Aaron and Arthur as soon as they were off the porch. Rachel and Magdalene were snuggled together in the rocking chair and Molly was cleaning up the wrapping paper and dirty plates. Severus’s offering was currently floating above the sleeping baby; a rotating mobile of animated figures on silver strings. The figures went about a soundless play of a young woman slaying a sea serpent at a stately pace.

“Severus, thank you,” Rachel said, her tired face serene. “It was so nice of you to come and to bring this for Maggie. Wherever did you get it?”

Miranda could see the tips of Severus’s ears pinking and he cleared his throat before answering.

“I made it. You can change the scene as well, thus,” he explained.

He flicked the top of it with his long fingers, and the players transfigured into a new set. Now there was a young woman, flying up to the sky in a chariot of flowers.

“A nicely done piece of magic,” Miranda said, moved that Severus had taken so much trouble. “I had no idea that you made children’s toys.”

“It is not my habit but, as I did make one for Draco Malfoy on the occasion of his christening, I thought it would be acceptable to do as much now.”

“Draco Malfoy’s christening?” Molly asked. “What was that like?”

“Obnoxiously loud and insufferably crowded. Not at all like today.”

“I assume you didn’t put scenes from Japanese fairy tales and the Tenchi on Draco’s mobile,” Miranda said.

“No. Constellations. I thought it best not to depict the Miss Lee’s actual namesake. Rachel, I have no idea why you would choose to name your child after a woman who was murdered by being hung upside down in a vat of refuse.”

Rachel laughed. “Catholics sometimes make little sense to people who aren’t Catholic. But there are many martyrs with more gruesome deaths.”

“Besides,” Molly added, “you invoke a martyr to prevent whatever happened to them from happening to you.”

“It still seems macabre to me,” Severus insisted.

“It’s important to give expression to all sides of the human condition. And Magdalene is a lovely name,” Miranda countered.

“I never said that it wasn’t,” Severus protested.

“I’m afraid it will be a while before I’m able to finish the translations of that potions book I mentioned,” Rachel said, stifling a yawn.

“I quite understand. I look forward to when you are able to complete it, but I am aware that you have other demands on your time,” Severus said. “I do not have much reference for judging, but you appear to have produced a fine child. She has all of her limbs and seems able to eat and cry.”

“Why thank you. She cries especially well at night.” Rachel was not able to stifle the next yawn.

“So I see. I shall take my leave of you then, before those festivities start. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“And thank you for being here. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal one of these days. Maybe three years or so from now.”

He gave Rachel a short bow and Miranda accompanied him out of the room, amused by his gruff kindness to Rachel. But Rachel was a woman who made it easy to be kind. When they reached the door, his eyes darted about the room briefly. It was empty, and his kiss was surprisingly tender, but his expression when he pulled back was dark, as though he were thinking of something unpleasant.

“You are staying here tonight, correct?” he asked.

“I am. Tomorrow night too. Maggie doesn’t like to sleep unless someone is rocking her or walking with her, so I’m going to take a shift to give Aaron and Rachel a chance to rest,” Miranda replied.

“And you are meeting with Lucius tomorrow?”

“Yes. But don’t worry, Arthur will be there right on time to escort me away.”

He frowned and started tugging at the sleeve of his suit coat. “You should know that Lucius is fully aware that Black is not in Romania. He doesn’t know what you are doing there, but he is certain that whatever it is, it is not his bidding.”

Ah, that must be why Severus was acting so seriously. Miranda was touched by his concern, but she’d been handling Lucius Malfoy for the better part of a year now. She could take care of herself.

“Well, the Aurors are doing a pretty good job of watching my family. It may simply be time for me to cut ties with Malfoy. We’ve had a good run.”

His frown deepened and he traced her cheek with his finger. “Do try to be careful tomorrow. Lucius is not to be trifled with.

“I know. You warned him about me months ago.”

“I did, but sometimes warnings seem to go in one of your pretty ears and straight out the other.”

“Why don’t you come by tomorrow evening for supper? You can sit up with me while I rock the baby and we can hold hands like a pair of love-sick teenagers.”

This wrung a smile out of him, and he replied haughtily, “I have never been a love-sick teenager. I was born at the age of forty-five. But I will come, if only to hear about the afternoon’s disaster.”

“And to give me my birthday present,” Miranda reminded him.

“Yes. And to do that as well.”

*****

“Good day, gentlemen, it’s been entertaining. Papa will send over the exit papers tomorrow,” Miranda said as she sailed out the door, shutting it in her former employers’ sputtering faces.

Her heart was pounding in triumph, although she knew Papa was going to give her an earful. He’d understand though, he’d been at this long enough to know when a job was sour. Albus might be angry as well, but he’d just have to deal with it. She was doing enough for the Order in Romania that he’d better be happy with that.

The meeting had been unexpectedly short and Arthur wasn’t there waiting for her. The lift was out of the question at the moment, for she was far too jittery to be that confined. The stairway was deserted when she reached it, and her boots echoed off the ceiling as the torches flared to life and helpful signs on the walls chirped at her to watch her step. She was nearly to Arthur’s floor when she heard another set of footsteps on the stairs above her. Their rapidity and haughty sound told her they were Lucius’s. She quickened her step, but did not run, and she was not surprised to find the door leading out of the stairway locked. With a bored expression fixed on her face, she turned to watch Malfoy descend the final flight of stairs.

“A moment, Miss Rose,” he sneered.

“Mr. Malfoy, I think we’ve said everything we need to say to each other. I’m no longer in your employ, you may wash your hands of me and my behavior.”

He halted an arms length from her and his height forced her to look up at him.

“I don’t think you understand,” he continued. “You are meddling in forces that are far larger than Cornelius Fudge and the Ministry.”

“I think I understand plenty.”

“All the more reason that you should watch your step. You are still my pet to do with as I like.”

Only the knowledge that whipping out her wand and hexing Lucius within an inch of his life would bring down a host of Aurors and mountains of paperwork kept Miranda from doing so.

“Mr. Malfoy, I think we both know that I can kick your ass any time, anywhere. When you’re ready for a rematch, you just let me know and I’ll be happy to oblige you. And this time let’s say that the Unforgivables are on the table from the start. I think a nice round of Crucio followed by a quick Avada is just what you need.”

He grabbed her chin the way he had the night of his Christmas party, and Miranda decided she’d had enough. The way that his face blanched in surprise and confusion when the barrel of her pistol hit his chest was worth all the trouble of the day. He stared at it stupidly, and then let go of her chin to retreat a few steps.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now if you have anything further to say to me, why don’t you do it from right there.”

“If you think that Severus won’t hand you over when the time comes, you are sadly mistaken. And he will be the first in line to torture you when it comes to that,” he said, his voice shaking with rage.

She laughed harshly. “Do you think you’re telling me anything I don’t already know? Of course he’ll hand me over. I’m nothing but his plaything. All American women exist for the sole purpose of fulfilling the sexual fantasies of repressed Englishmen.” She cocked the gun and aimed it at his nether regions. “Go back upstairs, Mr. Malfoy. Before I get really angry.”

“You wouldn’t dare! We’re in the middle of the Ministry of Magic!”

“You sure you wanna try me? I do this for a living. I can get rid of you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and no one will know where to start looking for the pieces.”

Lucius glared at her, but continued his retreat. When he reached the landing, he turned and started stomping back the way he had come. The door behind Miranda unlocked itself, but she kept her gun in her hand until she was safely through it. Just as she was closing the door, she heard Lucius’s parting shot from above her.

“I am going to thoroughly enjoy your demise, Miss Rose. I promise you that.”

*****

“Sit down, Miranda, your pacing is making me dizzy,” Severus complained that evening. He was sitting on the sofa in the Lee’s homey living room, reading Coleridge aloud while Miranda paced with the sleeping Lee infant in her arms. The constant movement was distracting Severus from sorting the many thoughts twisting through his mind into appropriate categories in a vain attempt to pretend that he was in control of the situation. He knew he must bring up a terrifying subject this evening, before Miranda returned to Romania, and he found that he would prefer a meeting with the Dark Lord to the current situation.

“I’ll try, but I’ll probably be up again in five minutes,” Miranda agreed. She lowered herself into the rocking chair smoothly and Magdalene remained asleep. After the two of them were settled, she added, “You should have seen the looks on Malfoy’s and Fudge’s faces when I quit. I’ve never seen that particular shade of purple.”

Severus snorted. Although he would rather not deal with this new complication, part of him did wish that he had witnessed the scene in the stairwell. It was not often that Lucius met someone willing and able to stand up to him.

“I suppose it was impossible for you to continue playing that game any longer. I wish that I knew why Lucius is so sure about Black’s whereabouts. The idiot must have left cover when he well knows he is to remain indoors at all times.”

“What’s Black like? I’ve been pretending to hunt him for so long that I feel like I ought to know him.”

“He is a disgrace of a wizard and I do not wish to discuss him.”

“Sorry. We can talk about something else. I hear you have a birthday present for me.”

Yes, the present. That was by far the more comfortable topic. He was more than willing to postpone the other, even if this show of sentimentality on his part embarrassed him almost as much. He cleared his throat and pulled a small black box out of his pocket.

Eyeing Miranda’s full hands, he said, “Perhaps I should do the honors.”

“Please do.”

As uncomfortable as he was, he could not deny the warm rush of pleasure that went through him when he opened the box and saw her reaction to the tear-drop filigree necklace that waited inside of it. A lovely line of pink spread over her cheeks, her lips parted in surprise, and her eyes became the soft, calm gray of the sky after a storm.

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled up at him and added playfully, “Although Mama would say I have no business accepting jewelry from men.”

“I assure you that this is purely a practical present.” He hung the necklace lightly around her neck so as not to disturb the infant. It was a handsome piece of frippery if he did say so himself. He’d passed it in the village near Miranda’s cabin several times before finally going back to purchase it. With a few well-placed charms it had become the perfect vessel for the real gift he had made for her.

“Oh? I see, there must be a potion inside of it. Is it a new one?”

“Correct on both counts. A Stasis Potion.”

“What does it do?”

“The next time you decide to get yourself maimed, you will drink it and it should keep you alive long enough for you to find further help.

“Should keep me alive? I don’t remember volunteering to be your test subject.”

“One of the hazards of keeping company with a Potions Master. I have tested it and it shows great potential.”

“Potential?”

“Being as you should only take it in a dire emergency, you will have nothing to lose should it fail to work. Of course, if you don’t care for it, you needn’t keep it. I am certain I can put it to another use.”

“No,” she said quickly, putting a protective hand over the pendant. “I love it. All of it. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.”

He leaned down to kiss her but, before he could make contact, the infant started fussing again, requiring Miranda to resume her pacing. Reluctantly, he reclaimed his spot on the sofa and opened the book. His agitation returned full force as he fidgeted with the pages without starting to read. Aaron’s off-handed remark from the day before had been plaguing him, as it had brought on the realization that he had been careless in the extreme. Carelessness was a trait that Severus despised and one that he could ill afford. Much as he dreaded the next topic of conversation, he knew that it was as unavoidable as it was tardy.

“You should keep reading,” Miranda said. “I think your voice was helping Maggie stay asleep.”

Best to get on with it before the infant started squalling again.

“There is something that I need to speak to you about first,” he began. It was good that he had left his hair down tonight. He could already feel his ears growing hot.

“If it’s about Malfoy, I know that you’ll hand me over to the Dark Lord if you have to. I understand.”

“That’s not at all what I was going to say. And I would not give you to the Dark Lord.”

“Yes you would. If your cover depended on it, you would do what you had to do.”

“I should think that I am clever enough to avoid doing that if at all possible.”

“I know that too. I just wanted you to know that I understand that it’s a risk.”

“Now that I have your permission to sacrifice you, would it be quite acceptable for us to discuss a more pressing difficulty?”

“More pressing? What might that be?”

“It has come to my attention that we have not been terribly cautious in our relationship.” Not his best opening.

“I’ve never been cautious in all my life. So?”

“I don’t think you take my meaning. I was referring particularly to the carnal aspect of our relationship.” She blinked and bit her lips, and he knew she wanted to laugh at him. “I mean to say…I am concerned that long term consequences may develop…or may already be developing….”

Mercifully, she interrupted him, although she couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of her voice. “Severus, are you asking me if I’m pregnant?”

He was almost pathetically grateful she’d said it for him. “Yes, I am.”

“It’s a little late to worry about that, don’t you think?”

Did that mean she was? “Be that as it may, there are plans that need to be made. I cannot think of a worse time for such an event, but that is all the more reason we should deal with it purposefully.”

“I see you have a plan.”

In an attempt to manage his discomfort, he stood and paced over to the fireplace, tapping his fingers irritably on the mantelpiece. The figures in the framed pictures perched on it were whispering and grinning at him, but his stern glare sent them back to minding their own affairs. His eyes drifted down to the merry jumping of the flames and he forced himself to continue.

“I always have a plan. There is no escaping from either your current obligation in Romania, nor can I leave my position at Hogwarts. I will explain the situation to Albus and I am certain that he can be persuaded to spare us a member of the Order to help you and to ensure your and the child’s safety. Once you are free of your blasted mission, you will return to your family in America and stay there until the problem of the Dark Lord is resolved. We should also get married sometime before the child is born, but I expect that you will have some opinions about how that is to be accomplished.”

“You’ve really thought this out, haven’t you?”

“I was remiss in not thinking of it before. I hope never to be so incautious again. It is highly unusual for me to be so careless.”

“Severus, stop. I’m not pregnant. And, before you ask, yes, I’m sure.”

“Ah.” God, he was a idiot. “Well. Good.”

“Did this have to do with whatever Aaron was teasing you about yesterday? For a diplomat, he can be pretty tactless when he’s sleep-deprived and inebriated.”

“His comments merely reminded me that I had not been cautious with regards to that aspect of our relationship. I could not recall ever seeing the necessary potions in your cabin, nor the ingredients for them. And, in any case, I would rather prepare such potions myself.”

“You didn’t see any of those potions because I don’t need them. I can’t have children.”

Her voice was light, but there was a strange undercurrent of tension in it. When he turned his gaze from the fire to glance at her, the mask of her smile reminded him of the one she’d shown him during that wretched exchange of insults at her cabin when they had first met.

“There’s no need for you to worry, you’re quite safe,” she went on. “We can be as careless as we like and there won’t be any mud-blood brats running around afterwards.”

“Don’t use that word,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“Call a spade a spade. Why else are you so relieved that I’m not knocked up?”

“I should think that it were apparent that now would be a terrible time to have a child. You are trapped by bond in a dangerous mission in Romania and I am bound to the precarious life of a spy.”

“It’s not because you don’t want to further pollute the Prince bloodlines?”

“When did I ever say that?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her mask falling away. When she opened them, they were soft again, but with sadness, not with pleasure.

“You didn’t,” she conceded. “That was unfair of me.”

The sorrow in her eyes hurt him, and he came away from the fire that he might run his fingers over her dry cheek. She leaned into his touch, and the sweet smell of the balsam oil the priest had put on Magdalene’s head the day before filled his nose. Miranda held the infant tucked under her chin with a natural grace, the way she did everything. The pair of them made such a comfortable image that he felt irrationally disappointed he could not hope ever to see Miranda pacing by his fire, cradling a dark-haired child of their own.

“It is true that I have never desired to become a father,” he said, his eyes on Magdalene’s downy black curls, “but, if it had to happen, I would not be sorry that it was with you.”

The child began to stir and Miranda broke away to resume her pacing. He could not bring himself to look at her face after such an admission, and he was relieved that her voice was returning to its usual sanguine tone when she spoke.

“I…I could use a cup of tea, I think. Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” Relieved to have something mundane to do, he started for the kitchen. But he could not quit the room without his curiosity prompting him to say, “Miranda, I must ask why you are so certain that you cannot have children.”

“Just trust me on this. I don’t think you want to hear all the gory details.”

“No. I suppose I don’t.”

His thoughts were a tangled mess as he went into the kitchen and began the calming ritual of making tea. Methodically filling the kettle, setting it to boil by charm and measuring the tea leaves into Rachel’s white and blue teapot brought him back to earth. All the while, his instinct was pricking him, telling him that there was more to Miranda’s explanation, and he had the urge to continue digging until he uncovered what it was. He did his best to crush the urge and let whatever it was lie. Their relationship was quickly becoming confusing and more complicated than was at all prudent.

It was for the best that she would be returning to Romania tomorrow. Distance would help to put things back into their usual places. Their casual relationship was perfectly pleasing as it was. Best not to think of anything else.

Somewhere in his heart he knew this was a lie. He embraced it like a lover and poured out the kettle over the leaves.

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

End Notes:

Belladonna is deadly nightshade and Cicuta is water hemlock.

Magdalene Tokoyo Lee is named for St. Magdalene of Nagasaki, who was brutally martyred in 1620 and Tokoyo, a young lady who killed a sea serpent.

Newly baptized babies are the best smelling creatures in the world.

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

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Nineteen+

Chapter Twenty-one+ >>

#severus snape #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfic #severus snape fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #ocappreciation #snape x oc #second wizarding war #espionage #spying #adventure #romance #ilvermorny #baptism

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soltrycedropout · 4 years

Text

Widojest Wedding pt. 1/2

I was going to write a post about my Widojest wedding headcanons but then a ficlet happened then it grew and then I realized what I wrote was gonna need a sequel so here we are! Enjoy!

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Caleb had really lost his mind this time, he knew that, struggling to lay still as Yasha slowly and carefully shaved away the weeks of scruff he’d allowed to build up. A vile stream of self condemnation fell nearly silently from his lips unconsciously, the zemnian harsh as he berated himself and each knick from the razor against his neck both barely registered and seemed like a sign that he was right. It took longer for Caleb to realize Yasha had stopped than he was proud of, blinking out of his haze to see her looking down at him brow furrowed with concern.

“I have no idea what you are saying, but it doesn’t sound good,” Yasha’s eyes drifted to his neck and she winced, “and if you can’t stay still I’m going to have to get someone to heal you or everyone’s going to think you were attacked,”

Caleb swallowed, trying desperately to mask the swirl of self loathing and fear that was coiling tightly around his very soul, strangling his heart till each beat was harsh, painful, and gave Yasha a wobbly smile, “My apologies Yasha I was just talking to myself,”

“Do you want to talk to me about it?”

Yasha didn’t look back at his eyes and Caleb was endlessly greatful that she said it so causally, going back to the task at hand. Caleb knew he couldn’t talk about the thoughts, the images of futures probable thay were plaguing him. He didn’t need to talk about them, he needed to make sure they never came to pass and that meant figuring out someway to run and disappear from not only this found little family so dear to him but the woman who owned his heart. “No, no… I…”

“It’s normal to be nervous,” Yasha offered.

For a moment there was just the sound of the razor against his skin, nearly hypnotic in its rhytmic pattern and Caleb closed his eyes, trying to figure his way out of first this conversation, then the room, then the gilded hall, his mind so busy spinning that he missed Nott’s entrance as she slid into the room.

“How’s it coming along?”

“Caleb wouldn't stay still so his necks all cut up, and he was muttering to himself. In Zemnian.”

Caleb peeked an eye open to glare at Yasha who just stared back at him, unapologetic of her suspicious and worried tone, “It is alright Nott I just… was nervous,”

“That isn’t all,” Nott’s tone was too sharp, too knowing, her eyes fixed on him when he glanced over and Caleb knew it would be difficult to get her to drop it. After all these years Nott knew when he was lying and brushing her off. A desperate thought, no need, to not be totally alone again as he mourned what could have been if not for his past crossed his mind.

“I should not be doing this, Nott, I am no good for her,” The words burned in Caleb’s mouth, a lump building steadily in his throat as he continued, needing to convince both the stupid part of himself that wanted to find someway to make it work as well as Nott, “Nothing can come of this but harm, and I cannot do that to her, she’s already in enough danger just being around me let alone tied to me. I need to go, leave her here where she will be safe,”

Yasha stilled as Nott stuttered out, “That's ridiculous!”

“Jester wouldn’t have said yes if she didn’t want to take the risk,” Yasha’s voice was low, almost a whisper and sounded far away.

“Jester didn’t say yes… she asked me,” As Caleb said it, that moment replayed in his mind building the firestorm of emotion in his chest.

———

What should have been a simple enough fight had instead turned into a nightmare that they’d barely survived, and everyone had stumbled into their rooms at the Xhorhouse as soon as they got home. Restocking supplies could wait a night while they recovered, maybe two. In their room, Caleb had been attempting to read, ignore how close once again they’d all come to being killed, while Jester curled up in his lap. One horn digging into his stomach just a touch, the pressure familiar and welcome. Caleb was so engrossed and comfortable he almost missed Jester mumbling against his thigh.

Caleb put his book to the side, running a hand into her hair, “Yes, liebling?”

Jester had stilled before peeking up at him, a dark swatch of blush rising across her freckled cheeks, “Nothing! I mean never mind! Hey why don’t wegotobedimreallytired-”

Caleb pulled her up, smiling at her fondly even as she avoided his gaze and pressing a kiss to one cheek and soaking in the warmth he pressed ever so gently, “It doesn’t sound like nothing,”

Jester was quiet for a while, still body slowly relaxing against him while one hand came up to play with his long copper hair, twirling and untwirling one lock on her finger over and over again. Caleb just waited, it was clearly important so she would say it again eventually, even if not tonight. Whatever it was seemed to be weighing heavily on his little cleric, so he continued to hold her humming softly and giving her all the time she needed, content to stay like this all night if that’s what Jester required.

Caleb almost thought she’d fallen asleep, her hand gone still and body lax against his when she finally spoke again cautiously, “You really love me, don’t you Cayleb?”

It was said so quietly, so vulnerable and Caleb tightened his arms immediately, gently turning Jester’s face up so he could look her in the eyes, “Yes, Jester, with all of my heart and with all of my soul,”

“You could have died, you were already so hurt and,” Tears welled up in Jester’s eyes, and she’d gripped him so tight it was painful, “That arrow was meant for me, I could have blocked it! But you- you pushed me aside!”

“I know. It is just, well, I will not see you hurt if I can prevent it,”

“Because you love me?”

“Because I love you, because you are my best friend and the world… my world... is infinitely better with you in it unscathed,” Caleb had pressed his forehead against her’s before slowly bringing their lips together.

That kiss was slow, soft and lingering and so sweet Caleb’s teeth ached. Jester always tasted like cinnamon and honey, and this time was no different, Caleb wanted to stay there forever, would suffer every cavity happily. When the need to breath finally broke them apart Jester whispered again and what she asked so solemnly stole that ability from him.

“Will you marry me?”

———

“I should’nt have said yes, I should not have ever let it get this far to begin with I don’t know what I was thinking-” Caleb’s tirade was silences as Yasha slid one hand across his mouth.

“Do you think Jester is stupid? That she didn’t know full well what she was signing up for when she began to be with you in the first place?”

Caleb’s reply was muffled but the offense came through clearly, “Jester is not stupid,”

“Then don’t treat her like she is,” Yasha took her hand away and sat him up, staring at him steadily, “I know what you’re feeling right now, that terror that you’re making a mistake, that it’s not worth risking that she will be killed,”

“I can’t stand to see Jester hurt let alone… what happened to you, to your wife surely you understand why I can not do this, why I have to go,”

“No.”

“Do you not wish you hadn’t-”

“Never, I miss Zuala everyday but I don’t regret marrying her for a moment,” Yasha stood to block the door when Caleb got up, running one hand through his hair his eyes looking everywhere but at her or Nott who was staying quiet, letting Yasha lead this impromptu intervention.

“But she died,” Caleb’s voice cracked, and Nott walked carefully over putting one hand on his and squeezing.

“We won’t let that happen to Jester, Caleb, you have all of us and we’re going to make it so she’s safe, so you are safe, so both of you are safe together,” Nott patted his hand, “Besides, if you run away now I’m going to have to join the hunting party to kill you, and Jester will also be in that party and I love you but you don’t stand a chance against her,”

Caleb drew in a ragged breath, chuckling slightly and gripping Nott’s hand, “That is true,”

“Which part?”

“Jester could destroy me without breaking a sweat,” There was awe in his voice as always, the fear fading a little as every memory of Jester obliterating enemies played through his mind.

Caleb was still worried, would always be worried, but he knew Nott was right, and with her looking expectantly at him he relented, “and the rest of it, too,”

“That’s better! Now let’s finish getting you ready, you don’t want to be late to your wedding. Trust me.”

“We’re you really late to your wedding Nott?” Yasha asked and Caleb listened to the story, laughing along and shooting Yasha a smile and nod when her large hand landed on his shoulder in silent question.

It was going to be alright, Caleb knew, despite his fears that his little cleric could handle herself and he would be there to back Jester up as would all of their family.

#widojest #critical role #critrole #jester lavorre #caleb widogast #wifojest fic #dropout writes

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mollymaymaukme · 5 years

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Mollymauk x Reader: From Beyond the Grave, Part 10

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11,

Molly barely manages to stay upright as he rounds the corner. Desperately chasing after the feeling that was now just a cold void inside of him. He does not take notice of the unusually large raven sitting in the willow, only what has been planted beneath it.

“Y/n” The sound a husky whisper as tears begin to spring forth into his vision. His steps slow as he comes to your still body. Falling to his knees as agony rips into his chest and tears at his heart. “. . .to late. . .my love I’m sorry.” His words barely making their way through his sobs.

Caduceus felt the abrupt change in his graveyard the moment it happened. The Nein watching as his face fell blank, sorrowful eyes turning to where Molly had just disappeared behind the temple. “Lily. . .”

Yasha takes one look at where Molly had gone, Caduceus’ expression, and back to the Nein before she seems to make a decision. The barbarian quickly makes her way around the temple and the rest of the Nein follow in confusion.

The others were quicker, the firbolgs lagging behind the pack, and the scene they came upon only spurred their confusion more.

Yasha’s head was bowed and Molly was limp in her hold as ugly sobs racked his body. The body of a girl only half buried was ashen and paled in death. In the branches above the trio a giant raven sat watch, its own head bowed as though it understands whatever tragedy took place.

Caduceus puts a hand on Beau’s shoulder before she can speak. “How about you all follow Nila inside and have a cup of tea?” The firbolg normally so easy going had the slightest strained edge to his tone. Silently urging the others to do as he asks so he can deal with this new development.

Before they can follow his request or protest it there is a choked spluttering coming from the shallow grave. Darkened blood and fluids flying from her lips in droplets and small streams that travel down her skin in grotesque contrast.

Molly practically flies from Yasha’s arms to the girls side. “Y/n?!” Trembling hands try to clear the blood from her face and only succeeds in smearing it. “Y/n, please stay with me.” She has resumed breathing although it is a wet and withering sound, every third breath she chokes and must sacrifice the next breath to cough the fluid up.

The tiefling turns wide eyes frantically to the group “Jester, Caduceus-- heal her!” His voice breaking as he begs.

Jester shoots a bewildered look to the other Cleric and is stilled from going forward to help by the firbolgs slow shaking of his head. Caduceus slowly makes his way to the trio and kneels on the other side of the girl, his calla lily. “I’m afraid we cannot” His voice seems to physically cut into Molly.

“What do you mean?! Yes you can. She is obviously hurt!” He gestures forth with his bloodied hands to prove his point.

A tired sigh “That kind of magic only works on the living. . .and she is not.”

“She is breathing! She is-”

Yasha seems to understand, at least in some small part, what Caduceus is trying to convey and silences the tiefling with a soft squeeze to his shoulder. “Molly. . .” Her always soft voice rippling with her own grief.

“I don’t understand. . .why would I be led here if we can’t help?” His franticness leaves between one breath and the next. Shoulders sagging as he trails fingers across her cheeks and smooths her hair back.

“Only the gods could say. And I don’t think we are dealing with just one anymore.” Caduceus shoots a wary look up to the raven. Unnerved how its gaze never leaves Calla Lily. He sighs and turns his own gaze back to her, “Her grip is fading. I can feel it.” He looks up at Molly. The tiefling so lost and helpless as he stares down at his lover. “The Wildmother helped keep her here. But I think I understand now, that Calla lily couldn’t wake up because she was giving the life the Wildmother gave her to you.”

“Oh why do you have to be so stupidly self sacrificing?” Molly groans as he cradles her face in his hands. Wishing that she would wake and push her cheek further into the heat of his hand, like she always did--even in her sleep she would always curl closer to him. But she remained still with only the small rises of her chest to assure him she was not yet dead.

But even that small assurance did not alleviate the despair of her current state.

The Nein recognize the anguish that the dead leave behind for the living in the way Molly clutches at strands of her hair, body hunched over her as though to protect her from the non existent wind. In the way Yasha rubs small circles into the tieflings back with her gaze lowered to the ground unable to look at the girl. Even Caduceus seemed more dull in his mannerisms, eyes telling of his own pain that ran deep and jagged.

Kitor comes forward to herd them away from the grieving. Nila and Asar long ago had gone back inside to keep the child from witnessing the scene. “Let us go have that cup of tea like Caduceus suggested.”

They do not resist, although their retreat is hesitant as they long to comfort their friends. Caleb tosses a last look over his shoulder before snapping his fingers and following after the others. The orange tabby materializing beside Yasha and going to curl up in her lap.

“C’mon y/n. Come back to me. You can do it my lovely wild woman. If anyone can do it its you.” Molly whispers against her hair before leaving a lingering kiss on her forehead.

----------

“Wake up Y/n”

Your eyes slowly open to find only a dark space speckled with lights that shimmer to much to be the stars in a night sky. The tired ache and echoing pains are still present in your body but unlike before you could clearly feel the biting cold. Shivering violently as the chill takes hold of you as it has been unable to do since you were laid in the grave.

A cold hand urges you to sit up before it drapes a black cloak over you. The feathered thing did not hold the owners heat but it did help ease the chatter of your teeth. You look to the man who was kneeling beside you. He had distinct elven features that were cut with human flaws. Half elf then. Inky hair falling in straight curtains brightly contrasted by a colorful strand just to the side of his face.

“I am Vax’ildan. But you can call me Vax.” His eyes are sympathetic as he helps you stand.

“Where am I?” Your voice small and rasped unpleasantly.

“The Court of the Raven Queen.”

You nod without protest to being here. But something wasn't’ right. You could still feel your heart stuttering along, so unlike the expected condition of most guests to this plane.

You need Vax’s assistance to walk. Your body so pitifully weak and broken, your soul still tethered to the mortal plane could not grant you energy from there.

From the darkness emerges a grand pavilion. Inside was an ornate throne, all carved in the same black marbles and obsidians, where a tall figure sat. You did not need to be told who it was. This was the Raven Queen.

Vax has to help you kneel before her throne and then again help you stand.

“I am pleased my champion” Her porcelain masked features prevent you from seeing her lips move but even her words seemed to echo all about you. You cannot see her pupils but it is a tangible feeling when her gaze moves to you that forces your head to bow. “As for you. I am far less thrilled to have you in my court again.”

“Again?” A shivered word so quiet you don’t think she heard it at first.

Talons tap against the marble slowly “I suppose having a soul tampered with so much would lead to memory loss.” She sighs.

Before you can ask for clarification a bright light grows from across the space. Briefly forcing you to cover your eyes. Once it has ebbed away you look back over to see another woman. You feel an unconditional pull and devotion to her.

“Wildmo-”

“Melora. Fashionably late as always.” The Raven Queens head swings to look at the newcomer.

“Can’t rush a tide Raven dearest.” Her voice bring you warmth in this desolate plane.

“Oh my dear child.” She tuts as she strides towards you. Your eyes completely entranced by her.

Dark skin was tinted with green that shimmered under the specks of light dotting the darkness, her hair tumbling down her back in green mosses woven with colorful blooms. Blue eyes that gazed upon you constantly swirling and shifting like the ocean. Russet feathers and vines twined about her form to clothe her in a surprisingly flowing gown that trailed in her wake.

Vax bows his head in respect to her and steps back as she cradles your face in her hands. “You’re wilting my lovely. My poor child.” She brushes her fingers through your hair and you are immediately invigorated with a new humming energy that grants you both strength and warmth. “But the suffering isn’t for naught, you’re doing such a good job. Those children especially. I am so very proud of you child.” She smiles down at you softly.

“Let us not forget what we are here for Melora.” The Raven Queen seems tired of the scene before her.

“A moment Raven dearest, I am meeting my chosen for the first time face to face.” She turns back to you with a secretive grin “Well, not the first. But the first in your memories.”

Your mouth opens and closes for several moment before you manage a soft, “Hello” even your voice improved and unwavering.

“Hello y/n.” She kisses your forehead “Let us get to business and hopefully get you back to that Moonweaver disciple sooner rather than later.”

The Wildmother steps away and goes to take a place beside the Raven Queen’s throne. Branches sprouting forth from her fingertips to twine and grow into her own throne.

“Now we may finally start” The Raven Queen straightens her form and her dead eyed mask stares straight through you. “You wish to return your chosen to the living, yes?” Melora nods with a bright smile. “I will grant your request. . .only if you give me the soul of Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

#mollymauk #mollymauk critical role #cr #cr2 #mollymauk fic #mollymauk fanfiction #mighty nein #critical role #fjord #yasha #beau #jester #caleb #nott #caduceus clay #caduceus #mollymaymaukme #fix it fic

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party-of-rpg-muses · 5 years

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Mun Plays Octopath Traveler

PHEW! I finally finished Cyrus’ story! However I’m getting ahead of myself.

Picking up where I left off, I properly started Alfyn’s Chapter 3. I respected Alfyn’s desire to help people, but knew all too well that some people can betray that trust. And I came to realize that Miguel was the first character, human or animal, that Alfyn has canonically killed. Even that giant serpent in his Chapter 1 was simply knocked out. But anyway, after that, I moved to Wellspring for Therion’s Chapter 3.

I want to briefly mention something I neglected last time. When Primrose was stabbed and recovering, I instantly thought of a picture I happened to see by @blahblahblahviolentpain, seen here. Beautiful art piece it was, though I didn’t know the context until I saw the scene that would cause the scene drawn. And I now headcanon that everyone did what they could to help and make sure Primrose lived; even Therion helped, even though he wouldn’t admit it.

Anyway, for Therion’s Chapter 3, I attempted to steal a mask from someone, but I had already failed a few times prior (which I completely forgot about), so I ended up souring my reputation, causing me to go back to the barkeep and restore my reputation. And while I was there, I stole the list. Inside the cave, the goons were easy enough (of course), but Gareth was a bit more of a challenge, not that I minded. And it was nice to see why Therion was so against working with other people. Though I imagine he’s come to trust Cyrus and the others, again, even if he won’t admit it. And the special thing? While I was fighting Gareth (with Cyrus, H’aanit, Primrose, and Therion), I had Primrose use Bewildering Grace and managed to get JP X 100! So everyone in the active party got, like, 50,000 JP!

Next came H’aanit’s Chapter 3. The fight against the Dragon was... something. I got a Game Over the first time. The second time, I won, but Ophilia was KO’d, so I restarted from the save There was also the fact that she was really underleveled. But I managed to win the next time after a long, hard-fought battle. And it was nice to see Alaic had a crush on H’aanit, but she was far too dense to see it. Just like Cyrus.

After that, I went to Goldshore for Ophilia’s Chapter 3. Nothing major, though the “bosses”, if you can call them that, weren’t too much of a threat, especially since they healed for 800 HP each time, which I could easily out damage. However, the battle may have gone on longer than I would have liked because I held back on using their weaknesses because I wanted to extend the Break for as long as possible and Cyrus was one of the last characters to go. So as a result, half of their weaknesses were locked, making the battle take longer since most characters in the party were magic users. Afterwards, hearing Whispermill caught my interest, since I went there previously, where no one spoke. So I figured it would be a good chance to see what was up.

Once that was done, rather than go do Cyrus’ Chapter 4, I instead went to the Shrine of the Archmagus, since Cyrus was level 50 with Olberic close behind. I also had Primrose in the party, but kept Ophilia because I wanted her to get up to speed. The battle against Dreisang was long and hard, but I managed to keep things going until I looked at the wiki and discovered that I could use Sealticge’s Seduction on Ophilia and have her use a max boosted Reflective Veil to give the entire party multiple reflects, which made the battle way easier. I managed to win and gave Cyrus the Sorcerer job, which I instantly maxed, due to still having quite a bit of JP.

I also tried my hand at the Shrine of the Starseer, but failed horribly, so I went to Duskbarrow. The tresk through the ruins weren’t all that tough, but the boss was something else. And by that time, I had swapped Ophilia out for Tressa. I lost the initial battle against Lucia, mostly because I was trying to figure her weaknesses out. For the rematch, I gave Primrose the Cleric as a secondary job and tried again. I was able to stifle a good amount of her damage by having Tressa use Shackle Foe to lower her damage. I also had Olberic use Rain of Arrows and Thousand Spears to break her guard before going to town.

Her second phase was much easier, since I figured she’d be weak to magic without having to use Analyze. So I did the same trick as with Dreisang, reflecting almost all of her magic attacks back at her. The only issue was when she occasionally used a normal attack. When I broke her guard, I again dealt as much damage as I could, even had a few Large Soulstones that dealt some really good damage. And for the third phase, well, it was pretty easy. Breaking her guard was easy enough and she was on her last legs and it was Olberic and his Cross Strike that dealt the finishing blow, though I was hoping to use Brand’s Thunder to finish her off, but no matter.

Now that all that’s done, I’m ready to work on Tressa’s Chapter 4... later. It’s late, so I turned off the game to continue later. By my judgment, I may be able to finish 3 or 4 other stories (including Tressa’s) during tomorrow.

#Octopath Traveler #Octopath Traveler spoilers #outofexp

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rarestereocats · 5 years

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Milan isn't pleased to see any of this, which is understanding considering we're the reason his owl lies dead. But even still, some of us pretend to feign shock over this foul murder to try and throw him off, but it doesn't work considering we're the only people currently raiding his lair. We try and let Industria talk him down, but it seems she's rolling a natural 1 all across the board with her charisma lately and instead of getting us out of this mess, she instead freely admits to Milan that we're here to kill him. The first lesson learned today is that honesty isn't always the best course of action and we're pulled into combat as he's finally had enough of us.

As he tries to teleport Industria out of here though, Elathera counterspells it and we're all eventually dragged to a field in the middle of nowhere to commence this battle. It's nowhere near easy and it's clear that Milan knows exactly what he's doing as we can barely put a dent in this guy. Even when I finally get to smack him around a bit, he teleports away and we're unable to track him down this time. While we go back and forth on what to do, we eventually decide that we should retreat ourselves because there's no way we're going to be able to brute force this situation like we have with mostly everything else.

So we split the party to make it harder for him to take us all out. Industria, Lucky, and Jordeira head to Elathera's plane where they quietly accept that all we can do right now is wait around. Elathera, me, and Rikius head on over to her mage tower where Elathera goes to spy on her boyfriend yet again and I go through the journal I nabbed from Milan's room. I find a page with information on Virhea, saying that upon her failure in the war she's trying to start, she will be dragged into an eventual conversion. We're also mentioned, stating that we're to be left alive to motivate her, so I assume that despite every enemy telling us so far that she's going to kill us; that she doesn't want us dead at all. Religion is also mentioned dismissively in here, so I'm starting to wonder if Milan is trying to eradicate religion as a whole, but when I relay this information to the rest of the party, Industria's thinking he wants his own religion to wield as a weapon for power.

Either way, we come up with a plan to keep Milan out of our hair while we try and figure out what he's up to. We're going to send Virhea after him, so our plan is to fake Industria's death and frame it on him; letting her know of the news and hoping she takes the bait. We now finally have a use for one of the corpses of herself Industria's held onto and as she goes under the disguise of her daughter, we alert the Order of the Oracle's Eye. Being Industria's cult...I mean, kindly followers who totally have no cult affiliation; they'll obviously be the best choice to get the word out about this unfortunate and tragic event. Elathera sends a mind texts Virhea to give her the deets and with that, we all have to pretend to be as distraught as possible. The next week is full of funeral planning and attempts to get a hold of Virhea, and once the big day rolls around; people come from all over to mourn for their fallen savior.

Even divine beings are attending, all of them in disguise or hiding as they witness the affair. As a cleric rings in the ceremony, I slip the mask on to go and search for Virhea, but all I find is Iolond (who I almost managed to startle) and a couple of her feathers. While I don't spot her anywhere, it's more than obvious she was here. After heading back to the group, I give a heartfelt speech to my fallen friend, telling everyone how much I loved her and how she always showed me the love a mother should and it's all very touching. And maybe taking this mock death too far, but what is the point of holding this funeral if I can't emotionally gush about my friend? Once the ceremony is over and everybody files off to head home or to the garden party they're throwing in Industria's honor, the rest of us head back to Elathera's home to try and check on Virhea yet again.

This time, the scry goes through and we see her storming up to the griffin statue and slipping inside, quickly jotting something down and leaving it on the desk for Milan. When Industria and Elathera go to teleport and check the note out after Virhea leaves, all it says is; "How could you do this? She was my responsibility and you'll pay for this.". With the gears set in motion, we decide to split the party yet again (listen, it's actually been working for us lately!). Me and Elathera will handle recon and keep an eye on Milan and possibly Virhea should she catch up with him soon enough, and Industria and the others will handle investigating his lair. Our first attempt at recon fails miserably as Elathera teleports us too close to Milan and we're caught by his fear aura, making us teleport away in panic.

While Elathera goes to hide in a closet, I go to flee from the plane manor, but not before getting caught by Industria, who proceeds to slap me. In my moment of pure, unfiltered fear, that triggers my good ol' Childhood Trauma and only makes me panic further. Even after Rikius gets the fear effect off of me, I'm still rattled and skittish towards my friend and no amount of her profuse apologies and hugs will help calm me down. She offers to erase it from my memories, but not wanting my memories to be tampered with, me and Elathera get back to our recon duties. We follow Milan around for the day, watching him tuck what looks like an important gem away in a hidden compartment. We decide to do nothing with it considering our job was to keep an eye on him and we follow him to the black market, which he seems to frequent a lot.

It's clear why he does when this black market seems to be chock full of phylacteries, unbeknownst to most of the sellers. He purchases a necklace being used as a phylactery for some unknown lich somewhere in the world and with that, we decide to head back to his house to pilfer the gem. But while we were away, Industria and her team moved through, finding the compartment and swiping the gem, leaving one of the heartstones from Etna in its place. So me and Elathera are led to believe we're about to make off with powerful artifact, Elathera making her own copy before we leave; only this one blows up! When we all meet back up and have a good chuckle over the gem mishap, we teleport into a room we didn't investigate thoroughly enough, but surprise; we forget to go invisible and Milan's new owl is here keeping watch.

We pay it no mind and carry on, stumbling upon a room full of former nightmare gems, now seemingly dull and dead. There's a magic circle on the floor, something with transmutation magic and upon Industria playing around with it, we realize it's to swap souls between things. Before we can do anything else though, Milan's alerted to our presence and appears before us, casting an icy prison and trapping the majority of us. It's in this moment that we realize we're all gonna die probably, but with enough panic on my part, I manage to talk him down enough so we can chat with him before he destroys us. Elathera frees us of the icy prison and I let the others know over our mind link that I'm about to do something incredibly stupid. If I don't do it, we risk fighting him again and losing as he's too powerful, that becoming more than obvious when he relents and tells us what he had been up to.

He's been forming the lich cult as a way to gather powerful souls, which he then traps in the gems and then uses the circle to transfer them to his own body; consuming them to steadily grow in his own power. With that, I admit to him that I'm a phylactery, which he confirms upon inspecting me. I ask him to remove Lucky's fragment from me, feigning that it's a burden on me, and he offers to do so as long as we promise to leave him alone after this. I give him that promise and try to lure him into the circle with me, but instead, he slaps a gem in my head and has me go in alone. I think my plan is about to go out the window, so I have a mock breakdown which manages to convince him to step in with me and with that, my trap is in place. Elathera freezes time so I can leave the circle, leaving nothing but the gem in my stead.

With time unfrozen and me safe, Industria yells the command word and Milan screams in agony as him and all his souls are pulled into the gem, thus trapping him. We'll have to keep his gem locked up tight in a vault somewhere, but the threat of Milan is gone and now we can pretend Industria was totally resurrected from the dead so that she can finally be out in public again as herself.

#adventures of the volunteer fire department #oc: zakina kociak #oc: jordeira ferus #game: pathfinder crusades

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thebadohteco · 6 years

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Impulse Purchases

While the Oasis Cartel was still a growing entity, East still had some work that needed done that couldn’t wait for adults to take jobs. In times like those he always made sure to utilize what he considered an untapped resource of Ul’dah, the street urchins. While the cartel only knew the masked entity of The Beast, and his identity as East O’hteco was reserved to the knowledge of The Bunny and Elysica, the street urchins he paid for odd jobs knew a mix of the two. East didn’t wear masks around the kids because he knew it scared them and he wanted to encourage that smart instinct of being afraid of masked people, but he also didn’t tell them his real name. They called him The Beast, and he called them Squirrels.

The Squirrels would be paid in gil for odd jobs every few days, usually running somewhere and counting how many people were at places or doing some menial labor task like collecting rocks for him. Some days he didn’t have actual work and just dropped by to hand out gil anyways; he remembered being hungry as a street urchin himself, and wanted to do what he could. He didn’t talk about the Squirrels to other members of the cartel, wanting to keep them as far away from risk as he could. He cared about the kids and he admitted it, but the concept would ruin the reputation of the rising drug lord.

Caring about them was what brought him to visit them all so soon after his wedding. Elysica and he were waiting on starting their honeymoon, wanting to save up more money before spending much of it again; it was all Elysica’s idea, but East knew he had put her through enough financial stress with the wedding itself. The Squirrels usually hung out at one of four certain spots in the city, so East never had a hard time finding them. The number of them would vary between some being sick, some being arrested, some working, or any number of reasons that he had come to expect would explain their absence; some just got taken away by parents or overly aggressive orphanages. Knowing they would vanish now and again had always prompted him to check in on who was around and who wasn’t, his mental list of them editing as needed. That checking is what drew his eye to Roaring Boulder’s bruised eye.

“Roaring, what’s wrong with your eye, lad?” East asked, beckoning the young boy over.

Roaring Boulder was near ten summers old, but as a Roegadyn that put him to nearly East’s full height and width. He still had the shyness of any child, and had always been softer than some others. Still, despite the shyness, Roaring Boulder made his way to East, trying to hide his eye somewhat.

“I, uh.... I don’t know,” Roaring Boulder replied with a murmured tone, clear that he was hiding something.

East smiled at the boy, gently pushing away some of his hair to better look at the eye. Roaring Boulder never recoiled from East’s hands, almost laying into them. The eye had been hit. East had received his fair share of black eyes growing up and could identify one easily. The bruising around the ridge, the bloodshot in the eye, and the slight misshapen aspect of his nose told East a story. Roaring Boulder had been hit by a very large fist, like the fist of a full grown Roegadyn. East bit the inside of his lip to prevent his frown from forming and clapped Roaring Boulder on the shoulder.

“Accidents happen, what can you say? How about I pay you to grab some ice, huh?” East asked, grinning at the boy.

The talk of work, and more importantly payment, always got the attention of the crowd. To East it was just a handful of gil, but to the urchins it was the difference of pain and dismal comfort which was all the difference to them. Their faces lit up and turned towards him. Conversations and games stopped. All ears were open to whatever he was willing to pay them for. East smirked, looking over the kids. He didn’t actually need ice, or any work done, but it would give them something to do and he knew ice could always be fun on a hot Ul’dahn day.

“You know the ice stalls that are around the city? I’ll pay you one gil per ice crystal, two for really bit crystals. You snatch them up and bring them here, and put them all in the tub that I’ll drag by. Sound good?” He asked, addressing the crowd now.

“What about three gil for a really, really big crystal?” One of the voices called back.

East laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, you scalpers. If it’s really, really big I’ll do three gil. Just remember to keep count so you get paid right. Now, get going.”

With a shout they were all off, rushing into the city. Some took to climbing buildings to avoid the guards, others ducked into thin alleyways that only their small bodies could manage. It was like watching water rush through the cracks of stone, finding all manner of ways, each more elaborate than the next. In a few moments East sat alone in the small alcove they had all been collected in. Some few personal belongings left behind, some toys. They had learned that East would stay there until some of the kids had returned to play look out for the stuff. They weren’t aware the measures that had required of East sometimes, but he didn’t like them being exposed to violence. They were just kids, most of them were orphans. Some of them, like Roaring Boulder, had parents. East wondered what sort of parent would let their child just live on the streets when they knew where they were. He figured The Beast would have to find out.

The kids had managed to bring a large haul of ice in, dumping it all into the tub that East had dragged over after some of the kids came back to play guard. East took his leave of the kids in the afternoon, leaving them to play in the tub of ice and enjoy the cooling sensations for the day. He returned without the kids’ knowledge about a bell after leaving them, this time dressed as The Beast. He kept to the rooftops, watching the kids from on high as they played and enjoyed their day; their hard earned gil had been spent on food and sweets. He was content to just watch, waiting until Roaring Boulder would leave for his house.

Late into the evening Roaring Boulder got up and left the crowd of urchins, followed by The Beast from the rooftops. Roaring Boulder’s parents lived in a rougher part of the city based on where he was headed, passing by some lunging drunks and lecherous eyes. The boy came to a stop in front of a small house, less run down than East had expected it to be given the stories he had heard the boy tell. Roaring Boulder knocked on the door and waited, as did East. After a few ticks of no response Roaring Boulder knocked again, louder this time. This time the door opened, but Roaring Boulder wasn’t able to cross the threshold. A meaty fist hand came from inside the house, slapping Roaring Boulder across the cheek and sending him a few steps back. The door shut harshly as the boy landed. East could see the tears welling up in Roaring Boulder’s eyes, a hand coming over the part where he had been hit. He didn’t tarry long, pushing himself off the road and heading back the way he had come, presumably towards the urchins to take rest for the night there.

The Beast’s metal boots hit the ground a moment later as he lowered himself to the ground, ready to meet with the person connected to the meaty fist. He didn’t knock on the door like Roaring Boulder had done. One metal boot lifted into the air and kicked forward, breaking through the rotted wood of the door to lead The Beast into the home.

“What the?” A deep voice asked in shock.

The voice cut off as its owner turned to the The Beast, the large Roegadyn man blanching as he saw the katana blade pointed at him. East held the sword out towards the man, keeping him frozen in shock as he took in the home. The home wasn’t the home of someone well off, but by the decorations he could tell the owner was comfortable enough. Chairs and tables made of a solid wood, rooms without trash on the floor, clean linens over the bed’s thick mattress, and no smell of rot or spoiled meat in the air. It wasn’t posh, but it was an easy lifestyle for someone with a job and no child to care for. Knowing that the ease of the lifestyle came at the expense of Roaring Boulder’s comfort only made East’s blood boil more. He turned back to face the man, stepping forward and prodding him with the tip of his katana to drop him into a chair.

“A small boy came by a few ticks ago, you shoved him away from the house. Was that your son?” The Beast asked, masked face fixed forward on the shocked Roegadyn.

“What? I. Uh.” The man stammered on, eyes filling with confusion and then narrowing. “Who the fuck are you to be asking me questions after you just busted into my house?!” He roared in anger.

He rose up from his chair, foot coming forward as he moved to charge at The Beast. Given that the Roegadyn man was thrice the size of the masked swordsman it would be an easy fight for the Roegadyn. That reasoning is exactly why The Beast didn’t let the fight start. As soon as the man stood up and stepped forward The Beast’s arm swung down and lunged forward, driving the tip of his katana into the man’s boot and through his foot to the floorboards. The Beast’s other hand came up and shoved forward, hitting the man in the chest to drop him back into his chair. The man let out a yowl of pain that escaped more as a whisper as the air had been knocked out of him.

“I won’t ask that question again,” The Beast said with a cautioning tone.

“Yes,” the man whimpered out, “yes, that’s my son.”

“Why doesn’t he live in here with you? Why is he sleeping on the streets?!” The Beast yelled so loud the voice disturber he wore screeched with a high frequency sound as it failed to translate all the yell.

“He just doesn’t! Gods, I need a cleric for my foot! Help! Someone help me!”

The Beast’s fist curled up and rocketed forward, armored fingers punching the man in the neck to silence any more screams. The answer had set off East’s anger more than the cries for help. The man admitted that Roaring Boulder was his son, but said he just didn’t live there. He didn’t care about the boy at all. East had always been able to say that at least his parents didn’t live around him growing up, they had abandoned him and his sisters to the streets they didn’t even live around. East didn’t even know where his parents were. Roaring Boulder did though. He knew where his father lived and came by enough to at least try and stay indoors. This man had made the choice daily to leave his son on the streets.

“Where is the boy’s mother?” The Beast asked.

“Don’t know. She left him on my doorstep after he was born. Never seen her since.” The man croaked out in barely more than a whisper.

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

The Beast planted his hand over the katana hilt and drove it down further into the ground, producing a new hoarse yell from the man.

“I told you I wouldn’t ask questions twice,” The Beast reminded him.

“Running Mountain! I’m Running Mountain!” The man screamed out loud as he could, which ended up just being a bare screech.

When East had entered into the home and seen the comfort that was being denied Roaring Boulder he had planned to just cut down the man then and there. Leave his body on the floor for neighbors to complain about until Brass Blades came to haul the body away. Each question the man answered had just driven on the thought of ending the wretched father’s life, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Pity for Running Mountain didn’t hold him back, East really didn’t care at all about this man. Thoughts of Roaring Boulder held him back. If Running Mountain were to die it didn’t help Roaring Boulder at all, it would only make things worse even as then the boy wouldn’t have those few nights of reprieve he got when his father decided to be a minimally decent person. East had come to the house without a plan but realized he needed one suddenly. He couldn’t just attack this man and leave, it wouldn’t do anything good and could possibly do a lot of bad. The anger he had been feeling was quickly being replaced with panic. He had acted too rashly. He could have endangered his operation with this. He had to come up with something to keep Running Mountain quiet and help Roaring Boulder.

“Today is your lucky day, Running Mountain,” The Beast said with a calm voice.

He stepped away from the room long enough to grab a towel, tossing it over his shoulder. Before The Beast could explain what it was for he yanked the katana out of the floor, wiping the blood from the blade with the towel, and sheathing it. He tossed the towel to Running Mountain and pointed at the wounded foot, nodding to him.

“Wrap your foot up and walk with me,” The Beast ordered as he moved to the broken doorway.

His plan was still coming together as he waited for Running Mountain to join him, or attack him again he knew either was possible, but he knew he had to appear as if he was still in control and calculated. He had to put on the persona of someone who hadn’t just recklessly charged into a home and attack the man. The problem was East usually took weeks or months to make his plans, to prepare and calculate for every variable he could. Making plans on the quick always ended up with trouble for him, but he couldn’t just stop now.

“Where... Where are we going?” Running Mountain asked as he limped up to The Beast.

“For a walk,” The Beast answered as he set out into the street. “Keep up or else,” he added as he crossed the threshold.

The Beast kept a normal pace for himself, which was thankfully matched easily by the wounded stride of a Roegadyn. His plan had mostly come together to where he at least knew where he was going, but he could tell he wasn’t thinking of everything. It would give Roaring Boulder his father and the comfort he deserved, along with comfort for the other urchin children. It would solve so many things in one move. Running Mountain didn’t make any sounds behind him other than grunts from walking on his wounded foot. East knew he would need to get it checked on soon or risk losing it, or worse, but he didn’t feel bad about the man experiencing some pain for a while. The pair stopped before an old chapel in Ul’dah that had been abandoned by its street gang after its owners had drowned inside their own meeting chambers. The Beast knew the place well and had kept an eye on it for his own plans that had apparently come to fruition.

“Tomorrow morning you will be very busy,” The Beast began as he laid out his plan to his prey turned accomplice. “You will come here and purchase this chapel from its current landowner, signing for it in your name and renaming it as ‘The Oasis Home for Wayward Youth’ or something like that. You’ll be acting as the caretaker for the children who will be coming by to move in at noon tomorrow, among them will be your son.”

Running Mountain turned an incredulous stare from the chapel to the masked man. “Are you fucking crazy? Why in the world am I going to do all of that?”

“Because, this is your chance to be a real father.” The Beast turned on the man, looking up into the confused eyes. “You’re only option is to either accept this second chance, or be killed right here. I know where you live, I know how to find you, and I will hunt you down if you try to run. This is your life now.”

“But. What. What about my house? My job?!”

“You’ll sell it and you’ll quit. Being the caretaker of an orphanage is a full time job and you’ll have to live here with the kids to keep an eye on them.”

“Why? They’re not my fucking kids. Why should I take care of them?”

“Because you couldn’t even take care of your one child, so naturally your second chance comes with more work. You should’ve been a better father the first time around, when there wasn’t the risk of your life on the line.”

“Well. What’s to stop me from going to the guards and turning you in?” Running Mountain asked with a smirk, as if he had caught the man.

“A masked man stormed into your house, stabbed your foot, then demanded you buy an orphanage and become its caretaker. Interesting story to give the Brass Blades. While they’re debating how drunk you had to be to imagine all of that happening, I’ll be waiting to cut you in half.”

Running Mountain gulped and looked back at the chapel, still squirming as he felt the pain in his foot receding as it started to go numb. He looked down to the masked man and bit his lip, trying to work out his options in his mind.

“Also, Running Mountain, given your history of abuse around children. You should know that I will be keeping an eye on them all. If I find any wounds or marks on them, you will die in a much worse way than me cutting you in half.”

“But they’re street rats! They get cuts and bruises all the time!”

“Then you had best keep them safe and cared for,” The Beast answered.

“How am I going to pay for all this? My house isn’t worth that much!”

“The cost for it all will be covered by myself. Every month an amount of gil will be brought to the orphanage, enough to cover food and whatever else the kids will need. When you’ve proven yourself a redeemed father you’ll even begin to get paid as well. I will have eyes kept on the place to keep it safe from parties that are too much for you to handle.”

“.... Why me? Why are you doing this?” Running Mountain asked, feeling his knees going weak.

“Because Roaring Boulder deserves a father, whether you want to be one or not,” The Beast answered calmly. “Tomorrow morning, right here. The landowner will be waiting with the paperwork needed. You will sign it, name it, and start cleaning it up. Go get your foot looked at before you have to lose it.”

He didn’t wait for any more questions or statements. The plan had been explained, and now it would be up to Running Mountain to accept it or die. He hoped for the former, but had met too many stubborn fools to not be ready for the latter.

The next day East O’hteco came by the chapel at noon, smiling to himself as he saw Roaring Boulder sitting on the stairway with a giant grin on his face. He could see through the somewhat cleaned windows of the place that other street urchins were running around inside, inspecting their new home. East had gone to see them all early in the morning, telling them to go find the chapel at noon. He was glad to see they had found an open space, and he hoped inside he would find a limping caretaker.

“Beast!” Roaring Boulder exclaimed as he caught site of East, running up to him. “It’s amazing! My dad is here! My dad is here and he said me and my friends are all going to be living here with him! Isn’t that great?!”

“Oh, wow. That’s really great buddy. Is he inside? I’d like to meet him,” East replied with a smile.

Roaring Boulder nodded and tore off inside faster than East had ever seen him run, and East had paid him to literally just run before. Roaring Boulder came back a few moments later with a much larger Roegadyn beside him. Running Mountain was sweaty, tired, and limping with a cane to support him. His eyes swept around the open area before the chapel with trepidation before focusing down on East with a quirked brow.

“Hail, stranger,” Running Mountain said cautiously, coming up to East. “What do you want?” The new persona as a caretaker wasn’t entirely set in yet, but he was nervously trying his best.

“Just a friend of the kids, come to check on them. I had heard there was a new orphanage opening up and I sent them over this morning, to be here at noon. Glad to see the rumors were true. I take it you’re the new caretaker?”

Running Mountain peered at the man, understanding coming to him quickly. “Yeah, I am. Just like.... Just like you said. I’m the caretaker.” He glanced down at Roaring Boulder who was nearly hugging his leg at this point. “Been too long avoiding being a father, and it was just the right time.”

“Sounds like you found the right motivation,” East said with a small nod to Running Mountain.

“Yeah, something like that,” Running Mountain replied with a gesture to his bandaged up foot. “It’s my calling, I guess you could say.”

“I would say that,” East answered.

The two men stood staring at one another for a long moment. East knew that Running Mountain was likely trying to figure out how to use the knowledge of what he looked like to his advantage, but he wasn’t worried. East O’hteco was just a helpful stranger to the kids, and he was a quicker blade than Running Mountain was a talker.

“What’s your name, stranger?” Running Mountain asked, quirking a brow to East.

“He’s The Beast!” Roaring Boulder replied before East could, nodding up to his father.

East saw the brief look of disdain cross Running Mountains eyes, but it died before he could look down a Roaring Boulder. The man just patted the boy’s shoulder gently, sighing.

“Say, Roaring. How about you go tell everyone I have some work for them, while you let your dad get back to setting the place up. Looks like you all need some beds and stuff,” East said with a bemused grin.

“Okay!” Roaring Boulder exclaimed as he ran back inside, still slower than when he had gone to get his dad.

“So, you’re the guy then?” Running Mountain asked the moment the two of them were alone.

“Guy? I’m just a friend of the kids, if that’s what you mean,” East answered.

“Cut the shit. You’re the masked guy that butchered my foot and made me do all of this shit. Just tell me that I’m good. Long as I do this, you don’t get kill me, right? I haven’t hit any of them. I swear. I’m just trying to. Just. Tell me.” Running Mountain stammered most of it, still in shock from the evening before and at having met his attacker again.

“Sounds like you had a really bad run in, bud, but looks like you came out alright in it. Place to stay, get to see your son more. I don’t know what life you had before your sudden change of heart, but looks like this is a life that you’ll live longer in.” East gave the threatening reminder calmly, smiling at the man. “Like I said, I’m just a friend of the kids. I care about them and like the idea of them having one place to stay all the time, with a roof and some food on the daily. I’ll still come by to give them work from time to time, but I’m sure you’ll find the gil you need to keep them all taken care of without me or other generous patrons.”

The kids came running out of the chapel in a horde. The older ones were mostly quietly, still wary about their sudden change of fortunes; they were too old to forget how bad the world could be when it looked good. The younger ones, like Roaring Boulder, were bundles of excitement; they were too young to remember that the world could be cruel at any moment, they just lived in the now. East hoped to keep them all in the now, where it was safe.

“So, new home. Looks like it could use some color. How about you all go get some flowers, huh? One gil per flower you bring back. Throw them around the place, get it all colorful, yeah?” East offered to the kids, nodding to them as they nodded back.

Without a word they were off, running into the city to find the flowers they had been hired to grab. East turned back to Running Mountain with a smile.

“The flowers will help with the musty smell too. The place had bad water damage in the basement I had heard, figure that must’ve been bad when you moved in,” East said.

“Yeah, there’s a vault or something down there. I took it as my room, figure it was the quietest place,” Running Mountain said with a shrug.

“Ah, good choice. Careful though, I hear that vault door can stick and lock you inside if you’re not careful. Be a bad way to go down, yeah?”

“.... Yeah,” Running Mountain replied back with an understanding nod.

“Well, don’t let me keep you from your work. I’m sure you’ve got bed to order and food to start on. How’s the kitchen in that place?” East asked, looking to the building slowly.

“Kitchen is in bad shape, I don’t know how much of it works. I got to take a look at the stove and all, but may have to do a wood fire for a bit. And yeah, I put some orders in this morning,” Running Mountain replied.

“You any good of a cook?” East asked.

“Yeah. I cooked for myself back.... Before this. Doing bigger dishes for some urchins shouldn’t be too bad,” Running Mountain answered with another sigh.

“Good. Sounds like you’re adapting fast. Smart too,” East said with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Running Mountain said with a snort before limping back towards the chapel doors. He had work to do.

East waited outside the chapel for a long while, paying kids as they came with flowers to spread around their new home. He knew he’d have to keep an eye on the place for a while, to see that it was properly taken care of and that Running Mountain didn’t try to run out of his new job. It would be some work but it was worth it for seeing the kids taken care of, especially in a way where his name didn’t have to be tied to it. Just a random man who had a change of heart as to being a father and decided to go the extra malm. It was a heart warming story far as East was concerned. He’d make sure the story stayed that heart warming.

#story #oasis cartel

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paraclete0407 · 3 years

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‘These external regions, what do we fill them with except reflections, the escapades of death, Cinderella fulfilling herself beneath a roof?’ - He was former NVA SF, asked me about HumDev, lazy nurses, indifferent students at UW-Milwaukee doing the bare minimum to get by & I wondered did he mean me with my ever-and-omni-present side-projects or was he sincerely / authentically asking if I could help raise their kids up in some respect? - proffered ‘The Miracle of Mindfulness,’ commended chocolate; ‘my son’s good at math I wish him to attend med school + buy me a yacht.’

I don’t remember much about ‘The Miracle of Mindfuless’ except at this late hour w/ day far-spent to reflect that it’s better to be what you are than what ‘might’ or what-not.

2010 - ‘I’m a bad guy underlyingly,’ a cigarette outside the square room, duck-soup, rice and lamb. A region of Turkiyeh called ‘Cotton Mountains’ or so & the young girl who drew you. Like Arthur Schopenhauer you played the flute but you were interested in the hospitality industry as I was long ago; contemplating Cornell Hotel Management, snow-sledding on cafeteria-trays, baking cookies, not trying to change the world or make a difference or improve humanity.

An abiding sympathy, regret, or ‘Teacher Dream.’ Sometimes I ate ceremoniously and sometimes ‘banqueted,’ Jacob from Church of God said Koreans eat fast and I eat slowly. Fiery skies like a baptism of fire & why do less than you can; people like Wm. Empson cite ‘Gra(e?)y’s Elegy’ about wasting your life in protest against prostitution and the ways in which the little people mask or keep big dreams, extensive educations, memories of Mom or Sunday School or ‘one perfect day.’ It’s considered tasteful not to say what you know or see but I have never known how to live cleanly with moral, sexual, amator, communicative, pedagogical or even mere stylistic failure & ‘I went blind when I learned to see’ ‘Drive’ in which we actualized everything that mental North Koreans we believed would help us to transcend American complacence; the belief ‘tomorrow will be like today or only more so’ or - my own ‘pet writeoff’ - that STEM, AI, IT could be left to the Asians and why should I care when they’re writing grants mostly and even hard-math-sci PhD’s oft can’t eat or sleep right, desperately pen grant-proposals?

Hedge funds appear to harvest the best mathematicians; I failed the audition again; my casting-couch was in Korea laying in the office, ‘I’m so lonely.’ ‘A truth that’s told with bad intent’ from ‘Auguries of Innocence’ & I wished I could learn forever at a teacher’s or a father’s feet.

‘It’s hard for me to understand your mind..’ ‘I won’t change.’

The bus-drivers were conscientious in those days.

‘Dead Malls of America’ was missing the point it turns out. I was too.

‘Twixt Wicker Park and Logan Square’ & I am wondering whether these corridors and this miniaturization are the right answer to American grandiosity or a source of new mental illness, as when Updike’s tour-guide ate toast with a tomato and was patently not there. XM101(?) automatic shotgun, AR-15, ‘The Purge.’ I realized that it was possible and good to be a man myself whatever the government but once again failed to plant the lesson in good ground.

About what was I ever and most right?

‘You gave me that’ and ‘I’m 30,’ tendency to plagiarize or simply agree at the top of our lungs, the end of our chain - ‘at a certain pitch in literature images and figures and metaphors start to disappear’ - and some resort to fiction and some to ‘a close personal voice.’ ‘Hanging Up’ was a good idea; something my friend said.

Milwaukee seems full of drug-dealers and such and it’s scary. I too wanted a wife and daughters and to protect someone in particular the system bypassed but I’ve never been shot at by thugs or my perforated car impounded. Am I worse than he b/c I said stuff about prostitution for years, because I don’t engage every target I track like the F-35 helmet. ‘Love Thy Neighbor’ and ‘Grace Age 16′ and ‘Planespotting’ and ‘Waiting for ACB’ but they were all pre-C-19. New femininity, new masculinity - I don’t even know what’s ridiculous or pathetic or reasonable anymore.

Someone once asked did I want to go skydiving; her boyfriend had a dumb philosophy of life.

At NYU Medical Center I talked about ‘clinical vignettes’ and later recollected these the women / young girls of my generation - I was fond of / heartened by Christina Aguilera’s ‘The Voice Within’ and wondered / questioned ‘Why’s Britney Spears non campus mentis insane nihilist in conservatorship whilst Christina is winning the McGovern Award?’ - Xinjiang-farmed for profit, pleasure, fun, to prove a point about ‘paternalism’ or ‘kill the chicken to scare the monkey.’

I loved ‘Give Me a Reason’ by Utada Hikaru; long dresses with cardigans. What is gained through the addition of cocktail-hours / ‘chemical unwind.’ Speculating that a soju-highball would be less likely to cause acute or chronic blindness than the one with vodka or kill kids like in the UK but it was still ‘fellowship with the world.’ ‘That Girl’s House’ gave me to realize that h/History is or was absolutely real but those descriptions are weapons-systems and such drunkenness and dreams / imaginations can be lethal.

‘Thank you; I love you; I’m sorry.’ I was preoccupied with ‘If she lives it is a chance which doth redeem all of the sorrows I have ever felt.’ ‘The Metaleptic Utterance.’ Mary HK Choi’s ‘Yolk.’ ‘Paragon of Grace’ or today ‘Charity.’ I wanted to write a ‘Rutgers Story’ called ‘The Graceful Airs’ about holding Durufle’s ‘Ubi Caritas et Amor’ amongst us but I quit Kirkpatrick Choir ‘cause I thought it was homosexuals looking to squire me and narcissistic art-for-art’s-sake artists who would marry reactionary if philosophical medical doctors that gang-rape mentally ill people and lie about it on official documents without blinking. I once hallucinated(?) that on Wiikpedia they’d changed the name to ‘Ubi Caritas Est Vera.’

‘German wine and German women’ - Syria kids under leaves in France, disappearances - the crux of my life might have been the double-rotary-bladed aircraft in Uijeongbu avec terrible swan-wing-drums and the cloth-dance. Why did UKPM David Cameron resign before the racist hack May and a guy everyone knows has been lying from the incipit of his career? I would never trust a politician whose essential personality-meme-bullet is to say ‘We all know.’

I miss you man; I really do, though I accept no one’ll explain.

‘Rain of Mercy,’ ‘Operation Valiant’ and ‘Occupation’ mutatis utandis WW3, KW2,TW, paratroopers - the Airborne Assault Division Commander stole my girlfriend-to-be to be his mistress and his moral reprobacy led to hemorraghic operation failure - souls and Spirit, ‘Leave America’ and ‘Night Falls over Milwaukee’ & ‘whilst’

I was ‘sittin’ in the crib’ dreamin’ of the Library Science and Medicine drapes and studying there about the psycholinguistics and phenomenology of the human face I really should’ve been saying sth more about the Russians leaving here. Rex Imperator Putin tortures homosexuals, approves of Christianity - who can calculate the scale or plot the details Vladimir Volkoff-style or the optimal ‘differentiated instruction’ object-lessons?

All the people who’d talk to me are far away or hidden; I keep hearing ‘Hold Me Fast’ and ‘Need Thee Evr’y Hour.’ I sincerely, devoutly wish a saint would just come strangle me in prison a la ‘Sympathy for Taeyeon’s Vengeance,’ ‘Tumblr TaeyeonKatanas,’ my grand theory of Covid cf. clerical sex-abuse, Church disunities, anti-Asian racism, denial of h/History, evangelical shortcuts and unnecessary tradeoffs. ‘Come closer to me [tremolando crescendo] - let me.’ Do any of these authors like Lee Child realize what they mean and why if so do they write for money / therapeutic distraction instead of screaming?

Thank you, I love you, I’m sorry.

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aliceindungeonland · 7 years

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The Gang VS. Big Eldritch Orc & A Few Other Minis

You hear your heart beat in your ears as you stalk through the weirdly white, open, smooth space.... Suddenly, a roar sounds from behind you, and as you turn around you see an orc, in purple, glowing jagged armour, step onto the fallen head of a statue. The orc is Big. Very big.

Please roll initiative.

Hi everyone! It’s been a while. I don’t have a lot of free time so I don’t get to paint very often, but there are a couple things I’m excited to share with you.

Though I don’t really like all of Games Workshop’s minis very much anymore, I still frequent my local store just to chat and check on stuff, and occasionally they do painting competitions. This orc - I think the mini is called an Orruk Warboss? - was part of one... months ago... that I entered, but never finished, because I got very busy with school.

When I got him, my first thought was ‘how can I possibly make him useful for D&D? He’s SO BIG.’ So.... what if he’s magic? What if he’s, say, a weak, runt-of-the-litter orc who, chased from his herd, found a magic obsidian armour set whispering promises at him and put it on, only to be consumed by it? Something like that. Either way - glowy obsidian armour. Got it.

I think it worked out pretty well. I had most of the model painted when the deadline passed and I figured, if I don’t have to finish it in time for a competition anyway, I might as well add some stuff to the base.

So I got this statue head that I’ve had for yonks and yonks - bought it like 5 years ago in the UK somewhere, I think - and glued him onto it, and got to painting that.

Now that I’m done with this orc, I think I’ll go by the store sometime to show him off, even if I am WAAAAY late for the competition, haha. In fact they’ve started another one (that I’ve also joined - we’ll see if I can make it this time).

Here’s, also, a couple other minis I’ve painted since the last time I posted:

From left to right: My character, a golden mask-wearing Tempest Cleric (mini is Privateer Press, with a flail added); Nabu, a fey sorcerer, who I painted sloppily because the mini doesn’t resemble the character a lot so I didn’t care; a Reaper Bones Wraith, which I’m rather proud of (and which makes my undead collection completely painted now!); and Arrun, one of our group’s two Fighters.

When it comes to bases, I like to have all my minis more or less the same - but since they’re all from various sources and companies, this can be difficult. This is why I’ve developed two different ‘systems’; one for player characters (or NPCs), and one for enemies.

Player characters have undecorated black bases, with a coloured edge (in a hopefully unique colour, for easy identification.)

Monsters have decorated bases, with a black base (if any).

#d&d #miniature painting

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qualiteadnd · 5 years

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Law & Order: Waterdeep

— A WATERDEEP IRREGULARS ADVENTURE

After being framed for the assassinations of Waterdeep nobility by Z, Lord Arboreus Sultlue’s best hope for freedom is the party that first accused him.

After Lord Sultlue’s arrest and the unfortunate incident regarding the Wooden Man and his employer, Lord Blackwood requested that Keros, Grumbar, and Bonu remain in Waterdeep for the time being. After reminding them that they owed her their freedom, the group readily agreed, even though Greyson and his dogs were long gone.

Though they occasionally received missives from the Blackwoods at the Roaring Lamb, where they decided to stay now that the family wasn’t footing their bill, they didn’t see much of them. Instead, they spent their days catching up on some of the highlights of Waterdeep that they had previously missed out on. Keros caught up on news at the Selune temple, Bonu made his acquaintance with just about everyone he met, and Grumbar continued to ignore his clerical duties and tour the city pubs between some quick for hire jobs the three of them took up.

Days later, they were summoned back to Blackwood Manor. This time, Lady Westra was no where to be seen, but Lady Mara was waiting outside with a carriage.

“The trial is today,” she said after polite greetings were exchanged, “for Lord Arboreus. I know he’s not the sweetest man, but he is innocent. I would like it if you accompanied me. It’s formality, really, the evidence I presented the Watch with is enough to clear him, but… You’ve seen how the people of the city feel about nobles of late. It’s best we go through with the trial as normal.”

With some reluctance ( because he was not a sweet man and the party still thought he was creepy enough to not be trusted ), they agreed to it and joined Mara down to the Piergeiron’s Palace. A grand white stone structure at the foot of Mount Waterdeep, the palace was where the courts were held and where the Masked Lords, among others, would assemble to oversee the affairs of the city.

They followed Lady Mara inside and, alongside Captain Kraag who had arrived ahead of them, were directed by clerks within to the massive court chamber.

With striking statues and cathedral architecture, the room was vast and echoing. At a raised bench in the back of the chamber sat a woman who, at a distance, seemed younger than her long silver hair could lead some to believe. Open Lord Laeral Silverhand sat over the court with a number of masked individuals flanking her.

With a simple bow to the Open Lord and no acknowledgement to the other figures, Mara took a seat in one of the empty rows of seat. Being unfamiliar with the political etiquette of the city, Keros, Grumbar, and Bonu simply followed suit with Kraag at their heels.

Sitting alone in the center of the chamber was Lord Arboreus Sultlue. There was something of an audible, echoing groan from him when they entered.

“You think he’d be nicer to us considering,” Grumbar muttered under his breath.

Mara shook her head. “Grumbar…”

Despite the Lords overseeing the court, it was called to order by the two figures who entered the chamber and took their places below the bench. Blackrobes Kylynne and Claudius were orchestrating the trial. Blackrobe Kylynne, a tiefling, seemed interested in why the party would now speak on behalf of the man they had accused in the first place. Her partner, a human, seemed to be less interested and encouraged them to hurry up their case.

One at a time, they each presented their piece. Explaining how the evidence did, at first, lead to Sultlue — the wights, the snakes, the attempts on his house that seemed to fail — but that this was just part of something bigger.

They presented both Blackwood amulets and the dagger Keros had first taken from the Wooden Man along with the letter. The evidence didn’t point so cleanly back towards Arboreus with the rest of the puzzle pieces lined up.

“We assumed the Wooden Man was dead,” Grumbar explained, attempting to guide their ill-prepared testimony.

Bonu nodded. “We sorta last saw him in piec—” Grumbar elbowed him a bit and Bonu quickly corrected, “dead. We saw him very dead. No reason to think he might still be around. Or a suspect.”

“But since he tried to kill us — again — clearly we were wrong,” Keros added.

Mara backed their statements and Blackrobe Kylynne turned to focus on the accused for the first time. “Lord Sultlue, what do you have to say?”

He tore his attention away from the seated Lords and faced the Blackrobes with his chin high. “I have professed innocence from the beginning. There is nothing more to say on a crime I was victim to.”

“The Watch acted with the information we had in the effort to protect the city,” Kraag said, standing from his spot beside Bonu. “We stand with the actions taken and would do so again, however we are glad to see our actions were only precaution. We have already begun to look for the the Wooden Man and his alleged employer.”

The Blackrobes thanked them all and then began to converse between themselves as Kraag sat down. There was some minor eye rolling from them both at each other and when they turned back to the witnesses, Claudius was more annoyed than before.

“The charges against Lord Arboreus Sultlue of crimes against the nobility of Waterdeep will be dropped in light of the evidence brought before the court. Do the Lords disagree?” Kylynne did not look behind her and, for a moment, was met only with silence.

“The Lords are in agreement,” said the Open Lord, standing at her bench.

With the motion made to drop the charges, the court was dismissed and Lord Arboreus wasted no time in exiting the chamber.

As they filed outside, chatting a bit with Kraag about what was being done about Z ( or Zymun, as they guessed ), they were surprised to see Arboreus waiting for them. Perhaps expecting a small bit of gratitude from the man, they were somehow more surprised by his warning to stay away from him in the future.

“You think he’d be grateful,” Bonu said as Arboreus stormed off.

“You did sneak into his home and get him accused in the fist place,” Kraag pointed out.

Keros just gestured after him. “But still. Manners.”

Mara coughed slightly to grab their attention and smiled softly. “This was mostly formality, as I said, but thank you for coming. Mother is attending some business in the city, but if you could return to the manor sometime this evening, we have a proposition for you.”

Curious, they agreed and parted ways with Mara. Kraag also excused himself on account of “business” when Bonu offered to buy the man a drink if he joined them at the inn. With that plan shot down, Bonu quickly had another idea and looked up at the mountain that backed the palace. “Let’s go for a hike.”

Grumbar started towards what, he assumed, would be a path, but Bonu had other plans and quickly started to climb the rock face. “You have got to be kidding me…” he muttered to no one, as Keros was quick to follow the barbarian’s lead. He stood where he was for a long minute before giving in.

After a long day of more climbing than hiking, they reached the peak of Mount Waterdeep, the sun already beginning to dip. The three sat down heavily, some more out of breath than others, and looked out over the city. Waterdeep was beginning to light up with the coming dusk, but there were no torches or mobs in its streets tonight. The City of Splendors was just that, in part — a little — because of them.

“It’s beautiful,” said Bonu.

Keros nodded, looking out towards the coast. “It is.”

“We’re taking the fucking path down,” Gumbar grumbled.

Catching their breaths, they soon got back to their feet and followed Grumbar’s lead to the gently winding path down the mountain. The chatter was friendly and light with some well meant grumbling about bullheadedness along the way. They might not have meant to stay together as long as they had so far, but they worked surprisingly well as a team all the same.

On arriving at Blackwood Manor, they were brought to a grand study they’d not seen before where Lady Westra sat with her daughter at her side. She looked over the three of them coolly and then folded her hands on the desk. “Are you familiar with the Lord’s Alliance?”

Having only the vaguest idea of it, they said no.

“Waterdeep, Neverwinter, the major cities in these parts, we do not always agree with each other, but we can agree on a desire for peace from outside threats. There is an alliance among certain houses that look to uphold that peace and who employ certain agents to see it done. My daughter,” she said, looking at Mara, “believes you three can be… shaped into proper representatives of both House Blackwood and Waterdeep.”

“You do not have to agree,” Mara said, speaking up, “but in doing so you would be formally employed by our family. If you do not, we ask you keep this to yourselves. These are not offers made lightly or commonly.”

The three looked between each other before Keros raised a hand. “What does it entail?” He made a gesture to the tabards worn by the house guards. “Are we just guards?”

“When necessary,” Westra said. “Without divulging more, you would be our agents beyond Waterdeep when such representation or force is required. And you would answer to Mara.”

Keros, at least, seemed sold on that plan. He glanced at the others and back to the Blackwoods, then put his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “I accept.”

Bonu followed suit. Waterdeep ( and Kraag ), he said, seemed like it could use their help.

Grumbar was the only one hesitant on the matter with both the Blackwoods and his companions looking on expectantly. A pact, as formal as this one, was not something he’d made in awhile, he muttered under his breath. “But if we’re doing this… I also accept.”

Looking only a little bit like he’d been struck by something, Grumbar, alongside Keros and Bonu, watched Mara smile.

Lady Westra stood to make her exit. “Try to keep them in line.”

As Westra left, Mara picked up a key from the desk. “There is a house on the property that hasn’t been used in some time. It’s been recently aired and it’s yours, should you like it.” As they thanked her and took the key, Mara smiled. “Good. This will be something of a learning process for us all, but we’ll discuss the details tomorrow. I wish you all a good night.”

As they left the manor, Keros twirled the key in his hand, brows raised. “We have a house.”

Bonu snatched the key from him and marched them towards the assumed direction of their new home with Grumbar lagging behind. “Boys, we are redecorating!”

#qdnd #swords coast #waterdeep irregulars #bonu #grumbar #keros

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swipestream · 6 years

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Sensor Sweep: Keys to Other Doors, Xenophile, Skylark of Space, Roger Zelazny

Pulps (The Pulp Net): When I was first involved in the pulp fandom world in the late ’90s, I saw ads for Keys to Other Doors. Subtitled “some lists for a pulp collector’s notebook,” it was put together by John DeWalt. There were at least two versions, a first version in 1995 with a revised version in 1998. I believe the 1995 version has a blue cover and was done for Pulpcon. I got the 1998 version which has a red cover.

I didn’t get it at the time and only recently got a copy. I wish I had gotten a copy back then, as I had to work to find some of the information, and thanks to the Internet and various websites, a lot of this information is now easy to find. But, there is information here I was not aware of despite that. So there still is value in getting it.

Publishing (Chaosium): Chaosium, Inc., publisher of the celebrated roleplaying games Call of Cthulhu and RuneQuest, announces the relaunch of their fiction program.

The Chaosium fiction line originally launched in 1992 and was suspended in 2015 during a general company restructuring. Subsequently, Chaosium management brought on publishing and gaming industry veteran James Lowder as a consulting editor to help resolve any outstanding contract and payment issues with authors, editors, and artists.

Lowder then drafted new, creator-friendly contracts for the department, worked with SFWA to register the company as a qualifying professional market, and then commissioned a schedule of new, creator-owned fiction releases, in both print and e-book formats.

RPG (Jeffro’s Space Gaming Blog): The RPGPundit is back with another video in his series on “Things They Taught You Wrong on Purpose”, this time on the topic of equal spotlight time for all players no matter what. He is absolutely correct that this is antithetical to the rpg medium. One thing I will add here is that the returning to “3d6 six times in order” for attributes produces a far better outcome at the table than going along with the conventional wisdom on this.

Here’s why: When D&D is played this way, most people tend go with the class that has a prime requisite that matches their highest attribute. When combined with a challenging, high death scenario, this results in each character niche being frequently redistributed almost at random. People that would normally play a bombastic high charisma fighter end up playing a scruffy, sneaking thief with hilariously low hit points. People that prefer to play the stout, law-abiding cleric can very easily find themselves in a situation where they have the privilege of making that choice between Magic Missile, Charm Person, and Sleep for the party’s one and only spell!

Writers (Don Herron): In the course of researching his book on the boxing world of Robert E. Howard, Brian Leno keeps tumbling to interesting tidbits — such as the news item above.

Brian notes, “As far as I know, this is a first — printed at a time when Howard was still alive after shooting himself, and his body was fighting to keep him alive.”

Pop Culture (Walker’s Retreat): A few days ago, I made a post where I point out that we have sufficient independent media outlets (each with sufficient audience sizes) that we no longer need to put up with the mainstream. We can–and we should–network among ourselves henceforth and cut the MSM out entirely.

So I decided that right now we’re in a position where the various clusters I see as being close enough together to benefit from this sort of move, and this morning I did take that first step: I made sure I was in the livestream for Morning With Pop Culture, the new morning show that World Class Bullshitters now puts on during the week. I lucked out today; Jeff (the host) decided to do an Ask Me Anything segment and I got the question answered.

Comic Books (Of Wolves and Men): Haven’t posted anything for a while so I figure I’ll share some of the old covers I saved on an impulse.

Fiction (RMWC Reviews): Star Wars casts a long shadow across science fiction and fantasy. For most people in living memory, it is THE example of the power of Space Opera on audiences. But George Lucas stands on the shoulders of another giant: Alex Raymond, the creator of Flash Gordon, and Raymond stands on the biggest shoulders in all of Space Opera, a humble food engineer specializing in donut mixes from Sheboygan, Michigan, named Edward Elmer “Doc” Smith (1890-1965).

Fiction (John C. Wright): I have notice more than one fan of mine (I have at least two, counting myself, and my mom) lauding elements in my stories which I shamelessly steal from better authors. As a public service, I would like to mention those authors, and lead you to the original of which I am but a shadow:

I suggest that if you like the family infighting, larger-than-life superhumans, and intrigue, you read yourself some Roger Zelazny’s deservedly famed Amber series. It is a delight: a film noir detective tale (starring my personal favorite character, an amnesiac), which morphs into a fantasy and a Jacobin-style revenge drama.

1970 Nine Princes in Amber

1972 The Guns of Avalon

1975 Sign of the Unicorn

1976 The Hand of Oberon

1978 The Courts of Chaos

The Merlin books take place in the same background, but they are terrible. Avoid.

Comic Books (Injustice Gamer): There’s a lot of talk of the markets shrinking in sff and comics from the tradpub sources, and here’s a bit of my theory on the comics side.

I think Marvel and DC, with some help from Diamond(active to a point, but I have trouble believing they’re that dumb) might be actively colluding to close the comic book stores. Diversity and Comics has made a good amount of noise over the fact that over 60 shops have closed this year alone.

Marvel is being overshipped, and the stores have to pay for the books. DC had a few exciting and high selling things early in the year, but their more recent moves are really bad from a sales standpoint, and the stores would be more inclined to take those chances after the big early sales.

RPG (The Mixed GM): Some in the OSR complain about skill systems, particularly due to the introduction of the Thief character class. I understand that with the 3.X/Pathfinder and 5E, skill systems have gotten out of control. In response, I have even heard a call to remove Thieves from the game!

Pulp (Pulp Flakes): Index to the fanzine Xenophile – part 1

Had the good luck recently to acquire a complete run of the fanzine Xenophile. Have been reading a few issues, shocked by the low prices and high dudgeon evinced by subscribers at price increases of pulps to as much as $3 for a late 1930s Black Mask issue. Didn’t find it indexed, so this is my take on the index, which i plan to submit to FictionMags once it’s done. Will post a few articles from it once I’m done indexing.

Sensor Sweep: Keys to Other Doors, Xenophile, Skylark of Space, Roger Zelazny published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

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tendance-news · 6 years

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Video

Scene of Deadly Attack at Egypt Mosque

At least 235 people were killed when militants detonated explosives and sprayed gunfire at a crowded Sufi mosque near Egypt’s Sinai coast.

By BARBARA MARCOLINI and CHRIS CIRILLO on

Publish Date

November 24, 2017. Photo by European Pressphoto Agency. Watch in Times Video »

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CAIRO — Militants detonated a bomb inside a crowded mosque in the Sinai Peninsula on Friday and then sprayed gunfire on panicked worshipers as they fled, killing at least 235 people and wounding at least 109 others. Officials called it the deadliest terrorist attack in Egypt’s modern history.

The scale and ruthlessness of the assault, in an area racked by an Islamist insurgency, sent shock waves across the nation — not just for the number of deaths but also for the choice of target. Attacks on mosques are rare in Egypt, where the Islamic State has targeted Coptic Christian churches and pilgrims but avoided Muslim places of worship.

The attack injected a new element into Egypt’s struggle with militants

because most of the victims were Sufi Muslims, who practice a mystical form of Islam that the Islamic State and other Sunni extremist groups deem heretical. And it underscored the failure of President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, who has justified his harsh crackdown on political freedom in the name of crushing Islamic militancy, to deliver on his promises of security.

“The scene was horrific,” said Ibrahim Sheteewi, a resident of Bir al-Abed, the small north Sinai town where the attack took place. “The bodies were scattered on the ground outside the mosque. I hope God punishes them for this.”

A Sinai police officer said the dead included at least 15 children. A witness put the toll even higher, saying he had helped gather the bodies of 25 children.

Continue reading the main story

Hours later the Egyptian military carried out several airstrikes near Bir al-Abed targeting militants fleeing in four-wheel-drive vehicles, an Egyptian military official said.

World leaders quickly condemned the mosque attack, with President Trump denouncing it as “horrible and cowardly.” He said later that it explained why the United States needed a border wall with Mexico and restrictions on immigration, which he referred to as “the ban.”

Donald J. Trump

✔@realDonaldTrump

Will be calling the President of Egypt in a short while to discuss the tragic terrorist attack, with so much loss of life. We have to get TOUGHER AND SMARTER than ever before, and we will. Need the WALL, need the BAN! God bless the people of Egypt.

7:49 PM - Nov 24, 2017

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Mr. Sisi has struggled to impose his authority over Sinai since he came to power in a military takeover in 2013. Islamist militants who had found a safe haven in Sinai for attacks on Israel then turned their guns on the Egyptian armed forces.

Continue reading the main story

Location of attack

Bir al-Abed

Cairo

EGYPT

Image via Google Earth

But even by recent standards in Egypt, where militants have blown up Christian worshipers as they knelt at church pews and gunned down pilgrims in buses, the attack on Friday was unusually ruthless.

“I can’t believe they attacked a mosque,” a Muslim cleric in Bir al-Abed said by phone, requesting anonymity for fear he could also be attacked.

No group claimed responsibility for the attack, but in the past year a local affiliate of the Islamic State has killed a number of Sufis in the area and singled out the district where the attack took place as a potential target.

The attack started midday during Friday Prayers when a bomb — probably set off by a suicide bomber, security officials said — ripped through Al Rawda mosque in Bir al-Abed, 125 miles northeast of Cairo. As worshipers fled, they were confronted by masked gunmen who, witnesses said, had pulled up outside in several four-wheel-drive vehicles.

The gunmen set fire to cars parked outside the mosque to hinder escape, and opened fire on ambulances as they arrived on the scene, a government official said on state television.

Mayna Nasser, 40, who was shot twice in the shoulder, drifted in and out of consciousness as he was rushed to a hospital. “My children were there; my children were there,” he said, according to Samy, a volunteer emergency worker who drove him there and who declined to give his last name.

Local emergency services were so overwhelmed that some of the wounded had to be transported to the hospital in the back of a cattle truck, he said.

Many were taken to the general hospital in the main northern Sinai town of El Arish, where medics described chaotic scenes as staff struggled to deal with a flood of dead and wounded, many with extensive burns or severed limbs.

Photo

Most worshipers at the mosque were Sufi Muslims, who practice a mystical form of Islam that some extremists consider heretical.

Credit

European Pressphoto Agency

“We are swamped,” said one medical official, speaking by phone on condition of anonymity. “We don’t know what to say. This is insane.”

Other victims, like Mohammed Abdel Salam, a 22-year-old construction worker, ended up in a hospital in the nearby city of Ismailia. “I wish I never stopped to pray,” he said. “I’m not even a Sufi. I was just there by accident.”

Mr. Sisi convened an emergency meeting of top security officials, including the interior minister, spy chief and defense minister. “The military and the police will take revenge,” he said in a televised speech.

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Until a spate of attacks on Christian churches this year, Egyptian militants had avoided large-scale assaults on Egyptian civilians, perhaps because such attacks tend to backfire. After a massacre in Luxor that killed 62 people, mostly tourists, in 1997, President Hosni Mubarak began a sweeping crackdown that crushed an Islamist insurgency centered in southern Egypt.

When a new insurgency flared in north Sinai after the military takeover in 2013, its leaders were careful to focus their attacks on uniformed security forces. But as those militants embraced the Islamic State, also known as ISIS or ISIL, they have gradually set aside that lesson.

An Islamist militia in Sinai, Ansar Beit al-Maqdis, pledged allegiance to the Islamic State in 2014 and has since proved to be one of its most effective local affiliates. The group’s deadliest attack targeted a Russian jetliner that crashed shortly after takeoff from Sharm el Sheikh in 2015, killing all 224 people on board.

In an interview published in an Islamic State magazine last January, a commander in Sinai outlined the group’s hatred for Sufis and their practices, including the veneration of tombs, the sacrificial slaughter of animals and what he termed “sorcery and soothsaying.”

The interview, in English, identifies Rawda, the district where Friday’s attack occurred, as one of three areas where Sufis live in Sinai that the group intended to “eradicate.”

Photo

Abdallah Abdel Nasser, 14, being treated at a hospital in Ismailia for wounds suffered in the attack.

Credit

Amr Nabil/Associated Press

It featured a photograph of a black hooded figure brandishing a sword over the kneeling figure of an elderly Sufi cleric, Sulayman Abu Hiraz, who was executed in Sinai in late 2016. The Islamic State said the cleric, said to be 100 years old, had been killed for practicing witchcraft.

Many residents of Bir al-Abed, on the main road through northern Sinai, are Bedouins from the Abu Greir tribe, which is predominantly Sufi. Residents said that despite recent Islamic State threats, the town had been largely peaceful.

The Islamic State, a Sunni movement, has long considered Sufis, along with Shiite Muslims, apostates, and has a history of attacking their mosques in other countries. Sufis may be Sunni or Shiite but most are Sunni.

Since 2016, when the militant group released a video describing Sufism as a “disease,” it has claimed attacks that have killed at least 130 worshipers at Sufi shrines, most of them in Pakistan. Elsewhere, the Islamic State has made a spectacle of bulldozing Sufi shrines, describing their removal as a form of purifying the faith.

Egyptian security forces have closely monitored Islamic State fighters returning from Syria and Iraq, amid worries that an influx of battle-hardened jihadis could insert a volatile new element into Egypt’s militant mix.

In October, Mr. Sisi ordered a major reshuffle of his security team after an ambush in the desert left at least 16 Egyptian security officials dead. That attack was later claimed by a previously unknown group called Ansar al-Islam, which is believed to have links to Al Qaeda.

Friday’s attack was a blow to Egypt’s hopes that it could stem the tide of Islamist violence in Sinai through the government’s sponsorship of a Palestinian peace initiative involving Hamas, the militant group that controls Gaza.

482COMMENTS

Islamic State militants have previously used tunnels into Gaza to obtain weapons and get medical treatment for wounded fighters. One benefit for Egypt of the peace initiative, which Egypt’s General Intelligence Directorate has mediated, is greater control over those tunnels.

In a statement, Hamas denounced the attack as a “criminal explosion” that “violates all heavenly commandments and human values” because it attacked a mosque. “It is a grave challenge to Muslims worldwide,” the group said.

#IFTTT #Blogger

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therevaliir-blog · 7 years

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Announcements: 09-05-2017

Days of Hebheka Writing Contest Winner:

When the three challengers were finished with their crafting and enchanting and each item was laid out before him after the demonstration of their use, he motioned to the shrouded beings with whom he conferred for a brief second. He nodded with them before turning to each of the crafted items. First he picked up the ring that was forged with the enchanted substance that had required the blood of two deities and the shadow of a third and regarded it for a moment. "This piece would surely be a boon to those who are trapped in the eternal love of the night. You put a lot of thought into the creation of this item," Drae said. "I will admit however, I was a little disturbed by what had to go into it to be created. Because of the requirement of certain… materials… I'm afraid that very few would ever be created," he said as he considered the vial of Liquid Moondrip and the ring that had bathed in it by fire. He set the vial and the ring down again upon the display. His walk to the set of frilly maid armor enchanted with lacriamium was a thoughtful one as he picked up the still relatively light garment. "This is an impressive creation, Jesgil. As a mage, I know that there is precious little than our own skills that keep us safe in the field of battle. Most armor hinders the somatic movements that spells require and for clerics and healers alike it is often too bulky to be practical for their skills. While the particular style definitely would not flatter MY figure" he said to the chuckle of the crowds around them"this armor would indeed be useful and practical to those who would use it on a daily basis. Well done!" Finally he moved on to the glittering flute that Myouga had created. He picked up the enchanted instrument and looked at the oni woman with eyes narrowed in interest. "You, my dear, had me wondering for a while," he told her with a bit of a smirk. "Had me guessing as to what you would be creating. At first there felt like no rhyme or reason to it, but I dare say you have pulled off a truly wondrous feat here. The use of the various items to take it from ordinary to something that kings and even dragons would fight for to have in their treasuries is surely impressive. And while I was not charmed to it as others in the audience were, I could feel its magic and I did actually start tapping my foot to its spritely tune. It takes a lot to be able to sway a deity like that, even just a little. I was also very impressed with your talent at alchemy and transmuting. You were very precise, and that precision certainly didn't harm you here," he said as he handed her back the flute. The Keeper moved back into the center of the gathering area, standing in front of the crowds and the final three. "Today was a great day! As Parvpora moves out of her full phase and begins to wade, we have seen something truly remarkable during these Days of Hebheka. Each of these talented women have brought before us something never seen before, in hopes to make it a reality in the world!" The Keeper said to the cheers of the crowds. "Unfortunately, with the joining of the moons failing… I only have the power to make one creation here permanent!" Drae moved up to Celeste, and motioned for his Avatar to come forward. "Celeste, you progressed far in this event, always managing to remain one step ahead of the competition. You showed ambition, intelligence, wit, and superb magical ability." He nodded to Iris who produced a rather large bag of silver and a spell scroll which she handed to her master. The Keeper passed these things to the Vaewolf and stepped back. "I have faith you will do well in the world as a mage. Continue to seek Knowledge," he added as he placed about her neck the Golden Amulet of Knowledge. "Tar Eisalae welcomes you!" He waved his hand over the ring and the vial of Liquid Moondrip and it shimmered for a moment and disappeared. He turned and walked to Jesgil. "You progressed far in this competiton, Jesgil. You showed creativity, and spunk. I liked that," he said as Iris handed him a larger bag of silver, a spell scroll, a velvet bag that contained a glowing bottle of starlight, and the small gold figurine of a sphinx that would come to life when broken. "I look forward to seeing what you will come up with in the future," he added encouragingly as he placed about her neck the Golden Amulet of Knowledge. "Tar Eisalae welcomes you!" Like the ring and the vial of Liquid Moondrip, he waved his hand over the Maid's Battle Armor and it shimmered into nothingness. Finally, he moved on to Myouga with Iris following closely behind him. "Well, well well. I will say, in this entirety of the challenges, I can honestly say that I saw no one that surprised me as much as you did, Myouga," he said with a slight laugh. "From the moment you entered the labyrinth, I knew you were going to be a force to be reckoned with," he said. He nodded at Iris, and as he placed the Golden Amulet of Knowledge around the oni woman's neck he spoke. "As of today, Myouga, you are the the Champion of the Days of Hebheka!" Cheers errupted from the stands as she was passed a purse of silver, a scroll, a bottle of starlight, and a sphinx figurine. He lifted up the flute that she had created. "And this flute, shall mark you as that champion, a reminder of all that you accomplished here," he said as he delicately gifted Myouga her creation. With a clap of his hands, portals began to open across the fields as the three challenge areas began to shiver and crumble into nothingness all around them, the energy that had held them through the time of great magick waning as Parvpora had begun to. OOC: Thank you so much to all who entered the Days of Hebheka Writing Contest! I couldn't have put this on without you!

The Living World:

SOMETHING IS HAPPENING! The closer Revaliir begins to get to Venti the more the skies glow an eerie green. Shrieks have begun to resonate from the desert but upon investigation… There are no answers. Reports of people disappearing in the desert late at night when traveling alone have caused the great nations of Arri and Mamlak to give caution.

Leather Issues:

Leather Straps were completely bugged I've begun to change out the areas, recipes, and I will need everyone with leather to send me a message so I can give you the new item. Once I get everything done I'll change Test Leather to Leather and add Leather Straps description to Leather. :3 -Brittlez, Administration

Site Changes:

- Pyzis has chosen to step down as Administrator. We hope to see her around in the future and wish you luck!

- Added: Reynash's Endless Bag to the Forge! For everyone who wanted a bag of holding ;)

- Seasonal Rotation New Items:

Ghostly Elephant

Pocket-Sized Succubus

Veille Mbanja

Spectre Labradorites

Mask of Relinquish

DaeLuin Closing:

On behalf of all Revaliir’s staff let me say I am truly sorry to see my home go even if I haven’t been there in over two years. I’ve discussed it with Telly(Darros) and we agree that it would be alright to have a personal archive for anyone who wants it on Revaliir’s server accessible by anyone who would want to read them. Please mark the threads are you would on here with the proper tags and make sure that if it is a PPT thread you are putting up that you password it as needed. If anyone from DL would like to post their threads here just for a record they are more than welcome to sign up and do it. Personal Archives I'll lock all threads once they are done so if you just shoot me a message I will lock them so no one can post them. This forum has no silver so feel free to separate the replies by posts. -Brittlez, Site Administration

Moderator Apps are Open! :

Activity is picking up at Revaliir! This means, that with Xunatar’s recent promotion to Administrator, we are in need of a new moderator! The ideal candidate will be a trustworthy and mature individual who is invested in this site. Moderators need to be capable of upholding the rules, assisting our members when needed, and helping our community continue thriving. We are also looking for someone who has a presence in the community both IC and OOC (including the Discord server). Sometimes, Moderators are asked to join discussions concerning other members, and they may learn information that is rather sensitive. If a Moderator is found telling any non-staff member about things discussed in the staff boards as well as the staff Discord channel, that Moderator will be removed. We want our members to feel that our staff is trustworthy, therefore we will not tolerate any information leaks. If you are interested in becoming a Moderator, please fill out the following application and PM it to Dalanesca. 1. Primary username (this is the account you would want to have moderator status). Please also list any alternate accounts you might have. (Let’s all just take a minute and be thankful that Brittlez can’t apply for a moderator position!) 2. Tell us about any experiences that you have as a moderator on other sites, or relevant skills that would make you an asset to our staff if you are chosen as a Moderator. 3. Why do you think you deserve the position of Moderator? Don’t just sell us on your abilities (though we want to hear about those too). What is one thing you would like to see happen on the site that would make Revaliir a better place? (Please try to keep this down to one or two paragraphs, around 250 words. We won’t hold it against you if it’s more, or less… but we don’t want you to get too carried away). 4. Take this into consideration: A member of Revaliir has messaged you and said they are receiving abusive messages from another Revaliir member. Keeping our rules and our harassment policy in mind, how would you handle this situation? We are going to keep applications open for about 2 weeks. Remember, if you need clarification on a question, you can ask an Administrator - but you cannot discuss the CONTENT of your app with any staff member. Good luck everyone!

#fantasy #writing #roleplay #rp #fantasy rp #announcements

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