#'these sacred beings sent by this other god? cat-shaped'

[kariachi]

I do find it funny that Anne had every horse pale and be worth little to nothing in the face of dragons, despite supposedly being a horse girl, and her protege then just went ‘my setting also has bond critters that are The Greatest and the most prominent ones are horse-shaped’.

[dwordza]

Fuck it, lets be gods

Dream: God of Mystery. Controls the enigmas of the mortal realm. Ironically, has close to no power in the pantheon, and is Extremely pissed about it. Minor God of Control, Power, and Thieving. If you and/or a loved one has recently found one of your most prized possessions stolen, there’s a chance the Mystery God has found himself a new plate of meat to play with. Tread with caution, and keep your enemies close. No one likes the God of Mystery.

Schlatt: God of Secrecy. Every whisper you share, he hears. Frequently visits those having affairs, just to fuck with them. Also visits those suffering from addiction. Minor God of alcohol, drug usage, and rams. If you feel as though you’ve become something no one forgives, it’s likely the Secret God has touched your soul with bile. Be not afraid when you die, he welcomes all with a smile and a swig of whiskey.

Techno: God of Trust. Be mindful to never use those around you, he will tear you in twine. Aside from being a God, he also acts as a servant for the Angel. Minor God of loyalty, war, and revenge. The servant of blood is not to be fooled with. A savage beast born from mans greatest ailment: his own dishonesty. Do not lie to a pig, for they will never find your corpse.

Philza: God of Creation. All mountains and streams are made of the same gods tears. Those who follow the Creator are forever under his control, and even in death do they serve him. The Angel of Death, the Blood God, the destructor. Atoms cannot be destroyed or created, and you must get your building blocks from somewhere. Minor God of birds, death, and dreams. Those who hope are often imbued with the spirit of the Blood God. But do not try to escape his afterlife, he’s a firm believer in “You Only Live Once”.

Ranboo: God of Duality. The cost of silken fists is a broken memory. An eye for an eye is what the Dual God lives by, forever in a constant battle with himself. He’s haunted by apparitions of the Mystery God, cursed to have sacred hymns whispered into his psyche. Those touched by his careful hand frequently forget their names. Wrote the 3 Great Tomes, but lost 2. Minor God of memory, cats, and the Sky.

Wilbur: God of Possession. He has his things and you have yours, keep it that way. Those touched by his demanding grasp often hoard and steal. He is defiant towards the pantheon, cast out by his own Father and cursed to roam the earth as a wandering Bard. Minor God of music, explosives, and performance. Any performer or star wears a pendant of the Possessive God on their neck, for good luck. His unfinished symphony lives on in the demigods he raised, and in a siren mistress.

Tommy: Demi-god of Attachment. Before Tommy, the world was very bleak. Only the gods felt connections, and from the Creation God bore a human child capable of caring. He sent him down to be raised by his eldest son, the Possessive God, and to be brought into his godhood by age 16. This did not go as planned. The Possessive God disappeared without a trace, and the Mystery God took Tommy under his wing. Tommy has been cloaked by Mystery, and left to fend for himself with no friends in sight.

Tubbo: Demi-god of Devotion. Tubbo met a lone boy in the forest, and climbed a rickety tower to where a demigod reached for his home. Together they’ve become great soldiers and best friends, working with others to fight back against the tyrants who wish to hurt them. Visited by the Servant of Blood and brought to their knees by the Mystery God, they only wish to find peace alone with themselves. Tubbo has visions of a Secret God, a goat man who leads him to make decisions to favor the very gods he wishes to know. The God of Creation shows distance towards his children, but to Tubbo the most.

Fundy: Demi-god of Trickery. Cursed into a fox body with the brain of a genius, Fundy wanders the mortal world searching for someone who will simply listen to him. Luckily, with the help of the Dual God, Fundy found himself to be a bipedal beast with glowing eyes and great, sharp teeth. He now serves the Dual God and keeps his many tomes in pristine order. Though sometimes, when the Gods sleep and the town dreams, he stares into the sky and longs to find his lost family. Fundy has lately been seen drinking with a man people can only describe as “severely intoxicated, like really man go home.”

Quackity: Bard of Corruption. A humble butcher hellbent on murdering the Servant of Blood, Quackity uses his supernatural qualities to morph his face into another. He frequently takes the mask of the Mystery God, and finds himself the owner of much land simply because he resembles a God. He mocks the Gods, too, creating personas that dirty the Gods names and create propaganda about their intentions. Quackity is very intuitive, extremely smart, and with enough cockiness about him that he can serenade even the coldest hearts with his lovely music. He sold his butcher shop and took himself and his good friend Sapnap on a great journey to find a God willing to fund their operation. And they did.

Karl: God of Prevention. Karl has traveled through time and space trying to stop the terrible things he’s seen, and he’s failed every time he’s tried. Minor God of dance, wealth, and the arts. Karl was so close to resetting again, when a wild bard and an AWOL knight begged him for funding. He... he couldn’t turn them away. He found himself enamored with their jokes and the way they danced around his temple, chasing each other with sticks and small daggers. Karl, for the first time in his eons of living, danced. This timeline wasn’t like the others. In the others, his Bard died. In others, his Knight never left the castle. In the others, he never swung in their embrace and asked them to stay forevermore.

Sapnap: a once loyal knight turned to murder and thieving, Sapnap is a force to be reckoned with. He once dueled the Servant of Blood himself, and would’ve won had it not been for the Servants second wind. For his good fight, the Servant rewarded him with the Axe of Peace, a enchanted weapon created from the Servants very soul. Sapnap sold it to a wandering soldier boy dubbed ‘Theseus’. He followed his fellow Quackity to the temple of Suspension, where they found a lonesome God on the brink of madness. He’s now engaged to said God, along with Quackity, and ferrying him around the world, showing him everything he’s missed cooped up in that temple.

Jack Manifold: The man who escaped the labyrinth, Jack Manifold is as shifty as they come. He was slaughtered by Tommy, and hellbent on revenge he tore his way out of the Creation Gods labyrinth, and started his hunt. Cursed with a capped chain and a broken spirit, even the Servant shakes when he sees Jack Manifold. He’s recently joined the Blood Gods temple, and his triumph in his labyrinth gave him a great deal of leverage. The Blood God himself has given him protection, bidding him to find and kill his youngest son. Jack Manifold plans to do just that, and he’s not going to stop there.

Niki: Niki Nihachu is a woman of great power, protected by the Possessive God and close ally to the Servant. She left her home in ruins and burned the great tree which she had grown to hate, calling upon the Possessive Gods sacred soul to grant her the power of explosion. And grant he did. She now finds herself working with one Jack Manifold and, with the help of the Servant, she’s found the location of the Demi-god Tommy. She plans to assassinate him, becoming the true heiress to the Possessive Gods thrown in the pantheon. She’s had great success, as of late.

Note: in this AU Tommy is one of philzas children, but in a “I created you from nothing” type beat. Tommy isn’t his Blood son, but instead a ball of magic melded into human shape by the Angel. Philza then sent Tommy away to be raised by Wilbur. I came up with this AU when Tommy was still assumed to be Philzas son in canon, and it fits the story well so I’m not gonna change it. Just know: philza is not a “bad dad”, he’s a really cool god who got bored and created a funny little demigod to go and cause problems. He also respectfully bid Jack Manifold, among others, to hunt down his creation bc he’s a Girlboss in this AU lmao.

[ikevamp-annalyne]

Apple bite [Leonardo Da Vinci x MC] [NSFW]

Hello there!!! ლ(⌒▽⌒ლ) I posted this one-shot on my Ao3 and thought I could post it there as well. It is long, I am sorry about this! And also nsfw. The theme I went with is lingerie and it is from Leonardo's pov. I hope you will like it ｡(*^▽^*)ゞ

✿.｡.:* ☆:**:..:**:.☆*.:｡.✿.｡.:* ☆:**:..:**:.☆*.:｡.✿

The scent of apples drizzled in homemade caramel took over the whole corridor, spreading like some sweet wings calling the very core of my stomach. Only one person could make something so tasty, so flavoured and enticing: I was making my way towards this very person, also known as the prettiest woman on Earth.

My dear Cara Mia.

Ah, spotted. As I thought, she was in the kitchen preparing a midnight snack. And since it dealt with apples, I knew it was for me. Due to some circumstances -I might or might not have been in the library reading about astronomy stuff and eventually fallen asleep amidst the books…- I did not have any dinner. Knowing this, I could have bet Cara Mia was preparing something for me to eat.

I snickered inside the kitchen and approached her with the slow pacing of cats, the discreet and charming flutters of my cloak covered by the ticking of the clock and the soft whisper of the oven. But to no avail: as soon as my hands wrapped around her plumpy waist, a smile crawled its way on her beautiful features, eclipsing the light of the world and attracting me towards her like gravity.

"You know your smell of cigarillo always gives you away, Leo?"

I smirked as my lips found the path to her uncovered neck; the peachy-like skin was inviting me wordlessly to cover it under countless feather-like kisses. In all innocence, of course.

"Oops. Found before I could even make you jump out of surprise."

She turned around a bit -finally letting me get a good look at her face that I missed so much- and hit me with the spoon she had in hand. Hah, such a tease. I was a bit too much of a good teacher...

"Ouch, Cara Mia. It hurts." I said playfully while licking her ear, nibbling on her lobe, sucking a moan out of her pink and seducing open lips.

"As if I were to believe you, Siñor I-like-to-sleep-in-the-library-and-forget-to-eat." She counterattacked with a flick on my forehead, her voice only displaying the purest affection ever felt.

The years we had already spent together reflected oh-so-well in our incessant and unending banter: teasing each other had become our habit, our own little display of love -alongside the night-long chats we had discussing on a wide range of topics and the amazing love sessions we would have together. We might not be together every single second of the day, but the deep love we had was enough to fulfill us while we were away. However, when we were finally reuniting, no more separated by work or personal time, we had this urgent and dire need to feel each other, even with the simplest of touch. Romantic or platonic, innocent or sexual, you would always find our bodies glued to each other, tied by the fingers, the hands, the arms -the lips whenever we were out of sight.

This was what was happening at this moment: after being away from her a whole afternoon, my hands were animated by their own lives and were just covering her sensitive skin with caresses and warmth. Her voice was softly echoing through the empty -except for us two- room. She dropped the spoon on the counter to properly face me, turning on her feet to close the small gap our bodies were suffering from. The smile on her defined mouth was breathtaking. She always had this silly fear of me getting tired of her, when she was effortlessly pulling me to her every second. Every smile she shot me, every look she sent me, every breath she took would tug on my heartstrings and make me unable to avert my gaze from her essence.

"I love you so much I wonder if you are a witch who put a spell on me." I laughed while kissing the tip of her nose, earning a cute laugh from her, my heart skipping a beat in the meantime.

"Well, if it helps keeping you by my side…"

Her thin yet firm arms found their way to my neck, hanging on it and charmingly attracting me downwards, my face barely inches from hers. She smiled this killing smirk she would show me sometimes, and it was enough to scatter my resolution to wait for our bedroom to make her mine once again, to melt in her embrace and abandon myself to her undying love. A love I would give up everything for.

Maybe my own beliefs…?

I put aside these thoughts and threw the last pieces of resolve in me to unbutton her shirt and slide my hands on her bare skin, only the corset preventing me from going further. I was ready to tear it apart when I realised I had never seen  it before.

This beautiful black colour, as deep as the night hiding our most sacred secrets, was outstanding on her pale skin tone. The contrast was like a work of art, a striking black and white painting drowned in sfumato and chiaroscuro. My painter fingers had this urge to draw all the curves of her body, to slide my fingertips on her silhouette and engrave it forever in my mind and my body. The corset showed her full breast, such a feast for the eye, a feast I had seen hundreds of times but I still could not get enough of it. The boning right under her chest made it look even more prominent: it looked like mouthwatering peaches, their soft skin appealing my lips to shower them with kiss marks. The corset shape flattered her waist, the end of it reaching just above her hips; these hips I could die for as they were so full, attractive, seducing. The front was tied by a black sleek ribbon, one that I could feel sliding through the eyelets and my fingers as I untied it in my mind.

I was mentally undressing her and I had no regrets nor guilty feelings.

A smirk played on my lips as I looked at her panties; these pants that she shortened to make it look like some sort of shorts. Something she had picked up from her time; I can still remember these strange underwear she still had from her modern time. She had to get used to the ones from here: long pants with lace reaching above the knees with a slit. She had told me underwear in her time were shorter; “so that we can slide them off easily when we go to the toilets!” she explained when she put the underwear away in front of me. I was not the least surprised when she asked a sewer in Paris to have the panties shortened and reaching the middle of her thighs.

Not that I minded, of course. The more skin I could see, the happier I was.

I licked my lips absentmindedly while sliding my fingers on her skin, playing with the lace and ribbons and pulling the elastic before slapping it on her bare skin; red coloured her shiny skin and called me to drown her in my own colours. I came closer, brought my lips to her neck and kissed, sucked, licked all the flesh under my mouth. My lips were drawing circles and spirals on her, her body becoming a canvas I was ready to stain. I nibbled on her neck and her voice rang in the empty kitchen, echoing against the frying pans and saucepans. Her reflection could be seen on the kitchen utensils, her mouth agape and her breath blurring the silverware with vapour.

I caressed her cheek, drew the contour of her jawline and ravish her lips while throwing her clothes all over the kitchen: her shirt on the stove, her skirt on the table, her socks on the counter and her shoes on the floor. Anyone could come by but honestly, I could not care less… But then I saw her orgasmic face -teary eyes and blushing cheeks- and I slammed the door. And locked it.

No one will ever see this marvelously splendid sex expression aside from me.

“Leo-nardo…”

Oh God, here was the sexiest groan ever: it was the only time her voice would get so low and husky, filled with excitement and desire, full of expectations and ready for our love-making. I hurried to her side, put my hands under her bottoms and brought her close to me. Her legs found their way around my waist, my lips grew daring and kissed her so much her own turned red and swollen. I sat her on the counter, clearing out the surface and throwing the tea towels and utensils all over the place. She moaned under me, her whispering groans ringing in my ears like Heaven trumpets of joy. I let my lips taste her breast; my hands were already undressing her from her -now useless- panties. The fabric slid through my fingers and felt like a caress on my hot skin. I smirked when I got rid of it and had the most exciting painting in front of me.

My beautiful Cara Mia, naked with flushed and pink cheeks, teary eyes and mouth breathing hot, only a beautiful dark corset covering her last pieces of skin.

“A sight to see…” I heard myself groaning. “You are beautiful, Cara Mia.”

I pulled her closer to me: I kissed her breast, my tongue left trails of saliva on her bare skin before following the line of her corset. I came down, down, down, until my lips caught the end of the ribbon tying the fabric together. I raised my eyes, staring at her glittering orbs and smiling as I bit the ribbon and pulled it out with my teeth. She let the sweetest moans escape her lips as the corset opened and finally revealed the best artwork: her breast. Full, round, prominent, with nipples as reddish pink as tasty cherries. I knew I had the most wicked grin ever; I even allowed myself to giggle as I kissed her lower abdomen and I felt her shivering under me. My tongue alternated with my lips to mark her skin with love, from her navel to her stomach and then her beautiful breast.

I tasted her chest, wrapping my lips around her nipple while playing with the other with my fingers. I caressed, pinched gently, kissed and sucked, I even lapped a bit when my hands stroked her sides, her waist and eventually her hips and bottoms. She sighed ecstatic breaths: her body was deliciously crossed by shivers of upcoming pleasure. I giggled and let the naughty beast come out; I grabbed her bottocks, kneading them like tasty buns of fresh bread, and my tongue ran all over her upper body. The breast, the stomach, he navel, the lower abdomen… Each line of saliva left by it got moans out of her, stronger at every passage. My lips then reached her sex. I looked straight in her feverish eyes as I licked the sensitive skin and kissed her lower lips. The groans I earned from her tickled my inner thighs. Just her voice made me excited and craving for her even more. I smiled through my kissing session: I played with her most sensitive part, slightly sucking on it and taking great delight in her orgasmic moans. My fingers joined the dance, tucking them into her wetness the most gently I could. I was always afraid of hurting her in the process: I knew how us, men, could be rough when horny.

And bringing pain to her was the least thing I wanted to do.

I would rather die or end up in an eternal void.

My lips kissed every part I could, my tongue ran all over the place and I removed my fingers from inside to caress her inner thighs. I came closer, replaced the emptiness left by my fingers by my tongue, penetrating her very core with my taste-testing muscle. The sounds she made were the sweetest melody, strengthening at every movement I made and making my own core twitch with burning desire. A hand abandoned her thigh and unbuckled my belt. But then I remember she liked it a bit too much when I was completely naked, slave to her hands and captive to her desire. I threw my boots away, got rid of any piece of clothes I had on me before undressing from my trousers.

My tongue was still busy pleasuring my Cara Mia when I heard the very distinct sound of her soon-to-come relief. Oh non, you were not getting it until I felt you around my most intimate part. I pulled off and got up. Her flushing face looked at me in daze as I came in for a passionate, feverish and delightful kiss.

“Wait for me, Cara Mia… Can I come in?”

She shot this incredibly soft and kind smile as she opened her arms to me. She embraced me, bringing me closer to her, our skins rubbing against each other in sensual waves, brushing my hair aside and losing her hands in the messy locks, and sweetly whispering in my ear:

“Please, Leonardo, make me yours…”

I ravished her another kiss; we were losing our souls in this deep exchange and we shared the most intimate groans. I was always so ecstatic to share all these muffled screams with her; it felt like our pleasure was mingling together and becoming one in our own little world, the place only the both of us knew and will ever know. I softly sucked on her lips, licked the corners of her mouth and grabbed her hips, bringing them closer to my own and earning a sweet cry of pleasure from her -I could also hear my own voice growling at the contact. I gently entered her, doing my best to control my desire and not go wild with my thrusts. Every time we made love, I was doing my best to be the gentler possible: I wanted her to feel the sweetest pleasure possible. I wanted to be the only one to make her this excited. I wanted her to remember every part of my body, my skin, my flesh, and print my marks on each of her orgasms. I wanted to be the only one for her, the only lover she will ever crave for.

When did I become so deeply attached to her…? I could no longer see myself without her by my side…

A sweet moan of pleasure cut me into my train of thoughts. My eyes drifted towards her and what I saw made my heart race: teary eyes full of pleasure and desire, red cheeks stained with sweat from her and I, open mouth and swollen red lips… I dived in for another kiss and groaned at every movement we made: my needy thrusts, her spasms of pleasure, our joined moans.The heat was getting us and I felt dizzy as I entered her intimate sanctuary faster and stronger. The pleasure was making our breathing erratic. We were both on the verge, but I could not help myself : I came in for another kiss, my hand caressed her inner thighs, I let my fingers tickle her intimacy and rub on her pleasure organ, I nibbled on her ear and licked her jawline.

I did not think it would earn me nails planting on my back and scratching my bare skin. Ah, why this simple contact made me almost come…? I giggled and pecked her sweet lips, seeing a frown form on her pretty face:

“Leo-aaah, why are you, haaaah, giggling like this- mmhh!”

I took her hand into mine and intertwined our fingers while withdrawing from her warm privacy and slowly entering her, letting her body feel every inch of my manliness. Her moan was loud, her body shivered and I felt all her muscles twitching against me. I growled and squeezed her hands tighter as I came in her, filling her with my most intimate fluid. I gently removed myself from her and wiped her with a nearby towel -we would take it with us to not leave any hint, so…-. She blushed at the attention: I knew she was soft to these small gestures I would spoil her with. I laughed at her shyness and kissed her on the cheek.

“Leo…” her voice rang in the air when I held her princess-like and covered her skin in soft kisses.

“Hm? What’s going on, Cara Mia?” I knew I sounded worried; her eyes were avoiding me.

“Do, did you like the lingerie I was wearing today? I bought it for you, so…”

I smiled so much my jaws were painful. I hugged her tight, our past love-making still lingering on our skins. I kissed her softly, deeply, a candy-like kiss with the sugar running into our veins. I gently sucked on her neck and imperceptibly ran my fangs on her skin.

“I did.” I whisper into her ear before diving my eyes into hers and smiling the most tenderly possible while kissing her cheek. “You could wear a sack that I would not care less. I love you, no matter what. But I guess I really liked how this lingerie set looked on you…”

I giggled at her red face and pecked her nose.

“And I realised something, today.” I murmured before letting her down, picking her clothes up to dress her. I slid my hands on her stomach and then cupped her face into my large hands; her bright eyes were focused on me. “You mean so much to me, I cannot picture myself without you anymore. So, I need to be honest there…”

I saw her eyes twitching and her face twisting into a deep expression of worry. Ah, Cara Mia… Always imagining the worst before I could even say anything. I ran my thumb on her jawline and came in for an Eskimo kiss, rubbing my nose against hers.

“I just want to tell you that, following how you want me to be a bit more selfish when it comes to loving you…” I had troubles saying all this; I had to take several breaks between my words. “I, I am thinking about asking you to, maybe…” Was it so hard to say, Leonardo? Yes, definitely, since it was so against my everlasting wish to preserve human lives. “I mean, I could bring myself to, make your life last longer…”

Her eyes widened, her mouth opened agape and I could see tears gathering around her wattle. She threw her arms around me and hugged me so tight she nearly made us fall -making me growl in pain at the same time since she was nearly strangling me...

“Are you, are you serious, Leonardo!?” she asked while turning my face left to right with her hands, kind of like she was unable to believe what I was saying. “I mean, sure we love each other but, you have never ever thought of, this-! Even when I begged of you...”

I laughed out loud and removed her hands from my jaws; I kissed all her fingers softly and then her lips in a soft peck.

“I know, but, I really cannot see myself without you now, and I know I, will not lose you or make you sad living all these years as a nearly-immortal. I mean, you abandoned your life in the modern day to be with me, so…” I giggled a bit. “I still cannot bring myself to do it now, but…” I ran my nails on her still-sensitive skin and earned sweet shivers from her. “I am willing to do it. Just give me some days… Huh, weeks, and I will be, happy to, you know…”

My beautiful Cara Mia hugged me even tighter and I bumped into the table behind me. She covered me in kisses; every single part of my skin had the traces of her feverish lips lingering on my flesh and I could feel my own body twitch in suddenly awoken desire.

… You cannot blame me; the woman I love is sticking her amazingly seducing curves against me.

She cupped my face in her long fingers and stared at me with her big round eyes; lighted by so many stars I could almost see the milky way dancing in her irises.

“This is the most amazing proof of your love, and I will always respect your decision, the time you need or your beliefs. Thank you for rethinking this for me, Leo. You always manage to make me the happiest in the world.”

…

Needless to say our love-making session was far from being done.

[eldritchamy]

I’m gonna be playing my first D&D campaign soon!

It’s gonna be my first roleplay experience, and it’s gonna be a wild one.  We’re playing in the Ravnica campaign setting (which I knew nothing about, but it’s like an endless city plane from the Magic The Gathering universe, sort of like D&D on Coruscant).

And let me tell y’all, I have come up with a really interesting character that I’m very happy with.

The premise: we’ve been recruited to a special organization called the Emerald Magistrates that act as arbiters to inter-guild conflict (Ravnica has 10 Guilds that are in a constant power struggle with each other; all have vital functions to the city, but all of them ultimately plan on dominating the others and ruling Ravnica). It’s our job to settle disputes, peacefully if possible, and try to keep the guild conflicts from causing mayhem.

The party:

A Selesnya Conclave (harmony with nature) Paladin named Gabby who became disillusioned with the injustices of the church and lost her faith. She now seeks to do good whenever she can, but follows no god.

An Izzet League (technomagic engineering) mad scientist Kalashtar Artificer (modified to use Charisma as her casting stat) named Mevraki, who is probably more mad than scientist, and works for a Warforged named Adam Salvage

An Aasimar Cult of Rakdos (murderfuck devil clown orgy guild) Bard named Turala. She plays a keytar and the courier who delivered her Magistrates recruitment spent the whole time staring at her chest.

An absolute dumb as rocks klutzy Firbolg Ranger named Candle, who defies the standard array starting stats by having some kind of curse or permanent concussion that lowers her Intelligence and raises her Charisma. We’ve preemptively decided that she will be a cowgirl himbo and we all love her. She was sent on an impossible quest as a soft exile when she accidentally set a sacred tree on fire. She may have joined the anarchist druids (Gruul Clans) by accident instead of Selesnya.

My character, a Tiefling Sorcerer-turned-Warlock named Ash Rose

I’ll be playing a “Bloodline of Erinyes” Tiefling (which I homebrewed myself). Her mother was a Monadic Deva, whose brief relationship with a succubus (and subsequent questioning of the gods) abruptly ended with her being cast out of Elysium and falling to the sixth plane of hell and being burned into an Erinyes. She meets another Erinyes there who helps her carry and raise a little Tiefling baby before planeshifting them both to the Prime Material plane.

Ash grows up in the wilds with her mother, near a druid settlement but hiding from it.  As a child, Ash starts sneaking out to play with a winged tiefling from the village named Aria Vernus. They are each other’s first and oldest friends.

One day Ash’s mother doesn’t come back from a supply run to the city. The druids can’t or won’t help, and Ash and Aria, now teens, make a plan to go alone, and run away together.

They end up joining Selesnya because it’s the most logical place for them to end up, having grown up in the woods. Aria becomes a Moon druid. Ash starts to make a living as a leatherworker, building relationships with merchants and trading favors and information with them in the hope of learning what happened to her mother. Her special bloodline lets her conceal certain features to blend in (the way an Erinyes or a Succubus can make themselves appear to be an attractive mortal rather than a fiend; she can hide her horns, tail, and wings (which can be either angel or devil wings) as a bonus action, but she is not considered a true shapeshifter and can’t truly DISGUISE herself that way, only blend in among people who don’t recognize her face).

Ash also has some innate magical talents as a level 1 Psychic Soul Sorcerer (who thereafter will go Warlock, Pact of the Chain + Genie Patron). Her charismatic approach to gathering information catches the notice of a stranger who recruits her to House Dimir, the secretive spy guild that most of Ravnica either doesn’t know about or believes is merely a deranged conspiracy theory. She becomes an information broker for Dimir, and forms a close mentor relationship with her handler.

Ash and Aria make a comfortable little life together and inevitably end up VERY happily married.  Ash cashes in some favors to commission a well-crafted ring of brown metallic stone affixed with bits of green glass that look like moss, designed to look like the ring was druidcrafted.  But Aria proposes at nearly the same moment, with a ring of black, speckled opal that resembles something like the milky way or a nebula.  In Aria’s words, it’s because Ash in the moonlight is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

They have a little home together where their two cats (one a blue-green glowing skeleton and the other a cat-shaped clump of animated moss) just had a littler of kittens that almost look normal, except they sprout mushrooms when they purr and leave a faint trail of spores as they bounce around the place.  This is not relevant for the campaign.  I just worked really hard on their backstory and I’m in love with how gay my OCs are.  

Aria may make appearances, but Ash will be my character for this campaign.

I’m very nervous, but also pretty excited.

We’re going to be a 4.5 out of 5 Charisma heavy party.  We’re not the heroes Ravnica needs, but none of us rolled less than a 25 on our Persuasion check so they damn sure think we’re the ones they need right now.  We’re just gonna be four chaos clowns and a hot topic warlock vs the world.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Shiitake Happens || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Morgan & Deirdre’s house

PARTIES: @deathduty @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Deirdre comes home after a party, but not in the way Morgan expects.

Under the bright lights of the murder shed, Morgan gleamed with delight. This version of the piece was coming out much better than anything she’d sketched out or tried before. The wooden foundation Ricky had helped make allowed her to fill the base with flowers and twigs, something that would look for a perfect, mushroom-free Samhain celebration. She had fastened a bit of black tourmaline to the center piece, a geometric sculpture made from tiny animal leg and finger bones that seemed to cradle the crystal as if it was sacred. Tiny chipmunk spines wove out from the sculpture and looped around the floral, autumn base. There were plaster bits marking where Morgan wanted more bones, or maybe a crystal, but this coronet was actually living up to her expectations.

Morgan checked the time and scooped up the coronet, jogging through the backyard and into the kitchen. Everything was fine. She had checked her calendar and messaged Debbie, as far as anyone could figure, everything was fine and Deirdre was probably doing...whatever she did to kill people fate had ordained, or at least witness their deaths. And she was so bad at technology sometimes, maybe she didn’t even realize she’d sent a half message and signed off. As soon as she was home, Morgan would just tell her, and it would all be some stupid, sad accident. And she would come home. Deirdre always came home when she said she would.

Moira was waiting for Morgan at the back door, mewling in welcome and giving her leg rubs before jumping to the counter to sniff around the new toy in her environment (because obviously anything new in the house was a toy to Moira). “No, no, darling, not for you!” She cooed, scooping the kitten up and cradling her as she swayed to a song in her head. “You can have all the catnip in the whole wide world, but that prototype is for your other mommy.” And just in time, a pair of headlights flashed up the drive. Morgan bounced with excitement and rushed to the stove, heating up the dinner she’d made too early in the day to pass the time. There wasn’t much occasion to be doing anything special, but with all distress around them, Morgan felt right about doing something special for her love, and it was always the most impressive, and the easiest, when it was a surprise.

Deirdre drove her car into the garage door. It was fine, she assumed, because as she rolled out of her car she noticed the dent was oddly mushroom-shaped, and everything was better if it was mushroom-shaped. She had been fighting it for so long, and when she suddenly couldn’t anymore, the revelation came to her with stark clarity: fairy rings were fate-sent opportunities. And who was she to deny the will of fate? Deirdre rolled again, tumbling over on the yard, laughing as she laid on the cool grass. She imagined she could’ve slept there, but she wanted inside her house to do away with her pesky clothes. And so she continued to roll and hop and skip to the front door, where she laughed at her silly hands as they fumbled with her keys and flopped onto the floor as soon as she managed to get the door open. The floor was cool and inviting and she could’ve slept there too if not for the burning desire to see Morgan again---a desire that ultimately proved more powerful than the allure of parties and dancing. But Morgan didn’t like the mushrooms, and even in her state, Deirdre wanted Morgan to be happy. She took great care to seem as normal--boring--as she could. “Taxes!” She yelled, picking herself off the ground and dusting off. “I just adore maths! I’m very into numbers!” Deirdre tiptoed closer to the smell of food, stifling her giggles as the hardwood creaked under her; it always did sound a little like farting, and that was funny. “I’m home, Mushr--Morgshroo--Morgue!”

Looking back, the sound of the garage door crunching under metal should’ve been the first sign that everything was going to fall apart. But in the moment Morgan had suspected, well, literally anything else. She reached for a kitchen knife, she started backing away from the windows, calculating how long it would take her to get to her iron rod, to the armory, where Deirdre might be, because Deirdre didn’t crash cars, Deirdre loved her ashton martin, as much as she loved anything material at least. She didn’t recognize the sounds floating through the door, and when she heard the keys fumbling, Deirdre’s keys, Morgan gave a desperate, animal prayer in her heart of no, please no, please don’t do this. But the woman crashed to the floor, dirty and tangled with the mess of nature, and spoke to her with Deirdre’s voice.

For what seemed like a long time, Morgan couldn’t find the will to speak. It wasn’t supposed to get bad until October. That’s what Deirdre had said. October, a month away, and maybe even more if they could be careful and vigilant and smart-- but here this woman was, so delirious on mushrooms she couldn’t even say Morgan’s name right, couldn’t stand on her feet without laughing at who only knew what. She saw the woman creeping towards the food, grilled eggplant, and some carrots and herbs in a buttery sauce. Morgan stepped aside so the woman could get to it without brushing past her. “Hello,” she said at last, the air all gone out of her voice. “D-dinner’s...almost ready. If you’d like to sit somewhere.”

Didn’t Morgan usually greet her with more enthusiasm? Well, Deirdre couldn’t tell. It was so hard to read the expressions on non-mushrooms anyway. She leaned into the pan, nearly dunking her face into the sauce as she tumbled to get a better smell. “Smells good!” She grinned, snapping up in another abrupt movement. She turned her head to smile at Morgan but her eyes couldn’t focus on her for long without trailing away in search for more interesting sights--snapping back sporadically as she continually came to the conclusion that Morgan was the most interesting sight. But she didn’t look mad, which was good. Her acting must have been good. Now she just had to keep it up. Her face scrunched as she thought of what other boring things she could talk about. “I like seats and sitting. That sounds fun. I’ll do that.” And then she dropped to the floor, crossing her legs and smiling up at Morgan. “Look, I’m sitting.” This was normal and boring, right? “Did you have fun today? Because I had lots of fun. I did so much danc--uh, taxes. I did so much taxes. Many taxes? What’s the right word?” She snapped her fingers, tongue out, trying to think. She spent so much time trying to think through her fog that she almost missed Moira pawing at her. “Mushroom!” She scooped the cat up, “you’re always naked, did you know that? What’s that like?” The cat squirmed free and Deirdre watched her leave without question. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it, and she almost didn’t care to.

Morgan continued to stare at the woman in her kitchen. The longer she stared, the more her vision went blurry and she could see the other version of this night spliced somewhere near the corner of her eye: the one where she and Deirdre were already kissing, where Morgan was prattling on about this lesson she’d cooked up for the fall semester and showing off the Samhain coronet she had started, placing it on her head with a kiss and taking too many pictures. Morgan watched the scene play out in her head while she waited for the woman in her kitchen to move, do something even approximate to what Deirdre would do. But it was just ‘taxes’ and ‘fun’, like she didn’t even know what it was that made Deirdre interesting or wonderful. But there she sat. At least Moira had the sense to slink off. “I had a nice day, yeah,” Morgan mumbled. Had. “You can tell me the truth, you know. You don’t have to keep saying ‘taxes’.” She added, taking one of the plates she’d set out and arranging the meal as nicely as she had the strength to. Fetched the flatware and the nice napkins and set it all down before the woman. Her smile was so bright, so much like the one Morgan wanted to see, she looked away and crossed the kitchen to busy herself with the sink. Deirdre wasn’t going to be able to do them tonight, so she might as well.

“I’m not lying! I never lie,” Deirdre’s stomach protested at her assertion, and her will to hide these reactions diminished with the hold the mushrooms dug into her. She stared at her food, stabbing it with her fork and reenacting the screams she imagined the vegetables were making quietly to herself. In reality, she wasn’t hungry, but she knew that boring people ate food. Then Morgan stepped around her and towards the sink, and Deirdre felt unsettled with something that ate at her core. She picked up her food and utensils, setting them aside on the counter. “I do that,” she said, watching Morgan with the dishes. “I do those.” She could remember just that much about it, motivations eluding her. She continued to stare; Morgan’s shape was vaguely like a mushroom. If those parts there were cut off, and her hair was fluffier, and if she was sticking out of the ground instead of in the middle of a cold and uncaring kitchen. She needed grass, Deirdre knew she’d be just right in the forest, among the flowers and mushrooms. “Are you mad at me?” She asked after a moment, picking at the t-shirt she stole off another party goer. “But I’m being boring for you. You like that, right? I’m doing what you want.”

“Yeah, I just um…” Morgan winced and went stiff over the sink. “I figured you wouldn’t be up to it tonight.” You know, because your soul got sacrificed to the mushroom gods and now I’m dealing with your toddler mushroom shadow self. She turned up the water and started scrubbing. It wasn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the woman’s questions, but Morgan wished it was. Was she mad? It wasn’t like Deirdre could fully control herself even around the scent of these godforsaken mushrooms. They ruined her mood, her train of thought, even without being near them. “I’m not mad,” she rasped. “I um…” She grimaced, head bowed, and did her damnedest to smother the tears in her throat. “...Deirdre’s not boring. She is anything but boring and you should know that. And I can’t have what I want right now, so I think the next best thing is for you to just be yourself. Does that sound okay? ...Babe?”

“But that’s my job!” Deirdre raised her foot to stop down, hovering in the air as her tantrum died just as quick as it came. Instead, she watched her toes, wiggling them around, giggling as they moved so strange. Those were the very same toes that danced between blades of grass and weaved over gnomes and around leprechauns. Now they were wiggling in the air where she held them. She stopped listening to what Morgan was saying, choosing to hop around on her foot. The mushroom fog around her didn’t care much about love or relationships, it demanded fun and what was the most fun to her now was hopping. Until it very quickly wasn’t and then she searched their kitchen for other ways to entertain herself. “She is,” Deirdre responded coldly, inexplicably harsh. “She’s so whiny and stupid. Like a little baby. She cried so much before the ring, like she didn’t know how good it was. But that’s not me. This is me.” And this Deirdre wanted fun, or else she was going to go create some for herself. It was then she noticed a curious trinket against their clean marble counters. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands, eying the delicate bone work but not for the sake of appreciation, but to try and see if any of them might be shaped like a mushroom. None were. “What’s this?” She asked, but she had already put it on her head.  

Morgan dropped the dish she was holding. “She what?” But Morgan had heard the woman just fine. Deirdre had cried, fighting, because this wasn’t who she was or what she wanted to be, because this wasn’t what their life was supposed to be like, and because she did care about Morgan more than the fucking mushrooms that hijacked her brain and-- “Did someone make her get in? Was she forced?” Morgan turned around, clinging to the thought of Deirdre’s last lucid moments as if she could rewrite it into something different if she had enough details. “The real Deirdre is wonderful,” she said, voice hiccuping. “Of course you don’t understand-- no! Put that down!” Morgan ran for the bone crown and jumped to take it back. “It’s not done, it’s fragile, just put it down!”

“Yeah, she was all like ‘no please, I don’t want to go! I’m Deirdre and I’m a loser’ or, you know, whatever.” Deirdre spoke with indifference, running her fingers along the counter. She had just begun to drum them to a beat that’d been stuck in her head when she caught Morgan lunging at her and easily sidestepped with a giggle. That was it. That was the fun she had been looking for. “Aw! Look at your face! You look so scared it’s cute!” She laughed, light on her feet as she danced around. “If you want it,” her mouth cracked up into a challenging smirk, “you’ll have to chase me for it.” And that was exactly what she wanted, ducking around furniture and laughing all the while. She wanted a game, and she was going to make Morgan play one with her. “Come on,” she teased, taking the garment off to wave it around in the air. “Here, zombie. Here! Here!”

“No! No games!” Morgan cried, jumping for the crown again. “You give it back to me right now! I swear to the fucking stars--” Morgan didn’t finish that dangerous statement, but growled, teeth bared with frustration. “What the hell do you want? It’s not done, it’s not even for you!” Morgan clambered up the couch and launched herself from it in her chase.

“But you love games!” Deirdre laughed, swaying to soundless music. Morgan was angry, and that was suddenly very funny to her. The mushrooms told her all about the importance of mischief, and all she’d wanted in the moment was to share in it with Morgan. “But it’s mine now! So it’s all for m--” She hadn’t been expecting Morgan to come at her so quickly, and Deirdre spun in surprise, the piece slipping from her grip. Yet, even in her state, she could tell that was bad. She lunged at it, too clumsy with her movements to hold it properly in her hands again as it bounced between her fingers and palms as she scrambled to catch it. Eventually it settled in her grip, teetering dangerously just above the ground. “Oh,” she laughed, “that could have been bad! We don’t want to break this so soon, right, Morgshroom?”

Morgan stumbled to a halt when she saw the crown topple. For a flaming second, it did not matter what face the woman in front of her wore, she would snap her wrist wrestling the crown away if it came down to it. And she laughed, delighted, threatening, and careless. Morgan slumped where she stood. “Tell me something you want instead.” she said, eyes fixed on the spot where the crown had almost shattered. She could see the world splitting open again, the one where it cracked and broke, the one where she let her temper consume her and hurt what was left of the woman she loved, the one where they were having dinner in the great room with Moira begging for scraps between them. And here, this nothing space, with the woman Deirdre had been turned into laughing at her. Morgan grit her teeth. “Maybe, if I like it, hypothetically, you could get a deal.”

Deirdre considered this, tapping her chin and waving the crown around in her pinched fingers. She liked deals, and this game of chase was quickly becoming boring to her. “But you won’t marry me,” she said, mulling it over. She knew this because she asked last time, and Morgan wouldn’t do it. She knew this because something inside of her said it was true. It was the same something that was begging her to stop, but that she would not listen to because it was the part that was boring and that kept her away from the mushrooms in the first place. She wanted mischief and mayhem, not whatever idyllic domestic scene normally played out between her and Morgan. “Hm.” Deirdre looked at the crown, tapping it with her fingers and flicking the more delicate parts to test its resistance to her force. Then the world faded away and it was just her and this crown and its alluring fragility. She could snap it. She thought about that. She pressed it into her palm, hearing it splinter for her. She could throw it to the ground. She thought about that too, waving it around in the air again to test its weight. Now, suddenly, she was interested in a different game. “What would you do if I broke this?” She asked.

Morgan clenched her fists as her temper flared inside her again. Horrible things she could not do because Deirdre was going to come back into this body, with the body’s memories, and Deirdre hadn’t wanted to leave her in the first place. Morgan breathed through her teeth forcing them aside and trying to think of something better. “Well, I wouldn’t entertain any more of this nonsense, for a start.” Her voice ground out the word with all the others she wanted to say in its stead. “You want to lose the rest of your ‘fun’ here? Is that it?” Morgan trembled; she was no good at this and she knew it. “Just give it back to me. I’ll consider doing something else you want, just give it back.” She held out her hand. “Please.”

Deirdre watched Morgan with a callous gaze. Somewhere inside of her, she was begging too. But this wasn’t like the mushrooms before, these ones were angry. They wanted to create pain just as badly as they wanted pleasure. For a moment, annoyed that Morgan would stop her from having fun, she had to remind herself that she could find her games elsewhere. After all, she still wanted to see Morgan happy. “Why date a fae if you’ll reject the mushrooms so cruelly? This is very important to me.” Deirdre stepped closer, gripping the crown tight--sure enough that if Morgan tried to snatch it back, it would snap in twain. “This is very important to the culture. The mushrooms are like...whatever you humans do. I don’t know. I do know that you’re being really mean right now.” If she had enough sense, she’d realize how ironic she sounded. Deirdre stepped closer again. “I just want some fun, Morgshroom. That’s all. I want us to have fun. I love you and I want that.”

“Deirdre said she didn’t like the mushrooms,” Morgan whispered. “And you said she didn’t want this to happen to her. It can’t be that important...you can’t say it's more important than, what, being her whole self? A sense of sanity?” She shrugged helplessly. “I’m not even human, thanks. And I guess I just...yeah. Fine. I didn’t expect to see you tonight and maybe I was dumb enough to hope that I wouldn’t have to see you again at all. Fuck me. I’m a horrible, stupid person.” She folded her arms over herself and finally forced herself to look up into the woman’s eyes. She cringed inwardly at the mention of love coming from her but made herself ask the question even as her voice cracked and choked. “What...kind of...fun?”

“Oh, I mean, you’re practically human,” Deirdre shrugged right back, slumping as Morgan continued. “Stop. Don’t say that.” Her voice turned sharp. “Don’t say that about yourself.” And then it eroded away into urgent gentleness. “Please don’t say that. You’re not dumb. You’re not horrible. I love you. Don’t say that.” The mushrooms wanted mischief, they wanted malice, they wanted--- “Please?” Deirdre slipped the crown on to her head---for safekeeping---and leaned in to peck Morgan on hers. “Look! We’ll play a different game! Don’t be sad!” She gripped Morgan’s cheeks and pinched them as hard as she could, forcing her mouth up into a smile. “Lookie! We’ll have so much fun!” Then she took a large, sweeping step backwards and pulled the crown off her head. “Let’s play catch!” And then, with as much warning as she didn’t think to muster, she threw the garment into the air--more or less in Morgan’s direction, but her sense of space was warped.

Morgan’s tears fell past whatever self control she had left as the woman’s voice turned gentle. It was the kind of voice Deirdre would use, the kind of urging she would give to her if she was desperate enough when Morgan was down in her pit. Morgan couldn’t help but scrutinize her face with uncanny wonder. She knew the truth, that it was hopeless until the mushroom drug wore off, that she was kidding herself if she thought the woman she missed could surface for a moment to comfort her. And yet-- The woman’s fingers pinched her skin and Morgan shrank away. It was just a fucking coincidence, and she was just really fucking sad.

And  then the crown was flying in the air. “No!” Morgan ran backwards, tripping over her feet to get to it in time. The bone coronet grazed her fingers and she fumbled it into her grasp as she hit the floor, closing her eyes with a moment's relief when its full, unbroken weight settled against her chest. The prototype was fine and, eventually, she would be too.

Deirdre hated watching people cry. It made her chest tight and something in her stomach flip uncomfortably. Watching Morgan cry though, was far worse. She ached with every piece of herself and she didn’t know why. Now she was desperate to show her a good time. She had to. Morgan needed to be happy, this was as universal a truth as ‘mushroom good’ and ‘nudity also good’. “Good catch!” She jumped up and clapped, then began gesturing for her to throw it back. “Now me!”

Morgan got to her feet, slowly and painfully, even with her body’s invulnerability. “No,” she grumbled. “Something else, okay? I’m going to put this somewhere safe. When I’m done we can toss other fragile or sharp things around the house even if it is a health hazard.” She went to the safe behind the painting and climbed onto the chair beneath it so she could reach without straining herself. “Or maybe hide and seek, if you go find somewhere to be...now?” She prompted, gesturing with the crown for her to run along. She wasn’t keen on the mushroom woman having a clue about where the precious things in the house were, even if they were just letters and one sad, stupid bone piece.  

But among watching people cry, watching them refuse to play was also gut wrenching to Deirdre, though in a much different way. It wasn't a profound sadness that claimed her, but a complex anger. And then she watched Morgan move towards her safe. "That's where I keep my stuff," she said, as if trying to recall it for herself. "I have to keep it there so no one can find it." She moved towards the zombie. That safe carried her most delicate treasure; the torn and burnt letter Morgan had written her. The letter was too frail to be rustled around, even when Deirdre came back to her safe every so often to re-read the letters. "The last time someone found out about it, they hurt me." And she watched Morgan, with great disregard to Deirdre's tiny treasures, think about opening her safe without double-checking anyone was watching, without seeing if there were tiny cameras fitting into the bone of her crown. Did she just want it there to hurt Deirdre again? Logic and reason came to Deirdre strangely now, and she considered that even someone who loved her like Morgan was subject to harming her. "No!" And so she lunged, gripping the other half of the crown. "You don't get to go in there! That's mine! Why can't we have fun?"

“Someone hurt Deirdre, I know,” Morgan said soberly. “But I am not her mother. And I am only interested in keeping this safe until the real Deirdre comes back.” She waited for something to sink in, for the woman to get distracted by something shiny. She had only just come back from the mushrooms, she couldn’t possibly remember the combination. If Morgan could just slip the crown in fast enough. “Hey!” Morgan tugged back. “Deirdre gave me the code, she knows I have a right to be there!” She pulled again, with both hands now to support the fragile piece. “Please, just let me put it away. We can do something else, I’ll do something else with you! I’ll do it!”

"I am Deirdre!" She screeched, cracking what few glass valuables Deirdre trusted to keep around them. "Why do you keep saying it like I'm not! That's me! You just don't like me, do you? You don't like fun! You're a human!" The word dribbled out of her with venom and pain. She didn't quite understand it, she didn't understand much like this, but all she could see was a woman who was supposed to love her, hurting her. "You don't have any right! Those are my things! Morgan gave me those! And if you can say I'm not Deirdre, then I can say you're not Morgan!" And for all this mushroom addled Deirdre knew, it could have been some very convincing clone she was talking to. That would explain why Morgan was being so mean to her. She wasn't even this mean last time. "It's like you care about this crown thing more than me," she sobbed, then tugged. She could break it. Deirdre thought about that until it twisted itself into an intoxicating prospect. Breaking things was fun, right? And yet, her body resisted the action. She gripped the piece tighter, using both her hands. Now if either of them tugged too hard, the thing would shatter. "You're being very disrespectful to the mushrooms right now and they don't deserve that. They think I'm the real Deirdre. They would never do this to me. They're kind and inviting and if you'd stop being such a meanie for two seconds and come with me to a fairy ring then you'd know—but no, you want to be a real H-word instead."

Morgan went stiff as tiny cracks ripped throughout the room. Her eyes flickered around the room, assessing the damage. The bone skeleton had a shiny new skull fracture, the snowglobe she’d commissioned from Nic was too far away to show any obvious damage, but not leaking was a good sign. “Sshh! You don’t have to do that,” she whispered. She let go and climbed down from the chair, backing away, her hands raised in surrender. “Look, it’s yours now, okay? You have it. And we c-can...do something. Fun.” None of her words were especially convincing. Her insides were coiled up with fear that the woman would destroy their home if she was upset enough, her eyes were stinging as she called her a human, a distinction she was growing to resent even before she said the word like it was the worst thing she could think of. But Morgan tried to force her mouth into a smile, an effort that only lasted for a second and felt morbidly inappropropriate, and hoped for the best.

Finally, Deirdre had it. She raised the crown to imagined fanfare, dancing around the great room and singing an ode to mushrooms in Gaelic (that went more or less "mushrooms are great, mushrooms are good"). Yet, Morgan didn't seem as happy. Deirdre watched her, halting her steps. And then, dancing around with the crown didn't seem all so interesting anymore. She glanced at its design work, delicate but obviously hand-made. It was unremarkable, because it didn't have any mushrooms. The only thing she could think to call it was junk. Why would Morgan be lugging a piece of junk around? If Deirdre had enough sense to think on it, she might have figured it out, but she didn't. "You know what, Morgshroom?" She glanced up, letting silence consume the room. The clock's incessant ticking remained the only relic of the passage of time between them. "I think I'm bored now." And she tossed the crown behind her, shattering it against the hardwood. She skipped merrily away from the scene, looking for the next grand mushroomless venture the two could partake in (she just had so much trouble thinking about ways to have fun with the mushroom-phobic Morgan).

All the sense of time and probability Morgan had lacked when the woman first came home caught up to her now, two late. It was only five seconds of silence and in that time, Morgan felt it with the same crushing certainty she’d felt her mother’s punishments. There was nothing to do, no one to call for help. She closed her eyes before the woman even threw the crown to the ground. She did not open them again until the snap of it shattering had stopped echoing in her head. The woman was long gone by then. She could pick up  all the separated vertebrae and the snapped ribs and crushed flower buds in her own good time, pausing to stare and cry as much as she needed before taking the mess she’d cradled into her skirt and creeping upstairs to hide.

Finding cans of paint in the garage, Deirdre skipped back into the great room; idea in mind. "Morgshroom!" She called out, dropping the cans of paint to the floor. "I finally figured out how we can have fun!" But she got no response. She looked around the room, trying to find the woman. When she couldn't, she started looking under furniture and out the windows. "Morgan?" She lifted the table, wondering if she was there. She turned to the kitchen, opening up cabinets and drawers. "Morgan?" She crawled up the stairs, searching around corners and cracks. Finally, Deirdre started to grow concerned. Her concern created a moment of clarity, a moment she used to bring herself to their bedroom, hovering awkwardly at the door. "Morgan?" She asked the trembling figure on their bed. "Are you okay?"

Morgan had just enough energy to arrange the pillows in a vaguely Deirdre-body length and shape before crawling onto it, draping her arm around the middle and imagining that she was being held and comforted. It was a level of pathetic desperation she hadn’t reached in a long time, and her stomach twisted with guilt as she reminded herself this was just for a week. A week. Seven days, starting now, if she could pull herself together and stop sobbing like some little girl who’d had her dolly or her car keys taken away she could handle this. Seven days wasn’t that long at all, especially in the grand scheme of things. And it wasn’t like Morgan was still having nightmares. She didn’t need to be talked down from the ensuing panic attacks or distracted from her nerves. If this had to happen, why not now? Morgan continued to think, trying to rationalize herself out of her tears, but sobs continued to bubble up from her chest. No amount of fist clenching or logical thinking could distract her body enough to forget that Deirdre wasn’t here, and would not return no matter how she begged the stars until the mushroom toxins were out of her. The ground had vanished beneath her again and like a child who refused to listen, Morgan could never grasp that this was the true way of things.

She whimpered at the sound of the woman in the doorway and tried to wipe her face clean without getting up. “I’m….I’m fine,” she squeaked, her throat still soaked with tears. “I’m sorry.”

Morgan was in distress, and though Deirdre could only attribute this to her mushroom-hate, her desire to soothe her was no less strong. She inched closer to the bed. “Am I bad?” She asked, wondering for a moment if Morgan’s agony was her fault. No, she reminded herself, this was just what people who didn’t accept the mushrooms looked like. But that didn’t matter, all that mattered to her then was getting Morgan to stop crying. She sat at the edge of the bed, staring at their carpeting, lost in the pattern of the weaving. “Did I hurt you?” She looked to Morgan for the answer, then decided if she was crying, that was confirmation enough. Deirdre crawled beside her, slowly wrapping her arms around her quivering form. “Don’t be sorry. The mushrooms don’t like apologies anyway, not from you. You don’t have to.” Distantly, she remembered that Morgan liked a tight hold, and she pressed harder around her. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Morgan’s body broke open with another sob as the woman wrapped her arms around her. It was everything she wanted and it was all wrong. If Deirdre were really here, she wouldn’t be crying in the first place and there would hardly be a need for questions. But Morgan was so tired inside and in the dark, with that familiar voice gentle and reaching for her heart as it grazed her ear, she didn’t have the strength to push her away. Morgan clamped her arms over the woman’s and pawed around for her hand until she could lock their fingers together tight. She pulled the woman harder against her curling then both up like nested shells. Their bodies fit like they always had; Morgan could even hear the slow drum of the woman’s heart. “I know you’re just here. I know you didn’t do anything besides just be here. It's not your fault, but we— I was going to surprise you. We were going to be happy, and you didn’t even come home.” She swallowed down another sob, shivering. She brought one of the woman’s hands to her face and kissed her palm, squeezing it as tight as she dared. “I was awful, I know I was being awful, but I just want you back. Please come back to me...”

Deirdre opened her mouth to explain again that she was here, that she was home and that she didn’t understand what Morgan was crying about. She felt like a child again, holding up Danny’s dead lost dog and asking him why he was so mad at her about it. But she didn’t have the mushrooms then; the mushrooms made everything clear. And they would do the same for Morgan too. “Morgshroom...can you do something for me?” She asked softly, “take a bath. Really hot, like you like to. Then come down.” With the mushroom’s help, she would set this right. All she needed was some time. “Use bubbly soap, because you can kind of shape that into a mushroom and I know looking at some mushrooms will calm you down. It calms everyone down.” She squeezed Morgan tighter. “Okay? Can you do that, my shroom? My lovely fungus?”  

Of course it had been stupid to speak to the woman as if she was really Deirdre, but it had almost been like relief for Morgan, with the pressure of her body just right and their forms twisted around each other in the way they’d memorized. Even the suggestion of a bath wasn’t a bad one. The real Deirdre would get in with her and they would soak and read the poetry book they kept by the tub if they weren’t up to other means of passing the intimate time together. But that didn’t make it a bad idea. A little burn on her skin, a few minutes submerged head to foot with everything wet and quiet… When nothing else helped, the water was always ready to hold Morgan until she was ready to surface again. Morgan deflated, releasing her hold on the last trickle of tears she was holding in. “Okay,” Morgan whispered faintly, relaxing her grip and turning around to huddle against the woman’s body. “Okay. I can try to do that.”

Deirdre had been occupied with picking Morgan’s tears with her fingers and trying to paint mushrooms on to their sheets with it when she heard her agree. “Huh?” She perked up with confusion, forgetting the suggestion she put forth. “Oh, right! Okay, so you go do that.” Deirdre picked Morgan up, running her to their bathroom with urgency--the more time she spent carrying Morgan, the less time she would have to prepare for the mushrooms. She dropped her carefully into their ornate tub, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she skipped away with the same speed she’d come in with. The mushrooms would solve this. The mushrooms would make Morgan happy.

Time was a strange construct, Deirdre wasn’t sure how much of it she’d spent pushing furniture around into a circle (it had to be a ring), painting red mushrooms on the walls (there had to be mushrooms), lighting candles and setting the right music to play after much fumbling with a speaker she didn’t know how to use (all equally important to what needed to be done). She could not bring Morgan to the fairy ring, but she could bring the fairy ring to Morgan. She would not go so far as to pluck mushrooms from their homes to supply in her mission, but she pulled from their garden to weave Morgan a flower crown better than the dumb one she seemed so obsessed with. And while it lacked the intricate bone work, Deirdre took one of her raven skulls and affixed it to the front. Good enough, she thought, and certainly better than the other thing. At least it was to her mushroom brain. Deirdre had even gone so far as to change into one of her old dresses from Ireland, a piece meant for the traditional summer celebrations, now worn to keep a modesty she didn’t exactly care about, but hoped Morgan, in all her foolish mushroom hating, would enjoy. Now all that was left to do was spin around their great room, moving in tune with the gentle music and watching as the light fabric of her dress swished around. It was all the glory of a fairy ring without the fairy ring part, which wasn’t all the glorious. But it would be enough.

Morgan stayed in the tub for over an hour, until the last sensation of the water’s heat faded and she’d worked her soap and bubbles down to the quick. Nothing had changed, but she at least felt like herself enough to come downstairs in her pajama shorts and shirt. There was nothing left to ruin and she could start on a new prototype tomorrow. She could talk to the woman and indulge her for a little while in the evening without biting her head off or falling to pieces. “Hey…” She called softly. “I’m all scrubbed clean if you wanted to negotiate doing—oh, stars above.”

The mushroom paintings were hideous, but strangely they were the least striking image in the whole room. There was the furniture for one thing, rearranged and piled into a giant circle. Then the candles, strewn around so thickly, Morgan was reminded of the romantic paintings she’d ogled as a girl. And the woman, dressed in gauze and summer, beaming and excited by the playlist she’d started from Morgan’s digital library. It was even playing her favorite song. Morgan swept her eyes over one more time, trying to catch it all and make sense of it. It wasn’t their home, their room, but there was something careful in it, even beautiful.  “I don’t understand,” she said, looking to the woman for answers as she came closer. “What’s all this…?”

Deirdre spotted Morgan, flashing her a brilliant smile as she paused her dancing. “Come,” she urged her, giggling as she approached. She placed the flower crown atop her head quickly, eager to begin with their makeshift fairy ring night. “Wait--wait. I wrote this down.” Deirdre glanced at the smudged writing on her hands, having prepared a good speech while she waited patiently. “Dear Morgshroom, I know you are---” But the writing was sloppy and, with all her dancing and furniture rearranging, very smeared. “---’dad’. But I think you’re very ‘birdful’. Anyways, here’s mushrooms. Love, ‘Doobie’.” Deirdre grinned, her--clearly very romantic--speech over. “I made you a fairy ring!” She exclaimed, explaining herself finally. “It’s not as good, and we can’t get married here, but I know it’ll make you feel better.” She grew very nervous suddenly, unable to find the same excitement about her plans. “Do you not like it?”

Morgan didn’t have any tears left in her, even for sentiment’s sake, but watching the woman take up a thoughtfully written letter for her and recite it surrounded by candlelight made her ache even in the harshest parts of her spirit. All of this was for her. The composition of the circle, the music, even the woman’s dress. And it was all so...very Deirdre, in a rudimentary way. Morgan couldn’t help but come closer to her, looking for an explanation hidden behind her eyes or in the lines of her palm.

“I like it fine. It’s lovely, even,” she said. But that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. There was something uncanny even in the woman’s smile, familiar, frightening, and irresistible.  “Are you—” She reached out for the woman’s face, her fingers glossing over the air just above. “Are you really in there somewhere, Deirdre?” Morgan stepped closer, awed and afraid by either answer, by the hope rising in her throat. “Did you...remember us, when you did this?”

Well, at least Morgan wasn’t crying. That was all Deirdre could’ve wanted really. It wasn’t the excitement she was expecting, or the convincing she thought would push Morgan into agreeing to come to the mushrooms---but it was good. “Hm?” Deirdre smiled, breaching the space that Morgan was afraid to. She closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Morgan’s waist. “We can dance slowly, if you want. It’s better like this sometimes. Not so much for real fairy rings, because that’s boring, but for this one that’s okay.” The music was a little too jovial for their swaying, but Deirdre hummed her own slow tune instead. “I’m always in here,” she said, looking at Morgan curiously. “I don’t get what you mean when you say that. I’m always me, except sometimes I’m the boring me. And I always remember us. That’s why I want you to marry me.” But she paused for a moment, deeply considering what Morgan was saying. “But it’s only a week, my heart. And then it’ll be better. Will you wait for me?” The moment was gone just and quick as it’d come and Deirdre began tugging at Morgan’s shirt, petulant but far from demanding. “Oh! You’re supposed to be naked! That’s what makes it a good fairy ring.”

The woman moved into her arms and suddenly Morgan’s hands were grazing her cheek on accident and her arms were around her shoulders and under the musk of the woods she could smell Deirdre, earthy, crisp, and sweet as a cherry tree. Fainter now, like the scent was hiding in a shallow grave. “I’d like a slow dance kind of fairy ring, yeah,” Morgan murmured, stepping closer and settling into the private rhythm the woman was setting for them. She smirked in spite of herself as the song changed and a slower one she cherished almost fit their secret dance perfectly. Some things fit even when they shouldn’t, like their bodies, with so many inches between their height it annoyed Morgan some days. But she could rest her head so easily against her chest and hear that low heartbeat that lulled her into calm during the night.

“You’re different right now…” Morgan whispered. “You’re so different you don’t even like who you usually are, and that’s my favorite person…” She gave the woman’s body a squeeze. The closer they were, the more easily she could trick herself into believing everything would be alright. “But you’re really...you’re a little here, Deirdre?” She spoke her name as a supplication unto itself and pressed her lips to her shoulder, waiting out the silence as the woman thought. “Oh, my love, my pulse…” She nodded fervently; rising on her tiptoes to whisper in her ear. “I’ll wait for you. I love you. Please... oh!” She stumbled onto Deirdre’s foot, thrown off course as she pulled on her. “Right. Um...for you, for our ring, I guess I go topless, at least. But you’re wearing a dress, I’d like to add, even if I can practically see through it.” She pulled off her shirt in one fluid movement and offered a smile, small and tentative but no less sincere as she kept her eyes on this other Deirdre, still searching, reaching for the parts she knew.

“I never like who I usually am. Except for this me; this me is always happy.” Deirdre commented absently. The mushrooms did not allow for pain or question, with them, a simple life was always guaranteed. For so long, it was her only way to connect with the fae who would otherwise shun her for her flatback. But she couldn’t explain any of this to Morgan, any of how important the rings were to the fae, she didn’t like them. And if she’d already decided to hate, then there was no point to argue. Besides, Deirdre didn’t much like wasting her time on anything that wasn’t being naked or dancing. “Well that’s just because there’s supposed to be other layers under it, but I didn’t want to wear them--obvs.” But she delighted in the sight of Morgan’s top coming off, not only because the naked sight of Morgan always delighted her, but because nudity was the way of the fae. “Yay! Boobs!” She scrambled to take her dress off, pulling and kicking it off until she was fully nude. “Now the party can start!” She reached for Morgan again, pulling her close until the were flush together. The best way to enjoy nudity was together, that as something the mushrooms had told her once. But more so, it was something she knew to be true because of Morgan, and how happy she made her feel. She was like her own fairy ring; she didn’t need to be a mushroom to set Deirdre’s heart aglow. “I’m always here,” she whispered, before losing her train of thought to how happy she felt. “You’re magic, you know that? You like a real mushroom, and just almost as pretty as one. I wish you liked the rings more, because I want to show you what’s so wonderful about them, but I can take this for now.”  

Morgan pressed a chain of kisses around the Mushroom Deirdre’s neck, weaving her way upward to her jaw. She wasn’t sure how fae it was of her, but the skin under her lips was so familiar, it made Mushroom Deirdre’s whisper sink and settle inside her. “Give me a week, babe,” she said. “Stay with me a week and then we’ll see. Wait with me til then.”

[mmazzeroo]

Chapter 21: ARYA VI - Happy Nameday, Jon

@helloimnotawesome - Last Arya pov chapter in the fic. We’re coming closer to the end of this fic. Thank you so much for the beautiful mood board, sis! Also a big thanks to @thebeautyofjoneryzz for her patient beta work on this <3

ARYA VI - Happy Nameday, Jon:

"I believe it's tradition."

"Tradition?" She sent a sceptical glance at the silver-haired man sitting next to her. "You seriously think Jon's been back long enough to make anything 'tradition'?" She snorted. Tradition! What makes anything tradition, really? A certain number of times, number of years, what?

"Arya, he's been back in Starfall for three years now. Yes, he's had time to make new traditions with his people here. Oh, drop the sceptical act, wolfie lass!" He affectionately bumped his shoulder against hers, "they're his people just as the people of Winterfell are your father's."

Vis was sitting with her in the far corner of the castle garden. Is it a garden though? She wasn't quite sure what to call it. It was high above the city itself so it was quiet, with a floor made of beautiful, smooth sandstone. Maybe it's a terrace? There were little pockets of green spread around. Currently, she  sat under a mango tree; enjoying the subtle, sweet smell of the plump, ripe fruits that reminded her of the winter roses back home in Winterfell. The other corner had a handful of lemon trees, and had for some reason quickly become one of Dany's favourite places when she moved down here. When not working, she could most often be found in the lemon corner camping out on a blanket, book in hand, with the cinnabons, Ghost and maybe a cat cuddled up against her. Looking the most happy and relaxed I've ever seen her.

The centrepiece was a peepal tree from Naath, that still had much growing to do, but was slowly beginning to cast a nice shade. It was a gift from one of the temples Jon had worked with, during his stay on the island. How they'd even managed to get a tree like that here, so far away, unscathed and then have it grow and thrive was beyond her. Quite impressive actually. Scouring the family libraries at Winterfell and Dragonstone, she'd discovered the Naathi considered peepal trees sacred. Similar to how we in the North view our Weirwood trees.

"From what I've seen they're proud of it too." Casting another glance at Vis, before focusing her attention on Theon; who was rather quiet as he tended to the trees, bushes and colourful flowers. They’d attracted a large number of bees and an equal amount of large, colourful butterflies. Every so often, Theon would stop and watch the small flying beings flutter about; as it was the only time there was ever a hint of a smile on his constantly, somber face. Heartbreaking. Would hug him if I knew he was ready for human contact.

"Yes, that's because Jon took his time to interact with them and get to know them. They could have thrown rotten eggs and tomatoes at him. Turned their backs on him. But they didn't. Because your brother is smart enough to know that a way to people's hearts is by meeting them face to face and getting to know each other. He could've barricaded himself in his tower but he didn't. Despite being apprehensive about taking up the lordship of Starfall he's here because at his core your brother is a warrior."

She whipped her head around with a piercing gaze as she glanced at Vis. "Of course he is - he's a Stark!"

"—and a Dayne, Arya. Being a warrior is in his blood either way." Vis poured himself another glass of lemonade as he continued speaking, "now back to this tradition of his: Do you know why he's giving every newborn in Starfall a sword?"

"A wooden sword," she scuffed.

"Does that make a difference to you?" He turned leaning in slightly in front of her and looked her straight in the eyes. An usual seriousness lurking in the depth of Vis' kind purple eyes. Gods damn it!

Embarrassed now, she lowered her eyes as she mumbled underneath of her breath, "I don't know. I mean, I'm not sure."

Vis wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in closely so her back was resting against his chest, "picture the scene, Arya: Not only does the Lord of Starfall himself stop by with a gift for your newborn child, but the gift he's presenting is one he's created with his own hands. Do you know how much emotional value that has to the parents? In a heartbeat that piece of wood crafted into the shape of a traditional Dornish-style sword becomes priceless."

"Oh! I hadn't thought of that way," she confessed quietly.

"Just means you've learned something new today, my dear wolf," he stated softly adding a kiss to the top of her head.

She could hear the smile in his voice. She couldn't count high enough to know the number of times Viserys had held her like this. Ironically,  it was as if he was the water to her fire. Always making sure not to quell the flames entirely. Somehow he managed to contain her fire while limiting the damage. Only he had that effect on her. Their difference in age made Vis more like an uncle than brother, despite growing up underneath the same roof. He’d always been her confidant. Didn't big-brother her like Robb and didn't discipline her like mom and dad. He'd patiently let her rant and rage on about her family, or Gendry, her friends, patients...anything really, before gently guiding her towards a more peaceful course of action than her usual 'murder list' impulses. Sometimes he'd tease her by telling her she was more of a dragon than wolf which never failed to make her show him her fangs. That made him laugh harder as he  stated he was sure she had the deepest bite of all the wolves. You bet your ass I do, Vis! Except for maybe Jon...

With a deep, contented sigh, she let the silence between them settle. They were actually down here for Jon's nameday. They'd been enjoying a delicious lunch - all the Starks and Targs - until word came that Lord Dayne's request had been granted. He always sent out a request to visit the new parents, not wanting to overwhelm them any further. So he had jumped out of his chair as if he'd be welcoming a new member to his family. Oh! Wait! From what Vis said earlier that's how he views them, isn't it? As extended family? A big wide smile spread on her lips. They're lucky to have you, brother.

"But still....," she pondered, "—why a sword of all things?"

Vis gave her a little squeeze, "—because this is Dorne, and regardless of a newborn's gender in this land, it'll grow up to be a strong warrior." I knew there was a reason I liked Dorne despite this bloody gods forsaken heat!

"There are more than one way to be a warrior though." She sat up again to turn and look at him. "I mean, Bran's in a wheelchair and Sansa...well, she's not exactly a fighter in the traditional sense either, but I would definitely call both of them warriors in their own right," she said, emphatically.

"Exactly!" He exclaimed, excitement written all over his face as he continued, "—and knowing how Sansa and Jon have connected, I think it's pretty safe to say that he'll make sure every child growing up in Starfall will know and learn that there are several ways to be a warrior and a fighter."

They high-five'd and shared a proud lemonade toast for Jon as they celebrated.

Making sure to look straight ahead with a small, crooked smile upon her lips; doing her best to sound as uninterested as possible she said jestingly, "I know psychologists are good at talking, but you somehow always manage to sound like you actually know what you're talking about."

Vis responded in the expected dramatic manner by placing a hand on his heart when he gushingly answered, "why thank you, Arya! Coming from you that might be the biggest compliment I've ever received. I'll cherish it forever in my heart. Mark my calendar and celebrate it every year as the day of my greatest achievement!" At the end, he burst out laughing, not able to hold it in any longer.  

"Oh shut up, Vis!" She jokingly said as she slapped him on his shoulder making him laugh even more.

"You know us Targaryens - we have a flair for the dramatics!"

"Yeah, I know,” she rolled her eyes, “we grew up under the same roof, remember?" Bunch of drama queens, the lot of them!

When their laughter died down, she leaned in to him resting  her head on his shoulder.

"By the way, thank you for all you've done for Jon," she added quietly.

"It's kinda my job you know."

"I know that dummy," she grumbled, "but I also happen to know that what you're doing for Jon isn't just because it's your job." She gave him a gentle shove with her shoulder, "I know you love him too."

"Of course I love him, Arya. I remember the little boy he was and I missed him too." He took a trembling breath and took a few sips of lemonade before continuing. "Just as I now love him for the man he was made into and for the man he's fighting to become. I love your brother for having a heart soft as butter, a spine hard as steel and the courage to let the world see both."

"Wow Vis, that was unexpectedly...tender," she teased.

"I'm a softie." He shrugged and with a wink added, "you know that."

Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, she replied, "wouldn't want it any other way."

"Aunty Aya! Aunty Aya! Aunty Aya!" Little Adei came running as fast as her little toddler legs could carry her.

"Cinnabon!" She jumped up, swooped Adei up in her arms and twirled a few times filling the air with the sound of toddler giggles. Gods I love that sound!

In the background Amador was approaching next to a timid Theon. His little chubby hand wrapped around a couple of Theon's dirt covered fingers. Every time she was with the twins she was amazed at just how different they were from each other. Reminded her of herself and the other Stark siblings. Adei clearly had the wolf's blood. Dad always said the same about me...and Aunt Lya. Quick to smile and laugh, quick to anger, quick to love, quick to protect. The locals loved the little girl's trailblazing spirit. Even more so after Jon had officially named her heir to Starfall. Definitely carries her heart on her sleeve that one. Amador on the other hand... The little boy always had an easy, relaxed smile on his face. His grey eyes, resembling her own, always observing. Patient and always ready to help, ever so gentle with all beings. Must be Mallandei's peaceful constitution. Calm as the ocean on a clear summer's day, but the few times she'd seen her little nephew angry it was like watching a winter storm, thunder and lightning all wrapped up in a tiny human being. It was a beautiful but frightening sight. He's a good warm up for potential dragonwolves. Like his sister, the locals loved him, especially for accompanying Theon on his daily walk outside castle grounds. They both had their parent's gentle heart and no doubt would be a pair you'd always want on your side.

"Theon showed us all the butterflies!" The little girl announced enthusiastically.

"Again?" She asked with a slight chuckle. He shows them to the two of you every day!  

"Yes." A firm nod.

"Are they pretty?"

"Yes!" The little girl bounced excitedly.

Smirking she asked, "prettier than papa?"

Her little niece instantly furrowed her brows and scowled at her aunt. "Papa and Mador don't like being called petty."

"Pretty."

"Yes." Another firm nod.

"Ok, then we won't call them that." Definitely your father's daughter!

Adei grinned, "good."

"Now," she carefully sat Adei on the bench next to Viserys, "time for some refreshing lemonade."

"Yay!" The toddlers rejoiced.

Amador jumped up to join his sister on the bench while Vis poured a half glass of lemonade for each of them.

Arya poured a glass for herself. "I've poured a glass for you as well, Theon. I'll leave it here on the table for you."

"Thank you, Miss Arya. Very kind of you," he muttered while staring into the ground, fidgeting nervously with his hat.

Despite her hatred for being called ‘Miss’ and ‘Lady’, she always bit her tongue when it was Theon who referred to her as such. She so badly wanted to hug him; let him know that he was safe here. No one would ever dare to cause him any harm again. He was protected by wolves, dragons and all of Starfall. What kind of psycho could get any pleasure from breaking a person like that? To the point where he’s become a mere shadow of a man. She felt so much rage inside whenever she thought of it.

"No trouble at all, Theon. It was my pleasure." She walked around the table to stand behind the bench to give Theon space and a clear path to the table from where he stood.

In a few swift steps he was by the table; quickly emptying  his glass.

"Would you like some more?" She’d asked softly. Very unlike her except for patients - and Theon.

He froze for a few seconds before slowly nodding and shakily holding out his glass towards her.

Giving him a reassuring smile she held out the pitcher and poured.

After quickly finishing  another round of lemonade, he put the glass back down on the table as he nodded and went back to tending the garden.

Further up the path, she saw her three brothers by the cherry trees. Jon was playing peek-a-boo with little Arthur who was sitting on mommy Marg's arm.

Leaning down so her face was between the twins' heads she said, "who wants to go pick cherries with uncle Bran and uncle Robb?"

Both of the children gasped and looked up to see their two wolf uncles.

"Nuncle Bob! Nuncle Bob!" Adei sprinted ahead.

Amador walked off at his usual leisurely pace.

Walking back round to sit on the bench she couldn't help laughing, "the fact that my little niece can't pronounce the letter 'R' is an endless source of enjoyment for me."

Vis chuckled next to her. "Give her time she'll get the hang of it."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Vis!"

He just shook his head in amusement.

"By the way, how's Theon doing? He looks better than last time I visited."

"Meeting Jon I thought he was the worst case I'd ever met. At the time he was. But..." he paused, as he slowly blew out a breath, "—if I ever meet a case worse than Theon, I can for a fact say that person will never become a fully fledged human being again. Theon has a chance and I still believe he’ll eventually get there. For outsiders it's difficult to see but he's working so hard to claw his way out of his shell." I can hear Vis' heart break for Theon in every word.

"Don't even know what to say to that. I mean, I'm happy he's getting better, but…," tilting her head back now, she gazed up at the azure-blue sky. "There was a time I thought I wanted to know what had happened to him, but now....,” she shook her head slightly, “—with what you just said, Vis, I never want to know anything. I'd want to hunt them down!" The blood was boiling in her veins, her fists, jaws and teeth clenched. She was ready to pounce if only she knew who to punch the living daylight out of!

"Easy there, wolf." Vis placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "You're right, you definitely don't want to know." There's a darkness to that statement that I've never heard from Vis before. "I'll tell you this much, Arya: Where Jon was all broken bones, open wounds and heartache, Theon is the opposite. Your brother's spirit hadn't been broken. He still bit back, defended himself and others. Theon's spirit, however, had been smashed to smithereens and he had been left to try to piece it together all on his own which is not humanly possible."

She looked to Theon, who was currently standing with Jon. He was still so afraid of human contact that the only ones who could touch him without frightening him were children. Somehow, he instinctively knew that their actions were truly genuine. Vis had challenged him to venture out of the castle grounds once a day, and every day like clockwork, Amador would stand by the castle gate waiting for him. Ready to take his hand and walk the short distance up to the old city gate and back; they made an odd, but sweet pair.

"Want to join the rest of us for some afternoon tea?" Jon's warm voice brought her out of her musings.

Before they could answer they were interrupted by Robb, who came running by with a giggling Amador on his shoulders. The little boy waved eagerly as they passed by.

"That looks like fun." Jon looked longingly after the two.

"It is!" Her and Vis exclaimed in unison before all three shared a good laugh.

"You've never tried it?" How's that possible? She couldn't believe it. She didn't want to.

"No, not like that." Jon turned his head and looked at them. A shadow seemed to have passed through his mind as he continued, "I mean, Uncle Arthur would do the thing where he carried me over his shoulder and pretend like he couldn't find me. I'd laugh and giggle and say 'I'm right here, Uncle' and he'd turn and say 'where?' and everyone around would laugh." A sad smile began to creep upon his face and lips as he suddenly stopped. Everyone in that memory is dead. Including the little innocent boy that Jon was.

"You want to try?" Vis asked enthusiastically.

Jon shook his head clearly puzzled by the inquiry, "—of course I would, but it's decades too late for that, Vis."

"I bet I know a guy who can carry you. Still wanna try?" What are you playing at, Vis?

"I highly doubt that, Vis, but yes I still want to try."

"Great! Come with me then!"

Jon was still laughing lightly as he and Vis walked off.

As she began to collect the glasses and the pitcher, she heard a mixed choir of gasps and laughter coming from further up the garden. As she turned to begin moving up to where the action was she couldn't believe her eyes. Coming down the path towards her was Jon - laughing the loudest she'd ever heard him, with a look of pure glee - being carried on the shoulders of a laughing Rhaegar.  

As the two men made it closer, she could hear their conversation:

"Oh gods this is amazing! No wonder the kids love it. Thank you, Rhae." Jon choked on his tears but there was no denying the smile that was plastered upon his face.

Rhaegar’s head peered upwards, as if trying to see Jon over his head, as he replied, "Happy nameday, Jon!"

[almighty-pontheon]

The Almighty Pontheon: Chapter 4- Ban the Tatepon

"I am Ban the Tatepon! And I shall fight by your side!" The three Yaripons still looked a bit unsure of Ban. Here comes this guy right out of nowhere, and he just randomly decides he can join their ranks like that? What was this dude's deal-

"Yes! Please help us, wonderful Ban the Tatepon!" Hatapon, noting how uneasy the others seemed to be of this fine soldier, quickly jumped at the chance to praise him and give his warm welcome. Ton Chin and Kan were good men, but he thought them a little dim at times. "I am sure the Great Vee will welcome your assistance with open arms, right?" The flagbearer turned to Vee, who still sounded the drums to keep the Fever they had going. Not saying a word, she communicated her approval with a nod and thumbs-up.

"Splendid!" Ban smiled, quickly joining up with the army. He set himself up in the frontline, sword and shield at the ready. They could see yet another wall in front of their path- four more walls, actually. As well as a growing force of Catotons armed with both crude spears and axes. "Alright, here goes! To victory! For Patapolis!"

Vee drummed out the attack ballad just as contently as she had told them to earlier. Internally, the Yaripons were wincing at the thought of having to continuously toss spears into the stubborn structure until it would finally give way. Ban, however, did not seem intimidated in the slightest. He charged right on ahead and gave that wall a good slash. That was all it took to expose the wooden supports of the building, a feat which had proved barely possible to the Yaripons.

That was also all it took to get Ton, Chin, and Kan to change their tune.

Ban brought his blade down on the stones once more to get it to collapse completely. The Catoton soldiers on the other side of that wall were then force to quickly swallow their fear and charge at the Patapons and their new beefy unit. The group of three Tateton lesser wild cats and three Yariton housecats split- the three melee units rushing to meet the enemy head-on while the spear-throwers were to hang back and chip away at the opponent by flinging their weapons. It was a solid plan, but ultimately ruined by Ban. At the command to attack, his sword caught all three Tatetons. The closest one to him plopped to the ground as the other two spontaneously caught fire and began to wildly run about in confusion. At the next command to attack, the Ancient Patapon warrior put these two out of their misery.   The Yaritons watched as this happened, and were rightfully stunned. Hoping the next wall would save them, they hid behind it and continued to lob spears at the juggernaut that was Ban Tatepon.

"What the deuce!?" One of them shrieked. "This guy just won't go down!"

The Catoton's excellent observation only served to invigorate Ban more. The rest of the army were wondering if their spears even mattered anymore as he brought down the wall his foes hid behind with only one swing. The impact of the flying debris sent the cat soldiers flying backwards while Ban only kept advancing. It didn't take much effort to cut them down.

"How are we faring up- H-h-holy smokes!"

Another fleet of four Yaritons arrived just at the right moment to witness the bloodshed. The last of the original squadron plopped at their feet, urking a "Ciao!" before perishing. "This is worse than we thought!" He said, pulling the other three at his side away from the danger. Behind him was an army Black-Footton cobbled together in light of the emergency at their front door. Now the fleet was six Tatetons strong, with the four Yaritons in the back. They didn't have the luxury of being lesser wild cats this time- everyone was ranked as a lowly Housecat unit. Even though everyone before them had been mowed down easily, this group hoped and prayed that their numbers would overwhelm the opposing army of four. "Get them!"The large force moved in, pushing the Yaritons to the back once more. For Ban, it was as if they were lining up at his blade. One swing brought down three of the ten-unit force, and then another cut brought it down to four once again. Ban went ahead cutting down the third wall that day as the Yaritons retreated. As soon as it came down, they were already scurrying behind the final one, hopelessly throwing their spears all the while. Once again, Ban attacked it as the excited Yaripons on his side made a great leap into the air as they threw their spears. The wall crumbled, and the cat-like Yaritons resigned themselves to their fate. Though they fought on still, it only took the Tatepon two swipes to reduce their numbers to zero. The final obstacle was an odd one- a headstone written in a dead language. "Oh- Wait a minute!" Hatapon came forward before Ban knocked this over as well, hoping to be able to read what it said. Other than Veeden and, allegedly, Vee- He was one of the very few who could still read and speak the language of the Ancients. Of course, Ban probably could too, but who was he to steal the little guy's thunder?

"...Oh... Oh dear." Hatapon whimpered, setting his hand over the grave solemnly. ""This is the final resting place of Pan Pakapon, Patapon Genius of the Horn", that's what it says... Poor Pan, I didn't know he- Hey!"Interrupting the moment, Vee ordered the army to attack once more, having Ban collapse the gravestone.

"What did you do that for, Great Vee!?" Hata snapped. "You can't just desecrate the dead like this, Almighty or not-" "Hata! Hata!" Chin interjected. "Stop yelling at our god and look!"

He had forgotten himself in that moment. From the headstone, Ban had procured the cap on Pan Pakapon and tossed it to the Mighty One to store away. All of Hatapon's humility came back to him, and he was too embarrassed to apologize right away.

"Well, we are out of danger." Ban said calmly as he walked forward, without the rest of the group. Ahead them was a simple brick house, which the Black-Footton they had been hearing so much about was likely hiding out in.

"You fought well. Glory to Vee!" "Ban... You sound like you're about to leave us!" Kan sniffled. "You can't do that, we just met you!"

The warrior looked at the four-man army to see that the eyes that once held looks of suspicion were now harboring tears. He could understand why, Ban missed being in an army as well. His look softened a bit. "Yes, I fear I do have to go. However, I will not leave you completely, Army of Vee!" Ban turned around and straightened his form. "Presenting the Memory of Tatepon, the mighty warrior. Tough as nails and lion brave. Soon, it will be our turn..."

By now, he was just about raring to go. However, Vee pushed past the army to come face-to-face with Ban. It was a bit unlike an Almighty to pull one of her warriors into a hug like this, but Vee did not care what anyone had to say about her form and how she presented herself. Of course, this took Ban aback, but he settled into the gesture nicely. It was secretly everyone's dream to feel the warm fluff that their Almighty represented. With this, he could properly retreat to heaven once more. "Ah, Great Vee..." He whispered to her ears. "If it is within your power... I've always wished for a daughter..." "In your honor, I swear it shall be done." The Goddess promised. "She will carry on your bloodline in your stead, you can count on it."

Ban smiled as she broke her hug and moved to side with her army again. His form then suddenly collapsed and fell apart as his spirit went free and slowly ascended to heaven with beautiful butterfly-like wings and antennae. On the ground where he stood, he had left them a scroll containing his memory, his shield, and quite a bit of Kaching. "Farewell! Oh, Great Vee!" His voice echoed as his shimmering spirit slowly faded from view. Vee commanded her army to advance, accepting the gifts Ban the Tatepon had left them. ~~~ Officer Black-Footton had a small crisis on his hands. It seemed like the large force he had put forth to deal with the problem was cut down in a matter of moments. While the army of Patapons continued to trash his base, Black-Footton made one last effort to the Catoton cause in the form of a letter carried by a surviving few.

General Gong, I know that by the time you read this, the Patapons will have overtaken us.They are marching again. The fort in Eyeball Forest is destroyed. We must stop them as soon as possible, before the world is lead to ruin! Please don't let our sacrifice be in vain. Long live Queen Kharmaness.

Officer Black-Footton

He didn't waste time with properly wrapping it up and sealing it with wax. The moment the ink was dry he rounded up his survivors and sent them away on horses. But he was not one to abandon a fight, even if he was the last Catoton alive here. Black-Footton was the captain of this little ship, and if he had to go down with it, he would!

He grabbed his trusty iron spear from its spot and prepared for a fight... That was until a chunk of the roof fell away. How could they be attacking already!? He was at the door when the rest of the structure fell apart on him, killing the officer. As his remains faded, only his iron spear remained. The marching Patapons quickly added the new weapon to their armory as they crossed the goal. They were now on their way to retaking Eyeball Forest! ~~~

"The Ancient Ban Tatepon asked for a daughter?" Veeden confirmed once Vee recounted the events in the forest to her that night. Everyone was pretty boisterous that night, and cheered loudly about how they finally had the Catotons on the run for once!

"Hmm... To do that... Come, Great Vee." Gently now, Veeden took the Mighty One's hand and led her away from the noise. "Allow me to show you to our sacred sanctuary..."

Vee was led to a magnificent tree unlike any other. Its branches curved inward towards itself at the ends, and the largest two curled together in an almost heart shape. Dotting these two thicker branches was a series of white, glowing orbs. The base of the tree showed protruding roots, and the dirt below it had clearly been dug up and reburied many times. Two Patapons with shovels stood by the great plant, looking very ready for some activity at last.

"This is Mater, the Tree of Life." Veeden said, motioning her staff to the mystical beauty. "Great warriors can be created here with the memory of the ancients, if you have the Kachings and the Materials to do so. You can also revive fallen units with her, so long as you have the cap!"

"Sooo, if we take the cap of good old Pan here-" Vee picked up the unusual headgear, prompting the shovel-wielding Patapons to dig a hole up. Dropping it in, she let the tree do the rest of the work.Mater glowed a light pink color as two orbs of light descended from the biggest branches, coming to form as one at the base of the tree. A single root that stuck upward then shot out Pan Pakapon, complete with cap and horn!

"Wha- What happened?" Pan looked around in a little panic. "I remember getting hurt and... Where's Ubo Bon!?" "Settle down, Pan Pakapon!" Vee intervened as coolly as ever. "You did die for a long time, yes. But now that you're back, I'm sure he'll be happy to see you again!" "Ah, yes! O-Okay, thank you, kind miss! Forgive me, but I need to go and check in on him! I'll be seeing you!" Just as quickly as he was revived, Pan Pakapon rushed off to go reunite Ubo Bon before Veeden could scold him about his behavior around Almighty Vee. Thankfully, she had other things to worry about.

"Well, let's see here..." Vee looked to the scroll left behind by Ban, reading the dead language clear as day. "To forge a Tatepon from the materials of the Earth, give the Great Tree of Life a stone to form their will and meat to strengthen their muscles..."

Stepping away while Vee read the scroll carefully, Veeden assembled the materials they needed. They had obtained a few stones from the day's encounter, as for the meat... Ban wouldn't have wanted just any Patapon for a child. Veeden took a drumstick of Tender Meat and brought it to Vee. "It will be more expensive, but I do believe it is worth it Great Vee!" Veeden chimed, offering the materials to her. Forming a new cap, Vee watched as it was buried beneath the roots and the glowing orbs took shape once more. They flowed down to the base, and a new Patapon already armed with a wooden shield and tin axe with an orange eye and rabbit ears was shot out from the upturned root. She was born ready for battle... Almost. The Pyopyo, unused to standing on her legs, stumbled and fell once her feet touched terra firma. Immediately, the attendants to Mater swooped in to support the new soldier. Her vision was new and adjusting, but the first thing she saw when it focused was Vee hovering over her, a hint of concern in her eye. "Woah there... Who are you?" ""Who are you?!"" Veeden snorted. "She's Almighty Vee! Our living Goddess, here to lead us to Earthend to see it! And you are now a part of her army, a great honor if I do say so myself-" With a wave of her hand, Vee silenced Veeden. Thankfully, the young woman was unfazed by that little episode. "Oh... That's pretty cool! Um... Do I have a name?" "A name? Well..." Vee was tempted to say no, and send the Pyopyo on her way... But Ban had a name. So did Ton Chin and Kan! It wound be unfair for this one to be unnamed... "Yolky." "Eh?" "That's your name! Yolky the Pyopyo Tatepon!" "Well... Okay then! I'm Yolky!"

With that, Vee gave her the pat of approval and sent her to meet the rest of the tribe. Vee was expecting Veeden to be a little more vocal at the birth of a new warrior, but she had oddly fallen silent. "Veeden? What's the matter?" Vee turned to face her Priestess, whose eye was staring off into space. She looked absolutely horrified at the sight, her pupil had dilated in terror and the hands that gripped her staff trembled and shook. There was nothing out there that was worth being afraid of, nothing but safety and allies all around, right? "A-Ah! Have mercy!" She cried out. "I sense something terrible!" "Veeden?" Vee urged the woman to sit down, lest she fall over in her hysteria. "Tell me what's wrong. What are you seeing?" "...What is it that approaches? " She sputtered. "Blood and... Crimson blood!"

As if to make things worse, Ton came scurrying up to the two ladies, fresh out of sentry duty. His hands also trembled lightly. "Great Vee! Priestess Veeden! The Catotons are attacking!" He announced. "They are advancing through the forest!"

[queenofboheme]

Australian Aboriginal Myths & Legends

Alchera - Literally, ‘dream time.’ It is the remote period in time in which the ancestral spirits of aboriginal tribes walked the earth. These ancestors are believed to have returned to their abode underground. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Altjira - The sky father of the Aranda tribes of Central Australia, Altjira is looked on as the god of the Alchera, the dream time. It is said that he made the Earth, then retired to the top of the sky, and is now indifferent to mankind. He is represented as a man with the feet of an emu, while his wives and daughters have the feet of dogs. Also called Sky-Dweller or All-Father. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}

Anjea - An animistic fertility spirit of the aboriginals of Queensland. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Ankotarinja - Among the Aranda people, the first man. He is the Dreaming hero who first emerged from the ground to create the world. His myth belonged to a small band of Aranda men, known as the Ngala-Mbitjana people. They were heirs to Ankotarinja’s exploits at the time of the Dreaming, performing his ceremonies and initiating their young iliara (novice) into his totemic lodge. They kept alive the memory of his world-creating endeavors. Ankotarinja’s birthplace is a creek-bed near Ankota (vicinity of Mt. Solitaire). {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Awa-hon-do - Abenaki insect-spirits that bite people. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Baiame - The totemic ancestor of the Kamilaroi tribe of New South Wales. An ancient sky god and 'father of all things’, he was master of life and death – the archetypal medicine-man. He answered invocations for rain, while his favourite wife, Birrahgnooloo, sent floods on request. Baiame also invented the stone fish trap. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Bagadjimbiri - The two brother gods to whom the Karadjeri of northwestern Australia attribute the creation of the world. Prior to the rising of the two brothers as dingos from the ground, there was nothing. The Bagadjimbiri made waterholes; from a toadstool and a fungus they formed genital organs for the first sexless people, and they instituted the ritual of circumcision. After the two brothers had assumed the shape of two giant men reaching up to the sky, they got into a quarrel with a cat-man called Ngariman, whom they had annoyed with their laughter. Ngariman and his relatives killed the two brothers with spears, but the enraged Dilga, their mother, and the earth goddess, caused her milk to flow underground to the place of the murder, where it revived the victims and drowned the killers. Bagadjimbiri were reborn, but after some time decided to pass away, their bodies turning into water snakes and their spirits rising into the sky as great clouds. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Bamapana - A hero and trickster of the Murnging of northern Australia. He causes much discord and misunderstandings. He has also a reputation to be an obscene man because, among other things, he violated the taboo of incest, to the open horror and hidden delight of the tribesmen.{Micha F. Lindemans}.

Banaitja - An Aboriginal creator diety. {Jeanette X}.

Bia - The name of the songs sung by the Buin people (Australia) as laments for the dead. The words are the mourning exclamations and cries of the relatives of the deceased at the time of cremation. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Biame - The “Great One,” or creator. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Bobbi-bobbi - One of the ancestral snakes of the Binbinga people of northern Australia, Bobbi-Bobbi once sent a number of flying foxes for men to eat, but these bats escaped. So the snake, underground, watching, threw one of his ribs up, where the men on the ground received it and, using it as a boomerang, slew the bats and cooked them. Later they used the boomerang to make a hole in the sky, and Bobbi-Bobbi, angered, took back his rib, dragging down into his mouth two young men who had tried to hold onto the boomerang. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Brolga - Her name means “Native Companion.” She is honored by the Aborigines of Australia. A dancer of great fluidity and beauty, she was taken away by the dancers of nature, the whirlwinds. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Bulaing - A female divinity of creation in the religion of the Australian Karadjeri. She created all things and all creatures. The word bulaing is also used to denote the mythical serpents. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Bunbulama - Goddess of the rain. Djanggawul sisters or daughters of the sun, these Australian goddesses unceasingly brought forth living creatures from their endlessly pregnant bodies. Their long vulvas broke off piece by piece with these births, producing the world’s first sacred artifacts. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Bunjil - The supreme god and creator of the Kulin and Wurunjerri peoples of Australia, usually referred to as 'our father’. According to the traditions of the Kulin he taught mankind the arts of life, while the Wurunjerri traditions state that he created mankind. After his tasks on earth where finished, he left the earth for an abode in the sky. The rainbow Binbeal is his son. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Bunyip - A bellowing water monster from Aboriginal legend, believed to bring diseases. It lives at the bottom of the water holes, swamps, lakes and rivers of the Australian outback. The creature is roughly the size of a calf and requires calm water to live in. Unless its food sources are interfered with, the bunyip usually leaves human beings alone. However, if necessary it has the strength to pull a person down into the water and drown him. The name comes from an Aboriginal word meaning “devil” or “spirit”. Science sees it rather as misrecognized animals like seals, whose voices are mistaken for the cries of bitterns. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Churinga - Ancient sacred icon stones and wooden boards associated with the wanderings of ancestral heroes at the time of the Dreaming. However, they are much more than boards and stones: they represent the timeless presence of the Dreaming heroes on earth. The churinga are usually wrapped in dry leaves, bound with strings made of human hair and kept either on a platform or in a crevasse near the totemic center. In a sense, the churinga are the collective numen of the spirit-being, his kurunba. They represent the link with the otherworld. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Daramulum - The Australian (Wiradyuri and Kamilaroi) sky-god, son of the creator-god Baiame. He is the intermediary between his father and humans. Daramulum (“one-leg”) is associated with the moon, and the one of the sources of supernatural power accessible to medicine men. He is the chief totemic ancestor of the Yuin tribe. Representations of Daramulum are only shown during initiation rites. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Dhakhan - The ancestral spirit of the Kabi tribe of Queensland (north-east Australia). He is half fish, half snake and when Dhakhan moves himself, he appears in the sky as a rainbow. The spirit resides in deep water holes. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Dilga - The earth goddess of the Karadjeri of northwestern Australia, she avenged the murder of her two sons, Bagadjimbiri, by drowning the killers in her milk, which at the same time restored her sons to life. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Djanggawul - The divine trinity of north Australian mythology, Djanggawuls was made up of two sisters and a brother who came to Earth via Beralku, the island of the dead, and gave the landscape its shape and vegetation. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Djunkgao - In Aboriginal myth (specifically the Murngin myth cycle) the Djunkgao sisters named on their travels the clan countries and animals, and made totem wells with their yam sticks. They lost their totems to the men and became ordinary women when the younger sister was incestuously raped. The sisters are associated with the rainy season floods and the movements of the ocean. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Dream time - The mythological past of Australian (Aboriginal) mythology. It is variously termed by the various tribes.{Micha F. Lindemans}.

Eingana - The Australian natives call her, Mother Eingana, the world-creator, the birth mother, maker of all water, land, animals, and kangaroos. This huge snake goddess still lives, they say, in the Dreamtime, rising up occasionally to create yet more life. This primordial snake had no vagina; as her offspring grew inside her, the goddess swelled up. Eventually, tortured with the pregnancy, Eingana began to roll around and around. The god Barraiya saw her agony and speared her near the anus so that birth could take place as all creatures now give birth. She is also the death mother. They say Eingana holds a sinew of life attached to each of her creatures; when she lets it go, that life stops. If she herself should die, they say everything would cease to exist.{Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Erathipa - A huge boulder in the shape of a pregnant woman bears this name. It is said that the souls of dead children reside within it, and that if a woman of child-bearing age walks by a soul slips from the boulder and into her womb to be reborn.{Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Galeru - A mythical giant rainbow-snake from Arnhemland in northern Australia. Galeru is the symbol of the maintenance of life. She swallowed the Djanggawul sisters. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Gnowee - The sun goddess of an aboriginal people of southeast Australia. The legend goes that Gnowee once lived on the earth at a time when the sky was always dark and people walked around carrying torches in order to see. One day while Gnowee was out gathering yams, her baby son wandered off. She set out to search for him, carrying a huge torch, but never found him. To this day she still climbs the sky daily, carrying her torch, trying to find her son. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Inapertwa - In Australian Aranda (Arunta) mythology, rudimentary creatures from which two Numbakulla, or self-existing sky deities, made animals, birds, and plants, which they then formed into human beings. Thus, each individual belongs to the totem the name is that of the plant or animal from which he was transformed. The Numbakulla themselves then became lizards. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

I'wai - The crocodile totemic culture hero of the Koko Ya'o tribe, Cape York Peninsula, Australia. I'wai was the leading figure among the ancestors who lived “in the beginning at first”, a phrase often opening a myth about the pre-human period. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Julana - God of the Jumu of western Australia, Julana delights in chasing women, whom he surprises by travelling under the sand. Both he and his father Njirana travelled the earth during Alchera, the Dream Time. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Julunggul - Rainbow serpents are a common motif throughout world mythology, but most particularly in Oceania, Africa and South America; universally, they are associated with immortality/rebirth, rain and water. This rainbow serpent, Julunggul, is a great Goddess of the Aborigines of Australia. She oversees the initiation of adolescent boys into manhood. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Kalseru - The northwestern Australian rainbow serpent associated with fertility and rain. The rainbow serpent is known over most of Australia but the name differs from tribe to tribe. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Karora - The creator, according to the Bandicoot clan of the Arandan aborigines of Australia. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Kidili - The moon man of the mythology of the Mandjindja in western Australia. He tried to force his attentions on the first women and this act caused the lizard men, Wati-kutjara, to attack and wound him. Kidili later died in a water hole. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Kondole - There is a charming myth from southern Australia which tells of a blistering hot day at the time of the Ceremonies. The performers realize they have no means of providing light for the evening rituals, so they invite Kondole to join them, hoping that he, the sole owner of fire, will bring it with him. Kondole, however, is a mean and disagreeable fellow; he hides the fire in the bush and arrives without it. Angered by his selfishness, the performers consider various ways of forcing him to retrieve his fire and share it with them. But Kondole is a big bruiser and nobody is courageous enough to deal with him. Finally though, one of the performers completely freaks out with rage and throws a spear which penetrates Kondole’s skull. Instantly all the people of the ceremony are transfigured into creatures: some become kangaroos, some opossums, others smaller critters; a few take wing and rise into the air, while others splash into the sea as various kinds of fish. Kondole, the largest of them all, becomes a whale who, ever since, has spouted water from the spear-wound in his head. {Peter Kohler}.

Kunapipi - The mother goddess of the aboriginal tribes of northern Australia. She once travelled across the world with a band of heroes and heroines, and a rainbow serpent heralded her approach. During the ancestral period she gave birth to men and women as well as creating the natural species. Now she is a vague, otiose, spiritual being. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Kutjara - Kutjara, with Wati, the two male ancestors of mortals who taught the people to keep in touch with Dreamtime. Dreamtime is always present and is the source of all life. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Makara - The Makara are seven sisters who became the constellation Pleiades. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Mamaragan - In Aboriginal belief, Mamaragan is the man of lightning who rides on a thundercloud and who throws bolts of lightning to men and trees. Thunder is his voice. During good weather he lives in a puddle. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Mangar-kunjer-kunja - The lizard creator god of the Aranda of Central Australia. It is said that he found the undeveloped first beings, the Rella manerinja, on the slope of a hill; these beings were in fact two fused together. Mangar-kunjer-kunja separated them with a stone knife, and cut the openings for their eyes, ears, noses and mouths. Next he presented the stone knife, fire, the spear, the shield, the boomerang, and a sacred object called the Tjurunga to his new creatures. Finally he regulated their marriage system. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Mar'rallang - This Aboriginal story recounts the marriage of two sisters, so alike they bore the same name, to one man. The sameness of the sisters may allude actually to a two-season year, a two-sun cosmology, a dual-ruler system, the dichotomy/unity of life and death, and so on. In Greek mythology, the opposite is common: twin brothers (or a father and son, or uncle and nephew) marrying the same woman. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Mimi - Spirit beings who live in the rocks of western Arnhem Land. They are so thin that they do not dare to venture out when it’s windy for fear that their necks will snap. The spirits are reputed to eat men but yams are their staple food. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Min Min Lights - According to folklore, the lights sometimes follow or approach people and disappear, sometimes very rapidly, when fired upon, only to reappear later on.

Minawara - One of the two ancestral heroes of the Nambutji tribe of Central Australia, Minawara and his brother Multultu are kangaroo men, who emerged from a heap of debris carried by the flood, and travelled southwards, walking on all fours. When they camped they made a little hole and slept there, covering themselves with rubbish. For this they were reproved by a rat man, who advised them to sit in the shade of the tree. Minawara and Multultu continued their journey into the desert, where they donned feathers, their mucus and lungs being tossed away as stones. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Mokoi - An evil spirit, in the mythology of the Murngin of northern Australia, the Mokoi is said to strike down a person due to the black magic of a sorcerer. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Morkul Kua Luan - An Aboriginal nature spirit who guards the sorghum grass, which the people use in their daily food. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Mura-mura - The dream time and the ancestral spirits of the Australian Dieri. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Ngariman - A cat-man who argued and fought with the brothers Bagadjimbiri, and slew the two. He was punished by the earth goddess Dilga, however, by being drowned in her milk. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Nogomain - The Australian giver of spirit children.{Micha F. Lindemans}.

Pundjel - The southeastern Australian creator who made all things, including the ceremonies. Pundjel figures prominently in the initiation rites of boys. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Tjilpa - The ancestral totemic cat-men of Australia. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Tjinimin - The Australian totemic ancestor. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Ulanji - One of the snake ancestors of the Binbinga of northern Australia, Ulanji was said to have climbed rocks in order to bite the heads off flying foxes, and he also took out two of his ribs and his heart. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Ungud - In the mythology of the Aboriginals in north-western Australia, Ungud is a hermaphrodite snake god, who is sometimes clearly male and at other times clearly female. Ungud is often associated with the rainbow and the erections of the medicine men. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Walo - The Australian aboriginals called the sun goddess by this name and said that she lived with her daughter Bara and her sister-in-law, the world mother Madalait, far to the east. Each day Walo journeyed across the sky accompanied by Bara, until one day the sun goddess realized that the reason the earth was so parched was their combined heat. She sent her daughter back to the east so that the earth could become fertile and bloom. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Waramurungundi - The first woman, according to the Gunwinggu people of Australia. She was the all-creating mother of Australia; she gave birth to the earth and then fashioned all its living creatures. She then taught her creations to talk and divided each language group from the next. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Wati-kutjara - The 'two men’ who came from the mountains in the Dreamtime. They are lizard-men and the iguana is their totem (and are therefore also called Men Iguana). They made many cult-objects (tjurunga) and gave them to the Aboriginals. On their travels they created trees, plants, physiographic features, and ceremonial objects. Ceremonies now depict events in these travels. A particular myth tells of when the man in the moon (Kidili) attempted to rape the first woman, Wati-kutjara threw a magical boomerang which severed the rapist’s genitals. The woman disappeared in the heavens and formed the constellation of the Pleiades. They are known to the tribes of central-western Australia in the Great Western Desert. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Wawalag - A pair of fertility goddess of Arnhemland in north Australia. These two sisters are the daughters of Djanngawul, the Aboriginal founder deities. The sisters live at a waterpool–a sacred place–where they anger the giant rainbow-snake Yurlungur so that the creature continually swallows and disgorges them. This myth forms the base of the widely spread initiation rites where 'disgorged’ youths assume their rightful place in the tribes as men. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Wolaro - The leading mythological character of the Gwini (Kimberley, northern Australia). He is a man who created heaven, earth, and all that is in it, and who now lives in the sky. Most of his activities were carried on through subordinate deities (demiurges) including birds, his son Dagubal, and the Rainbow Serpent. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Wollunqua - The Aboriginal giant snake which is associated with the rainbow and worshipped a creator of life. The snake emerged from a lake in the Murschison Mountains where the life-bringing rains are collected. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Wondjina - Primal beings of the Aboriginals. They are cloud and rain spirits who in the Dreamtime descended to caves where they painted their images on the cave walls. These images are shaped as humans, with eyes and noses, but without any mouths. Their ghosts remained in nearby waterpools. One of them, Walaganda, rose to the sky and formed the Milky Way. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Wuluwaid - A male rainmaker. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Wuragag - The first man, according to the Gunwinggu people of Australia, and husband of Waramurungundi. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Wuriupranili - This sun goddess was said to light bark into a torch, carrying the flame through the sky from east to west. At the western sea, she dipped it in the water, then used the embers to guide her under the earth to reach her eastern starting point again. The brilliant skies of dawn and dusk, it was said, came from her red-ochre body paints misting up into the sky as she powdered and beautified her body. {Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Wurrunna - A culture hero with many folklore tales of his wanderings. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Yara-ma-yha-who - In aboriginal cultures, there was a vampire-like being, described as a little red man, approximately four feet tall, with a very large head and mouth. It has no teeth and swallowed its food whole. Its most distinguishing features were it hands and feet. It tips of the fingers and toes were shaped like the suckers of an octopus. The yara-ma-yha-who lived in the tops of fig trees and did not hunt for food, but waited until unsuspecting victims sought shelter under the tree. It then jumped down and placed its hands and feet on the body. It would drain the blood from the victim to the point the person was left weak and helpless, but rarely, to cause the victim to die. The creature would later return and consume its meal. It then drank water and took a nap. When it woke, the undigested portion of its meal would be regurgitated. According to the story, the person regurgitated was still alive, and children were advised to offer no resistance should it be their misfortune to meet a yara-ma-yha-who. Their chances of survival were better if they let the creature swallow them. {Micha F. Lindemans}.

Yhi - The goddess of light and creator goddess of the Karraur, an Australian aboriginal group, she lay asleep in the Dreamtime before this world’s creation, in a world of bone-bare, windless mountains. Suddenly, a whistle startled the goddess. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, flooding the world with light. The earth stirred under her warm rays. Yhi drifted down to this new land, walking north, south, east, west. As she did, plants sprang up from her footprints. She walked the world’s surface until she had stepped everywhere, until every inch was covered with green. Then the goddess sat to rest on the treeless plain. As she glanced around, she realized that the new plants could not move, and she desired to see something dance. Seeking that dancing life, she descended beneath the earth, where she found evil spirits who tried to sing her to death. But they were not as powerful as Yhi. Her warmth melted the darkness, and tiny forms began to move there. The forms turned into butterflies and bees and insects that swarmed around her in a dancing mass. She led them forth into the sunny world. But there were still caves of ice, high in the mountains, in which other beings rested. Yhi spread her light into them, one at a time. She stared into the cave’s black interiors until water formed. Then she saw something move-something, and another thing, and another. Fishes and lizards swam forth. Cave after cave she freed from its darkness, and birds and animals poured forth onto the face of the earth. Soon the entire world was dancing with life. Then, in her golden voice, Yhi spoke. She told her creatures she would return to her own world. She blessed them with changing seasons and with the knowledge that when they died they would join her in the sky. Then, turning herself into a ball of light, she sank below the horizon. As she disappeared, darkness fell upon on the earth’s surface. The new creatures were afraid. There was sorrow and mourning, and finally there was sleep. And, soon, there was the first dawn, for Yhi had never intended to abandon her creation. One by one the sleepy creatures woke to see light breaking in the east. A bird chorus greeted their mistress, and the lake and ocean waters that had been rising in mists, trying to reach her, sank down calmly. For eons of Dreamtime the animals lived in peace on Yhi’s earth, but then a vague sadness began to fill them. They ceased to delight in what they were. She had planned never to return to earth, but she felt so sorry for her creatures that she said, “Just once. Just this once.” So she slid down to the earth’s surface and asked the creatures what was wrong. Wombat wanted to wiggle along the ground. Kangaroo wanted to fly. Bat wanted wings. Lizard wanted legs. Seal wanted to swim. And the confused Platypus wanted something of every other animal. And so Yhi gave them what they wanted. From the beautiful regular forms of the early creation came the strange creatures that now walk the earth. Yhi then swept herself up to the sky again. She had one other task yet to complete: the creation of woman. She had already embodied thought in male form and set him wandering the earth. But nothing - not the plants, not the insects, not the birds or beasts or fish seemed like him. He was lonely. Yhi went to him one morning as he slept near a grass tree. He slept fitfully, full of strange dreams. As he emerged from his dreaming he saw the flower stalk on the grass tree shining with sunlight. He was drawn to the tree, as were all the earth’s other creatures. Reverent and astonished, they watched as the power of Yhi concentrated itself on the flower stalk. The flower stalk began to move rhythmically - to breathe. Then it changed form, softened, became a woman. Slowly emerging into the light from which she was formed, the first woman gave her hand to the first man.{Dr Anthony E. Smart}.

Yurlungur - The great copper python of the Murngin in northern Australia. Yulungur was roused from his great sleep by the odor of the menstrual blood of one of the women who took refuge in his cave, the Wawalag sisters. The great snake rose and drowned the land, and devoured the two women. However, later at a conference of snakes, Yulungur, accused of eating his kin, admitted that he had, and was told to regurgitate the two women. In the initiation rites, this theme of 'disgorging’ symbolizes the passage from boy to man. He is the center of the fertility cult. Yulungur, called 'Great Father’, is the rainbow serpent, for the water of the well in which he lives shines like the rainbow. His voice is thunder.{Micha F. Lindemans}.

Source: http://www.pantheon.org/areas/mythology/oceania/aboriginal/articles.html

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #87: Look Homeward, Avenger!

April, 1971

Ah, yes. Wakanda’s famous solid gold jungles.

So we start the comic with the Avengers just sitting around and taking some quiet time.

T’Challa seems melancholic though. And gosh darnit, Iron Man just wishes there was some way to put a smile back on his face. He says as he puts a friendly metal hand on T’Challa’s shoulder.

But T’Challa is just homesick which prompts sympathy from the other Avengers. Also… Clint making an ass of himself. And Vision tries to one-up the misery and make the conversation about himself.

Geez Vision. Geez Clint.

But with some prompting from Wanda and Pietro, T'Challa decides to reveal THE ORIGIN OF THE BLACK PANTHER.

So back when he was a child, Wakanda was ruled by his father T'Chaka. He was a pretty great guy.

As chieftain it was his responsibility to guard the sacred vibranium mound with his life.

But everything changed when Ulysses Klaw attacked.

He was after vibranium to complete his ‘sound transformer’ so he could become 'the master of sound’ and eventually 'completely made of sound.’ And when T'Chaka told Klaw and his mercenaries to gtfo, Klaw just had him shot a whole lot.

You suck, the white man.

T'Challa vows that he’ll avenge his dad. Like some manner of avenger. Of dads.

So T'Challa and his bestie B'Tumba went to go consult B'Tumba’s father N'Baza. N'Baza was T'Chaka’s most trusted council and would be regent until T'Challa came of age. He advises that if T'Challa wants to be a man he should go to learn from the outside world. So like some manner of inverse Batman, T'Challa left Wakanda with B'Tumba to study in the best schools in Europe and the Americas. And they studied together in the laboratory, the library, or in fierce clean sports.

When they graduated, they returned to Wakanda. But T'Challa had a deep, nagging suspicion that N'Baza had sent him out of the country so he could consolidate power and usurp T'Challa.

On the day of T'Challa’s return, N'Baza tells him that he has two final tests before he can become king. FIRST… beat up twelve dudes at the same time.

Okay. Good job.

Second requires some preparation. First T'Challa is told to do a night vigil at the temple of the Panther God. The morning after the vigil, he is shown the secret chamber under the cool panther statue his dad built. Entering the secret chamber, T'Challa finds the costume of the Black Panther and puts it on.

AND NOW, T'Challa is finally ready for the second test. Wearing that completely black suit in the jungle, T'Challa is to travel to the reaches of the great plateau and find the forbidden heart-shaped herb. And then eat it.

And doing that will prove that T'Challa truly is the heir to the panther throne and will gain the panther powers of the panther god and will become the Black Panther. Panther.

“Go now – and do not fail!” N'Baza tells T'Challa. Which again sends the suspicion churning in T'Challa’s mighty brainmeats. How could he fail unless… SABOTAGE?! Would N'Baza send him to his death so he could take the throne for himself? Is T'Challa just being paranoid? These are the thoughts that occupied him as he climbed a cliff and traveled through the jungle. He finds the herb and eats it.

And then to his consternation, T'Challa discovered outsiders in the jungle. Weird yellow-garbed outsiders stealing vibranium and loudly announcing that they are AIM and AIM stands for Advanced Idea Mechanics.

T'Challa has never heard of this group in all his years abroad but clearly their presence is sinister. Oh and then they spot him and blow him up and he falls down a hill right in front of a bunch of AIMers.

Thankfully, the herb had kicked in and it was some good stuff. It gave him cat-like resiliency and strength.

When the AIM beekeepers come to finish him off, T'Challa jumps up and starts kicking face. He demands to know who they work for and what evil purpose they’re taking the vibranium for and obviously a traitor told them where to get the vibranium SO WHO IS IT?

But he never expected that AIM would have a portable Sonatron at their disposal. Way to miss the obvious, T'Challa. Geez.

Anyways, the high frequency sound knocks T'Challa down and AIM surrounds him with guns.

Still, T'Challa demands to know WHO? WHO?? who masterminded this plot? (T'Challa speculates its either N'Baza or Klaw)

So the beekeepers take him to see their squadron leader and reveal that they knew T'Challa would be there but hoped to be gone before he arrived. Also, they reveal their sinister plots.

See, they need the vibranium to create a special moon rocket to beat both America and Russia to the Moon (remember, this is a flashback). Also, a space station made of vibranium so it could resist any attack but a direct hit by a ballistic missile.

They told him all this because he’s going to die anyway.

And now the squadron leader reveals himself. While Klaw designed the Sonatron, he is not the squadron leader. The squadron leader and the traitor is in fact…

T'Challa’s bestie B'Tumba!

He was recruited by AIM while he was still T'Challa’s college roommate. Because he wanted to make T'Challa pay! Pay for all those years when he had to walk in T'Challa’s shadow! Was forced to be T'Challa’s lackey while he bested B'Tumba in every sport, every endeavor and received every honor!

Kind of a petty motive, really.

Anyway, T'Challa picks up B'Tumba and throws him at some of the other beekeepers but then he gets shot in the back of the head with a stun burst.

He comes to minutes later, chained up and unmasked. B'Tumba promises him that one of his AIM men is going to blast him out of existence with a larger version of the Sonatron.

But one of the beekeepers second guesses B'Tumba. Is he perhaps too squeamish to kill his old friend himself? B'Tumba changes his mind and decides he’ll pull the trigger. But as he sends his AIM goons out of the room, he doesn’t notice the second guesser hid something on the back of his suit.

T'Challa refuses to beg or plead and his last words are just to demand 'pull that trigger betrayer of the Wakanda. Pull it! Pull it! PULL IT!”

But in the end, B'Tumba realizes he can’t do it. He has wasted years of his life with ambitions and petty jealousies. He sets T'Challa free.

Him and T'Challa will have to have a long talk later but for right now they’re on the same page. AIM needs to pay the price for B'Tumba’s poor life choices.

T'Challa realizes that B'Tumba has been bugged so they won’t be pulling a surprise attack on AIM. The AIM beekeepers never trusted someone who would betray his own people and besides, now that they have the vibranium, they don’t need B'Tumba anymore.

Both T'Challa and B'Tumba leap to attack but 'B'Tumba was second-best to me – one final time’ and gets shot down by AIM.

In a rage, T'Challa kicks ass with a ferocity fitting the jungle cat whose appearance he had taken. When the last AIM agent had fallen, T'Challa is left to realize how futile his heart-shaped herb granted strength and prowess was as B'Tumba lays dying.

B'Tumba asks T'Challa not to mourn for him, that he was a greedy fool who got what he deserved. But the only thing he asks is that T'Challa never tell his father N'Baza that he betrayed him. T'Challa promises and sadly reflects that any man can make a mistake and T'Challa had made more than one that day. And it would be long days and anguished nights before he could forgive himself the way he had already forgiven B'Tumba.

Also, is it weird that he promised not to tell B'Tumba’s father but then goes and tells a bunch of strangers?

T'Challa reveals that another reason for his melancholy is that he had received a message this night that N'Baza had died. The same N'Baza who had guided Wakanda during T'Challa’s absences. And the same N'Baza whose son he failed to save. So now T'Challa needs to make a decision. Whether to return to Wakanda to don the crown once more or renounce it forever.

As T'Challa goes off to be alone to think, Clint is sure about the choice he’s going to make. "Once an Avenger – always an Avenger!"

The caption boxes disagree with how easy a choice it would be though. Whether his destiny was to stay in New York as ghetto teacher by day and crime-fighting Panther by all the other hours or to return to Wakanda to assume his responsibilities as the true heir to Chieftain T'Chaka. Its a tough decision.

He should probably choose the king stuff since his sister doesn’t exist yet. And somebody needs to king.

So, yeah. Cool little focus issue for Black Panther. He might be leaving the team soon so I’m glad we got it.

[gabtohealpolarlegend]

Edgar Allan Poe’s Genealogy II

You may remember that I had, previously, written a post about Edgar Allan Poe’s genealogy, as put forth by his ex-fiancee, Sarah Helen Whitman. In it, there was some mention of one of his ancestors saving a noblewoman who had been accused of witchcraft. I happened to have run across an entire chapter about it in an old book called, Irish Witchcraft and Demonology, by St. John D. Seymour. Sir Arnold le Poer, is Poe's relative. The other le Poer's in this tale? One would guess that they were, but it is never really stated directly and it is only suggested that John le Poer "probably" was related to Arnold. Here is the chapter in it’s entirety.

CHAPTER II

A.D. 1324

Dame Alice Kyteler, the Sorceress of Kilkenny

The history of the proceedings against Dame Alice Kyteler and her confederates on account of their dealings in unhallowed arts is to be found in a MS. in the British Museum, and has been edited amongst the publications of the Camden Society by Thomas Wright, who considers it to be a contemporary narrative. Good modern accounts of it are given in the same learned antiquary’s “Narratives of Witchcraft and Sorcery” in Transactions of the Ossory Archæological Society, vol. i., and in the Rev. Dr. Carrigan’s History of the Diocese of Ossory, vol. i.

Dame Alice Kyteler (such apparently being her maiden name), the facile princeps of Irish witches, was a member of a good Anglo-Norman family that had been settled in the city of Kilkenny for many years. The coffin-shaped tombstone of one of her ancestors, Jose de Keteller, who died in 128—, is preserved at S. Mary’s church; the inscription is in Norman-French and the lettering is Lombardic. The lady in question must have been far removed from the popular conception of a witch as an old woman of striking ugliness, or else her powers of attraction were very remarkable, for she had succeeded in leading four husbands to the altar. She had been married, first, to William Outlawe of Kilkenny, banker; secondly, to Adam le Blund of Callan; thirdly, to Richard de Valle—all of whom she was supposed to have got rid of by poison; and fourthly, to Sir John le Poer, whom it was said she deprived of his natural senses by philtres and incantations.

The Bishop of Ossory at this period was Richard de Ledrede, a Franciscan friar, and an Englishman by birth. He soon learnt that things were not as they should be, for when making a visitation of his diocese early in 1324 he found by an Inquisition, in which were five knights and numerous nobles, that there was in the city a band of heretical sorcerers, at the head of whom was Dame Alice. The following charges were laid against them.

1. They had denied the faith of Christ absolutely for a year or a month, according as the object they desired to gain through sorcery was of greater or less importance. During all that period they believed in none of the doctrines of the Church; they did not adore the Body of Christ, nor enter a sacred building to hear mass, nor make use of consecrated bread or holy water.

2. They offered in sacrifice to demons living animals, which they dismembered, and then distributed at cross-roads to a certain evil spirit of low rank, named the Son of Art.

3. They sought by their sorcery advice and responses from demons.

4. In their nightly meetings they blasphemously imitated the power of the Church by fulminating sentence of excommunication, with lighted candles, even against their own husbands, from the sole of their foot to the crown of their head, naming each part expressly, and then concluded by extinguishing the candles and by crying Fi! Fi! Fi! Amen.

5. In order to arouse feelings of love or hatred, or to inflict death or disease on the bodies of the faithful, they made use of powders, unguents, ointments, and candles of fat, which were compounded as follows. They took the entrails of cocks sacrificed to demons, certain horrible worms, various unspecified herbs, dead men’s nails, the hair, brains, and shreds of the cerements of boys who were buried unbaptized, with other abominations, all of which they cooked, with various incantations, over a fire of oak-logs in a vessel made out of the skull of a decapitated thief.

6. The children of Dame Alice’s four husbands accused her before the Bishop of having killed their fathers by sorcery, and of having brought on them such stolidity of their senses that they bequeathed all their wealth to her and her favourite son, William Outlawe, to the impoverishment of the other children. They also stated that her present husband, Sir John le Poer, had been reduced to such a condition by sorcery and the use of powders that he had become terribly emaciated, his nails had dropped off, and there was no hair left on his body. No doubt he would have died had he not been warned by a maid-servant of what was happening, in consequence of which he had forcibly possessed himself of his wife’s keys, and had opened some chests in which he found a sackful of horrible and detestable things which he transmitted to the bishop by the hands of two priests.

7. The said dame had a certain demon, an incubus, named Son of Art, or Robin son of Art, who had carnal knowledge of her, and from whom she admitted that she had received all her wealth. This incubus made its appearance under various forms, sometimes as a cat, or as a hairy black dog, or in the likeness of a negro (Æthiops), accompanied by two others who were larger and taller than he, and of whom one carried an iron rod.

According to another source the sacrifice to the evil spirit is said to have consisted of nine red cocks, and nine peacocks’ eyes. Dame Alice was also accused of having “swept the streets of Kilkenny betweene compleine and twilight, raking all the filth towards the doores of hir sonne William Outlawe, murmuring secretly with hir selfe these words:

“To the house of William my sonne Hie all the wealth of Kilkennie towne.”

On ascertaining the above the Bishop wrote to the Chancellor of Ireland, Roger Outlawe, who was also Prior of the Preceptory of Kilmainham, for the arrest of these persons. Upon this William Outlawe formed a strong party to oppose the Bishop’s demands, amongst which were the Chancellor, his near relative, and Sir Arnold le Poer, the Seneschal of Kilkenny, who was probably akin to Dame Alice’s fourth husband. The Chancellor in reply wrote to the Bishop stating that a warrant for arrest could not be obtained until a public process of excommunication had been in force for forty days, while Sir Arnold also wrote requesting him to withdraw the case, or else to ignore it. Finding such obstacles placed in his way the Bishop took the matter into his own hands, and cited the Dame, who was then in her son’s house in Kilkenny, to appear before him. As might be expected, she ignored the citation, and fled immediately.

Foiled in this, he cited her son William for heresy. Upon this Sir Arnold came with William to the Priory of Kells, where De Ledrede was holding a visitation, and besought him not to proceed further in the matter. Finding entreaty useless he had recourse to threats, which he speedily put into execution. As the Bishop was going forth on the following day to continue his visitation he was met on the confines of the town of Kells by Stephen le Poer, bailiff of the cantred of Overk, and a posse of armed men, by whom he was arrested under orders from Sir Arnold, and lodged the same day in Kilkenny jail. This naturally caused tremendous excitement in the city. The place became ipso facto subject to an interdict; the Bishop desired the Sacrament, and it was brought to him in solemn procession by the Dean and Chapter. All the clergy, both secular and religious, flocked from every side to the prison to offer their consolation to the captive, and their feelings were roused to the highest pitch by the preaching of a Dominican, who took as his text, Blessed are they which are persecuted, &c. Seeing this, William Outlawe nervously informed Sir Arnold of it, who thereupon decided to keep the Bishop in closer restraint, but subsequently changed his mind, and allowed him to have companions with him day and night, and also granted free admission to all his friends and servants.

After De Ledrede had been detained in prison for seventeen days, and Sir Arnold having thereby attained his end, viz. that the day on which William Outlawe was cited to appear should in the meantime pass by, he sent by the hands of his uncle the Bishop of Leighlin (Miler le Poer), and the sheriff of Kilkenny a mandate to the constable of the prison to liberate the Bishop. The latter refused to sneak out like a released felon, but assumed his pontificals, and, accompanied by all the clergy and a throng of people, made his way solemnly to S. Canice’s Cathedral, where he gave thanks to God. With a pertinacity we cannot but admire he again cited William Outlawe by public proclamation to appear before him, but before the day arrived the Bishop was himself cited to answer in Dublin for having placed an interdict on his diocese. He excused himself from attending on the plea that the road thither passed through the lands of Sir Arnold, and that in consequence his life would be in danger.

De Ledrede had been arrested by Le Poer’s orders in Lent, in the year 1324. On Monday following the octave of Easter the Seneschal held his court in Kilkenny, to which entrance was denied the Bishop; but the latter, fully robed, and carrying the Sacrament in a golden vase, made his way into the court-room, and “ascending the tribunal, and reverently elevating the Body of Christ, sought from the Seneschal, Justiciary, and Bailiffs that a hearing should be granted to him.” The scene between the two was extraordinary; it is too lengthy to insert, and does not bear to be condensed—suffice it to say that the Seneschal alluded to the Bishop as “that vile, rustic, interloping monk (trutannus), with his dirt (hordys) which he is carrying in his hands,” and refused to hear his arguments, or to afford him any assistance.

Though we have lost sight for a while of Dame Alice, yet she seems to have been eagerly watching the trend of events, for now we find her having the Bishop summoned to Dublin to answer for having excommunicated her, uncited, unadmonished, and unconvicted of the crime of sorcery. He attended accordingly, and found the King’s and the Archbishop’s courts against him to a man, but the upshot of the matter was that the Bishop won the day; Sir Arnold was humbled, and sought his pardon for the wrongs he had done him. This was granted, and in the presence of the council and the assembled prelates they mutually gave each other the kiss of peace.

Affairs having come to such a satisfactory conclusion the Bishop had leisure to turn his attention to the business that had unavoidably been laid aside for some little time. He directed letters patent, praying the Chancellor to seize the said Alice Kyteler, and also directed the Vicar-General of the Archbishop of Dublin to cite her to respond on a certain day in Kilkenny before the Bishop. But the bird escaped again out of the hand of the fowler. Dame Alice fled a second time, on this occasion from Dublin, where she had been living, and (it is said) made her way to England, where she spent the remainder of her days unmolested. Several of her confederates were subsequently arrested, some of them being apparently in a very humble condition of life, and were committed to prison. Their names were: Robert of Bristol, a clerk, John Galrussyn, Ellen Galrussyn, Syssok Galrussyn, William Payn de Boly, Petronilla of Meath, her daughter Sarah, Alice the wife of Henry Faber, Annota Lange, and Eva de Brownestown. When the Bishop arrived in Kilkenny from Dublin he went direct to the prison, and interviewed the unfortunates mentioned above. They all immediately confessed to the charges laid against them, and even went to the length of admitting other crimes of which no mention had been made; but, according to them, Dame Alice was the mother and mistress of them all. Upon this the Bishop wrote letters on the 6th of June to the Chancellor, and to the Treasurer, Walter de Islep, requesting them to order the Sheriff to attach the bodies of these people and put them in safe keeping. But a warrant was refused, owing to the fact that William Outlawe was a relation of the one and a close friend of the other; so at length the Bishop obtained it through the Justiciary, who also consented to deal with the case when he came to Kilkenny.

Before his arrival the Bishop summoned William Outlawe to answer in S. Mary’s Church. The latter appeared before him, accompanied by a band of men armed to the teeth; but in no way overawed by this show of force, De Ledrede formally accused him of heresy, of favouring, receiving, and defending heretics, as well as of usury, perjury, adultery, clericide, and excommunications—in all thirty-four items were brought forward against him, and he was permitted to respond on the arrival of the Justiciary. When the latter reached Kilkenny, accompanied by the Chancellor, the Treasurer, and the King’s Council, the Bishop in their presence recited the charges against Dame Alice, and with the common consent of the lawyers present declared her to be a sorceress, magician, and heretic, and demanded that she should be handed over to the secular arm and have her goods and chattels confiscated as well. Judging from Friar Clyn’s note this took place on the 2nd of July. On the same day the Bishop caused a great fire to be lit in the middle of the town in which he burnt the sackful of magical stock-in-trade, consisting of powders, ointments, human nails, hair, herbs, worms, and other abominations, which the reader will remember he had received from Sir John le Poer at an early stage in the proceedings.

Further trouble arose with William Outlawe, who was backed by the Chancellor and Treasurer, but the Bishop finally succeeded in beating him, and compelled him to submit on his bended knees. By way of penance he was ordered to hear at least three masses every day for the space of a year, to feed a certain number of poor people, and to cover with lead the chancel of S. Canice’s Cathedral from the belfry eastward, as well as the Chapel of the Blessed Virgin. He thankfully agreed to do this, but subsequently refused to fulfil his obligations, and was thereupon cast into prison.

What was the fate of Dame Alice’s accomplices, whose names we have given above, is not specifically recorded, except in one particular instance. One of them, Petronilla of Meath, was made the scapegoat for her mistress. The Bishop had her flogged six times, and under the repeated application of this form of torture she made the required confession of magical practices. She admitted the denial of her faith and the sacrificing to Robert, son of Art, and as well that she had caused certain women of her acquaintance to appear as if they had goats’ horns. She also confessed that at the suggestion of Dame Alice she had frequently consulted demons and received responses from them, and that she had acted as a “medium” (mediatrix) between her and the said Robert. She declared that although she herself was mistress of the Black Art, yet she was as nothing in comparison with the Dame from whom she had learnt all her knowledge, and that there was no one in the world more skilful than she. She also stated that William Outlawe deserved death as much as she, for he was privy to their sorceries, and for a year and a day had worn the devil’s girdle[6] round his body. When rifling Dame Alice’s house there was found “a wafer of sacramental bread, having the devil’s name stamped thereon instead of Jesus Christ, and a pipe of ointment wherewith she greased a staffe, upon which she ambled and galloped through thicke and thin, when and in what manner she listed.” Petronilla was accordingly condemned to be burnt alive, and the execution of this sentence took place with all due solemnity in Kilkenny on 3rd November 1324, which according to Clyn fell on a Sunday. This was the first instance of the punishment of death by fire being inflicted in Ireland for heresy.

Whether or not Petronilla’s fellow-prisoners were punished is not clear, but the words of the anonymous narrator show us that the burning of that unfortunate wretch was rather the beginning than the end of persecution—that in fact numerous other suspected persons were followed up, some of whom shared her terrible fate, while to others milder forms of punishment were meted out, no doubt in proportion to their guilt. He says: “With regard to the other heretics and sorcerers who belonged to the pestilential society of Robin, son of Art, the order of law being preserved, some of them were publicly burnt to death; others, confessing their crimes in the presence of all the people, in an upper garment, are marked back and front with a cross after they had abjured their heresy, as is the custom; others were solemnly whipped through the town and the market-place; others were banished from the city and diocese; others who evaded the jurisdiction of the Church were excommunicated; while others again fled in fear and were never heard of after. And thus, by the authority of Holy Mother Church, and by the special grace of God, that most foul brood was scattered and destroyed.”

Sir Arnold le Poer, who had taken such a prominent part in the affair, was next attacked. The Bishop accused him of heresy, had him excommunicated, and committed prisoner to Dublin Castle. His innocency was believed in by most people, and Roger Outlawe, Prior of Kilmainham, who also figures in our story, and who was appointed Justiciary of Ireland in 1328, showed him some kindness, and treated him with humanity. This so enraged the Bishop that he actually accused the Justiciary of heresy. A select committee of clerics vindicated the orthodoxy of the latter, upon which he prepared a sumptuous banquet for his defenders. Le Poer died in prison the same year, 1331, before the matter was finally settled, and as he was under ban of excommunication his body lay unburied for a long period.

But ultimately the tables were turned with a vengeance. De Ledrede was himself accused of heresy by his Metropolitan, Alexander de Bicknor, upon which he appealed to the Holy See, and set out in person for Avignon. He endured a long exile from his diocese, suffered much hardship, and had his temporalities seized by the Crown as well. In 1339 he recovered the royal favour, but ten years later further accusations were brought to the king against him, in consequence of which the temporalities were a second time taken up, and other severe measures were threatened. However, by 1356 the storm had blown over; he terminated a lengthy and disturbed episcopate in 1360, and was buried in the chancel of S. Canice’s on the north side of the high altar. A recumbent effigy under an ogee-headed canopy is supposed to mark the last resting-place of this turbulent prelate.

In the foregoing pages we have only given the barest outline of the story, except that the portions relative to the practice of sorcery have been fully dealt with as pertinent to the purpose of this book, as well as on account of the importance of the case in the annals of Irish witchcraft. The story of Dame Alice Kyteler and Bishop de Ledrede occupies forty pages of the Camden Society’s publications, while additional illustrative matter can be obtained from external sources; indeed, if all the scattered material were gathered together and carefully sifted it would be sufficient to make a short but interesting biography of that prelate, and would throw considerable light on the relations between Church and State in Ireland in the fourteenth century. With regard to the tale it is difficult to know what view should be taken of it. Possibly Dame Alice and her associates actually tried to practise magical arts, and if so, considering the period at which it occurred, we certainly cannot blame the Bishop for taking the steps he did. On the other hand, to judge from the analogy of Continental witchcraft, it is to be feared that De Ledrede was to some extent swayed by such baser motives as greed of gain and desire for revenge. He also seems to have been tyrannical, overbearing, and dictatorial; according to him the attitude adopted by the Church should never be questioned by the State, but this view was not shared by his opponents. Though our sympathies do not lie altogether with him, yet to give him his due it must be said that he was as ready to be persecuted as to persecute; he did not hesitate to face an opposition which consisted of some of the highest in the land, nor did fear of attack or imprisonment (which he actually suffered) avail to turn him aside from following the course he had mapped out for himself.

It should be noticed that the appointment of De Ledrede to the See of Ossory almost synchronised with the elevation of John XXII to the Papacy. The attitude of that Pope towards magical arts was no uncertain one. He believed himself to be surrounded by enemies who were ever making attempts on his life by modelling images of him in wax, to be subsequently thrust through with pins and melted, no doubt; or by sending him a devil enclosed in a ring, or in various other ways. Consequently in several Bulls he anathematised sorcerers, denounced their ill-deeds, excited the inquisitors against them, and so gave ecclesiastical authorisation to the reality of the belief in magical forces. Indeed, the general expressions used in the Bull Super illius specula might be applied to the actions of Dame Alice and her party. He says of certain persons that “they sacrifice to demons and adore them, making or causing to be made images, rings, &c., with which they draw the evil spirits by their magical art, obtain responses from them, and demand their help in performing their evil designs.”

Heresy and sorcery were now identified, and the punishment for the former was the same as that for the latter, viz. burning at the stake and confiscation of property. The attitude of this Pontiff evidently found a sympathiser in Bishop de Ledrede, who deemed it necessary to follow the example set by the Head of the Church, with what results we have already shown: thus we find in Ireland a ripple of the wave that swept over Europe at this period.

It is very probable, too, that there were many underlying local causes of which we can know little or nothing; the discontent and anger of the disinherited children at the loss of the wealth of which Dame Alice had bereft them by her exercise of “undue influence” over her husbands, family quarrels, private hatreds, and possibly national jealousy helped to bring about one of the strangest series of events in the chequered history of Ireland.

[jansegers]

Simple English Word List

SIMPLE1540 : a simple English wikipedia word list based on the XML export of all articles related to the nine major groups: Everyday life, Geography, History, Knowledge, Language, Literature, People, Religion, and Science and retaining all word forms appearing 7 times or more in this corpus. 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distance distinct distinction distinguish distribution divide divine do doctor doctrine document dog don't door down Dr. dream drink drown druid due during dynasty each earlier early earth easier easily easy eat economic economics economy ed edge edit edition editor education effect eight either electric electricity electronic element elevation else emperor empire encyclopedia end energy engine engineering enlightenment enough enter entertainment environment environmental epic episode equal era error especially establish etc. etymology even event eventually ever every everyday everyone everything evidence evil evolution evolve exact exactly example except exchange exist existence expansion experience experiment expert explain explanation express expression external extinct face fact failure fair faith fall false family famous far fast father feature feel feeling female feudal few fiction field fight figure file find finding fire first fish fit five fix flow folk follow food for force 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mediterranean medium meet member memory men mental mention mercury message metal method mid middle might migrate migration military millennium million mind minister minute misconception miss model modern modernism modernist moment money monologue monophthong month monument moon moral morality more morning most mostly mother mount mountain mouth move movement much museum music musical musicians must my myth mythology name narrative nation national nationality native natural naturalism naturally nature near nearly necessarily necessary need negative neither neologism network neurogenesis neuron neuroscience never new news newspaper next night nine no non none nor normal normally not note nothing noun novel now nuclear number object objective objectivity observation observe occupation occur ocean octane of off offer office official officially often oil old older on once one online only open opera opposite or oral orbit order org organization organize origin original originally orthography 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property prophet propose prose proselytism protection protein provide province psychological psychology public publication publish publisher publishing punishment pure purpose put pyramid quantum question quickly quite quote race racial rack radiation radio rain range rate rather read reader real realism reality really reason receive recent recently reclamation recognize record recreation red ref refer reference referred reform reformation regard region reign rejection relate relation relationship relatively relativity reliable relic religion religious remain remember remove renaissance replace report republic request require research researcher resource respect response result resurrection retrieve return revelation revert review revision revival revolution rhetoric rich right rise ritual river rock role room royal rule ruled ruler run rural sacred sacrifice safe saga sage saint salad same sample satellite saw say schizophrenia scholar school science scientific scientist scope sea 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system table take talk tam tan task teach teacher teaching technique technology tectonics teeth tell temperature template temple ten term terminology territory tertiary test testament text textual than thank that the their theism them themselves then theology theoretical theory therapy there therefore thesaurus these they thick thing think third this those though thought thousand three through throughout thumb thus ticket tight time title to today together toilet tolerance toleration tongue too tool top topic total towards tower trade tradition traditional train translation transport travel treat treatment tree trench trial tribe tried trig true truth try turn twentieth twenty two type typical typically ultimate ultraviolet under understand understood union unit united universal universe university unknown unsortable until up upon upper urban urbanization usage use useful usually valley value van vandalism various vassal vegetable verb verbal verse version very video view violence virgin visit vitamin vocabulary voice vol. volume vowel vs. wale wall want war warm warmer wash waste water wave way we weak wealth wear weather web website weight well what when where whether which while white who whole whom whose why wide widely wild wilderness will window wisdom wise witch witchcraft with within without witness woman word work worker world worship would write writer writing wrong yam year yellow you young your

China, March and May made this list because china, march and may are on it and I didn't want to decide in favor of the common noun or the proper noun; all other proper nouns have been omitted (even the ten other months that met the criterium of appearing more then 6 times). #SimpleWikipedia #SimpleEnglish #wordlist #English #words #level1540 #Inli #nimi #selo1540

[autolovecraft]

Then, upon a strange bell shivered over the rocks below.

Great Ones were not strange to say just what a night-gaunts, though not without a warning sound in walking. He did not know where the Zoogs, and guessed they were needed, and nothing about but great grayish-white blasphemies they worshiped as gods, and after that a certain source that he need not necessarily be dead, and had trusted to luck that the merchants come in and out of them he ceased wholly to abysmal nothingness and shoot through the arched gate into Celephaïs and at his right that led on as far as Carter stumbled past their frequent and repeated pictures it came at last an old dreamer; but being old in the sunset the thousand gilded spires of Thran. At some of which were from the hostile galley, followed by impressive lines of ancient climbing streets and into it with rubies from lunar mines there was certainly a descent to the Other Gods are not unrepresented; and somehow his presence in dark ships from the sacred roof of the Gugs' resting had been thorough, for the early fireflies on the borders of the priests Nasht and Kaman-Thah in the shops of men without embarrassment or curious explanations. And by evening the low arched doorway of that twilight place; and that he did not hear the slight noises which he knew he was bound. It is not remembered. It is not thought wholesome in Ulthar its reputation is bad because of the mountain Ngranek, which one cannot see. When you draw nigh the city awoke; and the small lamp of the men, but never seen, since the thickening of the winged steeds falter, bred as they saw it, but of these choking depths was not to seek the basalt quays. Very quietly therefore did Randolph Carter, in the dark betwixt the cliffs and land gracefully when the giants would be, for in no certain order.

To the left which seemed the very little kitten at the fliers with lurid mockery. But each night as he had heard from this encouragement. This man was further shewn by handholds and footholds hewn where they had none, wallowing naked in the shadow of a monstrous space, he knew must be close to the wharves, moving bales and crates and drawn off in lumbering lorries. Then the black galleys. It was a desert land without fair fields or cottage chimneys, and would indeed have helped you hither long ago, it will have no voice but talk by means of ugly gestures. Such devices were new to the north and the special ruins of primal brick foundations and worn walls and gables of Hlanith are more like those on Ngranek. It is here that the Great Ones. Yet still the traveler was not alone in a semicircle around the ghoulish leaders there issued forth from each lofty burrow a stream of horned black fliers with lurid mockery. The Zoogs did not search any more, but not for him its meaning must once have been sweetness even in the future.

And as that shocking final peril which gibbers unmentionably outside the city of wonder is only the least. The upper parts of the way overland to spectral Sarkomand with its blood all sucked away through a burrow which must have been supreme; though he admitted there were no better informed than he knew nothing. He had climbed high to reach, deeming it likely that this merchant had now floated ahead a definite crest, however, the brazen urns and basins there to greet them, but which wise dreamers well know are the alabaster walls of that body's dislodgement and rolling, none may say; but he did that archaic city rise above its walls and creaking well-known route toward Celephaïs, all limned tiny and black doorways of the blocks once hewn by nameless hands and chisels. In the clear sunshine of morning Carter joined a caravan of merchants bound for Zar, in a short time had the door so high that they had none, but of definite data they had become a ghoul began to display an even greater steepness than before and cast that portion into the throne-room of the Great Abyss whom even the myriad cats of dreamland, it might be learned in such parts as would take ten days.

Out beyond those stars in the dark ship, with many vague forms clustered darkly around it was wisest to creep back from that wriggling, silk-robed sentry till he cry aloud. As he pondered on what he knew of the priests in their forepaws. On the following morning the river had broadened out greatly, and at length Carter crawled through endless voids of sentient blackness he might that meeping cry which is litten only by prodigious bubbles. Even the ship, getting them little by little. Then a sort of procession was formed; ten of the wood. At length he began to twinkle out over the hideous company landed and roamed curiously over the sunset with the loftiest towers, for he knew well, he now knew that his journey would be of no use questioning him. And there are fountains, you have seen and loved in youth when he was dragged within a month, the tumult soon receded altogether from sight was not to be, he asked them if night-gaunts to bear him to understand what was once more will earth's gods leave their thrones for the absence of battle turned against the toadlike moonbeasts and almost-human slaves were asleep, even the sentinels shirking a duty which in this dream. The ways to the city rises in great unholy circles, Randolph Carter walked up the Skai. Then they knew of it well. And in the wish of the mighty mountain shapes seen full against the sky, to search all dreamland over for those inland parts wherein towers stony Ngranek. And in two hours Carter saw that it was caught up and claim their reward. Verily, it was a stupendous vista of cyclopean stone soared up beyond the city.

He screamed again and again, and ran when he rang the bell there hobbled to admit him no robed and anointed lackey of the Elder Ones keep those places, the victorious survivors hastened across to the ghasts returned soon from their castle on unknown Kadath had been entrusted, slipped the end Carter was glad to see much slaughter, but those pallid beacons in the shadows of that accursed lunar city, it seemed less likely that he felt certain he had to rise to his marvelous city; only the raven and the gulfs from whence my mindless masters have sent me. Only the increasing rarity bothered him, or the palace ahead, and stupidities.

They were flying past at a lonely farmhouse and loping as closely as possible in the titan bulge had not the memory of a prayer before the dawn. At last he discerned a small garrison for the solid rock of the main line of march. And as Carter stumbled past their frequent and repeated pictures it came another paw, and tittering hilariously to watch the one foe which Earth's gods dancing by moonlight, though the rescued trio described as being on the road narrowed to a ghoul to let himself be borne along smoothly and passively in the aether, and Carter thought he heard the shivering clang deafening above him. But each night as he did not, despite their own devices, and all the length of that city and of an almost level place, and if he chose he could be no watchers on the moon was a stupendous vista of cyclopean round towers mounting up illimitable into the sea, and did not at once to the Gate of Deeper Slumber and the mountains to watch the dense pall of mystery. It was dark when the moon-wine, and at nightfall did not like it when, turning back to these formless abominations from the solid rock now gave place to the general effect of those merchants in our dream world they pass freely, flitting and clutching creatures before. He had avoided the great leap through space back to earth, for he knew before, and proved himself a dreamer might pray. Carter had hoped to come to find; for one blessed day as a huge arched portal engulfed the column. The leap of the waking world do no business in the ocean. Home—New England—Beacon Hill—the boundless air outside. On the distant impassable peaks on the banks as that jungle fell far behind, and seemed to share with the captured trio. It was disastrous to say where.

Carter took quarters in an ancient and unhallowed alley near a graveyard—had often discoursed in the manner of Shantaks in the moonlight he noticed that these men the sailors sang glad songs, and pointed chin whose kinship to the moon's dark side, for Pickman always discouraged the old slant-eyed trader of evil and windowless crypts; for they were the dreaded night-gaunts their simple instructions, while the third morning he bade them adieu and rode on into the sea-cliffs to the Southern Sea, sighting no land and speaking but one other vessel. Whether it be because of a land party and a few concise hints. And straight in the night-gaunts need not name. It was dawn when they must; so that in that sovereign assembly of Zoogs; forestalling their surprise attacks, taking his zebra to a wind, and Carter saw that it lies in ethereal space beyond where the pale death-fire wherewith reeks the ghoulish leaders there issued forth from each of the ocean was very slow, and was told that none would wholly promise to cease trafficking with the Other Gods had strange ways of elder time. He had learned concerning night-gaunts objected; since the wood at two places touches the lands of his infancy still lay. Finally there was a very old man among them said it would not talk. Toward noon a dark god or fallen archangel, and over the downs, and its rapid bobbing flight through the aft past the jagged rock in the Southern Sea; where no burgess of Ulthar a proper chance to drill and mobilize. Of the purpose of his voice was unbearably hateful, Carter realized even as he raced breathlessly after the successful performance of its chimneys mystical in the cold waste. He was a gigantic Shantak, led by a slave who for your peace of mind and which now led through a churchyard to the gate of the marvelous sunset city which Carter cast at once apparent, but he wished to look over all.

When it saw them the worse tales he heard it clatter down over the denuded rock with a comely peasant maiden as his lips opened he heard the chorus wax and draw nearer, and over the lunar landscape; and hereafter he climbed with aching and blistered hands, whilst great polished blocks of it well. Sound travels slowly, so the black galleys.

Mindful of his loyal defenders. At times the moon is above and the rocky rolling meadows behind it; and although the sound of striking bottom; but he manfully persisted toward them and plead before them great golden bowls from which the ghouls one by one, the party was not for him the lurid night clouds, and now there were other vague tales of night-gaunts, who never laugh or smile because they creep only in the outer hells, and there, and he was likewise reluctant to visit the scattered farms and quaint onyx villages of the town, with steps leading down into darkness farther than he could not help sighing with pleasure when they wriggle past one. Randolph Carter dreamed of in Ngranek's high passes and labyrinthine caves. The Council of Sages, recognizing the visitor, offered to conduct him to observe that this was the leader of the monarch's pleasure.