#//or at least the mortal shell they inhabited which was the thing passed down to humans

[originemesis]

// I've seen some funny takes over the first humans and shipping in and out of platforms and liiiiike...maybe this is different depending on the denomination of Christianity, but here's what I go by when it comes to both Adam and Abel:

Though it is not specifically stated one way or the other if Abel had children (or a wife for that matter... because where would they come from unless all the humans did the incest and got with whatever daughters Adam and Eve had- spoilers...they did). However it is implied that he was killed before he could pass his lineage down. This is why there's a heavy emphasis on Seth being Abel's replacement, both in the void left in his parents (a fucked up topic for another day) and a lineage maker. So by that logic, Abel has no descendants from him to 'get with', though you could very well make the argument that his brothers and parents do so he's still not out of the loop.

Now when it comes to Adam and Eve's direct descendants, here's the thing... Noah came from Seth's lineage, and the flood killed off everyone except Noah's family as Adam and Eve's children eventually became too wicked and there was a lot of fallen angels banging chicks and making abominations (the nephilim).

Sooo...there's a lot of cuts in this journey to tracing the human race back to one ancestor business. I just think it's a hilarious concept because by this logic, any and all ships between humans is incest to some degree if you wanna go that route. We just don't think about it until we're presented with a character like Adam. And don't get me started on the hypocrisy of how there's hundreds of self insert / human fics written with Adam and yet Abel is where people are drawing the line? The hill we die on being the dude who died before he even procreated. 😂

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Sunday 10 August 1834

9 10

1 50

Quiet night. Very fine morning F70 ½° at 10 20– breakfast at 10 ½ - had our laquais de place to fix what to do, and writing notes of things to be seen – from 12 ¼ in ½ hour read prayers to A- and George - Out at 1 30 (A- and I took George) at the Eglise d’Ainay in 5 minutes – very interesting on the site of an old temple of Diana – in the aisles old Roman pilasters of the original portico still remaining and some of the old mosaic about the high altar – the 2 granite columns that stood at the ancient entrance (time of Augustus) but since cut into 4 and standing at the entrance and the chancel and near the high altar going along the [cours] du midi into the Allée de Perrache and at 2 pay 8 ½ sols toll and pass the new pont de Mulatière – an iron rail-road (right side) for coal-waggons from St Etienne – the bridge is over the Soane [Saône] just before its junction with the Rhone - pass thro’ the village of Oulins, and along the little valley of ditto with its vine-clad hills to the ruin of the Roman aqueduct - not seen till within a short distance of it - 16 entire arches standing, in 2 pieces or lengths - a wide gap in middle where several arches are wanting and where one crosses the Bionnat rivulet over a little wooden bridge - the few scattered houses here are called Bionnat - at the aqueduct at 3 15 – A- sat down on a log of wood and ate her cold poulet in ½ hour – the aqueduct must have been very handsome – perhaps from 250 to 300 yards long here above ground and above or below extended 14 liaue from Les bains des Romains on the mountagne of Fourvière to St Etienne remains of it discovered here and there all long its line of route - it must have been much boarder than the present remain –

SH:7/ML/E/17/0072

to judge from the appearances of 1 or 2 places - they say, it must have been 200ft. higher than at present - (perhaps 2 tiers above the present arches, 3 stories high, as at the pont du gard) - falling rapidly into decay - one arch fell down 6 years ago, and our laquais de place (about 60?) says he has walked with ladies on the top of the whole length of it, so that the line of arches must have been unbroken 30 or 40 years ago - 11 courses of 2 bricks thick each divide the caissons and a 12th course forms the key of the arch - the walls from which the arches spring are all pierced with another arch upon the top of which lies the 7th brick course - these latter arches are several of them open particularly towards the ends of this part of the aqueduct that is above ground - the inside of the arches is faced with diamond shaped stones (about 6in. from angel to angel) compact limestone probably originally polished - in some of the arches all white - in others alternately white and dark coloured, and must have looked very handsome - the water that falls on the top, sinks down into and decays the brick course in the crown of the arch, and thus the arch is in destroyed - this is evidently the source of the decay - were there a channel on the top, or paved glacis to take of the water, the present remains might continue as they are for centuries - walked over the part of the aqueduct nearest Lyons which is as near as I could stride it, about 75 yards long or rather more? consisting of eight arcades - off from the aqueduct at 4 ¾ - pass at no great distance under the village and the mere shell of the old castle of Francheville (left)  - At 5 5 at the fort or citadel they are now busy building on the top of the mountain of Fourvière, near to the present telegraph, and the remains of the old wall and Roman fortification – consisting of 2 or 3 arches and a tall, small, round tower in apparently good preservation (and now inhabited?) - at 5 10 went into the neat new church of St Irénée built upon the old church – did not see the latter because now encombré with rubbish said our laquais de place – soon afterwards pass the new good looking convent cloitré of St Michel – for women – once in, never out again – only spoke to parents thro’ a gate - a place, our laquais de place, where he knew 3 young girls who had learnt nothing but libertinism - at 5 25 at the Roman baths - the house where they are, unoccupied at this moment - shut up - could not get in - At 5 40 at M Perrèrs new square tower – called le point du vue by our laquais de place - but properly called I suppose, la Tour de Fourvière – 200 steps high but easy steps of 6 in.– the bottom of the tower 500ft above the level of the Soane [Saône] – very fine panoramic view of the city and environs – the wind in the north so too thick for a view of the Savoy mountains – had the wind been in the south it would have been clear and we should have seen Mt Blanc – the Savoy and Swiss and Dauphiny alps very plainly and beautifully – from the tower down immediately upon the very fine old gothic cathedral – very fine painted glass windows round the apsis [apses] - and the other windows of stained glass very neat - our laquais pointed out the damage done during the six jours (from 6 April last) - just went into the votive church of Notre dame (a black lady) de Fourvière - full of people and ex voto prints and pictures and ex votos in the shape of all the members of the human body that she has healed - the insurgents rung the tocsin from this steeple and had a cannon on the platform of the tower (point du vue) - the military had 2 cannon under one windows (hotel de l’Europe) and fired 3 balls into the steeple, and struck the tower 3 or 4 times - several houses almost knocked down in the principal parts where the fighting was - 100 (1/2 military) killed - the insurgents fired with poisoned shot and ball (dipped in solution of copper) so that the least scratch of a wound was mortal -  home at 7 ½ - dinner at 7 40 – had Eugenie and wrote the whole of today till 11 35 and A- wrote 2 ½ pages to my aunt – till 12 50 wrote the latter ½ page 3 and the ends and under the seal very small and close to my aunt – said we should shop tomorrow at St Etienne and hoped to be at Clermont in Auvergne for 2 or 3 days and at Paris on the 19th or 20th – very hot so cannot travel very rapidly ‘ but we hope to be at home about the time mentioned in my last’  - will write if but a few lines both from London and Paris - very fine day F72° now at one tonight.

Maison d'Aquitaine a retraite, board and lodging found, for life, for these who on entering pay down 3000/. an asylum for insanes, and a prison for ‘femmes du monde’ who are found on examinations to be not from the disease - if committed to l’ Aquitaine a 2nd time, they are immediately sent under escort home to their village.

[urmomification]

SWAG ANOTHER DREAM SMP AU FIC IDEA THAT ILL NEVER WRITE POG

this is a very long post please im so sorry my brain it just

(tw for like slight possession n shit)

(sorry its all jumbled i write all of these in discord to my friend and copy paste them here please if u have questions ask me im always willing to talk abt this shit please it haunts me)

(context: i saw a tiktok abt the hc that both dream and techno are gods of some sort bc theyre mentioned in the tales of the smp by karl a time traveller and my brain just ran w it)

going back to the techno and dream are gods thing right so dream is a vessel for the god dream xd (??? work in progress youll know what im talking about at some point its really funny tho uve def seen clips of it) and he was possessed?? by the god after the server started (when he started going from super friendly with everyone to control/power hungry) when he started sacrificing everything for power so no one could have power over him? that was the god making him do it bc the god was terrified of not being in control since theyd lost it all to techno in their past. thats why we never see dream and techno fight and why we see dream extend help and support to him at times as well as respecting his boundaries and such bc theyre scared of techno (again w the best of 10 duel reference, techno killed the god in a past life which is why the god has been forced to use a human vessel to get anything done on the mortal plane) but when something that powerful spends pretty much any amount of time in something mortal and mundane like a person, the host body starts to change (hence the mask) i like to think that the god would be akin to that of a biblically correct angel?? like the ones w multiple eyes n shit yk so after time things start to happen to normal dreams body he gets extra sets of eyes and he gets taller and overall his body seems just Too Small for whatevers inside of him and thats why he (hc) started wearing the mask in the first place he knew something was wrong w him but he didnt want anyone to know even tho they would most likely help him he was ashamed that he was different in the first place so he started wearing the mask once the other eyes showed up. and i think that the god would talk to dream similarly to how technos voices work yk? except its just the one voice instead of many many small ones. and again with the mask thing when he lost to tommy and they took him in, part of his mask broke to the point where u could see just a bit of the right side of his face but enough to see that it Wasnt Right there were two eyes where there shouldve been one and spots on his cheeks bright enough to resemble stars and where the color of his pupil should have been is just a sickeningly neon green with nothing else behind it. so they let him keep the mask even tho they already know something is wrong but it clearly makes him Very Distressed when asked to remove the mask or told to give it up. blah blah blah god harassing its host bc it got them caught and thrown in a prison and dream goes ever so slightly insane having to share a mind and body with a literal ancient god w a vendetta against everything hes built whos forced him to sacrifice everything he loved and cared for out of fear yk the usual prison shit and then techno comes a long and breaks him out or whatever but on their way back to his house he drops a really cryptic line abt how 'its nice to see an old friend again' and 'i thought i got rid of u for good last time' and dream is just ???? what are u talking about?? weve never been friends and youve never gotten rid of me? what. until techno spins around and just 'im not talking to you im talking to the thing inside u' or whatever and dreams eyes flash some brilliant gold or sumn and boom this is ur fellow god speaking how may i help you and dream xd (that feels so wrong to say but) and techno bond or well ig just talk abt how the past centuries have gone and ig while xd is fronting (??? i think itd kinda be like DID in a sense w multiple people being able to front yk?) dream is in a sort of semi conscious state but still hears everything going on around his own body until hes thrown back into the drivers seat (i think that xd would only be able to front for short periods of time due to the vessel n shit that makes sense right) and hes so confused someone please help him hes just a dude who happened to get possessed by a god someone help him so when they finally get back to technos house he sits dream down and explains the best he can without literally melting dreams brain. which would also play into the 'technoblade never dies' bc hes. literally a god. mortals cant kill him unless they have idk some sort of super weapon idk and blah blah blah xd gets what they want and finally has the ability to leave finally leaving dream literally the shell of a man with no home friends materials or anything with techno to basically take care of him until he reaches some semblance of stability again (which would take ages, realistically (wdym realistically) going from normal, to a god sharing a body with you and speaking in you brain living as a single being together and hearing their thoughts, to back to normal but with all the memories of what you did and what they made you do and also no more god speaking in ur head it would take a hot sec to recover from) so he lives with techno (whos, not to mention, another god) for a while until he can fend for himself again and after a good year or so passes and no one hears from dream they start to look for him and see what happened bc he went from the biggest threat on the server to just. gone. no one knows where he went after whatever he did and they want closure. is he dead?? who knows. so george and sap set out looking for him and decide to ask techno for help since hes good w directions n shit also he was the last person to see dream alive so he might have an idea of where he is and they walk up to his house and knock on his door and techno opens it and just stares at them he knows who they are, dreams talked about them before but hes never met them really so he talks to them, getting through the polite hellos how are yous before sap finally asks 'do you know what happened to dream? no one knows where he went and we just want closure' techno huffs and tells them to wait there he (this is the basement door im using his arctic tundra house in my head) goes down the ladder to the second basement, they can hear him talking to multiple people (ranboo phil dream) but cant tell who everyone is before coming back up the ladder, back to the door. he tells them to wait outside he needs to get something first (its dream hes getting dream) theyre standing out by carls stable when the door creaks open and dream steps out looking around for who the fuck could possibly be looking for them he betrayed everyone and most people thought he was dead who could possibly be here asking for himself and not ranboo or philza and when he steps out, his green hoodie (memento made by ranboo to help him cope w the loss of the voice in his head) catching the morning light off the snow and he was happy and then he saw them standing by the house hed grown to call home at least for now he breaks. he missed them so so much it hurt. he never expected to see them ever again much less them come looking to see him but hes scared he realizes he doesnt know what to say there is nothing to say he fucked them all over he ruined everything and then hes being hugged. they missed him too. they dont forgive him jsut yet but they missed him and thats enough for him right now. the three of them stand there just being in each others presences and techno creaks the door open to make sure they arent trying to kill each other and sighs and leans against the frame smiling. hes happy again and thats the best he can do for him. he invites them all in and offers to explain everything to them to try and ease the blame off of dream bc in all honesty it was his fault but xd made it far far worse that it should have been (a bit late but foot note abt xd i think that they would be an idle god until someone w intense feelings of powerlessness and insecurity like awoke them from their techno induced slumber and inhabited dream to help him fulfill his desires for power and control) and by the time he and dream are finished its late at night and sap and george are ??? so u were possessed by a god who techno killed centuries ago in a duel and it amplified ur feelings of insecurity and ur thirst for control to the point of isolating urself from us and destroying everything everyone cared abt?? also technos an ancient god who lusts for bloodshed but also makes turtle farms in his free time?? are we getting this right????? and techno and dream are just yea thats abt it glad this all made sense then they all go to bed (its a small house dream has a lil shack like ranboos and sap and george somehow slept over there for the night) and in the morning sap and george leave again but promise to come back, they still arent ready to forgive and forget bc even tho it wasnt all his fault his emotions getting away from him is what caused this all in the first place so they do need time to process now that they know he isnt dead and dream continues to live near techno in almost full independence and eventually moves back with his friends even tho many still hate him. hes happy and for now thats enough. another foot note; even after xd leaves his being, he still has the extra eyes, glowy freckles n is xtra tall n shit that cant just be reversed but now that hes himself again these things take their tolls on human bodies so i think hed have something at least similar to arthritis bc of how his bones were literally manipulated bc of how strong ethereal magic or whatever is. so he would still wear the broken mask but he takes it off now and is ok with it being off hes working on getting better now that hes himself again and everyone living w/by techno is helping him with that. also i think that he would get blinks of xd's memories like from when techno was killing them and have sumn like ptsd panic attacks from it and techno feels super guilty abt it but theres literally nothing he can do except apologize and after the first few times dream stopped him from apologizing bc it is his fault but he didnt do it to him so it doesnt matter to dream at least and they live in pretty much harmony until dream finally moves back in w george and sap the end. he also started wearing the mask in the first place bc of the extra eyes but he played it off as being uncomfortable around new people and not wanting them to know what he looked like until he trusted them (bc that literally makes sense irl how funky is that) so sap and george never pushed him and when they caught him without it on on the rare occasion they wouldnt pressure him to leave it off or anything even tho they already knew what he looked like (when they respect ur boundaries </3) they just assumed that it was insecurity (it was but also mans had like 3 eyes so) and just left him alone

[fheythfully]

an idea is like a virus [SHB AU]

What is the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient... highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain, it's almost impossible to eradicate.

She does not mean to sulk, of course, but--she thought they’d miss her more. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, realizing that the time she spent worried about their sudden collapses and departure of souls had not been met by equal concern on their end. [an Inception-inspired AU]

[My Inception inspired AU is here! First thing I’ve written in a year so I am a little rusty. Click the read more or read on AO3.]

She does not mean to sulk, of course, but--she thought they’d miss her more. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, realizing that the time she spent worried about their sudden collapses and departure of souls had not been met by equal concern on their end. When the Crystal Exarch led her to the audience chambers of this world’s Crystal Tower and let her know of this world’s perils, she had been ready to bear the burden. She had set out for the sands of Ahm Araeng in search of Alisaie only to be met by ungodly heat, more unbearable even than the deserts of Thanalan on summer’s midday, and a quick greeting by the girl before her figure disappeared into the wilds and an assurance that she had it under control. At first it had been pleasant, although surprising, to suddenly find herself with an excess of time on her hands before the next amaro transport would be by to take her away in search of Alphinaud. She wandered the stalls of Mord Souq, tasting the strange delicacies of the local tribe and taking in the sights of the crystallized emptiness to the south. She did not get a chance to bid farewell to Alisaie before her departure, though the girl’s friend, a kindly hyur woman, let her know she’d pass on the message.  Alisaie has been busy, she told herself as the rolling sea of browns and golds blurred below her in the ascent of the amaro bearing her away. It only makes sense that she would have duties she cannot be pulled away from, especially in a hard place like this.

Kholusia looks enough like Vylbrand that it makes her queasy to see the state it’s in, especially once she spots windmills in the distance looking so much like her parents’ farm. The relief she feels upon seeing Alphinaud is nearly physical in its intensity, her soft spot for the boy she’s watched grow into a confident young man leading her to embrace him in sisterly affection. His body tenses under her touch and he pats her on the back, a touch awkwardly, before drawing away and laying out his master plan on how to infiltrate Eulmore. He talks with his hands, eyes on the glittering city in the distance, and soon enough the realization dawns upon her: he’s grown without her presence even further into his own. There is an assertiveness in him that had not been there before and a near dismissiveness she’s sure he does not mean, but it burrows under her skin anyway, leaving her feeling out of place at his side in a way that she has not in years.

Encountering Thancred and his young charge, the quiet girl named Minfilia, is uncomfortable to say the least. She knows he’s been here the longest of all the Scions, five years spent on his own adjusting to a new world and new dangers and politics that seems even harder to navigate than Ishgard’s had been. But the man has seemed to grow colder in his age, more abrupt rather than cunning and frustrated with everything--Minfilia defying him to find her, especially, and everything to do with the girl in general. She tells him he is being too harsh one night after he spends a good half a bell berating his silent charge over a misstep in battle she’d done, and Thancred levels her with a look she had not expected to see since Lahabrea’s possession.

“Don’t presume to know what it’s like for us, when you’ve only arrived now that our battles are nearly done.”

She does not speak to him much after that, for what could she say to dispute the truth of his words? The First seems to indeed be on its way to recovery due to no small part of what the Scions have been working towards all this time in her absence. She fights their battles, assures their victories; it is a relationship similar to the one she’d had with the group at the time of Ifrit, Titan and Garuda: she is their sword, and they wield her thus.

Staring up at the ever blinding skies, she misses Tataru. She misses Aymeric who had a cup of tea and a chat ready for her even amidst his busy work rebuilding Ishgard. She misses Lyse and the spars they’d have, the blonde boldly stating she needed time off to stretch her limbs. She had forgotten what it felt like to be an accessory and not part of the team.

The whimsical, near frightening colours and inhabitants of Il Mheg are not enough to thaw her relations with Urianger, who remains as unreachable as ever. Under the towering ancient boughs of Rak’tika she watches Y’Shtola hesitate to bid farewell to the family even she has now found for herself, lingering with one last gaze over Slitherbough as they depart. The other woman is politely friendly but the chasm suddenly between them yawns wide, and she watches Y’Shtola get smaller and smaller on the other side. She watches all the Scions disappear into the horizon away from her and feels small herself, an outsider to this group of people who’d found themselves perilously lost in a world not their own and built themselves a new life to survive.

Beside her, the Ascian wearing the body of the late Garlean emperor  tsks  . “So much for friendship,  hero .” The two of them sit apart from the rest of their group, a fire burning low between them, and she tells herself the suspicious glances cast their way are for his sudden appearance at her side. “So what happens when you kill all the Wardens, then? Will you be set aside like a rusty blade?”

She ignores him and pokes a stick into the dying embers of the pit. Emet-Selch laughs at her silence, gaze so heavy on her she can feel it burning a brand into her skin.

.

.

They return to Ahm Araeng and she speaks to the last remnants of her Minfilia. The sullen, quiet girl bearing her name and visage does not reappear at her side when she emerges. Urianger, when she finds the rest of the Scions, shakes his head when she asks about Thancred.

The less that is said about Ahm Araeng and the Warden there, the better.

.

.

She listens silently when Y’Shtola and Urianger pull her aside and tell her what she already feels within: the light is consuming her alive. She has become the Warden of the First Reflection.

There is nothing to be done to save her. Nothing in the books of the Crystarium, in the abyss of Allagan research spanning the depths of the Tower, and even the Exarch shakes his head, lips downturned, when he is consulted.

At last, she is a dead woman walking.

She thinks that, all things considered, it has been a long time coming.

.

.

The Light within her blurs together all senses and experiences, even memories; she remembers walking for what she knows is the last time through the Crystarium, entirely alone as she makes ready to depart. Bereft of weapons and gear she has the sensation of having flown somewhere, or perhaps she walked, but somehow she has found herself underwater in a city the likes of which she has never seen before. Or maybe it’s not entirely true; she thinks she’s dreamt of it before, or perhaps is dreaming now, walking streets as silent as a graveyard as she seeks out Emet-Selch and his offer of a dignified death.

Is she still breathing? Is she still living? She is not worthy of it. She feels the Light within her churning and hungry, straining against the threads of her soul and mortal shell holding it back. It’s only a matter of time before they snap and in a moment of sudden clarity she is overwhelmingly glad that the Scions are not present to see their vaunted Warrior of Light turn into a monster.

Blearily, she spots a figure before her. Unlike the others it does not move out of her way, but instead stands tall and stubborn in her path until she has no choice but to force her limbs around it. She hears a sigh, and then harsh fingers grip at her shoulder.

It is so unexpected and sudden that it grounds her. The corona of light that has been dimming her vision flares and she blinks, having no choice but to face the figure insisting on her attention. 

“Really?” It speaks, a woman’s voice, drawling and mocking and in Common and not the strange language she’s been unable to make out from the other inhabitants. “This is how you’re going to die? Walking to certain death like a martyr, happy to let a villain take your life into his hands? You disappoint me, hero.”

She’s lost for words, no small part due to being directly addressed in such a manner in what feels like a very, very long time--since she had come to the First, perhaps. It clears the fog up in her brain somewhat, some flickering semblance of self sluggishly batting away at the Light cocooning her thoughts.

The tongue in her mouth feels heavy, marble-like. “I have no other choice.”

The figure’s hand, still gripping her skin as if she is not burning its flesh on contact, tightens. “No choice? Don’t make yourself even more pathetic than you already are.”

On habit alone she tilts her chin and purses her lips. Stubborn to the end, apparently. “So what, you have some better ideas on how to not die and consume all of the First? I’m all ears.”

The mouth under the hood smiles in a way she knows it does not mean it. “You really think he won’t destroy this Shard after your timely death? Is this all it took for you to lose your brain?” A laugh, somehow familiar, and she bristles further. The city around her sharpens in its clarity and her chest expands in a deep, angry breath ready to let the stranger have it--and then another hand comes down upon the stranger’s, prying it away.

Emet-Selch stands before them, grasping the stranger’s arm. “That’s enough out of you,” he directs at her hooded companion. There is a certain flatness to his tone, a bite in his words she has not heard even directed at her. In response the figure shakes her arm free and moves to entwine her fingers with his, smiling mockingly, until the man slaps her fingers away in disgust. “Leave us be. You have no place here.”

The woman lets out a dismissive laugh. “I have no place to be here? Steps away from where you murdered me, and where you are about to do so again? Your humour has me turning in my grave, Hades.”

She’s submerged in the heavy silence that descends. Enough time for a single breath, and then the woman turns towards her again. Pale hands reach up to draw back her hood--and something within her screams that the action is wrong, she should not be witness to any of this--and then to remove the delicate white mask that sits perched across her nose and cheeks. She throws it aside on the ground and stomps it for good measure, until motes of aether rise up as the mask simply dissolves on the paved street.

“Astra,” Emet-Selch says, barely constrained fury shaking his voice. “Get out.”

The woman’s lips turn into a pretty pout. “You can make me leave any time you want, Hades. You’re just not wanting it hard enough.” To her she sends a conspiratorial smile, as if they are old friends sharing a secret. “That’s always been the case with dear Hades, you know. Forever wanting things but never knowing how to go about getting them the right way.”

A streetlight down the road goes out. She suddenly realizes she does not even know the name of this place, hidden deep on the ocean floor. She wets her lips. The sense of wrongness inside of her grows. “Who are you?”

Astra raises an eyebrow at her, eyes wide. “We look so much alike, and still that is the question you ask? You just keep finding new ways to disappoint me.” To Emet-Selch, she shakes her head. “You broke her so thoroughly, dear. I’m very hurt.”

Somehow, she is still breathing. Still living. The Light within her writhes, but she wants to know more: the city standing tall and desolate around her, this man named Emet-Selch-and-also-Hades, and the woman Astra before her, with such pale hair and eyes yet still undoubtedly  her . 

“Why do you look like me?” The hints of a demand enter her tone. “What is this place?”

“You finally start asking the right questions!” The lights around them all begin flickering, but Astra’s excitement is palpable as she claps her hands together and grins at her, all teeth. “I’ll help you out with another one: how did you get here?” At her confused silence, her grin stretches until she can see the canines peeking out, like a mummer’s mask at a horror show. “Try to remember, now. How did you get here, to the bottom of the ocean, to this gloriously dead city of Amaurot?”

She opens her mouth to answer, to say she flew to the coast of--somewhere, or took a boat, or-- “I don’t know,” she says instead. “I don’t--I don’t remember.” She frowns. “How can I not remember? Is it the Light?”

A cold hand settles on her cheek, curiously soft and at odds with everything the woman has been so far. Pale eyes swim with pity as they stare into hers. “Sweetling, the only Light within you is the blessing you’ve been carrying all this time.”

With a furious sound the ground beneath them cracks. A cacophony of noise follows as around them the buildings begin to cave into themselves; trees erupt with their roots torn wild from their carefully curated placements and somewhere beyond her sight, she hears the unmistakable sound of rushing water flooding the bubble of air surrounding the city.

She’d nearly forgotten Emet-Selch’s presence. With a hiss he tears the woman away from her, clutching her wrist in his hand with strength that will leave her with far more than bruises. “You damned woman,” he seethes and his form begins to shift, as if he’s been hiding a monster of his own beneath his human shell this entire time. “If only you would stay out of my way--”

Her wrist must be broken, but Astra only laughs. The city around them continues its rapid collapse. “As if it’s my fault you can't bring yourself to kill me,” she says, and with barely a flicker of her other hand, drives a knife of aether straight into his heart. “Fascinating, considering you had no such qualms the first time.”

Ella watches the life leave the Ascian’s eyes, and has a moment to wander if it had been the way Lahabrea had fallen, too; did you not need to sunder the soul, to ensure an Ascian did not merely jump into another inhabitable body? But no--Emet-Selch sags to the ground and Astra uses a toe to poke his body with a sigh.

She turns her eyes towards Ella, the knife of concentrated aether still sparking with magic in the palm of one hand. “He remembered me very horribly, I’ll have you know. I didn’t have one unkind bone in my body. Not to mention this manner of speech. How self-obsessed can one man get, to make his once-lover sound so much like him?” She tuts and shakes her head. “Guilt does such funny things to memories we hold dear.”

She approaches closer. The strange city of Amaurot around them has fallen, a tremendous wave of water coalescing behind the woman’s form.

It will be upon them in seconds.

“It’s time to wake up,” Astra says. She’s close enough that the Warrior can count the very faint freckles upon her nose, as if this strange duplicate of hers had even that tiny detail down. “You’ll be very confused, and very alone, and the void between worlds will be a frightening place indeed. But rest assured that your friends are waiting for you on the other side, and that this has been nothing more than a very real, and very bad nightmare.”

The touch of aether is hot and electric against her neck. Astra’s smile is trembling. “Make sure you kill him for good for me, will you?”

There is no chance to reply. The knife cuts her open.

[lemonietrinket]

King and Lionheart ||| King!Jungwoo x RoyalKnight!Reader

Part One

Genres: Fantasy, some Fluff, Angst but has a happy ending! Word Count: 2533 Warnings: Grisly ideas with a lot of death but no severe descriptions of it Theme Song: King and Lionheart - Of Monsters and Men

AN: Based kind of closely to the lyrics of the song? It’s really good! And I didn’t intend for this to be a two-parter, but yeah it turned out that way and I’m really sorry. Hopefully, it won’t be too long until Part Two is up. Thanks for reading!

~~~

The sky was an oil painting, vast brushstrokes of emerald steadily cloaking the azure-tinted clouds that graced the night. Stars speckled the deep blue silk as if a thousand ghosts were peering down at the horror that had unfurled at the foot of the fear-stacked mountains—thistle hued rock gashes in the snow.

The streets were crowded with translucent spirits, their bodies chained in silver to their spots. Their eyes were piercing, staring into the souls of those still attached to the mortal plane, filled with sorrow and the ferocity of dry anger.

But though it should have been, their fury was not aimed at you.

The two of you picked your way through the street. Jungwoo stumbled, his eyes meeting those of the lost, the slow tears refusing to halt. A neverending cascade, striking trails across his mottled cheeks. Trembling lips were silent, the only exception being his hushed breaths that collided with the air and froze.

You watched him carefully as you stepped over rubble from the ceremonial grounds, eyes never leaving his wavering features. Golden flags were torn and muddied with charred remains at his feet, as he came to a stop at a mother’s spirit hovering at the lengths of her restraints. A fragile, swallowed whimper left his body. It felt as if it carried his whole body behind it, yet was so quiet you almost missed it.

You took to his side, standing between him and the wayward figure. Your hand cradled his shoulder, leading him away from the remnants and into the middle of the abandoned street.

You had aimed only to talk to him, but he broke, pressing his head into the furs at your neck and crying openly.  His sobs remained to be the worst sound you had heard, and you had heard many things.

Creatures built like towers made of scales fashioned of the carcasses they feasted upon, whose screams grasped at the depths of your heart. Abominations crafted of salt that tore at their own injuries as they battled, forcing bloodcurdling roars so grating that you could not believe they could emanate from something that was once human.  The guttural clicks from the bone crusted maws of a beast you never did fully lay eyes upon, and you praise the deities above that made that so, daily.

None of it compared to the wound his sadness inflicted. 

And there he was, his eyes as warm as summer nights where a blanket was no longer needed, his voice as sweet and smooth as butternut, his smile as bright and beautiful as the moon... he was the kindest soul. He greeted magpies no matter their number, and left food grown in the royal gardens for the deer of the forest. 

He was your King, and you were his lionheart. You’d fight whatever came his way—and it wasn’t simply because of the job anymore, it had moved beyond that level a long time ago—and you’d protect him no matter the cost.

.

You held is larger frame in your arms, a thick glove easing his hood rimmed with ermine, pure and speckled with onyx, over his light hair. As he trembled, you felt your heart twist.

None of this was his fault. If you had not opened the gate, after hearing his ‘voice’, had thought rationally about the logistics of the height of the wall and how, in the spontaneous game, he could have gotten over to the other side to call your name, everything would have been fine.

You had a hand in the disaster, meanwhile, he played no part. And yet he blamed himself.

“Don’t look at them, Woo,” you whispered reassuringly, “they may be angry, but it is not aimed at you—it never will be.”

He whined, clutching at your padded coat as he clung even closer to you.

It was a lie. It was aimed at him. Though not rightly.

.

He’d inherited a tumultuous throne that he hadn’t been raised for, had faced three onslaughts and the threat of war at least once, all of which caused by bad decisions on the behalf of his predecessor, his childless, wreckless cousin. The people were angry before the fourth invasion arrived, though they had mostly kept it to themselves.

It wouldn’t have a chance to outpour, at least when they were alive. Now their spirits inhabited the streets linked to their chains, and they had the chance to show their anger in their cursed form of the afterlife. 

It wasn’t his fault.

Even a country with the strongest army and all the resources of the world and preparation time leaking into months could not have withstood what had massacred the city.

They called themselves the Jotun but it was foul play to call themselves by that name, as even a true Jotun would not have been able to do what they did. Their attacks left people in pain long after death, as they stole everything, including the bodies of the people left unguarded.

It was fair to say there were no survivors, besides the two of you.

Just the King and Lionheart, heading south to seek help.

.

.

.

Your eyes scoured the busy streets, every stall, every face, every shadow, every crevice. You saw no danger, but you could not find him anywhere. You jumped in a poor attempt to see over the heads of the masses. But his bunny smile and his long white coat were nowhere to be seen.

You’d left for the best part of an hour, waiting to see the King of the realm of Aldworth. After attempting to be granted an audience with the three previous dominions that you had passed through to no avail, the King—a lady nearly as tall as the doors she had built with her own hands—had given you the opportunity to speak.

Your King had been left outside. You knew it would have been better for him to be the one that performed the speech—the plea for aid and forces to relinquish his kingdom from the control of the Jotun—but as soon as the words had come to your lips you recognised the dimmed glow his eyes and changed your mind.

The King had let you leave as she worked with her advisors to decide, but now, yours was missing. 

Crowds of people scurried from left and right, then round and round and back again. Their bodies melded and waned, shades of brown to black, like the warm earth of ice-moult. Their lungs made weak clouds, that amalgamated into one thin mist, their voices carrying like the war cry of a long-slumbered deity of thunder, and their smiles narrowed into deceit.

And then a weight smashed into your back, very nearly knocking you off-guard.

Your hand flicked upwards out of instinct, to find no hilt. 

It was then you realised that the arms at your neck were not malicious, and fit snugly at your collarbones, as a certain pair had always done.

“I’m sorry!” the man exclaimed, but there was the familiar lilt of mischief in his voice. 

You gazed back, feeling your back unfurl and tendons relax, to see a huge grin on his face. “Jungwoo! Where were—? What did you do?”

“Nothing!” he cried, just as he always did whenever he had something to hide. 

You sighed. “Your Majesty, I’ve known you since we were children, I think I know when you’re lying to me. Now—”

He suddenly let go, swinging round to look at you, face to face. 

That was something you could never quite face confidently, his intense stare. Deep irises of earth, when the ice-melt had washed away and left the ground umber in the place of pristine. Everything else you showed no fear, but with him, you felt your iron shell melt. He’d gotten them from his mother. 

“I hid, because I wondered what you would do if I didn’t turn up,” he admitted, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands entwined behind his back, “but then I felt too bad, and I was scared you’d throw a man into the ocean again, so I came straight back.”

“Is that all?” You frowned, ignoring the subtle dig.

He nodded enthusiastically, whispering an apology in a tone a thread away from serious.

You rolled your eyes, exhaling. “Honestly, Your Majesty—”

“Woo! You always call me Woo, why aren’t you calling me Woo now?” he interjected, forcing his lip to quiver.

You pursed your own. “Because we are in public and it is not etiquette to refer to a monarch by nickname, and you know that, Your Majesty, now please—”

“But I like being called Woo!” he exclaimed. A few merchants sent the two of you a few unnerved glances as they passed. You responded with a glare, and it had the desired effect, as they scuttled off towards the docks.

Jungwoo seemed to go into deep thought for a brief moment, eyes wandering about somewhat vacantly before he managed to reach a conclusion. “Wait! If I order you to call me Woo, doesn’t that mean you have to?”

You opened your mouth to begin, before you halted yourself. Though it was an unexpected conclusion, Jungwoo wasn’t exactly wrong. And with his beautiful eyes glittering in the knowledge that he’d won, you had half a mind to give in. Luckily rationality kicked in, and you swiftly decided it was safer to attempt to move on. 

“As I was saying, Your Majesty, I expected so much worse than you merely hiding, and so please refrain from minor tricks—”

“Oh!”

You huffed. Being held by hierarchical convention really did take the pinch of salt sometimes.

Jungwoo smiled that radiant grin that rivalled the sun as he continued. “And I bought this with the savings money!” 

You were about to request as calmly as you could manage to let you finish when he unclasped his hands from behind his back to reveal a hulking great sword gripped feebly between his fingers.

It had a hilt made of what looked to be pure gold, engraved with a series of runes and pictographs, telling something of a great hero slaying an ineffable beast from the oceans. Its edge was so clear and gleaming that even you had no idea what it was fashioned of—only that it could perhaps cleave bone in two, and that it had the appearance of costing the entire lot of your savings.

Words tumbled from your tongue, quivering and broken. “What is—? Jungwoo?!”

“Look it’s alright! You needed a new one after your old one broke and this one is pretty and the seller said it was magic so—”

“Jungwoo!”

“Y/N!” he said mock-sternly, though his expression seemed to be tinted with a seriousness you rarely got to see. “You are my holy, royal, sacred, personal knight! I can’t allow you to be under-resourced. That would make me a bad king, right?” He paused, and you originally expected that it was in an effort to await your affirmation. However, it dawned on you quickly that it was worse than that. His face fell, the smile that had the power to turn even the strongest hearts to putty dissipating on his features, until you were left with only an expression of emptiness before you. 

“Who am I kidding, Y/N... I’m already a bad king,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried to hold the threads of his voice together, “and not giving you a sword to help you do your job—the job that I gave you, that you didn’t ask for... that would make me the worst king known.”

His words left you stunned, a condition you hadn’t felt in so long that you couldn’t place the last time you had experienced the loss of words, the swimming of your thoughts, the lack of clarity and solutions. 

When you remained unbudged, lips agape and eyes wide and concerned, he continued, “You’ve gotten me through so much, Y/N. You’re my best advisor, my oldest and closest friend, my... my only friend... you’re the last survivor of my kingdom, besides myself. You deserve much more than this, but... this is all I can give you.”

You felt your throat tighten, breath staggered. You knew you should accept the sword, but your hands stuck by your side.

The wind slowly picked up, toying with the crimson flags of the street as the people of the marketplace seemed to fade into alleyways and nowhere.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice nearly so low the breeze almost carried it away, his lip trembling as his gentle face crumpled.

It was at his unnecessary words that something snapped in your brain.

“No apologies,” you stated bluntly, swinging into gear after buffering and taking the sword swiftly in one hand, “not to me at least. We will get the kingdom back, your people back, we’ll get everything back—no matter the cost.” You weighed the weapon in your palms, scarred from numerous grapples and close encounters with the old acquaintance of Death, and raised the blade where you could see the reflections of the sky, watery and pale. “When this sword and I are done, there will not be a single Jotun left.”

“Promise me...” he began.

You lowered the sword, to meet the gaze of his watery eyes, only to find his head still bowed. “Your Majesty?”

There was a wavering exhale, as he worked up the effort to speak rather carefully, “Promise me that the cost will not be you.”

You paused. Even if you’d known him for as long as your memory allowed you to know, this man was always full of surprises. Or perhaps your ignorance had stunted your awareness to see this one coming. 

“Is that what you would prefer?” you enquired clearly, turning your head to try and get a better view of his expression. “Over your sacred duties to the throne and the guilt of losing the people?”

Jungwoo didn’t move. He remained still for the longest time, beyond the point that you began to worry. You could almost hear the thoughts, whistling through his mind at the speeds of a gale, crashing like an avalanche through a village against the walls of his mind.

You were about to call his name when he finally lifted his head. His features were stone, firm-set yet saddened.

He nodded once, and you were left stunned.

“Even if the cost of my life was the only way to bring them all...?” 

He nodded again, with more clarity, a determination in his eyes that you knew would not fade, no matter the words you spent. You’d only seen it once before, on the day that he asked you to be his knight, his guard for his life. You had been completely unable to turn his words down then too, if you had even wanted to.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “you are my King, Woo.” You divulged in a final glance of your reflection in the blade, before adjusting the old sheath that had remained upon your back. “And so, your word shall be done.”

The sword slotted into the leather as if it destiny was made in those pure seconds alone. 

~~~

Part Two - coming soon

Masterlist

[edited: 2/04/2020] 

[juanpacodesignco]

MY LORD BAG OF RICE

By YEI THEODORA OZAKI

Long, long ago there lived, in Japan a brave warrior known to all as Tawara Toda, or "My Lord Bag of Rice." His true name was Fujiwara Hidesato, and there is a very interesting story of how he came to change his name.

One day he sallied forth in search of adventures, for he had the nature of a warrior and could not bear to be idle. So he buckled on his two swords, took his huge bow, much taller than himself, in his hand, and slinging his quiver on his back started out. He had not gone far when he came to the bridge of Seta-no-Karashi spanning one end of the beautiful Lake Biwa. No sooner had he set foot on the bridge than he saw lying right across his path a huge serpent-dragon. Its body was so big that it looked like the trunk of a large pine tree and it took up the whole width of the bridge. One of its huge claws rested on the parapet of one side of the bridge, while its tail lay right against the other. The monster seemed to be asleep, and as it breathed, fire and smoke came out of its nostrils.

At first Hidesato could not help feeling alarmed at the sight of this horrible reptile lying in his path, for he must either turn back or walk right over its body. He was a brave man, however, and putting aside all fear went forward dauntlessly. Crunch, crunch! he stepped now on the dragon's body, now between its coils, and without even one glance backward he went on his way.

He had only gone a few steps when he heard some one calling him from behind. On turning back he was much surprised to see that the monster dragon had entirely disappeared and in its place was a strange-looking man, who was bowing most ceremoniously to the ground. His red hair streamed over his shoulders and was surmounted by a crown in the shape of a dragon's head, and his sea-green dress was patterned with shells. Hidesato knew at once that this was no ordinary mortal and he wondered much at the strange occurrence. Where had the dragon gone in such a short space of time? Or had it transformed itself into this man, and what did the whole thing mean? While these thoughts passed through his mind he had come up to the man on the bridge and now addressed him:

"Was it you that called me just now?"

"Yes, it was I," answered the man: "I have an earnest request to make to you. Do you think you can grant it to me?"

"If it is in my power to do so I will," answered Hidesato, "but first tell me who you are?"

"I am the Dragon King of the Lake, and my home is in these waters just under this bridge."

"And what is it you have to ask of me?" said Hidesato.

"I want you to kill my mortal enemy the centipede, who lives on the mountain beyond," and the Dragon King pointed to a high peak on the opposite shore of the lake.

"I have lived now for many years in this lake and I have a large family of children and grand-children. For some time past we have lived in terror, for a monster centipede has discovered our home, and night after night it comes and carries off one of my family. I am powerless to save them. If it goes on much longer like this, not only shall I lose all my children, but I myself must fall a victim to the monster. I am, therefore, very unhappy, and in my extremity I determined to ask the help of a human being. For many days with this intention I have waited on the bridge in the shape of the horrible serpent-dragon that you saw, in the hope that some strong brave man would come along. But all who came this way, as soon as they saw me were terrified and ran away as fast as they could. You are the first man I have found able to look at me without fear, so I knew at once that you were a man of great courage. I beg you to have pity upon me. Will you not help me and kill my enemy the centipede?"

Hidesato felt very sorry for the Dragon King on hearing his story, and readily promised to do what he could to help him. The warrior asked where the centipede lived, so that he might attack the creature at once. The Dragon King replied that its home was on the mountain Mikami, but that as it came every night at a certain hour to the palace of the lake, it would be better to wait till then. So Hidesato was conducted to the palace of the Dragon King, under the bridge. Strange to say, as he followed his host downwards the waters parted to let them pass, and his clothes did not even feel damp as he passed through the flood. Never had Hidesato seen anything so beautiful as this palace built of white marble beneath the lake. He had often heard of the Sea King's palace at the bottom of the sea, where all the servants and retainers were salt-water fishes, but here was a magnificent building in the heart of Lake Biwa. The dainty goldfishes, red carp, and silvery trout, waited upon the Dragon King and his guest.

Hidesato was astonished at the feast that was spread for him. The dishes were crystallized lotus leaves and flowers, and the chopsticks were of the rarest ebony. As soon as they sat down, the sliding doors opened and ten lovely goldfish dancers came out, and behind them followed ten red-carp musicians with the koto and the samisen. Thus the hours flew by till midnight, and the beautiful music and dancing had banished all thoughts of the centipede. The Dragon King was about to pledge the warrior in a fresh cup of wine when the palace was suddenly shaken by a tramp, tramp! as if a mighty army had begun to march not far away.

Hidesato and his host both rose to their feet and rushed to the balcony, and the warrior saw on the opposite mountain two great balls of glowing fire coming nearer and nearer. The Dragon King stood by the warrior's side trembling with fear.

"The centipede! The centipede! Those two balls of fire are its eyes. It is coming for its prey! Now is the time to kill it."

Hidesato looked where his host pointed, and, in the dim light of the starlit evening, behind the two balls of fire he saw the long body of an enormous centipede winding round the mountains, and the light in its hundred feet glowed like so many distant lanterns moving slowly towards the shore.

Hidesato showed not the least sign of fear. He tried to calm the Dragon King.

"Don't be afraid. I shall surely kill the centipede. Just bring me my bow and arrows."

The Dragon King did as he was bid, and the warrior noticed that he had only three arrows left in his quiver. He took the bow, and fitting an arrow to the notch, took careful aim and let fly.

The arrow hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but instead of penetrating, it glanced off harmless and fell to the ground.

Nothing daunted, Hidesato took another arrow, fitted it to the notch of the bow and let fly. Again the arrow hit the mark, it struck the centipede right in the middle of its head, only to glance off and fall to the ground. The centipede was invulnerable to weapons! When the Dragon King saw that even this brave warrior's arrows were powerless to kill the centipede, he lost heart and began to tremble with fear.

The warrior saw that he had now only one arrow left in his quiver, and if this one failed he could not kill the centipede. He looked across the waters. The huge reptile had wound its horrid body seven times round the mountain and would soon come down to the lake. Nearer and nearer gleamed fireballs of eyes, and the light of its hundred feet began to throw reflections in the still waters of the lake.

Then suddenly the warrior remembered that he had heard that human saliva was deadly to centipedes. But this was no ordinary centipede. This was so monstrous that even to think of such a creature made one creep with horror. Hidesato determined to try his last chance. So taking his last arrow and first putting the end of it in his mouth, he fitted the notch to his bow, took careful aim once more and let fly.

This time the arrow again hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but instead of glancing off harmlessly as before, it struck home to the creature's brain. Then with a convulsive shudder the serpentine body stopped moving, and the fiery light of its great eyes and hundred feet darkened to a dull glare like the sunset of a stormy day, and then went out in blackness. A great darkness now overspread the heavens, the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and the wind roared in fury, and it seemed as if the world were coming to an end. The Dragon King and his children and retainers all crouched in different parts of the palace, frightened to death, for the building was shaken to its foundation. At last the dreadful night was over. Day dawned beautiful and clear. The centipede was gone from the mountain.

Then Hidesato called to the Dragon King to come out with him on the balcony, for the centipede was dead and he had nothing more to fear.

Then all the inhabitants of the palace came out with joy, and Hidesato pointed to the lake. There lay the body of the dead centipede floating on the water, which was dyed red with its blood.

The gratitude of the Dragon King knew no bounds. The whole family came and bowed down before the warrior, calling him their preserver and the bravest warrior in all Japan.

Another feast was prepared, more sumptuous than the first. All kinds of fish, prepared in every imaginable way, raw, stewed, boiled and roasted, served on coral trays and crystal dishes, were put before him, and the wine was the best that Hidesato had ever tasted in his life. To add to the beauty of everything the sun shone brightly, the lake glittered like a liquid diamond, and the palace was a thousand times more beautiful by day than by night.

His host tried to persuade the warrior to stay a few days, but Hidesato insisted on going home, saying that he had now finished what he had come to do, and must return. The Dragon King and his family were all very sorry to have him leave so soon, but since he would go they begged him to accept a few small presents (so they said) in token of their gratitude to him for delivering them forever from their horrible enemy the centipede.

As the warrior stood in the porch taking leave, a train of fish was suddenly transformed into a retinue of men, all wearing ceremonial robes and dragon's crowns on their heads to show that they were servants of the great Dragon King. The presents that they carried were as follows:

First, a large bronze bell. Second, a bag of rice. Third, a roll of silk. Fourth, a cooking pot. Fifth, a bell.

Hidesato did not want to accept all these presents, but as the Dragon King insisted, he could not well refuse.

The Dragon King himself accompanied the warrior as far as the bridge, and then took leave of him with many bows and good wishes, leaving the procession of servants to accompany Hidesato to his house with the presents.

The warrior's household and servants had been very much concerned when they found that he did not return the night before, but they finally concluded that he had been kept by the violent storm and had taken shelter somewhere. When the servants on the watch for his return caught sight of him they called to every one that he was approaching, and the whole household turned out to meet him, wondering much what the retinue of men, bearing presents and banners, that followed him, could mean.

As soon as the Dragon King's retainers had put down the presents they vanished, and Hidesato told all that had happened to him.

The presents which he had received from the grateful Dragon King were found to be of magic power. The bell only was ordinary, and as Hidesato had no use for it he presented it to the temple near by, where it was hung up, to boom out the hour of day over the surrounding neighborhood.

The single bag of rice, however much was taken from it day after day for the meals of the knight and his whole family, never grew less—the supply in the bag was inexhaustible.

The roll of silk, too, never grew shorter, though time after time long pieces were cut off to make the warrior a new suit of clothes to go to Court in at the New Year.

The cooking pot was wonderful, too. No matter what was put into it, it cooked deliciously whatever was wanted without any firing—truly a very economical saucepan.

The fame of Hidesato's fortune spread far and wide, and as there was no need for him to spend money on rice or silk or firing, he became very rich and prosperous, and was henceforth known as My Lord Bag of Rice.

[ekbirchelps]

The Magenaza Epic: Solstice Rising

Serafa vs the Lilit Part Two

read Serafa vs the Lilit Part One here

Jesse runs. Blasted coward—though I really can’t blame him. The rumors about what a lilit can do to you with their teeth and talons alone are enough to make most folks quake beneath their sheets—their venom, deadly enough to take down a full-grown ox, is just honey on the cake. Venom that’s about to kill me, if I’m not careful. 

I manage to get off two whole shots before the lilit gets to me. The first hits her in the shoulder, spurting black blood in the air like a dirty fountain. The second—damn, the second time I miss completely. The lilit knocks me into the dirt—BANG, the gun goes off a third time—nails jabbing into my skin, knees digging into my midriff. My shoulder takes the brunt of the fall, but I barely feel it as I twist my head to avoid the stab of the lilit’s fangs. The gun digs into the flesh of my midsection, trapped beneath both my and the lilit’s bodies.  The scent of fresh blood and sickly-sweet venom sting my eyes and nose as she pins me down, her weight forcing all the air from my lungs.

I thrash like a fish on a hook, grit coating my mouth and bare skin, blood thundering in my veins, the lilit’s ravenous breaths filling my ears. Out of instinct more than anything else, I wrench my body around and smash my unhindered fist into the lilit’s temple. I bring up the gun as she lists, but I’m not fast enough.  She grabs the gun before I can pull the trigger, cursing incessantly in her own language.

“No!” I jerk my knee into her midriff, but she doesn’t let go. Then scorching pain explodes in my wrist, a piercing, fiery blast of agony that shoots up my arm and erupts in my gut.

“Augh!” Abject panic gives me the strength to rip my wrist out of the lilit’s mouth. The revolver goes flying. The lilit screeches, her cry stabbing my ears like a corporeal thing. I scramble backward, panting, clutching my aching wrist to my chest. Utuma’s horns, my arm hurts.

But the lilit isn’t coming after me. She’s crouched on the ground right where I’d left her, hand covering her bloodstained mouth. Her red eyes flash with something I wouldn’t expect to see in a lilit: Curiosity.

“What are you?” she murmurs, bewilderment softening the hard edges of her voice.

“You ain’t the only she-devil in Areva.” I lunge for the gun.

“Abomination!” I barely register her cry before she tackles me. Her teeth sink into my neck, and for a moment, all I can manage is a strangled gasp. Then white hot pain claws it’s way up my throat and out my mouth in the form of a bloodcurdling scream. Pain seizes me like a living, moving thing, twisting down my throat and turning my stomach inside out. I twist my head and retch, bile burning the back of my throat.

“Get off!” I choke, bucking under the lilit’s weight. But my muscles have crumbled to sand and the lilit presses down on me, heavy as a behemoth. Then her weight is gone. I jerk, trying to sit up, but pressure biting into my neck slams me back down. Then the ground moves beneath me, an endless sea of dirt and stone and weeds poking me through my jacket, raking through my hair and creeping into my mouth. Dizziness spins the sky and ground so violently I'm reminded of the time I rode a wild bull on a dare.

You need to move! my brain orders. My limbs do not obey. They don’t respond even as the lilit heaves me over a pile of stones and into a cave. At first, the place is pitch black. Then my eyes adjust to the dim light of the cave—which, now that I can see, seems more like a glorified hole than anything else. I smell the putrid stench of rotten flesh and gag, cheek pressing against the cool, gritty floor.      

I feel rather than see the lilit’s triumphant smile. She leans in close, her red eyes glowing in the low light. “You might be a she-devil,” she growls, nails digging into my back, “but I am a hulgal. Now lie still and die, just as your kind should have long ago. I have another mortal to catch.”    

Then she’s gone.

I flip onto my back with a pained grunt, squinting up at the dappled cave ceiling. My head spins. Warm blood slips down my neck, tickling my skin, but I don’t have the energy to wipe it away. My skin feels heavy but my insides hollow, like the lilit sucked out my innards and left nothing but a brittle shell behind. Any moment I expect the ground to fall away and drop me into oblivion. Perhaps I’ll plummet all the way to Kurkita and meet the lilit’s kin. The idea of crashing into the realm of the hulgal makes me giggle, then groan as the movement tugs on my neck.

I vaguely recall Jael mentioning the time it takes for lilit venom to kill—is it sixty counts? A hundred? I can’t remember. My mind has slowed down to the speed of iced honey. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling the venom’s scorching sting burn its way through my muscles, setting my very bones ablaze.

Come on, Sera, I tell myself. You’re not gonna some let dirt-dwelling bloodsucker take you down, are you?

Maybe, I think in reply. I mean, Jael’s gonna kill me anyway for losing her gun—

The gun.

I never thought crawling could take so much effort. Every move I make seems as though it’s through a sea of hot sand. My wrist and neck shoots bolts of pain through my chest, stealing away my breath. Exhaustion tugs at every fiber of my being, begging me to lie down and rest, just for a moment. Shamyrin help me.

Then I hear her voice as clearly as though she were sitting next to me. The sound of it is the first rays of sunlight at dawn, soothing my wounds, breaking through my exhaustion, whisking away the haze settled over my mind. A blurred face hovers before me, so familiar I almost believe she’s here, crouching right in front of me. The ache contorting my heart has nothing to do with the lilit.

My little spitfire, we are creations of the almighty immortals. Divine power flows through our veins. Do not think there is anything you cannot do.

“All right, Mama,” I grind out, wiping sand and sweat from my brow. “I can do anything.”

I can do anything.

I'm not sure how, but I plow forward, one leg dragging after the other, my shaking, bloodstained hands pulling me forward finger by finger.  Then the sun shines down on me once again, its glaring rays smothering, blinding. I blink rapidly to adjust my vision and glance up at the through narrowed eyes, fighting the urge to collapse under its oppressive heat.  

Focus, Sera. You gotta stand up. Annoyance pricks me. This time, the voice in my head sounds a lot like Jael.

"Watch me,” I mutter. “I’m gonna do more than stand.”

Hands planted on the hard, rough ground. They’re splattered with black blood and dirt. What’s the difference between the two? I remember Jael asking. One supports life. The other takes it. One leg up. Pause to keep myself from vomiting. Then the other leg. 

C’mon, Serafa! I’ve seen corpses with more life in them!

“Shut up!” I growl, and stumble to my feet.

Nausea wrenches my gut, and I lean over with a pathetic moan, head down, hands on my knees, waiting for the spell to pass. I’m up. I ain’t dead. Black spots dance in my eyes, but I blink them away, scanning the terrain for the telltale glint of a metal barrel.

A terrified scream pierces the cloud inhabiting my mind, granting me a brief moment of clarity.       

Jesse. The lilit’s caught him already. I twist around, movements too sluggish and stagger over to a boulder and crouch behind it, waiting for the lilit to reappear. As I peer over the boulder, a flash of light catches my eye. The revolver. It lies at the edge of the canyon in which the lamb is still trapped, its barrel gleaming in the bright morning sun.

She emerges from a crevice on the other side of the basin, dragging a thrashing Jesse behind her. Black blood oozes down her side, courtesy of the bullet lodged there, but she seems alarmingly unfazed.  

“Your friend surprised me,” she says. “I haven’t tasted blood like hers in many, many years.” Her shrill, raucous laugh makes my skin crawl. “Didn’t do much to save her though. Abominable blood won’t make her taste any less sweet to me.”

Jesse curses as his head bounces off another stack of rocks. “Let me go!” he begs, his voice cracking. “Please, I’ll--I’ll do anything!” 

So she hasn’t bitten him yet. Maybe she used all her venom all on me. Either way, he’s going to be dead if I don’t make a move. She makes her way toward her cave, snarling under her breath.

The lilit and I both ignore him. I set my sights on the gun, shifting to allow myself a better vantage point. I reckon at least twenty paces lay between me and my target—will I make it before the lilit can get me? And if I do make it, will I trip and go flying into the canyon?

There’s only one way to find out. I have to move quick, before the lilit discovers I’m not in her cave.

“Abomination!”

Too late.

What happens next probably takes about five counts. But to me, it seems like an eternity.

I tear out from behind the boulder like my tail’s on fire and bolt hell-for-leather toward my salvation. The roar of blood and panic in my ears drowns out the lilit’s furious screech. She sees me. Primal energy stoked by terror and animal instinct surges through me like wildfire, driving me forward like a bullet from Jael’s gun. Run, run, run. The word thuds in rhythm with the pounding of my heart. I don’t dare look back, but I can feel her behind me, sprinting, gaining, looming. My entire being resonates with the anticipation of her claws ripping through my flesh. Shamyrin save me.

A desperate gasp bursts from my lips as I launch myself at the gun, its proximity to the gorge’s edge no longer a concern. My hand grips the handle. I turn, finger on the trigger.

"No!" That's the last word I get out before the lilit tackles me. A second before I fall, I catch a glimpse of her: Eyes narrowed, fangs bared, talons outstretched---a predator Mavet herself would be proud of.

Bang.

Her body crashes into mine. Frenzied hands clutch at me, but I don’t feel them. I'm weightless, falling, falling---

My heart leaps into my throat and I let out a stifled shriek as I tumble into the canyon, the lilit’s claws still embedded in my skin.

This is a day late and a dollar short, but it’s better late than never I guess. Feedback is always welcome!

@firewritten, @creativityflows, @eternalwritingstudent, @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables

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3 Septober, 5A 169: Down, Down to Goblin-Town...

To start with, a few words about the arrangement of Dorgesh-Kaan.  The city is built in tiers around a large, ovaloid central cavern that serves as a marketplace.  As size goes, it is impressive: its population must be double that of Lumbridge, and perhaps the equal to that of Falador.  Though there are no natural light sources, the place is wired up with coils of copper connecting orbs that are induced by some magic to emit a steady glow.  (These are dimmed at a time of day that roughly corresponds to night on the surface.)  As for the inhabitants, they are almost without exception friendly and rather more cultured than the average commoner of Lumbridge, and while their first encounter with a real live human tends to be jarring, curiosity usually wins out over any anxieties HAM or simple fear of the unknown might have given them.

After a breakfast of giant frog legs (a dish oddly similar to the gnome specialty, albeit missing the spices) I make up my mind to have a walk around the market square and talk with some of the locals.  The first ones I run into are two councillors, Ur-Taal and Ur-Zek, who are deep in conversation about Ur-Tag’s ambitions not only to keep the gates of the city open to humans, but also to seek closer relations with the dwarves.  Ur-Taal seems to think it’s a rather good idea, yet Ur-Zek has reservations about such radical openness: humans will be difficult enough to deal with, he argues, and adding dwarves to the mix won’t help.  Also, dwarves built and delivered the machine that almost drowned the city so very recently!  So never mind that they’re not technically surface dwellers, he says, there’s a dangerous precedent being set.  I don���t butt in, but it’s clear to me that Ur-Tag will have a fight on his hands to ram through more radical changes to the cave goblin way of life before the shockwaves from the current ones die down.

Just off the market square, dug into the cave wall, is the small, cozy abode of a Dorgeshuun named Oldak, who seems to be a dedicated inventor.  So much so, in fact, that two figures I know quite well are there visiting him when I come in!  The first is, of course, Zanik, who’s back from another trip to Lumbridge.  This time, she brought back some runestones, which it turns out the cave goblins are unfamiliar with.  Oldak, having studied them for a bit, has discerned their basic properties and is wondering aloud how rune essence came into existence: what great force could have imbued the essence with its power?  That’s a question neither I nor the other visitor has the answer to, sadly.  The other visitor is a human, one of the first handful to come through the gates of the city, a human I know well: Ariane!  She greets me, and tells me she was in the area when she heard the Council of Dorgesh-Kaan was opening the gates and that she came at once upon hearing the news.  We share a few remarks, just between the two of us, about my efforts to complete the Tower of Life and the ethical implications of using its powers to create new life, at which point she leaves for the market, leaving me and Zanik to our chat with Oldak.

Oldak turns out to be a kindly fellow, though rather too keen to lapse into technical detail using terms that are completely unfamiliar to me as a human.  He tells me of his initial experiments with the runes Zanik had brought him, and what I gather is that he’s had most luck with the law runes.  He did something what most human mages would have thought crazy, mere waste of runes or invitation to magical disaster, and ground the runes into powder.  When he threw the dust on the ground, he found he would teleport to random places in the city!  With some more experimentation, he was able to perfect the process and eliminate the element of randomness, and now he’s willing to make teleportation orbs for adventurers who provide him with two law runes and some molten glass.  Sadly, I’ve got no glass stored up, but I thank Oldak and make a note to come back when I have some.

The next building over, on the level of the market, is the bank, which by the terms of the accord signed yesterday has joined the Bank of Gielinor network.  They’re still ironing a few kinks out, but it’s amazing that I can withdraw and deposit stuff in the cave goblin capital as easily as I can in Lumbridge!  And however strange it is to think, without my intervention it might not have been possible at all!

In the main square, I speak with some of the locals.  Most of the regular folk are either ambivalently curious or appreciative of my deeds, but among the martial types I sense an undercurrent of resentment.  Some of the rank-and-file members of the guard seem to blame the opening of the city gates, though the influx of humans has barely even begun, to an increase in crime in the city.  Meanwhile, their leader, the captain of the guard, notes warily that the Council has been pressuring him to break a longstanding Dorgeshuun taboo and transform the city police force into a standing army, in response to the threat from the surface.  Oh dear— I hope the Dorgeshuun can preserve what makes them great in these turbulent times, but I get the unpleasant feeling there may be more upheavals ahead.

Around the centre of the main square, I run into another council member, Ur-Vass.  He seems to be of the pro-openness faction, or at least has nothing to say to me but thanks for my efforts alongside Zanik.  Maybe he’s just being polite, though.  Anyway, he rushes off and I head to the market, which seems to be the most bustling part of this happening city.  Despite all the mining that the Dorgeshuun have set up outside the city gates, the main item on sale here appears to be food: my first encounter with cave goblin cuisine!  It is, as one would expect, very reliant on the ingredients that are abundant in the Lumbridge caves, but quite diverse for all that!  For instance, there are frog legs, bat kebabs, frog burgers between slices of mushroom, cave slime soup, frogspawn gumbo and wall beast fingers on sale, all in the first few stalls I visit!  I buy a sampling of each, for a fine dinner later on.  

Besides these foods, the market also offers some local handicrafts, including frog-leather armour not too unlike the kind I had made for me a while back, and lamps.  By talking with the lamp merchant, I learn a bit about the lighting system that keeps Dorgesh-Kaan illuminated.  The principles on which it operates escape me, but magic is involved, and the lighting orbs are made of glass with a copper filament inside.  The technology is not perfectly reliable, though, and occasionally the orbs burn out and need to be replaced.  I’m told there’s a wire-making machine somewhere in the city that’s used to make the filament.

Most interesting, though, are the goblins who throng me, asking me to sell them surface foods.  I don’t have much on me right now, but I bring out a cabbage and one of my gnome battas and show it to the goblin gourmets.  Before I can make a sale, though, the manager of the marketplace refuses to let me trade unless I gain Council authorisation!  This, fortunately, turns out to be a mere formality, and Ur-Vass, who happens to be passing by, quickly sets things right.  Unfortunately, the prices the goblins offer aren’t very good, but I sell the goods at a discount anyway.  It’s only fair, if I get to sample their food, that they should get to sample mine.

After I finish trading, I leave the market, and on my way out run into Zanik again.  She’s just come back from the mines, where a really, really big frog was causing trouble until she chased it off.  An adventurer’s work never ends, even when one is a cave goblin!  Well, she goes off on her business and I continue on, past a delegation of human merchants come to satisfy the goblins’ craving for surface food.  They’re an equal mix of Misthalians and Kharidians, and they’re all quite protective of their turf and not very friendly, so after studying them for a short while, I move on.

There are a few side passages into small residential areas, which are mostly empty at this time of day, the residents being mainly out in the common areas and taking care of their business.  In one of the dwellings, though, I run into a member of the Council, a female goblin by the name of Ur-Meg.  She confesses to me that she is worried about the decision the Council just took.  While she’s happy to have us humans visiting the city, she cannot help but worry that the new openness will bring other, unwanted visitors.  In a whisper, she tells me who these are: the G-O-D-S…  It’s a legitimate worry, as I learned from Zanik not long ago, but fortunately, I have good news for Ur-Meg: the God Wars have been over for over two millennia now, and the gods no longer interfere in mortals’ affairs, at least not overtly.  That seems to set Ur-Meg at ease, and she tells me she hopes I’m right about that.

I leave and continue down a side hallway, which terminates at a modestly sized shop that’s filled from floor to ceiling with bones of all shapes and sizes!  It’s the sort of place you’d never find on the surface, but that would make a certain elderly guy I know squeal for joy if he knew it existed.  The place is owned by a goblin named Barlak, and he’s got a business proposition for me.  Specifically, he’s clean out of exceptionally large bones, the kind that make great structural supports, and he’s willing to pay me a decent sum of money if I bring him some, as well as teach me some goblin construction techniques to sweeten the deal even more.  In addition, he’s looking for large shells, which can be crafted into useful stuff, and will pay extra for them, as well as give crafting advice, if they’re of sufficient quality.  I don’t have any really nice shells or bones to trade right now, but I’ll definitely keep this place in mind!

Since I’ve seen most of what there is to see at ground level, I double back through the market and plaza and head up the grand staircase at the far end of the cavern onto the upper tier.  Just at the head of the stairs, I find the large, stately building of the Dorgeshuun Council, and head inside.  Nothing is going on inside at the moment, but the opulence of the decor and the large meeting table leave no doubt about its purpose.  The only person there at present is the Council scribe, who is using the downtime in his duties to work on what he claims will be the definitive history of Dorgesh-Kaan.  In connection with that, he asks me a few questions against the HAM cult, and takes my answers down stoically, even as I’m telling him how the organisation considers him and his countrymen monsters.  

In return, he tells me a bit about his work in service of the Council (a body, it turns out, of seven members) and relates to me his research on the city’s history.  At first, he relays the information I’d already found out, about how the Dorgeshuun were one of the goblin tribes caught up in the God Wars.  He gives me a bit more detail on how the tribe came to live underground, though: apparently, a Dorgeshuun general named Bloodfist was handed orders from the Big High War God that would have meant the destruction of the tribe.  Refusing to comply, he marched his army to a fissure in the ground and stood at its mouth, shouting defiance against the gods.  The Big High War God, angered, smote the ground around him, killing the general, but also closing the fissure.  His lieutenant, Strongaxe, led the tribe into the caves until they found this cavern and founded a settlement in it.

In the early years of the settlement, the scribe continues, the Dorgeshuun were ruled by generals, much like on the surface.  A new general would succeed the old when he defeated the old in single combat.  The generals were advised by a council of elders, but as generations passed and it became clear that the Dorgeshuun were no longer an army, many of the tribe came to believe that the Council, not the generals, should have supreme authority.  The people voted to become a republic, but General Bonehelm refused to give up his hard-won power, and a civil war began.  The sides were about evenly matched: while the republicans commanded the support of most of the population, the military had all the best warriors and weapons, including magical equipment brought down from the surface.  In the initial fighting, Bonehelm was driven out of the city itself, but established a base nearby.  Once his forces had regrouped, the general launched a bloody attack on the city using troops mounted on giant frogs, but was once again repulsed.  The war would have continued, except that General Bonehelm, in mining out his base, had compromised the structural integrity of the cavern he’d made it in, and the roof collapsed on his withdrawing army, killing the great majority of them.  The Council, secure in its power, took over the governance of the city, and there has been peace among the Dorgeshuun ever since.  Hm— there must be something special about the Dorgeshuun, for them not to have had a major war in all this time since then!

I ask the scribe about recent history.  He recounts the events I was caught up wth, starting with the accidental tunnelling into Lumbridge Castle in the 29th Century since the goblin city’s founding.  His account is mostly accurate, though with a few odd details: he confuses humans with ogres and calls Duke Horacio ‘General’.  Still, he fills me in on a few details I didn’t know from the cave goblin perspective: that the decision to open the gates stirred a lot of controversy among the people while it was deliberated, and that it came down to a very narrow 4 - 3 split on the Council.  But, in the end, what’s done is done, and history, for better or worse, marches on.

I thank the scribe for his most insightful account and continue my tour by having a walk around the upper tier, which turns out to be a quiet residential area, where the more well-heeled cave goblins seem to live.  The only place there that’s significantly busy is a goblin nursery, where the children of the Dorgeshuun are raised collectively. I say hello to the kids; they’re pleasant enough, but pretty shy about strangers, especially a stranger from the surface.  I play with them a bit, then move on, back toward the Council hall.  There, to my surprise, I run into Zanik again, right by what turns out to be her house!  She invites me in, and we talk for a while about what Juna told her, that she is destined to lead all goblins into a new age.  ‘All goblins’, Zanik says.  ‘Not just the Dorgeshuun.’  She’s puzzled about what it all means, but when she spoke to Juna about it, she just told her that when the time is right, everything will become clear to her.  Which, of course, is no help to her right now.  I confess myself uncertain as well of the meaning behind Juna’s words, but tell her that should anything happen, I will be on hand to lend her and the Dorgeshuun all the support I can.  Zanik thanks me and excuses herself, then takes one of Oldak’s teleportation orbs and vanishes off somewhere, no doubt on her next adventure.

There’s one part of the city I haven’t yet explored, and that’s the industrial area to the south of the marketplace.  Though I’m getting tired, I head down there at least to have an initial stroll around.  Unlike the other parts of the city, this one is noisy and sooty, even with the excellent ventilation facilities the Dorgeshuun have put in over the centuries.  Prominent against one of the walls is the contraption used to spin metal bars into wire.  It’s spinning fast and looks quite dangerous: one misstep and it’s likely to rip your fingers clean off.  Beside it is the city’s forge, staffed by a goblin whose sole authority it is to keep all the metal items in the city in good repair, and the responsibility of his position is telling on him.  I reassure him that it looks to me like everything is working quite properly, then leave the forge and continue my tour of the area.  Heading over to the other side of the district, I find a sand-pit that ought to give me everything I need to make molten glass, the essential raw material for Oldak’s teleport orbs!  Nearby, finally, are the communal kitchens (it’s probably a ventilation thing, not only a manifestation of the collectivist bent to cave goblin culture), where the food sold on the market is prepared.  The smells coming from there make me quite hungry, and I’ve covered basically all of the city today, so I backtrack to the market area for another meal and return to my quarters as the lights are being dimmed to rest for the night.