#Follow in giving and protecting the prosperity of the former kingdom. But the good things did not last and his family was struck in between

[i-bring-crack]

A–Aventio TGCF idea?? Wherein Civil God Veritas Ratio meets the infamous Ghost King Aventurine during his first mission cuz cuz like— The "live for me" paralels?!? The one who has all the luck partner as well?!? The villain who was actually not the Villain this whole time!?!? The loving humanity a little too much it causes their downfall !?!?!?

Rant AU in the tags proceed with caution

[mamep]

The Forging of the Legend: A Prologue to The Legend of Zelda

I wrote an almost-8,000 word fanfic to try and give the original Legend of Zelda game some context and backstory. Also, it’s my first real fanfic. While I did add a handful of things that were not mentioned at all in the original two games and their accompanying material, this story diverges from the source material in a couple of small ways.

It can also be read on AO3, linked here! Otherwise, it’s below the cutoff.

(CW: graphic violence, mild gore, warfare)

”The Forging of the Legend”

by mamep

--

“One, two!” a man said, his voice matched with the strikes of his wooden sword. “Link, keep your eyes up!” He laughed alongside the forest’s summer breeze. Eventually, the man raised his weapon up high, and the boy froze at the sight. It was too heavy, too quick, and the boy was disarmed with the blow landing on his shoulder.

Link was only ten years old and could barely keep up with his father’s sweeping attacks, who stood over him with the end of his wooden sword put in the ground, offering his hand. Link took hold of it, and was pulled up faster than he expected, almost losing his breath just as quickly as when he was blown back.

“That was too fast,” Link said, still grimacing and holding his left shoulder. “Can we take a break?”

“Of course,” said his father, “but not for too long. Here, have a swig of this.” Reaching behind his back, he gave his son a waterskin, unlatching the top. Link noticed it wasn’t the waterskin at front of his belt that he usually drank from. “Come on now, we haven’t got all day.”

Link gingerly took a sip from it, reeling from the aftertaste.

“Haha! It’ll do that to you,” his father said. “Alright, show it to me.”

The boy pulled back the sleeve of his olive roughspun tunic, revealing the fresh bruise on his shoulder, just starting to redden.

“It tingles,” Link said. “But it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

The boy’s father smirked. “It’s special water, from a spring deep in the woods. They say it’s got fairy dust mixed in, and it’s handy for pain and wounds.”

“It tastes funny,” Link mumbled, paying little attention, but he drank again.

“Alright, alright! Not too much!” the boy’s father said, taking the waterskin back. “I went through a lot of trouble getting to that spring. Come on, let’s continue.”

“Father, why do we have to do this?” Link groaned. The water healed his shoulder, but the young boy was still tired, and there was yet target practice after this.

Link’s father lost his smile in the wind, and he knelt down to match his son’s height. “Because I fear for you, my boy. You must be able to protect yourself, to not fall in the face of danger. Courage when it matters most.”

Link could only stare back into his father’s eyes, wondering at what he meant.

__

High in a tower of the decrepit Hyrule Castle stood Princess Zelda, looking over her realm from a small balcony. The sun shone brightly, revealing all from the crags of the Death Mountain Range to the glimmering coasts of the Great Hyrulean Sea and beyond. However, a frown made itself apparent on the princess, and she sighed deeply.

“My princess, what bothers you?” said an old woman, whose voice carried some whimsy. She tended to the hearth in the princess’s chamber, one she had taken up use of recently over the comfort of her former bedroom. The choice baffled the nursemaid, as the coming autumn would keep this place cold, even with the nearby fire. The princess had found her nursemaid’s jovial tone could easily lower her guard, however reluctant she was to yield.

Zelda let loose her tense shoulders. “This sight saddens me, Impa,” she said. “This realm they call a lesser Hyrule was once a grand country, much larger than... this.”

Impa approached the princess. “I know, child.”

“My people have dwindled, either by the division of this country, or that there is little wealth remaining in these lands. The few that have lingered can barely make a living in this petty kingdom.”

The princess looked down below at castle bailey, watching the handful of knights and workers going about their daily duties. She could barely afford to pay them, and some were even volunteers, whose help Zelda graciously accepted despite her shame.

“Your Highness, you shouldn’t speak so little of your country,” Impa said warmly. “Petty kingdom or not, the name of Hyrule remains proud, for it still keeps the greatest treasures of all. No amount of wealth can surpass them.”

“Not ‘them,’ but ‘it’... Were it that I could wield the full ensemble of the Triforce... With but a single wish from my heart’s depths, I could rule Hyrule properly and lead my people to prosperity, like the monarchs of old.”

Impa looked at her princess more closely, seeking to understand.

“I only want to do right by my people, Impa. That means making the right decision, even when it is difficult.” Zelda turned to her nursemaid, with unease weighing heavily in her brow. Impa noticed a glint of light from the back of Zelda’s right hand, which the young princess quickly hid with the other.

“Princess, what have you seen?” Impa asked.

Zelda breathed deeply, looking away for a moment. “An evil will strike this country soon, Impa, I am sure of it. Surely you have heard the rumors? The monsters stalking the wilds are amassing in greater numbers, even stealing weapons and tools from the outer villages in the night. Never before have they acted like this. There are even whispers of certain people consorting with them.”

“It’s certainly odd...” Impa said, maintaining a willful skepticism. “Perhaps Your Highness can arrange for more guards patrolling the roads? To protect the people from monsters, to dissuade dealing with them. But it may require some further thrift here...”

“No mere soldier can protect this land from what is to come, from what I have foreseen. You know of what I mean, Impa.”

“Your Highness, I am not so sure...” Impa said, reluctant to believe she would witness the fabled calamity return in her lifetime.

Zelda again looked back over the remains of her kingdom, lamenting its decline. “The fate of Hyrule will be decided in the very near future, Impa, at a point in time I cannot yet discern past. All else before then, however...” Zelda breathed deeply, trying to stand up straighter, more strongly. “The decision is still difficult.”

Impa’s voice became grave. “What must be done, my princess?”

“Please prepare for an escape from the castle, Impa,” Zelda said. “Not even this place will be safe from the storm.”

__

Link had begun to get the hang of his father’s training. His eyes could keep up with the wooden sword’s dance now, and his footwork had gotten better, too. This time, they practiced outside their home atop a small hill in the outskirts of their woodland village, with the sun setting behind the western mountains. Link’s mother was preparing thin wooden panels as targets, resisting the itch to practice on them herself before her son would complete his sword training for the day.

“Three, four!” his father said, and Link deftly parried his strikes aside, his green cap bouncing slightly with his movements.

“Five!” he shouted, to Link’s surprise, but the young boy quickly jumped back, evading the blow. Having put too much force behind his swing only to hit air, Link’s father stumbled forward, trying to regain balance. With a smirk, Link then leaped forward, lunging with his wooden sword, and the tip landed squarely on his father’s chest.

“Alright, alright, I yield,” he said, and Link withdrew, cheering a little.

“Link!” his mother called out. “Rest for a moment, and then get your slingshot!” Yet the boy was filled with energy despite the autumn chill, and grabbed the small tool lying aside the log Link’s father sat on.

“Let’s start now, Mother!” he said, pulling on the sling loaded with an acorn.

She sighed in wonder as she attached the target to the clothesline. “Ready?” she said, and then turned the crank on the contraption, attaching more targets as she went. From one end, the wood panels swayed in the air as they were pulled along. Link quickly landed the acorns on three out of four targets, though not very accurately, before they reached the other end of the clothesline.

“What about the fourth, Link?” his father said, taking a drink from his waterskin.

“It’ll do, dear!” his mother replied, watching Link as he looked for acorns that remained intact. “Don’t worry, Link. You’ve gotten good at this very quickly. You’ll be perfect in no time.”

“Can I try again?” Link asked, restless.

His mother laughed. “Of course, of course.”

But as she turned the crank the other way to bring the targets back, a scream was heard from the far side of the village. The three of them turned in its direction immediately, and Link’s father jumped from his seat to get a closer look.

There was a clang of metal, and another scream. Embers caught on another villager’s thatch roof, quickly lighting it ablaze. The piggish roars of moblins were enough to turn Link’s knees to jelly.

“Something’s wrong,” Link’s father said, urgently walking back to the door of their home. “Link! Quickly, now!” he said, and the boy obeyed, following him inside. Moving aside their supper table and the fur pelt beneath it, he revealed a trapdoor blended in with the planks of the floor, and he easily stuffed Link in the tiny space beneath their home.

“But Father!”

“No buts. Stay here and don’t make a sound until you hear me or your mother call for you. Do you understand?”

“It’s for your own safety, Link,” his mother said. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”

Link hesitantly nodded.

His mother took down a short bow from the wall, with simple wooden arrows in a large quiver, while his father pulled a thick club out from behind their bed, larger than the wooden swords they used for training. They wasted no time in shutting the trapdoor and putting the pelt and table back above it before heading out toward the rest of the village.

Link sat in the darkness of the hidden space, trying not to make a sound against the old wood, loose soil, and pebbles he sat against. Soon, the door to their home opened again.

“Mother? Father?” Link whispered, fear forcing still his throat.

He heard a dog-like snarl, and the moblin stomped on the planks of the floor, sniffing around for life. It took all Link had to not yelp in fright as he hugged his knees.

“No one here!” the moblin growled, and Link heard the heavy stamps of its feet leaving the house, and the door slammed shut. Link sighed in relief, but his face shot up when he heard crackling sounds above him. Through the little cracks between the floorboards, he could see an orange light, and Link pounded at the trapdoor above, screaming for his parents. But they weren’t there, and the door would barely budge against the weight of the table.

For a moment, Link despaired at his weakness, wailing in pain from throwing his forearms against the dirt wall. None of the training he endured had prepared him for this, nor made him stronger than his ten-year-old body. He cried at his powerlessness, at not knowing what to do.

In a moment between his deep breaths, he remembered his father’s words, muffling the sound of everything else, just for an instant.

Courage when it matters most.

Link found strength in his legs, and again he pushed up against the trapdoor, managing to open it just a little. A flicker of fell light and smoke threatened his focus. With the full weight of the table above him, Link could barely move it any further than a foot, but then he heard a thud behind him. Something on the table fell off, and then another, and Link pushed harder than before, every fiber of his muscles screaming. With a final push and his foot now against the edge of the floor above, he threw the trapdoor back and leapt out from the darkness.

With the support beams of his house’s roof collapsing, Link slammed his weight against the burning door, dashing right through, sustaining a few burns on his hand and legs, while the loose threads of his shirt and tunic singed away. By now, much of the rest of the village was on fire, homes and trees alike, covering the red sky in a thick smoke. Sparing no time to think or catch his breath, Link grabbed his slingshot and his wooden sword, and ran toward the village.

“Mother! Father! Where are you?” he called out as he neared the center of the village, its houses all ablaze, its people running, fighting, and dying.

A young girl screamed as she scampered past Link, holding her stuffed doll tightly in her arms, both of them bearing little burns. Removing its weapon from the body of a village defender, a moblin gave chase, prepared to throw its spear at her.

“No!” Link yelled, and swung his wooden sword hard and low, catching the fiend on its ankle. It tripped, landing face-first into the dirt. The girl kept running, unaware she was safe for the moment, while the moblin growled as it got up and picked up its spear, now focused on Link.

The young swordsman jumped back, grasping his wooden sword in both hands. He raised it up for a high strike, and he felt it pulsate in his arms. The moblin charged at him, its spear aimed straight for the boy. Link only planted his feet and grit his teeth, and at the last second he jumped to the right and swung his sword down and forward to meet the fiend, landing the tip right on its unarmored head. The wooden sword erupted with a burst of rainbow light, and the moblin was thrown back, limp and lifeless.

Some distance away, another moblin roared “Blood for the king!”

“Blood for the king!” others yelled in unison.

Link was thoroughly winded from the blast, and as he confusedly regained his breath, he noticed his wooden sword was cracked and split in parts.

“There are more on the other side of the building!” he heard ahead. It was his mother’s voice.

“Mother!” he yelled, but got no response. Link quickly picked up the shield from the fallen defender, strapping it to his right arm as he ran forward.

Ahead, Link’s parents were engaged with a duo of moblins; his father quickly evaded the strikes of their spears, while his mother drew another arrow, aiming for their heads.

“Keep them still!” she said, narrowly evading the thrown spear of a moblin.

“I’m trying!” Link’s father yelled, bashing the now-unarmed moblin in the head. In close quarters, he attacked the other, and the moblin had no choice but to defend.

“Father! Mother!” Link called out.

“Link?” his father said, and the moment of distraction was enough for the moblin to overpower the man, its hooved foot kicking him back, undoubtedly breaking his ribs.

“No!” his wife screamed. On the ground, Link’s father then brandished a knife from his belt and plunged it deep into the upper leg of the moblin, ripping through flesh as he wrenched it back out. Link’s mother loosed an arrow through the moblin’s eye, and it fell back, frozen in its stunned pose. With great difficulty, Link’s father got up, barely able to breathe and unable to hold the large club he had wielded.

“Link, I told you to stay home...”

“I want to help!” he yelled loudly in defiance.

“Link,” his mother said, running to him, “it’s not safe here.”

“It wasn’t safe at home! They burned it down!”

As Link’s father tried to approach them, holding his chest in pain, they heard roars on the other side of the buildings, through the crackling flame.

“More, more!”

“Blood for the king!”

Gasping, Link’s mother’s eyes darted around for assailants.

“Look at you,” Link’s father said, still some distance away, pushing against his forward leg for support. “My boy, my brave fighter—”

A spear slashed through his back, and a dog-faced moblin roared in victory, now pointing its weapon at the young boy straight ahead. 

“No!” Link’s mother screamed, pulling him along by the arm, and running off as quickly as her legs could take her, as much as Link tried standing his ground.

“Blood for the king!” yelled the moblin as its spear sped through the air, and Link’s mother stumbled, falling with him tight in her arms.

Wresting himself out of her grasp, Link then threw the wooden sword with all of his might at the head of the charging moblin, its splintered and broken shaft knocking the creature out cold.

“Mother, come on,” he said, turning back to her, but his eyes were caught on the spear that had torn through her back.

“Link... You must run...” she forced out with the last of her breath, and the life faded away from her eyes, like wind through flowers.

Link, speechless with tears burning his eyes, screamed at the open sky. But the moblins were not yet finished. A handful of them remained, all gathering near the body of Link’s father, pointing their spears at him. One spiraled through the air right past him, landing and getting stuck in the ground. Something spurred Link’s legs to run, dashing away from the rain of the moblins’ spears and their stomping charge, running back home without a second thought.

His home was now entirely aflame, and part of the structure had collapsed. Frozen for a moment with wide eyes and the roars of moblins behind him, he grabbed the second wooden sword, once his father’s, and kept running. Over the hill and through the thick forest, Link ignored the burning in his legs and lungs, and kept running.

__

There was a banging at the castle’s gates, and the young Princess Zelda watched from above as scores of moblins kept throwing themselves into it with battering rams. An accident involving their crude bombs had dented the moblins’ numbers, but with the sheer amount of their recently arrived reinforcements, Hyrule Castle’s garrison had little hope beyond maintaining its defense of the wall. Hidden in the upper parapets, the wall’s few archers could properly hold their positions and pick their enemies off one by one, and the knights and fighters skillfully ambushed the ladder-climbing moblins, knocking them back and letting gravity handle destroying their poorly made tools. But the garrison’s supply of arrows would eventually run out, and the swordsmen just couldn’t keep up with all of the moblins coming for them.

“Blood for the king!” the beasts chanted. Together they would all stamp on the hopes of Hyrule’s last guardians.

“Set up the barricades!” the knight captain yelled, and others brought out what few they had to defend entrances to the keep both above the ramparts and down in the bailey. There was an explosion behind them on the other side of the keep, however, along with the screams of the handful of soldiers defending that position.

“No!” the knight captain yelled, his hand grasping his sword too tightly. “You all must hold this place at all cost, I must go—”

“You must stay where you are, Captain,” he heard in the far back of his mind. “That dark fiend is beyond you and all your soldiers. I will deal with it in time.”

He looked up to the keep’s tower, and though he could not see his princess, he knew she watched.

“I will stay here,” the knight captain said, raising his sword to his face, his eyes looking past its edges. “On my honor as a knight of Hyrule, I will smite the enemy of this land and protect my charge with my very life.”

With renewed strength, the captain led a forward push against the invading moblins, and together with his remaining soldiers, he cut through them with great speed and accuracy. His lovingly polished steel armor shone with a red gleam, and the weaker assailants were thrown back, awestruck when their spears would do little to harm him. While others went to deal with the ladder moblins at the ramparts, the captain faced those just now breaking through the front gate of the outer wall. He knew that the princess and the Triforce of Wisdom she wielded would see things right, and if he were to die on this battlefield, it would not be in vain so long as she lived.

Zelda above watched as her knights fought in spite of their dwindling numbers. “The stage is almost set. Impa, have you finished the preparations?”

“Your Highness,” Impa said, “I have readied our flight from the castle.” Her heart raced a bit too much for her old age. “But what was that sound?”

“It was an explosion, Impa. Their king has gained entry to our deepest vaults.”

“Princess... No! That is where...” Impa stopped herself upon noticing Zelda’s unchanging expression, as if it was something she expected to happen.

“Yes, Impa. Whether it is fate-designed, or pure happenstance that allowed this, I cannot say that it was a surprise. Or perhaps it was my weakness in not bearing the full Triforce as my ancestors did that allowed for this to come to pass.”

Impa would have scolded her were it not for the situation surrounding them.

“It matters not. He will be here soon. I have one more task to fulfill, but before that, you must escape the castle before he arrives.”

Impa’s eyes widened. “My princess! No, I cannot leave without you!”

“Impa, you must. The escape was never meant for me.”

“I will not leave you here to be left to the Demon King’s whims! The fate of Hyrule rests on your shoulders, Your Highness. So long as you live, Hyrule will survive, it can be wrought anew! Princess Zelda, you are Hyrule!”

“Nay, Impa. The fate of Hyrule is a shared burden. In this light, I require of you a mission, my faithful nursemaid.”

Unease forced Impa’s back to tighten, but she bowed all she could nonetheless. “What shall I do, Your Highness?”

“Seek someone of great skill and bravery, Impa. One whose shoulders can bear this weight. One with the will to save Hyrule.”

Impa breathed deeply, contemplating her mission. “I understand, my princess.”

“Now go, my dear Impa. We are running out of time.”

Impa’s feet were reluctant to move, but she bit her tongue and steeled her heart, and soon made for the lower hidden corridors of the castle. The castle’s few servants had gathered near the concealed exit, waiting for Zelda and Impa to flee together from the evil king’s wrath, but they would not see their princess this one last time.

Zelda returned to the balcony to observe the battle. Of the castle’s garrison, only the knight captain still remained. Though his breaths and sword were heavy, he stood against the advancing enemy, ignoring all notions of tire and pain. The horde of moblins assembled around him, readying their spears to skewer the armored man to the door. He gathered his breath once again, raised his shield, and dug his feet into the ground.

“As I still draw breath, you will not enter this castle.”

“Choke him!”

“Trample on his throat!”

One moblin thrust its spear at the captain, but he easily deflected it with his shield and ran his sword through the moblin’s neck in one swift motion.

Then he heard thundering footsteps, coming from the other side of the wall. Even the moblins trembled at first, but soon a laughter erupted amongst them. There was a pounding on the other side of the still-shut front gate, undoubtedly the moblins trying once again to break through with a battering ram. But they were hushed with a single swipe, which the captain felt rend the air.

In an instant, the stout gate of Hyrule Castle was smashed to a thousand pieces, the fist of the demon standing at its threshold burning with a fell flame. It looked to be a pig-faced moblin, with its flat snout, fangs too big to keep in its mouth, and bearing dried skulls and spoils of war, but the similarities stopped there. Its hide was shaded in a skin-crawling blue, it had thick horns sprouting from its head though they were now broken, and even hunched it was much larger than its footsoldiers. Stowing its broad trident over its back, it cracked its knuckles, and behind the deeply dark flame wreathed around its hand, the knight captain could make out a faint light, its shape all too familiar to any servant of the Royal Family of Hyrule.

“Princess!” the knight captain cried out.

“Worry not, Captain,” he heard in his mind. “I remain unharmed.”

“But the ancient relic! The treasure of your family! No, why are you still here?” he said back to her.

“I could not find the will to wield it myself, for fear of what I would become with its power. You may rue me if you want, Captain.”

The captain’s shoulders dropped, watching the demon ahead stare him down. “No, my princess, I will not,” he said, “for I was too foolhardy to heed your warnings.”

In his weariness and the heat of the battlefield, he remembered the words the princess gave him before the siege, as he and his soldiers kept to their vigil.

“I ask that you flee as well, Captain, for I fear the might of this invading army and the one who leads it,” Princess Zelda had said. “Please, Captain, your defense here will be sure death.”

“Your Highness, my soldiers and I will defend the keep to make sure you and the others can escape to seek someplace safe.”

“And if I call upon your oaths to serve me, your ruling princess, without question nor defiance?”

“Then I would beg your forgiveness, for I am set on this path. I ask that you allow me this honor of protecting you. Once I know you have successfully escaped with your treasures, my princess, I will retreat with whomever I can. My soldiers are aware of this plan, and will act on it should you approve.” Though the captain’s eyes were elsewhere.

Zelda lamented this thread of fate, for she knew what the captain did not. “Captain, with great reluctance do I give you my approval, for I know that I cannot defeat fate... But I ask that you use this for your protection.” She presented to him a little ring made of a silver-red band bearing a dull garnet stone; a trinket to most people’s eyes. But he knew this was a preserved magic treasure of Hyrule Castle, to be kept for the assistance of the hero of legend.

The captain smiled, accepting it. “I only do this to protect you, Your Highness. I know that you will be a good queen one day.”

The hazy memory faded away, and Zelda shed a tear remembering it herself. Now, the captain stood alone against the dark fiend, this purported ‘Demon King,’ and its army of beasts.

“So this is how it ends,” the captain said, tightly gripping his sword and shield.

“I will stay with you to the end, my dear captain,” he heard, and it was warm.

The dark fiend’s hand flared again with its wicked flame, and the golden light that appeared under it radiated enough for him to see clearly. The fiend grabbed the knight, its hulking hand wrenching through his steel breastplate, right past the protective red light. Soon it collapsed, and the knight’s ribcage shattered entirely. Still holding him, the snarling fiend placed its forefinger over the knight’s head, and clenched its fist one last time.

With unreal strength, the fiend broke right through the gate to the castle’s keep, leading the moblin army with heavy footsteps that shook the building’s foundations. Though the princess had foreseen this outcome, with each time she felt the shock in her knees and spine, she couldn’t help but be frightened.

But the princess knew she had to perform her duty, even at her own expense. Her mind called out to Impa’s, and gave the nursemaid her final orders.

Zelda fortified her heart, raising her right hand forward, and the light Impa once saw on the back of the princess’s hand shone again. The intense light dimmed for a moment to reveal a marking – three perfect triangles joined in unison at their points to make one greater triangle. The triangle of the bottom-left gleamed more strongly than the other two, before the full marking dimmed completely. Zelda turned her hand, raising the palm high, and produced a single triangle, one that appeared immaculately carved from shimmering, unblemished gold.

Grasping the triangle in her hand, she clenched tight her fingers around it, yelping in pain. With great difficulty and searing pain in her very core, Zelda broke the golden triangle, light pouring from its cracks. It shattered into eight pieces, and Zelda struggled to walk back out to the balcony. The moblin army still stationed outside could not see her, nor would their shoddy bows and arrows reach her. Mustering what she could of her magic, the princess let loose the triangle fragments into the sky, each wreathed with a blinding blue light as they flew like missiles to different spots around her kingdom.

Traveling through a hidden clearing in the woods, Impa and the other servants watched as they soared through the dusk sky, and the elderly nursemaid’s heart sank as she came to understand the princess’s plan. Soon, a wandering detachment of moblins spotted them under the starlight. Against the sways of her heart, Impa split off to fulfill her duty. Despite that, most of the moblins roared and chased the servants, and a few followed Impa. With heavy breaths and weary bones, she ran for the hills.

At the tallest tower of Hyrule Castle, the dark fiend effortlessly broke through the door of Zelda’s chamber, and with a raised hand, a glowing barrier formed over the smashed doorway. The moblins looked on, touching the barrier in wonder, as the Demon King and Princess Zelda stood opposite each other.

“Say my name,” said the king.

“Ganon,” replied Princess Zelda.

“You know who I am. Then you know why I am here.”

“Yes, I know. You’re here to claim the Triforce.”

“What times Hyrule has fallen into, that the Triforce is unwhole.”

Zelda betrayed a hint of annoyance, and Ganon’s fanged mouth smirked.

“How do you feel, Princess, having watched me utterly decimate your forces? Knowing you never had a chance to stand against my army? My own power?”

“Your power is scarcely your own, Ganon. You have stolen a piece of the Triforce from me. Along with that arrow and many more things, I see.”

“What, this tiny needle?” He removed the arrow from his satchel, holding it by the shaft, carefully avoiding the silver arrowhead. “I know not what it is. It was kept in your vault, so it must have some value. Perhaps I’ll pick my teeth with it.”

“Despite bearing golden might, the blight they called Ganon was also known for his cunning and trickery.” She knew Ganon could tell the silver arrow was crafted as a weapon against him, blessed with moonlight in the hopes it would repel evil. He placed it back into the satchel, along with the little gold and rupees pilfered from the vault, and the red ring taken from the body of the knight captain. “Though perhaps little of your scheming mind remains, having revived as many times as you have. Maybe once this happens again, you will end up a slimy thing, struggling to even stand.”

Ganon growled. “Do not think I will leave these foul tools here for your hero to claim. Oh yes, Princess, I know. Each and every time I have risen, in turn you raised the hero against me. I expect to meet him soon. It is only a matter of time. May I kill him in the cradle.”

Zelda showed an inkling of sorrow. “How could I have raised a hero, with my kingdom as weak as it is now? Perhaps this will be the time you win and break our cycle, Ganon.”

He roared in laughter. “Tell me, Princess, why did you not wield the Triforce of Power yourself? You knew I was coming for you, for it. You could have taken it in your hand to rule over this lesser Hyrule and beyond. You could have used it to destroy me on the battlefield, and none of your soldiers would be dead. Your knight would still live.”

“Do you think I would bandy such words with a foul creature like you?”

“Entertain me, Princess. You have done so up until now. Why stop?”

Every minute she could scrounge for Impa’s flight was precious, but in truth Zelda wanted not to speak of this, least of all with Ganon.

“I would not wield the Triforce of Power in fear of what it would make me. I arm myself with wisdom, so that I can discern what is right and what is wrong... and what will come to pass. With the Triforces of Wisdom and Power, I would see my country restored to its classical splendor, but I may also become a wrathful queen... And when I see your wretched and vile existence, Ganon, I fear it all the more.”

“You fear power would outweigh your ruler’s wisdom... You are scared witless to act as any ruler must. And without the third to complete it, you cannot make your wish upon the Triforce,” Ganon said, his toothy grin curving hideously. “Then give it to me, my Zelda.” He outstretched his massive clawed hand.

“You? The one called ‘Demon King’? I would sooner fling myself from this tower than give it to you, foul beast.”

“Then do so. I would claim the Triforce of Wisdom from your lifeless corpse. Princess, me having left you alive the moment I entered this room was mere courtesy, from ruler to ruler. As much of a dung heap this country has now become, I have come to respect you in some little way for defying me so many times. Give to me your share of the Triforce, and I will give you your life, to live the rest of your pitiful days in Hyrule’s carcass.”

With her head down and eyes closed, Zelda began to smile, seemingly resigned to her fate.

“You know this is the only way you get to live. Your Wisdom will show you.”

Zelda raised her head and met Ganon’s stare, and her smile became wry.

He growled. “Princess... Where is the Triforce of Wisdom?”

“It is gone. I no longer bear its light.”

“WHERE IS THE TRIFORCE?!”

“Not even I know, Ganon.”

“YOU LIE!”

“I have broken my piece into many pieces and scattered them around my country. It may take you a long time to find them, even if you knew where to start. But wisdom you do not have.”

He roared again, and the floor beneath him cracked. “Foul, despicable girl! I will kill you! I swear it! I will kill you worse than your puny knight!” Ganon’s hand glowed with the mark of the Triforce, its upper triangle of the three shining most brightly.

Zelda’s knees almost buckled.

“Stay your hand, demon. You will not kill me.”

“Do you mean to test me?!”

“I am the only one who can divine where the pieces of the Triforce of Wisdom have become hidden. Kill me, and you lose your fastest way to acquiring it.”

“I can wait,” he snarled. “I have become very patient.”

“Do you expect to gather them all before the hero comes for you?”

“You admit it, then? You have raised a hero to defy me?”

“Nay, I admit that I have not. But I doubt you want to wait long enough to see one rise on their own, Ganon.”

“Vile, wretched princess. Your own existence disgusts me. Long have the people of Hyrule enjoyed the bounty of their land. You can imagine how happy I was to see how you all now suffer in this waste of a land, like mine. Fine then, Princess. You can play your little game of rebellion against me. Divine for me these cursed places where you have hidden the Triforce of Wisdom. When it rests complete and whole in my hand, I will claim your skull as the price for your childish defiance.”

Ganon clenched his glowing fist and a crystal prism formed around Zelda, trapping her in the fiend’s clutches. With the princess and her family’s treasures in tow, Ganon and his army left Hyrule Castle and marched for his base at Death Mountain. 

__

Impa had been running almost nonstop for hours, and by the time the sun began to rise, she was all but exhausted. She found herself in a clearing outside the forest, near a low plateau by the kingdom’s southern borders. The nursemaid’s old body hurt beyond belief and capacity, but with the moblins having not given up on the chase, she could not spare much time for rest.

  As she sat against a tree to catch her breath, only a few minutes passed before she heard rustling from within the trees. Impa groaned in pain and worry, with beads of sweat falling from her brow as the stomps and growls of moblins approached.

“Oh, Princess, I don’t know if I can do the mission you gave me... Forgive me for my weakness, sweet child...”

The very moment one of the moblins stepped out from the thicket into the clearing, something zoomed through the air, hitting one in the eye. In throes of pain, the moblin unwittingly slashed at the other three. More projectiles zoomed through the air as a boy holding a slingshot jumped out from a tree, continually readying new shots.

“There! Kill the runt!”

Two moblins flung their spears at the boy, who dodged one and deflected the other with his small shield. Loosing another acorn at the eyes of a moblin, the boy’s already-worn slingshot broke, and he threw it away before drawing his wooden sword, also battered and cracked. Swift as the wind, he dove into the thrashing pile of moblins, throwing them all back with a spin of his sword. Impa gasped in awe as she watched the boy fight. One would think a child would scream, hold their head, and run when faced with a moblin, a devilish and ever meat-hungry forest beast often mentioned in stories meant to make the children behave. Yet this boy fought unwaveringly with four moblins armed and trained for feral warfare. Impa thought the boy moved like a green flash, watching him whittle each of them down with the strikes of his sword.

The last of the four moblins, a larger blue-skinned kind, got in a lucky strike with its spear, cutting past the boy’s sleeve and skin. Still, he held his shield and his sword, almost snapped in half at this point, to face the fiend. It roared, putting all its force behind a quick thrust. But the boy deflected it to the side and jumped forward before using his shield to bash in the side of the moblin’s knee, and it fell. The boy then tightly grasped the hilt of what remained of his wooden sword, and smashed it into the moblin’s head. Any life that remained in the moblin was now gone, and the wooden sword was now broken, little of it remaining past the guard. After a moment of contemplation, the boy cast it aside.

“Young boy,” Impa called out weakly, coughing.

He turned, staring at the small old lady sitting against the tree.

“Come here... Quickly, please.” Impa slowly tried to stand, and when she almost fell, the boy ran to support her, and he gave her his waterskin to drink from. There wasn’t much, and Impa had not expected she would drink it all. Still, it rejuvenated her, and pain slowly left her body, though she was still weary. “What a good lad you are...”

 The boy kept silent, focusing on carrying the small woman forward where she wanted to go. He squeezed out the last drops of the fairy water over the wound on his arm, and it stung and steamed as it closed shut.

“I am Impa, servant of Princess Zelda. She needs your help.”

The boy inhaled sharply when he heard the name. Though his home was a few miles from the Kingdom of Hyrule’s official borders, he had seen the few soldiers the castle had when they were on their regular patrols around the region, and he knew of the attack on Hyrule Castle. Though he had never seen the princess, his parents had sometimes talked about the state of the kingdom and the overall Hyrule region.

My parents...

Though Impa remained quiet waiting for a response, some semblance of acknowledgement, the boy’s thoughts trailed off in remembering his mother and father. Yes, he had to escape his house to live, but if he hadn’t called out to them, distracted them in battle, revealed their position to the moblins, perhaps they...

“Young boy? Surely you aren’t deaf.”

His mouth frowning tightly, the boy turned to face Impa and shook his head.

“Dear me,” she sighed in some mixture of worry and relief. “I must ask your forgiveness, boy, but Princess Zelda and this land of Hyrule need your help. I fear I must believe you are its best hope. Please, will you at least tell me your name?”

The boy felt as if his throat was bound in fetters. He managed to utter something with some difficulty, as if he was remembering himself.

“Link.”

“Oh my, a strong name. I will not have to call you the boy who hides in trees,” Impa said, laughing to herself.

Link carried her to the edge of the plateau, and she sat again, breathing deeply. Together they faced the remains of the kingdom, from the Death Mountain Range in the northwest and the Great Hyrulean Sea in the far east. Though the plateau wasn’t very high, they could see much of it clearly. The Lost Woods, Lake Hylia, Spectacle Rock upon Death Mountain itself... Some thought these grandiose names were all Hyrule had to remember its former glory.

“The princess is... in Ganon’s clutches, the one called ‘Demon King,’” Impa said, but her words were unsure and very pained. “To keep it out of his possession, she has broken a treasure most vital to Hyrule’s peace, its heart. It is the Triforce of Wisdom, a triangle of gold, now split apart in eight pieces.”

Link nodded, remembering the lights he saw the night before.

“I am not entirely sure of pieces’ locations, but there are many strongholds throughout the kingdom. They are older than even me, but they were well built... some even hidden by magic, to be used in the defense of this country. I am sure the princess has hidden the pieces of the Triforce within their depths. But the strongholds themselves have been in disuse for ages... There is talk of monsters and other evils having taken up residence.”

Impa was surprised, yet joyed nonetheless to see Link’s glare remain steady.

“You must recover the Triforce of Wisdom, both to keep it out of Ganon’s hands, and to save Zelda from him. For Ganon has taken its counterpart, the Triforce of Power. Without Zelda’s treasure, you cannot hope to battle with the Demon King. Link... I know not if I can trust you with the princess’s mission, but please, you must help.”

With his brow heavy, Link only nodded.

A smile formed on Impa’s face, but strength began to leave the old woman’s eyes.

“I leave it to you... Please, save Zelda... Save Hyrule...”

Impa lightly fell to the side, and Link gasped, but when he heard her snore, he knew it was alright. Just below them at the foot of the plateau, Link saw a person, an old man, who had seemingly been watching them. The old man turned back, hobbling into a cave of which the entrance Link could barely see. Doing what he could to lift Impa over his back, he carried the old woman down a pathway leading below, and took her into the cave.

With the cave illuminated by fires in two pots, the old man sat against the rear wall, with some scavenged provisions and a walking stick at his side. He looked upon Link warily as the boy laid Impa down against the cave wall.

“I saw enough of what happened, young boy,” the old man said. “You’re quite skilled, I have to admit. I can watch over the lady until she wakes. But I don’t have much in the way of provision here myself, and I don’t know if I’ll last so long anyway.” Link noticed some spots of red in the cave floor, and a bloodied rag wrapped around his leg.

Link nodded and turned to leave.

“Wait!” the old man yelled. “It’s dangerous out there. There are those pigs lurking about, but more creatures have come out from the trees, down from the mountains. You’re one boy, all alone. I don’t know what you’re going to do, but there’s a weapon, right over there, if you need it...”

Link turned to see a moblin’s spear off to the side, its head carved from animal bone. Link’s lip curled in unhidden disgust, and he shook his head.

“I see... Then, the only other thing I have left is this. Take it.”

The old man pulled from behind him a sheathed sword, holding it out as Link approached and took the weapon from his hands. Keeping an eye on the old man, he unsheathed the sword carefully; it was an old thing, rusted in parts, but still serviceable. Link swung it lightly a few times to get a feel for its weight before putting it back in its scabbard and strapping it to his tunic’s belt. 

The old man smiled. “I’m sorry, that’s all I’ve got. And someone so young shouldn’t wield a sword so easily... It is less a boon than it is a burden.”

Link’s heavy stare met the old man again.

“But I suppose you already knew. I’ll keep you in my prayers, boy. Should I live, perhaps I’ll hope to see you again.”

Link took another look at Impa before leaving the cave. Back outside, he turned to face the cave, and took another look around him. In the far distances, he saw a cluster of tektites to the west, and more octoroks to the east and north.

He knew not why he had accepted Impa’s request so readily. He knew little of Princess Zelda, had no deep love for Hyrule. He could leave this place if he wanted to, and anyone in their right mind would. But even though the hate he bore for Ganon and his minions still burned strong, part of him felt compelled to do this task out of some duty.

“O brave hero,” Link heard. It was faint, far-off yet still close. “O brave hero, venture north. The great lake, you will find the first piece you seek. Save Hyrule.”

No longer alone, Link grasped his sword tightly, and took his first steps into the wild.

[theveryworstthing]

(pounding fists on table) fashion, fashion, fashion, faSHION FASHION...

it is time to release the fruits of my patreon sponsored Dwarf Week to gen pop. the theme was the long awaited history of dwarven punk (furthermore known as Lunk) and woo did it become A Lot. music genres and fashion movements don’t just come from nowhere and transplanting a human genre that started from specific human times and sensibilities onto another race without thinking about why a thing ain’t my style. so! i’m gonna give you a nice chunky lore post and follow it up with some posts about Notable Lunk Ladies.  let’s begin.

A Long Short History of Lunk To really talk about Lunk we gotta talk about the rebellion. And to talk about the rebellion we gotta talk about the flood in the Mander Drop cave system.

Two Disasters. - The Mander Drop cave system was fairly small  as dwarven cities go. It was also very remote, and as far as top-sider territories are concerned, outside of the Woods. So when a devastating flood/cave-in combo forced  survivors up to the surface they found themselves in the human kingdom of Luxterra, and therefore on the land of the recently appointed King Regiis The 27th. For a while this seemed like good luck. The king welcomed the refugees in and happily provided them with housing and food. How could they be anything but helpful to the first dwarves seen in Luxterra for generations? Especially since, whether they knew it or not,  the royal borders made it so that these were clearly their people? Their brethren? It was just too bad about all the blasphemy. The King and his religious advisers all agreed that they’d have to do something about that if their newly discovered people were to be Saved with the rest.

Now religion can be a force for love and safety and a link to important cultural heritage. But also. You know. Sometimes it sucks. Rolism, which is what Luxterra had recently adopted as their primary and only religion, sucked. The Incomparably Holy And Absolutely Complete Sapient Bestiaries was a collection of books written by a young failed anthropologist/failed fantasy writer/failed(eventually successful?) cult leader  with an unchecked ego and a down right girthy god complex named Sir Adam Brightcrown (real name:Rod Flaff). They were said to contain the true and holy roles of every sapient being barring demons, who were  not in the books outside of mentions of general badguy behavior and their penchant for the perversion of nature. The series was barely older than the current king himself and had flown completely under the radar until the former king Regiis The 26th, received the books as joke gifts and  got way into them. Like, into them enough to abolish all mentions or practice of any other religions in Luxterra and turn the church over to the author of the Bestiaries/voice of god, Sir Adam.

The Mander Drop dwarves did not act the way dwarves were described in the Bestiaries (a common theme for any race described in the Bestiaries). They thought themselves all women, even as they wore long beards! There was no gleam of avarice in their eyes when they walked past the golden ornaments hanging throughout the royal gardens! They weren’t even violently rowdy alcoholics!

Scandal.

It couldn’t just be that they were survivors of a horrible disaster reeling from the loss of their homes and families as they tried to be polite to human hosts who knew next to nothing about their actual culture.

No, they had to have been Changed. Touched by demonic forces that all Good People knew lurked beyond their righteous borders.

But they would surely come around with a little instruction and the church got to it right away, sending their missionaries into the hospitals and dwarven camps to spread the word. But the word did not spread as easily as they would have liked. The word was kinda chunky. The dwarves were very set in their ways and the loss of their home had made them very touchy about altering their traditions too much. So after enough badgering, the remaining Elders decided that maybe it was best to leave Luxterra as soon as their wounded could be moved and take their chances in The Woods. They even went so far as to tell the royal council that they did not see themselves as true Luxterrans and so felt that they should not be beholden to certain church guidelines. The King took this pretty well and told them that he would respect their wishes and support any decision they made. So a few weeks later, when everyone who hadn’t passed was stable enough to ride with a caravan, they sent messengers out with pleas for help to other cave systems.

They never saw those messengers again.

A freak flash fire broke out in the dwarven camp that evening. All of the Elders and the adults most resistant to the church’s advances  mysteriously did not make any moves to escape as they were burned to death in the meeting tent. Most of the possessions and goods salvaged from the Mander Drop caves were also reduced to ash . In the end, all that was left were a few resilient trinkets and a vast amount of mostly orphaned dwarven youth that had luckily been away at the time. The king’s detectives declared that it probably was and accident, but the remaining dwarves should move to the land behind the royal monastery for a while just to make sure it wasn’t something more…unsavory.  And so the survivors were put under absolute royal protection. Which meant  a settlement furnished with everything the holy books said that a dwarf could want, entry into St. Adam’s Rolism School for the young ones, round the clock guards to ensure safety standards were met, and many other…perks.

All the king asked for in return is that they work the mines to repay him for his generosity. Since they were not actually Luxterran citizens, they could only receive a certain amount of aide without incurring debt from their hosts, and that line had been crossed long ago. But no worries! Once their debt was repayed and they felt stable enough, they could leave with the kingdom’s support and blessings.

House Arrest- The dwarves had a bad feeling about this whole deal, but weren’t exactly in a position to refuse. The initial agreement to pay for the  refugees room and board  looked completely fair despite their awful feelings toward it but like everything else in their situation, it sucked.   Hidden, vague stipulations in confusing foreign languages and weird time frames made them inescapable. The mining conditions were so hazardous that many didn’t live or stay healthy long enough to pay their due. Children inherited debt from their parents and were locked into the system as soon as they were old enough to enter the work force (an age that inched ever lower). As far as the king and the church were concerned, the dwarves had a sizable community debt not just from enjoying Luxterra’s  gracious hospitality but for having their souls saved by being shown their proper Roles. And that debt was so great that it made sense that it was impossible to pay off. Also, trying to escape the contract was as much a death sentence for you and your family as ‘consorting with demons’.  Leaving the kingdom or rebelling against Regiis’ rule was akin to stealing the prosperity they had surely enjoyed and no one stole from the king. It was rehabilitation from the church or death.

And let’s be real. It was usually death.

Besides, the Holy Bestiaries stated that dwarves lived for mining and their generations of work had made Luxterra prosperous beyond measure. Why would they want to leave?

Basic Rolism Dwarf Rules- Dwaves are masculine. Dwarves are brutish. Dwarves smith and mine but they do not craft. Dwarves only love Gold and treasure. Dwarves only take joy in fight and drink. There’s more but you get the idea. There were other random rules around appropriate use of the dwarvish language (no use. No use is what they wanted) that included acceptable names (most families got to keep their last names because they were appropriately Aesthetic but first names were changed for most people). These rules weren’t in the books, the church just decided they were for the best.

Music - music was the biggest and most freeing coping mechanism the dwarves had during the three generations of life in Luxterra.  This makes sense, as screaming rhythmic complaints is a known stress reliever for many sapient races. What culture could be recovered or remembered, which wasn’t much tbh, was used heavily in the Lunk (short for ‘spelunk’ which some dwarves did in secret to recover relics from the ruins of the Mander Drop caves) scene, and that included attempted replications of traditional instruments and songs. It was way different from classic dwarven music due to the new instruments, influence from human underground (not that kind of underground) musicians, and enhanced Angst, but like all of lunk culture it was good enough.

Dwarves were expected to sing per their entry in the Bestiary, and so were never bothered about practice during the work day unless snitch human coworkers or guards heard…less than tasteful lyrics. This meant anything treasonous or ‘contrary to their nature’. Fighting and drinking were okay subjects but critique of  religion, the social order, or the king? Literal devil music that was cause for possible arrest and ‘rehabilitation’. To be fair, a lot of human miners weren’t too fond of the king either (Rolism didn’t just affect dwarves) so they let a lot slide unless a dwarf got uppity and they were a huge bastard. Also fighting and drinking persisted as song themes long after they were freed from their restrictions because those are almost universally fun topics to scream about in a cave, but still.

While plenty of singing went on in work areas, actual concerts and events were held in deeper decrepit mines than were usually condemned for one reason or another. It was…not safe. But that was kind of the point. If it wasn’t safe for dwarves then humans certainly wouldn’t want to  venture down there, not that they didn’t. Human friends could come to shows if they were vetted by  enough dwarves, kept their mouthes shut, and brought their own safety gear. Crouched figures with oxygen tanks, harnesses, and dusty mohawks weren’t as rare as you would think. Especially when the war started and the king really kicked his religious fervor into high gear.

Strangely enough, none of these venues ever killed or injured their occupants. Future dwarven musical scholars would say that the shows tied into ancient protective ballads that are sung in unnaturally excavated areas, a bit of accidental protection magic, but at the time they just considered themselves lucky.

Music Part 2: Themes In Screams - Classic lunk was angry rebellion music, but it was also very fantastical and tended to veer into a surreal dreamy territory that at times produced echos of ancestral dwarven music. This was purposeful, as the descendants of the Mander Drop dwarves had a lot of culture scrubbed out of them, but they fiercely guarded and celebrated what remained. Lunk also had a kind of fun hopeful romanticism to it once you got through all the verses about beheading the king and pissing down the stump. Besides regicide and bar fights, major classic lunk themes were a mix of gender, identity, and love.  Lunk was a perfect medium to explore their  heavily repressed femininity and sexuality because as far as the Church was concerned all dwarves were manly men who only touched through punches and dwarven babies came from special chunks of gold and rocky debris found in mines.

Music Part 3: Instrumentals - a lot of scavenging and creative instrument construction went on to make lunk possible. The dwarves were limited to crafting weapons, tools, and armor due to their Role in the Bestiaries, but used their time combing scrap yards and dumps for forge materials  to smuggle out other interesting tidbits. Using knowledge gained from discarded manuals and spare parts hidden among mining equipment, a workshop (called the Ironing Board for its red walls and duel purpose as a place that outlaw seamstresses hung out while doing clothes alterations and fittings) was established in an empty  side tunnel, and secretive tinkerers would spend their spare time churning out strange stringed things, portable piano adjacent items, and drums that were honestly, Too Much. Some of the better sounding instruments became staples of the genre and were mastered by most players but there were a lot of funky one-offs only used by specific dwarves.

As for singing, Lunk started as a mix of dwarven throat singing, very energetic yelling, seductive crooning, and rare operatic belting. Mostly it’s just Loud. Microphones weren’t a thing and being heard over the instruments meant positioning yourself in the cave for maximum acoustic effect while wearing your lungs out.

Some original music from the time in Luxterra still exist in dwarven museums and private collections. Recorders were retrieved with the rest of the spare parts they hid down in the tunnels, and the ones that weren’t taken apart for instruments were used to record shows.  The quality of these recordings is middling to pretty bad, but considering how few of those bands survived the war with all their members, they’re treated like the exquisite treasures they are.

Aesthetic:

Hair- Mostly bald or buzzed short with bangs but short thin mohawks or rat tails were also acceptable. Usually bleached  completely golden blond or streaked with blond chunks as a sarcastic nod towards The Bestiaries stance on the dwarven race’s supposed obsession with gold. Besides, bleach was cheap and easy to get. Hats were worn constantly above ground to prevent questions about the styles from nosy humans.  

Beards- Styled to hell. Gelled monstrosities that were sometimes bleached and often dusted with mica powder until they resembled shimmery  stalactites /stalagmites. Lunk beards are dyed a variety of colors these days, but in the past mica powder was easy to make/steal and a dusty beard was easier to explain away than a rainbow one. Beard style varied, some cut them short and shaved them into easily spikeable strips, some only  shaved the chin  and wore the rest in two braids laced with found bits of metal and ribbon, and some went with the dwarven classic: letting it grow to ridiculous lengths. It really depended on how closely they were monitored and what they felt they could get away with safely.

Clothes Makeup and Accessories- The goal was to be a visually blasphemous fuck you. Rolism gave dwarves very strict very masculine fashion guidelines that favored rugged disregard for appearance over careful grooming.  Makeup and any accessory deemed too feminine was prohibited. Colors were restricted to shades of brown with an occasional splash of white or gold. All jewelry was bits of rough blocky metal with very little detailing. Free dwarves have an androgynous style that flips from feminine to masculine and everything in between depending on cave system and activity but the Lunk style aimed for less gender androgyny and more gender discord. In the beginning dwarves turned up to shows in a mix of their least ruined set of work clothes and whatever super  ‘feminine’ items they could get their hands on.   This made for some very patchwork looks like heirloom pearl necklaces and gaudy costume jewelry earrings were paired with grungy button ups and ripped jeans. As scavengers got bolder and seamstresses got better they started experimenting with castaway human sized dresses (and the rare ballgown) that were ‘harvested’ by being hacked apart and put back together to make two or three slightly scandalous smaller dresses and taking apart discarded heels to recreate them in dwarf sizes. Patches were made from leftover scraps and either sewn over holes on clothing or embroidered with slogans and symbols to decorate vests, jackets, and bags.

And oh man the underwear.

It’s seems weird to bring up underwear as a sign of rebellion but the church only provided the worst boxer shorts you can imagine and ill fitting ‘undershirts’ used for binding chests too big to be ignored. The first seamstress to reverse engineer a comfortable bra and make underwear that wasn’t constructed of congealed depression was regarded as a goddess. And the great thing about the underwear was that unlike their other clothing which had to be stored in the tunnels 2/7, they could wear them anywhere as long as they made sure everything was covered up and washed them out of sight. That little act of rebellion carried a lot of people through and though great creativity and care was put into all the clothing made underground, underwear were by and large the fanciest and best taken care of items.

Now back to accessories where everything was spikes. the style was meant to mimic the stalactites/stalagmites and jewelry was made with random polished rocks and fabric scraps when actual pieces couldn’t be found. Makeup was little more than getting creative with charcoal for eyeshadow and lipstick (it had to be something that didn’t stain easily and the dregs of old makeup they would find caused enough eye infections and cold sores to be undesirable at best unless you were really willing to risk it for that great pop of color) but eyelashes were more important. Dwarves naturally have long eyelashes but they were ordered to trim them to prevent gender ambiguity so of course this meant that super long false lashes became a big thing.   What else were they gonna do with all that beard hair they were shaving off?

Art- Outright rebellion would have meant death for every Mander Drop dwarf, so all Lunk activity was on the down low to a degree that it might as well have not existed to humans not in the know. It was very easy to tell where humans weren’t hearty enough to work though because there was Lunk graffiti everywhere. Most graffiti was chiseled or scratched into available surfaces with re-purposed broken work tools or pocket knives. A lot of it was standard sentient species graffiti, tagging, poetry, declarations of love/hate, badly drawn pornography, puns, calls for regicide, memorials, cryptic messages, well drawn pornography, ect. But there were also a ton of illustrated instructions. Popular clothing patterns in different sizes were etched into the walls of the Ironing Board by seamstresses. Important instrument parts and building shortcuts were sketched out for crafters to reference. Tips for smuggling contraband, finding the best garbage, and lists of which humans were to be trusted (and who was to be ignored if they happened to fall down a mine shaft one day) were also present. A lot of this art was lost in the ensuing escape cave in, but now that dwarven archaeologists are allowed to venture into the mines again much is being found and displayed in Woodland museums.

Tattoos- Tattoos were very important before the flood drove them topside but the church declared the dwarves’ traditional designs blasphemous, going so far as to decree that those that couldn’t be hidden at all times be magically removed.  If they really really wanted a tattoo in Luxterra it had to relate to Rolism in some way. This meant that most dwarves did not have tattoos unless coerced into doing so to prevent punishment. So while makeup and drawn designs like the Mander’s Drop (the raindrop and circle worn on the forehead) were frequently used,  tattoos weren’t  a thing in Lunk culture until after the war. After the war, when they didn’t have to worry about hiding identifying features and they had the freedom to choose what designs they wanted, a lot of dwarves got inked up. Tbh, the result was less desirable than the absolute high of real choice but being able to get their Drops properly tattooed instead of drawing them on in secret every day helped soothe the identity problems some dwarves came out of this mess with.

New Blood - While the Mander Drop dwarves took solace in their music, King Regiis The 28th and head priest Adam III were working on plans to take their forefathers’ conversion of the demonic touched races a step further. It obviously worked for the dwarves, why not send missionaries into the Woods and actively enlarge their congregation? Or failing that, why not kidnap dwarven travelers and stick them with the tamed-I mean pious dwarves until they shape up and join the church? That should work.

It didn’t work.

The new dwarves, upon waking from the heavily drugged sleep brought on by the free food from the previously mentioned missionaries and getting an inside look at this whole Situation give a healthy internal scream and started planning their escape.  Their goal was to warn everyone in the Woods that those kind of annoying human missionaries were a vanguard for something much worse and nip this in the bud before it got (more) out of hand.

They kept their distance and didn’t really trust the Mander Drop descendants at first as they assumed that they were brain washed weirdos.  They eventually  came around after then elder, Thorgold Buckmarble (a common and ‘traditional’ dwarven name from the Bestiaries I swear) was instrumental in making sure the new blood didn’t get murdered by guards for demonic behavior within a week. With her help they were able to gain the other dwarves’ trust and realize that their pious behavior and shows of loyalty to the crown was all an act.

Thorgold was the one who introduced them to the lunk scene, and with her gentle guidance and constant threats to ‘come over there and chuck you idiots down a mine shaft if you don’t cut it out’, everyone was able to get along. Mostly. The newcomers’ insistence on escape and tales of dwarven culture outside of Luxterra intrigued the locals, and as they became more involved with each other lunk started to change from a simple music scene, to a movement.

Spread The word - The Mander Drop dwarves didn’t know any dwarven and the newcomer dwarves only barely spoke Luxterran but both sides were eager to learn. The misunderstanding were making things more difficult than they should be. The exchange had an unintended effect however. The few trusted human acquaintances ended up learning dwarven too.  And dwarven turned out to be a pretty good language to be treasonous in. And treason was starting to sound pretty cool for the small population of people who weren’t keen on what was shaping up to be a bloody crusade over a religion that they didn’t really believe. Of course the dwarves and their sympathizers didn’t want all this treason traced back to them, so they created a code to talk trash in and tentatively labeled it Lunk-Speech. This new code language was used for more than light treason though. It was also used for elaborate escape plans and HEAVY treason. With the king growing more paranoid by the day and war becoming more likely, the dwarves used their human comrades to sneak Lunk S.O.S. messages into The Woods. Lunk code was also used to make literature criticizing the king and the church, which made the ranks of sympathizers swell dramatically.

The king did not like this.

He only heard the barest of doubtful whispers. Even with the secret growth of the lunk movement, most humans in Luxterra were sippin’ the same flavor kool aid that he was. He had no real reason to be concerned about a few weird notes but paranoia sure is a thing.  The demonic forces had clearly crossed his borders. No more missionary trips. No more acclimation experiments. It’s holy war time.

The Second Jewel Towne Fire - Faking their deaths seemed as good a plan as any. There wasn’t gonna be a search for dead dwarves.

The messages did their job and rescuers in the Woods got to work. The least crushed bits of the abandoned Mander Drop cave system was rediscovered and tunnels were connected to one of the dwarven-only work areas of the  smaller  royal mine. As soon as the escape route was open the signal was sent to every dwarf. 3 days.

By the time the king got word of the flash fire at the dwarf village,  now called Jewel Towne, the flames were a wall of rainbow fury from the metallic dust burning off of the clothes and buildings left behind and the thought that anyone could survive the inferno was laughable at best. Instead they focused their efforts on saving the monastery and other adjacent human buildings.

Meanwhile, the dwarves were making their way through their escape tunnels. Their last act was to detonate their exit.

It had taken three generations, but the Mander Drop dwarves were free again.  

Free Agents - So the Mander drop dwarves faked their deaths. Now what? Freedom was amazing but it wasn’t smooth sailing. They never completely fit in with the Woodland dwarves after their ordeal, and while they appreciated the help from the outsiders who freed them, they felt iffy about moves to coerce them into the Woodland army. This led to them being a pretty solitary nomadic tribe. They did their part though. It’s not like they magically stopped hating the king, they just didn’t want to give anyone else a chance to use them. During the war they worked alongside woodland forces as spies, info dealers, assassins, and Luxterra experts. They were a boon for anyone looking to infiltrate enemy ranks, pose as  slave traders to free captives, or safely escort refugees. They also served as an early warning system for different communities and provided hand transcribed copies of The Bestiary so that people could hide ‘demonic behavior’ from roving Luxterran forces looking for an excuse to go after them. These blasphemous reproductions included translations for common Luxterran phrases, inventive curses to yell at captors/raiders, beauty tips, song lyrics, and a variety of very raw comix. The info didn’t always work because if someone really wants you to be guilty you’ll always be guilty and many holy raids were just cover ups for land grabs and kidnapping, but they helped a lot and were pretty much how zines in the Woodlands were born.

You would think that trying to stay out of direct combat would mean they were relatively safe, but many Mander Drop dwarves fell during the war. They  were most often the first to warn towns of approaching Luxterran forces and last to leave, which meant they got into a lot of skirmishes. They also had a habit of always trying to rescue P.O.W.’s , kicking in the teeth of slave traders, and generally freeing anyone they could from the Rolism colonies (it seems dwarves weren’t the only people that the church had captured and tried to convert). Very touchy on the subject of stealing people those Mander Drop dwarves. Very willing to risk their lives for any opportunity to stomp on a Rolism priest’s nuts. 

And besides all that there was the fact that now that they were free, they were very loud and open about their seething hatred of Luxterra. They couldn’t let the enemy forces know that they were their former captives since they were still pretending to be dead (and in fact had stopped using the Mander Drop title in exchange for just calling themselves Lunk dwarves and adopting new names for themselves) , but they spread the tale like wildfire and turned a lot of would be allies against the Luxterra. Most of the groups that were the loudest, most widely spread, and biggest pains in the collective royal ass were led or assisted by Mander Drop dwarves. It was so much of a thing that in the Lunk scene people used bounties and wanted posters like stylish accessories. This of course meant that anyone with a heavily styled beard  and a mohawk was enemy number one.

Some Woodland forces pegged this as reckless and suicidal behavior, but they won more than they lost and their work with the goblins who created the Guides saved a lot of people so no one really said nothing to them. Plus Lunk musicians were still making tons of morale boosting music in between missions and were regarded as some of the greatest war bards the Woodlands had ever known. You came to their shows talking smack and you had better have had a good reason or great brawling skills.

End Of The War-  Stomping on slave trader necks was fine, but it was the spies that really helped bring an end to the war.

Intel from human allies still living in Luxterra revealed that the king was going to try revive his weird dwarf collection and use them as spies. This would be his downfall however, as it gave a few of the top Mander Drop spies a way to get in there and just mess things up real good.

The ladies who took on this mission were Basaltherick Boulderboar, Thorgold Buckmarble, and Brickarth Dirtraven. They posed as miners who had been trapped by  a cave in right before the deadly fire, claiming they’d been wandering the underground for over a year, surviving only on water and mud (which The Bestiaries totally said they could do in hard times). It was almost suspicious how quickly they were believed and offered the job. If there was any Divine meddling going on, it definitely wasn’t for the king’s side.

It takes another year, a lot of sabotaging the hidden camps holding the heavily guarded healer P.O.W.’s that the Luxterran forces had been using the keep their army borderline unkillable, the accidental seduction of the king’s cousin, the death of a brave comrade, a few murders here and there, and getting a real tasty peasant uprising going, but eventually the crown was scooped up off the floor next to the guillotine, dusted off, and placed on the head of King Renn. His two dwarven advisers, Ladies Boulderboar and Dirtraven, stayed in Luxterra for the rest of their lives, and  later became peaceful dignitaries. To this day they are still  a constant presence in the Luxterran courts in what totally isn’t keeping an eye on on whoever they didn’t kill/get killed the first go round. They are also  founders/joint leaders of the less peaceful secret society who totally are making sure that that bullshit never happens again.

Dwarves age amazingly but they both look very young for their respective ages. Just a fun fact.

Also they are still spiking their beards.

Post War - Everyone kind of expected the Lunk scene to die out once the war was over, but changing out a king doesn’t entirely change out the ideas implanted in his people so even today there are still pockets of Rolists causing trouble so in turn there are still Lunk girls carrying on the family tradition of stomping on their nuts. It was eventually revealed that the Mander Drop dwarves had faked their deaths, and negotiations started on declaring their ancestral cave system as dwarven land entirely separate from Luxterra. Today the system is mostly restored and serves as a dwarven historical landmark but few people took up residence there right after the war. They were happy to have access to their home again but the feeling of being in Luxterra borders was just…too much.  The majority of the Mander Drop survivors decided to spread their wings a bit and explore the Woodland on quests for insight into free dwarven culture. The bands that were still whole and didn’t hate each other toured wherever folks would have them, picking up new musical skills and spreading the Lunk sound across the land. The fractured bands did similar, banding together or training up new members from other cave systems. Seamstresses used their skills to transform the post war fashion industry into something weird and wonderful (and one has a granddaughter who’s the current talk of the non-human fashion world with her Chainmail Bikini brand). Some of them went into crafting apprenticeships. Some helped rebuild Mander Drop.

Some, maybe more than people talk about when discussing the Woodland’s victory, never recovered from Everything and it’s a shame what happened to the ones who got smothered by all that ugliness.  That’s what these things do to people though.

There are worse happy endings than this.

[nonbinary-moth]

A small fic for @starlightkeybright‘s AU they came up with with Ventus and Roxas being knights sworn to protect Sora. This is all beginning stuff, but I’d love to continue, if thats okay with Star

“Hey, we’re gonna be late, come on!”

Roxas rolled his eyes as he ran after his brother. It was way too early for exercise in his opinion, but Ventus was the dictionary definition of a morning person. Awake at the crack of dawn, waking him up as well while he was at it, having breakfast made by half six and ready to leave the house at 7. He was usually still in bed by that time.

Still, he never would’ve been able to oversleep today. After three long years of training they were finally ready to graduate the academy and become real knights. Serving the kingdom had been a dream of his since childhood, and despite Ven’s slightly annoying, overly optimistic attitude, he couldn’t help smile as he followed.

He finally caught up to him, breathing heavily as he stared upwards at the palace. The Kingdom of Lux was one of the largest in the country, and certainly the richest, so it made sense the palance matched the grandeur. Golden gears and pipes decorated the walls, with glowing crystals for light all over the place. The main building split off into many towers, connected by beams of light, with dangerous-looking staircases spiralling upwards. From his position on the ground he could see people making their way across the walkways, perhaps getting things ready for their ceremony.

“Ven, over here!” A voice cut through the growing crowd, attracting both of their attention. It was Terra, one of the senior members of the Crownsguard. They were the best of the best, tasked with protecting the royal family whenever they left the palace. He was dressed in his armour, and despite being close friends with Ven he would never abandon his post whilst on duty. Which meant the King was going to be here soon.

“Terra! I haven’t seen you in forever!” Clearly not thinking as much as him, Ven ran past him, jumping up as he hugged the older man. He staggered backwards slightly, laughing and hugging back.

“Been busy, with Sora being officially named as the heir to the throne and all. New shifts had to be set out, since he’d be a priority target for any enemies right now. I’m on duty all day, but I’ll be around for the ceremony - and Aqua too.” He grinned, and Ventus grinned back, bouncing up and down his excitement. Terra’s eyes flitted over to Roxas, a surprised expression crossing his face, before being replaced with realisation. “Oh, you must be his twin brother, Ven told me about you.”

“Yep, Roxas! You can tell by the eye colour.” He wrapped his arm around his, smiling and pointing up at his eyes. Their natural eye colour was a bright blue, but Ventus wore filtered contact lenses to fix his eyesight, giving them a green hue. The sudden contact unsettled Roxas, and he felt the sudden urge to dart away, but managed to stop himself from doing so. Ven seemed to notice, however, and quickly let go of him. He silently thanked him.

“Nice to meet you. Suppose you can’t wait either, huh?” Roxas nodded, unsure to find the right words quick enough, but Ventus saved him yet again.

“We both are! Do you know where we’ll be? The ceremony starts at nine, and we need to be at the Hall by then.” He spoke quickly, more than likely to draw the attention to him. Once again, he silently thanked him. Terra laughed lightly, ruffling his hair.

“You’ll have to find out later, kiddo. I know you’ll be happy about it.” He glanced up at the castle, where a group of soldiers were opening the doors. “Looks like it's almost time. Good luck!” He smiled, and the twins smiled back. With a quick wave from Ventus, the two ran through the gates and into the castle.

+++

They had been in the castle before, but never the Royal Hall. That was where the most important meetings were held, where laws and fates were decided. If you were called there, it would become the best day or the worst day of your life. Walking through the gilded hallways, Roxas hoped it would be the former.

He glanced over at Ventus, still bouncing in excitement with a barely contained smile on his face. Of course there was, both of their dreams were about to come true, but the dregs of worry still lingered in his mind. What if it wasn’t what he had hoped? What if he was stuck patrolling some out-of-the-way border for the rest of his life? An important job, sure, but it was the excitement he craved, an adventure he couldn’t get just from staying in the city.

No, he had to think positive. This was going to change his life, in a good way. Serving his kingdom was his dream. No matter where he was going, he’d be making a difference. He only wished one thing - he stayed with Ven. He was strong, excelling in places no one could dare reach, but he felt a lot safer around his brother. He wondered what Ven was thinking. What was he hoping for?

They reached the door to the Hall, guarded by two helmet-clad guardsmen. As they approached they turned, opening the door. Light poured out, and Roxas quickly closed his eyes, a gasp from Ven telling him he hadn’t been so lucky. At least he had the filters in his eyes to help him adjust.

The room, unlike the golden-brown walls of the halls they had been wandering for a while now, was almost completely white, lit by chandeliers of glowing crystals high above them. Gold trim outlined the details on the walls and decorations, only adding to the grandeur of the room. The most eye-catching display, if you could see it through the blinding white, was the large stained glass window on the far wall.

Divided into three parts, each depicting the three kingdoms of Cor. Lux - his home. A kingdom of light and prosperity. They shone above the thrones, causing a yellowish glow upon the room. The patterns were intricate and detailed, showing the sun shining down on a crowd of people. A golden crown - the official symbol of Lux - divided the two.

Nox, the city’s twin, dominated the bottom left of the glass. The two had split apart many years ago, and it was hard to tell that they had ever shared a name on sight alone. Things were darker there, with the strongest warrior staying on top, and fights for the throne were frequent. They were not a bloodthirsty kingdom, however. If anything, they were usually the more serious and level-headed of the three. A strong throne lead to a strong king.

The third kingdom, Crepusculum was a lot smaller than the others, but just as powerful. Starting off as a small town outside of the great kingdom Lux and Nox once were, rebels fleeing the joint kingdom settled there, and as they split apart, those who decided to stay built up their defences and declared themselves a separate kingdom. It had once been free to all, but nowadays it was tough to even visit. He had no idea what happened behind the black and white walls, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t during his lifetime.

His eyes fell downwards, towards the thrones. Made of gold - much like everything else in the room - and casting a shadow from the elaborate stained glass window across the floor. There were three of them, the one in the middle being the largest with the two beside identical. In the center sat the king, Eraqus. He wore a patient expression with a kind smile as he stared at the two of them. There was no crown on his head, yet the aura of power and radiance from him was unmistakable.

To the right of the grand throne was the newly-named heir. A young boy, around his age Roxas guessed, with spiky brown hair, topped with a golden crown. Was that even allowed, wearing a symbol of royalty when the King himself didn't? This didn’t seem like the right place to ask. He was clearly having trouble staying calm himself, his eyes flitting around and bouncing on his seat slightly. A smile was barely hidden on his face. He and Ventus had a lot in common. Beside him stood a silver haired boy Roxas didn’t recognize, keeping an eye on the young prince with occasional glances up at the newcomers, a stern expression on his face. He guessed he was the prince’s bodyguard, but the black suit put him off the idea - it didn’t seem like the right attire.

The left throne remained empty, as it had for years. The Queen would have sat there, but it had been years since she was seen around the kingdom. He was never told what had happened, and he had the feeling that was on purpose.

“Roxas and Ventus, I assume?” Eraqus said, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. They nodded.

“The two newest graduates of the Academy. I have heard many good things about the two of you. Roxas, your ability to wield two keyblades with equal skill - or maybe more skill - than some of our finest soldiers is quite impressive.”

Roxas felt his face turn red as he nodded, accepting the praise wordlessly. What had started as a joke between him and Ventus had turned into his signature style of fighting. Years of honing the skill had turned it into something completely unique to him, and he was often asked to teach the skill to the younger students of the Academy. He always refused, however. This was his thing, and he wanted it to stay that way.

“And Ventus. Quick as the wind, holding your keyblade backhand unlike what had been taught to you, and excelling with it at that. Why you two deviated from your teachings is a mystery to me, but I cannot call it a bad thing, as it has done no harm on your skill or reputation.”

He couldn’t help feeling slightly offended at his words, but he watched Ventus accept the praise and decided to leave it. It was a dare that started all this - who could come up with the most elaborate way to fight with a keyblade. Ventus held his backwards, a joke to the rest of the class, but he quickly learned how to use it to catch his opponents off guard. Roxas went for a more powerful approach, using two keyblades at once. At first the weight was hard to handle, but he learned to use the momentum from one swings to power another. He had been called out for cheating in the past, but he had been allowed to continue after a spar with one of the visiting professors from another academy in Nox, who convinced them to let him develop his skill.

“I’m sure you two are eager to know your future. You two have been together since birth, training and learning together, and I can tell you that will continue throughout your service here for the kingdom.” Roxas breathed a sigh of relief. “I have an important task for the two of you, one that I know you can excel in. You are both capable keyblade wielders, creating and mastering your own style. Furthermore, you are young, and possess qualities that I can only describe as ideal to be a perfect role model to my heir.”

He blinked, suddenly looking upwards. He didn’t mean-?

Eraqus guestered towards the young prince, who was fighting so much it was a miracle he hadn’t left his seat already. He had broken into a smile, fingers drumming on the armrest of the throne as he looked between the king and the two of them. The young man next to him was clearly sick of it, rolling his eyes as obviously as he dared.

“Sora is kind and I know will make a wonderful king one day, but he is naive from being raised in such a sheltered manner. I ask the two of you to protect him, teach him the ways of this kingdom. He already possesses the knowledge needed to run the kingdom, he just needs a little help making it all click in.” He laughed.

“Of course, Your Majesty. We swear to serve you and the kingdom until our dying breath-” Roxas began a speech he had prepared a while ago, but was cut off by a wave of Eraqus’s hand.

“Please, none of the formalities. Think of this more as a favour.” He wasn’t quite sure how to react, but nodded and bowed, glancing across to watch Ventus copy him. He had stayed silent this whole time, the smile replaced by a serious expression. Wonder when that updated.

“Thank you. You are dismissed. Meet me in an hour in the gardens, I will introduce Sora to you properly.” Eraqus smiled, and guestered for them to leave. They bowed again, and left the hall.

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 53: Roots

David's legs burned in protest, but he ignored it, as he chased George. Fortunately, he was much younger and faster, so it didn't take him long to catch up to the disgraced King. He pulled his gun and cocked it, making the King stop, as they reached the beach.

"Put your hands where I can see them. You're under arrest for murder," David stated, as the King did so and slowly turned to face him.

"You think you've really won, shepherd?" George goaded.

"Good always wins...even if our victories are harder to achieve," David retorted.

"So sure of yourself...so sure that you're good," the former King spat.

"As opposed to you...yes. The people have never come first to you. Power is all you care about," David countered.

"You are such a fool...power is how you get everything in this world...in any world, boy," George spat.

"I tried to barter a deal that would have made my Kingdom prosperous for centuries to come. But you ruined it all and just so you could be with your precious Snow White. Who is really the selfish one here?" George challenged.

"Some saw what I did as selfish, you're right...but I never stopped fighting for the people. And don't act so noble...you wouldn't have lent any of the riches you acquired from Midas to the people. Only the nobles and elite would have benefited from that deal," David argued.

"If that's what you need to tell yourself every night when you lay next to your precious Snow White, then so be it. That doesn't change the fact that you will never be fit to lead anything, let alone this town," the disgraced King spat.

"You're wrong," Snow interjected breathlessly, as she and Red arrived behind him.

"Am I, Princess? Just because you say so?" George goaded.

"No...because of the kind of man my husband is. The opposite of you. You have to use fear and lies to get people to follow you. Such leadership would only lead this town to war and ruin. David leads by example, as a man that gives his all to protect his family and the people of this town. He doesn't need to rally them into a frenzy to get them to follow him," Snow countered, as she looked up at him.

"They follow him, because they see themselves in him. He's a person that cares about others and loves his family. You could have had that. But you chose hate over love and family," Snow implored.

"Love is for children, you foolish little girl. Even your father knew that. He was well known for saying that love makes people do very foolish things. Too bad he did not manage to impart his wisdom to his naive daughter," George hissed.

"As much as it hurts...my father, the man that raised me is no role model. He is not a man I look up to now that I know the truths about the things he did in his past," she admitted, but then smiled.

"Fortunately, my husband is the kind of father that my daughter can and does look up to. This town's protection is in good hands with both of them," she said.

"At the end of the day, despite anything else, you're just a cold blooded murderer that deserves nothing less than to be locked up for the rest of his life," she added. David smirked.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," he agreed, as he holstered his gun and cuffed the old man.

"You think you have won? With Cora and the Queen on the loose?" George challenged.

"Or what about your mother's husband? Do you really think Hades will not come to finish what he tried to do upon the day of your birth, Snow White?" he ranted.

"Shut up," David snapped.

"Yes...your precious wife won't be ruling this town long if he has his way. With the Queen gone, I'm sure the Underworld could use a Princess to lord over them," George growled.

"If you don't shut up...you'll be the one going to the Underworld," David growled back, as they marched him back to town.

"I need to get back to the library. I kind of chained your mother up with magic proof chains. She is probably not happy with me at all," Red stated. Snow winced.

"Probably not...I'll go with you," Snow agreed, as she kissed David tenderly.

"I'm going to lock him up and then I'll meet you at home," he said, as he put George in the patrol car, while Red and Snow set off for the library.

~*~

Emma tried to calm her heart, which was pounding, as they walked back to his apartment building in silence.

"So you're not going to tell me what exactly I need to see? Surprises aren't my favorite thing, you know," Neal mentioned.

"Oh, I'm sorry...did I forget to tell you that I give a damn about your sensitivities?" Emma snapped coldly.

"Damn...okay, maybe I deserve that," he said and then winced, as she looked at him sharply.

"You think?" she growled. He sighed.

"Emma...I told you that I'm sorry. But you know as well as I do that I could have never known that you knew your parents or that you were from there," he replied.

"But you did know after August told you. So what that you hated your Dad. I hated my parents at the time. We still could have found them together," she said.

"It's not the same!" he snapped, as they stopped walking and faced each other.

"The difference is that you really didn't hate your parents. I really do hate my father! Do you have any idea what I went through?" he questioned. She crossed her arms over her chest and cast her gaze downward for a moment.

"There is a book...it has all the stories in it. From everyone in town, so yeah, I read it the first chance I got, cover to cover. So yeah...I'm familiar with the story of Baelfire," she admitted.

"Then you know what happened. He chose all that crap over me! And before I got to this world, I had some pretty unpleasant experiences in others," Neal explained.

"He screwed up! Don't you think he at least deserves a second chance?" she asked and he looked at her in disbelief.

"Are you defending him?" he accused. She sighed.

"No...what he did was messed up! It destroyed my family!" she assured.

"Then why the hell does it sound like you're defending him?" he shouted.

"Because...he helped my Dad," she confessed. Neal rolled his eyes.

"He doesn't help anyone unless there was something in it for him," he stated. Emma sighed.

"You're right, but it went down in a way that I think helped your Dad realize that friends and family might actually do things for you without expecting something in return. That's who my parents are...they help people without expecting to be rewarded for it," Emma explained.

"That's nice for you, Emma, but my Dad isn't like that. If you need his help, then you better expect to pay the price," Neal argued.

"But my father didn't pay a price...that's what I'm trying to tell you," she argued back. He seemed intrigued and nodded his head for her to continue.

"A man named Jefferson, who worked for your father back there was cursed to be awake during the curse. It was his punishment to remember everything and have to watch another family raise his daughter. But that also meant he had time to discover things that Regina was hiding," Emma began.

"Like what?" Neal asked curiously.

"Like the fact she told your father that a woman he fell in love with died, but really she just locked her up in the psych ward," Emma replied. He chuckled and Emma looked at him incredulously.

"Are you laughing at me?" she demanded to know.

"Yeah...because you're crazy if you expect me to believe that my father, Dark One extraordinaire, fell in love," he drawled.

"No...no...I amend that. You've cracked if you expect me to believe someone actually fell in love with him!" Neal added.

"The only thing that's going to be cracked is your teeth if you call me crazy again," she growled, as she started to walk away.

"Okay...I'm sorry, but come on! My father loves power and power only," Neal told her.

"Yeah, I know he loves power, but it's not the only thing he loves. Trust me, based on everything I knew about him before I got to Storybrooke, I would have agreed with you," she said. He shrugged.

"Then what changed that?" Neal asked.

"My father...he gave my father back his real memories when he woke up from the coma and gave him a potion to keep him immune to any false memories Regina would have tried to plant. She planned to give him false memories of being married to someone else to keep my parents apart," she explained, as tears gathered in her eyes.

"He gave me my Dad back...and not just in my dreams. For the first time since you...I wasn't alone," she choked, as a few tears slipped down her cheeks.

"My Mom didn't remember yet, but it didn't matter. She was so lonely and thought she was nothing...a feeling I know all too well. But Dad swept in and became her Prince Charming again," she added. Neal let out a breath.

"And that's great, Emma, but I know him. He got something out of it," he replied.

"He did...he got Belle back. My father helped him get back to the woman he loved, because your father helped him. But it went further than that...they actually became friends," she pleaded. He chuckled.

"My father doesn't have friends and if your Dad actually thinks my father is his friend, then he's an idiot," Neal said.

"Don't call my Dad stupid!" she snapped, taking him aback a bit and he held up his hands in surrender.

"Okay...I'm sorry," he apologized again. But she scoffed.

"You know what...I'm starting to think that you don't deserve to know the other thing I have to tell you," she said, as she turned away.

"It will be hard to here, but I'll tell him the truth about what you really are," Emma replied.

"Who are you talking about?" Neal asked in confusion.

"I already told him the truth...thanks to my Mom. I wanted to lie...I wanted to tell him you were some firefighter that died a hero. But nope...I told him the truth and he took it pretty well. Better than me," Emma replied.

"Emma...what the hell are you talking about?" he asked.

"I told him that you sent me to jail. I was honest and said I wasn't completely innocent in the whole thing, but I'm pretty sure all he heard was you sold me out and he was born in prison," she answered. His eyes widened.

"B...born?" he questioned.

"And now...I get to tell him that Baelfire is actually Neal Cassidy and he decided to abandon us again, because he can't get over his daddy issues," Emma spat.

"Emma!" he shouted and she turned back to him.

"What do you mean...by born?" he asked, with bated breath.

"I mean my son...our son," she replied. He was stunned to speechlessness.

"We...we have a son?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yep...but I didn't get to raise him. I was in prison, remember? And I knew that I couldn't give him what he needed when I got out. So I gave him up...and guess who adopted him? None other than Regina Mills," Emma replied.

"The Queen adopted our son?" he asked. She nodded.

"Yep, we share a son with the Evil Queen...so thanks for that," she retorted.

"Emma…" he started to say.

"You know what? I'm done...I don't care anymore. Come, don't come...I'm over it. I'm going back to get my son and we're going home to my parents, because we're a family and it's pretty great," she admitted.

"Once I worked through my anger and hurt with them...things were wonderful, even when we were only together in our dreams. Too bad you're too good to give your Dad the same chance," she said.

"It's not the same!" he insisted again.

"Dammit...your parents are good! They didn't want to give you up, did they?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No...they only did, because of him! Because he wanted to get me back! Never mind that he destroyed countless other lives to do it!" he cried.

"Fine...so what do I tell him?" she asked.

"Oh, I'll tell him to piss off myself...I'm still going with you," he replied. She looked at him in surprise.

"You are?" she asked.

"Emma...I just found out that I have a son. Do you really think I'd do the same thing to him as mine did to me?" he questioned. Her face was a mask of indifference.

"You want me to really believe that it would have changed things if you knew that I was pregnant?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No...I don't. I don't deserve that belief from you right now, but I'm going to earn it," he replied. She actually looked impressed by that, as they started walking again.

~*~

After locking George up in a cell in the basement of the hospital, David headed home and found a quiet loft when he got there with takeout ready. After the three of them enjoyed dinner together, Persephone retired for the evening, leaving Snow and Charming to their own devices. Snow kissed him deeply, moving her lips over his in a passionate rhythm, as her hands busied themselves on the buttons of his shirt.

"Not that I'm complaining...but you're especially feisty tonight," he purred, as her lips were busy on his neck. She smirked at him and pushed a hand to his chest, as he lay back. She straddled him and then leaned over him again.

"What can I say...I can't seem to keep my hands off you, handsome," she purred. He sought her lips at that and kissed her passionately.

"Like I said...no complaints here, my darling," he said in a husky tone. She bit her bottom lip, as she got his shirt off and let her hands roam his bare torso.

"Mmm...then you won't mind if I have my way with you, Prince Charming," she purred, as they melted into each other...

~*~

When Emma and Neal got back to the apartment building, they walked into the lobby.

"You're back!" Henry called, as he ran up and hugged Emma. She smiled and hugged him back, dropping a kiss on top of his head. The boy poked his head out to look at the person that was with her and his expression was brimming with curiosity.

"Are you Baelfire?" he asked. Neal could only stare at him for several beats.

"Uh...yeah, I suppose I am. I don't really go by that name anymore though," he answered when he found his voice.

"What do I call you then?" Henry asked. His eyes darted to Emma, who gave him a curt nod, while not looking very happy at all.

"Well, in this world, I've been going by Neal Cassidy," he replied. Henry looked at him in disbelief and then up at his mother.

"Isn't that the name of…" he started to say, as he trailed off. She nodded.

"Yeah kid...I'm as surprised as you, believe me," she replied.

"So...you're my Dad?" Henry asked, as Rumple took a sharp intake of breath. Neal glanced at him, only to see pure shock on his face. There was some small satisfaction at that. For once, his father had failed miserably to predict the future and thus control it.

"Yeah, it would appear so, kid," he replied.

"Bae…" Rumple interjected, but Neal put his hand up to silence him.

"Firstly, it's Neal...and don't even for a second get the idea that I came back here for you," he said harshly.

"I'm here for him, because now that I know about him, I won't abandon my son like you did yours," Neal hissed, as he turned to Emma.

"It's getting late...I have a guest room for you and the sofa folds out into a bed for him if you want," he told her. Emma sighed and looked at her son, who clearly wanted to know the man before him. So she nodded in acquiescence.

"Henry, go on up to the apartment with Neal. I'll be there in a minute," she assured. He nodded, as he got on the elevator with Neal.

"Emma...you have to talk to him for me," Rumple leaded.

"I have...why do you think I was gone so long?" she countered.

"The only reason I got him here at all was when I told him about Henry. Otherwise, he'd be in the wind again. I tried to get him to give you a second chance. I even told him how you've made friends with my father and found love...but he's not budging," she lamented.

"Rumple...let him cool off a bit and spend some time with Henry. Maybe he'll start to see things differently," Belle suggested.

"And if he doesn't?" Rumple asked brokenly.

"Then you back off...at least he'll be close. He'll be coming home with us now that he knows about Henry," Emma replied and then sighed.

"Look...go back to the hotel and I'll see if I can get him to agree to meet you for breakfast in the morning," she offered. He nodded.

"Thank you," he offered back, as he started to hobble toward the exit.

"Emma...are you okay?" Belle asked. The blonde smiled thinly and blew out a breath.

"Yeah, I guess...it's a lot to take in," she replied. Belle nodded.

"I can't imagine...and I'm here if you want to talk, but I think you might benefit more if you call Snow," she suggested.

"Yeah...it's late," Emma said. Belle squeezed her hand.

"Emma...call your Mother. She won't care what time it is," the brunette replied, as she left. Emma sighed and pulled out her phone. She pressed a button and Mom appeared on the screen, as her phone dialed.

~*~

Regina sighed, as they rummaged through Gold's shop, but turned up empty again.

"We've searched everywhere...the woods, the clock tower, this entire damn town and it's not here!" she complained.

"No...I'm beginning to think it's not anywhere at all," Cora responded.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Are you sure he wouldn't have taken it with him?" Cora asked.

"Sidney said that his phone records show a call to the airlines. He would have never gotten something like that through security and onto an airplane," Regina replied.

"Unless that was a ruse or there was a change of plans," Cora surmised. Regina looked up at her.

"And they decided to drive...he took it with him," she realized. Cora pursed her lips.

"What are we supposed to do now? If he has it with him, we'll never get it away from him now," the former Queen said.

"Patience darling, this is just a minor setback. There are still ways to get what we need," Cora replied.

"We can't kill the Charmings...no matter how much I wish we could. Even if Persephone wasn't standing in the way...Henry would never forgive me," Regina said.

"And we will get the dagger and do away with all of them. Then Henry won't blame you," she assured.

"Then we need to be ready for them before they cross the town line and somehow get the dagger away from Gold. Cora smirked.

"Which shouldn't be too difficult," she responded.

"How do you figure? Even outside Storybrooke, Emma is armed with a gun," Regina warned.

"Because love is weakness, dear. We threaten Rumple's little bookworm and he'll do whatever he must to save her," Cora responded.

"And Emma...she'd do anything to save her parents," Regina realized.

"Yes and fortunately, we have Hook at our disposal as well. If he were to take Henry's grandparents hostage, the boy would still see you as blameless," Cora added. Regina smirked.

"The Captain should be with his ship...but we'll need a diversion for Persephone," she said.

"And I have just the one," Cora replied," as she poofed them to the harbor. But they frowned when they arrived, finding the Jolly Roger to be missing.

"He's gone…" Regina uttered. Cora's face was marred by a deep frown and she clenched her fists. She regretted now not keeping Hook on a tighter leash.

"He's gone to New York...he's gone to skin his Crocodile. He could ruin everything…" she hissed. Regina sighed.

"What now?" her daughter asked.

"The giant I brought along would have been a nice distraction. Fortunately, I have another one that might just drive a wedge between Snow and her mother. It's a start anyway until we figure out what do and what damage Hook might do to our plans," Cora replied. It was a setback for sure, but it only delayed the inevitable as far as she was concerned. And that was her possession of the dagger and the complete destruction of Persephone's entire legacy…

~*~

Snow giggled, as she lay entangled beneath the bedclothes with her husband and he kissed her neck.

"You do know I'm not food, right?" she teased, as her husband seemed intent on nibbling on her all over.

"Yep...you're better. You taste like cinnamon...and vanilla...and Snow…" he purred. She giggled.

"I taste like Snow? What does that even mean?" she asked playfully.

"Mmm...I don't know. You taste like you...and it's heaven," he replied, as his head disappeared beneath the blankets and she gasped, as he made his way down the valley between her breasts.

"David…" she whimpered, as she raked her fingers through his hair, while he busied his skillful mouth on her chest. Snow lost herself in the sensations and writhed beneath her husband's hard body. Gods...this man knew exactly how to bring her unspeakable pleasure. Unfortunately, her phone chose to ring at that moment and she grappled with it on the nightstand.

"Charming...it's Emma…" she warned, as he emerged and spooned her against him, as she answered the phone.

"Hi honey…" she said, as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

"Hi Mom...sorry, I know it's late," Emma replied.

"It's never too late for you to call me, sweetheart, ever," Snow assured.

"I found Baelfire," she revealed.

"That's wonderful…" Snow replied, but heard silence on the other end.

"Isn't it?" she asked.

"Uh...yeah, there's just way more to it and I'm kind of freaking out right now," Emma fretted.

"Honey, say the word and your Dad and I will leave for New York right now if you need us to," Snow assured.

"It's tempting, but I don't think there will be much reason to stick around New York much longer. We should be heading home tomorrow," Emma said.

"That's good...does that mean Gold worked things out with his son?" Snow asked, as Charming listened with her.

"No...he wants nothing to do with his father. But that's only half of it. Baelfire...Mom…" Emma started to say.

"It's okay Emma...whatever it is, your Dad and I will be here for you," Snow assured.

"Baelfire is Neal Cassidy…" she blurted out and Snow was silent for a moment, trying to process that statement.

"Neal Cassidy…" she uttered and she saw her husband's face darken at that name.

"Baelfire is Neal Cassidy?" she continued, as her eyes met Charming's and she watched his blue eyes widen.

"Yeah...insane, right?" she fretted.

"A little bit...how did Gold take it?" she asked curiously.

"He was as shocked as me. He and Belle went back to the hotel. We're at Neal's apartment and Henry's getting to know him. He wants nothing to do with Gold, but Neal said he won't abandon Henry now that he knows about him," Emma explained.

"Well, that's noble...so he'll be coming home with you?" Snow asked.

"Yeah I guess...I have no idea what any of this means. I never expected to see him again," Emma replied.

"I know sweetheart, but your Dad and I are going to be here for you, no matter what. And we'll figure all of this out together," Snow promised.

"Thanks Mom...I love. Tell Dad I love him too," Emma said. Snow smiled.

"I will...we love you too, sweetheart. Be safe and call us when you're on your way home," Snow requested, as she hung up the phone and blew out an unsteady breath.

"You realize what this means, right?" she asked him and he gave her a questioning look.

"We share a grandson with Rumpelstiltskin," she said. He blew out a breath too.

"Good thing we're friends now or that might suck," he quipped. She hummed in agreement and chuckled, as he kissed her cheek.

"I will feel so much better when our baby and our grand baby are home," she confessed.

"Me too, my love," he agreed, as they settled down in each other's arms and finally let sleep take them. At least in their dreams, they would see Emma and Henry.

[helshades]

The Brodinsons: Kings of Asgard

Extracted from here for reasons related to practicality.

Quotation 1

“I start in the film as Thor’s younger brother and I think in the manner of all younger brothers I have a greater sense of freedom. I’m not the oldest therefore the parental expectations aren’t as heavy, so it’s like a lot of younger children in sibling groups; I think Loki has a bit more freedom. He’s not going to be King. He knows that. And so he’s freer to… he has less responsibility on his shoulders so he’s freer to have a bit more fun. And I think like everybody at Marvel has been very clear and brilliant about coming into this that Loki just has… they’re both enormously gifted. Thor and Loki are a two-man team and they’re both going to run Asgard when Odin steps down, and Thor has an ability and a physicality and a presence—a physical presence that is… he’s the type of man you follow. You just do. In the same way they used to talk about all the leaders and the captains and the generals that came out of both World Wars that those captains and generals weren’t necessarily elected just in battles. There were certain men who were followed. You know, leaders were born and Thor is that guy. And Loki’s gifts are different in that he is sharper, he’s cleverer, he’s more interested in tactics and strategy. He’s capable of thinking ahead and he enjoys chaos. So he enjoys reacting to chaos and that affects how given that he’s the God of mischief. Mischief is essentially chaos. He likes stoking the fire of chaos and seeing what happens as a result.”

                 — Tom Hiddleston on Loki, 2011 interview by Collider during the production of the first Thor film.

Quotation 2

“Thor is the favoured son, and destined to be heir to the throne of Odin and that kind of rubs Loki the wrong way, but at the same time they’ve had a great experience growing up together. Odin has been a tough but good and fair father to both of them.”

                  — Kevin Feige, quoted in the Art of Thor official book.

Quotation 3

                        ODIN           Do you think he's ready?                         FRIGGA           He thinks he is. He has his          father's confidence.                         ODIN           He'll need his father's wisdom.                         FRIGGA           And his humility?           Odin reacts.          FRIGGA (CONT'D)           Thor won't be alone. Loki will be          at his side to give him counsel.          Have faith in your sons.  

                — Deleted scene from Thor, to be read in the original script.

“Thor and Loki are a two-man team and they’re both going to run Asgard when Odin steps down”

“Thor won’t be alone. Loki will be at his side to give him counsel.”

I don’t think it has been pointed out enough that Odin and Frigga had always intended to have both of their sons rule Asgard, and that Thor and Loki themselves have long been a rather efficient team. Here’s to hoping they’ll get the occasion to be one again. (Before one stabs the other and runs away with the silverware, of course.)

star-sought-light:

I agree with everything you say. I was also reminded of the scene where Frigga *gives* Loki the throne; clearly, she thought him capable of being king, even when Loki initially refused, and it does feel like a further piece of evidence that both were loved and both considered equally capable of rule. Although why Thor over Loki, when they admit Thor wasn't ready?

The last question was just a criticism of them, but I haven't enough characters to express that. It seemed to make sense with the original script that Odin meant for Loki to rule Jotunheim, but - without that scene - makes little sense, as they're picking the seeming less capable child to rule over the capable one.

Quotation 4

“It's been in the works for many years, right, since we finished Dark World. What has Loki been doing on that throne in guise of Odin? And we always liked the idea that he was doing a good job! He was doing a good, but shortsighted job. The trains were running on time, but he wasn't paying attention to anything else going on in the universe or in the realms.”

                — Kevin Feige, interviewed by CinemaBlend shortly before the release of Thor: Ragnarök.

We have often discussed between us the fact that Loki is much more like Odin than many, including himself, would like to think; something that Taika Waititi had Hela comment upon in Ragnarök, in fact: ‘You sound like him’. No matter their differences, Loki was very much Odin’s son. He inherited the sharp wit and calculating mind of both his adoptive parents, in reality, whereas Thor had his father’s hubris but his mother’s heart. On the other hand, Thor is clever, much cleverer than everyone usually give him credit for, while Loki is somewhat less of the strategical mastermind than too many people have decided he had to be... After all, Loki makes up a lot of it as he goes along, and he lacks self-perception to a ludicrous extent—he lacks wisdom, probably because he lacks the humility and empathy necessary for change, and wisdom requires the capacity for change, like Thor, on the contrary, demonstrated in learning from his mistakes.

I’m not entirely sure this was the entire reason for Odin and Frigga choosing Thor over Loki for occupying the throne of Asgard, though; I would say the main reason for this was, quite plainly, the reality of Loki’s birth first and foremost. Not that it make him unworthy, but it seems highly likely that his true parentage would have eventually caused some turmoil within the realm... This is not the only thing, either.

Thor isn’t only an Asgardian citizen nor even an Asgardian prince; he is of the line of Odin, the line of Borr and of Búri (the former appearing in the prologue of The Dark World, the latter cited in behind-the-scenes material as the king who had the oldest part of Asgard built) before them. He descends from the founders of Asgard, you see, and, like his father Odin and his older sister Hela, Thor derives most of his power from the very people of Asgard. There is much to speculate here, but it would be hard not to state right away that the kings of Asgard are almost one with their people, and that in order for Asgard to prosper, a king of the line of Búri must occupy the throne. Which is not to say that Loki or someone else couldn’t be king, only that he would probably lack in power and oversight somewhat.

Remember that Thor, prior to Ragnarök, had visions of Asgard’s impending doom, whereas Loki saw nothing—and when warned about them under Odin’s guise he dismissed them as ‘just a silly dream... signs of an overactive imagination’. The Odinforce was never cited in the Marvel Cinematic Universe but it is very tempting indeed to assume that Thor, has inherited more from his mighty father than a throne.

          FRIGGA (CONT'D)           Thor won't be alone. Loki will be          at his side to give him counsel.          Have faith in your sons.                         ODIN           Yes, but Thor's still a boy. He          could be a great King...           Odin stops, notices HIS HAND SHAKING. It seems to be out of          synch temporally with the rest of the world, leaving a trail          as it moves. He stares at it determinedly, concentrating,          trying to stop the strange event through the force of his          sheer will.          Finally, the occurrence subsides, his hand normal once more.          A worried Frigga covers his hand with her own.          ODIN (CONT'D)                         (QUIETLY)           ...if we only had more time.                         FRIGGA           For once, our son needs something          we cannot provide.                         ODIN           I can fight it a little longer...                         FRIGGA           No. You've put it off too long! I          worry for you.           He touches her cheek.                          ODIN           I've destroyed demons and monsters,          devastated whole worlds, laid waste          to mighty kingdoms, and still you          worry for me?                         FRIGGA           Always.  

                         LOKI           It all makes sense now. Why you          favored Thor all these years.                         ODIN           Listen...                         LOKI           Because no matter how much you          claim to "love" me, you could never          have a Frost Giant sitting on the          Throne of Asgard!           Odin's body begins to shake, he lifts his hand. It starts to          move out of synch temporarily, leaving a trail, the effect of          the Odinsleep approaching. Loki doesn't notice as Odin tries          to fight it off.                         ODIN           Listen to me!           Loki strides away towards the exit.          ODIN (CONT'D)           Loki!           Odin starts towards him, when the enormous mental, emotional,          and physical strain of recent events finally takes its toll.          The effect of the Odinsleep consumes him. His entire body          now moves out of sync with the rest of the world, leaving          trails behind him as he staggers backwards.          Odin falls back against a wall, his face contorting in a          scream. He collapses to the stone floor.          Loki, shocked, hurries to him. He takes Odin in his arms,          calls out.                         LOKI           Guards!  

Inattentive people have made fun of Odin’s ‘convenient Odinsleep’ for a long time, but the truth is, Odin had been putting off this indispensable regeneration of his physical faculties, which he underwent once a year, for too long prior to the events of Thor, precisely because he sensed grave developments in the near future and wanted to be able to control whatever Thor wouldn’t know how. Of course, we know that Odin had been doing all he could to push back the inexorable advent of Ragnarök... and it seems more and more likely that he might have cheated death for quite a long time, in all likelihood using the Odinsleep, in the knowledge that as long as he kept alive, Hela’s reign of terror would be kept at bay. At the very least, he would be affording time for his sons to grow up, and especially for Thor to grow strong enough to, maybe, with hope, go against his sister one day.

          61 INT. ODIN'S CHAMBERS - DAY 61          Frigga sits at her husband's bedside, holding his hand. Odin          lies there—looking pale and lifeless, his body and the          space around it warped from the effect of the Odinsleep. The          walls of the chamber have moved close around him, protecting          him like a dark crypt, sealing off any daylight.          Loki sits at Odin's side, across from Frigga. She speaks          softly to him.                         FRIGGA           I asked him to be honest with you          from the beginning. There should          be no secrets in a family.                         LOKI           So why did he lie?                         FRIGGA           He kept the truth from you so that          you would never feel different.          You are in every way our son, Loki,          and we your family. You must know          that.           Loki takes this in, stares at Odin.          FRIGGA (CONT'D)                         (RE: ODIN)           You can speak to him. He can see          and hear us, even now.                         LOKI           How long will it last?                         FRIGGA           I don't know. This time is          different. We were unprepared.                         LOKI           I never get used to seeing him like          this. The most powerful being in          the Nine Realms lying helpless          until his body is restored.                         FRIGGA           But he's put it off for so long          now, I fear...

Once again, I’m also left wondering whether Loki wasn’t actually the son of the same mother who gave birth to Hela—we could call her Fárbauti, since there was one in the comics and since, like in the comics, the mythological mother of Loki, Laufey, was turned into a male in Marvel lore; or Angrboða, the mother of Hel in the myths. Note that if this were true, it would give Odin an acutely realistic reason for hiding the truth of his birth from Loki, in spite of his wife’s preference for telling him from the beginning. If Asgard’s bloodier past must be obfuscated, and Hela’s very existence forgotten by all, any mention of Loki’s dangerous lineage would have required similar secrecy.

It may also be, in the same vein, that Odin was well aware of Loki’s instability, be it linked to his true parentage or not, and wished him away from absolute power. Indeed, Thor himself wasn’t that much readier for kingship, but he was a hot head more than anything, whereas Loki’s ‘mischief’ evidently always had crueller undertones. Where power is concerned, he thoroughly needed his mother’s talents for appeasement. Probably, a lot like Odin did.

(Stripped of everything, Thor is a good man. Loki is not.)

[wanderingaxiety]

Peasant Quotes

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He is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Peace

Home

King

All men are by nature equal, made all of the same earth by one Workman; and however we deceive ourselves, as dear unto God is the poor peasant as the mighty prince.

Plato

Nature

God

Men

Every marriage tends to consist of an aristocrat and a peasant. Of a teacher and a learner.

John Updike

Teacher

Marriage

Aristocrat

A peasant becomes fond of his pig and is glad to salt away its pork. What is significant, and is so difficult for the urban stranger to understand, is that the two statements are connected by an and not by a but.

John Berger

Difficult

Stranger

Pig

I want there to be no peasant in my kingdom so poor that he cannot have a chicken in his pot every Sunday.

Henry IV

Chicken

Poor

Kingdom

Scratch a Russian, and you'll find a peasant.

Milla Jovovich

Find

Scratch

Russian

They're thinking of turning the peasant into an educated man. Why, first of all they should make him a good and prosperous farmer and then he'll learn all that is necessary for him to know.

Nikolai Gogol

Good

Man

Thinking

I mean, my people were very, very simple. They were peasant people, you know?

James Earl Jones

Simple

People

Know

I believe in reincarnation. In my last life I was a peasant. Next time around, I'd like to be an eagle. Who hasn't dreamed they could fly? They're a protected species, too.

Lee Trevino

Life

Time

Fly

The peasant must always be helped technically, economically, morally and culturally. The guerrilla fighter will be a sort of guiding angel who has fallen into the zone, helping the poor always and bothering the rich as little as possible in the first phases of the war.

Che Guevara

War

Angel

Rich

My wife was the first art collector in the family, and I didn't become interested until around 1973. The first important artwork we bought was a Van Gogh drawing of two peasant houses in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer.

Eli Broad

Family

Art

Wife

They eat the dainty food of famous chefs with the same pleasure with which they devour gross peasant dishes, mostly composed of garlic and tomatoes, or fisherman's octopus and shrimps, fried in heavily scented olive oil on a little deserted beach.

Luigi Barzini

Food

Famous

Pleasure

What motivated me? My mother. My mother was an immigrant woman, a peasant woman, struggled all her life, worked in the garment center.

Al Lewis

Life

Mom

Me

I cook a little bit. I make a Hungarian dish called chicken paprikash that's out of this world. I'll give a heads-up to all of your readers that it doesn't have to be between Thai and Mexican every night. Toss some Hungarian in every once in a while. You will not be sorry. Good, solid peasant food.

Adam Carolla

Good

Food

Night

You know most of the food that Americans hold so dear - things like hamburgers and hot dogs - were road food, but even before they were road food, they were peasant food.

Alton Brown

Food

Hot

Road

We must always remember that the Chinese revolution was not a peasant's revolution, but one of the extreme Right.

Salvador Dali

Remember

Always

Revolution

We want to overthrow the imperial power not because it is Manchurian but because we want republicanism... We republican revolutionaries can never have the notion of becoming emperors after the revolution, like all the peasant rebels did in the past.

Sun Yat-sen

Power

Past

Never

There is but one stage for the peasant and the actor.

Henry David Thoreau

Stage

Actor

I don't ever want to be like a peasant. I want to always be all right. But motivation is fans - not your kids, your mum, none of that. All of that matters, but number one is your fans.

Young Thug

Fans

Always

Right

That a peasant may become king does not render the kingdom democratic.

Woodrow Wilson

King

Kingdom

Become

I am an African-American woman of dark skin tone, and there are very specific roles that are usually given to African-American women of a darker hue. Let's start with 'Once on This Island': peasant girl. Let's go to 'The Color Purple': young girl, beaten. Let's go to 'Ragtime': Her baby's taken.

LaChanze

Women

I Am

Skin

The earth is the earth as a peasant sees it, the world is the world as a duchess sees it, and anyway a duchess would be nothing if the earth was not there as the peasant sees it.

Gertrude Stein

World

Earth

Nothing

For an Italian peasant a telegram from anywhere is a wondrous thing; and a cable from the terrestrial paradise of America is not lightly to be disregarded.

Howard K. Smith

Paradise

America

Anywhere

I come from a long line of below-stairs maids and gardeners. Good ol' peasant stock. My mother and her sister made a quantum leap out of that life. Then I made another quantum leap.

Julie Andrews

Life

Good

Long

Remember the valiant Iraqi peasant and how he shot down an American Apache with an old weapon.

Saddam Hussein

Remember

American

Down

I am a peasant from the Auvergne. I want to keep my farm, and I want to keep France. Nothing else matters now.

Pierre Laval

I Am

Nothing

Want

The poor peasant here hives under conditions quite different from those of Russia. Though often terrible, they are not as appalling as they were there.

Herman Gorter

Poor

Russia

Terrible

If ever there was a slamming of the door in the face of constructive investigation, it is the word miracle. To a medieval peasant, a radio would have seemed like a miracle.

Richard Dawkins

Face

Door

Radio

I like army boots, I like peasant skirts - sometimes together! So I do know that I have odd taste.

Mayim Bialik

Together

Sometimes

Know

I like Sicilian food. It's real peasant food.

Raymond Kelly

Food

Real

Like

I do not have voice for Russian music; I cannot be cute little peasant like in operas of Glinka or Rimsky-Korsakov. I am now never in Russia; I am Austrian citizen. But definitely I am Latin!

Anna Netrebko

Music

I Am

Cute

There aren't many great passages written about food, but I love one by George Millar, who worked for the SOE in the second world war and wrote a book called 'Horned Pigeon.' He had been on the run and hadn't eaten for a week, and his description of the cheese fondue he smells in the peasant kitchen of a house in eastern France is unbelievable.

Sebastian Faulks

Love

War

Food

I am for poetry that is admired by peasant and aristocrat alike.

F. Sionil Jose

Poetry

I Am

Aristocrat

To me, the most critical thing in agriculture is investing in the peasant agriculture, transforming peasant agriculture.

Jakaya Kikwete

Me

Agriculture

Critical

The whole world feels that it knows Francis, not so much because he follows Francis of Assisi but because he is always himself. We have seen him pay his own hotel bill and heard that Francis called Buenos Aires for a pair of ordinary black shoes, like John XXIII, who preferred stout peasant shoes to the traditional papal footwear.

Eugene Kennedy

Black

World

Shoes

The Breton peasant is said to have a hard head. He is obstinate and resists outside pressure to alter his creed or his customs.

Sabine Baring-Gould

Pressure

Hard

Outside

I remember I once went to a nutritionist who said I come from good Russian-Jewish peasant stock, which means I can hold a potato in my body for a week, if need be.

Jennifer Jason Leigh

Good

Remember

Body

Border collies predate the British Kennel Club. They've been bred consistently for 100 years. They're the last working dogs in the world, with some minor exceptions. Bench shows, dog shows have ruined the other breeds, like the hunting dogs. Border collies are peasant dogs, and that's protected them.

Donald McCaig

World

Dog

Bench

The knish is a classic example of peasant food evolving into comfort food and even sophisticated fare.

Gil Marks

Food

Comfort

Comfort Food

You go to Europe, and they have their very wealthy elites, and then everybody else is, you know, a couple of steps above a peasant, basically.

Ann Coulter

Know

Go

Europe

There are two classes of women in Soviet Russia. There is the professional class, which has taken the place of the nobility and includes government officials, artists, doctors, composers and writers as well as former members of the old nobility whose sympathy is with the Soviets, and also the peasant class.

Elsa Schiaparelli

Women

Government

Sympathy

Tolstoy didn't know about steampunk or cyborgs, but he did know about the nightmarishness of steam power, unruly machines, and the creepy half-human status of the Russian peasant classes. In 'Anna Karenina,' nineteenth-century life itself is a relentless, relentlessly modern machine, flattening those who oppose it.

Elif Batuman

Life

Power

Know

Most people, throughout history, haven't learned one language to the exclusion of another. You learn to speak differently to a peasant and to a shoemaker. You speak differently to your mother, who comes from Burgundy, and to your father, who comes from Swabia.

[lyricpoets]

I Am the Lion of War; I Am the Son of Kings: Hayqutan the Abyssinian and Kendrick Lamar

In 1915, W.E.B. Dubois published a book titled The Negro, which attempted a comprehensive historical survey of the peoples of Africa, their exports, inventions, inter-tribal relationships, and civilizational achievements. The work took to task the notion held by many whites that before the landfall of white colonizers and slavers, black Africa was an intellectually stagnant wasteland without any “history” in the European sense of the term (Great Men doing Great Things). Dubois’ history was the first of its kind published in English, and it set in motion a tide of revisionist history that aimed to recuperate a black presence in the narrative arc of “world history,” from asking why Egypt was so damn white in schoolbooks to, most recently, reminding people that (quel scandale!) there were black people in Europe throughout the time of the Roman empire, noble and slave alike. A similar call for historicizing black people’s presence in the Islamic world also has arisen in pockets of society. But in order to contextualize this, we need to go back 1500 years or so and explain how black Africans and the early Arab Muslims fit together in the first place. 

Before Islam arose as a religion in the southwesterly portion of the Arabian Peninsula in the early 600s AD, three major powers had play in the surrounding regions: Byzantium, Sasanian Persia, and Axumite Ethiopia. The Byzantines generally held alliances and territories in Arabia’s northwest, the Persians its northeast, and the Ethiopian (aka Abyssinian) Axumites periodically carved out territories and trade relations for themselves in Yemen. In Yemen, for several centuries, a kingdom called Himyar had existed, ruled for significant swaths of that time by Jewish dynasts. Around the early 500s, a particularly non-chill guy named Dhu Nuwas came to power and began persecuting the Christian denizens of his realm, which seriously pissed off both Christian Byzantium and Christian Axum. The two formed an alliance, with Justinian supplying the Ethiopians with some extra cash, and Axum launched an invasion to secure Himyar for themselves. They succeeded, and would rule there until around the time the Prophet Muhammad was born (570-ish), when the Persians, in their effort to sweep through Arabia and disrupt Byzantium’s relationship with its western portions, would stage a military campaign in Yemen and kick Axum out. 

That fracas, according to some historians, changed the demography of Arabia’s slave populace right on the eve of Islam, adding a handsome portion of Axumites to the mix. Even before then, African slaves had likely been traded in Arabia, but this is rather hard to trace for lack of source material. During the Islamic period, beginning in the 8th century, something now known as the “Trans-Saharan slave trade” would begin to be systematized, and networks connecting places like Fezzan and the Kanem-Bornu polity in Chad with predominantly Berber North Africa, which in turn relayed bodies and goods along the coast to Arabia, Iberia, etc., would form. The Islamic conquest would catapult Arab Muslims into a civilizational pride-of-place in the region, and the might of Axum on the eve of Islam, though still recognized in some historical annals, would slip largely from popular consciousness. Black people in Arabia were more likely to be slaves than kings. Language started to collapse and cohere around this fact, and before long, being black and being a slave were considered interchangeable conditions. To this day, the epithet ‘abd (slave) is an all-too-common way of referring to black people throughout the Arabophone world. Mauritanian and Moroccan blacks carry the memory of former enslavement embedded in their nomenclature as well, with haratin (freed persons) being one of the common monikers for them. 

As early as the 9th century, literature recalling the black past and demanding a restoration of black civilizations to the Arabs’ account of history cropped up, and authors called to mind a network of black actors, both pre-Islamic and Muslim, who had left their mark on Arabian society—from the heroic ‘Antara b. Shaddad to Negus of Axum who sheltered Muhammad’s early followers in the minor hijra to Bilal, the first man to proclaim the call to prayer, and Wahshi, the Abyssinian slave who murdered the false prophet Musaylima. One such teller of truth and salvager of history was the Abyssinian poet Hayqutan, who we’ll look at below. 

But the thing is, the erstwhile regality of black Africans that Hayqutan demands we remember is only half the narrative, too. The other half is, of course, the shitty half: slavery, anti-blackness, dispossession and forced migration, and on and on. The portrait of blackness that Hayqutan presents is uncomplicated and purely laudatory, and is fit to the conditions of his time and place in which that discursive mode was sorely needed, not unlike certain threads of Afrocentrism that still have play today. And this makes sense. If you’re from a marginalized group that is publicly disdained and doesn’t often have a chance to write its own history, when you wrest the pen away you’re probably gonna try to quickly write down all the good things about yourself that everyone else has failed to see. And draw on a few stars and suns. Maybe use some glitter (ok, a lot of glitter). W.E.B. Dubois even captured the urgency of this sentiment in his Souls of Black Folk when he said, “Through history, the powers of single black men flash here and there like falling stars, and die sometimes before the world has rightly gauged their brightness.” 

However, as Frantz Fanon tells us, folks never really get to shake those other, more sinister societal perceptions: they’re projected onto their flesh like films onto a screen. Fanon phrases this as the “triple” existence of black people, in which their blackness in a white society entails a simultaneous responsibility for/consciousness of one’s own body, one’s race (and the history of racialization that led that race to be perceived the way it is), and one’s ancestors. So, to throw some mud into Hayqutan’s waters, I thought it best to stand him alongside the towering wordsmith Kendrick Lamar and his song, “DNA.”

Hayqutan:

^Miniature featuring the Negus (king) of Ethiopia and Arab delegates.

Not much is known about the poet Hayqutan the Abyssinian, but the poem translated below is found in an extremely well-known work, the satirist al-Jahiz’s ribald treatise, “The Boasts of the Blacks Over the Whites,” or Fakhr al-Sudan ‘ala-l-Bidan—a tongue-in-cheek vindication voiced by a group of blacks (called “Zanj”) against their scornful white peers. Al-Jahiz gives some context for Hayqutan’s declamation: the poet recites a poem about black Africans’ glories on the heels of a smarting, racialized insult to his dignity. According to the anecdote, the Umayyad-era poet al-Jarir, himself infamous for his acerbic flytings and rivalries with his peers, took one look at the dark-skinned Hayqutan dressed in a white shirt and remarked that he looked like “a donkey’s cock wrapped in parchment.” In addition to being absurd, this insult is also charged with a variety of significances: one of the most prized breeds of donkey in early Islamic lands was a genus called “Nubian” asses, who were noted for their dark pelts and whose name implies a sub-Saharan provenance. The organs of donkeys and those of black men were also often compared in size and appearance in early Arabic writings as a way of suggesting the priapism of black men, and this hyper-sexualization of black Africans was a great way of stoking fear of the “other” and legitimating mechanisms of social control that were raced and classed, and also gendered: keeping free women under close surveillance and away from certain types of people becomes a matter of preserving their “safety” and sexual purity in such a social ideology. Hayqutan was, rightly, sufficiently angered by this invective that he was motivated to drop some history on Jarir. In addition, though, since Jarir insulted his manhood, Hayqutan sees fit to do the same along the way. My translation of the poem below was made with reference to Tarif Khalidi’s, but I’ve added in some of the colloquial flavor that I think his version was lacking,

Though I be frizzy-haired, with deep-black skin, I am open-handed, and of resplendent mien And indeed blackness of color is not among my flaws, When on the day of battle, I strike forth with a sword If you so covet glory for inessential trifles, Then the troops of the Negus prove more glorious than you! While Julandā, Ibn Kisrā, and Ḥārith, Hawdha and al-Qibṭī and the august Caesar all disdained [the faith], Out of all the kings, [the Negus] attained prosperity through it, His rule lengthened before him, impregnable and enriched And Luqmān was among [the blacks], and his son, and his half-brother And Abraha, the ruler who is not to be ignored Abū Yaksūm waged war against you, in the Mother of your abodes And you were like a handsome pinch of sand, or even more, [Yet] you were like water fowl when, in the wasteland, A dark creature, talons hooked, lusts after her Were it not that God cast his protection over [Mecca], You would’ve learned something, And the man of experience is the smartest, after all And what all is [your] glory, except that before [the Ḥarām] You pitch your tents at evening, close by, your fires flaring? Every so often, a leader from among you toddles forward, grudge-bearing, Time and again we contest him; time and again he retreats! And for all you’ve remarked of being entwined with prophethood, You don’t even have custodianship over the cloth-covered Ḥarām! You have said, ‘[Ours is] a tax-free state, we don’t fork over tribute!’ Yet giving over tribute is easier than flight. And were there a desire to be crowned over [Mecca], Surely Ḥimyar would have alighted upon her with its sovereign Yet within her [confines] there’s no place to pass the winter, nor the summer, Nor do her waters spill forth like Baḥrayn’s Ju’āthā There’s no place to pasture livestock, nor a hunting-ground, But hey, there’s commerce… and trade makes people coarse. Are you not a little Kulaybī dog? And is your mother not a ewe? You achieve shame and fame but by fatness of your sheep!

Now, there’s a lot going on here, and the gender dynamics of the poem may not be super obvious at first glance. So, if I may get philological on y’all for a minute (sorry, I am so sorry), I’ll start with all of the little emasculating Easter eggs embedded in the poem. Hayqutan retaking control of his masculinity begins explicitly enough with the image of the poet brandishing his sword on the battlefield, but the image of differential masculinities also resounds in the following line, in which Hayqutan rebukes Jarir for “covet[ing] glory for inessential trifles (tabghī al-fakhr li-ghayri kuhnihi).” The verb tabghī, meaning also, “to whore,” places Jarir in the position of corrupting the purity and essence (kuhn) of fakhr, or pride and glory, while the bold warrior Hayqutan is rendered its defender.

The idea that the Arabs are ill-equipped to safeguard their virtue and that of their women is also encoded in the discussion of the Axumite siege of Mecca, in which the general al-Ashram Abu Yaksum, marched on the Ka‘aba. In addition to being his patronym, the term Abū Yaksūm also recalls al-Ashram’s role as the leader of the denizens of Axum, the territory of the Abyssinians. This “father” (ab) of a nation is cast as staging an assault against the “mother” (umm) of the Arabs’ abodes. Like the masculine figure assailing the feminine figure in this line, the Abyssinians are also masculinized and Arabs feminized in the following line, with the assailants manifesting as a dark, clawed beast that “lusts” (hawā) after the grammatically feminine flock of water fowl (ṭayr al-mā’). Even when the Arabs produce a leader, this figure is depicted as juvenile: he toddles (yadlif) forward, his temperament moody as he nurses an old grudge (ḥafīẓa). He is cast as retreating (yadbur), which may also literally mean to turn one’s back. One is reminded of the image, common to much wine poetry of this period, of the sexually yielding, inexperienced male youth. This general impression of unmanliness is clinched in the subsequent line, in which the Arabs are cast as unable even to guard the cloth-covered bayt al-ḥarām, meaning the sacred Ka‘aba enrobed in its traditional kiswa tapestry, but also evoking an abstract and putatively inviolable (ḥarām), veiled (musattir) feminine entity. All of these gendered putdowns are bracketed by recurrent uses of the root f-kh-r, connoting boasting, glory, and pride, as well as the genre of poetry in which vaunting of one’s qualities occurs (and of course, this also echoes the treatise’s title). Fakhr of the likes had by the unnamed masses of troops (rahṭ) commanded by the Negus, or Abyssinian king, is not found amongst the Arabs, least of all the Kulaybī Jarīr (whose tribe name also means “little dog”), whose people are only suited to being the caretakers of sheep. 

So, in short, Hayqutan turns the civilizational tables: Mecca is a backwater with bad weather and—to judge by Jarir and his tribe—even worse citizens. Axum, meanwhile, is a nation of people who recognized the truth of Islam without it being hand-delivered to them on a silver platter. The Axumites, even at the height of their military power, wouldn’t have bothered trying to conquer such a place. The only reason that the Arabs manage to retain it themselves is because God is on their side. We may note, though, that Hayqutan begins his poem with a bit of apologia. Rather than saying, “black is beautiful,” and telling Jarir that he’s just plain wrong to have the views that he has, he begins, tellingly, with “though I be frizzy-haired, with deep black skin.” This “though” indicates that Hayqutan has, at least at some level, internalized the social devaluation of his physical features. When he claims that his blackness is not a flaw of his because he shows up and shows out for battles, he doesn’t mean that blackness is not a fault in the absolute sense, but rather than his character overcomes it, and that he cannot be “blamed” for his darkness in the final tallying. While Hayqutan regurgitates these commonplace notions of black inferiority reflexively, Kendrick Lamar’s video for “DNA” critiques this phenomenon by staging internalized racism as an external, real argumentative adversary: his fraught inner monologue is depicted at first as a conversation (held in an interrogation room) between two different characters with conflicted and conflicting visions of black culture and heritage, with one side upheld by Lamar himself and the other by none other than Don Cheadle. Peep the video and the lyrics below.

Kendrick Lamar:

(And here are the lyrics.)

Ok, before we begin an analysis of Lamar’s song, let’s just make one thing crystal clear: he is a genius. I will not pretend to be able to account thoroughly for even an iota of all the content of this masterpiece, but let’s give it a shot [cracks knuckles audibly]. 

The title and conceptual centerpiece of the song is the idea of DNA, and this cuts in several directions. The one that the song structurally prioritizes is the capacity of DNA to mark, to incriminate, and to ultimately get one killed. The acronym is re-rendered not as deoxyribonucleic acid (nerds are gonna keep me honest if I don’t put this here…), but instead as “Dead N***** Association,” and this reconfiguration of the acronym is underlaid by a sampling of commentary about police brutality. Black men being killed because they are black here has its scientific context exposed, drawing it into analogy with other types of biologized racism that have justified the dehumanization and abuse of black bodies, in that in either case somatic traits mark you for specific treatment, and are even interpreted as signs that the treatment is “deserved.” While DNA can be used rigorously for evidence in criminal cases (evoked by the setting of the interrogation room), by linking it conceptually with death at the outset, Lamar forces us to recall DNA analysis’ much dumber, much more racist cousin in the form of eugenics. The core idea of racial eugenics is that you can genetically engineer an “ideal” (white, physically able, etc.) society. Black people being killed because they are black (i.e. because of their genetic makeup) also alters the fabric of society more broadly, changing its “DNA” by prejudicially reducing one section of its population. He makes clear, though, that it is his oppressors’ DNA that is the “abomination,” and not his own. 

DNA can also have a positive valence: it is one way that our pasts and our ancestors are encoded into our own bodies. Lamar expresses pride at this heritage, saying that traits such as pride, hustle, ambition, wealth, and power are all part of his social inheritance, though they coexist alongside pain, poison, and rot. His DNA makes him unique (it is not to be imitated), but also places him in a genealogy of kings (he refers explicitly to having royalty in his DNA). When Lamar refers to money and power as the “Mecca of marriages,” he doesn’t simply mean that it’s the marriage of all marriages (with Mecca colloquially being used to mean a hub or an epitome of something), he is also referencing the massive wealth and power enjoyed by black rulers who had a relationship with the city, from the Negus mentioned above (who Lamar also references in his song “I”) to the famed Mansa Musa of the 14th-century Malian empire, who supposedly spent so much of his wealth in gold en route to make pilgrimage to Mecca that he disrupted the entire economy of the Middle East/North Africa region. In saying that he is “Yeshua’s new weapon,” Lamar hearkens both to his own Christianity and to the idea that, in making himself an instrument of God, he has joined yet another community: he is the creation not only of his African ancestors, but of his Lord Jesus Christ, who is himself part of a line of prophets and kings. Lamar mentions sharing DNA with soldiers “born inside the beast,” which gestures toward the more quotidian heroism of the people to whom he is related that have managed to survive in a hostile world. If we unpack the allusions buried in the song, we unearth a number of powerful figures that are part of a shared black heritage, both genetically and symbolically. This archaeological process of digging into hidden meanings that Lamar’s intricate lyrics compels is itself a reflection of the work that he and so many others have had to do in discovering their heritage, which is often not taught in school, to say nothing of it figuring in popular consciousness.

^Depiction of Mansa Musa in the Catalan Atlas. 

Unlike Hayqutan, Lamar mixes the pain with the exultation and the contemporary with the past. Though his song is relatively chaste, he still advises towards the end of the first that the material he is discussing necessitates “put[ting] the kids to bed.” He follows this, though, not with a recollection of the horrors of the black past but rather morphs into a critical interlocutor who is calling out the imagined “evil,” the excess of riches, and the troubling pastimes of people of Lamar’s ilk, like driving recklessly in fancy cars (a staple image in the music video). This section closes with the accusatory statement, “I know just who you are,” seemingly voiced by an entity that wishes to negatively typecast Lamar and his peers, a sentiment later echoed by his sampling of Fox talking head Geraldo Rivera’s derisive remarks about hip-hop being a corrupting force more endangering to youth than racism. Thus, Lamar takes aim at society’s pathologizing rhetoric around black success, wealth, and joy—and especially that which is earned and expressed by artists who are articulating aspects of the black experience. In the next section of the song, Lamar talks about his own childhood and the difficulties of upbringing, adding that he has nonetheless achieved excellence through grit and hard work. In contrast to Hayqutan, who recalls a time and a society in which black people were able to freely exercise agency to effect their own collective success and could launch grand political endeavors, Lamar focuses on the current reality of a society stacked against such triumphs. 

In short, Lamar’s song engages with the misleading nature of popular perceptions and the manner in which images and anecdotal evidence are amassed by society and labeled “facts” in such a way as to perpetually disadvantage black people, be it the scientific instantiation of social difference or the ascription of negative social impacts to aspects of black culture, and most specifically rap and hip-hop.  Against the backdrop of all of this, though, there exists a set of common values and a cultural heritage that Kendrick Lamar feels are innate to his identity, and the entirety of his oeuvre shows that he is loth to let anyone forget them. Like Hayqutan, who emphasizes black valor, generosity, and piety, Lamar, too, emphasizes that he is a tool of God, descended from kings, and loyal to his people.

[assemblyoftheway]

HaMashiach, a Christian or a Nazarene Israelite from the Tribe of Judah?

The said prophecy 'He should be called a Nazarene’ (Matt. 2:23) is speaking about HaMashiach, which there is convincing evidence, in the old testament, that has been brought forward to identify this statement. Sometimes people look for this reference in English translations in the Old Testament, but they don’t find it because the reference is in Hebrew. The prophet Isaiah says, "And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch (Netzer/H#5342) shall grow out of his roots." - Isaiah 11:1

When looking at the word "Netzer or Netser" (strongs #5342) it is a type of Branch - a shoot or sprout from an olive tree that grows out of its original root system but springs up at a later time from the stump, or somewhat distant from the trunk.

Netzer is more properly translated shoot or sprout. The Hebrew for Tsemach (H#6780) is most commonly translated Branch, which is used to mention the coming of HaMashiach.

"Behold, the days come, saith the YHWH, that I will raise unto David a righteous Branch (tseh'-makh/H#6780), and a King shall reign and prosper, and shall execute judgment and justice in the earth. In his days Judah shall be saved, and Israel shall dwell safely: and this is his name whereby he shall be called, HaMashiach Our Righteousness." - Jeremiah 23:5-6

"In those days, and at that time, will I cause the Branch (tseh'-makh/H#6780) of righteousness to grow up unto David; and he shall execute judgment and righteousness in the land." - Jeremiah 33:15

"Hear now, O Joshua the high priest, thou, and thy fellows that sit before thee: for they are men wondered at: for, behold, I will bring forth my servant the Branch." (tseh'-makh/H#6780) - Zechariah 3:8

"And speak unto him, saying, thus speaketh YHWH of hosts, saying, Behold the man whose name is The Branch (tseh'-makh/H#6780); and he shall grow up out of his place, and he shall build the temple of YHWH:" - Zechariah 6:12

"In that day shall the branch (tseh'-makh/H#6780) of YHWH be beautiful and glorious, and the fruit of the earth shall be excellent and comely for them that are escaped of Israel." - Isaiah 4:2

"And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch (Netzer/ H#5342) shall grow out of his roots: And the spirit of YHWH shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and of the fear of YHWH;" - Isaiah 11:1-2

"Nazarenes" or "Netzarim" is a title used to identify the foundational group of disciples (Apostles) of HaMashiach. The singular of "Netzarim" is the Hebrew (#5342) "Netzer, Netser or Naytser” - Greenness, a shoot, figuratively a descendant- Branch /Wiki- Netzarim, twigs that shoot off from a branch of a tree (Hebrew from the root "neitzer" (נצר) meaning "a shoot"). From the Hebrew (#5341) root "Natzar"- to guard, in a good sense (to protect, maintain, obey...) or a bad one (to conceal, ...): besieged, hidden thing, keep Exodus 34:7 (er, ing), monument, observe, preserve (r), subtil, watcher (man). (Now if you go back to Isaiah 11:1 you will see Matt. 2:23)"

Enemies of the Netzarim were known to give them condescending names (much like Catholics call non-catholic Christians "protestants"). Many of the derogatory titles given to the Netzarim were given to them by those who embraced man's authority over YHWH, when it came to religion. These "Judeans/Jews" often would have seen true instruments of the Ruach Hakodesh to be threats to their social status and way of life. These serpents used names such as:

"Natsarim" or "Natzarim" (naw-tzarim) w/ the root Natsah- meaning waste (Jeremiah 4:7 / Isaiah 37:26)

It is clear, the word "Christian” was not the earliest term for the followers of HaMashiach, since when reading Acts 11:26 it gives its first use in Antioch. Antioch is a city of ancient Syria. It was founded in 300 BCE by Seleucus I Nicator, a former general of Alexander the Great. Antioch was the center of the Seleucid kingdom until 64 BCE, when it was annexed by Rome and was made the capital of the Roman province of Syria. It became the third largest city of the Roman Empire in size and importance, after Rome and Alexander, and it had magnificent temples, theatres, aqueducts, and baths. The city was one of the earliest centers of Christianity (Eastern Christianity) it was there that the followers of HaMashiach were first called Christians, and the city where it is said Paul made missionary journeys from his headquarters in 47-55 CE. According to Acts 11:25-26, Barnabas, who was from the tribe of Levi Acts 4:36, went to look for Paul in Turkey and they went back to Antioch and assembled themselves with the people there and taught them. So, as we can see, at a time in a place at least 10 or possibly 20 or more years AFTER the death and RESURRECTION of HaMashiach, the word ‘Christian’ was used, that means, if it was 10 to 20 years AFTER his death, then the word Christian was never used by HaMashiach or used to describe those who followed him. Surprisingly the word appears three times in the New Testament (Acts 11:26, Acts 26:28, and 1 Peter 4:16), yet, the New Testament use of this term indicates that it was a term of mockery, a term placed upon followers of HaMashiach by the Greeks. According to a few sources such as:

Wuest's Word Studies in the Greek New Testament it explains, “The name was coined by the pagans of the first century to identify the followers of the Christ from those who worshiped the Roman emperor who was called Caesar."

Mercer Dictionary of the Bible, pg. 142 "It seems wide use of the name did not come into vogue in the empire, however, till the reign of Hadrian (117-138 C.E.) or Antoninus Pius (138-161 C.E.). Pagans, unfamiliar with the confessional title 'Christos (HaMashiach) mistakenly understood it as a proper name."

The New Shaff-Herzog Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge confirms true worshipers did not go by the designation Christian: "that it originated outside of Christian and Jewish circles is most likely because (1) Christians spoke of one another as 'the brethren,' 'the saints,' the disciples,’ ‘the faithful,' etc. (2) The Jews used the term ‘NAZARENE’

The term Christian was used by Roman Governor Agrippa in Acts 26:28, who mocked Paul by saying,

"With but a little persuasion you would fain make me a "Christian."

When reading 1 Peter 4:15-16, Peter mentions being labeled a Christian in a list of scornful terms such as: murder, thief, evildoer, busybody and Christian.

Also, when looking deeper into this word, Christian comes from the Greek word Christianos which is the origin of Cretin, when looking up the word Cretin we will see that it means "a stupid person." The root word cretin is the Swiss French word crestin, which comes from the word "Christianum," which means "Christian."

Note: What would Israelites that practice the Torah and follow HaMashiach be doing with a Greek term used by pagans, to label themselves? Why would they search Greco-Roman roots? Would not it make more sense to search for Hebrew origins roots, since they were follower of an Israelite from the tribe of Judah? I bet you said to yourself, “they were not Israelites,” however according to the New Testament they were Israelites:

Was Paul an Israelite? Yes

“I say then, Hath ALHYM cast away his people? ALHYM forbid. For I also am an Israelite, of the seed of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin.” Romans 11:1

“Are they Hebrews? so am I. Are they Israelites? so am I. Are they the seed of Abraham? so am I.” 2 Corinthians 11:22

“Circumcised the eighth day, of the stock of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of the Hebrews; as touching the law, a Pharisee.” Philippians 3:5

Was HaMashiach an Israelite? Yes

“And he came and dwelt in a city called Nazareth: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophets, He shall be called a Nazarene.” Matthew. 2:23

“For it is evident that HaMashiach sprang out of Juda; of which tribe Moses spake nothing concerning priesthood.” Hebrews 7:14

Was Barnabas an Israelites? Yes

“And Joses, who by the apostles was surnamed Barnabas, (which is, being interpreted, The son of consolation,) a Levite, and of the country of Cyprus.” Acts 4:36

So, because it was at least 10 or possibly 20 or more years AFTER the death and RESURRECTION of HaMashiach, that the word ‘Christian’ was used, then the word Christian was never used by HaMashiach or used to describe those who followed him before his resurrection. Due to that reason, we will not referrer to HaMashiach and his followers as Christians. It is only right that we reference them as 'Prophesied'

[manjushriwisdom]

Buddha Naga

Buddha's Nagas According to the Vinaya or Buddhist Monastic Rule, an animal cannot become a monk. At one time, a Naga was so desirous of entering the Order that he assumed human form in order to be ordained. "Shortly after, when asleep in his hut, the naga returned to the shape of a huge snake. The monk who shared the hut was somewhat alarmed when he woke up to see a great snake sleeping next to him! The Lord Buddha summoned the naga and told him he may not remain as a monk, at which the utterly disconsolate snake began to weep. The snake was given the Five Precepts as the means to attaining a human existence in his next life when he can then be a monk. Then out of compassion for the sad snake, the Lord Buddha said that from then on all candidates for the monkhood be called 'Naga' as a consolation. They are still called 'Naga' to this day."~ About Ordination. < "ordination" is a word widely used because of its familiarity but it is not an accurate term with regard to the Buddhist tradition. Naga Sadhus There are ten akharas or "arenas" of Hindu ascetics (commonly, sadhus; female is sadhvi) known as nagas of which seven are Shaiva or Shivite. Halfway through an article at Rediff.com, there is a link to origins but their earliest history is not revealed. A speculation: In one version of the Buddha's life, he is said to have passed the night at the hermitage of Uruvela where the leader, Kashyapa, welcomed him but warned that the only vacant hut was the haunt of a malevolent naga. This did not deter the Buddha, but as soon as he went into a hut to pass the night, witnesses said a terrific struggle ensued. It culminated in the dwelling's catching on fire, and bystanders had to rush with jars of water to put it out. No one dared enter the hut, though, and when morning came Kashyapa and his followers thought that the young visitor must certainly have been fiercely burned by the serpent’s fire. They did not know that the powers of the Buddha had overcome those of the naga's fury, and he had calmly placed the serpent into his begging bowl. When the Buddha emerged from the hut, he presented the distressed yogis with the serpent coiled peacefully inside his alms bowl. Potala or Patala The former palace of the Dalai lamas in Lhasa, Tibet is known as the Potala. The name means "heavenly abode." In the great Indian epic, Mahabharata, the Nagas inhabit the realm called Patala. Ulupi, daughter of their king, married Arjuna the hero and leader of the Pandava brothers whose charioteer is Krishna. The Nagas fought on the side of the Ashuras [anti-gods or titans] in the Great War. In the western borderland of Pakistan that is the Udayana of legend, a version of the story has consequences for farmers. The champion, Apulala [cf. Apsu of Mesopotamian mythology] of the nagas in Patala, a watery region under the earth, are generally able to keep the wicked dragons [cf. Tiamat of Mesopotamia] from overdoing the seasonal rains. Thanks to his moderating capabilities, the farmers prospered. In gratitude each family offered him a bit of grain as tribute. After some time several of the inhabitants of the place began to forego the yearly offering. The Naga became angry and prayed that he might become a poisonous dragon so that he could drench the countryside in rain and wind. So it is that at the end of his life he became the dragon of that country. To this day Rajas (local princes) in the Hindu Kush are said to be able to control the elements . . . .~ http://sorrel.humboldt.edu/~geog309i/ideas/dragons/naga.html < no longer online In Himalayan Buddhism, these water nagas are keepers of secret books of wisdom. They can be generous, but they also have the ability to let loose diseases and epidemics. They are propitiated with suitable offerings. In the 17th century, Tibet's Fifth Dalai Lama was inspired to have constructed a small temple on a lake behind the Potala palace in Lhasa dedicated to [kLu] or lu. This is called the Lhukang. On its walls are depictions of tantric practices, and images of the 84 Mahasiddhas as nagas are associated with these yogic accomplishment. (As we have seen, even today the group of naked and most physically disciplined Indian yogis are known as the nagas.) See a pair of naginis: One bears jewels, the other a bodhi leaf which represents sacred writings. Offerings are at the bottom foreground of the painting. There is a Middle Kingdom (Egyptian) story in Ethics of Ancient Egypt by Sanderson Beck that tells of a typical encounter with a generous naga: Having set out for the mines of the sovereign, a large ship carrying a hundred and twenty sailors is destroyed in a storm, and [the hero] is cast alone on an island, where he finds figs, vines, leeks, fruit, cucumbers, fish, and fowl. Using two sticks for a fire-drill, he kindles a fire to sacrifice to the gods when he sees a huge serpent fifteen meters long overlaid with gold and having eyebrows of lapis lazuli who asks him why he is there.The sailor explains about the ship going to the mines that perished, and the serpent offers him every good thing there on the island until a ship comes to take him back to the royal residence. In gratitude the sailor offers the serpent precious perfumes, but the latter laughs because as prince of Punt he has myrrh and hekenu in abundance.When the ship comes, the serpent gives him numerous treasures that the Egyptians imported from the incense-producing countries. The sailor takes these back to his Sovereign, who thanks him and appoints him a henchman. ... . Of the five guardians of the cardinal points (we include the centre,) the Lord of the West is the naga king, Virupaksha. Nagas are also thought to guard the five lakes and four oceans of the world. Nagas of Nepal In Nepal, the serpent deities are acknowledged for their power over rainfall and hence, the fertility of the land. They also are considered to be able to protect buildings from the consequences of earthquake. There, Karkotak is honoured alongside Basuki (or, Vasuki) and Shesh (or, Shesha.) They are worshipped by Hindus especially during Naga Panchami on the 5th day after the full moon of Shravan (Shrawan Shukla Panchami.) The observance includes the pasting of posters of nagas over the entrances of the household, usually by a family priest. It is said that the custom was introduced by King Shankar Deva of Kantipur. In Hinduism, Naag (the divine serpent) is glorified as the provider of rain. Naag is worshipped to provide a good harvest during the monsoon season, and Naag Panchami, the fifth day of the bright lunar fortnight, is set aside for worshipping serpents. Devotees on this day paste pictures of Naag over their doorways with cow-dung. As part of the rituals to propitiate the divine serpents, milk, their favorite drink is offered to the pictures. Failure to appease them may invite droughts and disaster in the days ahead. Devotees also throng Taudaha, a pond six kilometers to the south of Kathmandu. There they worship Karkotak Naag, the serpent-king. Karkotak moved to this dwelling when Manjushree drained the lake that used to cover the Valley. Pilgrims also visit the rural Newar township of Dhapakhyo in Lalitpur, where at Nagadha, they pay homage to the serpent-gods. ~ Kantipur Online Naga Arjuna There are several places in Nepal named in commemoration of the great Nag'arjuna. Nagarjun is a hill (2,188m) northwest of Kathmandu which is is the site of Jamacho chaitya (stupa or Tib. chorten.) There, the Raniban or Queen's Forest is a protected haven for leopard, deer, birds, squirrels, and other fauna. Nagarkot (once called Mandapgiri) is on a hilltop (2,788m), 32km northeast of Kathmandu, in Bhaktapur district. It offers a panorama of the Himalayas including Mt. Everest, the Kathmandu Valley below, and spectacular sunrises and sunsets. Nagrad or Nagadahawas is the name of the lake that was drained by Manjushri who cut a gorge with his sword at Chovar thus revealing the Kathmandu Valley. It was named for the numerous cosmic serpents that had called it home. Nats and Naks In Myanmar (formerly, Burma) a serpent-tailed spirit is known as a nat. Nats are nature spirits associated with trees and other sacred places. The West is the direction of the Nat who is the naga-master of fortune. The Arian heresy in Burma and the "cucumber king" who worshipped a Naga.About nat cult suppression. See the funerary vehicle of a Laotian king drawn by a naga couple. There is a water spirit of the Baltic known as a Nak. Perhaps the name is the result of a linguistic transposition. In Oct. 2001, perhaps in anticipation of the Year of the Water Horse, underwater cameras were installed in Loch Ness, one of Scotland's deepest lakes, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the naga purported to dwell there. The legend of "Nessie" dates at least to 565 CE when Christian saint, Columba, reported seeing the naga. There have only been two other credible sightings, both dating from the 1930s, in which witnesses describe the violent disturbance of the lake's water. The Naga as Mentor and Guru According to the Puranas, source of much of Indian mythology, Nagadvipa (some translate this, Dragon Island) is one of the seven sectors of Bharatavarsha, that is, India. Mme. H. P. Blavatsky [fl. 1900] co-founder of the Theosophical Society, thought: When the Brahmans invaded India they "found a race of wise men, half-gods, half-demons", says the legend, men who were the teachers of other races and became likewise the instructors of the Hindus and the Brahmans themselves. Nagpur is justly believed to be the surviving relic of Nagadwipa. Now Nagpur is virtually in Rajputana, near Oodeypore [Udaypur], Ajmere, etc. And is it not well known that there was a time when Brahm[i]ns went to learn Secret Wisdom from the Rajputs? Nagini bearing a treasure. The jewel symbolizes a wisdom-teaching. The link is to an Asian Art article on the Lhukang or naga-temple that is dedicated to the "treasure revealer" or terton, Pema Lingpa. A Nagaraja bore a treasure to Kanyakumari at the "foot" of India, and an ancient image of the naga was recovered and installed in a shrine at the spot where it was found. Interestingly, the entrance to the temple resembles that of a Buddhist Vihara. There is some similarity between the role played by centaurs in classical [Greco-Roman] mythology and that of nagas. For example, the wisest and kindest of the half-man half-horse centaurs, Chiron, tutors Achilles in the art of music and Asclepius in the healing arts. Similarly, a tradition states that Apollonius of Tyana was instructed in magic by the Nagas of Kashmir. Interestingly, the Mayan [Mexican] language uses a similar word, nagual or nahual to refer to the shaman or the initiatory spirit. The nahual first appeared publicly in Carlos Casteneda's Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge where Mexican esoteric knowledge was purported to be introduced for the first time to the wider world. It is believed that the coming Buddha, Maitreya, is currently a bodhisattva perfecting himself in the Tushita heavens, sitting in or near a naga tree, and studying with naga teachers to prepare for his full enlightenment on earth which will take place under a tree guarded, just as it was in the days of Buddha Shakyamuni, by a great naga. Tradition has it that Buddha Shakyamuni took rebirth in the naga realm just before his last incarnation on earth. Bodhisattvas of the 9th and 10th levels are reborn there in order to obtain empowerments and hidden teachings. By extension, someone reborn in any of the naga realms has the potential of reaching buddhahood in a short time without the need for any intervening rebirth. These so-called naga-buddhas are invoked by practitioners to grant special insight and siddhis [abilities]. We are often blinded to the meaning of Biblical mythology, since the interpretation has been done for us for a very long time in such a way as to accord with very particular views. Consider the encouragement offered the Mother of Life in her quest for Wisdom by the naga inhabiting the Tree in the Garden of Eden. BB, a contributor to the Kagyu email list wrote: In Nyingma circles there is a story about someone who tried to do the Dark Retreat (part of the togal practice of longchen nyinthig) against the advice of his teacher who could not be physically present, either.In case of emergencies, the teacher told the practitioner to keep a phone close by. Somewhere into the retreat, this practitioner started to get visions including an episode of being attacked by a big Naga. In a panic he called his teacher who told him to stab the Naga -- not with a knife, but a pen. That he did and the Naga, having been stabbed on its head, vanished.He broke retreat the very next day and found the mark of the pen right on his [own] chest where the heart is. Miscellaneous References to Nagas In the first century CE, the kingdom known as Funan, though at the time it was called Tepnoni, was founded in what is now Kampuchea (formerly, Cambodia) by Kaundinya (Kautilya, ca. 300 BCE ?) a Hindu. There, legend tells how he met and married Soma, daughter of the naga king, introducing the Sanskrit language and Hindu customs and laws. This is said to be the oldest state in southeast Asia. It is important to realize that the designation Naga is given to certain aboriginal tribes of the area, such as the Naga tribal peoples of Assam (Indian province) and Myanmar (the country formerly called Burma) in the eastern foothills of the Himalayas. Since legend has it that nagas washed Gautama Buddha at his birth, protected him in life and guarded his relics after death, some believe that this refers to the term "naga" as meaning tribal or hill people, or possibly even the class of adepts or yogis that are sky-clad. And there are many tales of the conversion of Nagas to Buddhism, including the account of a naga of a lake in a forest near Rajagriha who was convinced of the benefit of Buddha-dharma. Chauki Ghat is one of the landings on the Ganges at the sacred city of Varanasi. It is distinguished by an enormous tree that shelters innumerable small naga stones -- shrines to the naga deities. Copyright 1998-2018 Khandro.Net All rights reserved. This Web site is designed with Firefox as browser but should be accessible to others. However, if you eliminate underlining in your Preferences you could miss some of our links.

[ngakpakonchokdorjetsondonmystic]

Buddha Naga

Buddha's Nagas According to the Vinaya or Buddhist Monastic Rule, an animal cannot become a monk. At one time, a Naga was so desirous of entering the Order that he assumed human form in order to be ordained. "Shortly after, when asleep in his hut, the naga returned to the shape of a huge snake. The monk who shared the hut was somewhat alarmed when he woke up to see a great snake sleeping next to him! The Lord Buddha summoned the naga and told him he may not remain as a monk, at which the utterly disconsolate snake began to weep. The snake was given the Five Precepts as the means to attaining a human existence in his next life when he can then be a monk. Then out of compassion for the sad snake, the Lord Buddha said that from then on all candidates for the monkhood be called 'Naga' as a consolation. They are still called 'Naga' to this day."~ About Ordination. < "ordination" is a word widely used because of its familiarity but it is not an accurate term with regard to the Buddhist tradition. Naga Sadhus There are ten akharas or "arenas" of Hindu ascetics (commonly, sadhus; female is sadhvi) known as nagas of which seven are Shaiva or Shivite. Halfway through an article at Rediff.com, there is a link to origins but their earliest history is not revealed. A speculation: In one version of the Buddha's life, he is said to have passed the night at the hermitage of Uruvela where the leader, Kashyapa, welcomed him but warned that the only vacant hut was the haunt of a malevolent naga. This did not deter the Buddha, but as soon as he went into a hut to pass the night, witnesses said a terrific struggle ensued. It culminated in the dwelling's catching on fire, and bystanders had to rush with jars of water to put it out. No one dared enter the hut, though, and when morning came Kashyapa and his followers thought that the young visitor must certainly have been fiercely burned by the serpent’s fire. They did not know that the powers of the Buddha had overcome those of the naga's fury, and he had calmly placed the serpent into his begging bowl. When the Buddha emerged from the hut, he presented the distressed yogis with the serpent coiled peacefully inside his alms bowl. Potala or Patala The former palace of the Dalai lamas in Lhasa, Tibet is known as the Potala. The name means "heavenly abode." In the great Indian epic, Mahabharata, the Nagas inhabit the realm called Patala. Ulupi, daughter of their king, married Arjuna the hero and leader of the Pandava brothers whose charioteer is Krishna. The Nagas fought on the side of the Ashuras [anti-gods or titans] in the Great War. In the western borderland of Pakistan that is the Udayana of legend, a version of the story has consequences for farmers. The champion, Apulala [cf. Apsu of Mesopotamian mythology] of the nagas in Patala, a watery region under the earth, are generally able to keep the wicked dragons [cf. Tiamat of Mesopotamia] from overdoing the seasonal rains. Thanks to his moderating capabilities, the farmers prospered. In gratitude each family offered him a bit of grain as tribute. After some time several of the inhabitants of the place began to forego the yearly offering. The Naga became angry and prayed that he might become a poisonous dragon so that he could drench the countryside in rain and wind. So it is that at the end of his life he became the dragon of that country. To this day Rajas (local princes) in the Hindu Kush are said to be able to control the elements . . . .~ http://sorrel.humboldt.edu/~geog309i/ideas/dragons/naga.html < no longer online In Himalayan Buddhism, these water nagas are keepers of secret books of wisdom. They can be generous, but they also have the ability to let loose diseases and epidemics. They are propitiated with suitable offerings. In the 17th century, Tibet's Fifth Dalai Lama was inspired to have constructed a small temple on a lake behind the Potala palace in Lhasa dedicated to [kLu] or lu. This is called the Lhukang. On its walls are depictions of tantric practices, and images of the 84 Mahasiddhas as nagas are associated with these yogic accomplishment. (As we have seen, even today the group of naked and most physically disciplined Indian yogis are known as the nagas.) See a pair of naginis: One bears jewels, the other a bodhi leaf which represents sacred writings. Offerings are at the bottom foreground of the painting. There is a Middle Kingdom (Egyptian) story in Ethics of Ancient Egypt by Sanderson Beck that tells of a typical encounter with a generous naga: Having set out for the mines of the sovereign, a large ship carrying a hundred and twenty sailors is destroyed in a storm, and [the hero] is cast alone on an island, where he finds figs, vines, leeks, fruit, cucumbers, fish, and fowl. Using two sticks for a fire-drill, he kindles a fire to sacrifice to the gods when he sees a huge serpent fifteen meters long overlaid with gold and having eyebrows of lapis lazuli who asks him why he is there.The sailor explains about the ship going to the mines that perished, and the serpent offers him every good thing there on the island until a ship comes to take him back to the royal residence. In gratitude the sailor offers the serpent precious perfumes, but the latter laughs because as prince of Punt he has myrrh and hekenu in abundance.When the ship comes, the serpent gives him numerous treasures that the Egyptians imported from the incense-producing countries. The sailor takes these back to his Sovereign, who thanks him and appoints him a henchman. ... . Of the five guardians of the cardinal points (we include the centre,) the Lord of the West is the naga king, Virupaksha. Nagas are also thought to guard the five lakes and four oceans of the world. Nagas of Nepal In Nepal, the serpent deities are acknowledged for their power over rainfall and hence, the fertility of the land. They also are considered to be able to protect buildings from the consequences of earthquake. There, Karkotak is honoured alongside Basuki (or, Vasuki) and Shesh (or, Shesha.) They are worshipped by Hindus especially during Naga Panchami on the 5th day after the full moon of Shravan (Shrawan Shukla Panchami.) The observance includes the pasting of posters of nagas over the entrances of the household, usually by a family priest. It is said that the custom was introduced by King Shankar Deva of Kantipur. In Hinduism, Naag (the divine serpent) is glorified as the provider of rain. Naag is worshipped to provide a good harvest during the monsoon season, and Naag Panchami, the fifth day of the bright lunar fortnight, is set aside for worshipping serpents. Devotees on this day paste pictures of Naag over their doorways with cow-dung. As part of the rituals to propitiate the divine serpents, milk, their favorite drink is offered to the pictures. Failure to appease them may invite droughts and disaster in the days ahead. Devotees also throng Taudaha, a pond six kilometers to the south of Kathmandu. There they worship Karkotak Naag, the serpent-king. Karkotak moved to this dwelling when Manjushree drained the lake that used to cover the Valley. Pilgrims also visit the rural Newar township of Dhapakhyo in Lalitpur, where at Nagadha, they pay homage to the serpent-gods. ~ Kantipur Online Naga Arjuna There are several places in Nepal named in commemoration of the great Nag'arjuna. Nagarjun is a hill (2,188m) northwest of Kathmandu which is is the site of Jamacho chaitya (stupa or Tib. chorten.) There, the Raniban or Queen's Forest is a protected haven for leopard, deer, birds, squirrels, and other fauna. Nagarkot (once called Mandapgiri) is on a hilltop (2,788m), 32km northeast of Kathmandu, in Bhaktapur district. It offers a panorama of the Himalayas including Mt. Everest, the Kathmandu Valley below, and spectacular sunrises and sunsets. Nagrad or Nagadahawas is the name of the lake that was drained by Manjushri who cut a gorge with his sword at Chovar thus revealing the Kathmandu Valley. It was named for the numerous cosmic serpents that had called it home. Nats and Naks In Myanmar (formerly, Burma) a serpent-tailed spirit is known as a nat. Nats are nature spirits associated with trees and other sacred places. The West is the direction of the Nat who is the naga-master of fortune. The Arian heresy in Burma and the "cucumber king" who worshipped a Naga.About nat cult suppression. See the funerary vehicle of a Laotian king drawn by a naga couple. There is a water spirit of the Baltic known as a Nak. Perhaps the name is the result of a linguistic transposition. In Oct. 2001, perhaps in anticipation of the Year of the Water Horse, underwater cameras were installed in Loch Ness, one of Scotland's deepest lakes, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the naga purported to dwell there. The legend of "Nessie" dates at least to 565 CE when Christian saint, Columba, reported seeing the naga. There have only been two other credible sightings, both dating from the 1930s, in which witnesses describe the violent disturbance of the lake's water. The Naga as Mentor and Guru According to the Puranas, source of much of Indian mythology, Nagadvipa (some translate this, Dragon Island) is one of the seven sectors of Bharatavarsha, that is, India. Mme. H. P. Blavatsky [fl. 1900] co-founder of the Theosophical Society, thought: When the Brahmans invaded India they "found a race of wise men, half-gods, half-demons", says the legend, men who were the teachers of other races and became likewise the instructors of the Hindus and the Brahmans themselves. Nagpur is justly believed to be the surviving relic of Nagadwipa. Now Nagpur is virtually in Rajputana, near Oodeypore [Udaypur], Ajmere, etc. And is it not well known that there was a time when Brahm[i]ns went to learn Secret Wisdom from the Rajputs? Nagini bearing a treasure. The jewel symbolizes a wisdom-teaching. The link is to an Asian Art article on the Lhukang or naga-temple that is dedicated to the "treasure revealer" or terton, Pema Lingpa. A Nagaraja bore a treasure to Kanyakumari at the "foot" of India, and an ancient image of the naga was recovered and installed in a shrine at the spot where it was found. Interestingly, the entrance to the temple resembles that of a Buddhist Vihara. There is some similarity between the role played by centaurs in classical [Greco-Roman] mythology and that of nagas. For example, the wisest and kindest of the half-man half-horse centaurs, Chiron, tutors Achilles in the art of music and Asclepius in the healing arts. Similarly, a tradition states that Apollonius of Tyana was instructed in magic by the Nagas of Kashmir. Interestingly, the Mayan [Mexican] language uses a similar word, nagual or nahual to refer to the shaman or the initiatory spirit. The nahual first appeared publicly in Carlos Casteneda's Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge where Mexican esoteric knowledge was purported to be introduced for the first time to the wider world. It is believed that the coming Buddha, Maitreya, is currently a bodhisattva perfecting himself in the Tushita heavens, sitting in or near a naga tree, and studying with naga teachers to prepare for his full enlightenment on earth which will take place under a tree guarded, just as it was in the days of Buddha Shakyamuni, by a great naga. Tradition has it that Buddha Shakyamuni took rebirth in the naga realm just before his last incarnation on earth. Bodhisattvas of the 9th and 10th levels are reborn there in order to obtain empowerments and hidden teachings. By extension, someone reborn in any of the naga realms has the potential of reaching buddhahood in a short time without the need for any intervening rebirth. These so-called naga-buddhas are invoked by practitioners to grant special insight and siddhis [abilities]. We are often blinded to the meaning of Biblical mythology, since the interpretation has been done for us for a very long time in such a way as to accord with very particular views. Consider the encouragement offered the Mother of Life in her quest for Wisdom by the naga inhabiting the Tree in the Garden of Eden. BB, a contributor to the Kagyu email list wrote: In Nyingma circles there is a story about someone who tried to do the Dark Retreat (part of the togal practice of longchen nyinthig) against the advice of his teacher who could not be physically present, either.In case of emergencies, the teacher told the practitioner to keep a phone close by. Somewhere into the retreat, this practitioner started to get visions including an episode of being attacked by a big Naga. In a panic he called his teacher who told him to stab the Naga -- not with a knife, but a pen. That he did and the Naga, having been stabbed on its head, vanished.He broke retreat the very next day and found the mark of the pen right on his [own] chest where the heart is. Miscellaneous References to Nagas In the first century CE, the kingdom known as Funan, though at the time it was called Tepnoni, was founded in what is now Kampuchea (formerly, Cambodia) by Kaundinya (Kautilya, ca. 300 BCE ?) a Hindu. There, legend tells how he met and married Soma, daughter of the naga king, introducing the Sanskrit language and Hindu customs and laws. This is said to be the oldest state in southeast Asia. It is important to realize that the designation Naga is given to certain aboriginal tribes of the area, such as the Naga tribal peoples of Assam (Indian province) and Myanmar (the country formerly called Burma) in the eastern foothills of the Himalayas. Since legend has it that nagas washed Gautama Buddha at his birth, protected him in life and guarded his relics after death, some believe that this refers to the term "naga" as meaning tribal or hill people, or possibly even the class of adepts or yogis that are sky-clad. And there are many tales of the conversion of Nagas to Buddhism, including the account of a naga of a lake in a forest near Rajagriha who was convinced of the benefit of Buddha-dharma. Chauki Ghat is one of the landings on the Ganges at the sacred city of Varanasi. It is distinguished by an enormous tree that shelters innumerable small naga stones -- shrines to the naga deities. Copyright 1998-2018 Khandro.Net All rights reserved. This Web site is designed with Firefox as browser but should be accessible to others. However, if you eliminate underlining in your Preferences you could miss some of our links.

[geraldine-taylor]

I Circle Back to Thee

Aaran: Let sleeping lilies lie, come what may Each season has its time In a field of gold blossoming, promises of spring Of quality delights, yet but one is mine Selected at their prime Time is of such essence, render my heart s-t-i-l-l Enamoured by this quest O’er craggy hills, set on high A myriad of mountains, piercing the sky Through valleys of low, sifting through the land A humble search within, of untold promises Of whom is it I seek? With the choicest picks of many A fresh vineyard of plenty Of room for such bold gallantry Pearl: If nature tells a tale, is it such truth that I will seek Of incomparable promises, adoration from above A sacred lavished love, freely unconditional Let righteousness prevail A redirected ship sets sail To steer towards his ways Lest I avert love’s true course A freewill field of freedom With the choicest picks of many A fresh vineyard of plenty Yet a tarnished trail, leads to solemn ruin Aaran: With renewed clarity, I’ll endeavour to please Yet only one can appease, unwholesome ways Bless my earnest days In seeking you Of desiring truth Draw me back to you Present wonders and clues Yet of whom could fathom Of my own understanding Dare I leaneth not To acknowledge truly the king of kings Yet will my offering be pleasing to thee? With a patchwork of progress Yet to digress! Misguided in the mix Would thou now fix To so fill a void Of actions mistimed Such an opportune time Yet in this vineyard of plenty I have selected not Pearl: With vivid retrospection, beyond a quick glance To recapture redirection Choices not to my betterment Such steps lead to a F A L L A calling forth to consciousness A gentle quiet voice To hasten towards unfolding arms Re-establish the connection My Sovereign protection My keeper, my guide Of unharnessed energy Be rechannelled set me free No longer captive, twas lost – now found Now replanted on solid ground Such land is lush, fertile for growth The gift of grace, bestowed on me Yet interlaced with love for me Search my heart Explore the depths of my soul Of a contrite spirit, a new heart in me A catalyst for change, rearrange my compartments Renovate from within With purposeful living Let it be so declared Replanted in the vineyard Encircled in care Aaran: Where is my equal, of mirrored completeness? Rare unwinding roads, let me venture to find With cascades of choice Yet a still small voice Calls me back to thee To search so diligently Of the selection Beyond our protection A compromised yield – from a field of choice Of qualities unqualified A diminished light Yet captured in your sight I could run ahead, but a thousand miles With aims to hide Strayed from the path Yet you would find me! Like whispering leaves – you follow me! I am your child “Draw back to me” Such energy spent A tent of retreat Pearl: If I am yours and you are mine Here engrafted into the vine With offers of replenishment Drawn towards a living well In essence to thirst, for a fragrant spring From the wilderness, lest I return With all that I yearn I give to you! There are no secrets hidden from view You know my thoughts You know my ways You have carried me through all of my days Sunlit rays of hope shines through A maker of all things new Apart from you – bereft of truth Of magnitude In wondrous awe of all you do I surrender all to you Aaran: Let their be none of me, but all of you Without your workmanship – I build in vain No substance of change Effort exhaustion To bear no truth Outside of your will, no perfection of peace Fruitful production will cease Of majestic wonders, your sovereignty reigns Your craftsmanship unparalleled Emboldened tower of excellence Such is your wisdom, of invested time Creations of the divine On the heights of love Exceedingly above All created things Exhibited signs of majesty Concerning me, you tend to my case Casting all of my cares Of honourable justice Cocooned in compassion Love unending Continually the same You reign on high There is power in the name Pearl: Soulfully renewed, with a sound mind Confine the spirit of fear Wash me with blessedness assured Cloth me with sacred strength Direct thy paths Of intrinsic value placed in me Keep me hidden and close to thee Blossomed fruits of maturity As a living vessel Radiate your royalty Of such a season as this Rested beneath your wings Guard my heart A time of preparation Be formed and refined Yielded to the master’s plan I shall seek your face Of sovereign splendour A veil of grace In the midst of your shadow For your appointed to find Of your perfect timing Of your perfect will A laid foundation A covering of silk A precious pearl A virtuous call Of standards to surpass With favour from high Aaran: Instil in me, due diligence To plough the field in solitude Exuding excellence In the accomplishment of a purposed will Restorative rest From tests and trials Of requisite skills and character Create room for special providence A shadow of insight Of your wondrous works Let the vine be preserved In season, to make the acquaintance of A significant love Of help to protect thee Righteously reserved To enlighten thee A time of revealing At a distance awaits Preservation of patience In your image created Promises belated outside of your will Of futile attempts to evade your plan For I am not my own There is help in you alone Presented cares at your throne In your presence may I stay Pearl: One cannot underestimate motives established In opposition to For outsiders of the recognition Of my true valuation Let them locate me not With casted lots they can but ill afford You know my worth You have me preserved In safe keeping Until an appointed time True justice is thine Let your kingdom advance Counterfeit collectors Of no business in here Adorn me with your covering Glory be to you With humility and honour To seek your truth There is none like you Blessed be the temple I have been redeemed For he is my keeper Let me return to thee A prized and treasured purchase Such gems are rare As a living sacrifice Be pleasing to thee Honour you in worship With mindfulness take heed Aaran: There is a ruler in the land Of covenants and commands A mighty love With jealousy, of mercies that endure He reigns forever more Of the future and before Of granted seasons In spirit to discern Of faithful steps where I am tested To stretch established trust “Will you walk with me, to a place that you know not” With former ways forgot A courageous look ahead In spirit and in truth Let me follow you Every facet of my being Awesome depths of knowledge, wisdom and understanding Of paths to pursue On ahead we shall go Pearl: Do they possess your righteousness? Were they sent in your name? They have not your likeness Conflicting with your plan They bring no completeness Disharmony abounds With such fruitless planting Upon rocky ground Yokes of inequality to establish not Presenting common gifts to exclusivity Of access unauthorised Of acts to displease Claims of validation Such will be disproved Of a different team they are Of their travels from afar Of which of these can be after your own heart? To see beyond the shell Where favour cannot reside Cast away their pride Return from whence you came Patience is a virtue Let my life exemplify With your gardening of reason Of true love amplified Aaran: To trust in your timing Let your ways become my ways Recharge my focus The potter moulds the clay A rebirth of integrity A calling forth to lead Of due responsibility Opportunities embraced So I shall arise Evolving ever wise Symbolising service Blessed to be a blessing Gracefully equipped Faithfully serving With reverence so aligned Of seasons placed on time Of suitable design A man of the divine A vessel of virtue A good thing I will find Pearl: An objective of order Contemplating eyes For whatsoever you find, that is unlike you Be extracted, be removed Reestablishment be loosed One appointed master Of obedience to you Old ways be overturned Of varied lessons learnt Refurbish and restore Bring your authority Be the head about the door Brought beyond brokenness Restorer of joyfulness Complement contentedness Companion incomparable Character in confidence That of transformation Faith in the intangible Supernaturally sure Intentional living All of which I strive No desire to arrive Countering complacency His bold divinity, will enhance my days Divine provider of wealth Of spiritual health He stands in the gap A bringer of true balance His care is unabridged Aaran: At such an appointed time A climate of change I will recognise my dearest With opened eyes Like the dawn of sunrise I will be drawn to thee Of natural beauty He will spiritually advise To have found the one In accordance with your blueprint Of events orchestrated Of joyfulness elated How precious is thee! Seemingly hidden from view With devotion to development That our paths would cross To begin our journey In one accord Of such blessings to afford To one day so stand before Our maker Declarations of love and commitment to thee Of such a blessed vision One day realised For until such a time Let me wait upon the Lord To seek first his righteousness Before our holy covenant I shall wait on thee Pearl: As events unfold Let all that you touch upon turn into gold With wonders of mystery Bold miraculous signs Nature’s seasons ever changing Truly divine With no division of time Of cares undivided Due attention to you Reveal to me your truths As I soulfully meditate upon your daily word Lest I depart from righteous ways Lead me all of my days May I cling to you Love’s loyal devotion Blissfully lost in your word You guide me as light By day and by night Enlightened watchtower of constancy Exalt you in your sanctuary For you have created a work in me For your word shall not return to you void In you I shall prosper Accomplish I will Of promises spoken Shall come to pass Let your divine order take precedence Let my cup runneth over Bring wholesomeness Your blessed investment concerning me Left not alone You called me as your own Selectively sought and set apart To kneel before you with humility Your goodness washing over me How much greater can this be? Aaran: A creator above all You catch me when I fall Of whom could match the wondrous treasure I have found in you The sacred gift of your beloved son For my salvation With victory already won In fellowship with you So to feast upon the bread of heaven My daily fill You are my strength and you are my shield A fortified fortress that stands on high There is none like you No tower could be built, that could surpass you Of whom could reach you with earthly hands Or overrule your divine plans To fathom the works of your mighty hands Truly appointed before my formation You laid the foundations Of which to create Blessedly ordained For your holy purpose Qualified I will embrace Thou art is divine Pearl: Of seasons granted, so I have been blessed In the comfort of your arms You are the fire to my flame Spiritual gifts of the Holy Spirit Enlightened with wisdom and understanding Yet that I may discern what is unlike you To hear your voice With strangers unfollowed You are the founder of new ability Of your powerful ways You fill me with courage I am nourished with strength The means to go on There is healing in the name My call yet not in vain Unceasing in prayer You bring me new vitality As essential as the breadth of life The greatness in me because of you You have granted holy consciousness Let my desire be for you For changes that you orchestrate Of whom could foresee the times Of the truly divine Aaran: Your founded access to my innermost being Let me be more like you To be steadfast in obedience Your statutes of noble sovereignty Perspective renewal Be washed Be cleansed Knowing you, knowing you I want to know you more Only you can restore The joy of your salvation Your bold proclamation upon the earth To so recognise worth and offer redemption I will sing for joy and tell of your righteousness You unlock blessings at every elevation Your continued revelation imparted to me I will exalt thee For you are holy Let your Holy Spirit dwell in me Your enlightening instructions concerning me My walk with you Yet a day draws near For my dearest one Shall surely come Pieces of the puzzle A flow of fluency May my inner soul glow With sure delight Oh the joy you bring There is gladness in the offering Beyond happenstance So spiritually lead In your perfect will To be so aligned Pearl: To hear the voice of my Sovereign Lord To be called aside concerning me Of the knowledge to impart to me Ushered beyond un-forgiveness Of relationships renewed Your re-established order To picture perfect peace A flow in harmony My daily time with thee Yet no matter where I go, I always circle back to thee! Of days made anew For I am complete and whole in you There is an abundance of joy There is an ultrasound of gladness Of the news you bring regarding me You have concealed me with your covering Hidden beneath your wings Yet of a time that has now come Of such practiced preparation You are calling forth a season In you I have grown in intimacy Shaped and moulded Daughter of the king To so now reveal to me The becoming of a bride Of your covenant So you cover me Gracefully guided In fellowship with you I shall await for your appointed day As the bride of Christ In perfect patience Aaran: May I be granted the privilege of your acquaintance The Lord has spoken to me concerning you A timely revealing To assuredly know A joyous recognition Of such beauty to embrace May we so establish An honourable courtship How the essence of your soul resonates with me Wholesomely relatable May I invest my time and share thus journey with you With Christ at the centre May we one day enter Into a sacred covenant How you blissfully share the good news of the Lord How we address each other in one accord Seated in blessed harmony My prayers for you An unfolding reality May we continue to preserve All that is in reserve Until such a time that the Lord has called forth For no matter where I go, I will always circle back to thee! Pearl: To have pictured this moment Unfolding before my eyes Like a blissful sunrise I am delighted with thee The joy of the Lord resides in me May we offer praises to the king A blessed journey has begun May we give due attention to all that is to come I was hidden for a time Yet I will be yours and you will be mine May we grow in love May we follow truth Let us share our thoughts With wisdom in line To have journeyed through the stages and so be refined You offer delicacy of the finest gold May our weaknesses be made perfect in his strength May we continue to always seek the Lord With wisdom and wise counsel Yet be accountable May we grow and prosper In accordance with his will A blessed revealing Of a time to be s-t-i-l-l For no matter where I go, I will always circle back to thee! Aaran: Oh Sovereign Lord Of the delight you bring Beyond completeness in you My help you have brought May I truly qualify to have her hand The transferring of your holy covenant Equip me to cover her All the days of her life A reality beyond my dreams You intervened and made me upright To be appointed to solemnly stand As a godly man To sacredly vow In full sight of you In reverent witness Of unified agreement For us to so merge as one Of such a coming together Let no one separate Oneness of soul Two become one flesh In your perfect will Created with a purpose Let us co-create Let your threefold cord Truly bind us together May our love glorify you All the days of our lives For no matter where I go, I will always circle back to thee! Pearl: Sing praises to the king To the father of creation His timely revelation So perfectly divine For my love has found favour For the goodness he has found Of exceeding abundance Of the varied forms So gratefully received May we scatter our blessings right across the earth May we share the good news Let ministries be birthed Let your purpose radiate In all righteousness May we attest to the goodness you bring Had I not answered your call I would continue to F A L L When I was far from you You drew me near I could but revere The treasure I have found in you I am wallowed within the midst of your love Of blessings unfolding Yet sent from above For no matter where I go, I will always circle back to thee! Aaran: I relish the goodness of the king How your marvellous might surpasses all As I bow at your throne For you are God and God alone! For no matter where I go, I will always circle back to thee! Poem written by Geraldine Taylor ©️

[christianitywithouttheinsanity]

Eccl 7-9; Psalm 46; 2 Tim 3

Discuss in the comments section.

The following text is from the English Standard Version.

Eccl 7-9

7:1 A good name is better than precious ointment, and the day of death than the day of birth. 2 It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart. 3 Sorrow is better than laughter, for by sadness of face the heart is made glad. 4 The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth. 5 It is better for a man to hear the rebuke of the wise than to hear the song of fools. 6 For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fools; this also is vanity. 7 Surely oppression drives the wise into madness, and a bribe corrupts the heart. 8 Better is the end of a thing than its beginning, and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit. 9 Be not quick in your spirit to become angry, for anger lodges in the bosom of fools. 10 Say not, “Why were the former days better than these?” For it is not from wisdom that you ask this. 11 Wisdom is good with an inheritance, an advantage to those who see the sun. 12 For the protection of wisdom is like the protection of money, and the advantage of knowledge is that wisdom preserves the life of him who has it. 13 Consider the work of God: who can make straight what he has made crooked?

14 In the day of prosperity be joyful, and in the day of adversity consider: God has made the one as well as the other, so that man may not find out anything that will be after him.

15 In my vain life I have seen everything. There is a righteous man who perishes in his righteousness, and there is a wicked man who prolongs his life in his evildoing. 16 Be not overly righteous, and do not make yourself too wise. Why should you destroy yourself? 17 Be not overly wicked, neither be a fool. Why should you die before your time? 18 It is good that you should take hold of this, and from that withhold not your hand, for the one who fears God shall come out from both of them.

19 Wisdom gives strength to the wise man more than ten rulers who are in a city.

20 Surely there is not a righteous man on earth who does good and never sins.

21 Do not take to heart all the things that people say, lest you hear your servant cursing you. 22 Your heart knows that many times you yourself have cursed others.

23 All this I have tested by wisdom. I said, “I will be wise,” but it was far from me. 24 That which has been is far off, and deep, very deep; who can find it out?

25 I turned my heart to know and to search out and to seek wisdom and the scheme of things, and to know the wickedness of folly and the foolishness that is madness. 26 And I find something more bitter than death: the woman whose heart is snares and nets, and whose hands are fetters. He who pleases God escapes her, but the sinner is taken by her. 27 Behold, this is what I found, says the Preacher, while adding one thing to another to find the scheme of things— 28 which my soul has sought repeatedly, but I have not found. One man among a thousand I found, but a woman among all these I have not found. 29 See, this alone I found, that God made man upright, but they have sought out many schemes.

8:1 Who is like the wise? And who knows the interpretation of a thing? A man's wisdom makes his face shine, and the hardness of his face is changed.

2 I say: Keep the king's command, because of God's oath to him. 3 Be not hasty to go from his presence. Do not take your stand in an evil cause, for he does whatever he pleases. 4 For the word of the king is supreme, and who may say to him, “What are you doing?” 5 Whoever keeps a command will know no evil thing, and the wise heart will know the proper time and the just way. 6 For there is a time and a way for everything, although man's trouble lies heavy on him. 7 For he does not know what is to be, for who can tell him how it will be? 8 No man has power to retain the spirit, or power over the day of death. There is no discharge from war, nor will wickedness deliver those who are given to it. 9 All this I observed while applying my heart to all that is done under the sun, when man had power over man to his hurt.

10 Then I saw the wicked buried. They used to go in and out of the holy place and were praised in the city where they had done such things. This also is vanity. 11 Because the sentence against an evil deed is not executed speedily, the heart of the children of man is fully set to do evil. 12 Though a sinner does evil a hundred times and prolongs his life, yet I know that it will be well with those who fear God, because they fear before him. 13 But it will not be well with the wicked, neither will he prolong his days like a shadow, because he does not fear before God.

14 There is a vanity that takes place on earth, that there are righteous people to whom it happens according to the deeds of the wicked, and there are wicked people to whom it happens according to the deeds of the righteous. I said that this also is vanity. 15 And I commend joy, for man has no good thing under the sun but to eat and drink and be joyful, for this will go with him in his toil through the days of his life that God has given him under the sun.

16 When I applied my heart to know wisdom, and to see the business that is done on earth, how neither day nor night do one's eyes see sleep, 17 then I saw all the work of God, that man cannot find out the work that is done under the sun. However much man may toil in seeking, he will not find it out. Even though a wise man claims to know, he cannot find it out.

9:1 But all this I laid to heart, examining it all, how the righteous and the wise and their deeds are in the hand of God. Whether it is love or hate, man does not know; both are before him. 2 It is the same for all, since the same event happens to the righteous and the wicked, to the good and the evil, to the clean and the unclean, to him who sacrifices and him who does not sacrifice. As the good one is, so is the sinner, and he who swears is as he who shuns an oath. 3 This is an evil in all that is done under the sun, that the same event happens to all. Also, the hearts of the children of man are full of evil, and madness is in their hearts while they live, and after that they go to the dead. 4 But he who is joined with all the living has hope, for a living dog is better than a dead lion. 5 For the living know that they will die, but the dead know nothing, and they have no more reward, for the memory of them is forgotten. 6 Their love and their hate and their envy have already perished, and forever they have no more share in all that is done under the sun.

7 Go, eat your bread with joy, and drink your wine with a merry heart, for God has already approved what you do.

8 Let your garments be always white. Let not oil be lacking on your head.

9 Enjoy life with the wife whom you love, all the days of your vain life that he has given you under the sun, because that is your portion in life and in your toil at which you toil under the sun. 10 Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might, for there is no work or thought or knowledge or wisdom in Sheol, to which you are going.

11 Again I saw that under the sun the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favor to those with knowledge, but time and chance happen to them all. 12 For man does not know his time. Like fish that are taken in an evil net, and like birds that are caught in a snare, so the children of man are snared at an evil time, when it suddenly falls upon them.

13 I have also seen this example of wisdom under the sun, and it seemed great to me. 14 There was a little city with few men in it, and a great king came against it and besieged it, building great siegeworks against it. 15 But there was found in it a poor, wise man, and he by his wisdom delivered the city. Yet no one remembered that poor man. 16 But I say that wisdom is better than might, though the poor man's wisdom is despised and his words are not heard.

17 The words of the wise heard in quiet are better than the shouting of a ruler among fools. 18 Wisdom is better than weapons of war, but one sinner destroys much good. (ESV)

Psalm 46

To the choirmaster. Of the Sons of Korah. According to Alamoth. A Song.

46:1 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. 2 Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, 3 though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling. Selah

4 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. 5 God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns. 6 The nations rage, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts. 7 The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. Selah

8 Come, behold the works of the Lord, how he has brought desolations on the earth. 9 He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire. 10 “Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” 11 The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. Selah (ESV)

2 Tim 3

3:1 But understand this, that in the last days there will come times of difficulty. 2 For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, 3 heartless, unappeasable, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good, 4 treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, 5 having the appearance of godliness, but denying its power. Avoid such people. 6 For among them are those who creep into households and capture weak women, burdened with sins and led astray by various passions, 7 always learning and never able to arrive at a knowledge of the truth. 8 Just as Jannes and Jambres opposed Moses, so these men also oppose the truth, men corrupted in mind and disqualified regarding the faith. 9 But they will not get very far, for their folly will be plain to all, as was that of those two men.

10 You, however, have followed my teaching, my conduct, my aim in life, my faith, my patience, my love, my steadfastness, 11 my persecutions and sufferings that happened to me at Antioch, at Iconium, and at Lystra—which persecutions I endured; yet from them all the Lord rescued me. 12 Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted, 13 while evil people and impostors will go on from bad to worse, deceiving and being deceived. 14 But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it 15 and how from childhood you have been acquainted with the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. 16 All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, 17 that the man of God may be competent, equipped for every good work. (ESV)

The reading plan I’ve chosen is from Bible Class Material and it’s a 5 day plan, with weekend days to catch up or get ahead or just take a break!

http://ift.tt/2hfNLzf

[lullaby-mun-blog]

The Fall of a Legend(RWBY X DESTINY Fic In Progress)

Cold.... so very cold. As the torrential down pour drenched his cloak the huntsman made his way to the faint candle lit glow of a the local watering hole. The closer he got the more voices he heard, having conversations about mere nothings, and small everyday inconveniences.... how easy most people had it.... not having to accept the reality around them. No one really took notice of him as he entered the bar and made his way directly to the scruffy old man who ran the small establishment. The hooded man discretely slid a coin worth 1,000 lien followed with the statement, "I am looking for a man.... goes by the name.... Dredgen Yor." The bar tender picked up the coin inspecting it before putting it in his pocket. "Whose askin'? You another wolf under the guise of a huntsman?" the old man asked warily. The huntsman scoffed slightly "All you need to know.... is I am the man with The Last Word."-- CHAPTER 1: DARK AGE GENESIS "The Golden Age Burned bright - and the night that overtook us after the Collapse was swift and total."

There was a time before the kingdoms. Not much of this time is remembered, or cared to be. It became known as a time of humility, a primitive and ignorant time. This era prior to the discovery of dust would simply be known as- The Before. However in the basking light of Dust a golden age was born, man kind flourished and The Before was viewed as a naïve misstep, a folly in the youth of a maturing human entity, but history with all its vast volumes has but a single page and time... would once again find a way of repeating itself. For in the tidal wave that was the prosperity of the golden age that washed over mankind, it its wake followed the great Collapse, shattering mankind's strides towards enlightenment, and birthing a dark age once again. The Dark Age was much like the worst parts of The Before in the lawless time corruption ruled the ravished world of Remnant, now standing as a cultural and technological wasteland of the glory that once reigned. But in the darkness, as they so often do, beacons of hope pierced the veil of suffering rending the evils of darkness and standing monument to the power of light. The first beacon was a city, it's walls stood in defiance of the outlaying world's lawlessness and regression to primal moralities. Looming over the great walled city was a tower, a symbol of protection of what remains of the light and civility. Those willing to sacrifice all in the protection of life once again sought Dust and became the second beacon of hope, the Huntsmen. Among these heroes of light one stood taller than the rest, the huntsmen Dredgen Vale. The people looked to Vale because he was, as stated, a beacon... hope given form yet still only a man. Within this truth there was great promise, for if one man could stand up to the night, so could anyone.... everyone. Dredgen Vale, a gunslinger of no equal, in his strong hand the man held a 'Rose' and his aura burned bright. In his wake hope spread, but the man held a secret fear. His thoughts were dark, a sadness crept from within his being. He had been a hero for so long yet pride had led him down sorrows road. He had seen the lair of the creatures Grimm and found a weapon there, or maybe it found him. 'Rose' the weapon that extended Dredgen's being, struck fear into many, and brought hope to the fearful human race, but at a great cost to the warrior of light. To wield 'Rose' was a trail unto itself, only those of the purest light could withstand such a powerful weapon of death. The grip of 'Rose' was stained in blood, a reflection of the burden Dredgen Vale carried. CHAPTER 2: Wilting of Beauty "Slowly the shadow's whisper became a voice, a dark call offering glories enough to make even the brightest light wander. He knew he was fading, yet he still yearned." It's not known if 'Rose' changed Dredgen, or if Dredgen's lust for power turned 'Rose'. In the end... it is irrelevant one way or the other a darkness came to the surface claiming it's victim. Slowly the shadow's whisper became a voice, a dark call offering glories enough to make even the brightest light wander. Dredgen knew he was fading, yet he still yearned. He could see true strength in the dark, a clarity of power and purpose, a true separation of absolute supremacy from petty moral ambiguities. This philosophy overtaking Dredgen was a contradiction of the ways of light and the huntsmen who upheld rightous beliefs in faith of humanities illumination. For Dredgen, though, it mattered not, his eyes were open. Maybe for the first time, he could see clearly. And so, the warrior embraced this change. As if taking part in a ritual unknown to Dredgen, a rite predating the birth of man and technology possibly even the universe, a ceremony as ancient as light and dark itself, Dredgen would forfeit his former entity. So on his last day he watched the sun fall, his final thoughts pure of mind if not body held a fleeting hope. He knew the man he was to become would bring suffering, but despite everything he wished the people to remember him as he had been. Regardless of what he wished or hoped, the point of return was a distant blur now and the shadows were consuming him. So the nobleman hid himself beneath a darkness no flesh should touch and gave up his mortal self to claim a new birthright. Whether this was a choice or destiny is a truth known only to fate, and in that cool evening air, as dusk was devoured by night, the nobleman ceased to exist. In his place another stood, same meat, same bone, but so very different. In his first moments as a new being he looked down at 'Rose' and realized for the first time that it had no petals, only the jagged purpose of angry Thorns. Dredgen, like 'Rose', appeared to be one thing, but in reality was a stark difference. The greatest forgery of hope or good, a facade of truth and justice shrouded over a true nature of darkness. For when the petals of 'Rose' so does hope... and only 'Thorn' remains. Now in this moment Dredgen Yor and 'Rose' have both withered away their beauty, and become one and the same.... a weapon of darkness. CHAPTER 3: Open Your Eyes "To rend one's enemies is to see them not as equals, but objects - hollow of spirit and meaning." Two men stood at the edge of a cliff looking out over a wasteland that was once a prosperous town... now it was nothing but a grave sight. The two had been there from the moment the sun rose in silence looking upon it each with a different expression, now dusk was falling and one man with hair like snow clad in green would speak. "You were not always this man." he said curtly to which the man in the cloak would reply with "True." The two would now turn to face one another. "Then logic says you do not need to remain this man... you can be another." "I am another." "You can be better." "This is better." the two began speaking back and forth. "That matter, at best is subjective." the man in green replied after a moment. "Then what? Lesser?" "Some would say." "But what would you say?" at that there was long silence from the man in green which was broken by the other. "All we've seen and now, here with me, you have no words?" the hooded figure asked bluntly. "I have words..." the white haired man began. "But...?" the figure inquired the sun now barely shined over the horizon. "But you will not like them." the man finished. "Ozpin there is much I do not like." the hooded figure retorted. Ozpin couldn't help but look down "Now more than ever it would seeming." this comment earned a dark chuckle from the man in the cloak. "I find no laughing matter in your path." Ozpin said harshly. "Only in the journey." the man replied swiftly. "What brought you here was nobility..." "And my prize" the hooded figure said interrupting Ozpin. "THAT is no prize." Ozpin said in an upset tone. "A curse then?" the man asked sarcastically. "I would say so.." Ozpin respond to which he was met with "And I would disagree." Ozpin shook his head adjusting his stance a bit "You are no longer yourself." he said firmly. "I am myself. It's who I was that's gone." the man said coldly. "Who you were held all the value." "To you." "To the Light." "The Light..." "It is all." the two began going back and forth. To that statement the hooded man scoffed. "It is nothing but a crutch." he said scornfully. "One that has held you up." Ozpin said as if proving his point. "Only just, and nothing more." the man replied. "Nothing more? You were a hero!" Ozpin protested clearly more than a bit upset by that comment. The man scoffed shaking his head "And yet people still die. Corruption still exists. Light still fades, and Darkness still spreads." Ozpin sighed shaking his head "As it will ever be, that doesn't mean you give in to-" he started then the hooded man spoke up "To what, Hope?" he said looking to Ozpin. "This is not hope." Ozpin said pointing to the smoldering city. "This is peace..." the man said calmly looking out at the city. "You have blood on your hands!" "How's that any different than before?" "Innocent blood." "That is a matter of perspective Ozpin." Ozpin shook his head with a grim expression "That is the shadow talking." "And am I not?" the man inquired to which Ozpin asked "The shadow?" Another hush fell over the too as the man looked away from Ozpin and to the sky "Ya know Oz... These past cycles, you've made an honorable effort... Tried your best to correct my course, but I don't know it needs correcting." his tone was darker... even more so than before. "And if it does?" the white haired man asked. "Could be too late." the hooded man said with a tone of uncertainty for only a brief moment. "'Could be' is a winding path." Ozpin pointed out. "Long way from where I was to where I am going..." "That is my hope. That there is still time." Ozpin said stepping towards the man. "For?" the man asked glancing towards the other. "Corrective measures." Ozpin said firmly "The righting of this path, cleansing of your shadows and a return to the Light." Yet again there was a silence in the air... this one much longer the moon almost over the horizon. "Oz.... why'd you pick me?" the man asked "It doesn't work that way." Ozpin said in a worried tone. "Was I special?" the man asked to which Ozpin replied with out hesitation "You were." What came next made Ozpin recoil "But only as special as any other huntsman." Ozpin shook his head "You are all special." at this the man let out a dark laugh "Seems to contradict the word don't it?" Ozpin shook his head "Not in my estimation." the hooded man clenched his fist "If we're all special Oz, are any of us really special?" Ozpin glared at him "Is that what you want? To be special? Is that all you are after? Is all of the death worth that badge?" he asked seriously. "Am I not already more than the rest?" the hooded man asked confidently. "Looking at you here, now... the smoke, ash, and bone at your feet... it marks you as so much less." "Maybe... and yet here you are." the man said his own hooded gaze meeting Ozpin's "Meaning?" Ozpin asked re-positioning himself on his cane. "You have been at my side ever step of the way even though you so thoroughly disagree with my change in perspective." Ozpin shook his head "This change is not simply one of perspective. Your 'evolution' was no choice. This is not you having come to an understanding after careful consideration and thought. This is corruption." he said forcefully. "The shadows?" the man asked mockingly. "The Darkness." Ozpin replied seriously. "Maybe so." "There is no maybe here." "And you think you can 'save' me?" The man asked his tone still mocking Ozpin. "I rekindled your Light, and trained you. It falls first to me to aid in the Lights survival and yours." After another long silence the man leaned against the burnt remains of a tree. "I tire of it." he said with a sigh. "You must try-" Ozpin began only to be cut off "I tire of YOU." the man said aggressively. Ozpin gave a saddened look to the man "Vale..." To that the man stood up angrily "That is no longer my name!" he protested. "I will not speak the other." Ozpin said in defiance. "You will always be Dredgen Vale... a Huntsman... a Hero... you just have to try. " he said in a plea. "It doesn't matter. This is where we part ways." the man said turning from Ozpin. "I will not leave you." Ozpin said "You don't have to... I am leaving you." "Dredgen the journey set before you will be more than any one Huntsman can handle... you will need me." Ozpin continued to protest. "That's the point. It's been sometime since you have really seen me as worthy of walking among those I used to call brother and sister. Yet... now, I feel as though I am worthy of so much more." the man said a dark grin spreading across his face. "Without me.... You will die." Ozpin warned. "Someday." the man responded "Won't be the first time." "Ozpin... Consider this my last good deed. I am releasing you of the burdens of my deeds, both done and yet to come." the man said looking back at the other. "I will not abandon you." Ozpin protested. "You will. Or I shall carve the Light from you and leave your empty shell here... the carcass of my first and last friend in this blackened dirt to rot." the man said his words full of malice. "Then I've failed you, completely." Ozpin said sadly. "Not me." the man said shaking his head. "Maybe the man I was." Ozpin's yellow gaze stayed on the man. "He is truly dead?" he asked to which the man replied. "I believe so.... Ozpin, when you speak of me, use my proper name. Tell them of the man that stands before you, not the ghost of the hero I once was." this was one last request. "You will always be Dredgen Vale to me." Ozpin said to which the man turned and pulled down his hood. "If you cannot let that man go, you will forever taint his legacy. All the good I have ever done will be washed away in the fire of who I have become." he warned to which Ozpin pleaded "If you care, there is still some promise within you... hope of a return." The man shook his head giving a dark laugh. "If I am being honest? I care only to give hope to the frightened, huddled masses so that when I come upon them they will have more to lose. Their pain will be greater. Their screams more pure." this statement left Ozpin mortified. "You..." he breathed out. "After all nothing dies like hope, I cherish it." the man said grinning a malicious grin "You are a monster." Ozpin said his eyes wide. "Finally, you see the truth." the man said contently. "Dredgen Vale is truly dead..." Ozpin said, broken. "So I've said. Long live Dredgen Yor." the man said pulling his hood up and walking away. "This is farewell, but you can only run from your sins so far. In the end, you will die alone." Ozpin said having recomposed himself. "Maybe so. But I gotta tell ya... I tend to like my odds." Yor said as he was walking with a chuckle. "Your tainted 'Rose' will not always save you!" Ozpin warned. "Old friend." Dredgen began looking over his shoulder at Ozpin "It already has." and with that in a wisp of darkness the hooded man, the former hero known as Dredgen Vale was gone, the monster of darkness Dregen Yor had set out on his path.