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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 3: We Drown Traitors In Shallow Water]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra's wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother's life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting...

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, people being aware of Daeron's existence, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, Aemond having feelings (not good ones), references to sexual content (18+), an unexpected field trip.

Series title is a lyric from: "7 Minutes in Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

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Aemond never tells you where you’re going.

You follow him—ivy-green velvet tunic, silver flood of hair like moonlight—to Grand Maester Orwyle’s chambers and up a narrow spiral staircase to the rookery of the Red Keep. Windows open out into all four cardinal directions: wests towards the Reach, south towards the Stormlands, north towards the Riverlands, east towards the Narrow Sea. Late-afternoon sunlight like the pulsing glow of embers paints you both in gold, in rust. As Aemond goes to the writing desk and begins drafting a letter—his penmanship is always slow and precise, painstakingly neat—you look at the ravens that tiptoe on talons like a dragon’s through the straw beds of their cages. Each enclosure is labeled with the castles that particular raven is trained to fly to. One raven knows the way to Lannisport, another to Riverrun, a third to Winterfell where Cregan Stark is gathering far-flung Northerner soldiers to help him march south and leave his mark on the world, something like a brand or a bloodstain or a bruise. You notice that a particularly clever raven—old, greying, fast asleep with his beak tucked into scruffy feathers—is assigned three separate strongholds, all in the Crownlands: Dragonstone, Driftmark, Claw Isle. It is not often that you see all the Valyrian houses of Westeros listed together; it is not often that House Celtigar is properly acknowledged. Generations of intermarrying with Westerosi bloodlines has camouflaged your Valyrian features, but still, the truth is inescapable. The fates of the Targaryens, Velaryons, and Celtigars are hopelessly intertwined. They always have been. You survived the Doom together; you are meant to prosper or burn together.

“Who are you writing to?” you ask Aemond.

He speaks without looking up from his letter, straight regimented lines and meticulous dots. “Eastbriar.”

The seat of House Thorne, your supposed kin. You choke down a dismayed mewing—it rises in your throat like stream from a kettle—and imagine the tone of your voice to be like a ship: vital to keep level and upright, even in the roughest of waves. “A summons for our soldiers?”

Aemond nods, his eye still on the parchment. “They have had ample time to mop up after Rook’s Rest. Those who have survived and are capable of battle will meet me and Criston as we lead our army north to the Riverlands.”

This is a compromise, you know. Aemond wanted to depart from the capital on Vhagar and pursue Daemon and Caraxes alone. Everyone was against it—Criston, Otto, Alicent, Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, the entire Kingsguard, Aegon when he was roused enough to pry an answer out of—and so Aemond relented. But there is still a restlessness that lives in the icy blue cave of his remaining eye like a caged animal. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“This brings me great confidence, the endorsement of a woman with no tactical proficiency whatsoever.” And you think: I might know more of wartime strategy than your own advisors. I have heard what the Black Council discusses. I have stayed up with my father and brothers until the dark, lonely hours of the early morning as they plotted, Clement rabid to see combat, Everett assisting Father with calculations of cost and gain. Aemond smirks and beckons you closer to the desk. “I’ve finished. Go on, leave a note at the bottom.”

“What?” You stare at him, then down at the parchment. “Me?”

“I thought you might like to include a brief postscript for your family. I assume you have told them that you are here and safe. They would appreciate further report on occasion, I’m sure. To read that you are perfectly well in your own words.”

“Right,” you agree uncertainly.

Aemond crosses the rookery and turns his back to you. His hand slips into a pocket of his tunic and reemerges with small pieces of crumbly bread; he feeds them to the ravens, voracious black beaks jabbing out from between metal bars. “I will give you privacy to disparage me as much as you wish to,” he says, and you can hear the teasing smile in his voice.

He’s not suspicious, you realize. He means this as an act of kindness, of esteem. He trusts me.

And you have grown to understand Aemond well enough to know that this will only make things worse for you if your treason is discovered. It is not just the Greens’ security or strategy that is implicated here. It is Aemond’s pride. Sometimes, you think, it is his grudging affection as well.

You pick up the quill and contemplate the letter to House Thorne. What do I write? What the hell do I write?

Then an idea occurs to you. You add to the bottom of the parchment, just below Aemond’s signature:

P.S. Please send any livestock that you can spare to help sustain Sunfyre at Rook’s Rest. His alertness and strength improve each day. The Greens cannot spare any of our dragons…and Sunfyre is beloved for his ferocity by all the loyal subjects of the realm.

You hesitate, then sign in a looping scrawl:

Aegon II, King of the Seven Kingdoms

This comes so easily, like breathing, like healing, a treachery as smooth and painless as milk of the poppy.

“Done?” Aemond asks.

“Yes.” You roll up the parchment and give it to Aemond. Without looking at what you’ve written—he trusts me, he trusts me, a chant that is in equal parts honored and horrified—he ties it with a green ribbon, attaches it to a twiglike ink-colored leg of the raven trained to fly to Eastbriar, and looses the bird out into the troubled world through the open window that faces Blackwater Bay.

The sunlight catches on something: gold wings, jade eyes. Aemond is wearing Aegon’s ring, the one you stripped him of at Rook’s Rest as he lingered at the gate between our world and the one beyond, above or below or wherever you believe it to be, ice or fire or clouds or void.

“You should give that back to Aegon,” you say. “His hands are no longer too swollen to wear it. And I think he has noticed it’s missing.”

Aemond watches you, twisting the ring where it remains on his finger. He is thoughtful in a way that you cannot decipher. “You have done your king a great service. I know you will be generously rewarded.”

“That’s not why I’m helping him.”

“Yes, I know that part too.”

A silence, deep and laden and uncomfortable. Then Aemond winces—a tiny gesture he is used to hiding—and touches his fingertips to his forehead just above the black leather of his eyepatch. You have never seen him without it. “Headache?” you say.

“Having pieces of your eye scooped out of its socket comes at a price. I’m still paying it, I’ll never stop.”

You see it clearly, the story you were told: Aemond climbing up the rope ladder into Vhagar’s saddle, his skull rattling with vengeful maroon glee, slate-grey storm winds in his rain-soaked hair. “Is that why you killed Luke?”

Aemond gazes out the open window over the frothing waves speckled with sunbeams, and there is something strange in his face: not gloating but a pensiveness that grows almost despondent. At last, he speaks. “Now he has his brother to keep him company in the afterlife.”

“Jace?” you say, shocked. “Jace is dead?”

“Larys just informed me. The rest of the city will know by nightfall.”

You remember Jace, self-assured and ambitious and looking nothing like a Velaryon. You’ve met him. You’ve met all of the Blacks, even if only fleetingly or from a distance. “How?”

“Corlys’ navy attacked the Triarchy’s fleet in the Gullet.” The Triarchy are Essosi allies of the Greens, won over by Otto’s diplomacy, notes and promises that Aegon was too impatient to wait for. At last, they have arrived. “Jace and Vermax were torching our ships. Vermax was struck by a crossbow bolt and crashed into the burning wreckage of a galley. He struggled for a while and then disappeared into the waves. Jace clung to a piece of debris but was shot by arrows until dead. His body could not be recovered before it sank.”

You don’t know what to say; it is a defeat for the Celtigars, it is a victory for Aegon, it is a tragedy for all humankind. Are we any closer to peace? Or is this a wound that rips apart its stitching again and again until infection turns all our blood to poison? “So Rhaenyra has two sons buried in the sea.”

“There is something else that Larys told me,” Aemond says. And he does not seem like a man just handed news of a triumph. “Vermax was not the only dragon at the Battle of the Gullet.”

Caraxes is with Daemon at Harrenhal, last you heard. “Syrax?”

“No. The bitch won’t fight.” He means Rhaenyra, not her dragon. Aemond looks at you with fear swimming in his river-blue eye, something he rarely lets others see. “Silverwing, Seasmoke, Vermithor, and one that was never ridden before. The Blacks call him Sheepstealer.”

“Four more dragons,” you exhale with terror. “Four battle-ready, full-grown dragons.”

“They can’t use them here,” Aemond says, like he’s comforting you. “Rhaenyra cannot sanction the burning of King’s Landing and keep the love of the people. The people’s fondness for her is halfhearted at best already.”

“But the Blacks can use their dragons against you and Criston when you march north.”

Aemond smirks, half-taunting and half-warm. “It almost sounds like you’re worried about me.”

You ignore this. You don’t know how to respond. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon. A week or two.” He swipes for your wrist. You pull it away just as his fingertips graze your skin. Aemond smiles. “I’ll leave it to you to inform Aegon of Jace’s demise. I’m sure it will cheer him.” Then he descends the narrow spiral staircase and abandons you in the rookery, surrounded by squawking, pacing ravens that claw at the walls of their cages.

You stop at Helaena’s bedchamber before going to Aegon’s; he drained his goblet of milk of the poppy an hour ago and is almost certainly still unconscious. He is trapped in a cycle of bitter disappointment. He has a day when he feels better, overexerts himself, and then spends the next three or four sleeping to escape the pain. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell him to be cautious, to be patient. You walk into his room and find him polishing his sword, trying to pull on his boots, crawling out onto the balcony after nightfall when the sun cannot burn his fragile skin.

The queen is sitting in a chair and staring at the wall. She is watching the shadows of birds flit across tapestries depicting the night sky, a flurry of butterflies, unicorns, ladybugs, Dreamfyre. Each day you bring her flowers from the gardens; they sit in vases all over the room gathering dust, lilies and irises and tulips and daisies, roses red like the crabs that scuttle across your true house’s sigil. “Your Grace? Are you alright?”

Helaena says nothing. When you move closer, you see that her ghost-pale eyes are wide and vacant.

“Helaena, come walk in the gardens with me.”

Her voice is quiet, as if from a great distance away. “Is Jaehaerys playing there?”

It takes you a moment to decide how to answer. There is no sense in upsetting Helaena; she has suffered so much already. You will not remind her that her firstborn son was beheaded in front of her. “We’ve sent him away to keep him safe. You will see him again when the war is over.”

“I’ll see many people again when the war is over. But not you.”

You hold out your hand to her. “Helaena, please. Let’s walk in the gardens before the sun sets.” Before the world ends, you think randomly, unwelcomely.

You do not expect Helaena to take your hand. She never has before, though you offer it frequently. But this time her delicate, feather-light palm finds yours. One of her children is dead, and she cannot bring herself to act as a mother to the two that remain. Her marriage never brought her happiness, her father never cherished her. You cannot change any of this. But you can remind her that she is not alone. When you have spent an hour strolling through lush greenery and past ponds that ripple with the splashing of fish, you bring Helaena to Otto—he has supper with her most nights—and then continue on alone to Aegon’s bedchamber.

You stand in the doorway watching him as he sleeps, this man that you as a Celtigar have no business touching, this man you cannot bring yourself to leave.

He is mending. He is past the worst of the danger. If I disappeared now, Grand Maester Orwyle would be more than capable of tending to him. And every second I spend in King’s Landing is another opportunity to be discovered, imprisoned, interrogated, punished, ransomed, killed.

So when will you go?

Today seems impossible. Tomorrow isn’t any better. A few days, a week, a month?

Never, you think, so abruptly and forcefully that it stuns you. I never want to be away from him.

Aegon stirs, his eyes opening in bleary slits. His mess of silvery hair cascades over his face; the scar on his right cheek spills across his skin like blood in snow. He spots you from across the room, smiles, reaches out to you with one seeking, unburned hand.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Aegon, you have to set it free.” It’s morning, days later. Outside the sun is bright and forbidden; in his bed across the room, draped in cool shadows, Aegon follows your eyeline to the glass jar on his bedside table, to the tiny creature Helaena gifted him. The once-caterpillar is now a captive butterfly with shimmering gold wings.

Aegon looks at it without much interest. “I’m terribly sorry. I was distracted by my many deformities.”

“Stop trying to lure me into complimenting you.” You remove the lid from the jar. The butterfly ascends through the opening, meanders around the room, and eventually finds its way through the window. “Besides, lots of women appreciate scars on a man.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Women in general, or one in particular…?”

“Quiet, miscreant.” You unwrap Aegon’s bandages and inspect the places you are most concerned with: the crooks of his elbows, the backs of his shoulders, his waist where the scar tissue strains when he moves. You begin massaging rose oil onto his arms, starting at his wrists. He is lucky the flames did not claim his hands; from what you have learned from books and maesters, keeping fingers nimble and stopping them from fusing together as they heal is nearly impossible.

“You’re always undressing me,” Aegon muses, gazing at you with hazy, murky blue eyes and a playful smile. “Maybe one day I’ll have the opportunity to return the favor.”

You won’t. But Cregan Stark will. And for the first time you are vividly aware that the thought of Aegon touching you—anywhere, everywhere—does not fill you with fear or dread but rather a sort of curiosity, maybe even willingness, maybe even the first pangs of a craving like hunger.

Aegon’s smile dies as you knead rose oil into his right forearm. He will require the use of it if he is to ever wield a sword properly again. “I did not mean to offend you. Allow me to apologize. I am thoroughly medicated, my judgment is impaired. And I confess that it was not so good to begin with.”

“I’m not offended. I’m…distracted.”

Distracted by the promise-prison of your betrothal, Aegon knows. “Angel,” he says firmly, and waits until you meet his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, Aegon. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. You have enough worries already.”

“You’ve helped me,” Aegon insists. “Now let me help you. I may be weak and hideous now, but I’m still the king. Whoever he is, I can have him married off to someone else. I can have him sent to the Night’s Watch. I can fix this.”

Your words spill out in a mournful whisper. “You can’t touch him.”

Aegon shakes his head, stretches out his hand, skims his thumbprint across your cheekbone like shadows dance over walls. “Who the hell is he?”

There is a noise outside, a shrill reverberating shriek that grows louder as it nears the Red Keep. You and Aegon share a startled, knowing glance. It is the cry of a dragon, and not one already housed here in the Dragonpit. You do not recognize this voice: a high whistling, a tinny quality like a small bell being rung. Not Vhagar or Dreamfyre, not the reptilian infants Shrykos or Morghul…

Then Aegon begins to laugh. “Oh, Aemond is going to murder him.”

You jolt up off the bed and race to the open window. Down on the beach, it is landing: a shining lapis-colored beast about the same size as Sunfyre, lean, regal, sprightly, swanlike. A white-haired boy, perhaps fifteen, is climbing down out of the saddle as waves bubble up around his mount’s claws. “Tessarion,” you breathe, awed despite yourself. You have no fondness for dragons—you are too closely acquainted with their singular capacity for destruction—but her beauty is striking. You understand now why she is called the Blue Queen.

“And Daeron too, I assume,” Aegon quips. “Or has she eaten him?”

“No, he is presently uneaten. His hair is already longer than yours.”

“Yes, everyone’s is.”

You turn back to Aegon, sitting up in bed and wearing only his loose cotton trousers. “Why is yours so short and…” What is a polite way to put it? Haphazard? Irregular? Uneven? “Choppy?”

“Do not bully me, angel. I may perish and you will regret your harsh words.” He smiles drowsily. “I used to cut it myself. I have since I was eight or nine years old.”

He has servants for that. “Why?”

“I didn’t want to look like a Targaryen. I didn’t want to be one at all. But this inheritance cannot be refused, it seems. It’s written into parts of me that can’t be burned away. The whites of the bones, the chambers of the heart.”

It occurs to you as you say it: “Had you not been born a Targaryen, I never would have met you.”

He studies you thoughtfully. “Then perhaps it was not all a curse.”

There are robust, hurried footsteps, and then Aegon’s bedchamber door is thrown open. Daeron stands there. He is already as tall as Aegon. He is athletic, fussily dressed in seafoam green, more conventionally handsome than either of his brothers. He lacks something…an edge, a cynicism. He has a cape that flutters around him as ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

“Seven hells,” Daeron gasps as he approaches Aegon’s bedside, large blue eyes—a clear, shallow blue like Aemond’s—sweeping over Aegon’s wounds: gnarled thickets of angry red scar tissue, raw spots that are still weeping, a scorched landscape like the ruins of Valyria. “You look awful.”

Aegon chuckles. “I know. I’m a roasted pig.”

“A burnt-to-a-crisp pig, rather. A dragon might eat you, but no human would.”

Aemond and Sir Criston stampede into the room, blinking at Daeron as if he is a mirage that may vanish at any moment. Aegon tells Daeron: “Now we must stop discussing pigs.”

Aemond ignores this and addresses Daeron. “You’re supposed to be with Lord Ormund Hightower’s army.”

“That’s where I was. Until the Battle of the Honeywine.”

Aemond exchanges a puzzled glance with Criston. “The what?”

“Well I won it, you see.” Daeron grins, and you suddenly glimpse so much of Aegon in him it hurts, it feels like someone is digging around in the marrow of your bones with a rusty blade. “The nobles of the Reach who have sworn loyalty to Rhaenyra descended upon Lord Ormund’s forces and all hope was lost. Until Tessarion and I arrived. Our enemies look worse than Aegon now, if you can believe it. They are puffs of ash and memory.”

“We haven’t heard anything,” Aemond says.

“News never travels faster than by dragon.”

“But you’re too young to fight,” Criston says dully, his mind struggling to catch up.

“Am I?” Daeron replies with mock scandal. “Thank you for making me aware. I will free Tessarion immediately and take myself back to the nursery. Is there a wetnurse available for suckling? I’ve flown a long way, and I’m very hungry.”

“I’ll tell Mother that you’re here,” Aemond says flatly. “She’ll want to have a feast.” Then he strides out of the bedchamber, long hair streaming and aisles of daylight cutting stripes across his back. After a moment, Criston trots after him.

Daeron says to Aegon: “I heard he stole your crown.”

“No,” Aegon replies, as if he can’t quite believe it himself. “For some reason, he’s only borrowing it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A banquet in the Great Hall would be ostentatious during wartime when others are expected to ration their bread and send their sons to slaughter. Instead, Alicent settles for a private early supper with the royal family and only their most essential guests, of which there are three: Hand of the King Sir Criston Cole, Master of Whisperers Larys Strong, and you.

Daeron is regaling the table with the dramatic tale of his victory at the Battle of the Honeywine. He is using the chunks of carrots and squash on his plate to demonstrate military formations. Otto is beaming at Daeron with bright, probing eyes, suddenly aware of his worth. Alicent touches her youngest son constantly, his hands and his hair and his face. He allows this; perhaps he even enjoys it. He is the only child who does not make her feel like a failure of a mother; he is the only one she can love in a way that is uncomplicated. Helaena stares down at a tiny figurine in her hands, a bear carved out of wood. Aegon made that for her years ago. Aemond says little and frowns often.

Aegon was determined to attend. He wears an emerald green tunic over his bandages, his burns hidden except for the scarlet plume on his right cheek. He sits beside you taking frequent gulps from his wine cup, dripping sweat from his temples, glazed-eyed and exhausted by even the smallest motions: the tearing of a hunk of bread, the slicing of a slab of beef wet with gravy. As he saws with his knife, his movements grow slow and feeble and labored.

“Aegon, please, let me cut that for you.” You reach for his plate; he slides it away.

“I can do it,” he pants.

“Aegon—”

“Dignity,” he says. He wants to keep what little of it he has left. “But if your fingers are too idle, I have another task for you.”

You do not need to ask what he means. Smiling, you begin weaving a fresh braid into his hair; his most recent one was washed out last night. Criston observes this with awkward fascination. Aemond twists off the ring—Aegon’s ring, the golden dragon with jade eyes—and tosses it over. It lands on the tabletop, bounces twice, and comes to rest by Aegon’s wine cup. He picks the ring up and examines it.

“I was wondering where that went.” He slips it onto a finger and grins at Aemond crookedly, mischieviously. “You’re always developing attachments to things that are mine.”

Aemond tells you as you braid Aegon’s hair: “He can do that himself, you know. I’ve seen him. He just pretends he can’t when you’re around.”

“Do we know who the new riders are yet?” Otto asks Larys, and now the conversation has been monopolized by the machinations of war. Everyone—with the exception of Helaena, who is walking her wooden bear across the table like a child would—is listening to Larys.

“Vermithor is ridden by a Dragonstone bastard, the son of a blacksmith,” Larys says. He is eating red grapes with his pink, rodent-like hands; he peels each one completely with his fingernails before popping it into his mouth. “He calls himself Hugh Hammer. Seasmoke was claimed by a boy rumored to be the bastard of Corlys Velaryon.”

Daeron mutters to Aegon: “Goddamn, it’s bastards all the way down over on their side.”

“Silverwing is ridden by a man known as Ulf the White,” Larys continues. “He has the Targaryen coloring. And is supposedly a drunk and an unreliable character all-around.”

Otto casts a glance at Aegon, long and unsubtle. Aegon pretends not to see it.

“And the last one?” Aemond says. “Sheepstealer? Ridden by yet another undesirable dredged up from the slums of Dragonstone, I assume.”

“Interestingly, no,” Larys replies. “She is a girl from Driftmark called Nettles. Fierce, rugged.” He pauses meaningfully, reeling his audience in like fish on hooks. “She is now at Harrenhal with Daemon.”

“With Daemon?” Alicent echoes. “As an…understudy? Strategist? Accomplice?”

“As far more than that, if the rumors are to be believed.”

“Oh, may the Mother have mercy,” Alicent murmurs, gripping her gold necklace in the shape of the seven-pointed star.

“Daemon? With a teenager?!” Criston says. “He’s repulsive. He’s ancient.”

Otto laughs, a wicked low rumble. “Rhaenyra must be mortified! She must think of little else.”

Larys nods, smirking, conniving. “My point is, my lords…and ladies…these lowborn new riders—Dragonseeds, as they are being called—possess unsound loyalties. They risked their lives to claim the beasts for the promise of land and riches, not to help any particular faction win the Iron Throne. They do not love Rhaenyra or her cause. Already they are causing discord within the Blacks’ ranks. In time, they may prove to be liabilities more than assets, and if we could win even only Vermithor or Silverwing to our side…”

You peer over at Aegon as plots sail across the table. He is swaying in his seat, hands trembling, agonized and empty like a dry well. His eyes are dark and glassy; he gazes inanely straight ahead. He needs to leave soon, and you will go with him. But you have one question to ask first.

You say to Larys: “Do you think the Pact of Ice and Fire might be dissolved? Now that Jace is dead?”

Everyone looks at you; everyone, that is, except Aegon and Helaena. They are well-matched for once, equally present in body but not in soul. Too late, you realize that perhaps this was an unwise inquiry. You should not be attracting attention to yourself. You should not be expressing anxiety about Cregan Stark’s allegiances.

Fortunately, Larys does not seem to be wary. He titters, peeling a grape with those rat-like little fingers. “I don’t think we’ll get that lucky, Lady Thorne. Cregan fancies himself to be an honorable man, and he believes Rhaenyra—as Viserys’ allegedly chosen heir—to be the honorable choice. And I’m sure she will offer him some redress for his lost future daughter-in-law, perhaps a daughter of Joffrey.”

“Or Daemon and Nettles,” Daeron adds, snickering.

“In any case, there is another matter keeping Cregan on the Blacks’ side,” Larys says. “I heard months ago that he is apparently smitten with some Celtigar girl, and she’s been promised to him—”

Aegon groans and nearly tumbles out of his chair; you leap up to steady him. “The king must be taken back to bed immediately.”

Alicent stands and throws down her green cloth napkin onto the table. She’s wrung it with nervous hands into a tight little twist. “I’ll go with you.”

You and Alicent trail after the guards as they carry Aegon to his bedchamber. Grand Maester Orwyle meets you there and helps you undress Aegon, drug him, clean him, inspect his wounds for any new abrasions or signs of festering, apply honey to raw patches, work warm rose oil into the scar tissue around his joints, rebandage him with fresh strips of linen. Alicent watches all of this with tears brimming in her eyes, those vast shadowy pools of memories, so few of them good.

When Orwyle is gone and Aegon drifts in bottomless psychic darkness that he will likely not surface from for days, you ask Alicent: “Would you like to touch him? You can. On his hands, his face. It’s alright. You won’t harm him.”

Her own hands are clasped together so tightly her knuckles are a bloodless shade of white. “I won’t?”

“No. Come and see.”

She steps closer tentatively. She ghosts her fingertips across his limp left hand, where his dragon ring glints and his flesh is unscarred. Then she threads his braid through her hand. Her voice is so soft you can barely hear her, though she stands right beside you. “If he died, it would kill me.”

I understand. I’m afraid that’s becoming true for me too. It’s spreading like infection, like plague. “He’s not going to die. He is mending.”

Alicent nods, sniffling, swiping tears from her flushed, puffy face. “What can I do? Anything?”

“Tell him you love him. And that you’re proud of him. That he is a true Targaryen and a worthy king.”

“Yes,” she agrees; but she looks as if you have given her instructions in a language she does not speak. She flees from the room in a daze, in a nightmare she cannot wake up from.

An hour later, you are sitting on Aegon’s floor in an corridor of late-afternoon sunlight and reading a book on herbology when Aemond comes to collect you. He never tells you where you’re going, and now is no exception. You follow him down hallways and staircases, through throngs of courtiers who wear green and toast to the deaths of Jace Velaryon and those traitors at the Battle of the Honeywine. Contrary to your best guesses, Aemond does not lead you to the council chamber or the rookery or the library.

“I have a surprise for you,” he says as he beckons you out into the gardens. There are a group of nobles clustered by a trickling fountain and chatting merrily. One of them is Sir Rickard Thorne. “Your family is here.”

Cold blood in your veins, a terror like a prey animal’s, legs that threaten to buckle. Your shoes halt mid-step. “Family…?”

“Some of Sir Rickard’s relatives came to visit him before we march north. I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to see your aunt and cousins—”

A woman screams, a sound like glass breaking. She drops the cup she was holding and wine floods across the cobblestones like blood. Her hands fly up to her face. You know her: Sir Rickard Thorne’s mother, a name like Clara or Cora or Camila. Her daughters yelp and gape alongside her. Aemond is baffled but not alarmed. The truth is too unthinkable for him to consider.

“Why is she here?!” Sir Rickard Thorne’s mother hisses through bared teeth.

Aemond looks at you, then to the woman. “She is not your kin…?”

“She’s not ours.” Sir Rickard Thorne’s mother points at you, a finger like a knife, stabbing, lethal. “She’s one of Bartimos Celtigar’s daughters!”

Someone is yelling, not you, but someone. People are making accusations and demands. Aemond is not listening to any of them. He is staring at you with his remaining eye wide and filling up with blade-sharp realization, shock, betrayal, hatred. You have no good options. You choose a not-good one. You bolt away from him and through the gardens, trampling flowers and ricocheting off marble statues. You can hear Aemond behind you, swift and deft like a falcon. You crash through a wall of scrubs and tumble blindly into a fishpond. You gasp for air as you burst up out of the water, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on rocks slick with algae. Panicked fish zoom by you, their fins leaving paper-thin gashes in your skin. Aemond is at the water’s edge, his hand closing around your wrist to drag you from the pond. And now there is nothing funny about it; now Aemond isn’t smiling.

You’re on the cobblestones and coughing water from your lungs, you’re being yanked upright, you’re being hauled through the gardens. You claw and shove, you fight him viciously. It’s just like when you first met. Except that now Aemond knows exactly who you are.

“Aemond, stop, stop, please listen to me—”

“You fucking liar,” he seethes. He is towing you out into the streets of King’s Landing. Where? Where? “In our bedrooms. In our council meetings. While your father bankrolls Rhaenyra’s treason.”

“I meant no harm to you—”

“House Thorne!” Aemond roars into your face. “I asked you which family was yours and you said House Thorne, you masqueraded as a Green, you deceived us, you lied to me—”

“So you would let me help him!” you shout back. “You asked me to save Aegon’s life and I did, I did and I was the only one who could, and you never would have let me near him if you knew who my family was!”

“A Celtigar.” He snarls it like a curse that can kill. “You never cared about any of us.”

“That’s not true.”

“A traitor, a spy.”

“I never spied—”

“Sending letters home to your avaricious demon of a father.”

You strike at Aemond’s chest as hard as you can, hard enough to try to get him to listen. “I never wrote letters! Not one! They don’t know I’m here, they don’t know anything, all I’ve done since the second I met you was serve your house, your king!”

“Keep moving,” Aemond snaps. Smallfolk and mule carts jostle by you. Street venders and shopkeepers bellow out the attributes of their merchandise. You are accustomed to the aftermath of battles, but not filthy and bustling city streets. You are overwhelmed by foreign sights, sounds, scents. People gawk and bow when they spot Aemond, perhaps genuinely, perhaps because they know he commands the largest dragon in the world and does not shy away from murder. Where is he taking me? Where?

There are women wandering in the streets now, their faces smeared with sweated-through makeup, their sleeves hanging off their shoulders. They simper at the prince regent, they reach out to comb their long painted fingernails through his hair. They are prostitutes.

No, you think. No no no.

“Aemond, where are we going?”

“Exactly where you belong. You sell lies. There are lots of women who make a living that way.”

“You can’t do this,” you say with horror.

“I assure you, I can do just about anything.”

“You found me!” you scream at Aemond. “You dragged me off the battlefield at Rook’s Rest and into that tent, you brought me to King’s Landing, every step I made was orchestrated by you, you found me, so don’t you act like I gained anything from this except the satisfaction of saving your brother’s life when you were incapable of it!”

“Your father funds Rhaenyra’s war effort,” Aemond says with chilling matter-of-factness. “Now you can help fund ours.”

“No!” You struggle against his grip, scratch at his face. Your fingers catch on the strap of his eyepatch and tear it away. Beneath is a sapphire that glitters cruelly in a nest of the frayed remnants of his eyelids. You shriek, but there is no one to help you, nowhere to run.

“Are you finished now?” Aemond demands, glaring ferociously: one eye of flesh, the other of cold earth-mined fire. He draws his dagger from his belt and lays the blade against your jugular. “Yes, you are. You’d better be.”

He brings you to a doorway. There is a woman standing in it: voluptuous, beautiful, middle-aged, hair long and braided and the warm brown color of a stag’s coat. She summons a practiced, enticing smile. She knows about things you do not want to imagine. “Hello again, my prince.”

They are already acquainted. Aemond does not seem pleased that she is being so forthright about it. “She will stay here,” he says, meaning you, this terrified woman with a dagger to the pulsing arteries of her throat.

“Yes,” the brothel madam agrees immediately.

“She will be put to work. Each week, someone will come to collect her wages.”

“Very good, my prince.”

“She must be watched closely.”

“All the girls are.”

“Especially closely. If she tries to escape, kill her.”

“Yes, my prince,” the madam says as you breathe in the sweat, salt, cries, moans, feigned pleasure, real pain of this place.

“Aemond, please don’t do this, please don’t leave me here, not here, anywhere but here—”

He flings you into the arms of the madam, tucking his dagger away. He gives you one last glance—dismissive, hateful, soulless—and then disappears into the swarming, anonymous streets.

Who will save me?

“You poor thing, you’ve had the fright of your life, haven’t you?” the brothel madam says, stroking your hair tenderly.

Clement? Father? Alicent? Aegon?

“Don’t worry, love. You can help in the kitchen tonight. We’ll get you situated tomorrow. I can’t have you running off clients with this hysteria anyway.”

No one knows I’m here.

“It isn’t so bad. You’ll see. We’ll take good care of you.”

How will they save me if no one knows I’m here?

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fic #aegon ii x reader #hotd fanfic

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lalalian · 14 days

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aethergarde academy interior pt.2

date: september 15, 2024

I was gonna post this yesterday but I didn't wanna spam a bunch of posts, yk?

Part 1 here!

Anyway, before we get to the images, let's talk take a quick look at a map.

Aethergarde Academy, as seen in the script, is located on a floating island. Unlike Naurena, Aethergarde's floating island isn't manmade, it's naturally occurring.

I wrote this in my script awhile ago but I'm pretty sure it's not in the public script.. you can place this paragraph the More Travel Details dropdown under the pic of Aethergarde's school building:

"The city that owns the territory Aethergarde resides in is called Itresal (ee-treh-sul), which is the capital of the Empire. It’s a very affluent city, and many many people want to live here (it's not cheap to live in Itresal though). The festivals here tend to be pretty extravagent, and there's always tons of vendors in certain streets. Do expect to see traveling merchants often at the docks or in festivals and vendor populated areas."

norcross archipelago:

This is essentially the play area for dragons, though many dragons also like to lounge around Tybees and Plymond. The islands in the Norcross Archipelago are:

Gyrios Isle (Guy-rose)

Summorset Isle (Summer-set)

Cruest Isle (Croo-est)

Noble's Board (the island itself is simply known as the Noble's isle)

Did you see the huge tree on Summorset Isle? That general area is where Talonspyre is celebrated on campus. A tree isn't always there (the talonspyre tree is cut down and the resources are used to make potions sold in the campus' apothecary store (potion and herb store)) but that general area is fenced in for this specific event. You cannot go in there unless you obtain a pass or yk just wait till Talonspyre.

Cruest Isle is a common bathing spot for dragons, a fence is placed at the edge of the waterfall to prevent any dragons from falling off the island. An older dragon does tend to sit near the edge of the waterfall just to make sure nobody gets into an accident.

Gyrios is pretty boring honestly; Both Summorset and Gyrios are frequented by the young to learn how to hunt.

Tybees and Plymond are also used for hunting. Dragons may venture off campus to hunt, but they're advised not to go too far. If a dragon needs to hunt off campus, they must go in groups of three (at least 3, the more the better). Dragons who are younger than two years old must go with two dragon advisors (these dragons are bonded to the teachers at the academy) but dragons older than that are required to take one dragon advisor to leave campus.

If you've seen the 1st part, you probably know what's on Noble's island... Yes, it's the noble's dorm, also referred to as Noble's Board. Before it was built, that island was simply another play area for the dragons.

These islands also serve as great flying practice areas for both riders and dragons!

guardian aviaries

An aviary is a essentially just a huge collection of dragon nests. There are two large aviaries, the one labelled on the map and the ones in the mountains behind the Aethergarde Academy building.

Your dragon's species does affect where their personal nest is. Your dragon will move into a nest when they are unable to stay in your dorm or in the nursery; so about 3-4 months. If your dragon is particularly clingy, you may have to deal with them trying to catch your attention in the middle of the night by roaring loudly around the dorms or, if your room has a window, peeking through the window.

Since you guys will be bonded to a gilded dragon, you will more than likely have a window spot near the Guardian Aviary just so you can monitor your dragon more closely as gildeds are quite infamous for being uncooperative.

tybees & plymond

These islands are, again, considered a play area for dragons. Sometimes, dragons will go to Tybees to get alone time, as Tybees is the least frequented island.

Plymond also has a large waterfall lake situation like Cruest; it also has a fence at the end of the waterfall.

harklorn embassy

Harklorn Embassy is the first building you'll enter when you go to Aethergarde; you will receive your student ID (Your Keystone) in this building. This embassy handles everything related to transportation in and out of Aethergarde. That space next to the building is where the dragons land, though Aethergarde is in talks with Aiellesbia to expand the island somehow to create more space on the island.

This island will likely undergo expansion of some kind in your 2nd yr of school.

Nobody goes directly to Aethergarde first; you must be approved through Harklorn to even fly onto the main island. If you try to fly directly onto Aethergarde's island first... it's like walking into a glassdoor. There's an invisible forcefield around the entire island, including Tybees, Plymond, the Guardian islands, and the Norcross Archipelago. If you try to enter without getting a pass of some kind, officials within Aethergarde are alerted.

Anyway, if you're entering Aethergarde temporarily, you receive a scroll that disperses into ash once you use it (1 full use is entry into the building and checking out). Similar to entry, you must go directly to Harklorn to leave.

Why the strict system? Well, Aethergarde needs to know who has and has not been in the area. If someone's gone missing or is considered a suspect in a criminal investigation, it helps to know who you are and if you're still in the area.

Students are automatically tracked into the system once you get your keystone, as soon as you fly out, a quill will take note of your departure. Your keystone tracks your location, so if you do need help, send a message to someone with your keystone.

What about dragons? Do they have to check into Harklorn? Yes! Sometimes older dragons will want to fly onto campus to check things out. Because the area around Aethergarde has a high concentration of mana, it attracts magical creatures, including dragons.

Dragons can sense the forcefield and will simply route to Harklorn to enter. It's not like riders can't sense the forcefield, they can, but humans cannot.

If you are a rider, you need to register your dragon into the system. You cannot just fly into the area on your dragon; again, it's like running into a glass door, you'll be bonked by the invisible forcefield.

onto the interior

Whew, that was more than I wanted to write, honestly 😭😭

Let's start with the exterior!

this is what the outdoor hallways would look like!

you may see some dragons perched around these hallways during class time (especially the younger ones) because they wanna get a glimpse of their rider

in the photo of the school in the script, there isn't a roof over the outdoor corridors, but there will be for some of the corridors + a forcefield will form just before it rains for the hallways that don't have roofs

there will be some of these outdoor grassy areas around the school

you will also see dragons perched around here too lmao

this is great area to have a picnic

another garden type area

more outdoor corrider pics

this pic and the next one are some of the larger courtyards that would be on campus

they have several tables around too for students to eat outdoors, though, there is a dining hall (cafeteria) in the building too

the table and chairs pictured here is one of the tables set up for the students to use

please pick up after yourself

I mean you can just leave your plates there (since most nobles aren't used to cleaning up after themselves, they'll usually do this 😭😭), but yk it'd be easier for the keepers if you just took your plates inside

the interior (finally)

this is like the stairs and stuff, idk LMAO

completely enclosed area

smaller classrooms are here

...more stairs

this is where the larger classrooms would be

This is the dining hall (cafeteria)

the dining hall can also be called the mess hall

usually knights and commoners refer to the cafeteria as the mess hall

nobles usually call it the dining hall, your teachers will call it the dining hall

anyway this is completely inside, the stairs leading up the to chairs are actually for the emperor, empress, king, or queen when they visit. You cannot sit here! If all four figures show up to the dining hall, the emperor and empress will sit at the chairs, and the king and queen will sit at another table reserved for them

If your dragon is less than a year old, I would recommend sitting inside bc they could easily swoop in and eat your food

aethergarde's crest will be visible on the bottom portion of those light blue banners

another angle of the dining hall

the entrance and exit to the dining hall through the double doors seen at the far left side of the photo (there is another set of doors across the ones pictured in the photo)

this is the meeting room (between all the students + the teachers)

you will go here for orientation

the inner most circle will have a large globe displaying the world map

the average student won't actually go here often

unfortunately for you, you are not the average student, and there is a world conflict going on that you will be directly involved with so... hope you like the room! the windows look nice don't they?~

This is the library

that gigantic book helps the librarian find books in the library

speaking of which, if you need a book, instead of finding it yourself, I really would just ask the librarian

this library is fucking h u g e, just let the librarian make the big ass book summon a novel for you

the book has the name of every single book that has graced the shelves of the library + it's status (like if it's been checked out, still available, destroyed, or is no longer in the academy)

the librarian will essentially cast a spell on the large book, and books you want will appear on the shelves along the stem of the book structure

there are multiple copies of textbooks you need for your classes, but do know that there's only like 10 max of each textbook

just get your own textbooks

there are also fictional books in the library, it's not all boring stuff!

this is one of the private apocathery rooms, you have to rent one out to use one

ask the librarian to rent a room; it's located in the library

wanna know more about my aethergarde academy dr? here's a masterlist with everything I've posted about it!

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting community #shifting blog #lalalian #desired reality #shifters #shifting diary #shifttok #scripting #aethergarde academy dr #dr scrapbook #original dr scrapbook

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veritas-scribblings · 4 months

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sharp - @bartylusmicrofic - words: 812

Barty hates snow. He hates the cold. He hates the wet. He hates how his socks get soggy when he isn’t careful enough. How the frost and the chill makes him sneeze. How his beanie squishes his hair and his scarf suffocates him. How his fingers freeze when they’re exposed and feel like puffy marshmallows when they’re covered with mittens. He hates, most of all, how it makes it very difficult for him to use his wand properly.

Sometimes, though, Barty loves snow. He loves how it dusts Regulus’s shoulders when it falls on him. He loves how Regulus’s curls peak out from beneath his beanie. How Regulus breathes out furls of white like a beautiful little dragon. How Regulus’s nose goes pink and his cheeks go pink, and how adorable he looks with his mittens and his gloves. He loves how Regulus sometimes tries to draw pictures in the snow. How he sometimes absentmindedly squishes the snow into a ball and creates a pile of snowballs that Barty calls his ‘croquembouche tower’.

On a relatively clear day, the snow brings students outside to skate on the lake and to build snowmen and to have snowball fights. All those wonderfully juvenile behaviours that Regulus and Evan scorn and Barty thinks actually looks like fun, because he really wouldn’t mind pelting people with snow and cackling at their despair.

Barty watches longingly as a crowd of first-years begins to build what looks like incredibly demented snowmen. The idiots have taken their scarves and beanies off to dress their creations, and between the lot of them he reckons there’ll be many a cold developing. But hey, survival of the fittest, right?

Gathered by the lake, they’re stationary targets, prime for the pelting. It would be a lie to not admit that Barty is tempted, because he really is. A good lesson, Barty thinks, in being more aware of ones surroundings. He has good aim. Maybe he could even take them out from where he current is, seated nearby under the trees.

However, he has Regulus in his arms resting against his chest, his fingers carding through Regulus’s hair. Regulus has snuggled close for warmth as he reviews what looks like some poorly written potions notes.

‘Such an idiot,’ Regulus scoffs. ‘He has labelled snake venom as a poison. It’s a venom. It’s in the name! Meanwhile, he doesn’t understand the function of starches as a thickening agent or a stabiliser. I wouldn’t trust him to purchase from an apothecary, let alone be anywhere near a potions lab. The moron will probably end up blowing himself to bits.’

‘Why are you even bothering with this? Let him fail. Survival of the fittest, you know. All that.’ Barty tucks his cloak around the both of them when Regulus shivers at a particularly frosty gust of wind.

Regulus rolls his eyes. ‘Slughorn asked me to tutor him. Wicker is in remedial potions. He needs all the help he can get; the guy doesn’t even know what end of his wand he should be casting from. And,’ Regulus stresses, his brow creased into the smallest, most endearing little frown, ‘if I can reduce the stupidity and incompetence of the general wizarding population by even the slightest of fractions, I think I might be doing a service for the future of our people. Prevent the collective lowering of intelligence over the generations.’

‘Must be all the bludgers to the head. Lost him some braincells.’ Barty laughs and presses his face in Regulus’s neck, causing Regulus to yelp in protest.

‘Stop, your nose is cold!’

Barty cackles, traps Regulus in his arms and does it again, this time nuzzling. When Regulus begins thrashing around, Barty leans close and whispers, ‘Careful how you wiggle about, Reg, you’re getting me all excited and there are kids present.’

Regulus huffs, but he goes still anyway and rests back into Barty’s arms. ‘Getting you excited,’ he mutters with a sharp, sidelong look at Barty. ‘You passed excited a kilometre back.’

‘Your fault,’ Barty chuckles. ‘You’ve been wiggling about for a while now. I’m a healthy adolescent and it’s a perfectly natural bodily function.’

Regulus rolls his eyes and tucks away the potions notes (an essay by the half-witted Wicker, Barty presumes). He’s holding back a smile, Barty knows. It’s a small, soft smile, the kind that Regulus has when he speaks to Barty with gentle, soft words. None of that cold and sharp and acid he has for others.

Those soft words and soft smiles warm Barty’s heart, and when he has Regulus in his arms, Barty knows he isn’t alone. That Regulus is his and they are forever. And he knows that together, they’ll weather any darkness and they will prevail.

And maybe they’ll even gather some snowballs and pelt those silly first-years together, and it’ll be a whole tonne of fun.

#harry potter #fanfiction #microfics #regulus black #barty crouch jr #bartylus #starkiller #myfanfiction #regulus x barty #mybartylusmicrofics

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paracosmic-gt · 1 year

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Aldersize

An umbrella term for those who wish to have a body of significantly different height to their current. This is a height that is generally unattainable by humans. These individuals may experience size dysphoria, however this is not necessary to use these labels.

Below are two general labels that fall under this umbrella:

Aldertiny

An aldernic identity for those who have, or wish to have, a body height that is significantly smaller than human. This body height is usually scientifically unattainable by humans. This body can be human, humanoid, or nonhuman.

Examples of people who might use this label (not exhaustive):

A member of the g/t community who wishes to have a smaller body so as to align with their size preference.

An individual with a mouse theriotype wanting to be small to align with their past life.

A fairy otherkin.

Aldergiant

An aldernic identity for those who have, or wish to have, a body height that is significantly larger than human. This body height is usually scientifically unattainable by humans. This body can be human, humanoid, or nonhuman.

Examples of people who might use this label (not exhaustive):

A member of the g/t community who wishes to have a larger human body so as to align with their size preference.

A dragon otherkin wanting to be large to align with themselves.

---

If you are a member of the g/t fam, please reblog this. I want to help anyone who may be suffering like we did with size issues.

However, these labels can be used by anyone in any community who feels joy in a different size.

These labels can be combined with other alterhuman and aldernic identities. - Para

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athingofvikings · 6 months

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A Thing Of Vikings Chapter 79: On The Threshold

Chapter 79: On The Threshold

One of the great paradoxes that comes from the study of history is that historians are forced to simultaneously speak in both concrete and abstract terms. We say 'the society decided to change' at the same time as we speak of the leaders making specific decisions. But the society did not decide to change. The Hooligans of Berk, for example, did not, as some abstract whole, decide to adopt dragons and grow to become the core of a new sovereign nation over the next five years. Nor did then-Chief Stoick's decision to allow for the adoption of dragons force this decision. No. Individuals within that society decided to change, in how they acted or how they viewed the world, while others did not. And yet we are forced to speak in the aggregate, the cumulative, taking the broad trend of the social unit and applying it to all members inside. We can recognize the individual dissenters when their dissent from the mean is sufficient to stand out, and yet this very recognition paints a degree of uniformity on the rest that is both unrealistic and unearned.

Furthermore, referring to the aggregate of the society in the abstract creates a false impression of their numbers, simply due to the common fallacies of equivocation and false equivalence (i.e. we call them the same thing, ergo we see them as being roughly the same). We project ourselves and our own modern expectations and experiences with current political entities onto the past, despite those historical units being vastly smaller, simpler, and less developed). We speak of the Byzantine Empire and the North Sea Empire as two simple units. Due to the difficulties that many have with comprehending large numbers and larger scales, the typical comprehension of the concept of "Empire" lends itself to a false equivalence, that one Empire is much like another Empire in size, population, economy, culture and so forth, but that mental abstraction again does a disservice in scale. To illustrate, consider that, in AD 1040, there were more people occupying Constantinople and the Thracian farmland immediately outside the city's famous walls than there were in all of the island of Eire in that same year. Meanwhile, Sweden, Norway and Denmark together had less than a million people combined, while the city of Baghdad alone had over a million people sheltering behind its walls. And again, in making such comparisons, we fall prey to the lure of the abstract, of referencing the masses of otherwise anonymous people as conglomerate wholes.

But at the same time, such abstraction is necessary; we do not have the data to be able to conclusively say that, out of the approximately 300,000 Albans who lived under King Mac Bethad's rule, 68,821 agreed with his stated desire for continued independence from Berk's influence, while another 121,749 would have been happier if he had made overtures of integration prior to his fatal duel with Astrid clan Haddock. Such precision is not available to us and we are thus forced to speak in the abstract and the aggregate, erasing the heterogeneous beliefs and attitudes of entire generations—save those individuals who had the foresight to record their thoughts, or the impact that inspired others to record them.

—To Label The Stars: The Cultural Impact Of Names, Kyoto University Press, Ltd.

AO3 Chapter Link

~~~

My Original Fiction | Original Fiction Patreon

#a thing of vikings #httyd #how to train your dragon #alternate history #historical fiction

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daily-fantasy-ideas · 1 year

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Had a new idea for a kind of bastard spellcaster, the Invoker:

Invoking the power of other beings is not something particularly strange in the world of spell-casting, there are in fact numerous (typically at least somewhat religious) varieties of spellcasters whose primary method of casting involves invoking the abilities of some higher power.

Now invokers on the other hand are seen as different. Unlike with the other invocative casters, there is no exchange or communication between the one invoking and the one whose power is being invoked.

To do this invoker requires a remnant of some powerful thing (most often biofacts are used), for example, a mythic hero's strand of hair, a dragon's scale, the fragment of a legendary sword, or a divine's blood droplet suspended in glass.

In order to invoke the power contained within the remnants collected most invokers use a three-staged magical device.

Stage one is the holder where the remains physically go, they're often suspended within an open casing of some sort so they can be swapped in and out with ease.

Stage two is a connector inscribed with the words of rituals that connect the remains to the final stage of the device.

Stage three is the casting head, this is from where the invoked power is sent out and made a tangible force in the world

An example of one of these devices could be a traditional-looking wizard staff with the remnants placed at the top, with the ritual words inscribed upon the shaft of the staff, with a sharpened point acting as the casting head at the staff's base.

An alternative example could be could involve a waist bag-esq holder for the remnant with an inscribed leather cord connecting the holder to a swand acting as the casting head.

Additionally, while most people upon gaining new knowledge and experience of the world increase their own power and become stronger and better people for it, invokers can instead pour this developmental potential into the remnants they possess to increase the power and number of feats remnants are able to perform.¹

Further, if needed an invoker can also pour their own life force into a remnant to give it a temporary boost.²

Additional idea stuff I couldn't add in the main text.

¹ Yes that is just me saying they can level up the remnants instead of themselves, but it's a bit of a gamble as they might not get something good from it (at first at least).

²Yes that is just me saying they can sacrifice health for more powerful abilities, but again it's a gamble but one which can be rerolled if the invoker has placed levels into certain skills. The amount of health sacrificed is also proportional to the power boost gained.

The particular method of invocation used by invokers is descended from a school of assassination spells that sapped people's power at range to either weaken or kill them.

Invoking too much from one entity into short of a timespan can weaken the entity's power temporarily.

Invoking the power of just like some normal guy can drain them so much power that they die.

The things that the remnants are taken from might become aware that their power is being invoked.

Invocation can go massively wrong and the invoked power can turn explicitly against the invoker.

Sometimes the things being invoked will attempt to take revenge against the invokers, by either destroying them or manipulating them with the promise of more power.

Some invoked entities are actually just fine being invoked, as the invoker might actually be spreading their will.

Some people technically fall under the label of invoker but they gain the permission of those who they invoke, these types of invoker are more rare and less disliked and more simply seen as weird.

There can be remnants of intangible things such as forces, these too can be invoked.

The dead can be invoked.

The invoked power of most dead things is generally less potent than the invoked power of those that live.

This idea was created entirely because the word "invoke" sounds cool to me, everything else just kinda spiralled out from that

#long post #fantasy ideas #world building #fantasy magic #fantasy magic system #fantasy characters

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dandy-dog · 8 months

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📌🌈🐶☀️

★ SOLAR - 23 YEARS OLD - QUEER - POLYAM - CLOSED - AUTISTIC - GNC TRANS GUY - ALTERHUMAN - WHITE - BRITISH - HE / IT ★

Hey there! My name's Cody, but I generally tend to go by Solar, Ray or Sunny online. That said, you can call me pretty much whatever you want. I'm not too picky. I'm a hobbyist artist, occasional writer and professional dog who's had the misfortune of being on this miserable hellsite (do people still call Tumblr that?) since 2014. I was around before then, but I didn't make an account until that point. My blog isn't strictly NSFW, but I do reblog posts with dirty humour and references to sex. So if you're a minor or someone who doesn't want to see that kind of thing? I wouldn't recommend following me. Want to know more about me or about this blog? You can find more info under the cut! ✌️

The dividers in this post were made by @chocoperrito and you can find them here! ❤

》 WHAT'S THIS BLOG ABOUT, DOG MAN?

I'm glad you asked! This is my main blog so it's generally just a mish mash of all sorts. Anything and everything pertaining to my interests goes here, it's a total free-for-all. That said, you can mostly expect reblogs about queer topics, political and social issues, different media that I like, shitposts and furry art. Lots and lots of furry art. I may occasionally post my own art here and possibly my own writing in the future if I feel confident enough.

》 WHAT ARE YOU INTERESTED IN?

I am, in fact, a human person with nuance so you can argue that no matter how many things I tell you that I like? None of this will even come close to conveying the full spectrum of who I am, so please keep that in mind. I'm more than my interests. That said, it doesn't mean I can't at least give you an idea of the things I enjoy so to name a few things offhandedly: I really enjoy art, writing, reading, poetry, photography, filmmaking, animation, cartoons, video games, RPGs, 3D platformers, visual novels, folk punk music, ska music, 80 and 90s visual aesthetics, bright colours, primary colours, breakfast foods, thrifting, kitsch, antiques, tacky button-ups, animatronics, toy restoration, early 2000s internet, xenofiction, medieval fantasy, lost media, queer history, TV history, film history, furry history (namely the funny animal era and 2000s era), cooking, horror movies, folklore, cryptids, musicals, storytelling, worldbuilding, history, psychology, archaeology, zoology, etymology and space!

》 WHAT MEDIA DO YOU LIKE?

I like a lot of different media and the ones I actively choose to engage with fluctuates pretty frequently, but currently the ones of note are... Pokémon, Warriors, Watership Down, Animal Crossing, The Lion King, Ginga Nagareboshi Gin, Beastars, The Legend of Zelda, Bugsnax, Banjo Kazooie, Viva Pinata, Spyro, Crash Bandicoot, Sonic The Hedgehog, Zero Escape, Ace Attorney, Another Code, Welcome To Nightvale, Little Shop Of Horrors, Ride The Cyclone, Starkid, Be More Chill, Heathers, Cats, Waitress, In The Heights, Silent Hill, Resident Evil, A Nightmare On Elm Street, Child's Play, The Gregory Horror Show, The Owl House, Steven Universe, Portal, Half Life, TF2, HLVRAI, What We Do In The Shadows, Our Flag Means Death, Interview With The Vampire, Doctor Who, Red Dwarf, Scott Pilgrim, Sam And Max, The Good Place, Gravity Falls, My Little Pony, Night In The Woods, Slay The Princess, Dragon Age, Fable and Good Omens! Hyperfixations are bolded, because like it or not I am autistic and that does affect which of these wretched things will get a stranglehold on my attention at any given time 👍

》 YOU'RE QUEER? WHAT ARE YOUR LABELS?

I'm a gender non-conforming trans man. I go by he/him and it/its pronouns and I mostly use masculine terms (man, dude, guy, etc.) or non-gendered ambiguous terms (thing, mutt, dog, etc.) to refer to myself. That said, all this does vary whenever I feel like it and I've got no intentions of trying to mirror cis men. I see myself as a man in the same way Bugs Bunny is a man, masculine in theory but pretty malleable in practice. A man but tilted a bit too much to the left so it doesn't quite fit on the "pallatable for cis people" gender shelf.

My gender is pretty intertwined with my non-human identity; All genders feel like a costume but ambiguously fruity man is the most comfortable one for me personally. I'm a vaguely man-shaped dog thing that's just trying to resemble a person above all else, if we're being entirely honest here.

I use the labels pansexual and queer pretty interchangeably. Gender doesn't really play a part in who I'm attracted to, it's pretty irrelevant and just kind of a neat bonus more than anything. That said? Overall I'm predominantly attracted to other queer people! I do class myself as acchillean because of my attraction to other men but in a non-committal handwave kind of way, considering how weird my relationship with my own gender currently is.

I consider myself as polyamorous. I can comfortably exist in both monogamous and polyamorous relationships but between the two? Up to now I've found the latter is my preference.

Also, I know I don't owe anyone an explanation about my identity. I'm talking about this because I'd like to (queer expression is fun to talk about yippeeee) and not because I feel obligated to. People aren't owed your life story, especially people on the internet ✌️

》 DO YOU HAVE A BYF / DNI?

No, I don't have a DNI. I've come to realise that the culture surrounding DNI lists in online spaces isn't healthy and I'd far rather just curate my own spaces however I feel like it! Not that I wasn't doing that before now but given that? A DNI feels like an unnecessary step that just serves to perpetuate that culture which I don't want to do. The block button exists to be used, I block people wherever I need to for the sake of my own comfort and I recommend you do the same 🤷 That said: I'm a queer neurodivergent leftist. So I have the exact kind of opinions you'd probably expect with those descriptors in mind. All good faith identities are valid, any kind of queer exclusion is bad, bigotry towards any marginalised group is bad. Fascism and capitalism are both poison, cringe culture is dead, do what you want forever so long as it's not hurting anything or anyone and everyone deserves kindness unless they themselves don't show it. Truly some never before heard takes here on Tumblr dot com.

》 WHAT ABOUT A TAGLIST?

Not yet, but I'm slowly working on it. In the meantime? Here's what you mainly need to know. You can find my talking and general shitposts under solar talks, or my art under dog draws. I do have content warning tags! I try to be conscientious and tag anything that I know is a common trigger for people (blood, gore, bones, bright colours, insects, etc) as and where I can. I format all of my content warning tags as "cw //" and then whatever the content of the post is that needs tagged. So for example, if you don't want to see insects? You can blacklist them on my blog using cw // insects and that should stop you from seeing anything with a number of legs you aren't comfortable with. This same format applies to all of my content warning tags. If there's anything more specific you need tagged? Don't be afraid to let me know. I'm happy to accommodate you wherever you need so long as it doesn't infringe upon my right to exist; If it's something that triggers you? Then it warrants being taken seriously.

》 WHO'S THE GUY IN YOUR ICON?

That would be my fursona, Circuit! He is me, I am him, I love showing him off to people so although the art may change? He's usually the face of my online pressence. Here's his current (slightly outdated, whoops) reference sheet that I made for him:

If you're curious, the art of him I have as my Tumblr icon currently (as of February 4th 2024) was a commission I got and is drawn by Pawtastic!

》 WOW, YOU TALK A LOT.

Sure do bud. Thank you for noticing! Want to hear me talk more? Then I have some sideblogs you can check out if you feel like it. fuzzypath is my Warriors sideblog (active) funky-fella is my Bugsnax sideblog (semi-active) canid-canon is my writing sideblog (WIP, inactive) I also have a NSFW sideblog dedicated to outright hornyposting, but respectfully I'm not sharing that here. If for whatever reason you'd like to see that? PM me privately to ask for it and if you're both 18+ (have your age clearly stated somewhere on your blog) and someone I trust to see it then I'll most likely give it to you!

#pinned post #long post #solar talks #first time making a pinned post so here's hoping this works

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theguardianyaksha · 1 year

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Seeing a post discussing the kingdoms, I decided to give my own knowledge on all of it.

The things I remember about Firene, Brodia, Elusia, and Solm will be under the cut. If there is anything I have missed, please feel free to add to it. There are spoilers of course for those who haven't played, so proceed with caution.

Firene was the first kingdom we were introduced to in the game. Firene is known as the Kingdom of Abundance, and it is located in the southwest area of Elyos. Firene's crest is a flower. They are known to be a philanthropic country. That means they seek to promote the welfare of others. Firene is a deeply religious country that worships the Divine Dragon. Under Queen Ève's lead, they established a non-aggression pact with Solm and Brodia.

Some of the places we visit in game are Firene Castle, Florra Mill Town, and Florra Port. As we were told during the story, Florra Port was a town that was inhabited by farmers and people who generally were not soldiers. Much of Firene is inhabited by farmers. With how Firene promotes peace and tolerance, it is understandable that they would not see the need to have so many soldiers. Firene wants to have peace with the other kingdoms. Building an army may not evoke that idea to others.

Firene's landscape looks to be abundant with plants. It evokes the theme of spring.

The Firene characters are typically named after French fashion labels.

Brodia is the second kingdom we are introduced to. Brodia is known as the Kingdom of Might and is located in the northwest area of Elyos. Their crest looks like a shield with two swords crossed behind it. A crown floats above the shield. Brodia is a rich and militant country and was led by King Morion. Contrary to what that other post had said, Brodia and Elusia's story is tied together. You cannot have one without the other.

King Morion valued pride and strength. As such, he had readily accepted King Hyacinth's challenge because he believed the other king would be honorable. With their countries at war, they had constant clashes. While we only spent a short time in Brodia, we do learn that the Queen of Brodia is alive and away at a fortress far away according to Alcryst's support with Saphir. With the war between Brodia and Elusia raging on, it was a safety precaution. By having the queen sent away to somewhere safe, Brodia could make sure they would still have a leader if the castle were to fall.

Some of the locations we go to in Brodia are: Brodia Castle, the Grand Crossing, and Arena of the Gods.

Brodia's landscape is made of a rocky terrain. While there are not many plants that we can see, there were a few trees that bear the colors of autumn.

Brodia's characters are named after gems and other precious stones.

Elusia is the third kingdom we step foot into. Elusia is known as the Kingdom of Knowledge and is located in the northeast area of Elyos. They are a religious country that was ruled by King Hyacinth. Elusia's people worshipped the Fell Dragon. They had done a ritual to revive King Sombron, but the Fell Dragon had turned on them and killed many of their people.

They are reowned for their academy, Elyos' most prominent institution of higher learning. While we do not see the academy first hand, Ivy's description of it seems to point in the direction that it was run much like Officer's Academy of Garreg Mach Monastery.

Elusia was at war with Brodia and was subjected to constant invasions. While it was not explicitly stated what caused the war between Brodia and Elusia, it is said that Brodia attacked Elusia to stop them from expanding.

Some of the locations we go to in Elusia are: Elusia Castle, Destinea Cathedral, and Givre Port.

Elusia's land is covered in snow, evoking a winter theme.

Elusia's characters have have plant-based names.

Solm is the final kingdom we go to. Solm is known as the Queendom of Freedom and is located in the southeast area of Elyos. They are neutral in the conflict between Brodia and Elusia. It is a matriarchal country. Their crest is a bird. Solm is led by Queen Seforia who embodies Solm's ideals of being free-spirited and devoted to protecting the people of Solm from hostilities. Solm is open minded and has always been on good terms with Firene.

While they had come across as air-headed during their first interaction in the castle, Solm's people are smart. They are able to think ahead and prepare for any situation that comes their way. Queen Seforia kept Timerra's and Fogado's identity a secret as a way to protect them.

Some of the locations we visit in Solm are: Solm Palace, Tullah Desert, Oasis Village, and Azure Coast.

Solm's landscape is made up of arid deserts with occasional oasis found every so often, usually providing water for nearby settlements. They seem to evoke a summer theme.

Solm's characters are named after Italian desserts.

And this is everything I remember about the kingdoms of Fire Emblem Engage.

#fire emblem engage #firene #brodia #elusia #solm

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elilelibeli · 1 month

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transfem marauders era hcs? :))) youre so cool

This is such a good ask because I personally haven’t seen many transfem hcs around.

Thank u the coolest anon. :))

I think the first (and if I am not mistaken only time) I have seen any of the marauders era characters portrayed as a transwoman was Mary in CR. Please anyone that can remember fics with these portrayals send them my way.

As soon as I read this question I just saw Dorcas in my head.

I truly think they give off energy so cool and so majestic it transcends any physical anything.

I just don’t know how to express the way I see her and how cool she is in my head.

- I think she wears shit ton of jewelry. Jewelry was what made them realize their identity in the first place too. I think she was from a filthy rich family and they had like collections of ancient jewelry and stuff. She would sneak into the rooms the family kept those items and just try on rings, necklaces and etc. I think when she put on jewelry she truly felt like herself and cause in her mind jewelry was associated with women that’s how she started questioning everything in the first place (i hope i am making sense)

- when they grow up, she realizes things don’t have gender and starts creating jewelry for everyone to enjoy. They are very skilled and make the most beautiful pieces.

-They realize their gender identity super early but genuinely think it’s how everyone thinks. When she realizes what’s happening that fact that she falls under label transfem is not surprising at all, the fact that not everyone thinks like this is what surprises her the most.

-I hc that in Hogwarts you get ur dorms assigned by the dorms. :D it’s like castle magic. The magic knows where to put you and with who. For example Reg, cause at arrival he still doesn’t know that he is trans automatically is assigned boys dorm and not girls because the magic feels who he is. Dorcas like other non-binary students gets an option to choose their dormroom. Dorcas chooses boys because she really wants to get to know Regulus.

-Dorcas was her assigned name at brith. They never changed it.

-She has a dragon tattoo on her waist and it’s absolutely beautiful (tramp stamp placement)

-Her patronus is a gazelle cause it embodies their energy perfectly (iI also found out that the name dorcas literally means gazelle in greek (idk how accurate this is tbh but it’s so coool)

-Absolutely hates any other apples, but green sour ones.

-They snowboard but never ever ski.

-She usually wears a tie. If it’s not on her neck it’s used as a belt. Somehow someway a tie is always incorporated in their outfit.

-Coffee without sugar kind of person.

-Tech geek forrrrr sureeeee. gadget ruler fr

Okay imma stop mindlessly yapping, as u can tell i love dorcas.

additionally I saw an interview of Hunter Schafer and cause my brain can’t consume any media without relating it to marauders, I was like she is giving me huge Pandora vibes, but her face is giving me more Marlene idk please tell me what y’all think about this. Tbh, I could really see Pandora as a trans woman.

I think I have given more general hcs rather than specifically transfem related ones. Sorry :(

but I do think non-binary or trans people can give better and more accurate hcs about this topic.

Please let me know what u think. Share ur headcanons and opinions.

I really love seeing trans hcs and always want to incorporate those experiences in whatever I write, but since I am not trans and can not take example from my personal experiences there can be some inaccuracies in things I write, so please if there’s something that I need to educate myself about related with trans experiences let me know. ❤️

#ele answers #yappinggggggg

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anendoandfriendo · 4 months

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Okay so now that we got your attention through a meme —

To be honest, this is why we would support the abolishment of the DSM alongside capitalism in favor of simply letting the person dictate what they need. That's still an oversimplification but like...let's just talk about an example that's been grating on us since day one of seeing it (and is only in our labels hoard because it's the current closest fit).

Community-defined wordage for low support autism is literally (from [the?] mogai dragon actually iwrc):

Low Support Autistic (LSP; LSAP; Low Support Person; Low Support Autistic Person) - Anyone who more often than not lives independently and may only need assistance with minor things like balancing a checkbook, getting started on some tasks like organizing a garage sale or arranging to move from one house to another.

If your definition of low support needs (or your definition of ANY support needs) involves a checkbook, at least if you are based in the US then you're hopelessly out of date. Fucking NOBODY uses checkbooks anymore (we have literally asked the bank before and they always seem surprised to see anyone who's from generation z asking them).

The rest of the stuff being listed is stuff that is a bunch of huge tasks that ANYONE would need help with.

So, it's literally the autistic community that's needlessly pathologizing behavior at this point, not the allistics.

Like, please understand that when we say we are low support we mean we are NO support actually, because we actually know how to fucking look at what people do and see when it is bullshit to imply specific things are abnormal (or assume abnormal means pathology).

No shade on people who actually are low support and have more extreme needs that would fall under this label. "Letting the individual advocate for what they need in theie communities" also means AAC, caregivers when needed, and stuff that is already there (<- which, tbf, may not be low support needs but we are worried enough that can see y'all trying to use medium support, supportflux, and high support folks as tokens already). We just think as things stand the current psychiatric system is extremely gate-keepy and gaslight-y.

So we just...

Ugh. It's more just....we wish there was a "no support autistic" label flag. It'd probably fall more under either enorder or like a neutrally-defined secret fourth thing (third thing would be enordisorders).

Like, SURE, we could just do that on our side blog and have something by tomorrow, but we feel like we'd be drawn and quartered by the MOGAI and LIOM microlabel communities. Because god forbid anyone actually has the critical thinking skills to deconstruct what psychiatry is and identify that it's one of the main sources of neurodivergent oppression.

#autism #low support autism #no support autism #anti psychiatry #actually autistic #pro autistic anti psychiatry

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dustedmagazine · 10 months

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Listed: Jordan Martins

Jordan Martins is a musician, organizer, educator, and visual artist whose works have been shown in Chicago and Brazil. While he has played steel guitar and other instruments for years with the singer / songwriter Angela James, his first solo album, Fogery Nagles, was released by the Astral Spirits label in the fall of 2023. In his review for Dusted, Bill Meyer wrote, “Fogery Nagles arrives, seemingly out of nowhere, but just at the right time.”

Sarah Davachi — Cantus Figures Laurus

I’m a sucker for long-form droney music in general and as of late I’ve been bathing in organ music of this kind as much as possible. I had really enjoyed Davachi’s other works but fell fully under her spell with this box set of works from the last few years with over four hours of heavy tones unfolding in various ways. I like to listen to this as loud as possible to feel these sounds as vibrations. There are several shorter tracks that focus on a particular palette or tonality, with the later tracks being from live recordings of longer performances. Even though the set is a compilation joining these sets of works together after the fact, I love this body of work as a sequence of experiences.

Caetano Veloso — Araça Azul

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It’s hard to pick a favorite Veloso record, but if I had to it would be the utterly unique Araça Azul, recorded in 1972 when he returned to Brazil after being exiled by the military dictatorship years prior. The record is markedly outside of the original zeitgeist of the Tropicalia movement — less ecstatic, hopeful, collaborative, and postmodern in the mixing of styles — but at the same it’s maybe the purest expression of the experimental range of sounds and poetry that the movement ushered in. There are other musicians playing on some tracks, but the whole thing feels like a single creative brain tinkering with ideas and sounds until they take enough shape to be a “song.” There’s a fundamental collage approach that I love — where he engages in field recordings, musique concrète, dissonant orchestrations overlapping on simple folk melodies, and transformative and ballsy covers of classics by singers like Monsueto and Milton Nascimento.

Angelika Niescier, Savannah Harris, Tomeka Reid — Beyond Dragons

I had the good fortune of seeing this trio play at Elastic in Chicago this past spring. When they finished their set, my wife leaned over to me and said “THAT WAS HOT SHIT” which is maybe the most accurate thing to say about these players and this music. Niescier’s compositions are somehow tight and specific while simultaneously giving each player ample room to flex and explore with abundant space around the components of each piece. I love their ability to charge into a piece full steam with an almost aggressive sense of urgency and then allow their interactions to gradually fragment and dissolve into textural interplays and quiet call-and-response improvisations.

Paul Franklin— solos on “Together Again”

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A friend hipped me to a video of Paul Franklin soloing over the Buck Owens classic “Together Again” and I’ve since gone down YouTube rabbit holes watching as many clips as I can find (and I see other people in the comments on the same journey). Franklin is a Nashville legend who has played pedal steel on hundreds of recordings since the seventies. As a member of the Time Jumpers, he plays as a sideman to Vince Gill at local venues in Nashville covering classic country songs, often playing this tune which originally featured Tom Brumley playing a quick steel solo that used some very innovative voicings at the time. Franklin’s playing is so technically brilliant, but it also illustrates the ways in which the instrument can be psychedelic and disorienting, even in a conventional setting. His solos always follow a basic architecture but there’s subtle variations, improvisations and flourishes in every version where you can see him trying to find new ways of cracking it open. My favorite clips are the ones where he goes out on a limb and the audience is noticeably giggling as they experience the sonic floor drop out from under them like they’re on a carnival ride.

Nicholas Britell— “Unto Stone We are One”, funeral “March Song of Ferrix,” season 1 finale of Andor

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I sometimes dabble in the questionable array of new Star Wars projects and absolutely loved Andor’s vision of a bureaucratic fascist space empire, not spending a second on jedis and lightsabers, instead examining the interrelationships of imperial occupations, military contractors, and resistance movements. The last episode is masterful in part because the tension of the entire season simmers to a boil during a funeral procession with working class miners playing junky space orchestral instruments. The score of this funeral march by Nicholas Britell is a haunting, yearning motif that steadily builds but the stroke of genius is how perfectly out of tune the instruments are! Such a simple and surprising choice does such heavy lifting in terms of adding a sense of materiality to the setting and imbuing the dramatic build up with a subtle unease beneath the gorgeous arrangements.

Terry Riley— Music for The Gift

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A very early work by Riley experimenting with tape loops, with an approach that is uncannily prescient in the way it does a live remix of a jazz quartet as they improvise around tunes. The fact that this particular quartet was Chet Baker’s (with trombonist Luis Fuentes, drummer George Solano, and bassist Luigi Trussardi) is a surprising interlocutor in all of this: it would maybe seem more fitting to for this to involve an unorthodox voice rather than a more straight ahead, idiomatic jazz player for these out-of-the-box experiments. But I think the music works precisely because of the nimble-swinging of the group as Riley cuts up and repeats their melodies and phrasing back onto them in a slurry of loops that piles up and interacts with their improvising in unexpected ways. The clarity and charm of Baker’s playing is a perfect fit. Peter Margasak wrote a great piece about it for Sound American that you can find here.

Macie Stewart and Lia Kohl— Recipe for a Boiled Egg

Two of my favorite improvisers in Chicago. They are so emblematic of what I love about the creative scene here in the ways that they endlessly collaborate across a range of genres and scenes, whether improvising or composing, playing songs or deconstructing forms. This is a biased pick because they recorded this at Comfort Station, the small and idiosyncratic multidisciplinary art space I run in Chicago. The thing that first drew me to Comfort Station was the building’s unique vibrant acoustics and the porousness of sound that you get with an old building directly facing a busy street. Macie and Lia lean into that context in stunning ways on this recording, narrowing in on their voices and their bowed instruments reverberating and inviting in sounds from the outside world instead of recording in the controlled environment of a studio. You can hear ideas take shape as each listens, responds, builds, grows, dissolves into the other’s playing, with a recording quality that grounds them to a particular time and place.

Olivier Messiaen — “Louange à l’Éternité de Jésus,” from the Quartet for the End of Time

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This is probably the single most impactful and cosmic piece of music I’ve ever encountered. Messiaen wrote all the movements for the Quartet for the End of Time while he was in a Nazi POW camp, and the entire work is on another level. But the sixth movement — just piano and cello — brings me to my knees every time I hear it. The first time I heard it was somewhat random and personal: during my freshman year of college, my mom was coincidentally the staff accompanist at the conservatory of the university I attended. And I would often borrow her car to run errands while she was rehearsing with music majors preparing their senior recitals. On one such occasion I was tip-toeing back into her studio to return her keys and heard a bass player (bass majors often adapt cello pieces for their senior recital) bowing the opening notes of the melody which seems to ask for a dissonant response from the piano. Instead, I heard my mom play the slow, pulsing major triad chord that entered in response, settling the piece into a hypnotic journey. I felt like the floor gave way in an instant and I had never experienced anything like it. Susan Alcorn has adapted it for solo pedal steel in a really unique way melding the harmony and melody together, and Atomic included it on their 2018 release of covers, Pet Variations, playing with deep restraint that the piece calls for while also letting the energy bubble up restlessly.

Jeanne Lee — Conspiracy

It’s hard to find a better expression of vocals and poetry integrated into a free jazz setting than this brilliant 1975 record, with Jeanne Lee leading a killer ensemble including Steve McCall and Sam Rivers among others. I had never heard Lee’s work before coming across this album when it was re-released by Moved-by-Sound in 2021 and I was struck by how much sparseness there is (somewhat similar to some of Caetano Veloso’s delicate moments on Araça Azul even), and how simple utterances give way to grooves and freakouts with the rest of the players wrapping around Lee’s command of the sonic space. If I’m being honest, I think these kinds of approaches to free form improvisations can often collapse into a kind of cheesiness or ham-fistedness, and this record NEVER once gets close to that, everything feels so purposeful even when the exploration is at its outer limits.

Olaibi — Mimihawasu

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Although I had heard her playing on works by Japanese band OOIOO, this is a musician/project that I hadn’t heard of by name until someone I follow on Instagram posted that they had passed away this October (coincidentally on my birthday). Something in the way they eulogized her touched me deeply and I listened to all of her records in the days after (and often since). Maybe it is because my exposure to her music was immediately tied to her recent death, but there’s something so profound, tragic, beautiful, frail, intimate and loving about her music all at once. I wish I had heard her more before her passing, but I’m grateful that in the wake of her death this world of sounds has entered my life.

#jordan martins #listed #dusted magazine #sarah davachi #caetano veloso #angelika niescier #savannah harris #tomeka reid #paul franklin #nicholas britell #terry riley #macie stewart #lia kohl #olivier messiaen #jeanne lee #olaibi

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vancilocs · 10 months

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35-45 for vasilis and an ex bank robber of your choice?

just had tortillas for dinner

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

Staying home and letting Konoe do the diplomatic things, you don't need me I'll arrange the bookshelf or something. Unguilty about when he does show up and is a head taller than anyone (except Dusko so they can make rage-filled eye contact) and shiny and sparkly and intimidating. Hell yeah

Kirkland kinda feels guilty about any pleasure, main one is laying down instead of doing chores. The garden can be weeded later. Unguilty about making his wife lay down instead so he can do the chores when he has the energy

36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing?

Excellent swordsman, does gear maintenance, can braid hair, doesn't sing but hums.

He's a good carpenter and a decent cook, he enjoys both of those. Doesn't sing, whistles when happy.

37. Do they like to read? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or non fiction?

Reads a lot of books about royal lineages, religion, and history of buildings, he likes to be prepared for smalltalk. Not particularly fast nor slow. Hasn't read fiction since he was a child. Konoe reads him poetry and it makes him flustered.

Not big on reading, not slow at it either. Likes poetry but won't admit it.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

He's blunt and to the point, so having a husband who not only remembers everything he's told and has a true photographic memory, but is able to spin any conversation going his way. Vasili doesn't know how he can be so wily. Just a general boost to charisma would be nice.

He rarely looks at other people like that, does admire his wife a lot, mainly for being so open-minded that she was the only one not scared of the weirdo alien moving into their small town and went to say hi.

39. Do they like letters? Or prefer emails/messaging?

Not a fan of writing letters but sometimes he has to.

Extremely hard to get in touch with as he is not on any social medias, but Rory sometimes texts him and he may or may not respond.

40. Do they like energy drinks? Coffee? Sugary food? Or can they naturally stay awake and alert?

A coffee addict, but also naturally fairly alert. Age has slowed him down a bit though, he is in his 60's after all

Enjoys coffee and energy drinks but he's had to cut them down because they don't mesh well with his medication. Is a sleepy guy otherwise, loves an afternoon nap

41. What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive? Physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship?

He likes men, mainly smart men, but looks aren't an issue. Likes anyone who's well put together and smart and engaging. Needs more reassurance than you'd think.

He doesn't like to label himself, but I guess would fall under pan, romance is a very low priority in his life (or was, he's married now and adores his wife), honestly just anyone who's kind to him could be his type. Needs space and understanding, will reward that patience with affection when he's ready

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

Just live his life out while being the best support to his husband and the best representative to their kingdom as he can. If he needs to die for that then so be it, those porcelain guys have never been known for putting themselves first. He doesn't need to die tho he's fine

Goal is to just get from one day to another, do little carpentry projects, keep wife happy. Used to want revenge on Vikas but now he can't be bothered

43. Are they religious? What do they think of religion? What do they think of religious people? What do they think of non religious people?

He's fairly religious in whatever religion they have that I haven't invented yet. Keeps it close to his chest however and will not comment on others. Not a fan of the dragon god of war's minions though

Used to be a loud atheist, now just an atheist who doesn't care about what others think. Likes to learn about his wife's religion

44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most?

Likes spring and fall, not too hot, not too cold, leaves and flowers look pretty. Can handle cold well, bitches when it gets too hot while Konoe is the opposite

He grew up in Antarctica, the only time he will go back into the cold is when he's on a slab at the morgue. Hence why he opted to move to Nedia because it's warm year round. Doesn't like when it's too humid though, but knows that it's what his wife likes the most so he's quiet and just takes a shower if he sweats too much.

45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

Largely depends. His family has completely disowned him and even took away his surname when it came out he was sleeping with Konoe, but the people of the kingdom have grown to like him. Sure he's not as popular as Konoe or his mother but he's very respected after the initial shock and horror wore off (younger generations just think he's cool). He has gotten over his disownment and while he likes a bit of reassurance now and again, like in regards to his missing eye, he's doing well.

Where he lives now locals have kinda gotten used to him, they think he's a quiet weirdo but honestly harmless. And he helps with carpentry and fixes crooked doors when asked so he's a good guy in their books. His family is sad abt where he ended up and his former robber friends feel bad for him too but oh well hope he's still alive

#vasili thought with his dick and it backfired for a second #then konoe went :3 and threatened to destroy the kingdom unless he got to marry vasili #and it ended up okay #long oc thing #everyone in the small town was like omfg whos that human weirdo #and this one woman made a casserole and brought it to him like welcome to the neighbourhood #and then they got married. the end

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randomnameless · 1 year

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People don't know a lot of things are relatives; incest is relative (depends on what your culture labels as taboo) and pedophilia is relative too (since it'the sexual majority that determines which case are pedophilia or not, not the civilian majority). But if those critics comes from Americans, they are entitled to the rules of their states, there is others states in America which have marrying your cousin not incest and in which the sexual majority is 16-17, which is the age the most used to place it (iirl in Germany, it's 14 and France 15 so generally round puberty) under the caveat that id doesn't involve a person of power over said civilian minro (like for example not teacher relationship even if the student gave consent, it's only when they reach civilian majority that i'ts ok). However only in FE game zoophilia, something not relative AT ALL, can be more accepted but apparently marrying a dragon is fiction so it's ok but marrying a time travler despite being also fiction is not ok because ... ? sure i would not marry a time traveler irl but i would not be dating a dragon either !

I never meant a dragon irl, so idk if I wouldn't date them on basis of being one lol

And can it really be called zoophilia when Frederick isn't fucking his own horse, but a woman - human - who has magical powers and can change in a giant rabbit? We had lewd paintings and stories about people wanting to play with mermaids, and I don't think it falls under zoophilia if the other party isn't an animal - but that's way too serious for this blog lol

Also, yes, that's where you see some, uh, serious ethnocentrism from several takes online (and at times, can guess where that person is from, or what culture they grew in based on those takes alone!) but if you have to be technical, yes, incest is relative because in some places in the world cousins can marry, at times they could in other places but this was later banned, and the legal age of consent is a clusterfuck I don't want to approach here - re about being too serious - but in general, yes, in some places being 16 means you are of age, when in some other places, you have to be 18.

#anon #replies #when i say things are too serious it's because you have a lot of legal intricacies #and i want to keep this blog a fandom blog lol #but it's kind of fascinating to think about #for someone something might be problematic and for some others it is not #but some people really want to bring their civilisa- i mean rules and cultures over the rest of the world #and it doesn't work so they look like donkeys #fandom woes

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lgwebspacethemedfmp · 2 years

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What is D&D

Dungeons & Dragons is a TTRPG (Tabletop Roleplaying Game) that has been around for nearly 50 years, existing in the forms of multiple different editions that have varied over the last half century. The general idea of it is to immerse yourself in a fantasy world where you and a group of others play characters of your creation and navigate a world with the guidance of a DM or GM (Dungeon Master or Game Master, both terms are used but they mean the same thing). For the purposes of this explanation I am going to be focussing on the 5th Edition as it is the one that I am the most familiar with. This is going to be very long winded, but I will try to keep it as interesting and understandable as possible (it took me a long time to understand any of this when I started playing).

Dice: Dice is often abbreviated to just ‘D’, which I thought would be a good thing to mention as I will use that a lot instead of saying ‘an X sided dice’ repeatedly throughout the project. Typically in sets of dice there are 7, a D4, a D6, a D8, two D10s (one labelled 00-90 and the other 0-9, often rolled together as a D100), a D12 and the infamous D20. For most actions that require some skill or effort, a dice needs to be rolled in order to try and succeed. More often than not, the necessary roll needs to be done with a D20. Depending on the difficulty of the task, the minimum number needing to be rolled adjusts accordingly (5 = Very Easy, 10 = Doable, 15 = Hard, 20 = Really Difficult, etc). Say a player wanted to scale a wall (skills and proficiencies aside for a moment, I will get to those later) and the wall was about two metres tall with jagged bricks that could potentially be used as footholds, let’s say that it’s a DC (difficulty class, the minimum number they need to roll) of about 10. If the player rolled a 10, then great, they succeed. If they do not reach that, then they fail, but there is more to this, which is critical rolls. If the player rolls a 20, then that is the best possible outcome that they can get, let’s say in this instance the player scales the wall easily and then does a handstand on top of it or something. If the player rolls a 1, however, then that is a critical fail, and the player would run into the wall at full speed and take damage, and then a loose brick would be dislodged and fall on their head in the process, causing them to take further damage or something of the like. The D10s are used most often for percentages, while D6s are more known for being used for determining the attributes of a character (I will also get to this later). The rest are usually used for varying degrees of damage, healing, etc; D4s for small effects, D8s for bigger effects, D12s for massive effects, etc.

Attributes & Modifiers: Each character has six attributes that they need to roll to get the value of; Strength, Constitution, Charisma, Wisdom, Intelligence and Dexterity. They get these values by rolling a D6 three times and adding up the total (or rolling a D6 four times and discarding the lowest number and adding up the three remaining ones) and then doing that for every attribute. The resulting numbers can be assigned to whatever attribute the player wishes. Each attribute has a modifier that can be calculated by subtracting 10 from the value and then dividing the result by 2 and rounding down if it is a decimal. For example, if a character’s Dexterity is a 14, then we take away 10 to get 4, and then divide that by 2 to get a +2 modifier. This applies to any Dexterity based roll this character has to do. Alternatively, there are tables that exist that lay this information out for players to reference instead of doing maths.

Proficiencies & Skills: Proficiencies can vary depending on class, race, and character level for different reasons. Proficiencies are an additional bonus that apply mainly to skills rather than the attributes themselves. While modifiers for attributes apply to the skills that fall under said attributes (if a character has a +2 modifier to Intelligence, that also applies to the skills of Arcana, History, Investigation, Nature and Religion as they fall under that attribute), a character can be proficient in some of these skills which adds an additional bonus to those skills specifically. The value of the bonus varies depending on the character level, but at level 1 any proficiency is a +2. The number of proficiencies also is dependant on what race and class a character is, as they get different options to choose from respectfully. For example, I have a character who is an Aarakocra (humanoid bird creature) Sorcerer. By being a sorcerer, I had the option of having 2 skill proficiencies between Arcana, Deception, Insight, Intimidation, Persuasion and Religion. Proficiencies also vary from the character’s background, some are preset, and some can be chosen. Some races also offer a certain number of skill proficiencies, and some players can end up with 2 or 7 or more.

Modifiers & Proficiencies In Practise: When rolling for a success, the player more often than not needs to do a skill check. Let’s say one of my characters, Feniks, wanted to climb that same two metre tall wall with a DC of 10. Poor Feniks is not built to be that strong or durable, and he has a -1 on any strength based roll (assuming climbing a wall requires an Athletics check). Feniks was unlucky when I rolled the dice, as it landed on a 2, and with the -1 that has to be added to any strength related roll, the end result is a 1. Poor Feniks would then theoretically take a running start to the wall, and trip over a rock before he even reached it. Alternatively, if a merchant was advertising various pieces of jewellery that are definitely not cursed and Feniks did an Insight check to determine whether or not they were lying, I would roll a D20. In this case it landed on an 11 and because Insight falls under Wisdom, which has a +0 modifier in this case, the result doesn’t change. However, because Feniks has a proficiency in Insight specifically and is a level 1 character, a +2 bonus is added, and the result is now 13. This would be contested with a Deception Skill Check from the merchant, who unfortunately for Feniks, rolled a 19. Feniks would not be able to tell that the merchant is lying, and may potentially purchase a very cursed item.

Conflict & Initiative: A large part of Dungeons & Dragons is the fighting, and one of the most important parts of that is Initiative. When in combat, everyone has to take turns to do an action, and that order is decided by rolling for Initiative, the higher someone rolls, the higher they are in the order. An Initiative roll is technically the same as rolling for Dexterity, as it uses your Dexterity modifier on a D20 roll. Each turn, a player is entitled to an action as well as a bonus action if they are in possession of something that grants them one (class feature, speed, item, ability, etc). During an action, a player can do pretty much anything they wanted to within reason (and if they succeed any necessary rolls). They can attack, flee, cast a spell, use an object, etc.

Hitting & Damage: When attacking, a roll needs to be made in order to hit the opponent, whether it succeeds or not depends on whether the roll is the same or higher than the opponent’s AC. AC stands for Armour Class, and is the minimum number needed to hit any given creature or player, if the roll falls short then the attack does not hit, but if it does then damage can be rolled. If a 20 is rolled, then it is a critical hit, and double the amount of attack dice need to be rolled with the same modifier added on at the end as normal. The amount of dice needing to be rolled generally depends on the weapon used. Let’s say Feniks wants to fight a goblin, they both roll initiative; Feniks gets a 14+2 and the goblin gets 7+2, so Feniks gets to go first. A goblin’s AC is 15, so in order to hit it, Feniks needs to roll a 15 or higher. Let’s say he rolls a 17, now he gets to roll for damage. Assuming he’s using a dagger, he needs to roll a D4 with a +2 bonus, and he gets a 3 in total, so the goblin takes three HP (Hit Points) of damage. Now it’s the goblin’s turn, it rolls a 14, which hits. Assuming it is using a shortbow, it needs to roll a D6 with a +2 bonus. The result ended up being a 6, which knocks Feniks unconscious as his HP is now 0. As previously mentioned, Feniks is not that strong.

Death Saving Throws: Normally if monsters reach 0HP, they are considered dead, however there is a difference with players. If a player receives enough damage that they lost double the amount of health that they are supposed to have (Feniks for example has 6HP when fully healed, so if he had -6HP) then they can be considered dead. If a player hits 0HP but isn’t considered dead, then they have to do Death Saving Throws when it’s their turn in the initiative (or they can be healed by a teammate). They have to roll a regular D20, if they get a 10 or higher 3 times, then congrats, they get to live! If they roll lower than that, then they fail, 3 fails and they die for good, time to make a new character. There is more to this, if a 1 is rolled, it counts as 2 fails, and if a 20 is rolled, then the player regains 1HP (if they reach above 0HP then they no longer need to do anymore death saves). Furthermore, if a character is attacked while having 0HP, then that is an automatic failure, and if the attack is critical, then it counts as 2. When a character succeeds in death saving throws, then they become stabilised, however they are still at 0HP despite this. If they are not healed then they will regain 1D4 HP every hour. If a stabilised player is attacked, they have to do the death saving throws again. Let’s try that for Feniks, but assuming that the goblin has stopped trying to attack him. The dice landed on a 19, an 8, a 2, a 12, and another 19, that is 2 fails and 3 successes, so poor old Feniks gets to live another day.

Hit Points & Long & Short Rests: Hit Points are quite important in games that involve fighting, because otherwise the fighting would be useless. HP is a character’s health and is calculated by adding the number of faces on a Hit Dice with the character’s Constitution modifier, the Hit Dice used varies depending on what class you are playing as. Feniks is a sorcerer, so his Hit Dice is a D6, and his Constitution modifier is 0 so nothing is added. A short rest has the duration of about an hour in game and involves the characters doing nothing strenuous and relaxing. They have the option to spend 1 hit dice to restore some HP, however that dice is now spent. Depending on how many hit dice a character has, they can choose to use more than one during the same short rest in order to regain more hit points however the amount of HP healed cannot exceed the character’s maximum HP. Hit Dice can be re-obtained during a long rest which has the duration of about 8 hours in game. The number of Hit Dice regained can be as many as half of what the total number of Hit Dice a character should have, but if a character is supposed to have only one then they receive one. As well as this, a character receives all of their lost HP back after a long rest. If a character has less than 1HP during a long rest, then they cannot benefit from it, furthermore no benefits come from doing more than one long rest in the span on 24 hours.

Homebrew: Something that is quite common in Dungeons & Dragons nowadays is people creating their own races, items and occasionally classes to play as. This is called Homebrew, the name sticking at around 2003. If your DM allows it, you can play as a Homebrew character, you can either make your own or there are a plethora of ones that exist online. Normally, if you search for a race you want to play as, such a thing already exists, and if it does not then there will always be something fairly similar that you can steal the ability and proficiency bonuses from. As far as I am aware, Homebrew classes are rarer and not done as often, but they are still fun to tinker with if you are allowed to do so.

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