#| Blood-Dust Nun - A Prayer written in Blood |

[vixlenxe]

!Character Tag Dump!

[orthodoxydaily]

Icon, Saint&Reading: Fri., May 7, 2021

Bright Friday

apr 24/May 7

The Nun Elizabeth the Wonderworker (540)

    The Nun Elizabeth the Wonderworker was chosen to the service of God while still at birth. It was revealed to her mother, that the girl would be a chosen vessel of the Holy Spirit.

     In childhood the parents gave off their daughter to a monastery. She grew up in fasting and works and received the gift to heal infirmities not only of body, but also of soul.      The sisters chose the nun to be hegumeness. The nun wore the attire of a coarse hairshirt. Her body withered, but her spirit blazed with the flame of Divine Love.      The abstinence of the saint was immeasurable: for many years she ate only grass and vegetables without bread, and wine and oil she did not partake of. Many a time the Nun Elizabeth passed the whole of the Forty-Day Great Lent, partaking of nothing at all. Imitating the Publican in humility, for three years she did not lift up her eyes to the heavens, but with her spiritual eyes she looked constantly to God. At the midnight prayers the nun was alight and illuminated by Heavenly Light.

     Many miracles were done by the nun: a vicious viper was killed by her prayer, she healed a woman with issue of blood who had been for many a year sick, and she cast out unclean spirits from people. Upon her death the grave of the Nun Elizabeth likewise gave forth healings from illness. Even the very dust, taken from over her relics, gave the blind to see.

ICON: The Molchensk 

     The Molchensk Icon of the Mother of God appeared on 18 September 1405 in the Molcha swampland not far from Putivl'. At first it was situated in the Molchensk Sophroniev wilderness monastery, but in 1605, specifically on 24 April, it was transferred to the Putivl'sk monastery.

John 2:12-22

12 After this He went down to Capernaum, He, His mother, His brothers, and His disciples; and they did not stay there many days. 13 Now the Passover of the Jews was at hand, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. 14 And He found in the temple those who sold oxen and sheep and doves, and the money changers doing business. 15 When He had made a whip of cords, He drove them all out of the temple, with the sheep and the oxen, and poured out the changers' money and overturned the tables. 16 And He said to those who sold doves, "Take these things away! Do not make My Father's house a house of merchandise!" 17 Then His disciples remembered that it was written, "Zeal for Your house has eaten Me up." 18 So the Jews answered and said to Him, "What sign do You show to us, since You do these things?" 19 Jesus answered and said to them, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up." 20 Then the Jews said, "It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and will You raise it up in three days?" 21 But He was speaking of the temple of His body. 22 Therefore, when He had risen from the dead, His disciples remembered that He had said this to them; and they believed the Scripture and the word which Jesus had said.

Acts 3:1-8

1Now Peter and John went up together to the temple at the hour of prayer, the ninth hour. 2 And a certain man lame from his mother's womb was carried, whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple which is called Beautiful, to ask alms from those who entered the temple; 3 who, seeing Peter and John about to go into the temple, asked for alms. 4 And fixing his eyes on him, with John, Peter said, "Look at us." 5 So he gave them his attention, expecting to receive something from them. 6 Then Peter said, "Silver and gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk." 7 And he took him by the right hand and lifted him up, and immediately his feet and ankle bones received strength. 8 So he, leaping up, stood and walked and entered the temple with them-walking, leaping, and praising God.

[dailybiblelessons]

January 5

Hebrew Scripture from the Former Prophets: Joshua 1:1-9

After the death of Moses the servant of the Lord, the Lord spoke to Joshua son of Nun, Moses' assistant, saying, “My servant Moses is dead. Now proceed to cross the Jordan, you and all this people, into the land that I am giving to them, to the Israelites. Every place that the sole of your foot will tread upon I have given to you, as I promised to Moses. From the wilderness and the Lebanon as far as the great river, the river Euphrates, all the land of the Hittites, to the Great Sea in the west shall be your territory. No one shall be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you. Be strong and courageous; for you shall put this people in possession of the land that I swore to their ancestors to give them. Only be strong and very courageous, being careful to act in accordance with all the law that my servant Moses commanded you; do not turn from it to the right hand or to the left, so that you may be successful wherever you go. This book of the law shall not depart out of your mouth; you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to act in accordance with all that is written in it. For then you shall make your way prosperous, and then you shall be successful. I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

Psalm 72

Give the king your justice, O God,  and your righteousness to a king's son. May he judge your people with righteousness,  and your poor with justice. May the mountains yield prosperity for the people,  and the hills, in righteousness. May he defend the cause of the poor of the people,  give deliverance to the needy,  and crush the oppressor.

May he live while the sun endures,  and as long as the moon,  throughout all generations. May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass,  like showers that water the earth. In his days may righteousness flourish  and peace abound,  until the moon is no more.

May he have dominion from sea to sea,  and from the River to the ends of the earth. May his foes bow down before him,  and his enemies lick the dust.

May the kings of Tarshish and of the isles  render him tribute, may the kings of Sheba and Seba  bring gifts. May all kings fall down before him,  all nations give him service.

For he delivers the needy when they call,  the poor and those who have no helper. He has pity on the weak and the needy,  and saves the lives of the needy. From oppression and violence he redeems their life;  and precious is their blood in his sight.

Long may he live!  May gold of Sheba be given to him. May prayer be made for him continually,  and blessings invoked for him all day long. May there be abundance of grain in the land;  may it wave on the tops of the mountains;  may its fruit be like Lebanon;  and may people blossom in the cities  like the grass of the field. May his name endure forever,  his fame continue as long as the sun. May all nations be blessed in him;  may they pronounce him happy. Blessed be the Lord,  the God of Israel,  who alone does wondrous things. Blessed be his glorious name forever;  may his glory fill the whole earth.

Amen and Amen

New Testament Epistle Lesson: Hebrews 11:32–12:2

And what more should I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets—who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched raging fire, escaped the edge of the sword, won strength out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Women received their dead by resurrection. Others were tortured, refusing to accept release, in order to obtain a better resurrection. Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned to death, they were sawn in two, they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented—of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground. Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.

Year A Days Around Epiphany January 5

Bible verses from The New Revised Standard Version, copyright 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All right reserved. Selections from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings, copyright 1985 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Image Credit:The Children of Israel Crossing the Jordan by Gustave Dore. This public domain image was downloaded from Wikimedia Commons.

[argorpg-blog]

CONGRATULATIONS and welcome to the crew of the Argo II, KAEL! The Gods have spoken: welcome aboard ANASFALEIA, known as VIRGIL VELASCO, with a faceclaim of JAMES REID. Please take a look at our checklist, and send in your account in the next 24 hours.

ADMIN NOTES: Reading your app, Kael, you took us by surprise. Virgil is not how we ever pictured Anasfaleia - and yet, we like it better this way! Your writing is so beautiful, and he is heartbreaking in the best possible way. We were particularly in love with the way you wove temptation into your app, posing Gaea as a very real (and personal) threat. Your extra plot arcs have the potential to bring a lot of depth to this group and our future plot, and we’re excited to see what else Virgil can bring! 

NAME/ALIAS: Kael

AGE, TIMEZONE, PRONOUNS: 20, GMT+8:00, He/him/his

ACTIVITY  & EXTRAS:  Between a thesis and my course, I might post around once to twice a week, as much as possible, but be real active on the Discord chat! Oh, and I’m down for all and any plots so you know,, ,, , , , wig.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED SKELETON: Anasfaleia

CHARACTER NAME: Virgil Andres Velasco

AGE & GENDER: 22, Cisgender male

FACECLAIM: James Reid, Brandon Perea, Lee Jong-suk (Name subject to change)

BIOGRAPHY:

ACT I: MORTAL.

You are no demigod.

Demigods are cloaked in legend, their fame or infamy written across the night skies as a testament to their greatness. There are songs and hymns of their deeds, written in stone for time to weather and grow. But from the whispers that follow you, it feels like the ichor in your veins was nothing more than water, the godhead in you merely a wilting flower, doomed to die at an early age. ( Hear them: dulled blade, tarnished silver, unwanted son. )

From the moment you were placed at your father’s doorstep, you became a liability, a fissure in the perfect mold of a marriage that he strived to keep—the duct tape and hot glue of his efforts finally breaking as you were brought to your home. He left, not even giving you a second thought, the mistake that he’d made a year ago a sight too harsh to bear. So you lived with your step-mother, who took you in all the same, and a half-brother that loved you as if nothing had ever mattered. Love was all you had known, but you knew you were different, a problem child in the family, only destined to break everything you’d ever known.

You were sent to a private Catholic school, where you’d learned about God and his love for humanity, where you couldn’t understand the words on holy text, where you thought you’d been cursed with stupidity your whole life. It was a disaster, you think, as you sat, making doodles on notebooks and looking at words floating off pages, not even bothering to make an effort anymore. Viciousness was a language you quickly understood, their words cutting you down as you failed quiz after quiz, the doodles on your notebook erased just as fast as they had appeared. You were never picked for anything, not as a date, not as a friend, not as anything but the facade of a boy as a laughingstock. Virgin Mother and Holy Father above, you prayed, as all sinners were wont to do, for guidance with all your heart. The nuns said that the Lord never heard selfish prayers, that he only dabbled in altruism, but you know you had to try and They had to listen—They owed you that much.

Burning passion never worked, so maybe reverence did—you got on your knees and prayed, prayed for blessings, to not be a disappointment, chanted Hail Marys and Our Fathers until your throat went dry. God was supposed to look at all Their creation as if it was good, so maybe he wasn’t part of Their plan, maybe he was a smudge, an unholy stain that would leave if bleached far enough. But you wouldn’t, you won’t. You will shake the heavens, and make God hear him, if you had to.

ACT II: DIVINE.

It was October, you remembered, that you were being followed. You were sure it was a stalker, someone who saw you as an easy mark, ready to stab you and take you wallet. The gaping maw that greeted you told you that you were definitely wrong. Death was a sure thing, with the flurry of claws and fangs greeting you, but you pushed, and you found only yellow dust on the palms of your hands. You told your step-mother, when you came home limping, fear and worry in her eyes. You grinned and laughed it off, the nonchalance on your face standing firm, as if the claw marks on your arm hadn’t faded yet. ( Hear it: godling boy, divine morsel, golden blood. )

The next day, your father came home.

Maybe that wasn’t right. It was another man, with a crisp tie and a purpose when he walked, far from the sullen man and dead eyes that seemed to greet you during visitation. Pack your things, he said, we leave in an hour. You looked to your mother—step-mother, and she only could give you a smile, and a pat on your cheek. Be brave, bunso. You can do this.

It wasn’t long before you had your things: a leather jacket gifted to you on your fifteenth birthday, a pair of boots from your brother, a silver ring from your mother, a picture of your family during Christmas, baubles of no real value to anyone but you. Maybe the place where they’d stick you was going to be comfortable, with a padded cell instead of cold rock. Maybe you could call Dante, your brother, once in a while after you were all better. Maybe it was going to be a surprise family trip, somewhere warm and sunny with lounges and tanning lotion. The world was full of maybes, and it seemed like you were going to find out what they were.

You counted twelve hours, from the flight to the cab ride. You asked where the two of you were going. Long Island. A campgrounds full of people. Somewhere safe. So you thought of the two of you in a tent, living off s’mores and hot dogs, looking up at the stars. It was a childish dream, foolish for someone of your age, but you didn’t have many things left to you but your hope, and you were going to be damned if someone took that away from you.

In your dreams, there is a woman, as beautiful as the day is bright. She looks at you with curiosity, a cracked chalice in her hands. There is an eternity in her eyes that you cannot comprehend; maybe it was weariness, maybe it was sadness. She does not speak to you when you talk, nor can she hear you, her radiant form flickering in and out as you try and reach out to her. You can hear her voice almost, barely above a whisper, but clear. Be safe, Virgil. Be safe.

ACT III: DEMIGOD

You are a demigod. But you’re not so sure.

Greek myths walk the halls, children with divine blood walking down the campgrounds with bows and blades alike. You are nothing like them, with only perfect skin and wounds that knit faster than they open. They are your family, Chiron said, and you will grow to love them. But you walk into the Hermes cabin, with bodies packed into each other, and you can see no love, only desperation. Desperate voices crying out for parents, for a place to stay, for anyone to hear their prayers. ( Hear yourself: I am worth more than this. I am. I am. I am. )

The other campers laugh at you, the way a foot stumbles during practice, or the way arrows miss the mark in front of you, but you wipe your tears  in secret and try again. You are born from divine blood, Olympian blood, and you are more than what they say. You learn the art of bravado and biting insults, accompanied by thick skin to defy their insults. For years, you burn your meals, giving reverence to the gods, and begging them to claim you. You talk to Eros, to Aphrodite, to every Charity and Season and Muse that they would choose you first and claim you in front of the camp. Maybe then, you would have the chance to prove yourself for all you’re worth, to prove them wrong with a triumphant smile on your face.

And you got your wish.

It wasn’t long before your mother claimed you, youthbringer to the gods, a flash of a wine-glass above your head and everyone thought they knew who you were. A child of a minor goddess, with no talents or traits to give him any notoriety, given too late when the best of them had fallen to the Titans. He was a Band-aid to a problem that the gods made themselves, only serving to further the interests of a dying goddess, and the immortals around her. He was cannon fodder, a fourteenth wheel. He was going to let them all down. He was a snake, a traitor in waiting for the Earth Mother. He was useless, unwanted, unworthy.

Did Achilles not beat his chest, nor did Atalanta call for men to best her? Demigods were called to rise above, so why shouldn’t you? This was a challenge in wait—your first quest, prophesied to bring greatness to all who partake in it, and you will master yourself and come out on top. The Earth Mother may look down upon you, as the Greek demigods do, but you will prove yourself, you will be better than any of them.

However, a voice creeps into your head as you board the Argo II: ruin, ruined, ruination. The worthless child of a worthless immortal, able to do not even the least of what his companions can do. The bravado you had built begins to give way, as you watch them all, heroes in their own right, embarking on a quest to save the world. A few days in, you turn into a silent observer, dealing with minor things: polishing Celestial bronze when you are wont to do, and leaving food for pegasi that return.

You will be better than any of them, the first of the Greeks, you whisper under your breath, a promise, a prayer.

But the voice whispers back: Perhaps. The first to turn. The first to leave. The first to fall to the Earth Mother.

FATAL FLAW/DEFINING CHARACTERISTIC: ανασφάλεια

The gripping insecurity at the back of his mind never stops, hounding him as he walks the Argo II. Virgil has always felt out of place, almost a beat behind other demigods in terms of his skill and experience, always striving to catch up, but always just a ways behind. Trying hard comes as second nature to him, and so does his hypercritical eye, whenever he fails at something spectacularly, his thoughts growing black as he tries to redo and replay scenes of failure over at his head as he hides behind his well-constructed facade. Perfection is an absolute that he’s learned to love and loathe, never being enough to reach it, but always tasting the slightest drop when he comes close every time.

EXTRAS:

POWER BREAKDOWN

THE GENERAL:

Virgil can alter appearances at will, but he can do it to himself better. For himself, it’s usually a few minutes of concentration to alter minor features, such as add or subtract crow’s feet or a few freckles on his face. It takes longer to alter important things, such as eye and hair color, or even the whole face on himself. For other people, he can do it as long as he focuses really hard, and thinks about it well. It takes around an hour to fully transform someone’s face to the exact specifications, but portraits or references significantly reduce

Changes usually are irreversible, which make it harder for him to maintain a semblance of identity, but are usually helped by using prior pictures of the subject.

Unknown to him, he can change the age of someone he comes into contact with, partially or fully, sapping or retrieving their youth. This is a sort of healing that being a child of Hebe does, but he adds a few hours, or years, depending on the length of contact, while shortening his own. This presents itself as mild to severe exhaustion, depending on the length of time he has with the afflicted.

THE PHYSICAL:

As a child of Hebe, the goddess of youth, Virgil is blessed with a wellspring of youth wherever he goes, being resistant to both sickness and the detriments of age, since his cells are in a state of perpetual health. While he does have the ability to heal faster than the average demigod, enough hits will send him to a state of rapid degeneration, deteriorating quicker than the average demigod. Sufficient ambrosia or nectar will always restart his systems and get him to rapidly heal, after some rest.

Whenever he “heals,” he actively shortens his lifespan, transferring whatever energy he has left into a certain body. This manifests in dark circles and a loss of pallor every time he transfers some of his youth to a patient. Massive transference of youth gives him a few wrinkles, and permanent loss of melanin in the hair, and may result in lasting long-term effects, though he’s never tried it, nor learned to do it before.

HEADCANONS

i. godhead

You have a brother. Mortal, vulnerable, but better than any demigod you’ve come across—Greek or otherwise. You would give your godhead up for him, the endless sheen on your skin, to protect the frayed edges of a grey sweater and the wrinkles on his godawful suit. It is a shame that he wasn’t a demigod, you think, that a flickering flame can have an immortal mother instead of a star burning bright, but there is no use in wondering. You know you will defend him, leave him the last burning vestiges of your godhood so that he will live far longer than you will. It will be your last wish, a final protection. You may prove to be useless to everyone else, but not to him. Not ever.

ii. prayers.

Once, you thought Aphrodite was your mother. It came up, a question during visitation, when you asked your father what your mother looked like. Beautiful, he said, like a model in one of those runways. So you prayed, and prayed, and prayed, until you came across doves that wouldn’t even look at your way and roses that seemed to close whenever you passed by. But you learned, through portents and prayer and a prophecy, that you were not the child of an Olympian, but rather a forgotten goddess, a cupbearer in the corner of the skies. You know your mother now, and you love her as a child does, but you could not help but think of what could have been if she weren’t.

iii. better.

There is an uncertainty in every demigod unclaimed in the Hermes cabin, unknown children and the children of esoteric gods that dot the halls, and you know them all. Children of Nemesis and the weighing of their scales, children of Thanatos and their peaceful eeriness, even the children of Deimos, with their shark grins and pointed teeth. You know their names and their stories, when the twelve cabins stay blind to all of you in the rafters of the Hermes cabin. There is a righteous anger sometimes, whenever shame does not come to visit, burning inside your chest. You hate the gods, your fellow campers, as you watch everyone scoff and laugh at the group—you are demigods too, and you all deserve better than scraps of acknowledgement and backhanded compliments.

TIDBITS: will kill for dark chocolate but has an itchy throat a lot because of it. knows all disney songs up until the new ones because he hasn’t learned them yet. has a pair of boots and a leather jacket as a present from his brother always on hand. knows english, tagalog, fifth grade mexican and some vague ilocano. good with his hands, but better with a shortsword or a dagger. hates long range fighting after being nailed overhead by a water balloon by an apollo camper. loves the word soliloquy, since it looks and sounds ridiculous to him. modeled once for some bulgarian line of clothing, but refuses to talk about it.

AESTHETIC: the greyness of rainy days hidden by lights in the living room. looking at the mirror, seeing only imperfections where there are none. lipstick stains on skin, rubbed off from a mistake you’d made. heat in a leather jacket, and the stubbornness of not taking it off. sweat pooling on your brow, from hard work and exhaustion. louder whispers in the back of your mind. the lingering heat of body warmth and the emptiness that comes with its absence. a promise, a prayer, a proposal. an eternal photograph, never fading.

TRAITS:

(+) thick-skinned, determined, amiable, observant

(-) guarded, deceptive, critical, blunt

CONNECTIONS

i. pthonos — the motivation

You are a lightning rod for their ire, more often than not and you bear it better than most. Perhaps it was the years of insults and mockery that helped you cope with their anger towards you, towards the world, towards Ares. Backing down was never an option back then, not from the way they laughed at you or their vicious tongue, and it sure wasn’t right now. You exchange words like sparring partners, and leave like embittered enemies. Their hate fuels you, and you just know that the first moment you get, you’re going to show them how wrong they are.

ii. amarus — the righteous

The anger that they feel towards the gods strikes true, and has caught your attention—no demigod would ever say it out loud, but you know that they are right. Between petty grievances, blood feuds, and the way that they treat others like pawns in their celestial games, it’s a wonder that the gods haven’t torn themselves asunder. You’re never one to discount a good idea, and you’re keen on hearing what they have to say, Roman or not.

iii. cynici — the question

Children of Aphrodite, or of Venus, always leave you with a copper taste in your mouth. They talk to you about beauty, about manipulation, about bending wills with the bat of an eye, and you could only wish you could have the power that they have. But they’re cut from a different cloth, all hard lines and cold gazes, as if love has done them a personal offense. Maybe it’s because they’re Roman, all about order and structure, but you want to ask them what’s made them so disenchanted.

PLOT POINTS

i. guidance of the earth mother.

I’d like an arc where the Earth Mother tries to wear him down by her whispers, telling him that all of their effort is futile, and to join her in bringing down the gods of Olympus. It would be fun to see, since the Greeks aren’t exactly on the best terms with the Romans, and to solidify the thoughts of him not being enough for this quest. The fallout would be amazing as well, since a fracture between the groups would be an unimaginable wrench in their plans.

ii. legacy of the legion.

Roman demigods put stock in work and dedication, he thinks, not the way your blood is made, not whose god you’re sired from, and to Virgil, that makes him envious of what they have in Camp Jupiter. From the lives they built inside New Rome to the praetors that walk the halls, he feels like there, he would be taken seriously. I’d like to see him try and connect with the Romans, in a way that would at least make him use his grit and dedication. Don’t trust Romans, but he’s sure he can make some exceptions.

PINTEREST BOARD