omeganian

[omeganian]

At long last!

Finally finished translating this amazing fic. I hope I managed to do it justice.

The Seven Misfortunes of Lady Fortune by Ozero_Kate

Seven years ago, all the walls of her room were covered in posters of the beautiful green-eyed blond, Adrien Agreste, who was not only a renowned model, friend and classmate, but the target of an unrequited love. Now, that love was but a dim memory, and the only Agreste photo, hanging on her door, was, for one thing, that of his father, Gabriel, and for another, being used as a dartboard. Also, she no longer called herself Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Now with a TV Tropes page.

[omeganian]

J. R. R. TOLKIEN.   the fellowship of the ring.

[omeganian]

Rhiizz

For years now, Garrett Carsen was obsessed with the power of the kwami. Today, he will have that power. The power of a kwami so dangerous, no one dared to use its since its creation.

Garrett was leaning against the wall, looking at his employees working.

“How long until we have an entrance? This is taking too long.”

“Mr. Carsen, we are working with a wall in a structure which is at least four thousand years old, and, as far as I can tell, was never designed to have an opening. It all needs to be done properly,” a petite, dark woman explained.

“And I am in a hurry, Kelly Serret,” Garrett spoke in a calm voice. There was no need for him to threaten. The people on this mission knew him.

“Which is why I am not taking a week more to recheck everything,” she never did understand why something that’s been sealed for so many years couldn’t wait a bit more, but decided against speaking it out. Any problems that may arise will just prove her point.

Garrett sighed quietly. Yes, he knew it was stupid, but he was getting impatient. So much effort and money invested.

And today, it was all paying off.

*

It started when he saw the news from Paris. Those three people; Ladybug, Chat Noir, Hawk Moth. All that power.

He swore that day that he’ll have that power. Or even more.

For years, he searched for all the information he could find. A fortune of five hundred million, and a quarter of it was gone by now.

And every cent was worth it.

No, actually not. Twenty or so million were spent on false leads. But that couldn’t be helped.

But he found what he wanted.

The power came from ancient creatures called kwami. Created long ago, spawned from the very fabric of life, imbued with power beyond mortal means.

But there was more.

Every kwami, when born, had only its animal traits for a true personality. A special technique, The Technique, as the sources called it, was required to imbue them with human morals and traits. And studying The Technique, he realized one thing.

It could be used for more. All he needed was a kwami that never had a Chosen.

Of course, that was difficult.

But he found mentions of the Tombs. Places where kwami were sealed, too dangerous to ever be wielded by humans.

Fools.

Humans ruled Earth. No creature could be created by God that Man couldn’t defeat. So long as one had The Technique.

“Mr. Carsen, we’re about to breach the wall,” Kelly informed him.

“Good job,” he smiled at her.

Soon, that godlike power will be his.

Grinning, he brushed his fingers over the wall. Two creatures, a strange insect alongside a crab. And a writing.

He studied ancient scripts extensively. This was a Sumerian cuneiform of, most likely, the 24th Century BC.

Turn back, for beyond are sealed The Thread and the Mother, that which is beyond good and evil.

At least, that was the closest translation he could make. A few words were somewhat unclear, but it hardly mattered.

The power was his.

He always wanted an armor. A crab’s shell would do.

The last charges went off. The wall crumbled.

Beyond it, lay a dark tunnel.

Picking up a lantern, he set on.

“No one is to follow,” he said darkly. “Once I’m back, all of you will be rewarded. If you follow, you’ll be shot.”

No one had the slightest doubt he was serious.

*

Garrett entered the chamber. For thousands of years, it held the power that was now to be his. A power held in the box sitting upon a simple stone pedestal.

As he opened the box, there was a burst of light.

A tiny creature rose out of it.

Garrett felt his heart speed up. Here it was, a real, solid kwami. His kwami.

And a beautiful one.

A transparent, glasslike being, its shell glittering in both his lantern’s light and its own inner one. Smiling, it blinked at him with its single, glowing eye.

“Oh, hello,” it spoke in a quiet, singing voice.

“Hello. Where is the other kwami? The crablike one?”

“What? Oh, there is no other kwami. You must have seen a picture of what I can become.”

The creature paused.

“Have you come to free me?”

“In a way,” Garrett answered as he sat upon the pedestal which used to hold the box. “You see,” he explained. “I studied that Technique used to imprint morals upon the kwami, and I am quite certain I can use to take full control of you and your power. For us to become one.”

“What?” the creature’s voice was still surprisingly quiet for a being with its supposed power.

“You heard me,” he said. “And I am warning you, that’s the only kind of freedom you’ll get from me. A fair warning.”

“Never!” The creature darted in to a corner of the chamber. “I would rather wait ten thousand more years than have… that.”

“Be my guest,” was the answer. “There are other Tombs. I am sure some other kwami will be more cooperative,” he took out a clock and set it on the floor.

“You have five minutes.”

*

“Well, Kelly, sounds like it’s going to be a good day,” Kelly looked up. Mr. Aspen, the second in command of the expedition, was looking at her. “What are you going to do with your money?”

“I don’t have it yet, so I’ll hold my plans for now.”

“Come on, don’t tell me you mistrust our Master,” Aspen smiled. “You’ve seen the texts, you’ve seen his generosity. He can be harsh, but he’s fair. And don’t tell me you want to end up like the esteemed Mr. Hawker.”

“Did anyone mention my name?” They both turned toward the entrance, where another man stood.

“Just discussing how your behavior caused you to miss our Master’s triumph. He’s gone into the kwami chamber already.”

Daniel shook his head. “So I wanted to be sure it’s a proper type of creature. I am the closest thing you have to a biology expert. Was that reason to lock me up for a day?”

“Oh, it is the proper type of creature,” Aspen laughed. “Some nice little bug. Or a crab. There seem to be two.”

Daniel approached the wall. He squinted at the two carvings.

His eyes went wide. Grabbing a nearby lamp, he looked closer at the carvings. Actually, as Kelly noticed, at the crab carving.

“Crap!” As long as she knew him, she never knew him to curse. Certainly, she never expected the twenty or so extremely colorful words he spit out in half a minute.

*

“Well?” Garrett looked at the still huddling bug. It had less than twenty seconds left.

There was a barely audible sigh:

“Very well, Master. I accept.”

“Good,” he looked at the object which was left in the box. “Now, how do I use it? And don’t try to cheat. Oh, and I need your name, kwami.”

“Put the wristband on in a manner that will put it over a joint. And,” it hesitated, “My name is Rhiizz.”

“Very well,” Garrett Carsen said as he followed the instruction, snapping the crystal clear piece of jewelry on his wrist.

“Rhiizz, Transform me!”

In a flash of light, the kwami was sucked into the wristband.

Garrett blinked. Was that a smirk he glimpsed upon its face as it flew through the air? Well, it didn’t matter.

What did matter was the fact there was no transformation yet.

“Rhiizz?” he spoke with a hint of threat.

For a few seconds, there was no answer. Then, he felt something. A sharp sting under the wristband.

That was mentioned in no book.

“What the…” he looked at the band.

Where the sting was, it was no longer clear. A pattern of cracks spread out of that point. Within moments, the whole wristband was covered in them. A few more seconds, and it crumpled into pieces; nothing but a pile of dust on the floor.

He expected to see a shell emerging in its place. Or at least a superhero’s costume. But there was none.

Instead, he felt something inside himself. Both physical and metaphorical.

Sounds like there was a reason the creature was sealed. But it doesn’t matter.

He called upon The Technique. The tendrils spreading through his mind were obvious to one who studied. All he needed was to follow them to the source. There, he would find the place that held the animal’s mind. There, he would subdue it. Bend it to his will.

And make that Rhiizz sorry for not warning him…

He found the source. Pushing a bit, he entered that place where the animal was.

It was like falling on one’s face.

Right into a bottomless pit.

*

“No, NO!” Daniel was cursing no longer. “Why didn’t he wait for me?” He dashed for the corridor, only to have a gun face him.

“No one is to disturb the Master,” there was no hint of compromise in Aspen’s voice. Nor empathy.

“Listen, you must listen to me. What does that writing say?”

“Turn back, for beyond are sealed The Thread and the Mother, that which is beyond good and evil,” Kelly answered. “At least, that’s what it came down to when I worked on it alongside Mr. Carsen. There were words more fitting the meaning, but they made less sense.”

“Let me guess, Turn back, for beyond is sealed The Thread which is Mother, that which is beneath good and evil.”

Kelly blinked at him.

“How did you know?”

“No time to explain! We must stop him!” Daniel was begging now.

“Is this some kind of conspiracy?” Aspen’s gun barrel didn’t waver a hair. “Are you trying to stop us from receiving the Master’s reward?”

“There is no reward, there is nothing, there is only void!” It sounded like he was going mad. “Didn’t you see the pattern on that crab? Don’t you remember what the Boss said? The Technique works by merging with the animal’s mind!”

“You have ten second to explain properly,” Aspen snapped at him. “Or you are dead.”

“Mr. Aspen, please, stop,” Kelly approached the two of them. “I can tell he’s honest.”

Before either man could speak, there was a strange noise. Like the shifting of the tomb’s very walls. But there was something else. A hint of life.

“Too late,” Daniel whispered. “Run!!!”

“No one is running,” Aspen stepped back, so that he could both hold the other too under his gun, and watch the tunnel. “The Master’s gifts are here, and…”

He wasn’t prepared for what came next.

*

Garrett was kneeling on the floor. It was terrifying. He had never been more afraid.

Wracking pain? Paralysis? Demonic laughter in his mind, with that accursed Rhiizz mocking him for falling into a trap?

These would have been horrifying. He dreamed of similar things while he was studying The Technique, afraid that he might fumble something.

But this was worse.

Far worse.

Because when he entered the place, there was nothing there. He found no mind. All he found was a void. And now that void was consuming him.

Piece by piece, he felt his mind breaking apart, crumbling, being sucked into the void. Memories, emotions, skills. Everything that made up Garrett Carsen was vanishing.

And there was no glee on Rhiizz’es side. There was nothing. He tried to speak to it, to find something, some hint to its purpose or motivation.

But Rhiizz was silent. There was no sign of it existing anymore.

Suddenly, he felt something. Something on his belly. With the last of his mind, he forced himself to lift his shirt.

Ghastly yellowish veins were spreading across his front. The once toned belly now looked like it was bubbling.

He would have felt even more terrified at that.

Except now, even the overwhelming terror was crumbling, vanishing into the colorless void.

And within seconds, Garrett followed.

*

Right before the eyes of the three, the walls came alive. The stone became fleshlike.

Suddenly, tendrils burst out of one wall. The worker closest to the entrance of the tunnel didn’t even have time to scream before they grabbed his body.

A second later, the tendrils withdrew.

The worker looked around him. There was no malice on his face. No fear. There was nothing. His eyes were utterly empty of all emotion. Unflinching, he stood in place.

Another suffered the same fate. And another.

“RUN!” Daniel shouted, grabbing Kelly’s hand. She didn’t argue.

Aspen still couldn’t believe it. Was something wrong with The Technique? Was it some kind of trick? Was… was the kwami some animal stronger than his Master?

And he didn’t believe it.

Not even the very moment the tendrils took his very being.

*

The two ran out with all the speed the could muster. There was nothing to debate. The only time they slowed down was to sound a General Evacuation alarm in the camp.

They didn’t stick behind to see who would respond.

“I’ll defeat any creature God can create,” Daniel spat out as he started the car. It seemed his way of getting over his fear involved a lot of mockery. “What an idiot.”

“What was Mr. Carsen’s mistake?” Kelly asked as the car left the camp behind. Despite herself, she found the courage to look back at the hill containing the Tomb.

It was alive. Not writhing, as one would expect, but merely pulsating; a gentle, mindless breathing. Thankfully, it no longer seemed to spread.

“The mistake? Well, Darwin did create his theory after taking a few proper looks at nature. And this is one of the creatures that, I believe, he studied rather extensively. Simply speaking, it’s not the kind of creature one would believe God can create.”

“So, will you tell me?” the girl leaned back into her seat.

“Since it is going to be a couple of hours at least before we reach a town,” Daniel looked at the dashboard. At least Carsen was methodical about keeping the cars fueled and in good order. “And maybe a few minutes less before I can access the Internet and hopefully contact some proper kwami holder, I might as well.”

*

Yes, some of the people did manage to get away. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Ten people walked out of the living hill. Twenty more approached them. Not one of them looked at another. Not one of them did much of anything.

A blob formed itself on the hillside right next to them. It burst, and a creature walked out.

No one acknowledged its existence. There was no bowing, no cheering, not a word, not a glance.

The creature, on the surface, resembled Carsen. But there were differences, too.

The toned musculature he spent so much time exercising for, was gone. No, this creature had a slim, androgynous appearance. And, of course, just like with everyone, its face expressed nothing.

Not even glee at its success.

And what a success it was.

An animal’s mind can be subdued, easily enough.

When one is present.

An animal has fear for its existence, desire to find others for procreation, a drive to move to a new place…

Or does it?

Because how can you have these things, when your needs are taken care of without any need for you to move, when you don’t even need to move a muscle for swallowing a bit of water with food in it, when conditions are ideal without you having to do a thing.

When other find you for procreation.

When you cannot move to a new place.

When you can do nothing to avoid a danger that might be coming your way.

When everything is done for you.

And you don’t even have a brain to speak of.

When spreading isn’t your desire.

It's merely you only nature.

And that’s why, thousands of years ago, once the ancient Guardians realized what they have created alongside the others, they sealed these kwamis away.

But now, after all these thousands of years…

The Sacculina was loose.

[omeganian]

please, help content creators

with tumblr’s no-more-n.sfw purge already going strong, randomly flagging image posts just for containing a colour that resembles bare skin, we gotta have each others’ backs here, folks!!

if you come across posts that have been flagged even tho they are completely PG, let their creators know, please!!

because despite what they are saying, i have yet to receive a single email notices from tumblr about the 5 newly flagged posts of mine, and it’s been the same for other artists and gifmakers i’ve contacted since last night after noticing something of their’s had been flagged.

they flag posts, but they do NOT (yet? always? ever?) tell creators about it!

having our creators’ backs is especially important for those who have attached their work to reblogs of already existing post, e.g. creator sees image post that inspires them to write something (fictional or non-fictional) or create artwork in response to the image, then reblogs original image posts and adds their work in the captions to it -im sorry i cant find better examples right now, but i know response works like the ones link here exist for n.sfw posts as well-, bcos they will never get notified by tumblr since the original posts aren’t their own, but their reblogs containing new works will disappear nevertheless

[omeganian]

ARE computers flammable? I feel like they’re probably not?

[omeganian]

An old story that Ladybug fanfiction keeps reminding me of.

Somehow, I remember this story whenever I read about Marinette meeting up with Gabriel (when he’s written as a reasonable person).

In the 19th century, there lived a medic in Russia, named Grigory Zakharin (1829-1898). Definitely a most talented man, but, due to his temper, there were a lot of legends being told about him. Here is one, as retold by Valentin Pikul:

The son of the commandant of the Kerch fortress, the young leibgarde hussar Navrotsky, had arrived at Moscow, to have some fun away from the strictness of Saint Petersburg.

On a ball at the Gentry Assembly, he met a girl vaguely resembling a Spaniard – jet-black hair, piercing eyes, a dazzling smile of even teeth, named Natalia Zakharina. The dashing hussar didn’t care much about the details – what Zakharins, especially since it was a well known last name. The young people fell in love immediately… And Navrotsky’s friends, upon learning Natalia’s father in the Zakharin, were doing their best to talk the hussar out of courtship:

“The bride is good, but… what about the father-in-law? Take these businessmen, the Khludovs! So wealthy and fearless, one slept with a tiger in his bed for two years. Then, Zakharin came to them, took a thousand ruble fee, smashed all the windows in the Khludovs’ house, ordered that all the sauerkraut “from the times of Ochakov of conquering Crimea ” (1780s) ” be thrown to the dump – such a stench there was, the whole street ran away…”

Zakharin didn’t allow any visitors at his home, and as for the door of the clinic, the hussar was detained by two mighty doormen with medals for the defense of Shipka Pass, as well as the professor’s favorite – the feldsher Ilovaysky.

“You can’t, you can’t!” they chorused. “What are you doing, how can you bother… you’ll doom us all. Better that you schedule an appointment as a patient; that way he’ll hear you out.”

Navrotsky scheduled an appointment, humbly (not in a hussar fashion at all) waited for his turn, and was led into the “luminary”’s office. The grim professor sat behind the deck; his bald head was gleaming brightly, his glasses were shining, the black eyebrows were moving like leeches, and out of his beard, a pointy nose was sticking out like a hawk’s beak.

“What’s bothering you?” Zakharin asked in a strict tone.

“In love… with your daughter. Give us your blessing.”

There was no change in the professor’s expression.

“Get undressed,” he ordered.

“What do you mean undressed?” the suitor asked.

“From the waist up…”

What followed was a thorough, comprehensive inspection of the leib-hussar’s organism, with orders to breath deep or not at all, interspersed with business questions:

“Was your maternal grandfather prone to drinking?.. How old was your daddy when you were born? Ever had any pains here?”

“No. No pains.”

“Lucky. You may get dressed.”

After which, sitting back at his table, the professor took the patient’s card, and wrote at the top: “No deviations found. Fit for marriage.”

“What am I to do with this card?” the hussar asked.

“Whatever you want, throw it out for all I care! Today -” Zakharin looked at the calendar “- is an odd day, so you are to pay me a hundred rubles. Had you come tomorrow, on an even day, it would have only been fifty. That’s my procedure.”

Navrotsky wanted to tell his future father-in-law some nice words, but Zakharin was already looking past him – into the doorway!

“Next one!” he shouted to the resident…

[omeganian]

I wonder what Emma's Islands of Personality are like.

I had to re-watch Inside Out for this but here is how I imagine Unexpected Surprise Emma’s Islands of Personality to be.

Family Island - is the biggest and strongest one. Emma treasures family above all. That is the reason she tries to stick to the people she knows and refuses to be babysat by others until a certain point in the future. Of course, once her family is completed with a father and a new grandfather, Emma would expand her circle and start accepting new people in her life, forming a Friendship Island. For now, she sticks by her family, which at the start of Unexpected Surprise includes her Mom Marinette, Grandfather Tom and Grandmother Sabine, Uncle Nino and Aunt Alya. By the end of the fic, she will acquire Daddy Adrien and Grandfather Gabriel.  

Loyalty Island - if anything Emma is very loyal, a trait she inherited from both of her parents. This island stands next to her Family one and is connected by a bridge, as the two for her are connected innately.

Daddy Island - Emma was obsessed with having a Daddy and even had a separate island for him. It featured a lot of roofs and a Perfect Daddy Generator. Oddly enough, her perfect Daddy looked quite similar to Adrien and loved to scale buildings. “I would rescue Emma” was his catchphrase. Of course, this island was towed and anchored to her Family one to form one massive island once a certain blond CEO/supermodel came back and discovered a little girl that looked like his mother with an addition of Marinette’s freckles. However, even after joining into the Family Island, Daddy’s district remains special to Emma and just a little bit more fancy than the rest of the area - Emma will always be Daddy’s daughter and adore him adore others, something Adrien feels he didn’t deserve. Marinette is completely fine with it. She is just happy seeing her baby’s dreams come true. 

Goofball Island - I don’t think this one needs explaining. Emma loves to have fun, she likes to pun, to play pretend and simply goof around. She is Ladybug and Chat Noir’s daughter - she always was a goofball, and she would always be one… unless she is visiting her grandfather Gabriel, where she tries her best to behave and be more mature. He very much appreciates it. Special places here are Ice Cream Mountains, Unicorn Stables, and Sparkly Princess Castle. Dreams Production often shoots their films on this island. Family one is another of their favorites.

Superhero Island - she likes superheroes and anything to do with them, but Chat Noir holds a special place in her heart. For now at least. Stuffed Animals Hall of Fame and Emma’s Art Gallery made their home here, mostly because most of Emma’s toys and art are superhero themed. She draws quite a lot of her family and princessy stuff, but action scenes involving different superheroes are her forte. Stuffed Animals Hall of Fame features mostly Chat Noir stuffies. Unsurprisingly. 

Fashion Island - she likes fashion. It’s in her genes. Period.

[omeganian]

Reblog this if you think writing is an art

I literally had to reblog this twice in a row

[omeganian]

Reblog if you’re over 20 and still read/write fan fiction.

I’m curious!

[omeganian]

I've recently discovered the fic A Different Type of Inspiration. Reread it a few times, then my mom returns from a vacation and shows me a new wallet she bought there. "What do you think it is made of?" she asks. I take a look... yup, that's right. Cork.

[omeganian]

Duprees and Bourgeois. Brentwoods and Raincomprix. I really wonder how closely the families are related; there seem to be at least a dozen shared chromosomes apiece.

[omeganian]

The Opal

   King Nureddin at sixteen years of age ascended the throne of Syria. It was at the time when, as stated by Ariosto, the spirit of chivalry has bent all nations to the laws of honor alone, and united all the tribes of various faiths in a single worship of beauty.

 King Nureddin has not vainly worn the royal crown; he surrounded it with the shine of war and victories and spread the thunder of Syrian arms far beyond the state’s borders. In battles and duels, magnificent tournaments and lonely journeys, among Muslims and infidels – everywhere Nureddin’s sword left deep marks of his luck and valor. His name was often repeated behind the Round Table of the Twelve Valiant, and many of Charlemagne’s famous champions carried on their fearless chests the story of Nureddin’s feats, carved with clear scars through their hewn armor.

 Thus through luck and valor has the Syrian king achieved both power and honor for himself; but his heart, deafened by the thunder of combat, understood only one beauty – danger, and knew but one feeling – a thirst for glory, unquenchable, limitless. Nor the ringing of glasses, nor the songs of troubadours, nor the fair maidens’ smiles could stop but for a moment the invariable course of his thoughts; after a combat he prepared for a new combat; after a victory he sought not rest, but considered new victories, planned new struggles and conquests.

 Despite that, however, it happened once that Syria was at peace with all its neighbors, when Origell, the king of China, gave a new task to Nureddin’s sword. Insignificant disputes between their subjects have accidentally reached the rulers’ ears, resentment grew mutually, and soon the death of one of the kings became the only honorable condition for peace.

 Marching out, Nureddin swore with his head and honor before the army and the people; not to see the walls of Damask until the entire China submits to his scepter, and Origell himself answers with his head for his offenses. Never yet has Nureddin swore in vain.

 A month later, all the provinces of China, one after another, bowed to Nureddin’s sword. The defeated Origell with the remains of his chosen forces locked himself in his capital. The siege began.

 Finding no way of reprieve, Origell started asking for peace, ceding to the victor half of his kingdom. Nureddin answered that he shares not with his enemies – and the siege continues.

 Origell’s army is reduced daily in number and spirit; the food supplies are running out; Nureddin does not agree to the most humble requests.

 Despair took the king of China; each day Origell’s condition grows worse; each day Nureddin receives a new advantage. In despair, the Chinese king offered Nureddin his entire kingdom of China, all the rights, all the titles, only to be permitted to leave with his treasures, his wives, kids and favorites. Nureddin remains implacable – and the siege continues.

 Finally, seeing the inevitability of his demise, Origell surrendered everything, the treasures, the favorites, the children, the wives - and begged for life alone. Nureddin, recalling his oath, rejected that offer as well.

 The siege continues, ever stronger, ever more irresistible. Ready for anything, the Chinese king decided to use one last, desperate resort for salvation - sorcery.

 In his besieged capital stood a huge, ancient palace, which remained empty over a hundred years already, because an evil deed has once been committed there, so terrible that the very tale of it has disappeared from the memory of people; for one who knew it, dared not repeat it to another, and one who knew not, dared not hear it out.

 Therefore, the tale was only that some evil deed was committed, and that the palace remained defiled ever since. There Origell went, consoling himself with the thought that it won’t be worse that it will be.

 Amid the palace, he found a pitch; amid the pitch was a tent with a golden knob; amid the tent was a stair with flowering rails; the stair brought him to an underground passage; the passage brought him to a clearing, surrounded by an impassable forest; amid the clearing stood a hut; amid the hut sat a Dervish and read a Black Book. Origell described to him his situation and asked for aid.

 The Dervish opened the Book of the Heavens and found in it; under which star was Nureddin born, and in what constellation the star is, and how far it is from the mortal earth.

 Upon finding the star’s place in heavens, the Dervish started looking for its place in the heavenly fates, and for that he opened another book, the Book of Magical Signs, where upon a black page, a fiery circle was revealed to him: many stars shone on the circle, some inside, others on the edge. Nureddin’s star stood in the very center of the fiery circle.

 Seeing this, the sorcerer reflected, and then spoke to Origell as follows:

 “Woe to thee, o king of China, for invincible is thy foe and no charms can defeat his luck; his luck is contained within his heart, and strongly is his soul built, and all his intentions must come true; for he never wished for the impossible, never sought the unfeasible, never loved the unreal, and thus can no sorcery affect him!”

 “However, - continued the Dervish, - I could have defeated his luck, I could have entangled him with charms and incantations, had there been a maiden fair enough in the world to rouse inside him such love that would have raised his heart above his star and would have forced him to think thoughts inexpressible, to seek a feeling intolerable and to speak the inconceivable; then I could have destroyed him.”

 “Also, I could have destroyed him, had there been an old man in the world, one who would have sung to him such a song which could have carried him beyond lands and seas to the edge of the world, where the stars are setting.”

 “I could have also destroyed him, had there been a place in nature, with mountains, with hills, with vales, with rivers, with ravines, such a place, that would have been so beautiful that Nureddin, looking upon it, would have forgotten but for a minute his daily concerns.”

 “Then my charms could have affected him.”

 “But there is no such maiden in the world, there is no such old man on earth, there is no such song and no such place in nature.”

 “Thus Nureddin cannot perish.”

 “And thou, king of China, hast no salvation even in sorcery.”

 At these words of the sorcerer, Origell’s despair reached the ultimate degree, and he wanted to leave the Dervish’s hut, when the latter stopped him with the following words:

 “Wait, king of China! There is one more way to defeat thy foe. Look, do thou see Nureddin’s star? High, it seems, it stands in heavens, but, should thou want to, my charms will go higher still. I shall tear the star from heavens; I shall attract it to earth; I shall squeeze it into a spark; I shall lock it in a prison secure – and I shall save thee; but for that, Sire, must thou bow to my master, and deliver to him a subject’s sacrifice.”

 Origell agreed to everything. The incense was burned, the sign was drawn on the ground, the word was spoken, and the ritual was conducted.

 That night – the armies were resting both in the city and in the camp – the sentries were silently walking back and forth and called one to another slowly; silently some star came off its place in the sky and falls, falls – on the dark dome, behind a dark forest; the sentries have stopped: the star disappeared – where? Unknown; only a bright trail was flowing where it has been falling; and that but for a minute; again the sky is dark and silent; the sentries went on as scheduled.

 At the morning, the sword-bearer entered Nureddin’s tent: “Sire! Some monk from the mountain of Ararat wants to see thy royal face; he says he has important mysteries to tell thee”.

 “Let him in”!

 “What do thou want of me, holy father?”

 “Sire! For sixty years I left not my cell, in the stars and books have I been learning the wisdom and mysteries of creation. I penetrated the innermost secrets of nature; I see the insides of earth and sun; the future is clear before my eyes; the destiny of men and nations is revealed before me!..”

 “Monk! What do thou want of me?”

 “Sire! I brought thee a ring, in which thy star is contained. Take it, and thy destiny will be in thy hands. Should thou put it on the little finger of thy left hand and look into the shine of this stone, thou shalt see thy happiness there; but there thou shalt also see thy demise, and on thee alone shall thy fate depend then, great king…”

 “Old man – Nureddin interrupted him – If all the innermost secrets are revealed before thee, then how come that which is known to all the world is a secret to thee? Perhaps thou alone dost not know, ancient hermit, that Nureddin’s destiny is in his hands without thy ring, that his happiness is contained in his sword. I need no star other than the one sparkling on this blade – look at how this iron shines, and how it can punish deceivers!..”

 At these words Nureddin took his sword; but when he drew it, the old monk was far outside the king’s tent, on the way to the enemy camp. A few minutes later the sword-bearer entered Nureddin’s headquarters again.

 “Sire! The monk who exited thy tent recently, has been back. He told me to give thee this ring, and asks that thou ascertain his words with thy own eyes.”

 “Where is he? Bring him here!”

 “Upon leaving me the ring, he disappeared immediately in the forest adjoining our camp, saying only he shall come tomorrow.”

 “Very well. Leave the ring here, and when he shall come, let him into my room.”

 The ring was not impressing through masterwork. A round opal, set in gold simply, was dimly shooting the colors of rainbow.

 “Is my destiny inside this stone? – thought Nureddin. – Tomorrow thou shalt learn thy destiny from me far more certainly, impudent deceiver!..” Yet meanwhile, the king was putting the ring on his left hand’s little finger, and, looking upon the tinted stone, tried to discover anything unusual in it.

 And indeed, in the cloudily-celestial color of this ring was some special shine which Nureddin never noticed in other opals. As if a spark of fire was hidden within, which was playing and moving, now dimming, now igniting anew, and, with every movement of his hand, burning brighter and brighter.

 The longer Nureddin looked at the stone, the better he saw the flame, and the brighter the stone grew. Here the flame stopped; a bright star deep inside the opal, the misty shine of which was spreading inside it; like the air of the evening sky, covered sparsely with light clouds.

 In this light mist, in this bright, distant star, there was something irresistibly attractive for the king of Syria; not only could he not take his gaze away from the wonderful ring, but, forgetting at that time both war and Origell, focused he upon looking at the marvelous flame, which, now splitting into a rainbow, now merging again into a little sun, grew bigger and closer all the time.

 The more Nureddin focused on looking inside the opal, the deeper and more bottomless it seemed to him. Little by little, the golden circle around the stone turned into a round window, through which shone another sky, brighter than ours, and another sun; as bright, as radiant, but as if even merrier and not as blindingly.

 The new sky grew more and more shiny and detailed; the sun bigger and bigger; now it grew larger than that of earth, bigger and grander, and although blinding, yet still irresistible and attractive; fast it rolled closer and closer; or, rather, Nureddin knew not; is the sun approaching him, or is he the one flying toward the sun.

 Now another phenomenon strikes his strained senses; from underneath the rolling sun a muffled and indistinct rumble sounds, like the roar of a distant wind, or the groan of bells falling silent; and the closer the sun, the clearer the rumble. Now can Nureddin clearly recognize different sounds in it: like thousands of harps are joining with manystringed notes into a consonant song; like thousands of voices are built into a single accord, some dying, some being born, and all obeying a single, varying, flowing, unbounded harmony.

 These sounds, these songs, reached the depths of Nureddin’s soul. For the first time he knew what delight is. As if his heart, formerly mute, struck with the voice of his star, suddenly acquired both hearing and speech; so a ringing metal, brought to light for the first time through art, upon meeting another metal shakes to the depths of its structure, and rings back to it with its own sound. Listening hungrily to the music around him, Nureddin could not tell; what is inside his heart, and what is outside.

 Now the rolling sun covered the entire dome of its sky; all burned with the glow; the air became hot, and stifling, and blinding; the music turned into a deafening thunder; and here – the flame disappeared, the sounds fell silent, and the mute sun lost its rays, and yet it grew closer and closer, shining with the cold glow of a rising moon. However, constantly dimming, soon that glow was gone as well; the sun took the appearance of earth, and now – reached him… struck… turned… and – Earth? Ring? Nureddin, not knowing how, found himself on a new planet.

 Everything here was strange and unseen: mountains piled of cut diamonds; enormous rocks of pure silver, decorated with natural reliefs; graceful statues and perfect columns, growing of gold and marble. There be dazzling pavilions of colored crystals. There be a grove, and its cool shade is filled with the most gentle, most entrancing fragrance. There, a fountain spouts with wine sparkling and bright. There, a river is splashing quietly against its green shores; but in the splashing, in this voice of the waves there is something sentient, something clear without words, some wise tale about the impossible, yet real; some tale magical and alluring. Instead of the wind, music was blowing here; instead of the sun; the air itself was shining. Instead of clouds, clear images of men and gods were flying; as if removed with a magical wand from the painting of a great artist, they, light, rose to the sky, and, floating in their graceful movements, were swimming in the air.

 For a long time, the Syrian king was walking in sweet reflections upon the new world, and neither his sight nor his hearing ever rested from constant rapture. And yet, among the beauty surrounding him, another thought was forcing his way into his soul: with sighs, he recalled the music which his star played, approaching; he fell in love with that music as if it was not a voice, but a living being; the longing for it was mixed into his every feeling, and hearing these charming sounds again became his sole, painful desire.

 Meanwhile, in the depth of a green forest, a shining palace was revealed to him, cast wondrously from frozen smoke. The palace seemed flowing, and ruffling, and playing colors, and yet, stood strong and still. Transparent columns of pearly color were decorated with garlands of pink clouds. The smoky portico was rising like a slender rainbow, showing grace of the strictest proportions; the enormous dome seemed to be a round cascade, falling in all directions as a bright arc, without river or splashes: everything in the palace seemed alive, everything was playing, and the entirety of it looked like a floating cloud, and yet this cloud always retained its strict shape. Nureddin’s heart beat strongly when he approached the palace: an expectation of some unknown happiness filled his spirit and tormented his chest. Suddenly, light doors have opened, and, dressed in sunbeams, crowned with bright stars, girdled with a rainbow, a maiden came out.

 “That’s her!” – the Syrian king exclaimed. Nureddin has recognized her. Although a misty veil hid her face, from her lithe figure, her graceful movements and her orderly steps, only a blind man would have failed to recognize that this maiden was the very Music of the Sun which has so captured his heart.

 As soon as the maiden saw the Syrian king, that very moment she turned her back to him, and, as if afraid, started running along the wide alley covered with fine silver sand. The king follows.

 The closer he is, the faster the maiden runs, and the more the king hastens his pace.

 Grace in all her movements; hair spread over her shoulders; fast feet barely leave their narrow, slender prints on the silver sand; but here is the king close to her; now he reached her, want to embrace her slender figure, - she escapes, fast, fast… as if Grace turned into Bolt; lightly, beautifully… as if Bolt turned into Grace.

 The maiden has disappeared; the king remained alone, tired, displeased. In vain he sought her in the palace and over the gardens; there were no traces of the maiden anywhere. Suddenly, from behind a bush, music blew at him, as if a question: why hast thou come here?

 “I swear by the beauty of this world,” – replied Nureddin, - “that I have not come here to harm thee, and I shall not do anything against thy will, fair maiden, if only thou shalt come out to me and shalt but for a minute reveal thy face”.

 “How did thou come here?” – The same music blew at him. Nureddin has told how he came by the ring, and as soon as he finished, from a shadowed pavilion came out that maiden; and the same moment the king woke up in his tent.

 The ring was on his hand, and before him stood Khan Arbaaz, the bravest of his generals and the wisest of his advisors. “Sire!” – he told Nureddin, - “while thou slept, the enemy broke into our camp. None of the courtiers have dared wake thee, but I did, afraid that the victory might be in doubt without thy presence.”

 A harsh, angry stare was the answer to the minister; reluctantly Nureddin put on his sword and exited the tent.

 The battle was over. The Chinese armies have again locked themselves inside their walls; Nureddin, returning to his tent, again stared at the ring. Again the star, again the sun and music, and the new world, and the cloud palace, and the maiden. Now she was more open with him, but still raised not her veil.

 The Chinese have attacked again. The Syrians have again driven them off; but Nureddin lost the best of his forces, who were not aided much in combat by his hand, once invincible. Often in the heat of battle the Syrian king reflected upon his ring, and in the middle of the battle remained its indifferent spectator, and, being a spectator, as if saw something different.

 A few days have passed thus. Finally, the king grew tired of the worries of the war camp. Every minute not spent inside the opal was intolerable for him. He forgot both the glory and the oath: he was the first to send Origell the offer of peace, and, making it upon shameful conditions, returned to Damask; entrusted to his viziers the governing of his realm, locked himself in his palace and upon the penalty of death forbade his courtiers to enter the royal chambers without a special order.

 Nureddin spent nearly all the time on his star, at maiden’s side, but was yet to see her face. Once, touched by his requests, she agreed to raise the veil; and the beauty which was revealed before his eyes could not be described by words, even magical ones, and the feeling which took over him at her look, cannot be imagined even in a dream. If the Syrian king did not die that very minute, it wasn’t, of course, because people die not from delight, but, most likely, simply because that star had no death.

 Meanwhile the ministers of Nureddin cared more about their profit than the good of the state. Syria was growing weary from mismanagement and lawlessness. The servants of the ministers’ servants oppressed the people; the rich were showered with honors; the poor suffered; the people despaired, and the neighbors laughed.

 Nureddin’s life upon the star was the middle between a dream and reality. The clarity of thoughts, the freshness of experiences could only belong to a life while awake; but the charms of the objects, the constant rapture of his senses, the music of the feelings of his heart and the dreaminess of all around him made his life more like a dream than reality. The Music Maiden seemed also a blending of two words. The expression of her face, constantly changing, was always in consent with Nureddin’s thoughts, so that her beauty seemed to him as much a reflection of his heart as a reflection of her soul, Her voice was between a sound and a feeling; listening to it, Nureddin knew not, whether he hears the music, or is everything silent and he merely imagines it? In every word of hers he found something new for the soul, and everything together was for him some happy recollection of something from before life. Her speech always went where his thoughts went, just as the expression of her face always followed his feelings, and yet, everything she said constantly elevated his former understanding, just as her beauty constantly amazed his imagination. Often, hand in hand, they walked silently over the wondrous world; or, seating near the wondrous river, listened to its wondrous tales; or they looked at the blue shine of the skies; or, resting upon the wavy sofas of the cloud palace, tried to gather into definite words all that was dispersed in their lives; or, spreading her veil, the maiden made it into a flying carpet, and together they flew into the air, and swam among the beautiful clouds; or, rising high, they left matters to the winds, and flew fast over the boundless spaces, and went where the sight reaches not, and the thought gets not, and flew, and flew so that their breath stopped…

 But the position of Syria was constantly growing worse, and all the more dangerous because all over Asia, terrible overturns occurred. Ancient cities collapsed; enormous kingdoms shook and fell; new appeared by force; peoples moved away from their places; unknown tribes raided from places unknown; there were no borders anymore between realms; no one believed tomorrow; everyone prayed for the current moment; Nureddin alone cared for nothing. The internal mismanagement from all sides have opened Syria before external foes, province was breaking off after province, and even the most shortsighted minds started predicting its near demise.

 “Maiden!” - said Nureddin once to the Music Maiden - “Kiss me!”

 “I cannot,” – the maiden replied, - “should I kiss thee, I will lose all the distinction of my charm and will equal with my beauty the normal beauties of the mortal earth. There is, however, a way to fulfill thy wish without losing my beauty… it depends on thee… listen: if thou love me, give me thy ring; shining upon my hand, it will destroy the harmful effect of thy kiss.”

 “But how shall I come to thee without the ring?”

 “As thou see my earth in this ring, so shall I see thy earth in it, as thou come to me now, so shall I come to thee,” – said the Music Maiden, and, removing his ring with one hand, she embraced him with the other. And as soon as her lips touched Nureddin’s lips, and the ring from his hand passed onto the maiden’s, that very moment, which lasted, probably, no more than a minute, the new word suddenly disappeared along with the maiden, and Nureddin, still weary with delight, found himself alone of a soft sofa in his palace.

 For a long time he awaited the promised coming of the Music Maiden, but she came not in that day; nor in two; nor in a month; nor in a year. In vain he sent people to all the ends of the earth, looking for the hermit of Ararat; already the last of them returned without success. In vain he exhausted his treasures, buying round opals from everywhere; in none of them did he find his star.

 “There is but one star for each man” –sages told him, - “thou, sire, hast lost thy, another thou shalt not find anymore!”

 Anguish took over the king of Syria, and he, of course, would not have hesitated to drown it in the cold waves of his golden sanded Barada, had he not only feared to lose along with his life the last shadow of the former delights – a sad, dark delight: remembering his sun.

 Meanwhile, the same Origell who not long ago trembled before Nureddin’s sword, was now besieging his capital himself. Soon the walls of Damask were destroyed, the Chinese army broke into the royal palace, and all of Syria along with its king fell under the rule of the Chinese emperor.

 “Here is an example of the vicissitude of luck,” – said Origell, pointing at the chained Nureddin before his generals – “now he is a slave, and along with the freedom has lost all the shine of his old name. Thou deserve thy death,” – he continued, speaking to the king of Syria – “But I cannot refuse thee mercy, seeing in thy misery the power of fate even more than my own fault. I want to, as much as possible, reward thee for losing thy throne. Tell me, What do thou want of me? What among the lost do thou miss most? Which of the palaces would thou like to keep? Which slaves? Choose the best of my treasures, and if thou want, I shall allow thee to be my deputy on thy former throne!”

 “I thank thee, sire!” Answered Nureddin, - “But of all thou took away from me, I miss nothing. While I valued power, wealth and glory, I knew how to be both wealthy and powerful. I lost all these goods only after I stopped desiring them, and unworthy of my care I consider that which the people envy. Vanity is all the goods of earth! Vanity is all that charms the desires of man, and the more captivating; the less truthful, the more vanity! A deception is all the beautiful, and the more beautiful, the more deceptive; because the best there is in the world is – a dream”.

     December the 30th 1830.

 Moscow.