#*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ visage ⦀ cosmic destroyer

[eeturnuhl]

i.  visage.  »  she is a cosmic destroyer.  «

i.  aesthetic.  »  she is made of stardust. love and raging fire.  «

i.  desires.  »  ask her what she craves and watch her cave.  «

i.  headcanons.  »  the queen of ash and flame ; the heir of muspelheim.  «

i.  character study.  »  goddess with a star soaked heart.  «

[coby-wadanpa]

A Cosmic Dream

Lit by the faint glow of a scattering of candles, Gio wet his quil. The scholarly Pandastran preferred the warm flicker of a flame to the usual lanterns that arched the citadel's ceilings. The gentle sound of scratches intermittently broken up by a subtle drip filled the near silent study as Gio continued his writing. Across his travels with Coby, their collection of gathered oral traditions and scripts from encountered cultures and tribes had to be compiled… just what the jester was putting to ink now.

This cosmic dream is composed of two key aspects; essence and the abyss. Essence is the medium that takes form and shape on the empty slate of the abyssal void.

Essence coalesces, condensing into the stellar lamps we call stars, their intense swirling masses illuminating the void. The ever flowing winds fill the void and dream further, linking between stars [the all-ether, land between, dreamsmos] and, sometimes, into worlds. Islands of [clay, hearth, home] that give a somewhere in the abyssal everywhere. On these worlds, creatures and peoples like myself and you can finally arise. We are the manifest experience of [Clay, Essence, Self] But we are not the only ones to dream.

The Abyss between World's, while vast, elicits beings in it's own image. Born of pure essence, these voidkin are a force of nature in themselves… and yet, while unlike us, create and spread and wander all the same. They are the ambient denizens of the cosmic dream. As varied in form as us clay clad kin, the voidkin take the colours reminiscent of the shades from dusk to dawn, purples, silvers, beige, bronze. black and blue. Their eyes are pupiless, mere bright windows on their humble visages.

Clay, Void and all folk alike can learn to harness and command the dream weaving flow of essence through [Channelling, Magick, Will] one's own ability to refocus, channel and manipulate their own essence and that of the wider dreamsmos.

For eons, the cosmic dream has been retold through the Cycles, eras leading up to [great golden ages, sagas] only to be dispersed by epoc length dark ages that can last so long to erode what histories and legends which survive onto the next [saga, age, memory]. …

Even we, the Ailuropodalanders, can only trace back the epic of our ancestors, precursors and forerunners to this oldest of tales;

The Last Day on Tirnaneel

So many tales and stories are yet to be revealed to us, there is a depth equal on either side of this once most illustrious people;

An age and unnumerable leagues ago, Tirnaneel sat amongst the greatest civilisations that spanned the cosmic dream. All manner of people lived in this past realm; Pandastran, Feilemiau, Shaerling, Canidae, Bovurne and more. Such was the mastery of essence and the dream that the [Essence Masters, Aspect Aspirants] could bring the ambient and untamed Voidkin to heel, inducting them to work and build alongside as friend, no longer the beast beyond the wall.

The Essence-Masters resided and guided the eldest of our kind, more benevolent shepherds than rulers. It was Tir-folk ships that prowled the inky black between worlds, safeguarding travel and the esslines across the cosmos, between peoples and realms.

Yet, the downfall of this golden age and civilisation came not from outsiders, but within.

No one knows why the Voidkin suddenly turned against the ancient folk, or why even some of our own turned cloak and stood alongside them. The only surety is that is was a fabled;

Cycle's End

So ingrained were the Voidkin that no corner of civilisation was left untouched by their betrayal. Like us, the voidkin had their own talented channellers and magi, but such was their treachery that the old name for the greatest amongst their people was forgotten, replaced simply by;

The Scriostamor, great destroyers

In a terrible day and night of violence and upheaval, Tirnaneel was torn apart.

The Essence-Masters walked forth at the head of our best, the greatest warriors of legend facing against the Scriostamor and Voidkin, the sky darkened as ships clashed in the clouds, skies and abyss above.

The end came with a flash, only those aboard vessels and warships in the void around the doomed world left to tell the tale. No one was spare the blinding blink of a world disappearing.

The heart of civilisation, along with it's shepherds and guardians, was gone. No rubble, no trace, just empty void in it's place.. . . .

Gio dabbed his quill once more, keen not to end the beginning WITH an ending. . . .

The legend tells that the Essence-Master's, only sure at the last moment that this was the saga's end, acted.

With their people fleeing, the passage of ships turning the final page of the cycle, the Old Master's bid to wisk their kind on their way, enacting a ritual so powerful and resplendant that it cast both themselves, their home, and the archenemy back into the [Essence-Flow, All Ether, Dreamsmos] returning willingly back into the fabric of the dream. Their tale told, their story complete, Their people now free to continue the cycle, watched over by their ascendant shepards from the myriad constellation above. Even at the heels of a cycle-defining foe, the ancient folk were cast to the stars, sailing into the depths of a dark age to rekindle the story once more.

We continue this newfoudn legacy, the band of Coby Wadanpa made a final landfall on this world.

Ailuropodaland, but that is a story for another day.

Gio blew on the page, willing the ink dry faster. While he was a poet, a merryman by art, writing still took time. This was no tall tale he could spin to high hyperbole and get away with it easily. A knock wrapped at his study door, a neatly dressed scribe dressed in tunic and belted sash awaiting him. "Sir, that band of newcomers and travellers that arrived this morning? They are keen for a showing of the Last Day."

Gio simply nodded, it was hardly a proper night at the Calabrian Imperial without a performance of his best work! The Pandastran Jester rose, following the scribe out, grinning ear to ear.

[eeturnuhlmoved]

new tags pt. tw

*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ visage ⦀ cosmic destroyer

*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ threads ⦀ talk so pretty but your heart got teeth 

*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ musings⦀ she is destruction given form and purpose

*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ aesthetics ⦀ of stars and fire

*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ headcanons ⦀ heavy crown

*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ connections ⦀ now you're in my world did you dream it'd be so small ?

*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ desires ⦀ i never kissed a mouth that tastes like yours

[acharnemcnt-a]

          𝐀  𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑  𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐗𝐓  𝐀  𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊  𝐒𝐊𝐘,  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒.  With  the  aura  of  a  cosmic  flare.  A  lonely  flower  in  garden  of  weeds.  Elegant  and  aberrant  to  those  who  have  made  this  ship  their  home  for  countless  years.  He  is  certain  she  can  feel  it.  The  slow  𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐏  of  trepidation  leaking  into  the  atmosphere.  A  trickle  of  poison  blackening  the  minds  of  the  men  and  women  in  the  room.  A  myriad  of  questions  scribbled  across  incredulous  eyes.  Who  is  she,  really?  What  is  her  agenda?  Is  she  𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃  in  the  grim  crusade  of  the  ghoulish  knights  Snoke  has  unceremoniously  assigned  to  this  once  accordant  star  destroyer?  How  could  a  delicate  creature  be  betroth  to  such  an  atrocious  beast?  The  hive  buzzes  and  stirs,  yet  he  𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒  silent  and  still.  A  cool  blue  amidst  a  tangle  of  murky  umber.      ❝  Are  you  unsettled  by  the  prospect  of  the  air  strike,  my  lady?  ❞    His  voice  rings  calmly  above  the  chatter.  Jade  eyes  shifting  𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘  to  settle  upon  the  demure  gleam  of  tawny  hues.      ❝  I  find  it  rather  crude.  ❞      A  slight  downward  twitch  of  the  lips  the  only  outward  display  of  emotion  upon  an  otherwise  impassive  visage.      ❝  Aridus  is  too  uncivilized  to  comprehend  the  value  of  an  alliance.  It  seems  quite  𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐄  to  ravage  an  entire  population  for  the  mere  fault  of  nescience.  ❞    

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛  for  @snowinabottle​

[mctherdeath]

goddess of the dead.

Odin sympathized with Hel, so he granted her wish. Much more importantly, he also gave her the World of Niflheim, one of the Nine Worlds of Norse Mythology, to rule. He even went so far as to name that place after her, calling it Helheim or Hel. That was how Hel became the Goddess of the Dead.

In return for giving her Niflheim, Odin gave Hel certain responsibilities that she had to carry out in that realm. He charged her with caring for the souls of people who had died from sickness or old age, and for the souls of any other people whose deaths had not occurred through violence or in battle.

When warriors died in battle, their souls were split evenly between the Goddess Freyja and Odin. Freyja had the privilege of taking the first half of the souls of those warriors who had been slain in battle, while the remaining souls of the dead warriors belonged to Odin.

Hel settled into her Realm, and when the souls of the dead arrived there, it was she who judged them. It was also she who decided whether their souls were good or evil, and to what degree. Then, after Hel had made had her assessment, she gave each soul its just reward. Depending upon how they had been judged, the souls of the dead were settled into one of the nine levels of Helheim, which ranged from what might be seen as a form of heaven, all the way down to the dark horrors of Neostrand (Naströnd), the abode of punishment, where snakes constantly dropped venom upon the wicked, and which appeared, in many ways, to be quite similar to the concept of Hell, that the Christians have always appeared to be so fond of.

Hel was frequently thought of as a Dark Mother Goddess, and she was known by other names and titles including the Goddess of Death and the Afterlife, the Underground Earth Mother, the Ruler of the Realm of the Dead known as Helgardh, and Nefele, the Goddess of Shadows. She was also worshipped in Denmark, as the Hyldemoer, or Elder Mother.

Other stories exist regarding the Goddess Hel. One of them is an Icelandic creation myth, which described how in the beginning, all that existed was a great chasm known as Ginnungagap, which led to Hel's fiery womb of regeneration deep within the Earth. On one side of the chasm were fiery volcanoes, while on the other side there was nothing except for cold water and ice. It was for that reason that Hel became known as the Mountain Mother, who dwelled deep within the Earth where the fire and the ice meet.

While the Prose Eddas describe Hel as having been born with one side of her skeleton showing, a variety of other descriptions exist as well. Hel’s physical description is, to say the least, unique. Some descriptions claim that she was half-black and half-white, half-rotting, similar to that of a corpse, or half dead, and half alive, with a grim expression on her face, and a sinister appearance of gloom.

It is interesting to note that Hel's appearance is believed, by some, to be the origin of the masked harlequin, which has frequently appeared as a standard character in Commedia dell'Arte, with a black side of a face, and a white side. In fact, Hel's physical description, much like that of the harlequin mask, exhibits the duality that exists in the world, which is inherent to both life and death.

Legend tells us that Hel had an eye of fire, which could only see that which was true, thereby making it impossible for anyone to hide anything from her. Looking at this in a different light, Hel may actually have been challenging the world to find the courage necessary to look behind the mask that was her appearance, so they might see her as she truly was inside.

The Vikings, however, refused to do that. Instead, they looked upon Hel's appearance as something to be feared, and they believed that nothing good would come of her. Indeed, the Vikings looked upon Hel's home as a horrible place, similar to the Christians’ idea of Hell. But Niflheim was in no way similar to the Christian's burning place of fire and brimstone. Rather, it was seen as being icy cold and filled with slush, cold mud and snow.

The Prose Eddas described the nine-ringed realm of Hel, as a place where the inhabitants kept up a constant wail. It described her palace as a miserable place known as Damp with Sleet, where the walls had been built with human bones and worms. They also claimed that Hel ate with a knife and fork called Famine, from a plate known as Hunger, and that her two servants were both named Slow-Moving. Her bed was known as a Sickbed, and the stone at the entrance to her hall was referred to as Drop-to-Destruction.

The Prose Eddas continued, by saying that the entryway to Hel's Realm was guarded by the hellhound named Garm, and that before you could reach the threshold, you first had to travel the Helvig, or troublesome road to Hel, past the strange guardian maiden named Modhgudh.

While the Vikings may have feared her, which appears to be quite evident from the Eddas, the Dutch, Gauls and Germanic people who were known, in comparison to the Vikings, as the common people, viewed Hel in a somewhat less frightening manner. They saw her as a gentler and kinder form of death and transformation, and they did not believe that Helheim was a place of punishment at all.

They tended to see Hel as an earth mother deity known as Mother Holle, who consisted of pure nature. It was in that role that Hel was believed to have great maternal aspects, and that she was known to help people in their times of need. Hel, however, also had another side to her, and she was quite capable of becoming vengeful, whenever it became necessary, towards anyone who might attempt to interfere with, or stop, the progression of natural law.

Some myths describe Hel as a Dark Goddess, similar in some ways to the Hindu Goddess Kali, but more frequently then not, she was thought of as the Nehellenia, which means the Nether Moon. Numerous altars and artifacts relating to her worship have been found throughout Germany, and they date as far back as approximately the Second Century, C.E. Evidence also exists that her worship spread from Holland, all the way to New Zealand, as late as the Fourteenth Century, C.E., and it was in that particular aspect that Hel was believed to grant safe passage to seafarers.

When someone died, and entered Hel’s realm, it was almost impossible, for anyone on Earth to get them back. That was the subject of one of the most well known of the Norse myths: The Story of Baldur.

While the Vikings, who considered themselves to be strong and fearless, may have viewed Hel’s realm as a place of punishment and despair, others usually did not see it in that light, nor did they believe the Viking-influenced Eddas, and their dire description of Helheim. Unlike the Christian's Hell, which had been named after her, Hel's Realm was, in reality, nothing more then an Otherworld or Underworld, or a new and different plateau of existence. It was also a place of renewal, rather then a place of punishment and despair. The only ones to fear her were those who had good reason to. It was only they, who referred to her realm as Hell.

Hel has been described in a variety of different ways. There are those who claim that she is a destroyer; which in a way she actually is. However, when she does destroy something, she does so in it own proper time. That is why Hel can be looked upon, much like the Greek God Chronos, as a deity of time. As a Goddess of time, Hel takes on the role of entropy itself, and everything within the universe evolves towards a state of inert uniformity, which is a normal and completely natural event. When it comes right down to it, sooner or later everything will come to an end, which is exactly what should happen, as a part of its own cosmic destiny.

The Norse looked upon Hel as the supreme and inescapable ruler of fate and, much like the weaving Greek Fates, or the spinning and weaving Norns and Disir, not only did the Gods have no control over her, neither were they immune to her. That placed Hel in a very unique position.

Hel was not some form of death deity, who had specifically been created to rule over the Land of the Dead, nor did she gain her decaying visage when she became the ruler of that realm. She had simply been born with the bones on the left side of her body exposed. It had not been created purposely, nor had it been done out of contempt, or as a means of punishment. It simply happened. When Odin brought Hel to Asgaard, its inhabitants found themselves extremely uncomfortable because of her appearance. They were weak when they should have been strong, and they were, quite unfortunately, extremely insensitive to Hel’s feelings; so much so, that they made her feel alone and ostracized, which was, indeed, an extremely great tragedy.

It was for that reason that Odin gave Hel, Niflheim, to be her own and for her to rule over. By Odin giving her Niflheim, Hel finally found a place where she could feel comfortable, just being herself; a place where no one would see her as anything other then what she truly was. That was a very wise decision on Odin’s part, and it also showed, surprisingly enough, that good can occasionally come out of patriarchy, which has been known, all too often, to do the opposite; especially when it comes to placing women in positions of great power.

[vantablade]

❝You let me win.❞ | Cad&Noc

@destructiveglitch | thread cont.

Nocturne walks through a world rended by unspeakable tragedy, undaunted but never unbothered, head held high. Never would she, tender-heart that she is, bask in it; that is too cruel, too distasteful. But she cannot allow her spine to bend under the weight of the world and all of its sorrows, lest she be lost to it, lest she be destroyed as everything else is. Its saviour must be stronger than any foe; more grotesque than any of its horrors; more dominant than any of its tyrants. Saviour, not hero. (She is not the hero of this story. She is its greatest monster.) It is this complex, this duty, that she holds that keeps her determined, never turning back uncertainly to guarantee his following, as much as there is the temptation to look upon his sky-tearing visage. How she longs for him! Even the smallest of partings tears at her belly with yearning claws, as if she misses him now, despite only briefly removing him from her gaze! It is of the oddest sorts of emotions; none have ever awoken within her such a deep and potent desire, which transcends erotic but never abandons it. She has desired many, had manyーshe has loved and wanted tremendously. There are many of her beloved. But there are none who awe her.

          Had she been without pride, had she been any other than who she was, the sight of him would have sent her to her knees in the closest thing to worship. 

          Still, she is comforted by his presence, how it does not quieten nor fade; he is following her, the apocalyptic magicks that cling to him perfuming the air with gasoline and starfire, with the mind-warping coldfire of black holes. He, Death, destroyer of worlds, cloaked in the scent of apocalypse, eludes her understanding—she does not know (yet) the extent of his massacre, but there is an instinct that awakens when one has come face to face with the Unmaker. Even the most naïve of souls knows, on some arcane level, that he is what every doom-sayer prophecises. Whether it comes in the shape of standing hairs, or sunken stomachs, or the hiatus of heartbeat—it comes, a promise, a whisper, a harbinger of the doom he seeks to unleash upon the world. Fearless and deathless as she is, even her body cannot help but react, but where others would be sickened by his proximity, not through any visual repulsion but by a sheer natural desire to live and continue living, Nocturne is enamoured. Her body electric. She seeks to comprehend where others could not bear it. She is thrilled, then, that he does follow her now, into the realm of her domain.

          The Atlas Nocturne is humble in shape; bigger than a combat-ship, but scarce more than a cargo ship. Its shell is not unlike its Captain: coloured in deep, cosmic navies and indigos, sleek as a beetle-skin, but not without wear and tear. Its windows appear black as spiders’ eyes, betraying none of its interior. As she approaches, Petrovna meets her, her dragon-eyes flicking to register Cadillac’s presence. Where Nocturne may deny Petrovna the joy of true companionship, they do, undeniably, share something sacred: the ability to stare into the eye of the Unknown, unflinchingly, compassionately. It is this reason then that Petrovna easily removes her gaze from Cadillac back onto her Captain, a hard set to her jaw. 

          ❛  What is the status of the survivors?  ❜  Nocturne asks (demands), voice becalmed, still and hiding the leviathan of deep, heart-wrenching rage beneath it. Not rage at Petrovna—as much as the woman irks her—but at life itself, and all of its unfathomable cruelties.  

          ❛  It’s not good,  ❜ says Petrovna, the draconic husk of her voice severe as she all-but-whispers, ❛  there are… it’s getting worse.  ❜ 

          ❛  They’re not responding to the therapy?  ❜  Nocturne’s brows twitch, thoughtful, almost confused. Of course, nobody can expect to heal the mind-scrambled victims instanteneously, but their methods had been growing in success. None had been saved, but they had been soothed. Enough to be given peaceful deaths. ❛  That’s normal, yes? Why are you so…  ❜ Words escape her, for Petrovna has never been the melancholic sort. Her eye then darts to Berma, whose gruffness seemed uncharacteristically glum. Tragic, almost. Nocturne narrows her lone eye onto Berma, wordlessly demanding explanation. 

          The Doctor, too, glances at Cadillac, and it lingers longer than Petrovna—she, too, is no stranger to the abstract, but the sight of him unsettles her for a reason more than his usual. She cannot, at this moment, comprehend the actions of her Captain, and worries that unusual company will make Nocturne unpredictable. Especially with the news she is about to deliver unto her. ❛  They’re responding, alright. But it’s making them worse. They’re getting violent. The Engineer—  ❜

          ❛  What?  ❜ she snaps, hisses, her anger (her fear) cold. 

          ❛  A flesh wound,  ❜ reassures Petrovna, quickly, lucky to be on Nocturne’s (literal, if not figurative) good side, ❛  Li was tended to promptly. He’s resting, now. Viru is watching over him.  ❜ 

          ❛  The ones that hadn’t already… self-destructed have been restrained. The ones who have…  ❜ Berma grimaces, and chucks her head towards the tent, whose dark sheets seem particularly ominous. ❛  It is for their people to decide.  ❜

          Nocturne stalls, and the immovability of her features is exarcebated by the stillness of her whole figure. Not even breath escapes her. She glances back at Cadillac, mulling over whether or not inviting him in would be as wise an idea now. But never does she shy away from her decisions. Once she has set her mind to something, she remains. Still—the labyrinth of that mind of his intrigues her. What do you think about all of this? How she wants to unspool that mind, submit every motivation to a vivisection, to decipher who he is and what his intentions are. She is a Captain first, after all, and the safety of her people is her highest priority; especially with one (her heart pangs) already wounded. Still. Had he had any ill intention, she would have detected it, surely. She is no poor judge of character, and where her judgement is weakened, it is weakened only by paranoia; with as harsh an opinion on strangers as she does, he would not have came this far had he not, on some level, proven himself. She turns to the tent, evading all eye contact.

          ❛  Do not follow me,  ❜ she says to all parties. She dips within the tent. A lantern glows faintly, and its tired illuminations give shape to a most devastating sight. Tragic figures, corpses, lay on beds, at least four, all in varying stages of mutilations. Mostly self-inflicted. Their eyes clawed out, their teeth gnashed or removed, their tongues bitten, hanging out of rigid or broken jaws. Bruised necks and fingers gnawed to the bone. Tears, still drying, on their cheeks, and blood-stained stomach acid staining their chests and hair. The audacity of returning these people to their families sickens her; it would be far kinder to burn them, and let their families remember them as they were. But the Doctor was right—she could not steal from them their grief, nor their mourning. She returns, then, with an eye only for the Doctor.

          ❛  Berma, you will prepare their bodies for delivery. Ask Cham to run them through the system to identify them. Once identified, Petrovna and Kimiko will be on informing duty. Bring them here, so that the townspeople might not see it, yet. Let them save face.  ❜

          ❛  And who will accompany you to…  ❜ Petrovna begins, and trails off, so unlike herself. It likened Nocturne to her a little more, seeing her in a solemn state. At least the woman was capable of some complex emotion, and had some sense about her to grieve.

          ❛  I will accompany myself.  ❜

          ❛  And your guest?” inquires Berma, bluntly. “Who will watch him?  ❜

          ❛  I will.  ❜

          ❛  But—  ❜

          ❛  I gave you an order, Doctor. I don’t see why you should be distracting yourself with petty questions.  ❜

          The certainty of her voice quietens the two women, who exchange aside glances, before nodding. ❛  Yes, Captain.  ❜ And so they go, Berma into the tent, and Petrovna off to inform Kimiko. Nocturne allows her the time to do so, taking a moment to inhale, and exhale.

          But she does not forget her manners. ❛  I apologise,  ❜ she says, turning to Cadillac. ❛  It is not the most… ideal circumstances for…  ❜ for what? What word describes this? Is it a meeting? The word lacks intimacy. Certainly not entertainment, which is far too frivolous. So she settles on: ❛  This. I—  ❜ wish we had met under kinder skies—❛  hope this will suffice.  ❜

          She heads up the stairs that pour out of the open door, into the halls that (on a good day) feel like home. Now, the metal feels cold, lifeless. Atlas Nocturne thrums mournfully beneath the click of her heel, with all of the soulful melancholy of a whale call. The medic bay is not far off, but its closed door, and its soundless walls, halt her. She waits, for him. Waits for her own decision. To allow him enter into a most sacred chamber, and witness her in her most compassionate violence? To allow him such an intimate glance into the machinations of her duty? There will be no veil over his eyes when it comes to her; she will destroy any illusion he has come to create. Whatever invention of her there is will die. It is a loss, too, but she cannot afford it otherwise. To allow him free, unsupervised roaming of the halls would betray her duties as Captain, especially when one of her own is so incapacitated, and unfortunately, honesty is indeed her policy. Kimiko and Petrovna pass—her sister offers her a supportive, if stoic, look in passing, her scarred face resolute but not unkind. It gives her strength. Then they are gone, and it is only the two of them.

           ❛  You will accompany me,  ❜ she informs him, ❛  but you are not to interfere. Understand?  ❜

           Satisfied, or as close to satisfied as she is capable of, she hums one long note. Sorrowful. The door obeys, and opens with a smooth, technical thrum. The room is lightless at first, a delay in activation of its lanterns, and the door closes behind them, submerging them in momentary, total darkness. All that can be heard is muffled shrieks, in the sound of choking, in the sound of struggling against straps and wires. Then the lanterns awake, and cast light on the room.

           Blood of various shades stain the walls, slashes of brute colour against the walls, betraying the dragging of blood-soaked hands. Thin, white scars evoke the false memory of shrieking nails against it. This is nothing to say of the bundles of flesh and organ that sully it, rough-edged, torn from bodies. No doubt self-inflicted, from her memory of the bodies in the tent, which had missed crucial chunks. What madness so sharp and severe could cause such suffering to inspire such violence? What monster must she be, to save and host such a beast capable of inciting such hysteria, and yet be unturned? Be safe? If only she could share in that, to condense the truth of her into vaccines, and give unto the world, so that they might never experience such terror, such horror, that they would rather tear themselves apart than to suffer another single second of it? Her eye wells with tears, but she does not let them fall. To do so would be unprofessional, and to do so would be wrong—she is more akin to their murderer than she is to the victim, and should she have lacked such a unique ability, it would have been a justice to die, so that she might rid the Universe of all of its monsters once and for all.

           She swallows her grief. Gestures to the corner of the room, least bloody, and ignores the scent of death and trauma, though if she had a weaker stomach no doubt its acid would have crawled into her mouth and pushed against the gate of her teeth and lips.

           There are two victims who have survived, if only because they have been saved from themselves. They are bound to tables, by bondage both leather and metal, with bits between their teeth to prevent the gnashing and gnawing of their hungry, twitching teeth; their hands entirely restricted, so that they cannot scratch at their binds or themselves. Only their eyes remain exposed, wide and bulging, spiderwebs of blood straining throughout the sclera, the pupils shrunk in pure adrenaline. Tears, too. They are sobbing.

            All there is is the sound of the ship, the sound of mute shriek, and then: the call of bird-song, distorted, ghoulish, and Nocturne is now in possession of a violin. It is no ordinary violin, of course; it is an instrument of the Void, and coloured by it too—its bow is vantablack, and its body near, too. It defies light, or light avoids it; who is to tell its dynamic? She hesitates, only for a moment, to look upon her guest, with wet, apologetic eyes. Clueless as she is to what sights he has suffered, what horrors he has caused, she can only feel guilt for having no choice but to expose him to even more. And then she plays her song.

           Its true meaning avoids her companion, for he is not the intended audience, but he at least can hear its doleful sound. If he is Death in a body, then this is Death as a song: long, deep yawning sounds, which slink through the air unseen as phantoms, and into the sockets and nostrils of the writhing bodies. Tendrils of music snake through their body (and understand: Nocturne is both music and musician; each tendril, each note, is as much a part of her body as her eye, as her scars, as her organs and glamours), soft fingers running through the alien contraptions of their brains, deciphering what bright sparks bring life to them. And then snuffing them out, bit by bit, each vein and artery, like dousing candles of their small lights, until the bodies cease in their movements. Not all at once, but slowly, as if succumbing to a great, final sleep.

           And then there is silence, and bird-song, and she is without instrument. She approaches them, and shuts their unseeing eyes. ❛  Sleep, now.  ❜ A life would be kinder, but there would be no life worth living for them, anymore. Not after the sights they have endured. Her mourning is not only her own. Somewhere, in the chasm of her entropic soul, their Murderer weeps.

          She inhales, and blinks away her tears, until she is dry-eyed and solemn-faced. ❛  I apologise for making you my witness; I assume you understand that I could not afford you to be unsupervised. It is not an act of distrust but—a duty. You understand.  ❜ Understand, understand, understand. It is all she has, right now: the hope to be understood. No else had witnessed her commit her murders, but they all knew, to some extent, what she did. She walked into a room of the alive, and she left it full of dead. They leave, and she turns to him. ❛  I understand if you wish to depart now… but, in the interest of not leaving this on too dour a note—I have storage for food, if you would like to eat. And a place away from this. And we can … talk. Nothing more, if you’d like. I only seek a conversation. Not an interrogation, if you are concerned about that.  ❜

          As professional as she is, there is something far unprofessional yearning in her chest: she needs company. She needs, for a moment, to convince herself that she is not alone.

[marvelmcuworld]

Mon avis sur Captain Marvel Complète Edition de J.

Il y a quelques semaines, Marvel a organisé une vente d'urgence sur plusieurs de ses collections numériques Kindle / Comixology. J'en ai attrapé beaucoup (trop) et l'un des premiers que j'ai relus fut Captain Marvel de Jim Starlin : La collection complète. Cela se vend maintenant 9,99 euros, alors qu'il était de 4 euros à la vente, mais c'est un excellent voyage dans le passé, quel qu'en soit le prix. Si l'on voulait, nous pourrions l'appeler Thanos Volume 1, car il ne comprend pas seulement Captain Marvel #25-34 de Starlin et d'autres, mais aussi Iron Man 55 de Starlin et Mike Friedrich (première apparition de Thanos et Drax the Destroyer), Marvel Feature 12 (The Thing and Iron Man vs the Blood Brothers, travaillant pour Thanos), Moondragon est issu du Daredevil 105. La collection se termine avec le premier et probablement le meilleur roman graphique de Marvel, The Death of Captain Marvel. Plus les couvertures et le matériel de diverses réimpressions au fil des ans.

Bien sûr, lire les bandes dessinées originales est une bonne chose, mais soyons réalistes, à moins de les avoir parfaitement préservées, elles se dégradent au fil des années / décennies. La lecture de ces éditions numériques est un vrai plaisir, car les couleurs et les détails sont vraiment éclatants. Prenons l'exemple de la couverture de Captain Marvel 25 - je doute que la copie que j'ai dans ma boîte soit si belle. J'ai acheté l'original dans un stand de journaux en 1973, ne sachant rien d'autre sur le personnage que les AVengeurs le tenaient en haute estime. J'en connaissais beaucoup plus sur Rick Jones, ayant lu à son propos dans des rééditions où il était le compagnon de Captain America.

La collection ne commence pas avec Captain Marvel. Il commence avec Iron Man 55, où Drax et Thanos entrent pour la première fois dans l'univers merveilleux. Le travail artistique de Starlin est un peu brut dans cette histoire et dans les premiers numéros de CM. Il n'écrit pas les dialogues de ces histoires, mais il est clairement le complice et le créateur de tous ces nouveaux personnages. Starlin présente tant de nouveaux personnages dans ces aventures, je suppose avec le recul  qu'il les ait développés pour Marvel. Son premier numéro de Captain Marvel implique Mar-Vell face à une horde d'ennemis, ce qui est vraiment un essai mené par Super-Skrull pour faire un rapport à Thanos sur les capacités du guerrier Kree.

Les créations de Starlin sont un peu rugueuses dans ces premières parutions. Mais il s'améliore avec chacun d'eux. Personnellement J'ai adoré le numéro 26, où The Thing combat Captain Marvel. Le combat est dû à une erreur d'identité - Mar-Vell croit que The Thing is really Super Skrull ; The Thing ne peut pas expliquer la situation car ses cordes vocales ont été réduites au silence. Des excuses plus minces ont déjà été utilisées ! C'est le début d'une belle collaboration entre Starlin et The Thing.

Jim Starlin passe vraiment au niveau supérieur avec Captain Marvel 31.  C'est là qu'il écrit toute l'histoire pour la première fois, et c'est Al Milgrom qui l'encre pour la première fois. La couverture est symbolique et a été utilisée sur des gobelets de slurpee et d'autres choses. Mar-Vell est passé du statut de guerrier Kree à celui de protecteur de l'Univers en devenant "Cosmically Aware". C'était un concept des années 1970, comme si vous méditiez assez ou si vous deveniez un avec la nature, vous pourriez améliorer les choses plus qu'avec la violence pure et simple. Mais il semble que Starlin avait un plan pour ce personnage depuis le début. Dans les premières histoires, Mar-Vell est un guerrier très compétent, mais un peu téméraire et sujet à l'erreur. Un très étrange, presque Ditko-esque qui s'appelle Eon aide Mar-Vell à surmonter ses erreurs passées et à se transformer en quelque chose de nouveau. Et en quelqu'un aux cheveux blonds au lieu d'argent, parce que ce dernier l'a fait paraître trop vieux !

La couverture originale de Starlin pour Captain Marvel 29. John Romita a clairement retouché le visage et le cou, ce qui n'a probablement pas plu à Starlin.

Quels ont été les changements immédiats dans Mar-Vell dus à la Conscience Cosmique ? Il a pris conscience de lui-même et de son environnement. Il a commencé à voir de plus grands schémas. Il s'est toujours battu comme un diable, dans le numéro suivant, il y a eu une bataille terrible avec le Contrôleur. Mais au moins Mar-vell a essayé d'en dissuader le méchant avant de lui botter le cul.

Thanos s'empare d'un objet Marvel si puissant que l'on se demande pourquoi on en perdrait la trace : le Cosmic Cube. Après des années de vilains à tâtonner avec cet objet, Thanos est celui qui va enfin l'utiliser pleinement. Il devient un Dieu, ou un Dieu fou comme le dit le teaser du prochain numéro. Iron Man, le Destructeur, les Titans et d'autres ont fait équipe avec le capitaine Marvel pour combattre Thanos et les chances étaient insurmontables.

Au moment où le dernier numéro de cette histoire est arrivé à sa conclusion, la tension était de plus en plus forte. Thanos apprenait à utiliser toute l'étendue de sa divinité, bien que vous vous demandiez pourquoi il ne fait pas simplement évaporer Captain Marvel en atomes. Cela pourrait s'expliquer par une découverte faite plus tard dans la guerre de l'infini : Thanos a un défaut de caractère qui ne veut pas qu'il réussisse. C'est peut-être trop facile à excuser, mais j'y ai cru !

Thanos décide de mettre fin à la vie de Mar-Vell dès qu'il découvre que le cube cosmique a un lien résiduel avec la divinité de Thanos. Dans ce numéro, Starlin fait un nouveau bond en avant dans le domaine de la narration et de la création artistique. C'est une bataille époustouflante avec Thanos dans les pages précédentes, car il déforme la réalité autour de Mar-Vell et Drax. Puis il décide de débrancher Mar-Vell, en le vieillissant rapidement, mais pas avant qu'il puisse fossiliser et détruire le Cosmic Cube.

Après cette épopée, pour les lecteurs de l'époque, les esprits ont été brisés. Wow. Ce Thanos avait pris les choses à un point qu'aucun méchant de Marvel Comics n'avait jamais atteint auparavant ! J'allais être un fan de Starlin / Captain Marvel pour la vie. Qu'est-ce qui allait arriver ensuite ? Pourrions-nous attendre avec impatience des années de Starlin sur Captain Marvel ? C'était incomparable. Malheureusement, le numéro suivant est arrivé, Captain Marvel 34. L'intrigue est de Starlin, le dialogue de Steve Englehart, et il établit un nouveau statu quo pour les aventures post-Thanos de Mar-Vell. Il affronte un nouveau méchant, Nitro, un type qui explose et se reforme après coup. À la toute fin de leur bataille, Mar-Vell est exposé à un gaz toxique mortel (assez puissant pour détruire une ville entière), s'effondre et est apparemment mort. Je me souviens avoir pensé, eh bien, Starlin résoudra ce problème dans le prochain numéro.

Faux ! Nous avons eu le choc de notre vie, lorsque Captain Marvel 35 (non inclus dans cette collection numérique, j'ai scanné ce qui précède de ma collection) est arrivé avec une oeuvre d'Alfredo Alcala ! Un artiste sympa sur les magazines noir et blanc, mais pas sur CM ! La page des lettres expliquait que le numéro de Nitro était le dernier numéro de Starlin. Il partait travailler sur un autre personnage quelque peu cosmique : Sorcier ! Mais cela établirait un modèle pour Starlin. Ça ne le dérangeait pas de tuer des personnages quand il en avait fini avec eux. Captain Marvel a survécu au gaz toxique et a continué beaucoup d'autres aventures grâce à Englehart / Milgrom et d'autres créateurs - mais il y a eu des effets à long terme.

Cette collection Captain Marvel va du numéro 34 jusqu'à The Death of Captain Marvel. Il a été publié à l'origine en 1982 ; le dernier numéro de CM de Starlin est paru en 1974. C'était un grand événement, car non seulement Marvel entrait dans le jeu Original Graphic Novel, mais ils tuaient un personnage, et il n'y avait aucun doute que cela arriverait. Starlin a pu utiliser les événements de son dernier numéro pour porter le coup fatal à Mar-Vell : le cancer. Et cette histoire est une vraie bombe lacrymogène. Il n'y a pas de grands combats, bien qu'il y ait une apparition de Thanos, après sa dernière bataille avec Warlock de Marvel Two-In-One Annual 2. C'est vraiment une triste histoire de ce qui arrive quand quelqu'un attrape un cancer et qu'il ne peut pas gagner. Ils essaient de le combattre, ils acceptent ce qui va se passer et commencent à dire au revoir à leurs proches. Je crois que le père de Starlin était mort plus tôt d'un cancer, ce qui lui donne beaucoup d'authenticité. J'ai pleuré quand je l'ai lu à l'origine ; j'ai pleuré en le relisant.

[atrayo]

Jewels of Truth Statements and Favorite Quotes of the Month

Hello All, I've been truant from posting here at "Atrayo's Oracle" between taking classes at Spirit University for developing my spiritual psychic-mediumship and energetic healing gifts. Besides being a caregiver to my mother and having inspired moments have been harder to reach in a distilled focus. Otherwise, my Facebook page and my Instagram page still receive a weekly update with newly channeled angelic wisdom. Taking a literal foray into what the clairvoyant author of "Neale Donald Walsch" has accomplished with his "Conversations with God" book series. I've also via psychic automatic writing have channeled three spiritual wisdom statements from God him/herself. The tone at least personally is far more intense for me in relation to channeling the angels and ascended masters in comparison. In my opinion, the wording is also similar but also different in particular presence. I'll let you my readers be the judge. These 3 "Jewels of Truth" statements channeled from God as the Source of Inspiration is on Heaven on Earth, Fairness, and on Hope. They are statements 2,604-2,606 in the longhand series to date written at the beginning of this month of February. May you find them uplifting as I have found them healing to my psyche and spirit as One to our united Soul with God. Amen.

Heaven on Earth: "The Paradox of Heaven on Earth" 2604) All of us are beloved extensions of the pure Essence of God in Totality of personified expressions. However, we do not encompass the Totality of the Substance of God in his Meta Pristine Supreme godhood. This may seem true metaphysically however, there is more to this truth that can be fully comprehended in earnest. Many claim to have spoken to God the Father in beseeching to his Glory upon the masses. There is truth to this only when no one is harmed in compassionate resonance by means of tenderness. For I God do not seek to stain my children with my own blood of the Saints. Only can I convince many that my Will exists upon the Earth for all Souls. By gently waiting bidding my eternity for my closest divinity to circle around as the reborn of the Holy Spirit. Countless have stated that this physical Universe is temporal in scope as an illusion of my Highest Self. There is much truth to this, however, my Omni-Presence is Absolutely Real. Nonetheless, because my truth, beauty, and karma as the balanced scales of meta-being reside for all paradises. Each flowing constantly through a manifold of dimensional lattice constructs you call as realities. What is illusion only exists because what is real sustains it forever. Otherwise, if an illusion had no foundational metaphysical structural supports as underpinnings. Then all would seem more like an untethered fantasy much like the afterlife is an ethereal daydream. It is then a constructive afterthought of my creative impulses as the Creator of Allness. To this end, all three dominions of my Meta Godly Being before all other deities as my entity creations (ie souls) of my meta-emanations have their spiritual basis beautifully as the Angels. As the endless Heavens, Limbos, and Hells as my Singular Totality flowing throughout all combined Creation(s) on purpose and by design. As Constant realms passing through temporal realities such as your worldly physical universe. What is a mirage to I God is paradoxically real to all of my Creations as spiritual metaphysical babies. Where change through desires overlap with the maturity of self and then no more but a distant to the forgotten memory of myself as God(dess) of All Supremely. Here we rest in knowing I delight Being the spiritual entirety of all my Infinite renditions as offspring. United each in a harmonic and discordant convergence circling around as my purified Enlightenment. As the Supreme Creator, Sustainer, and Destroyer (recycler) of all realities combined as "One" distilled knowing through my Highest Self "I Am To Be". Amen. (Channeled Source as God(dess) ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo.

Fairness: 2605) As "I Am To Be" again and again forever and ever many have exclaimed truthfully that this reality isn't fair to them. I sigh in sympathy with the totality of my children truly I do through the Holy Spirit. However, when I feel this through their throbbing hearts and teary eyes. The world is part of a greater cosmic family as a living makeshift tapestry being woven continuously. The fabric consists of your souls imprinted in elaborate beautiful designs and patterns of delightful expressions. I Am as God the thread that binds all things together in a United Weave of Truth with Beauty for every Totality. Besides in masterful function and lasting glory for its earnest recipients. To this end do I interpret that reality is relative in degrees of the fulness of Spiritually Being Alive and dead simultaneously. I see totality in an instant in a nonlinear kaleidoscope of endless geometric expressions. Thus a finite human lifespan is witnessed in totality as all at once like a flying spark from an ember in my meta-perspective. As being alive for a split nanosecond to me and gone into the ethers of my Great Spirit forever. However, to the human mortal being that spark is lived in a temporal manner experienced as decades of a hopeful lifetime. To a conclusion of a mortal finite death of the flesh of the body but never of my Great Spirit in them. In this, I say that all unfairness is to coexist with fairness as my divinity in the world. As fairness is a living bonafide grace otherwise known to you as good luck and blessed divinity itself. A lack of fairness can be seen as a denial of your living grace and subsequently as bad luck altogether. Since you each have my power to bear witness to Heaven, Limbo, or Hell on this Earth and throughout the cosmos itself by extension. So by claiming your divinity and good luck, you each are declaring Heaven on Earth. The opposite is also true as well if you deny your solemn beautiful sacred divinity. Thus you have claimed by default either Limbo as purgatory or Hell on Earth as truly unfair in your personified reality. You are the baby angels reincarnated endlessly in astounding configurations of my Holiest Spirit as mortal creatures of the flesh. To claim your heavenly good as your divine inheritance in spite of worldly hardships with grateful hearts. You are revealing to yourself and the larger world your godly angelic nature upon all to recall in faith the Glory of God in the "I Am To Be" again. Amen. (Channeled Source as God) ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo.

Hope: 2606) All Hope is my truth expected before its appointed hour I who speaks for the Lord God of All Hosts. I Am again bearing witness to such earnest faith with the living convictions of my precious children of my Great Holiest Spirit everywhere. Not as a silent bystander but as the Mover of the great events and circumstances for all that claim their beautiful divinity upon the world. I Am One as I Am All simultaneously a Meta-Expression with a manifold visage. I do interact with you all in this place that is everywhere and nowhere paradoxically. Here I am placed to regard the Allness of the Infinity of Here and the Eternity of Now as the living and dying illusions as to my direct offspring spiritually. For I Am Constant as a living Enlightened Loop without a Beginning or an End. So I Am Beyond the Greek comprehension of the Alpha and the Omega. When the faithful Hope they are calling upon the living fibers of the Eternity of Now each time. A declaration of a solemn Divinity that can not ever be denied by My Celestial Perfect Will as Creator God. However, the faithful must take certain steps into account of the many things as metaphysical constants when they Hope dearly through Grace itself. What is sought for earnestly appears mysteriously as it is magical in sublime holy nature. For your brethren and sisterly Angels freely have adopted your causes as their own with the glorious truth. To this end, you must share all that troubles and delights you in life with the Angels of Paradise as your holy siblings. Never to worship them just to venerate my Perfect Glory through them with ineffable adoration as your first heavenly family upon Creation. In Faith through Hope and dear Trust, you shall invite my Holy Perfected Pure Will into your lives here on Earth. In so doing you cascade into blessed motion to reveal my Astounding Glory each time. Fear Not, for I God as the Lord of Host's delight in your loves and joys through you as a united beloved Omni-Presence each and every time. Do not give up Hope even in spite of dreadful appearances for in stillness I Am found each time forever. This is your reality in a temporal meaning as it changes constantly and it doesn't as a united front. So expect your moment of Hope to reappear several times in a lifetime here on Earth and Beyond in Blessed Truth. Amen. (Channeled Source as God) ---Ivan Pozo-Illas / Atrayo.

------------------------------------------ Do your best and then relax. Let things go on in a natural way, rather than force them. ---Parmahansa Yogananda. To set the mind on Spirit is life and peace. ---Romans 8:6 Gratitude doesn't send you out shopping to find satisfaction, it comes as a gift rather than a commodity. ---Robin Wall Kimmerer. The soul often speaks through longing. ---Sue Monk Kidd. All the way to heaven is heaven. ---Catherine of Siena. Continue to be who and how you are to astonish a mean world with your acts of kindness. ---Maya Angelou. Light is in both the broken bottle and the diamond. ---Mark Nepo. Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day saying "I'll try again tomorrow". ---Mary Anne Radmacher. Ivan "Atrayo" Pozo-Illas, has devoted 22 years of his life to the pursuit of clairvoyant automatic writing channeling the Angelic host. Ivan is the author of the spiritual wisdom series of "Jewels of Truth" consisting of 3 volumes published to date. He also channels inspired conceptual designs that are multifaceted for the next society to come that are solutions based as a form of dharmic service. Numerous examples of his work are available at "Atrayo's Oracle" blog site of 12 years plus online. Your welcome to visit his website "Jewelsoftruth.us" for further information or to contact Atrayo directly.

[asplendidbeginning]

Concerning Mortis and the Symbology of the Force Part II — The Prophesy of the Chosen One

March 4, 2015

Adjua Adama

In Part I, the symbology behind Mortis — the world and the trinity of Overlords — was explored, where it was posited that Lucas, Supervising Director Dave Filoni, and writer Christian Taylor, continue the tradition of drawing from human mythological history as source inspiration for their Star Wars tales.

Between the griffin Daughter and the gargoyle Son stands the Chosen One, bound by prophesy, in a world made from the nature of the Force itself, capable of taming each of these creatures, as with the Mesopotamian “master of the griffins.”

Indeed, Anakin’s destiny does stand above the Jedi and the Sith, as Lucas removes his character from the limited vestiges of flawed humanity, affording him the status of Force deity replete with virgin birth. As both Orders seek to utilize and manipulate his power, Anakin has a hand in eviscerating both — he is, in essence, Shiva the destroyer in Star Wars mythology, cultivating balance and reciprocity through an Old Testament, “fire and brimstone” approach. Apparently, the Father understands the wisdom of hiding his power from the galaxy’s population. He tells Anakin, “There are some who would like to exploit our power; the Sith are but one. Too much dark or light would be the undoing of life as you understand it.” This man engenders enough wisdom to understand that the Jedi would be just as guilty of exploiting their power to eradicate evil, as the Sith would be in cleansing the galaxy of good. Either tipping of the scale would spell doom for all who inhabit the world of Star Wars.

But is Anakin the “Chosen One,” as Qui-Gon deemed him in The Phantom Menace? This has actually been a heated topic of discussion among fans even before The Clone Wars series debuted. I’ve seen a number of discussions online, and via podcasts, in which people have hotly championed both Anakin and Luke for the sacred appellation; a discussion that has increased exponentially after the debut of “The Yoda Arc” from Season 6 of The Clone Wars (sometimes referred to as “Mortis Part II”). Those that advocate the belief that Luke Skywalker is the “Chosen One” refer to a line from the “Yoda Arc” by the mysterious Priestesses (who measure Yoda’s worthiness in understanding the mastery of life preservation post-mortem), when the “Serenity” Priestess declares: “He will teach one who is to save the galaxy from the great imbalance…” This has been interpreted to mean that Luke is the actual “chosen one,”  as Yoda does train Luke in the future (as exhibited by the deliberate phrasing, “He will…”), but he isn’t directly responsible for Anakin’s training as a Jedi — even initially opposing it. Ultimately, after a series of trials that Yoda successfully mitigates, including a number of significant encounters on the Sith home world of Moriband, the Priestesses repeat to Yoda the sage’s own words from Return of the Jedi: “There is another Skywalker.” At the time, this would mean nothing to Yoda, as he had no knowledge of Padme’s impending pregnancy, let alone young Anakin’s tacit marriage. On April 7th,  model and actress Jaime King, who voiced the Priestesses, engaged in a discussion of these issues with her husband, Star Wars superfan and director Kyle Newman; the actor who voiced the Son, Sam Witwer; Ralph McQuarrie preservation artist Paul Bateman; and Rebel Force Radio podcast hosts Jason Swank and Jimmy Mac. Jaime mentioned a number of times that Lucas and Filoni declared to her that, “Anakin is the Chosen One…” Later in the discussion, she presumably texted Filoni [she actually attributes this to, “…someone on very high authority…”], who replied, according to King: “There is another [Skywalker], and then Yoda sees off-screen his future, even older, self say, ‘There is another Skywalker.’ Right? As in Return of the Jediright before he dies. The Priestesses exist without time or space. They are a part of the cosmic and living force.” And as participants of the discussion outwardly wished the prophesy would be more clearly articulated in the mythology, Paul Bateman afforded the debate what I believe to be the missing link — that Lucas was a student not only of Joseph Campell’s “hero’s journey” universality, but also Peruvian American author Carlos Casteneda’s Tales of Power, which explores the mysticism of Native American spirit and vision quests, along with the role of tricksters in religious mythology.

Indeed, the Priestesses do play the trickster role in these sequences, often taking Yoda through vision quests to test his mettle, including taking the form of Sith rule of two progenitor Darth Bane.  Albert Arnold (1996), in Monsters, Tricksters, and Sacred Cows: Animal Tales and American Identities, speaks of the trickster as the amoral character who can be a hero, but because it is so inextricably tied to its own agenda, can also be an example of what not to do. In Nigeria, the Yoruba deity Eshu (also known as Elegba or Elegbara), according to William Bascom’s (1984) The Yoruba of Southwestern Nigeria, is the youngest and cleverest of the Yoruban deities, “…a trickster who delights in trouble making…” He survives the Trans-Atlantic slave trade in various iterations throughout Latin America, and in the U.S. as the character The Signifying Monkey, joining other African-based animal tricksters like Anansi, the Akan spider, and Br’er Rabbit, of the American South. While studying at Penn State, within the African-American history department, we often referred to Harvard professor Dr. Henry Louis Gates’ treatise concerning this subject, and how these characters informed the rebellious nature of slaves who simultaneously eschewed the wrath of severe punishment. John Wideman (1988) wrote a New York Times article covering the debut of Gates’ book The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of Afro-American Literary Criticism, explaining:

Signifying is verbal play — serious play that serves as instruction, entertainment, mental exercise, preparation for interacting with friend and foe in the social arena. In black vernacular, Signifying is a sign that words cannot be trusted, that even the most literal utterance allows room for interpretation, that language is both carnival and minefield.

As the Priestesses do not actually teach Yoda how to become a force ghost, but only serve to measure his virtuosity through a series of tricks he alone must navigate, one must question everything they say. If Anakin is the “Chosen One,” but they appear to hint at Luke serving that role, what possible motive does this serve? The controversial line in question does not mention that Yoda will train “the balancer,” or, “one who will bring the Force back into balance” — as many people mistakenly quote Serenity Priestess. The Force has destined Anakin to become Vader in order to destroy the corruption within both the Jedi Order and the Republic — the third chapter of Mortisdemonstrates this fact, as his path still leads to the Dark Lord’s visage while in the well of the Dark Side. But, in order to complete the cycle, prior to his descent into the proverbial valley, in an act of rebellion against Jedi dogma, Anakin creates a key to his own redemption: a son conceived of love, who will revive the former Self within his consciousness at the opportune moment in which the Sith must be destroyed. Yoda, of course, is the key to that fail-safe opportunity, as he is destined to train the instrument, “who will save the galaxy [not necessarily the Force] from the great imbalance.”

In Part III, I’ll explore the motive behind why Yoda would need to be tricked into thinking Anakin was not the Chosen One, and also the significance of Anakin’s virgin birth in the greater mythology of the hero’s journey.

[transmogwow]

Zasoe - Sylvanas (eu) head: Plasma Mechshades neck: Cursed Beartooth Necklace shoulder: Mantle of the Eredar Lord back: Indomitable Bearskin Cloak chest: Shaladrassil Vestments shirt: Precious' Ribbon tabard: Tabard of the Explorer wrist: Clasp of Cosmic Insignificance hands: Goliath Wraps of Hridmogir waist: Bonespeaker Cinch legs: Frost-Touched Legwraps feet: Tinkmaster's Spare Shoes finger1: Explorer's Delving Loop finger2: An'she's Band trinket1: Swarming Plaguehive trinket2: Unstable Horrorslime mainHand: Visage of the Destroyer