#''swing flames in all directions to dazzle the enemy''

[quirkle2]

it's monday. let's get on it cunts

(original under the cut)

[mythandral]

Ask prompt

feeling for the other's hand

Spoiler warning: takes place during the lvl 90 caster role quest fight, but doesn’t really spoil any of the plot points.

Finally they had the blasphemy cornered. The beast had fled to the roof of the Vault, and with Myth brandishing his rapier, Artoriel and Aymeric their swords, the fight began.

Myth was not the most accustomed to magic, but as always he had adapted well to it, swift footwork and clever use of aetheric technology combining to make him nearly as formidable with it as he was with a gun. It was needed - Profane Fafnir's ghostly form left magic the only offensive option.

It was bright up here, the sun high in the sky enough to make his sensitive eyes water, let alone the dazzling effects of the battle around him. His own magic he could control. Eyes closed briefly for each luminous blast unleashed, open for the less harsh hits and sword work. It flowed naturally, and he could make do.

He had not always needed to resort to this. Before, the tinted lenses of his glasses had protected him from the glare of magic well enough, but after the Light had seared his eyes they were barely enough for him to bear the midday sun. His enemy's magic was far brighter, sharp and sudden, and relentless.

Each burst of flame and flash of lightning stung his eyes, forcing them squeezed shut, and their afterimages danced on the insides of his eyelids. They had barely faded before the next bright light hit and soon his vision was obscured with the constant glow burnt in.

He could make do. His people were known for their skill at fighting by ear, their hearing being as strong as it was, and the bursts of insight his echo imparted made the style more effective still. Since their return from the First, confronted by the knowledge his sight could now be so easily disabled, he had enlisted the aid of his fellow Scions so that he might hone it. It would never be as effective, but as the famed Warrior of Light he still stood a fighting chance.

Aymeric had noticed the gradual change in how his partner fought and it concerned him greatly. The fight was dragging on, but this was different to fatigue. Myth remained quick to react - far quicker than Aymeric himself could manage- but his movements seemed wrong, somehow. Aymeric's attention was almost fully on Myth now, barely managing to parry an incoming swing, when it all clicked into place. Myth seemed to be looking straight through Fafnir at times, or staring off into a direction that was entirely incongruent with the activity around him, almost as if the beast was invisible.

As Aymeric continued to observe, a sudden chill passed through him as he realised that the duskwight could not see the enemy that was mere ilms from him. Aymeric could not well see through the other man's glasses, but he had the impression that his eyes weren't open at all. Artoriel had caught on too, and they shared a worried glance. He had known that the duskwight struggled with harsh light - he always had- but that it was this severe... He shelved the thought. There would be time for that afterwards, after the battle had finished.

It was not to go on for much longer. The blasphemy was clearly on its last legs, limping and pitiful. Aymeric could almost believe it was a real dragon before them, until a final burst of distinctly non-draconic magic shattered the illusion. Orbs of flame that would soon ignite, and Myth couldn't see them. He stood stunned in the middle of the arena, aware of the heat around him but not the direction of safety. They were high up here, and howling winds muddled the sound of the other two Elezen moving to safety. He was stranded.

"Myth!"

Anchored by his partner's voice, he made it to Aymeric's side with mere moments to spare before the ground behind him exploded in flames. That had been Fafnir's last ditch attempt at victory, and soon after the blasphemy fell, disingrating into wisps of smoke.

A quiet settled, and quiet meant that Myth was once again disoriented. But he was close enough hear Aymeric's breath, heavy from the exertion of the fight, even the blood pumping hard through his veins. He reached out to where he thought a hand might be, finding purchase on his wrist and searching out his fingers so that he might entwine them with his own. Aymeric squeezed his hand tightly.

"Let us descend and find shade - 'tis the light that ails you, is it not?" he asked, voice full of worry.

"Aye. But there is no need for such concern, I'll recover well enough," Myth attempted to reassure. It didn't work. Myth felt Aymeric tense as though he was thinking of offering some rebuttal, before he turned and led Myth down into the building behind them, not talking at all.

Once down the stairs they found themselves in dim stone halls, and Myth felt Aymeric's hands on either side of his face, lifting his glasses from his face. He attempted to open his eyes but they were too sensitive still, causing him to wince and squeeze them shut once again.

"I have every right - and every reason- to worry for you," Aymeric near whispered, one hand still cupping Myth's cheek. The firm edge to his voice gave Myth pause.

Aymeric was right, of course, and there was no point insisting otherwise. Even with all the preparation for this eventuality he would have been lost without someone to guide him, and he did not want to think about what would happen if he'd faced the blasphemy alone.

"Sorry."

There was a lot more he wanted to say, but all of it felt like vain, hollow excuses, so he left it at that. Aymeric let out a sigh and, almost as if he could read the other man's mind continued, voice softening just a little.

"That you can still fight in this condition is most admirable. But you must know that there is a wide gulf between being able to carry on, and being alright."

It was Myth's turn to sigh, and he did so guiltily. He had oft willfully failed to make the distinction, and they both knew it. The hand on Myth's cheek fell to his shoulder where it gave a brief squeeze, before Aymeric took his wrist and pressed Myth's glasses back into his palm.

"Will you refuse the chirurgeons if I offer them?"

Even without sight Myth could sense the exasperated look Aymeric was giving him. He didn't have much of a choice, which he supposed it was for the best, so he shook his head meekly. Forced to confront his weakness, and adrenaline from the fight abating, his facade crumbled.

"You'll stay with me, won't you?" he asked. It was the first time he had dared accept the gravity of the situation he found himself in, how helpless he felt, and he let it creep into his voice.

Aymeric sounded relieved, if anything, when he replied.

"You need not ask. Let us return home."

[whitherliliesbloom]

five signs divine

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #24 - beam ]

[ implied wol/alphinaud ]  ★ [ 1,379 words ]  ★ [ mythos au ]

illya skawi, alisaie leveilleur and alphinaud leveilleur. in an au where all sorts of mythology and folklore are real. 

was it the moonlight that blinded him? was it the aurora of magic that spilled forth from her palms? or was it the radiance in her smile?

“Surely we needn’t resort to fighting, sister!”

“Are you crazy?! You want to talk again?! With an onmyouji! Hells, you’re the stupidest oni on the planet, I swear!” 

He certainly was a fool - even he knew that for himself.. even as he’d dodged the myriad of spells that had been casted his way and watched as the knots of his sister’s brows grow increasingly furrowed with each failed attempt to close their distance.. Yet he could not help but to feel his resolve weaken as he looked up at the full moon, and gazed upon the visage of the girl hovering gracefully over it. The words upon his scroll goes unread, dagger left neglected in its sheath.

For his breath had been utterly and completely stolen away by beauty incarnate  - and he swore to both the heaven and hell he’s not ever seen a light more divine in his life.

He has to squint as he gazes up at her, watching bedazzled as her starspun hair drifted like slick translucent silk against the midnight breeze. And it blinds him further as it shines with the radiance of the full moonlight, making the gold ornaments she wore upon her head look dull and lackluster by comparison. 

And just beneath the shadow of her bangs, he could still barely make out a glimmer of vivid violet, sparkling as the stars and yet glossy as jewels all the same. 

He is unused to fighting onmyouji who looked as perpetually youthful as her, let alone a young, beautiful woman who possessed the name of the most feared exorcist among the yokai world. And it shows from his staggered focus and lack of will in his voice.

Alisaie’s breathing however was ragged, her hair unkempt and droplets of sweat trickling down her brow and wetting her collar. And while she had looked up upon their opponent with much aggression, it was her brother that most of her anger had been directed towards.

“Alphinaud! Why aren’t you fighting?!” 

He had always been the weaker of them two - an oni who resembled her perfectly in appearance, and yet possessed none of the spunk or determination that burned within her. While she was ever a burning fire, he was the flowing river - sensible, thoughtful, smart.. she concedes, way smarter than she is... but also incredibly naive. 

He’d talk his way out of a fight if he could, even when faced against the most dangerous exorcist in history - and she swears if the damn onmyouji didn’t slay her first, his stupidity will. 

But he was still her brother, her twin.. Her other half that made them a whole. And she’d sooner cast aside her own name than to abandon him.. or let his starry eyed ideas of settling every disputes with peace get either of them killed. 

“It... It doesn’t feel like she wants to kill us.”

“Oh for the love of- WATCH IT!”

The red oni pushes the blue aside, and they narrowly dodge a torrent of flames spilling off a single talisman that the girl above them held.

“Doesn’t want to kill us huh? What the hell was that then!?”

As Alphinaud turns his head up to glance back upon the girl, and the sleeves of her suikan fluttering gently by her side, his navy eyes are blinded utterly. And like a true fool allowing himself to be captivated by his mortal enemy, he wears a frown upon his face and shakes his head at his sister. He may be a fool, but he was a stubborn fool when it came to his own beliefs.

“If she wanted to kill us, she would have a while ago! There’s no reason for her to have to drag this out!”

Alisaie curses beneath her breath, torn between her wish to trust his sound logic and the burning rage called survival instincts that bubbled within her chest. And while she would like for nothing more than to prove her brother wrong, to drive the sharp ends of her club into the skull of the smug, smiling onmyouji’s face.. with every failed attack and narrow escape of her counter attack, she’s grown increasingly, depressingly aware of the reality of their situation --

They’re severely outmatched, even if Alphinaud did fight back with all of his might it wouldn’t change that. It wouldn’t change who this woman was - the identity of the souls she possessed.

But she’s not one to give up, not in the face of death. And like a true red oni, she’d fight upon her pride even if the chance of her success was close to nonexistent. 

“Stay and watch to die, then. I’m giving it my all until the very end!”

“Alisaie!”

The oni propels herself up, swinging her club over her head with an enraged, wrathful cry. 

“I call upon the feathers of the phoenix! Scorch and tear my enemy asunder!” 

With a swing, she calls forth a torrent of fire that ignites into a pair of wings that are sent flying towards the onmyouji. The heat of her rage and flames both threatened to burn the skies to ash, unrelenting and merciless in their path.

And yet the wizard remained smiling, the very picture of serenity, watching as the fire threatened to consume her whole. 

“That won’t do, I’m sorry.” 

A beam of light bursts forth from a thrown talisman the girl had been clasping between her fingers, and from the seal came forth an undine of dew that slithered forth and circled the phoenix wings in a prison of water. 

In a single fleeting instance, Alisaie’s burning hot flames were smothered by the undine, and she watches with grit teeth as the water dissipates into little, glittering droplets that rose into the air with as much tranquility as the one who called them forth.

Before she was allowed yet another chance of attack, the onmyouji dashes forth, and Alisaie lets out an audible gasp of horror as the young exorcist thrusts her hand out. From the tips of her two fingers came a gentle trail of light.

“Harken to me, demon! With the five seals of the heavens I bind you!” 

The seal of Abe no Seimei - a star with five points that glows a blinding white light upon having all its seals connected. Alisaie had hoped not to ever see it for herself in person - knew from the stories she heard from other reincarnated yokai that the five signs that carried the legend of the greatest onmyouji to have lived will become her undoing if she were ever unfortunate to run into him. 

And in an instant she feels her body drained of energy, her wrists and ankles bound by a tight aetheric cuff that refused to bend to her brute struggle, nor would they melt away like metal as she forced a trickle of flames from the surface of her skin with what little fight she had left in her soul.

“...Guess you’re gonna kill me now.” 

Up close, the girl is even smaller than Alisaie had expected, no bigger than most other imps of their time. She appeared nothing like the legends - nothing like the wise old man that had been heralded for as long as the thousands of years she’s lived. And as the young woman flashes the oni a gentle, compassionate smile, Alisaie feels the rage in her heart being stomped out.

“I... never said that was my intention.” With a tilt of her head, and a girlish giggle that echoed in Alisaie’s ears, the onmyouji waved her hand. “Sorry, I was just doing my job.” 

The exorcist turns away and drifts downwards towards the blue oni, and Alphinaud is left with mouth agape as the she hovers just several feet off the ground in front of him. 

“I know you’d rather not be restricted by an onmyouji of all people.. but I’m still going to have to bind your powers.” the allure and gentleness of her voice was like a siren in the water, and he momentarily forgets to breath when she beams up at him with a dazzling smile that was as divine as the seals she drew from the tips of her fingers upon his chest. “Sorry.”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Death Servitor Lore Pt 1

A response to this post about Death Servitors: this is not an exhaustive reference because it does not go into those deliberately created by Herzog, but it does pretty much cover those ‘traditional’ types of Death Servitor

There is more than one type of Death Servitor (aka Deadpool, Dead Servant, Dead Waiter):

Type one: Undead Zombie Deadpool, Awakened by Dragonkind with a special Word Spirit (EX Skill):

The rain splashed on Menek's face, drenching his hair. He and the Chinese man were less than half a foot apart, staring at each other's eyes, and the Yatcan long knife penetrated the opponent completely under Menek's all-out sprint, together with his solid metal armor. But this terrible penetrating injury was not fatal. The Chinese man's pupils were full of indifference and his hands held Menek's blade with great strength. 

The knife should go through the opponents heart, but the slightest heartbeat cannot be detected on the handle. 

"Deadpool!" 

Menek whispered, "It's a pity you can't be studied as a living body... you are already dead."Menek slowly drew the long  knife from the dead servants heart, letting the dead servant kneel at his feet, the flame reflecting the dead servant's body on the knife. The rain washed Menek's long knife and washed away the black blood from it. The silent north western Chinese men, a group of dead waiters, gathered from all around, surrounded the burning companions, silently revealed the sharp blades in their hands and untied their black ponchos

.Anjou: "My question is, who suggested to the Qing government to use the dragon "undead" as a force? Those who attack us? Those who can awaken Deadpool must have the same dragon blood as us.""...At the same time they transported a batch of deadpools of dragon blood to Hambug, and awakened them in Germany with the power of a Word Spirit"

Dragon Raja Prequel -- Wings of Mourning

Overwhelming fear suddenly surrounded Chu Zihang. He glanced at the speedometer at 120 kilometers per hour. Who can chase this Maybach on the elevated road while reaching out and knocking on the door?

The knock on the door rushed up, not alone, but three, five -- more and more figures gathered outside the car. They were covered with the rain water and stared at Chu Zihang condescendingly. A dazzling silver light came in from outside the window, illuminating the  pale faces of Chu Zihang and the man (his father). The man turned to look at Chu Zihang, trying his best to suppress the tremor in his voice, "Don't be afraid... son!"

The knock on the door turned into a harsh sound of a sharp object scratching on the steel and glass. Chu Zihang thought that it was the nails of the shadows.

The speed reached 180 kilometers per hour within a few seconds and it was still going on, because they could not get rid of those shadows. Mercury-silver light came in from all directions, and there were so many dark shadows surrounding the Maybach in the light. Standing silently like a group of death gods surrounding the bed of the dying. They opened their eyes together and their golden pupils were as bright as a torch.

Dragon Raja Two:  The Mourning Eyes

Type Two: Over threshold Hybrids turned Dragon Servants, called by dragons and oppose the the Secret party (Examples would likely include Mai Sakatoku, Enxi Su, and Renata (Zero)) Willing to die for their dragon Masters

Anjou: "The dragon gene is very special. Once the proportion exceeds 50% the dragon gene has the ability to change the human part of the gene. For this extremely aggressive gene, the human gene is inferior. After the dragon genes are revised again and again, eventually the hybrid will becomes very close to pure blood, the human part will be swallowed, and the dragon part will become more awakened.

Mingfei: "The result will become a pure blood dragon?"

Anjou: "It's infinitely close, but its never reachable. The principal sighed. "The Deadpool is also a sad race. They want to be pure bred, but they are different from real dragons. The true pure bred dragons are only ancient dragons. The ancient dragons regard these people as servants and drive them, but they don't recognize them. They look very much like humans and they are hard to be noticed in the crowd. Some of them have extremely long lifespans because of their blood. The purebred dragons will select some people from them. Transforming their bodies, making them between life and death. They hide their identities among generations of humans, waiting for the dragon kings to recover and prepare to meet them. In fact. They are our toughest enemies, as long as we are fully prepared, it is not difficult to kill a dragon king who is about to recover, but once the Deadpool interfere in the process, it will be very dangerous."

Menek: "Why? It is not easy for you to control the spirit of words like this. No matter how pure your blood is, it is not the ancient first generation or second generation dragon race, so you will be drained to death." Menek stepped back slowly, he did not expect his opponent to suddenly show a desperate offensive posture. This way of releasing power was poised to squeeze his opponent dry. He doesn't care about those deadpools. With Viscount Charlotte's flint lock and his Atcan long knife, the top elites of the secret party gather together. Deadpool does not have enough combat power without a leader and he has seriously injured the leader

.... "You say in Chinese you are 'burning the forest down to hunt?" Meneck said as he looked around, the dead waiters also approached at the same time, their bodies began to change, and their hands were stacked with scales, sharp as awls. The iron blue claws replaced the original hands. They seemed to be besieged by a pack of wolves, and the pack of wolves looked forward to the fresh meat.

"Because I can't go back to China, I knew before I set off that I have only one mission here, and you know it." The woman's (deadpool's) voice revolved with the storm, as if she rushed down from the sky carrying a majestic God.

"Dragon Raja Prequel -- Wings of Mourning

"But Rest assured, your dragon bloodline ratio does not exceed 50% and more than 50% of the students will not be admitted. Although their potential is far beyond ordinary people, the dragon bloodline will slowly assimilate them into dragon followers." Professor Guderian said.

Dragon Raja Book 1: Dawn of Fire

Type Three: Dragon Temple/Tomb Guardians (AKA Corpse Guard)

"Things in the legend. The corpses of dragons will not be corrupted for many years after death. The dragons use alchemy to concoct the corpses of their own kind and use them as guardians of the city. This is a forbidden technique, until the time of the ancient Egypt. The corpses of pharoahs and nobles were reprocessed with this technique in an attempt to make them immortal but they were only able to preserve the corpses, but failed to preserve the activity of nerves and muscles, so they could not create real walking corpses." Caesar said, "If this is a dragon city, the corpse must be buried vertically in the middle of the foundation, the blood of the embryo woke them up! Damn it! Some one must have done this deliberately. The Lenin rushed into the ruins with the embryo to activate this Ancient city!"

Chu Zihang saw from the observation window below, scarlet water mist gushing from the ground of the ruins, and the dragon blood flowing under the ruins filled the ground, and slender living creatures crawled out of the cracks in the ground. The cracks envelope these baby's after birth. Their bodies glowed with a metallic luster, and their pupils were ferocious golden. Because they were sleeping for too long, they could not get up, crawling on the seabed, twisting their slender lower body. But the body, after being nourished by the dragon blood immediately recovered its ancient strength,. They leaped suddenly, swinging their long tails and floating up quickly. "Snake tail... human body." Chu Zihang said softly, "These are not purebred dragon, they were also hybrids before when they were alive. This is not a dragon city, but it was built by the ancestors of today's hybrids!"

Dragon Raja III: Black Moon Tide

To be continued.....

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 31: Gates of Porphyry

Dorian and Cole are in the Fade, trying to rescue Tristan from the nightmare’s clutches. Dorian sets fire to a great many things.

This chapter is a bit long, so only the first part here! The rest is on AO3 :)

Read from the beginning

**************************

The gates of the keep loomed before him, high and impenetrable. Dorian let his gaze sweep over the wide expanse of houses, snow and trees that lay beyond the wooden walls. The familiar noises of a large settlement reached his ears; people chattering, ladles banging on pots and the beat of blacksmith hammers, mingled with the sighing of the mountain wind.

“Well,” Dorian said, gripping the hilt of his staff. “Shall we announce ourselves?”

Cole bit the inside of his lip, his eyes wide as they took in every detail, nimble hands hovering over his daggers. He glanced at Dorian, and nodded.

It was time.

Dorian let the power of the Fade suffuse him. A trickle at first, then a rushing river that made his lungs swell and his skin prickle. It had been a while since he’d used magic in the Fade, a long while, and the sheer amount of it, the ease with which it flowed through him startled him. It made him feel just a little lightheaded.

With a wide swing of his staff, Dorian cast, focusing all his intent on the walls before him. They looked dense and strong, rife with protective magic that seemed woven into the stone and the wood, but he knew this could be just one more trick the demon that controlled this part of the Fade had used. With enough focus, he could tear it apart at the seams, he knew that. Mages could manipulate the Fade to some extent, more if they were somniari, and that was what attracted spirits and demons to them, like flies over honey. Getting past the demon’s elaborate defences wasn’t just a demonstration of physical prowess or magical skill, but a battle of wills.

The gates caught fire with a loud, satisfying whoosh.

It was as if a bubble had been popped. A low rumbling drifted from beyond the walls, hundreds of booted feet striking the earth. Dorian could just make out the outline of figures gathering on the battlements and the watchtowers behind the thick, dark cloud of smoke that soon obscured the sky.

“It knows we’re here,” Cole remarked, taking a step forward. “It is angry.”

“You don’t say.” A small smile curled the edges of his lips as Dorian followed, already preparing his next spell. Sneaking about was never his strong suit. When in doubt, dazzle.

Or burn everything to the ground. That was always an option.

An arrow flew past him, then another. And another. Soon, there was a hailstorm of bolts, their dark feathery ends quivering on the ground all around them. Dorian’s barrier sprung with a soft, electric buzz, just in time for a particularly thick bolt to slide past it and away. Surely, they didn’t expect to defeat a mage with arrows, did they?

He hadn’t quite finished his thought when the blazing gates peeled apart and what seemed like an entire division of soldiers poured forth, the clanking of their armour and their loud bootsteps only barely swallowed by the wind and the thick carpet of snow. Well. That was more like it. Anything less, and Dorian would have considered it a discourtesy.

“This is it,” he told Cole. “Get ready.”

As if in agreement, Cole disappeared in a cloud of smoke, his form engulfed by a darkness that dissipated in a heartbeat. Dorian had seen him do that before, but here in the Fade he seemed to blend even more seamlessly with his surroundings. It was… just a little unnerving. What was even more unnerving was the sight of the man that ran forth to attack him, only to have his throat slit by thin air. Blood poured down his neck and the front of his jerkin, and he fell face down on the snow.

More and more came after him, their swords brandished, their armours polished to a shine, the sign of the Inquisition on their left breast and that strange sigil on their right; a horse, a sickle and a sword. What could it mean? Whose banner was it? There was barely time to think as he stepped to the side, away from an incoming attack. He swung his staff in a wide arc, and the middle of the division erupted in a fiery explosion, pieces of armour and body parts flying in all directions. Screams rose all around him as the soldiers scrambled away from the flames and the onslaught of limbs and broken weapons. Dorian fade stepped, back and safely away from the thick of the battle, landing next to a wide tree trunk. From his vantage point, he could see the sharpened edges of Cole’s daggers flashing in the light for a blink of an eye before sinking in necks, bellies, elbows, sides. One by one, the panicked enemies fell under the spirit’s swift attacks.

More kept coming, though. There seemed no end to them. Dorian knew they were not real people, only figments of memories and dreams, likely plucked from Trevelyan’s mind and manipulated by the demon. Still, it all felt real. The smoke clung to his throat, the smell of blood, spilled guts and burning flesh filled his nostrils, their panicked screams rang along the mountain top. It was odd and jarring, attacking something that looked and felt so much like the place he had come to call home for the past few months. In the minds of those soldiers, he was surely an intruder, and they were all defending the safety of their houses, of their families. Of their leader.

Speaking of which; where on earth was he?

Dorian’s mind swiftly supplied all sorts of terrifying scenarios to that answer as he summoned spell after spell. Perhaps he was bound somewhere, tortured by the demon until the last of his defences left him. Perhaps he was holding on by a thread before his resolve was entirely eaten away. Perhaps, and that thought chilled him to the bone, perhaps he had already succumbed.

Dorian had seen that before. He’d seen what it was like, to have one’s mind taken over by a demon. To become an abomination. He’d seen mages, fellow researchers and students, falling prey to the taunts of malevolent spirits from the beyond, their consciousness eroded beyond repair. Their shape remained familiar, but their minds… those were gone. Permanently, more often than not.

He squared his jaw, battling the feeling of nausea that came from drawing infinitely more power than he was used to. He wouldn’t let that happen to Trevelyan. He would do anything, absolutely anything to bring him back. Even if it meant cutting through an entire army to do it.

It certainly seemed like he was very close to that, right at that moment.

Cole was weaving smoothly through the soldiers, cutting them down one by one, more and more bodies falling prey to the ease with which he wielded his daggers. Dorian’s spells too, were doing considerable damage, burning and zapping anything in their path. Still, it wasn’t enough. They kept pouring. And pouring. How much power did that blasted demon command?

It was time for more drastic measures.

Dorian closed his eyes. He took a deep breath to slow the rapid beating of his heart as his tongue wove the incantation. The fact that they were in the Fade was an inconvenience- there was no telling whether the spell would react the same way it did on the other side of the Veil. Still, he had to try. He and Cole needed all the help they could get.

As the words left his lips, the sky overhead darkened, twisted and writhed, then split in two. Bolts of lightning filtered from the dense clouds, falling on the soldiers, paralysing them and sending them flying. Dorian concentrated his focus on their center, carving a path through the melee. The long stone bridge was just within view, and past them Skyhold, and within that-

“Cole!” he shouted, running towards the path his spell had opened for them. “Follow me!”

The spirit blinked at him, the side of his face drenched in blood. Whether the blood was his own or from one of the people he’d cut down Dorian could hardly say. His blade slid across a man’s neck swiftly, effortlessly, and then he disappeared in a wisp of smoke. When Dorian glanced beside him, after crossing the threshold of the bustling village, Cole was right there, quick footsteps falling in line with his own.

People stopped and stared as they ran down the long, straight road that led to the wide stone bridge. It was fortunate that they seemed not at all inclined to do anything other than stare or dart out of their way. The demon, it seemed, could control some things, but not all. The village and the keep beyond was fed by Trevelyan’s own memories or thoughts. Dorian should be thanking him, he supposed, that there weren’t villagers with pitchforks and torches running after them just then.

The lightning storm he had summoned was slowly subsiding, and it wouldn’t be long before the soldiers came after them again. Dorian’s heart was beating furiously from the exertion, but he had to do something to stop them before it was too late. As soon as the heels of his boots touched the stones of the bridge, he stopped and turned around, twirling his staff above his head. A wall of electricity sprung from the ground, blocking the entrance. He tied off the spell hard and fast- it would keep longer that way.

“They won’t stop coming,” Cole said, the barest hint of a pant in his voice. “The demon is strong. It’ll send as many as it can.”

“It definitely seems like it,” Dorian muttered as he resumed his running. He could only hope that they reached Trevelyan before those… people -memories? Figments of his dreams? Whatever they were, anyway- reached them.

A few quick fireballs took care of the handful of guards by the main gates- thankfully, they were at the same posts they occupied in real life. Dorian knew well how Skyhold’s defenses worked, so clearing the path was only a matter of time. As soon as they’d stepped past the gates of Skyhold, they both stopped dead in their tracks.

Where there had been a clear, cloudless day before, now a night sky littered with glittering stars hung above them. Where the courtyard had been filled with people going about their daily chores, now those same people were dressed in their finest outfits, dancing to the cheerful music of fiddles and lyres, drinking from cups filled to the brim with ale. Lit lanterns hung from the walls, or floated around them like wisps. Laughter chimed through the expansive gardens like a thousand tiny bells.

“What is all this? A celebration?” Dorian asked, thinking out loud. “Where did all the guards go?”

“Elsewhere.” Cole took a small step forward, eyes wide, scanning the place around them. “It knows me,” he said on a huffed exhale. “It doesn’t want me here.”

“It can sense you?”

“Yes. It can sense you, too. It doesn’t want you here either.” He weaved seamlessly through the people, making his way towards the main keep, and Dorian followed him, glancing about him warily. No one seemed to take much notice of them, let alone attack them, which only added to the eeriness of the place. He could feel his skin crawling, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. It all looked so familiar, but foreign at the same time.

“You must be careful,” Cole whispered to him as soon as they’d reached the wide staircase that led to the throne room. “The demon, it will try to get in your mind, too. Do not let it.”

Dorian waved his concerns away. “I’ve dealt with demons before. I can hold my own.”

“This one’s different,” the boy muttered, chewing his lip. His fingers twitched and tightened over the daggers on his belt. “Look for him. I’ll look for the demon. Go, now. There’s not much time left.” With that, he disappeared in the shadows.

Read the rest on AO3!

[anistarrose]

Fear The Reaper A Lot, Actually - Chapter 3

AO3

Chapter Summary: The battle continues! Kravitz arrives to help. Taako chills out. Angus remains skeptical.

Characters: Kravitz, Taako, Barry Bluejeans, Angus McDonald, Magnus Burnsides, Merle Highchurch, Noelle | No-3113, The Raven Queen, The Director | Lucretia, misc. BoB cameos

Relationships: Taakitz, Angus McDonald & Taako, Barry Bluejeans & Kravitz

***

The cloaked necromancers Chad and Dave stood beside their fallen comrade, seething with rage. Green tendrils of electricity flew off their staff, materializing into twisting vines that pulverized almost every stone surface in a twenty-foot radius.

Behind them, Magnus coughed up water and struggled into a sitting position. He was still loosely bound by moss, but managed to swat the attacking vines away from Merle, who was looking even worse for wear on account of residing almost directly beneath the epicenter of Taako’s stalactite-shattering stunt.

“Don’t worry,” Merle mumbled, fumbling with a waterlogged Extreme Teen Bible. “I know how to deal with plants —”

His holy symbol began to glow, only for that radiant light to fade almost immediately as Merle’s head slumped. “Never mind, I think I’m concussed.”

From his position on the ledge between Angus and Kravitz, Taako watched with increasing concern.

“I really fucking didn’t think through the collateral damage of that move, did I?” he muttered. “Hey, Kravitz? If you’ve developed any grudging respect for me at all over the forty-eight hours we’ve been playing this game of cat and mouse, then can you do me a solid and get those two out of danger?”

Kravitz eyed the pile of rubble in the center of the cave, where the pool had once been. “Technically, I’ve been hunting you for more like twelve years. But I think I can figure something out.”

Before Taako could even react to the first statement, Kravitz turned into a ball of light and zipped down to the ground floor. Dave took a swing at him with the staff, but Kravitz was too fast, dodging green lighting bolts and disappearing into the shattered remnants of the stalactite.

There was an anticlimactic pause, then a low rumble, and a stone construct began to assemble itself as rubble from across the cave flew together to form four massive arms and fists. A few of the surviving slime constructs charged him, but Kravitz effortlessly flicked boulders through their heads with his lower pair of arms, then scooped up Magnus and Merle with his upper pair.

“What are you even doing with that staff? Either stop him, or hand it over to me!” Chad wrestled the staff out of Dave’s hands and pointed it at the base of the construct’s torso, summoning more vines and wiry tree roots that bored into the stone. But before they could bind or shatter any vital foundations, Taako took his cue to rejoin the fight, dropping a Fireball on the necromancers from directly above before casually floating down to their level, Umbra Staff still wreathed in flames.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Kravitz scanned the cave for ledges out of the way of danger, but Angus still occupied the only safe spot he could see. Instead, he drew upon his link to the Astral Plane and concentrated — and as the cracks in the construct’s form began to glow blue, several sapphire crystals burst out of the wall of the cave to form an elevated platform. He set Magnus and Merle down atop it, then brushed the last scraps of moss off their bodies with surprisingly dextrous stone fingers.

“Unhand me, you undead — oh, never mind, that’s actually really helpful,” Magnus told him. “But do you think you could get me my axe back?”

The construct’s head turned, as a movement on the ground floor caught Kravitz’s attention. Scattered pieces of moss were slowly creeping back together, reabsorbing diluted puddles of slime and writhing as they formed new undead constructs.

“Maybe later,” Kravitz answered, voice echoing across the cave. “Right now, I’ve got other priorities.”

From his bird’s-eye-view, Angus noticed the reforming slimes at the same time Kravitz did. “Taako, behind you!”

Taako had been handling the two surviving necromancers with ease, but he barely reacted in time to dodge a spray of acid from one of their newly formed minions. This one was taller and more deformed than any of the others, and its three arms wielded gelatinous copies of the Extreme Teen Bible, Railsplitter, and the Umbra Staff. Its face was perpetually bubbling and reforming, sprouting Magnus’s sideburns before replacing them with Merle’s beard, then Taako’s hat.

“Ugh!” Taako spat, recoiling. “I know you’re necromancers, but I didn’t sign up for this horror movie shit!”

“Try freezing it, sir!” Angus yelled, cupping both hands around his mouth. “Your Sleet Storm took out a lot of the vines last time!”

Taako fired off a simple Ray of Frost, catching the slime abomination in the shoulder and freezing its whole body solid in just a fraction of a second. Its face solidified somewhere between Merle’s and Taako’s, locked in a shouting expression — but thankfully, Taako didn’t have to stare at his fused likeliness for much longer, as Kravitz’s construct detached and launched one of its fists with a burst of blue astral fire, pulverizing the frozen construct into a thousand clouded ice crystals.

“Nice shot!” Taako called out. “But fuck, I wish we’d realized their weakness sooner!”

“Damn you, and damn your reaper friend a thousand times!” Dave bellowed. “But you haven’t won yet! Fuck ‘em up, Chad!”

Chad slammed the tip of the staff against the ground, and a dozen more vines arose to bind the stone behemoth. Kravitz let it crumble, turning back into a ball of light and zipping over to Taako’s side, where he rematerialized as a humanoid skeleton who gripped his scythe as three new, equally deformed slime clones rose and advanced towards them.

“If you freeze those three, I bet I can shatter them all in one attack,” Kravitz boasted, grinning at Taako.

“Create another sapphire at about torso height in the wall on our left, and I bet I can freeze ‘em all with just one ray!” Taako raised him.

“You’re on!” Kravitz plunged his scythe into the ground, and a sapphire crystal burst out from a wall of dull gray limestone. Nodding approvingly, Taako fired off another Ray of Frost, which ricocheted off the reflective blue surface at the perfect angle and flew in a straight line through all the clones, leaving each of them frozen.

Kravitz twirled his scythe and it morphed into a elegant black longbow, three sapphire-tipped arrows already nocked and blazing with ghostly flames. He turned his bow sideways as he fired, and each arrow pierced one frozen enemy, shattering them into three identical piles of icy shards.

“Ohoho! Nice one!” Taako laughed, applauding enthusiastically. “Look out for those clowns with the staff, though!”

Chad screamed and charged at Kravitz, wielding the intensely magical staff like a melee weapon — but Kravitz simply plucked the string of his bow, and upon hearing the tone, Chad dropped the staff and slammed his hands over his ears. In one lightning-fast motion that literally crackled with electricity, Kravitz reverted his bow to its scythe form and swung at Chad, who was vaporized the second the blade pierced his skin. A mottled brown cloak fell to the ground, sliced in half but no longer occupied by anything but dust.

“Could you do me a favor and freeze the rest of that moss, Taako?” Kravitz called out. “I’ll wrap up this battle on my own, if you don’t mind.”

“Go for it!” Taako told him, conjuring a floating bag of popcorn.

Kravitz vaulted into the air, tearing a rift through the fabric of the Material Plane with a twirl of his scythe. He vanished and reappeared behind Dave’s back, but Dave was ready for him, pulling out a longsword as he whirled around and parried Kravitz’s attack.

“Ah, you’re one of those people,” Kravitz commented, looking about as unperturbed as a skeleton could. “Got into necromancy later in life after the fighter class didn’t work out for you, eh?”

Dave managed to deflect Kravitz’s next flurry of strikes, but found himself losing ground as Kravitz backed him towards the wall below Magnus and Merle’s perch.

“Though it looks like you’re a little out of practice,” Kravitz went on. “Don’t worry — I’m sure you’ll find some new sparring partners in the Eternal Stockade.”

Gasping for breath and only a few more steps away from being cornered, Dave threw back his hood to reveal a rugged half-elven face, and managed a dazzling smile.

“You don’t have anywhere left to retreat,” Kravitz remarked amusedly. “Why the optimism?”

“Because I know something you don’t, reaper!”

“Which is?”

Dave tossed his cutlass from his left hand to his right. “I am not left handed!”

Kravitz laughed so hard that his appearance flickered between living and skeletal, even sprouting raven feathers in his hair for a brief moment. “Really? That’s all?”

Dave’s expression crumpled. “What do you mean?”

With each hand, Kravitz pulled his scythe in opposite directions, and it morphed into two new scythes, each blade as sharp and deadly as the original. “I thought you were going to say you had two swords!”

Shoveling popcorn into his face with one hand, Taako pointed his Umbra Staff behind him and blasted a reforming moss monster without even looking at it. “You tell ‘em, Krav!”

Dave tried to feint to the right then flee to the left, but Kravitz transformed into a dual-wielding whirlwind, twirling blades into a vortex that could’ve torn through solid stone. But every one of his movements was too precise, too carefully honed, to possibly strike an unintended target like a wall or misplaced boulder — one moment, Dave’s longsword was flying out of his hand, and the next, Dave himself was no more, vaporized into a cloud of dust that quickly dispersed and a bright soul-light that was banished directly to the Eternal Stockade.

A wand carved from gnarled wood fell to the ground, and as usual, the Umbra Staff inverted to slurp it up. For just a moment afterwards, Taako could’ve sworn that it tugged his hand ever so subtly upwards and pointed at Kravitz — but the second Kravitz turned around, the tugging stopped, and the residual magic aura surrounding the umbrella faded.

“Well, I suppose we should do something about that necromantic staff.” Kravitz transformed back into a human and walked over to the offending magical artifact, manifesting a black leather glove around his hand as he picked it up. “It’s not quite Grand Relic-tier dangerous, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe to leave lying around, either.”

He tore a new rift with his scythe and tossed the staff through. “And just when I was making headway on all that Miller paperwork…”

“Hey, if you need help, I bet you could outsource some of it to Angus!” Taako suggested. “You’re not kidnapping him to whatever weird afterlife cubicle you work from, though. He’s my student.”

“Angus is the child?” Kravitz glanced up to the ledge Angus still stood on, who was watching the events below with a mix of fascination and horror that could only come from a kid detective in over his head. “What were you thinking, bringing him here? He could’ve been hurt if I hadn’t arrived when I did!”

“Well, in my defense, I didn’t expect to have any potentially traumatizing battles with slime monsters,” Taako retorted. “It’s not my fault my life never has a dull moment!”

Kravitz sighed. “Neither does your undeath, apparently.”

“That’s just the way things go for celebrities. Nothing I can do about it!” Taako flipped his hair, then made a mental note to cut it now that it was getting long enough to flip. He didn’t want it turning into a mullet.

“I could name plenty of celebrities whose deaths have been relatively law-abiding, actually,” Kravitz told him, expression deadpan. “I’d say about eighty percent of them total, or maybe seventy-five.”

“I can only imagine the Astral Plane tabloids,” Taako chuckled, tossing his Umbra Staff into the air. “But anyway, let’s get you down from there, Agnes.”

The opened Umbra Staff flew into Angus’s hand, and with only slight hesitation, Angus leapt of the ledge. The handle was warm, but not hot, and something about that gentle heat just felt reassuring.

As Angus safely floated to the ground, enveloped in silver light, Kravitz made a sweeping downwards gesture with his scythe, and the sapphire crystals supporting Magnus and Merle began to rumble and slowly descend.

“Is it Angus or Agnes?” Kravitz asked the boy detective. “I think I must’ve misheard you at least once.”

“Well, it’s definitely not Agnes,” Angus replied. “Are you really the Grim Reaper?”

Kravitz chuckled. “I’ve had this job for almost eight centuries, and I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before. Usually the scythe’s convincing enough.”

Angus crossed his arms. “A little skepticism is always healthy, no matter how obvious the conclusion may seem. Caleb Cleveland taught me that, just like he taught me a lot of things.”

“Can’t say I’m familiar with Caleb Cleveland, but that sounds fair enough,” Kravitz cheerfully conceded. “Though maybe you should exercise a little more of that caution the next time Taako and his friends drag you along on a dangerous mission. Speaking of which, let me fix you all up.”

As Magnus and Merle reached the ground level of the cave, Kravitz’s scythe shimmered and morphed into a lute. Intricate carvings of various corvids covered almost every inch of the ebony wood, with tiny sapphires inlaid for their eyes. Magnus looked over the handiwork approvingly as Kravitz plucked out a simple melody, and an aura of rosy pink healing magic washed across the room.

Merle rubbed his forehead. “Huh, my headache just melted away…”

Taako laughed. “Yeah, that’s what healing magic usually tends to do for concussed people!”

“Has this been our problem the whole time?” Magnus added. “Has Merle just not been able to comprehend the concept of healing?”

“Did the concept of healing get erased by the Voidfish?” Taako wheezed.

“I can comprehend it just fine, assholes!” Merle retorted. “I’m just not used to seeing it as a performance!”

Kravitz returned his lute to scythe form. “Playing four chords and healing you wasn’t a performance. But Taako and I destroying those three undead? That was a performance.”

Taako beamed. “Hey, speaking of which — is there any chance killing three horrible slimy boys is equivalent to taking out one lich in the bounty system? Because I think I rocked it today, not to mention the two of us really vibing, and it would be cool if you could cut me just a little bit of slack.”

“I’m afraid none of today’s harvest had actually died and escaped the Astral Plane before, which means they still rank far below both the three of you, as well as your actual targets,” Kravitz replied. “But I could probably pull a few strings and make sure your cells in the Eternal Stockade are all next to each other, if it makes you feel compensated.”

“Does that include Lucas Miller?” Magnus asked. “I really don’t want to be stuck in a cell next to Lucas for eternity.”

Kravitz shrugged.

“Noelle and Maureen can hang, though,” Magnus clarified. “They’re cool.”

Taako ignored Magnus, walking over to Kravitz’s sapphire platform to examine it. Even after knocking on it and prodding it with his Umbra Staff, it remained solid. “I might end up regretting this question, but your sick crystal stunt reminded me and now I gotta know — if you’re this good with your scythe, then why didn’t you just take a physical form in Lucas’s lab and kill us that way instead of fucking around as a crystal construct?”

“No matter how powerful I am with it, there was always a chance of my scythe touching a crystal and being transmuted into pink tourmaline, which would’ve rendered most of its powers unusable,” Kravitz explained. “So I decided to go in incorporeally — which I may or may not regret, I haven’t decided yet.”

Taako nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think I would’ve cast that tentacle spell on, like, a dude. Not that I’m know whether you’re thinking of that as a positive or a negative —”

“You know, there’s something I really should’ve given you last time!” Kravitz deflected, transforming back into a skeleton and hoping his flustered expression would be harder to read on a skull than on a face with eyes and skin and flesh. “You need a way of summoning me!”

“You mean saying your name three times doesn’t work?” Merle asked.

“Unless I’m already scanning for undead in the general area, no.” Kravitz reached into his robe and pulled out a quiver of arrows, which he handed to Taako. “These are tipped with sapphires and fletched with raven feathers. Stabbing one into a surface of your choice while saying my name just once will release a powerful magical flare and get my attention, and I’ll warp over as soon as I can.”

Grinning, Taako slung the quiver over his shoulder. “Dude, that’s metal as fuck!”

“But please save them for genuine necromantic emergencies — either when you get a lead on one of the liches, or if another dangerous situation like the one today comes up.”

Taako’s grin faded. “So… they’re for business only.”

“I… uh… I’m sorry,” Kravitz stammered, immediately regretting the stipulation. But I can’t change my mind now, there’d be no way to explain it without just sounding awkward…

“It’s a company policy,” he fibbed. “Not my choice, unfortunately.”

Taako seemed to buy it, though he still looked disappointed. “Oh, well. Woulda been nice to hang with you, but I guess I’ll — we’ll see you later, then.”

“Good luck, Taako,” Kravitz said. “Good luck to all of you — and I mean that much more sincerely than I meant it last time.”

He tore open a portal to the Astral Plane and leapt through it with a dramatic swing of his cloak — but not before seeing Angus stick his tongue out at him, stubborn and defiant in that uniquely ten-year-old way.

Returning to his office overlooking the Astral Sea, Kravitz sighed, and addressed the raven perched on the back of his swivel chair.

“You know, I don’t think Taako’s student likes me very much.”

“Caw,” replied the raven, which almost certainly translated as either I smell popcorn or oh Kravitz, what in the world have you gotten yourself into?

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for june 26 of 2021 with Proverbs 26 and Psalm 26, accompanied by Psalm 7 for the 7th day of Summer and Psalm 27 for day 177 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 26]

Like snow in the summer and rain in the time of harvest,

so honor is never fitting for a fool.

Like a bird that flits and flutters or a swallow in mid-flight,

so a curse that lacks cause will never come to light.

A whip is for the horse, a bridle is for the donkey,

and a rod is for the fool’s back.

Never answer a fool on his own foolish terms,

or you will become like him;

Rather, answer a fool on his own foolish terms,

or he will become wise in his own eyes.

Like someone who cuts off his feet or drinks to his ruin,

so is the one who uses a fool to pass on his message.

As lame legs are useless, dangling on the crippled,

so is a proverb in the mouth of a fool.

Like one who ties a stone in his slingshot,

so is one who honors a fool.

Like a thorn in the hand of a drunkard,

so is a proverb in the mouth of a fool.

Like an archer who shoots at random and injures everyone,

so is a person who hires a fool or someone off the street.

Like a dog who goes back to his own vomit,

so is a fool who always returns to his foolishness.

Have you seen a person who is wise in his own sight?

Know that there is more hope for a fool than for him.

A lazy person says, “There’s a lion in the road!

A lion in the streets!

Another good reason to stay in today.”

As a door swings on its hinges and goes nowhere,

so a slacker turns over in his bed.

Some people are so lazy that they reach for food on the plate

but lack the will to bring it up to their mouths.

The slacker sees himself as wiser by far

than seven men who can converse intelligently.

Like a man who seizes a wild dog by the ears,

so is anyone who walks by and meddles in someone else’s argument.

Like a madman who hurls flaming spears and shoots deadly arrows,

So is anyone who deceives a neighbor

and then says, “But I was only joking with you.”

When there is no wood, the fire goes out;

when there is no one to spread gossip, arguing stops.

Like charcoal to smoldering embers and dry wood to a fire,

so a hot-tempered man kindles strife.

Whispered gossip is like a delicious first course:

it is devoured with pleasure and then penetrates deep within you.

Like a shiny glaze coating a rough clay pot,

so are burning lips that conceal an evil heart.

One who hates may camouflage it beneath pleasant words,

but deep inside him, treachery still rages;

Don’t believe him when he speaks kindly

because his heart is completely ruled by evil.

And though he covers his hatred with cleverness,

his wicked ways will be publicly exposed.

The one who digs a trap for another will fall into it,

and the one who starts rolling a stone will have it roll back over him.

Liars take no pity on those they crush with their lies,

and flattery spoils everyone it touches.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 26 (The Voice)

[Psalm 26]

Declare Me Innocent

King David’s poetic praise to God

[David’s Trust and Transparency]

Yahweh, be my judge and declare me innocent!

Clear my name, for I walk in integrity

and trust you without wavering.

Yahweh, you can scrutinize me.

Refine my heart and probe my every thought.

Put me to the test and you’ll find me true.

I will never lose sight of your steadfast love for me.

Your faithfulness has steadied my steps.

[David’s Truthfulness]

I won’t keep company with tricky, two-faced men,

nor will I go the way of those with hidden motives.

I despise the sinner’s hangouts.

You won’t find me walking with the wicked.

When I come to your altar, Yahweh,

I’ll be clean before you,

approaching with songs of thanksgiving,

singing songs of your mighty miracles.

[David’s Testimony]

Yahweh, I love to live in your house, this dwelling place of dazzling glory!

Don’t treat me as one of these scheming sinners

who plot violence against the innocent.

Look how they devise their wicked plans;

their hands are always ready to receive a bribe.

I’m not like them, Lord—not at all.

Save me, redeem me with your mercy,

for I have chosen to walk only in what is right.

Among the worshipers I will praise Yahweh,

for I am safe and secure because of you!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 26 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 7]

God! God! I am running to you for dear life;

the chase is wild.

If they catch me, I’m finished:

ripped to shreds by foes fierce as lions,

dragged into the forest and left

unlooked for, unremembered.

God, if I’ve done what they say—

betrayed my friends,

ripped off my enemies—

If my hands are really that dirty,

let them get me, walk all over me,

leave me flat on my face in the dirt.

Stand up, God; pit your holy fury

against my furious enemies.

Wake up, God. My accusers have packed

the courtroom; it’s judgment time.

Take your place on the bench, reach for your gavel,

throw out the false charges against me.

I’m ready, confident in your verdict:

“Innocent.”

Close the book on Evil, God,

but publish your mandate for us.

You get us ready for life:

you probe for our soft spots,

you knock off our rough edges.

And I’m feeling so fit, so safe:

made right, kept right.

God in solemn honor does things right,

but his nerves are sandpapered raw.

Nobody gets by with anything.

God is already in action—

Sword honed on his whetstone,

bow strung, arrow on the string,

Lethal weapons in hand,

each arrow a flaming missile.

Look at that guy!

He had sex with sin,

he’s pregnant with evil.

Oh, look! He’s having

the baby—a Lie-Baby!

See that man shoveling day after day,

digging, then concealing, his man-trap

down that lonely stretch of road?

Go back and look again—you’ll see him in it headfirst,

legs waving in the breeze.

That’s what happens:

mischief backfires;

violence boomerangs.

I’m thanking God, who makes things right.

I’m singing the fame of heaven-high God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 7 (The Message)

[Psalm 27]

Light, space, zest—

that’s God!

So, with him on my side I’m fearless,

afraid of no one and nothing.

When vandal hordes ride down

ready to eat me alive,

Those bullies and toughs

fall flat on their faces.

When besieged,

I’m calm as a baby.

When all hell breaks loose,

I’m collected and cool.

I’m asking God for one thing,

only one thing:

To live with him in his house

my whole life long.

I’ll contemplate his beauty;

I’ll study at his feet.

That’s the only quiet, secure place

in a noisy world,

The perfect getaway,

far from the buzz of traffic.

God holds me head and shoulders

above all who try to pull me down.

I’m headed for his place to offer anthems

that will raise the roof!

Already I’m singing God-songs;

I’m making music to God.

Listen, God, I’m calling at the top of my lungs:

“Be good to me! Answer me!”

When my heart whispered, “Seek God,”

my whole being replied,

“I’m seeking him!”

Don’t hide from me now!

You’ve always been right there for me;

don’t turn your back on me now.

Don’t throw me out, don’t abandon me;

you’ve always kept the door open.

My father and mother walked out and left me,

but God took me in.

Point me down your highway, God;

direct me along a well-lighted street;

show my enemies whose side you’re on.

Don’t throw me to the dogs,

those liars who are out to get me,

filling the air with their threats.

I’m sure now I’ll see God’s goodness

in the exuberant earth.

Stay with God!

Take heart. Don’t quit.

I’ll say it again:

Stay with God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 27 (The Message)

[ashocean]

Duality: The Omen

hey tumblr! It’s been a while… i’m in a huuuge slump at the moment. But to keep my blog somewhat alive, here’s a short story i submitted to my school creative writing journal on the theme of duality (and won a prize for #humblebrag). inspired by a moment in the Aeneid (book 10) as the battle between the trojans and the latins is about to go into full swing. enjoy!

A warrior sees his enemy approaching in battle cloaked in a fiery omen from the gods. He has a decision to make. 

Before me is a sight to behold. The flames soar overhead so that they nearly singe the linings of the clouds. They crackle around him with such intensity that those of us on the shore are able to feel the heat charring the backs of our throats with every breath, even from this distance; the troops behind me are shielding their gaze - but I force myself to squint through the dazzling glare for as many moments more as I can bear: there, on the horizon, hoards of fleets churn through the foaming salt, and at the forefront of this divine spectacle is him, that foreign leader, face to face with me in this deciding combat at last. His Eastern locks seem to meld into the golden blaze streaming from his head. For one frozen moment my gaze intersects his; though his expression is steely, his eyes are burning with a determination so ferocious that the surrounding flames seem to dim in comparison. 

Behind me rattles the sound of uncertain weapons, waiting for my instruction in fear. Could I blame them? What can I possibly say to rouse them in the face of such a sight as this? Racing towards our shores at full force is a message from the gods, no doubt - how else could a mortal stand unharmed in the middle of searing flame? - either signalling our glory or doom.

The holy flames are rocketing higher now, I could almost swear grazing the base of Olympus. The warmth of the burning sky is enveloping me, and for the shortest second, I feel completely calm. Neptune’s blue is interrupted by the trickling colour of the blood red horizon, reminding me of the bloodshed that this arrival signals. Whether in our favour or not, the gods give no indication in this omen. Are these invaders destined to burn in our victory pyres? Or will their swords decimate our people like a cinder in a forest? Frustration blocks out any other thoughts in my head: every moment I hesitate gives advantage to the enemy; every moment, the coin of chance turns over and over, and all I can do is to pray that it lands on our side. 

My men are still waiting for my call. No more. 

My instincts and boldness have brought me thus far, and I pray to Juno that my gods will carry me further. 

I turn to direct my men - but into what, only the Fates can know.