#HE UPROOTED A TREE AND THAT TREE FELL ON ALL THE CORRUPTS

[rennymayflower]

TPC FAN? (sameee) ANWYAS I WOULD VERY MUCH APPRECIATE A TCP AU LOREDUMP!! /pos

BEHOLD THE GOSPEL AU (ignore that the name says Geo thats outdated (also do not ask why the au is called gospel (i was running out of names and gospel sounds cool)))

IN THIS AU CYAN DOES NOT KNOW LEVITATION MAGIC AND INSTEAD HAS HIS OWN UNIQUE MAGIC AND THE OTHER HEROES ALSO HAVE THEIR OWN MAGIC

ORANGE CAN SHAPESHIFT INTO ANIMALS

GOLD CAN CLOAK TO BE INVISIBLE OR DISGUISE AS OTHER CORRUPTS (LITERALLY SPY TF2 SDFSDFSD)

AND TSAVORITE CAN INSTANTLY HEAL HIMSELF AND OTHERS AROUND HIM

ALSO IN THIS AU HEROES HAVE TO BE MANUALLY TAUGHT HOW TO FLY AND USE THEIR LASER (or teach themselves)

FUN FACT GOLD TAUGHT HIMSELF HOW TO USE A LAZER AND HE ALSO TAUGHT HIMSELF HOW TO FLY BY THROWING HIMSELF OFF A CLIFF SO HE WOULD HAVE TO FLY TO SURVIVE SO HE USED BRUTE FORCE AND THEN USED THAT SAME BRUTE FORCE METHOD TO TEACH THE OTHER HEROES HOW TO USE THEIR POWERS🕺🕺🕺🕺

also even tho Cyan doesnt know how to fly (YET) he can use a laser HOWEVER he doesnt use it often and his preferred weapon of choice is a sword

iris is his mentor cus fellow sword wielder and Gold is his magic mentor for how to use magic n stuff

ALSO in this AU the heroes are much more competent and independent especially cyan

in this AU when Cube got knocked out from being yeeted a bajillion miles instead of just waiting around to lycan to inevitably find him he immediately sprung into action by using a literal VINE AND BROKEN LOG to drag Cube to the nearest village and get help for em both and thats how they end up meeting chipzel :] (in case u cant tell i really want cyan to be more a badass LMAODFSDFSDFS)

[whxreforsvkvna]

mirage errone pt. 3 || bakugou x reader

genre: Princess!reader x bandit!Bakugo, ft. Bakusquad

warnings: all bnha characters are above 18+ (unless otherwise mentioned), multi-chapter, minor (and some major) swear words here and there throughout fic thanks to Bakugo, Bakugo isn’t as rough as he is in canon

word count: 1.3k

prompts: in which a self-proclaimed good-hearted bandit group kidnaps the wrong princess

prev || next

You lost track of how much time was spent travelling. You assumed their hideout was located somewhere deep in the forest as the rustle of trees and the snapping of fallen branches were your only indication of constant sound.

The men rarely spoke with each other - presumably because of your presence. You feared hearing even just a sliver of information about your captors could result in your untimely death. It wasn’t as if you weren’t afraid at the moment, because you most certainly were.

You were ripped away from the safety of your home and are now in the hands of ruly men whose main goal was unknown. Is this a hostage encounter? Bibimi and yourself were briefed as children on what to do in situations like these.

The basic rules were to be followed: Remain calm, always comply with the enemy, never provoke your captor, and do not unveil secrets of the Royal Family.

You could proudly say the last one would stay unbroken, but as for the others… Well, we can leave it at that.

“Just up ahead now.” One announced, bringing your senses into high alert. You felt your heart rate pick up and the familiar feeling of your anxiety began to seep its way back into your chest.

Your horse came to an abrupt stop after its owner’s command, causing your body to shift forward. To your horror, this small action was enough to start a chain reaction where your body began to slide off the saddle and in your blinded and immobile state, there was nothing you could physically do to stop it.

Your legs began to dangle loosely off the animal’s side and your entire figure tensed up in the moment, your body unsure of how else to react to the situation. You felt yourself slip further off the horse and with gravity’s help, your body fell.

Your mouth flew open for a shriek yet it stayed lodged in your throat as you felt yourself fall against something that was definitely not the ground. Arms wrapped themselves around your midsection, causing your muscles to run taut and still. No one had dared to ever touch you in such a forward way.

You lurched forward, escaping the person’s arms only to bump into the horse - it snorted in response to your bruteness.

“Easy there.” You weren’t sure if the new voice - a male’s, you noted - was talking to the animal or to you. “Hold still for a second, will you?”

Hands were placed roughly on your shoulders, guiding you to turn around in your spot. The same pair helped untie your blindfold, allowing you to finally take in your surroundings. Upon the harsh glare of the sun, you turned your face towards the ground, eyes involuntarily closing shut.

After this quick action, you bring yourself to look up and your gaze is captured by captivating brown eyes. They’re squinted, with eyebrows furrowed to top the look of scrutiny off. Their owner’s appearance is rough-looking; with his mouth pressed in a thin line, jagged spikes of blond locks, and red eyes scanning your own. You curse yourself for having the simple thought of him being attractive.

“I assume the trip wasn’t to your liking?” he questioned, the corners of his lips curling further downwards. His voice is unsurprisingly deep - the last trait to complete his rugged look. “We figured you were used to horseback riding, in one way or another.”

He motioned to his companions, who were finally unmasked and you sent hard glares to the duo. The blond grinned at you while he unloaded their traveling packs on the horses.

The other simply shrugged, “It wasn’t as difficult as you made it out to be, by the way. After figuring out which room was hers, it was smooth sailing from there.”

“I apologize for the easy finding.” You retorted. “We will try to the best of our efforts to make it harder for you next time.”

“There won’t be a need for the next time.” He simply laughed before heading off further into the forest. Your body flushed with heat as you quickly grew angry at his words.

“Don’t pay mind to him. He likes to tease.” You looked back to the man in front of you.

“And who should I pay attention to, then?”

“Well, that all depends on you, Your Highness.” he teased and you cringed at the title. He grasped your hands, and it’s only then that you noticed the dagger in his hand. You flinched away, trying to escape his grip. He grunted, pulling your hands back, “Hey, don’t move. I’m just trying to cut the restraints. I don’t need to nip you and have you bleed.”

He skillfully tore the bounds in one smooth motion and your wrists cried out in relief. Out of reflex, you rubbed the irritated skin, hoping to ease the sudden numbing sensation.

The man seemed to take notice of this. “Jiro is good at aiding us with cuts and the sorts. She should have something for the discomfort.”

Why would someone who was in the same group as your captors want to help you? You found it hard to believe his intentions came from sole kindness. You were most likely here for ransom, so there was the possibility they would want you with little to no harm done.

“You’ve got the horses, Denki?” he spoke out to the man that was tending to the animals.

“Yeah, I’ll bring them back to the nearby town first thing tomorrow.” his comrade replied.

“We’ll be heading back now, then. Don’t waste any time.” With that, he signaled for you to follow him before heading off in the same direction his other companion did moments earlier.

For a brief moment, you debated on running. But one glance at the way the blond was monitoring your movements and the one ahead of you didn’t turn back to see if you were following him, you knew they were confident in stopping your escape.

So, you found yourself fighting against dangling branches and unearthed roots - an environment you were completely new to. You had never stepped foot off the palace grounds until now.

A bastard royal was not allowed to make public appearances unless it were balls held within their own castles. Even then, you only had a mere hour or so before the Queen was ushering you back into your bedroom chambers, cheeks flushed pink from lingering stares that followed your escaping figures.

It was after the umpteenth time you tripped on an uprooted tree branch, that the man in front of you spoke up.

“Here,” you looked up to see him offering a hand, “You’re slowing us down with all the clumsy steps you’re taking”

“I’m fine.” You brushed his aid away, refusing to accept anything from this criminal.

“Whatever Your Highness wants.” He rolled his eyes, continuing onwards. It’s quiet between you two, before he spoke up once more to your growing annoyance. “Can’t say I’m sorry for doing this, but I’m sure you understand our reasons behind it.”

“I can’t say that I do, unless you are looking to be paid handsomely for my return.” You spoke under the impression they all still assumed you to be your older sister. Otherwise, they’d get nothing more than a bronze coin for your return.

“What we want has nothing to do with money, although there is a large reward waiting for us.” His reply is quick and simple, confusing you.

“If it isn’t money you are aiming for, then what is the need for my capture?”

“Oh, well, that’s easy.” He halted, turning around to fully face you. “I want to stop a corrupt princess and her father from ruling this Kingdom.”

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[anghraine]

pro patria, chapters 1-7

I don’t actually expect people to read this, but I want it over here for completeness’s sake, so—the Guild Wars 2 fic!

This one is ... different, apart from being for a canon that I think maybe three of my friends are interested in, because instead of writing a one-shot in my format of seven sections of seven sentences each, I've written an entire 70k+ fic that way. Each chapter is precisely 49 sentences long, which makes for a lot of very short chapters, so I'm bunching them up into groups of (of course!) seven.

It’s business as usual, however, in having copious footnotes (these ones assume everyone’s unfamiliar with the canon story).

title: pro patria (1-7/?) stuff that happens: a young Ascalonian woman grows from a sheltered aristocrat, to a hero rushing into danger to help a nearby village, to the investigator of a series of mysterious abductions and thefts tied to the Ministry itself.  verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: PC (mesmer / human / noble origin / missing sister [Ascalonian]), Lord Faren, Minister Ailoda, Deborah, Countess Anise, Logan Thackeray; PC & Ailoda, PC & Deborah, PC & Anise, PC & Faren

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ONE 1 I always thought of myself as Ascalonian first, and Krytan second. Both of my parents were Ascalonian—my mother came from a family of Rurikton refugees fallen on good times, my father from Ebonhawke, and I was born there, myself. Mother had resigned from the Ministry over some quarrel with Minister Caudecus, and hammered in her protest by uprooting the entire family for an extended holiday with my aunt Elwin in Ebonhawke. This was long before the Rurikton gate got fixed on Ebonhawke, so in the off phases, people generally took “going to visit family in Ebonhawke” as a euphemism for something. But Mother being Mother, she headed through Lion’s Arch to the Black Citadel of all places, carved her way through only the gods knew what to the gates of Ebonhawke, turned herself over to the Vanguard, and waited for Aunt Elwin to show up and get them released. She was seven months pregnant with me by the time she arrived, Father and five-year-old Deborah in tow. And two months later, she delivered me there, Father and Aunt Elwin at her side, and Charr siege engines in her ears. 2 Father always wanted to go back to Kryta, for Deborah’s sake and mine. And during the times that the Rurikton gate got switched to Ebonhawke, when our kin in Divinity’s Reach rushed supplies through, requests for Mother’s return to the Ministry came with them. She only said, “We need soldiers, not supplies—yes, I know centaurs are attacking them, but —” “We need to go home,” said Father. A Charr attack shook her resolve more than he did: one that briefly broke through the walls while Deborah was out walking with Aunt Elwin. But it was Aunt Elwin who convinced Mother that she could do more to help our people in the Ministry than as one more staff against the Charr legions. She accepted the latest offer from the Ministry, this time to serve as representative of the Salma District itself, and we headed—home, to a place I’d never seen. 3 My father was a Fairchild, a descendant—if collateral—of Duke Barradin himself, while my mother was only a Langmar, and a Langmar of mixed heritage, no less. But Langmar meant nearly as much as Fairchild in Rurikton, where the family had owned a mansion for generations. When we first arrived, I’d never seen anything like it, for Aunt Elwin’s house in struggling Ebonhawke couldn’t begin to compare to the splendid gardens and shining marble of a mansion in Divinity’s Reach. Even Deborah, her eleven-year-old dignity often stronger than any other feeling, couldn’t help staring around with wide eyes. Mother, meanwhile, gained a still greater mansion in the Salma District upon receiving her appointment as representative, but she wanted us safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry. Deborah and I grew up quietly in Langmar Manor, educated with other Ascalonian nobles by Ascalonian tutors, familiar with every corner of Rurikton and very little beyond it. Deborah chafed at the confinement, but I was a little girl, content enough to spend my days playing and studying with Yolanda, Corone, and Faren, new and lifelong friends. 4 Deborah joined the Seraph the day she turned twenty. “I don’t understand,” I said blankly. “We call ourselves Ascalonians,” she told me, “and that means more than tracing our family trees. You don’t remember Ebonhawke, but those are real Ascalonians, fighting for what they love—like our ancestors fought for what they loved—but we’re happy to boast of their names without doing anything. Captain Thackeray could just sit back and enjoy everything he gets for being Gwen Thackeray’s heir, but he isn’t, and I won’t either. Ascalon is lost, even if Rurikton and the Settlement and Ebonhawke will never admit it, but as long as Kryta stands, we have something to fight for.” Deborah as a Seraph, solving crimes, keeping order, and skirmishing with the occasional bandit raid, wasn’t half so chilling a prospect as Deborah fighting legions of Charr, so I didn’t say what I thought—as long as Ebonhawke stands, we have Ascalon to fight for. 5 Deborah’s departure left the whole family scattered: my mother in Salma, my father dead, my aunt and cousins in Ebonhawke, my sister stationed all the way down in Claypool, and some remote relations and me in Rurikton. Mother, still grieving Father and anxious over Debs, decided that at fifteen, I was old enough to come live with her in her Ministry mansion. I’d felt lonely and restless in Langmar Manor, but I still received the news with very little short of horror. “You’re going the next district over, not across the world,” said Yolanda. “I’ll take a house in Manor Hill too,” Faren said recklessly, “and we’ll have amazing parties.” Faren being Faren, he actually did, aided by his father’s relief at him showing interest in something beyond Rurikton high society—even if that thing was only Salma high society. My mother kissed me when we arrived, and with a smile, told Faren, “It’s a pleasure to know you’ll be keeping my girl company, and of course, just to see you—you’re looking so well!” He preened. 6 We spent those early weeks exploring Salma, curious and cheerful despite ourselves, suppressing giggles as we followed a dour guide about the district. “Orr was destroyed,” the guide was saying, “Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire; only Kryta is left, and that by a narrow margin.” “Ascalon was ravaged by the Searing,” I said sharply, all laughter gone. Nobody would call Faren a great wit, but when it came to conversation and society, his instincts were impeccable. “You must have gotten the order confused, good sir—the Searing came first, the Foefire when everything was already wrecked—but a simple mistake, I’m sure—you were saying something about Kryta?” Biting back the first words that came to my lips, I forced myself to smile and say, “Sorry, we’re Ascalonian.” “I guessed,” said the guide. 7 I suppose I was a callow, coddled creature in those days, spoiled if not malicious—and though three years of even more luxury in Salma didn’t change that, a single letter did. To Minister Ailoda Langmar, I regret to inform you of the loss of Falcon Company in a centaur raid. Your daughter, Sergeant Deborah Fairchild, died honourably in battle. With my deepest condolences to you and your family, Captain J. Tervelan of the Seraph (Queensdale) As Mother staggered backwards, I caught her, and somehow afterwards, that was always the clearest memory: her weight in my arms, the letter falling out of her hand, fluttering downwards until it reached the floor, nothing visible but the seal of the Seraph. Until then, I’d been little more than an irritable butterfly, but with Mother shattered, I found myself willingly shouldering the work of mourning: the formal letters and heartbroken notes, the refusal of Deborah’s pension, the visits from friends and allies and enemies—I was warm and grateful to the Mashewes and Baroness Jasmina; coldly civil to that ass Zamon, whose commiseration fell little short of gloating; brave and dignified to Corone and his friend Edmonds; grieved but composed with Faren and Yolanda. Like a creature of a thousand faces, I sometimes thought in exhausted moments: not at all a proper Ascalonian hero, more Anise than Deborah—but it was the only way I knew to be strong.

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1) Ascalonian first: the PC from the first game was a resident of the human kingdom of Ascalon when the Charr, a species of giant cat people who lived in Ascalon a thousand years earlier, orchestrated a massive magical attack that killed thousands of Ascalonian civilians and devastated the landscape. Surviving Ascalonians were afterwards mostly killed or enslaved, except a few groups that escaped. The king then went mad and turned himself and the last survivors into vengeful ghosts.

2) and Krytan second: in GW1, the PC helps Prince Rurik of Ascalon lead a group of Ascalonian refugees into the neighbouring kingdom of Kryta. Some Ascalonians establish a settlement there while others live in the cities; generations later, this has resulted in a minority population of Krytan Ascalonians within broader Krytan culture, which the GW2 PC can belong to (though it has no impact on gameplay, which is what inspired the fic). In-game, Ascalonians are fiercely proud of their heritage.

3) Rurikton refugees: Rurikton, named after the Rurik in #2 (who was killed in the journey to Kryta), is the Ascalonian district of the Krytan capital, Divinity’s Reach.

4) Ebonhawke: a stronghold in the furthest reaches Ascalon built by elite Ascalonian soldiers and the civilians they fought to protect. It fell just outside of the king’s curse and has managed to survive the onslaughts of the Charr for 250 years.

5) I was born there [Ebonhawke]: there is no evidence for the PC being born outside Divinity's Reach, so this is probably one of the creakiest elements as far as canon goes. DR is canonically the PC’s home, and they strongly suggest they’ve never seen anything else. I made her very young when she arrived to finagle it, but it’s mostly there because I’m interested in the dynamic between Ebonhawke Ascalonians and Kryta Ascalonians, so I wanted to give her a foot in both worlds. 

6) Minister Caudecus: a deeply corrupt Krytan minister who shows up in various storylines.

7) my aunt Elwin: Elwin Fairchild is a noblewoman of Ebonhawke in the game, a proud Ascalonian ambivalent over Krytan involvement in Ebonhawke’s affairs.

8) Rurikton gate: Asura gates are magic/technological portals created by a species of small, floppy-eared, ethically questionable scientists and researchers. They have a gate in Rurikton that will instantly transport you to the one in Ebonhawke, but it seems that it’s only recently been permanently fixed on Ebonhawke.

9) Lion’s Arch: the former capital of Kryta; after a cataclysm caused by giant eldritch dragons, the original Lion’s Arch was sunk and the city rebuilt into an independent city-state, while Divinity’s Reach became the new capital.

10) The Black Citadel: the capital of Charr-controlled Ascalon, built on top of the former human capital (and human remains, according to one Charr).

11) turned herself over to the Vanguard: the Ebon Vanguard defends and seems to largely control Ebonhawke.

12) five-year-old Deborah: we don’t know the exact age gap between Deborah and the PC, but Deborah seems to be older. 

13) the Salma District: the PC will always live in Salma, regardless of origin, even though the city has sharp class and ethnic divisions and you can belong to one of the minority populations.

14) Duke Barradin himself: Duke Barradin was the heir to the previous royal family in GW1, but loyal to the elected king, Adelbern. His daughter was engaged to Adelbern’s son Rurik, but both were killed, so he has no direct descendants. However, the PC’s friend Faren is explicitly descended from royalty, the noble PC is implied to be so, and the Duke of Ebonhawke is descended from Ascalonian kings in particular, so it seems likely that their progenitor was some relation of Barradin’s.

15) only a Langmar: Captain Langmar led the elite Ascalonian soldiers that ultimately founded Ebonhawke, though she died in the process. There’s no sign that she had anything like an aristocratic background, but we’re told that class hierarchy in Rurikton is rooted in descent from Searing-era heroes, as Langmar was.

16) mixed heritage: GW2 Ascalonians, especially in Kryta, are a lot less homogeneous than in GW1. We see NPCs of all sorts of RL ethnicities identifying as Ascalonian or strongly implied to be Ascalonian. OTOH, Ebonhawke Ascalonians are implied to regard Krytan Ascalonians as "less" Ascalonian than they are, and there's a remark about Logan Thackeray’s beige heartthrob status being partly because he’s pure Ascalonian. The NPC I appropriated as their mother is a minister with default Krytan design, but who is talking with a Krytan who tells her to get over the Searing.

17) safe from the politicking and corruption of the Ministry: per #13, Salma is canonically the PC’s home and I’m stretching canon. The game is pretty emphatic that Ascalonians live in Rurikton or the Ascalon Settlement, and since there are nobles and mansions in Rurikton, it can’t even be a matter of “but the noble ones are up on Manor Hill.” The real explanation is that the choice of ethnicity is purely cosmetic and not considered any further, but that’s boring, and we’re never told that the PC has always lived in Salma.

18) Yolanda, Corone, and Faren: Faren is a shallow flibbertigibbet, but he seems to genuinely care for the PC; Yolanda and Corone are two of the friendliest guests at the party he throws for you.

19) the Seraph: the Seraph are a cross between soldiers and police in Kryta, principally involved in fighting off centaur and bandit attacks.

20) Captain Thackeray: Logan Thackeray, the Seraph commander of Divinity’s Reach and ultimate mentor/friend to the PC. He’s the descendant of Gwen Thackeray from GW1/GW: Eye of the North, who was the BEST CHARACTER IN GUILD WARS enslaved by the Charr as a child, but escaped to fight them for the rest of her life between succeeding Captain Langmar, finding love, and establishing Ebonhawke. She’s an iconic hero to Ascalonians.

21) Ascalon was ravaged by the Foefire: you don’t get a chance to correct the Salma Guide, but otherwise these are his exact words. The Foefire was the mad king Adelbern’s final curse that turned him and the last survivors into ghosts; the game tends to emphasize this rather than the Searing + brutal invasion that led to it. (It’s particularly glaring in this case, as you personally see Ascalon ravaged by the Searing in GW1 and spend a good deal of time fighting there, years before the Foefire.)

22) Minister Ailoda Langmar: the Krytan-Ascalonian minister I mentioned above is simply "Minister Ailoda," with no other name given. There's no sign of any connection to the PC, but eh, game mechanics.

23) the Mashewes...Jasmina...that ass Zamon...Corone and his friend Edmonds: Lady Mashewe is a pleasant acquaintance who says her mother prayed for the PC; Jasmina's a noblewoman avoiding Faren; Zamon and the PC insult each other; Edmonds talks to the PC with Corone.

24) Anise: Anise is the charming, enigmatic, and powerful mesmer leader of the queen’s personal guard, the Shining Blade.

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TWO

1 My sister’s gravestone read: Deborah Fairchild Daughter of Kryta and Ascalon Died serving her country with honour, faith, and courage. No body rested beneath the stone; neither the Seraph nor Mother’s Ministry guards ever managed to recover the missing corpses. I never saw a ghost, never heard the merest whisper of her spirit. The grave was the nearest approximation we had, but I often felt drawn to it, dry-eyed and somber. A day rarely passed when I spoke her name, and a day rarely passed when I did not think of her, memories jumbled up with horror at what that missing body must mean. When Debs joined the Seraph, she spoke of Logan Thackeray, of Ebonhawke, of the ancestral heroes whose names brought us respect and luxury—not of Mother, Aunt Elwin, certainly not me. Yet I could not help feeling that somehow, had I done something different, been someone different, she would never have left us. 2 For a year, I played my part in what increasingly seemed a theatre of grief: three months’ withdrawal into mourning, gradual emergence into a solemn, reserved public life over the next six months, and another quarter-year to return to my old habits of gaiety and grudges—yet little altered for me, at court or during my weekly vigils at the grave. Not, at least, until one of the latter was interrupted by a familiar voice, saying: “Indulgence doesn’t suit you, darling.” “Anise?” I exclaimed, too surprised for offence; Countess Anise was a longtime friend of our family—only the Six knew how long—but I rarely saw her away from court, much less in the guarded seclusion of the Langmar cemetery. “All those faces of yours,” said Anise, her drawl indistinguishable from every other time I’d heard her, “and you’re squandering them on self-pity and an empty coffin.” “She wanted to be a real Ascalonian,” I blurted out—I, who hadn’t confided in my mother or my aunt or my friends, and somehow I couldn’t help but babble on, “a hero fighting for her home and her cause, and now—now she’s just like them, a martyr and a defiled corpse somewhere—” “You’re getting hysterical,” Anise said, not unkindly, and added, “Is martyrdom what it means to be Ascalonian, now?” I’d always liked Anise, a clever lady mesmer like my namesake, but alive and undefeated; I respected her uncharted skills and enjoyed her inscrutable charm, but until that moment, I never realized: she was Ascalonian, too. 3 Teach me, I found myself begging Anise, though I myself didn’t quite know what I meant—maneuvering in the court, or chaos magic, or defending another person, or outwitting potential threats, or generating clones, or simply surviving in prosperity—perhaps I did not mean anything in particular. I couldn’t be Deborah, and in my heart I didn’t want to be Deborah, a soldier locked into hierarchies and orders and thrown into small doomed skirmishes. In any case, I hadn’t Deborah’s resilience, or Captain Thackeray’s unwavering loyalty, or his foremother Gwen’s relentless courage—but if I did not envision myself as equal to Anise, hers were footsteps I could see myself following, regardless of the particulars. Even as I pleaded with her, I expected little from a woman at once detached and preoccupied—and thought little of what had driven her to intercede in the first place. But Anise, taking the request on its face, smiled. “Chaos for a devotee of Kormir? Delightful—I’ll expect you at moonrise.” 4 My life reformed itself over that next year. Mother, relieved to see me interested in something of substance, readily relinquished me to Anise’s patronage; Anise herself proved an exacting but gracious mentor, dispensing advice, demands, criticism, and praise in equal measure; and my friends found me more and more myself. Small concerns crept back into my mind: the superiority of silk over velvet, Barradin wine over Eldvin ale, Gwen Thackeray over Queen Salma. Greater ones, of course, drew my attention as well: the downfall of the Meades, one of the oldest Ascalonian houses in Kryta, and consequent disappearance of our childhood friend Kasmeer Meade; the desperation of the war in my birthplace and heightened Krytan aid; the murder of an Ascalonian minister. I miss Debs every day, I wrote to my aunt, but I know I have to make something of my own life, in my own way. I’ve been thinking of returning to Ebonhawke to help, since Anise says I am ‘highly proficient’ as an aetherist. I haven’t left Divinity’s Reach in years, though, so before I try myself against the Charr, I’m planning on making my way around Queensdale—at least Shaemoor. 5 To the world, my story began the day I stepped through Dwayna’s Gate into Shaemoor. The world is wrong, of course; my life didn’t begin with centaurs clubbing a frightened man the instant that I set foot in Shaemoor, with stalls and cottages roaring into flame, with a boy as blond as Debs huddled in a corner, with the blood and brains and screams of that day. It didn’t begin with the barely-heard orders from Corporal Beirne—with the indistinct impulse that had me running forward rather than back, urging strangers towards the inn, catching the boy up in my arms, consoling a woman over the slaughter of her dog as I dragged her with my free hand—with the furious spells tumbling from my mouth, focused through the weak wooden sceptre in my hand. I was someone before I became the hero of Shaemoor. I was myself, with my own history, my own concerns, my own people … the man, that man slaughtered before my eyes, was Ascalonian, and the boy too. If they had not been, perhaps the instinct of the moment would not have flung me into the horror as if I’d been tempered by the Searing, instead of sheltered in Divinity’s Reach. Or perhaps it ran deeper than that, and I would have turned onto that path had the man been Zamon, or an Asura, or even a Charr—but still, it was the turn, not the beginning. 6 Something did begin at Shaemoor, however: my association with Logan Thackeray. I’d met him before, socially, but only just—and in perfect honesty, knew him more as the butt of Anise’s wit than anything else. But I respected him from what I’d heard of his service to Divinity’s Reach, and for his determination to follow his ancestress’s footsteps and not just her name. In the midst of all that panic and death, it seemed only natural to rush to his aid when I heard that he was being overwhelmed. I had no sword, like Logan, or Deborah; I struck from among magical decoys, twisting chaos about our enemies from each direction—but it was something, and an hour from leaving the city for the first time, I was at Logan’s side, blasting aether at a massive earth elemental and the many smaller ones. He didn’t know me from Kormir, or at least from Kasmeer, but I knew we were a Langmar and a Thackeray again, thrown into another desperate fight, and there were worse ways to die. But we didn’t die; we lived and we triumphed, and by the time that I awoke in the care of a priestess of Dwayna, every Seraph from Logan on down knew who I was. 7 All my life, I had been Minister Ailoda’s other girl or the lady Elwin’s niece or Sergeant Fairchild’s sister or a Langmar, you know, on the mother’s side—or, now and then, merely my lady. I rarely heard my own name outside my little circle of Ascalonian nobles. I also rarely heard it in the immediate wake of Shaemoor. But now I wasn’t a satellite about greater relations, extensions of my mother or aunt or sister or heroic ancestors. I was the hero, myself, even as I wandered about Shaemoor in a daze. I didn’t do much: fought off little wyrms and harpies, found missing herds, gathered apples. Yet there was no my lady there, much less So-and-so’s relation: only the hero of Shaemoor.

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1) clever lady mesmer like my namesake: the PC's name isn't explicitly stated in this section, but those familiar with the original Guild Wars: Prophecies can probably figure it out from this reference.

2) Chaos for a devotee of Kormir?: all human characters choose a patron god/goddess, and the choice of god and the choice of profession are completely independent. But Kormir, goddess of order and truth, is a rather odd choice for a chaos magic-using mesmer.

3) the murder of an Ascalonian minister: Minister Brios, the representative for the Ascalonian Settlement, is poisoned in Divinity's Reach before a meeting with Anise. There are very few Ascalonian ministers, so the murder of one of them seems likely to be particularly troubling to Ascalonians.

4) before I try myself against the Charr: you can get to Ebonhawke straight from the starting zone of Divinity’s Reach, but Ebonhawke is in a level 30+ zone. 

5) a boy as blond as Debs: Deborah will be blonde if you choose to be Ascalonian.

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THREE 1 These days, I knew better than to let myself get consumed by grief. Still, as I flung spells at spiders, giant worms, bandits, centaurs, anything, I couldn’t help but wish that Deborah could see me now. At the garrison, I snatched up a rusty sword and poured magic through it with every swing at a centaur; what would she think? Me, fighting with a sword? Maybe not the way she or the other Seraph did, but still! She wouldn’t believe it. She’d be proud, I thought—wouldn’t she? 2 I’d barely passed beyond Shaemoor when I heard from Faren: positively hasty, for him. His pet raven delivered a gushing note that, in the space of a few sentences, managed to tease me about my injuries, urge me to talk him up to my healer, and summon me to a party—at my own house. I could only laugh; ridiculous as he often was, I loved him dearly, and always had. Even as children, we’d been friends and companions, but after Kasmeer vanished and Deborah died, we found ourselves inseparable. We were among the last of that quiet, secure little Ascalonian world in which we’d grown up at Rurikton—certainly the closest. Deborah’s death had changed me, driven me beyond the walls of Rurikton and Manor Hill, beyond letters and parties and court gossip. But I remained Faren’s friend, as I would always be. 3 Many people, I think, assumed Faren and I were lovers; in fact, to our own bemusement, nothing could be further from the truth. When we were seventeen, he said, “I don’t understand it. You’re pretty—I’m gorgeous—but I really think I’d throw up.” I might have been offended had I not felt exactly the same. “Inbreeding, I expect,” I told him. Faren brightened. “Grandmama was a Fairchild.” 4 Faren waited ahead of the party—a sacrifice, in the world of Faren—to greet me with his most grandiose bow. “The hero of Shaemoor returns!” I shook my head, but I grinned despite myself. It turned out that my servants had gleefully conspired with him, and when I entered the courtyard, I found it full of strangers and friends alike, along with food, gossip, and a wizard. I’d enjoyed exploring Queensdale, pushing myself to further and further limits; it was good to know that I could enjoy simpler pleasures, too, although it didn’t extend to the dog fights and bear baiting that a cousin of Faren’s called for. “Not in my home,” I snapped, “and if you want to stay, don’t mention that again.” When I heard someone say my name, I seized the chance to turn away—only to find myself facing my mother’s most hated rival. 5 “Minister Zamon.” “You’ve done well for yourself,” Zamon said acidly. “All it takes for a noble to be a hero is a bit of swordplay, a few bottles of cheap brandy, and an inflated sense of self-importance.” He had said much the same of Deborah’s swift rise among the Seraph; she’d never responded, holding herself above partisan squabbles. “Then you’re almost a hero already, my lord,” I replied, smiling. “All you lack is the brandy and swordplay.” I was not Deborah. 6 Even my old friends seemed to see the hero of Shaemoor more than anything else. Corone, brought up with Faren and Kasmeer and me, and now a respected warrior, regarded me as if he’d never seen me before, and said he’d be honoured to fight beside me. Yolanda hailed me as a heroine—before chiding me for associating so much with Faren, “that rascal!” In his imagination, maybe. Fending off her interrogation about Logan Thackeray, I’d never been happier to see Faren bounce towards me. And the moment that I muttered something about being tired, he assured me that he was done with the party as well, and headed off to make our excuses to the servants. I was ignoring Yolanda’s meaningful stare when I heard him scream. 7 Corone got his wish sooner than either of us could have imagined. We easily trounced the bandits who swept into the party, but it didn’t matter: Faren was already gone. With Corone and Edmonds protecting the guests, I ran out of Manor Hill and into the district plaza, desperately trying to catch any sign of Faren, or even the bandits; they’d have to have some way to recognize each other, wouldn’t they? But there was nothing, just ordinary people carrying on with ordinary business, merchants calling out sales, the old tour guide talking to a woman with a red handkerchief about her neck … with that over her mouth, she’d look just like the bandits who had abducted Faren— “Madam?” said someone near us, and then “ma'am!” as I blasted the bandit with a bolt of aether. I fought at least half a dozen across the district, tracking them one by one to a house at the opposite end of Salma. At the sight of me, bandits poured out of the house, but I didn’t care: they’d learn what it meant to cross a daughter of Ascalon.

FOUR

1 After Shaemoor, the bandits were nothing. They kept jumping out of their safehouse one by one—idiocy—and flailed at my clones, even their supposed leader. “Soon, you’ll beg me for death!” he shouted. I laughed, and blew up the clones. He went down like a basket of eggs. But I never laughed for long. I’d yet to see Faren, and images of bandits beating him, tormenting him, cutting his throat, flickered before me, each as vivid as every spell I cast. 2 Inside the bandits’ safehouse, I raced upstairs, barely wasting attention on the few guards left inside. Fear and victory kept my blood rushing fast: I didn’t even think about Anise’s lessons, but my feet landed exactly as she’d taught me, my body slipped away from each attack, and every spell hit its mark. Beyond them, I could just see Faren. He seemed alive, thank the gods, but stretched out in magical chains that turned my anger and fear to raw fury. I fought through a haze of rage, but one that illuminated rather than blinded—everything seemed crisp and bright and clear, more than ever before. When the last of them collapsed, I scrambled the rest of the way up the stairs, and tried to clear my head. “Um,” said Faren, “a little help here?” 3 When I broke the chains, relief flooding through me, he gave a hoarse laugh. “Am I pleased to see you!” he exclaimed, then grinned and added, “though if you wanted me to leave the party, a simple ‘Begone, freeloader!’ would have sufficed.” Captivity or no, Faren clearly remained Faren. “I’ll make a note of that,” I said dryly, and asked after any information he might have picked up on what the devil was going on. But he knew only that they operated out of a house in Shaemoor, where they’d meant to lock him up, and that in recent months, they’d turned more brazen, bloodthirsty, and focused on rebellion against the crown. “I can't save you and leave the others to rot,” I decided, and managed to smile at him. “Bad form, you know.” 4 Faren, looking determined (for him), said, “Count me in—I may not be a centaur-killing berserker like you, but I can take care of myself.” I’d believe that when I saw it. On the way to the bandits' den, I said, “Glad to have you with me, but do me a favour? Stay close”—I poked him with my sceptre—“and that way, we can protect each other.” Faren shrugged that off, which didn’t comfort me, but he actually managed himself well enough; he didn’t even get blood on his clothes as we fought our way into the concealed and guarded caves, nor when we rescued all the prisoners caged inside, so it counted as a success as far as he was concerned. “If you know any fair maidens, be sure to tell them who rescued you,” he said, and added with a grin, “the dashing Lord Faren … and his friend!” 5 The mission did count as a success for me, too; one of the captives had filched papers about a plot in Divinity’s Reach. We escorted him and the others out, taking down the remaining bandits with impatience (me) and glee (Faren). “We showed them what Ascalonians are made of!” he said triumphantly, and I straightened right up. “That’s right.” When Logan Thackeray arrived to help, Faren swaggered up and said, “My friend and I defeated these delinquents with panache and aplomb; you're just in time to celebrate our victory.” “I’m … amazed,” said Captain Thackeray. I knew the feeling. 6 “Then again,” he said, favouring me with a respectful nod, “I should have known that the hero of Shaemoor wouldn’t let your kidnapping go unanswered.” I remembered Shaemoor, fighting alongside Captain Thackeray with my stick of a sceptre just like Gwen and Langmar once had, all those years ago, and tried not to think too much of it; we’d barely met, outside of a few social occasions he clearly didn’t remember. But I also thought of Faren struggling in his chains, and danger spreading to the home that was supposed to keep us safe, and that we were all Ascalonians together. “No one hurts my friends without answering to me,” I said firmly. I handed over the papers we’d acquired, but to my surprise, it was Faren(!) who proved most useful; he noticed the quality of the paper, and even knew of the papermaker I could track down to identify it. I promised, “I'll get the information you need, without anyone realizing the Seraph are aware of the traitor in the city.” “Be careful,” said Captain Thackeray. 7 Although he warned me, I didn’t realize so many skale existed in the world as I wiped out on that trip—luckily, I found a new sceptre on the way, so I managed to keep them at a distance, and my clothes remained as pristine as Faren’s. When I arrived, I found the paper maker he’d mentioned; Fursarai was a small, prissy man, an impression not helped by his quite beautiful waistcoat, but it didn’t stop him from shouting at a departing Norn about getting his supplies back to the city. “You there—you look like you can handle yourself in a fight!” he announced, gaze fixed on something in my direction; I glanced over my shoulder, but none of the Seraph seemed to be behind me, nor anyone else. He gabbled something about the garrison and cowardly guards at the empty air—unless—unless "you there" was supposed to mean me? What a boor: but unfortunately, a boor who could direct me to Faren’s attackers. Friendship had its sacrifices. I looked at my silk sleeves, and sighed. FIVE 1 “What do you cost?” Cin Fursarai demanded, and now I preferred to believe he wanted a replacement for that Norn. It was flattering, I suppose, that he looked at me—a young noblewoman in silk, wool, and fine leather, carrying only a sceptre and a small sword—and thought I looked like someone who could fight. “I’m not a mercenary,” I said, and added: “I'm here to ask for help identifying the craftsmanship of a piece of handmade paper.” Fursarai sniffed. “If you found quality paper in Divinity’s Reach, I can assure you, I made it.” By sheer force of will, I didn’t roll my eyes—I had a conspiracy to unearth, never mind how irritating this little prig was—and instead requested his help, only for him to sniff again and go on about how he had no loyalty to the crown, because he happened to live in Lion’s Arch. He had red hair and dressed in high Rurikton fashion; he had to be Ascalonian, descendant of refugees saved by Kryta’s rulers, yet—yet— 2 It didn’t matter. It didn’t, not right now—and anyway, our fashions had spread far and wide, Lion’s Arch had long ago drowned its history, and true Ascalonian identity meant more than ancestry, whatever they might say in Rurikton. Deborah had taught me that much; if he didn’t care about it, then I wouldn’t, either. Easier said than done, though. “I need this information as soon as possible,” I told him. “But why should I trust you?” he retorted. “Who are you, anyway?” 3 I lifted my chin, and for all I might tell myself, I felt as if the pride of generations clustered about me, even with my foremothers’ spirits hopefully at peace in the Hall of Echoes. I had not forgotten what I came from. All those Langmars, the children and children’s children of Gwen Thackeray’s great captain. The Krytans they’d married now and then, abandoning an easy heritage to transplant themselves into Rurikton, absorbed into Ascalonian life and identity. The Fairchilds in Ebonhawke, kin of the last kings, of the duke who still haunted Ascalon and his martyred daughter. They’d fought a long defeat, on and on, yet managed to keep a last corner of human Ascalon alive; my aunt still worked to keep Ebonhawke standing while this man sneered over paper. “I am Lady Althea Fairchild of Divinity’s Reach and Ebonhawke,” I said. 4 Fursarai eyed me suspiciously. “Well, which one?” Despite myself, my defiance flickered. I would always be Ascalonian above all else, yet I would always serve the queen, too, and set myself against the enemies of Kryta. I belonged to Ebonhawke, my father’s land, my birthplace and my pride; I belonged to Divinity’s Reach, the only home I knew, where my mother’s people had lived and fought for generations. Anise always called me a creature of two faces, and I supposed I was. “I don’t know,” I admitted. 5 He grunted. “Explains why you don’t stink like the rest, anyway.” “Thank you,” I replied dryly. After a minute of meditation (not helped by Fursarai’s string of complaints), we headed out. I was just about ready to kill him myself by the time we got to the Shaemoor garrison; he’d have easily died without me fighting skale and centaurs and one exceptionally large spider by sceptre and sword, but he made not the slightest attempt to defend himself, just cowering against his bull and yelping the entire way there. That was before I had to take down three centaur catapults and Lyssa knew how many centaurs, with maybe two Seraph backing me up. Naturally, his gratitude upon entering the garrison amounted to checking his supplies three times, turning to me, and pronouncing: “I feel like I was run over by a herd of marauding dolyaks!” 6 Irritation aside, he did supply the information I needed, admitting that he sold his paper to Minister Zamon. Zamon, the man who’d all but gloated at my mother when Deborah died, purely—I thought then—because of malice at the suffering of a rival. And then, not long ago: the man who’d sneered at my defense of Shaemoor. “He has excellent taste,” Fursarai said, his glance clearly implying that I didn’t. As if he’d know. I silently decided that I’d never buy anything from him, even if I had to go to Lion’s Arch myself to find another papermaker. I smiled and said, “Don’t leave Divinity’s Reach.” 7 I found Captain Thackeray in the Seraph Headquarters, deep in a discussion with Anise, of all people, but his head snapped up when he caught sight of me. “Do you have any news?” “Fursarai admitted he made the paper for Minister Zamon,” I said, suppressing any signs of satisfaction. Well, mostly; Anise cast an amused look in my direction. “Setting up citizens to be robbed and brutalized?” exclaimed Captain Thackeray. “That's out-and-out treason.” Why, so it was.

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1) The Fairchilds in Ebonhawke, kin of ... the duke who still haunted Ascalon and his martyred daughter: i.e., Duke Barradin, while his daughter, Lady Althea—this Althea’s namesake—was burned alive by the Charr.

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SIX 1 “But where are my manners?” said Captain Thackeray, whom I’d never seen with so much as a wrinkle in his surcoat or a hair out of place. “Allow me to introduce you to Countess Anise, Master Exemplar of the Shining Blade.” Bemused, I nodded at my mentor of years, while Anise bowed with a faint, ironic smile. Disregarding the matter of manners, she said smoothly, “Minister Wi’s hosting a party tonight; it’ll be a good opportunity to eavesdrop on ministers, their allies, and enemies.” Captain Thackeray couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree, but clearly wanted to; he proposed a (perfectly legal) raid on Zamon’s house instead, and worse still, left the choice to me, insisting that he couldn’t give me orders—even though he clearly had no idea who I was. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he’d realized I had a name. 2 Naturally, I consulted with Anise—Thackeray or no Thackeray, she was my guide and teacher. “Personally,” she said in her light voice, “I prefer convivial, face-to-face situations. Then again, cloak-and-dagger skulduggery is always fun.” I laughed. “The way you describe it, it all sounds so charming; I’ll have to think it over.” I didn’t, actually. Minister Wi lived in Rurikton, and Faren was my best friend; if I knew anything, it was Rurikton parties. 3 “Minister Wi’s party,” I announced. “I’ll see what I can learn.” “Are you sure?” said Captain Thackeray, though with a distinct note of resignation. “You can’t break into Zamon’s place if you attend Minister Wi’s party.” “I’m sure,” I told him. “Minister Wi’s party it is.” He sighed. 4 “Your fellow nobles seem to have a knack for making my life interesting,” Captain Thackeray told me, clearly putting the best face on it. “Let’s see if we can’t return the favour.” “We nobles, Captain Thackeray?” I said, amused; everyone knew about his relationship to Gwen—and his relationship to Queen Jennah, too. “A step down from royalty making your life interesting, I’m sure.” To my surprise, he flinched. Some lover’s spat, perhaps; I decided it was none of my business, and turned to Anise, who promised to meet me at the party—because it wouldn’t do to make us share the spotlight during our entrance. Of course. 5 I listened to a few complaints and registered some unsolved crimes after Anise left, then headed out. At least, I meant to, but on my way to the door out of Seraph Headquarters, I caught sight of an open book—a register. “That lists the names of all Seraph soldiers for the last two decades,” an officer told me proudly. I glanced over my shoulder, undoubtedly looking as suspect as a priest of Grenth on Wintersday, but nobody seemed to be paying attention; the officer had drifted over to settle a dispute over a farm, Captain Thackeray was talking to a lieutenant, and everybody else looked up to their ears in work. I opened the book, scolding myself for being foolish, giving into a pointless sentimentality that would achieve nothing, recover no corpse for a grave—but still, I turned the pages, searching for the name I would know. I felt like a spy, flipping through pages, for all that the registry was open to the public and I had every right to look—and then, there it was, near the head of its page. Sgt Deborah Fairchild; missing in action, assumed dead. 6 “Are you looking for someone?” said Captain Thackeray. I nearly jumped straight into the air; as it was, I flinched as violently as he had. “No, sir,” I said, and realized—Debs would have said no, sir in the exact same tone, would have stood in this very room as I did now, would know it all better than I did. What would she have thought, if she’d known that one day I would be investigating crimes for the Seraph, reporting to Captain Thackeray himself? She’d never pressed me to be anything I wasn’t, never seemed to love me less for being the thoughtless, frivolous creature I was then, but I couldn’t help but imagine she’d have been proud. Imagine how this whole thing might have gone if she’d been alive—maybe we’d be investigating Zamon together, or— “Good luck, Captain Thackeray,” I said, and walked out. 7 By happy coincidence, I already had an invitation, of sorts. My mother’s said Minister Ailoda Langmar and one other. “You want to go?” said Mother, looking startled. “I would have thought you’d be busy slaying monsters or saving people or whatever else you do these days.” I frowned, unsure how to take this; it might have been pride, if not for her studiously neutral tone—did she think all this unimportant, or regrettable, or beneath us? Or was it fear, with Deborah dead on Seraph business? For a wild moment, I longed to tell her, cling to her and admit that I was frightened and angry as well as resolved, to confide in someone who would always see Althea first and the hero of Shaemoor second. “I need to keep an eye on Faren,” I said.

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1) his relationship to Queen Jennah: Jennah is the Queen of Kryta, and a beautiful young woman; it’s widely rumoured that she and Logan are having an affair. The last time royalty made his life especially interesting was when he deserted his dragon-hunting guild, Destiny's Edge, out of love for Jennah. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------    SEVEN 1 I headed back to Rurikton for the party, though a good while before it was set to begin. I hadn’t been home for a while—months, though it felt like longer—and I wanted to get my bearings. I strolled past the familiar stone gryphons, a light calm settling over me. It deepened as I made my way down the streets, passing refugees and servants who gave slight bows: respectful, no more. Clusters of nobles nodded familiarly at me. I stopped by local traders, most of whom I knew by name. One bookseller had a pair of rare books on Ascalonian history, one of which I’d wanted for ages; I purchased them on the spot, and after these weeks of fighting and investigating and rescuing, it was a pleasure to let it all slide for a moment, and decide that today was already a success. 2 I personally carried my books to Langmar Manor, since I’d forgotten to bring any servants, and didn’t feel very much inclined to send for one now. Oddly enough, I had gotten used to managing on my own. The walk from the district square was a short and easy one in any case; I strolled down the streets, encountering nothing worse than a few seditious posters I tore down, and a man complaining about Captain Thackeray to an unsympathetic friend. “You know, just because your wife’s taken a shine to Logan Thackeray doesn’t make him a bad guy—he’s cursed.” At the first man’s scoff, the friend added, “Cursed with good looks and true Ascalonian blood! It’s not his fault that every woman fawns over him.” Not every woman, I thought. 3 The people of Rurikton had always mingled at the Maiden’s Whisper as well as Rurikton at large, so I attracted no particular curiosity when I strolled into the tavern. Several other lords and ladies stood near the entrance, smiling and lifting their glasses towards me as I passed, while everyone else simply continued their own conversations—despite the Norn inexplicably towering at the side of the room. “I like that Minister Caudecus,” one girl announced. “To Queen Jennah!” someone just out of sight said, echoed by a dozen toasts to the queen, Divinity’s Reach, Captain Thackeray, and assorted ministers. Across the hall, a man bellowed drunkenly, “Show me a woman who can wrestle a bear, and I’ll show you a keeper!” “If the Charr think they can come here,” said a woman, her voice clear and pleasant, “me and my meat cleaver will tell them otherwise.” I smiled; despite everything, it really was good to be home. 4 I spent the last few hours before the party skulking around Rurikton, but found nothing beyond a particularly incompetent group of adventurers and ordinary conversation on the street. Returning to the inn, I searched for a relatively secluded place, found it in a library, and closed my eyes, peering through those of a near-invisible clone as she drifted through Minister Wi’s manor. She wasn’t caught, but turned up nothing except preparations for the party. I was sure there had to be something we’d missed, but apparently not. Well, Zamon might be acting in secrecy. Might. I resigned myself to the inevitable: I would only discover what I needed to know at the party, and I would have no preparation beyond what I already knew. 5 When I arrived at the manor in person, the place was positively oozing Ministry guards, for no particular reason. Anise slanted them a glance that betrayed nothing, then eyed my finery with nearly smug approval. “This will be delightful,” she said, apparently no more inclined than usual to bother with such minutia as greetings and farewells. “Having the hero of Shaemoor on my arm will make tongues wag.” Even though it was just Anise, I flushed. So much for separate entrances—but it was like Anise to enjoy disrupting plans, even her own. “Thank you for letting me join you this evening, Countess,” I said, because it was like me, too. 6 “Mingle,” she said. “Speak to everyone—you never know who’ll say something they regret later.” It was an encouraging thought. “Second,” said Anise, “don’t limit your conversation to nobility; servants and guards see everything.” “Understood,” I replied, adding, “I suppose it goes without saying that I should be discreet?” “You catch on fast,” she told me, and touched her finger to the end of my nose, eliciting a startled laugh. “Go and charm the masses.” 7 “You know where to find me if you need me, pet,” Anise concluded, while I still tried to wrap my mind and dignity around the fact that she’d bopped my nose. But at the moment, I found her at my side, setting my hand on her arm and marching forward in her tall boots. She actually smiled when I matched my steps to hers, even if I could hardly match the total assurance of her stride and her drawl—but she smiled more at the sudden hush that fell over the grand room when we entered. “The Countess Anise,” the servant at the door announced, and after a suitably dramatic pause, continued, “and the hero of Shaemoor!” Virtually everyone in this room had known me from childhood, but they all bowed anyway, as if my mother herself stood in my place, rather than the other way around; she’d abruptly developed a cold when she heard Zamon would be there. Zamon himself was nowhere to be seen. Interesting.

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1) Cursed with good looks and true Ascalonian blood: this (and much of the dialogue here) is part of the ambient dialogue near the inn. 

[celsidebottom]

I relistened to Confession and Desecrated when I saw people pondering about the various powers at play in Father Burroughs’ actions, given that Hilltop Road is already such a hotspot for the Web and the Desolation, and the Spiral is super involved in this statement as well.  However, as I listened, I realized that his experiences involve almost all of the powers, even if only briefly mentioned (and some of them might be a stretch).  I went through the transcripts and put down the bits that seem relevant to each entity.

The Web:

It won’t let him say certain holy words, such as “Lord,” “Jesus,” “God.”

Something forcing him to speak while blessing Hilltop Road – “I felt my lips move.  They made no sound that I could hear, but I felt them form every syllable… My mouth continued to speak for me…”  (When Lensik uproots the tree)

“I had never before felt a… a presence within myself, inside my being… like a reflex reaction, your muscles moving without any instruction from your mind, but rather than a quick twitch of the leg, it’s a slow movement of your jaw, your lips, forming your mouth into words.”

His actions at the ‘mass’ – “it didn’t feel like at the time I could have made any other choice” (despite him saying that he could have left, that his “will and actions were [his] own.”)

The Spiral:

Honestly like the whole statement is very Spiral given that neither he nor Bethany could really trust their own senses, but specifically…

Bethany “believed that she was no longer in control of her own mind.”

Bethany trying to eat a rock because she didn’t realize it was in fact an actual rock

The painted word “Mentis” in her bedroom (and Bethany not even being able to see that it was painted there)

College records stating that Bethany didn’t actually live off campus on Bullingdon Road, but that she lived in halls, and that she attacked a porter with the knife, instead of a housemate.

Nobody living at 89 Bullingdon Road while she was supposedly there.

The missing sacrificial Muscatel wine – “had never really been to my taste, but looking back I can’t really be sure what I was drinking.”

Burroughs’ bible showing a different passage from a different gospel; the words around said passage was unreadable and obscured

“The faces on each crucifix and painting I passed seemed to twist and sneer at me as I walked… the painted blood glistened as though it was still wet.”

Talking to ��Father Singh’ and then later passing Father Singh in the hallway (mainly Stranger, mentioned below)

The altar server not speaking but “all that came from his throat was the single tolling sound of that bell… the same thing happened for the second reading, that long, drawn out chime.”

Burroughs himself only being able to speak as a chiming bell

“I don’t even know where I was, some dingy basement from what it seemed when the light fell from my eyes and I returned to reality.  At least, I assume this is reality.  I dream, sometimes, that perhaps this is the illusion – my arrest and imprisonment merely a hallucination.”

The Desolation:

During his blessings, he started burning up – “I was starting to grow very hot, as though the room was heating up very rapidly… it continued, though, and soon I was sweating through my shirt.  I began to cough, and I could smell smoke, even though I couldn’t see any or any fire, for that matter… I felt my skin began to crackle and burn.”  (Just before Lensik uproots the tree)

 The Flesh:

The murder and mutilation of the two students.  “Cause of death was listed as blood loss from multiple lacerations all over their legs and torso, as well as removal of both their faces with a sharp blade, possibly a scalpel.  The face of James Mann was found to have been partially eaten by Father Burroughs.”

The Corruption:

Throwing up after leaving Hilltop Road

His stole during the ‘mass’ – “it was a pale, sickly yellow.”

“the thin, bony arm of the altar server”  (Maybe??)

The congregation – “their skin was fevered, jaundiced yellow.  The eyes of every man, woman and child stared blankly forward, and their mouths hung open, wide and smiling, like their jaws had locked in silent rictus.” (Also possibly Stranger, given that they’re almost people but not quite; addressed below)

“My hands felt strange and clammy as I held [the communion wafers and the wine]”

 The Vast:

the congregation – Burroughs “was met with only that oppressive, wide-mouthed silence, a jarring void that tightened the fear I felt gripping my soul.”  (Maybe??  I’m not great at determining the Vast from the Lonely in a lot of cases so this might be wrong idk)

“I noticed fewer and fewer of the parishioners seemed to be in the pews.”

 The Stranger:

Father Singh – the list of past transgressions he shouldn’t know; “He had always had a quite a strong accent but the voice that spoke now to read my litany of wrongdoing had no trace of it.  It was a clipped and crisp RP accent, though in tone it seemed to match that of my friend.”; “In the hallway I ran past two other priests… One of them was Father Singh.”

The congregation – “the thought of these people, these things…”

The Oratory “received delivery of a pale, yellow stole, which apparently vanished less than a day after they signed for it… the package was handed to them by a company called Breekon and Hope Deliveries.”

 The End:

The deaths of Bethany O’Connor, Christopher Bilham, and James Mann

Burroughs seems to resist it - “I will not commit the further sin of ending my life”

Perhaps a stretch, but with both Burroughs and the mysterious altar server, when they try to speak there is only the sound of a bell, and it makes me think of that work that goes “send not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”

 The Eye:

Bethany during her exorcism – “there was instead just… silence, as she stared at me with a look, almost seemed like pity… At last, Bethany locked eyes with me and slowly shook her head.” (Maybe??)

At the Oratory – “The church’s large round window shifted as I watched, as though there were a tremendous eye that were turning to focus upon me.”

 The Lonely:

“Occasionally, I would see figures standing or walking at the end of the narrow streets, but they were shadowy, silhouetted against what little light there was, and were always gone when I approached.”

“I saw roads that I had travelled a hundred times, but they seemed different… and at each turn I found I did not know where I was going or what place it would take me to.  The world I knew had become alien to me, and I simply didn’t know what to do.”

 The following four I’ve extrapolated a lot and taken just a line here and there, so I’m not sure how valid they are

 The Dark:

From the wiki – “A manifestation… of what lies beyond what we can sense.”  Maybe not Dark, possibly more Web or Stranger, but this part at Hilltop Road kind of fits that description: “I felt something answer me… something else answered my call for protection.”

While reading his bible - “Wherever there were words that might give me comfort, I found them obscured by dark stains.”

“It was dark when I left the presbytery.”

 The Slaughter:

Bethany attacking her housemate “with a kitchen knife” and “falling head first into a full-length mirror, cutting herself very badly” – facial lacerations

Bethany thrashing in pain, biting into her tongue, brain hemorrhage, blow to the head

The lacerations inflicted upon the two students that Burroughs apparently killed

 The Buried:

The fact that the word Mentis “had been painted on the wall and then covered up with layers of wallpaper over the years” (Maybe??)

“There seemed a safety in stillness, as though inaction could do no harm.”  (This is again a stretch, but it reminds me of Hezekiah Wakely in Episode 152 and how he felt calm and at peace while sleeping in the graves)

 The Hunt:

imo the biggest stretch I make, but it seems like Burroughs was indeed the prey of something here, being driven to extreme ends and being hunted for his fear the whole time?

I’m not entirely sure what all this means, but I think Hilltop Road is way more important than just a headquarters for the Web.  We’ve all been talking about Millbank Prison as the location for the Watcher’s Crown etc because it potentially has a place for all the Entities, which I think is still totally valid and very likely, but it also seems like all of the Entities might be involved at Hilltop Road too.... 

[dracox-serdriel]

Lament of the Asphodels - Epilogue: The Cornucopia of Demeter

Lament of the Asphodels

Title: The Munificence of Demeter Author: Dracox Serdriel Artist: @liamjcnes Artwork: Post 1 | Post 2 Word count: 1,400 Rating: NC-17/Explicit (except on FF) Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, Graphic sexual content, Declaration/threats of sexual violence, Minor character death, Social stigmatization/abuse, Detailed descriptions of hopelessness/depression/inner turmoil, Descriptions of the effects of extreme phobias/social anxiety, including anthropophobia, thalassophobia/hydrophobia, and hylophobia/dendrophobia, Descriptions of shipwrecks and storms at sea

Read Lament of the Asphodels on FF, AO3, LJ, or start at the beginning on Tumblr. Written as part of @captainswanbigbang.

Epilogue: The Munificence of Demeter

To avoid Manticore-inspired panic from each new arrival, Emma and Killian abandoned the sidewalk - and Pegasus and the Manticore - for the interior of the Library. By the circulation desk, they all gathered together: Henry, Snow, Charming, Baby Neal, Regina, Robin Hood, Belle, Mr. Gold, Granny, Red, Doctor Whale, Ashley, Sean, Jefferson, Zelena, Blue, Doctor Hopper, August, Ariel, Eric, Abigail, Frederick, Mr. Smee, and dozens of other faces they thought they'd never see again.

After much jubilation and far too many embraces to number, Killian inquired after the state of the town, and Emma, the cause for the entirety of the town collecting in the Library.

And with many voices they answered.

No one agreed on exactly when it began. A few said it was as soon as Emma made her leave. Others insisted it was the day after, when Mr. Gold and the rest of the rescue party returned without the Savior. And a handful - by far the loudest and most willing to interrupt, given that Grump was among them - claimed that it was several weeks before anything went truly amiss.

Despite the discrepancy of when it started, not one person argued how it began, for a consensus had long ago been reached in that regard. It was when the enchantment that kept a Land without Magic at bay fell with neither warning nor report.

At first this led to nothing more than a rise in belligerent fauna. (And, to this day, many residents of the town will insist that, despite its name, a Land without Magic has its dragons, which, for some reason, are called moose.)

Many attempts were made to restore the barrier, but they all failed. As it seemed more of a nuisance than a true ill, the dwarves took action, setting up deterrents around the town line and shooing away whatever they could with their pick axes.

But then people - confused and ornery people - found their way into Storybrooke. Most departed as quickly as they arrived, scowling at their out-of-date maps and devices, but some did not go so quietly. They became enamored of the town - either from its charm or its mystery - and only relented when Regina and Blue resorted to a memory spell.

Again, attempts at re-enchanting the town line - this time countless in number - failed, lingering at best for a few hours before fading away.

As the weeks turned to months, increasingly drastic measures were taken to avoid the onslaught of tourists. At first, stores locked their front doors and hoisted "CLOSED" signs in their windows, but this only resulted in angry visitors pounding on the doors. (Granny admitted that they might've done better had they considered that resident shoppers were clearly visible to anyone outside the door, but, of course, hindsight is twenty-twenty.)

So then they boarded up windows and abandoned their shops during the day, hoping a ghost town would deter traffic and visitors alike. They set up fake detours and roadblocks, which were quite effective until an official from the Maine Department of Transportation showed up to investigate a shockingly high volume of complaints.

That was when truly drastic measures had been taken.

As the plan required unlawful deception, Snow yielded her mayoral seat to Regina, who, beyond having no qualms with lying, also had twenty-eight years to familiarize herself with the complex government of this land and was at far less of a loss than anyone else. Everything went according to plan, save for a bit of poorly timed desperation and bad paper work.

Thus, Storybrooke was declared a quarantine zone for a deadly outbreak of an unnamed weaponized biological agent in the same month as it was declared a critical habitat for the northern long-eared bat. As of yet, no one from the government has seemed any the wiser, and after confirming the town's abandonment, promptly sealed off the three major roads leading into it.

But, of course, the town was not abandoned. The residents had merely hidden away in the catacombs beneath the Library. And their oddly achieved success was well-timed, for that was when the weather soured, becoming thrice as bitter as any winter they'd ever had. Each day brought punishing storms that uprooted trees and tore at roofs and windows before vanishing abruptly.

Only the bravest dared to venture outside during the lull between storms, and those who did discovered that the weather was not the only danger awaiting them.

Monsters of every shape and size roamed the streets and woods, often incited by the whims of the tempests, rampaging with the winds and hail.

Even the most stubborn of residents finally took refuge in the Library, for Mr. Gold (and - though he would never admit it - Blue) cast layers of charms and spells and enchantments, for only the most intricate of magicks provided protection from monsters and storms alike.

But Storybrooke was far from defeated.

Hunting parties set out each morning to drive the creatures into the woods, where portals that led to the Enchanted Forest were cleverly hidden to transfer as many as they could catch. Those that could not hunt crafted countermeasures to keep the beasts at bay. It was a crawling but steady pace, gradually turning the tides in their favor. Until at last - just one week previous - the most vicious tempest to ever touch Storybrooke descended on the town and drove the last of the monsters away.

And then the storm broke.

With hope and trepidation, they began to repair and rebuild the town, though they always returned to the Library at nightfall - or at any hint of a coming storm - for fear of being caught in an even more powerful tempest, though a storm had not so much as brewed on the horizon in the past seven days.

Once the many voices finished their tale, Henry asked, "But what about you? Were you in the Underworld for all six months? How did you escape?"

"That's actually a much longer story," Emma replied.

"Aye, lad," Killian added. "And, as to our escape, we had help."

A chorus of voices asked, "From who?"

"You," Emma replied. "All of you. Everyone here helped us get home."

"Everyone here," Killian repeated. "And many who are no longer with us."

"No longer with us?" Henry asked. "You mean... you mean like Graham?"

"Yeah, kid, Graham," she responded. "And my grandparents, Eva and Leopold, and the Apprentice, Greg and Tamara, Killian's brother Liam."

"And Milah," he said. "And, though he didn't mean to, Peter Pan helped us a little. Even Cora did."

"My mother?" Regina asked skeptically.

"More your father than she," Killian replied. "But, it's true, without her we might never had made it home."

"Before we get into all of that," Emma suggested as she intertwined her hand in his. "Maybe we should see if we can't seal off the town again, huh?"

------

From the moment the Fates weaved two golden threads into one, a wail of bitter beauty sounded from the deep, equal parts mourning and ecstasy cast about by the wind. And those that heard it knew it was the tears of the asphodels.

These were not the flowers of Elysium, the incorruptible isles deeply stirred from joy, where the righteous dead reside free from toil and virtuous heroes rested evermore, untouched by sorrows. Nor were they the flowers of Tartarus, where gloom and fire enveloped mortals, deities, and titans alike with unending torments as punishment for their wickedness.

No, neither monsters no heroes - the mighty nor the feeble - took their final rest in the Asphodel Fields. It was a place for those whose work was complete, and so, the flowers there knew neither torment and fire nor bliss and glory. They discerned two things, and two things only: peace and beauty.

So when the asphodels wept in elation and grief, it was not for loss or for freedom, but instead for two shattered souls healed into one, the most impossibly beautiful thing to exist in any realm.

And when the asphodels weep, the world is changed.

-----------

The last of the winter came down from the north in wailing waves that corrupted spring's fine morning dew, cruelly cutting down anything that dared to grow before the last of its savage, slackening grasp.

And yet, not too far from the Library, an entire field bloomed in open defiance of the frost, spared by the power of someone who had not set foot in this realm - nor any other like it - for a very, very, very long time.

Persephone hadn't meant to linger, but her curiosity outmatched both her caution and her manners. Why would her husband let a mortal free from his realm? In all her years, he had never once allowed such a thing, not for gift nor service nor threat nor promise. And yet he relented, and not just for any man, but a man who already cheated his mortal's fare for centuries.

Had she been gone for so long that those rules were gone? Or had her husband been the one to change in their time apart.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" someone asked.

Persephone recognized the voice, but she couldn't believe it. She turned with deliberation, her breath held and her eyes downcast for fear that, somehow, the truth might yet rob her of this, the one joy she'd coveted - the one she herself had prayed for - since her wedding day. Even after she caught sight of his boots - dragon hide and wrought iron with accents crafted from a Harpy's feather - she dared not look up.

Hades reached out to her, letting his knuckle sit just below her chin. Then, ever so carefully and ever so gently, he lifted until her eyes met his own.

"How... how are you here?" she asked.

"Can't a husband surprise his wife?"

Did it matter how he came to be here? He was here now. And at once, Persephone's mind began to race with possibilities, with all the places she could share with him now that he could walk in the realms of the living at her side.

As if he'd read her thoughts - and, after a fashion, he had done something akin to that - he smiled with the brilliance of ivory dreams clinging to his every feature and loosed a lighthearted laugh.

Unwilling to waste another moment, Persephone took hold of Hades and kissed him soundly under the glowing ebb of the springtime sun.

---------

As was written before, there are some truths that no living mortal may remember, be they Killian Jones, Emma Swan, or any of the countless number who have since heard their adventures.

Perhaps that is why no one can say with true authority what part of that which follows is truth or legend or pure and wild invention.

It is said that Killian Jones and Emma Swan lived seventy five years with a shared heart before Atropos cut the golden thread that bound them as one soul. They defeated villains, tamed monsters, and protected their home while raising their family in Storybrooke. Their children - and their children's children - all tell the story of the man who sacrificed himself to rid the world of darkness and the woman who refused to surrender him even to death. She disappeared into the earth to find him again, and six months later, they rose like the first sprigs of green in the spring's thaw.

And on that magnificent day, so joyous was the occasion, that every realm had a reprieve: not even a single soul passed to the Underworld from that sunup to the next.

But like so many of the tales mortal tell of the hereafter, the truth of it remains a mystery, or, as the saying remains, only the asphodels know.

End-of-chapter notes: Demeter was the goddess of the harvest and agriculture in Greek mythology. One of her symbols was the cornucopia, the horn of plenty, which represented abundant nourishment.

For next and previous chapters, proceed to the Lament of the Asphodels main Tumblr page.

[warlordgab]

Analysis: NaLu Vs. Shipping?

As explained in another post, more often than not, what several shippers tend to offer contradicts established characterization and completely disregard consistent bonding.

While some often find logical or obvious regarding the connection between Natsu and Lucy as a potent relationship, other people might have their doubts because the typical shipping mindset sometimes overshadows the impact of NaLu moments and their solid chemistry. How can this happen if NaLu is a logical/evident conclusion?

Short answer: Shipping Hype

Many stories feature a wide variety of characters, some of them are cool, others are stylish, and some of them have some sort of appeal meant to charm some specific demography. That results on fans of such characters overhyping any scene that features them. This hype can often overshadow NaLu or move shippers to either water down scenes between Natsu and Lucy or degrade their emotional connection.

For example, when Lucy got to see and missed the chance to go to the Hanami festival, Natsu not only felt down while the guild enjoyed their party...

...he took action and uprooted a rainbow sakura tree just for Lucy to see. A great and sweet gesture that touched Lucy.

At the end of the GMG arc, we saw how the remarkable emotional attachment she feels for Natsu gets to transcend time and space...

...as we get a closure for both the story arc and her future self

But moments like these are often rivaled by shippers overhyping Lucy getting a pat on the head, having a stylish guy trying to flirt with her, or being the subject of a glorified Freudian slip. Often marrying Lucy to those cool, hunky, or stylish characters

So, let us ask: does Lucy's character demand such hype?

While she's aware of her "sex appeal", she easily gets flustered or even embarrassed, which is why her friends consider funny to playfully tease her from time to time. Still, Lucy doesn't actively seek to become more "intimate" with the men several girls (and some guys) usually drool for.

Instead, what do we get from her?

We have a mix of both subtle and meaningful behaviors along an earnest disposition coming from both sides in a ton of both minor and major interactions

In tumblr, you'll find some users tagging NaLu posts with the words Lucy uttered when they got into trouble and Natsu asked her to flee. She refused to leave Natsu, and while she risked her life, she stated: "it's more fun when we're together"

Some shallow shippers tend to use this tag too, even though they don't think about how meaningful those words were. Even if Lucy made that statement under some pressure, what she said is another proof of how she feels when she's with Natsu. When Lucy is with Natsu, she feels things are more lively, intense, and stimulating.

That fits in how Lucy's feelings for Natsu progressively grew while her relationship with other better-looking characters didn't get that much attention in the story.

One remarkable example comes from a moment when the author pandered shippers: Both Natsu and Gray catching Lucy as she fell. But the guy who was on Lucy's mind as she was drifting off was Natsu

Even the scene featuring Lucy saying Natsu's name was in full color. He is the person she thinks of the most 

Another example comes from the narration from the time Fairy Tail was temporarily disbanded. Out of all her guildmates, who was who Lucy wanted to see the most?

The answer remains consistent: Natsu

Who does she seek for emotional support?

Who does she a solid chemistry with? I don't think I need to repeat how Natsu and Lucy affect each other

While shippers love to overhype several scenes or manga panels, Lucy herself doesn't hype those moments or the characters involved in them. In fact, if we are to talk about in-universe hype, Lucy was quick to defend Natsu's character from Dimaria's comments on him being a "monster", to the point she even got teased on how obvious her feelings for Natsu truly are.

So, in order for another premise to rival NaLu, you might need to overhype minor interactions, degrade NaLu consistent bonding, or both at the same time. No wonder why several shippers twist and corrupt NaLu to present their premises as something plausible. What Natsu and Lucy have is way too big and meaningful to leave untouched.

In conclusion, shipping hype shouldn't rival the appeal NaLu has as a potent pairing. A relationship that's not just based on something as shallow as hotness/sexiness, but instead it runs on the emotional impact of a long chain of significant moments and a chemistry compelling enough to draw people in. Their potential "steaminess" is merely a sweet (or spicy) bonus.

[shiaat]

Imam Ali (asws) shows a miracle to Greek medicine man.

The Holy Imam Ali Bin Al Husayn(asws) said:

“‘This is what was seen from the Commander of the Faithful(asws) : He(asws) was sitting one day when a man from Greece, claiming to be a philosopher and a medicine man, came up to him(asws) and said:

'O Abu Al-Hassan(asws)! I have been told about your companion(saww), that he(saww) was insane and I had come to rectify his(saww) condition, but he(saww) has died and so I have missed the opportunity to do that.’

And then he said: 'You are the son of his uncle(asws) and son in-law, and I see that you(asws) have got Jaundice and have such thin ankles that I do not think they will be able to bear the weight of your(asws) body. I have the necessary remedies with me for jaundice, but there is no other alternative to fatten your ankles. Do not walk excessively and do not carry weight on your back, nor lift anything heavy in your arms for your weak ankles would not be able to bear the weight and may break. I have the medicine for jaundice with me and here it is.’

He then took out the medicine and said: 'This will not affect you(asws) adversely nor pain you(asws), but you(asws) have to abstain from partaking meat in your diet for forty days then the jaundice will be removed.’

Imam Ali Bin Abu Talib(asws) said to him: 'You have told me about the profit of this medication for my jaundice, have you any other which would increase the illness?’

The man said: 'Yes. This one!’ And he pointed to another medicine which he had with him, and said: 'If a person were to take this, and he is with jaundice, he will die within the hour, and if he does not have jaundice then he will die within a day.’

Imam Ali Bin Abu Talib(asws) said: 'I can see its ill effects. Give me this one.’ He(asws) then asked him: 'How much is this?’ He said: 'Two Mithqals (a measure of weight), but each grain of it can kill a man.’ Imam Ali(asws) ate all of it, and after a while started sweating slightly. The man got scared and said to himself 'Now I will be captured by the son of Abu Talib(asws). They will all say that I killed him(asws) and will not accept what I say that he(asws) perpetrated this himself(asws).’

Imam Ali(asws) smiled and said: 'O servant of Allah(azwj)! I am healthy as before and this poison has not affected me(asws) as you expected, so close your eyes.’ He closed them.

Then he(asws) said: 'Open your eyes!’ He looked at the face of Ali(asws) and it was bright red, and he started trembling at what he saw. Ali(asws) smiled at him and said: 'So where is the jaundice that you thought I(asws) had?’ The man said: 'By Allah(azwj)! It is as if you are not the same what I saw before, you were yellow, but now you(asws) are like a flower.’

Imam Ali ibne Abu Talib(asws) said: 'My(asws) jaundice has been eradicated by the very poison which you thought would kill me(asws) and these are my two legs.’ And he(asws) extended his(asws) two legs and exposed both of his(asws) ankles. 'You conjecture that I(asws) need these two to lift the weight of my(asws) body and that they would break if I(asws) were to carry weight, I(asws) will now show you that the medication of Allah(azwj) is against your medication.’ He(asws) hit the great column on which rested the building that he(asws) was sitting in, and on top of these were two floors, one on top of the other, and shook it and lifted the whole building up including the two floors, and the Greek man fainted.

The Commander of the Faithful(asws) said: 'Sprinkle some water on him.’ Sothey sprinkled on him some water and he regained consciousness and said: 'By Allah(azwj)!’ I have never seen anything as strange as I have today.’ Ali(asws) said to him: 'This is the strength of the two ankles and the bearing of the weight by them. Where is your medicine now, O Greek fellow?’ The Greek man said: 'Was Muhammad(saww) like you(asws)?’

Imam Ali(asws) said: 'Don’t you see, my(asws) knowledge is from his(saww) knowledge, my(asws) intellect is from his(saww) intellect, and my(asws) strength is from his(saww) strength?’

[Imam Aliasws narrated to him - the Greek fellow] A man from the Thaqafy clan, who was a well known medicine man among the Arabs came and said to him(saww): 'If you are insane then I will cure you of it!’ Muhammad(saww) said to him: 'Would you like me(saww) to show you a sign so that you may know by it that I have no need for your cure, and that you are the one who has need of a cure from me(saww)?’ He said: 'Yes.’

He(saww) said: 'What sign would you like to see?’ He said: 'Call to that Palm tree!’ And he(saww) made a beckoning gesture to the Palm tree, and it immediately responded by uprooting itself from the ground, and it created a hole, and came and stood in front of him(saww). He(saww) said to him: 'Is this enough for you?’ He said: 'No.’

He(saww) asked: 'What do you want?’ He said: 'Tell it to go back where it came from and settle into the ground where it was before.’ He(saww) ordered accordingly and it returned back and settled in the same spot that it used to be.’

The Greek said to the Commander of the Faithful(asws): 'This is the story of Muhammad(saww) who is absent from us, and I want from you(asws) less than that. I will go and stand far away and I want you(asws) to call me, and if I respond to your(asws) call, then I will consider this to be a sign.’

The Commander of the Faithful(asws) said: 'This would only be for your benefit to make you aware of your intention that you did not want to respond, and that you were forced by my(asws) beckoning to come over and I(asws) overrode your intention, and others will think that it was not from my beckoning, or someone else has done it without I(asws) having told him to do so. Whatsoever you have seen so far has been from the Power of Allah the High, the Omnipotent. And O you Greek, they may then say that either I(asws) called you or maybe someone else did. Therefore ask me(asws) and I(asws) shall give that to you, something that will be a sign for all people of knowledge.’

The Greek said to him(asws): 'As you have allowed me to make this request, then I say that this Palm tree should break up into pieces and separate out to a distance between them, and then you(asws) call them pieces to join up again and the tree should be as it was beforehand.’

Imam Ali(asws) said: 'This would be a sign, and you take this message to it and say to it: 'The Trustee(asws)of the Messenger of Allah(saww) orders you to break up into pieces and separate out to a far distance.’ He went and gave it the message and it immediately broke up into small pieces and separated out, until there was neither any sign of it nor of any of its effects; as if it was never there in the first place.

The effect of this on the Greek made him tremble, and he said: 'O Trustee of Muhammad(saww). You fulfilled my first request, so fulfill my second as well. Order it to gather itself together and be as it was before.’

He(asws) said: 'You take this message to it and say: 'O parts of the Palm tree, the Trustee of the Messenger of Allah(saww) orders you to gather yourselves together and become as you previously were!’

The Greek went and called out to the parts and immediately they responded and started gathering themselves together like floating dust, part by part of it, until they reformed into leaves and branches and the trunk and became a Palm tree as it was beforehand and the branches were bare as the dates were out of season. The Greek said: 'And another thing that I would like that there should come out of it is dates and these should ripen to perfection and that you(asws) should eat from it, feed me from it and all these who are present here.’ Imam Ali(asws) said: 'You go and take this message to it and order it as such.’

The Greek said to it: 'The Commander of the Faithful(asws) orders you to produce dates which should be ripened to perfection’, and immediately the dates came out and ripened to bright red.’

The Greek said: 'And another thing that I would like is that I should have in my hands these bunches so that I can eat from them. And I would like one of the bunches to come down near me so that I can grab it with one hand while my hand should elongate to be able to reach to the other bunch.’

The Commander of the Faithful(asws) said: 'For the hand that you wish to elongate to eat the dates, say "O One(azwj) Who Makes far things to be near, Make my hand to be near to these!” and for the other hand which you want the bunch to come down to you, say “O One(azwj) Who Makes difficult things to be easy, Make it easy for me to eat from these!” He did that and said to it and extended his right hand and it reached to the bunch, and another bunch fell from the tree and he caught it in his left hand.’

The Commander of the Faithful(asws) said: 'After eating from these, then if you do not express belief in the one(asws) who demonstrated such a strange thing to you, then very soon Allah(azwj) the Almighty will Inflict upon you such a punishment that every one of the creatures will learn a lesson from it, be they intellectuals or ignorant ones.’

The Greek said: 'If I were to disbelieve after having witnessed this then I would have increased in my stubbornness, and I would invite destruction. I bear witness that you(asws) are a special one from Allah(azwj), truthful in all that you(asws) say from Allah(azwj), so give me an order and I shall obey you(asws).’

#ImamAli(asws) said: 'I order you to bear witness in Allah(azwj) by His Unity, the Pardoner and Wise, is free from corruption and mischief and is not Unjust to His male and female slaves; and bear witness that Muhammad(saww) is the Master of all people and that I(asws) am the Trustee of him(saww), having the highest position in the Haven of peace; and witness that Ali(asws) who showed you what he(asws) showed to you, and gave you bounties that he(asws) gave you, is the best of the creation of Allah(azwj), after His(azwj) Prophet Muhammad(saww) the Messenger of Allah(saww) having the right to be in the place of Muhammad (saww) after him(saww), is the establisher of His(azwj) Law and His(azwj) Orders; and bear witness that his(asws) friends are the friends of Allah(azwj) and his(asws) enemies are the enemies of Allah(azwj), and the believers are your partners in this that I(asws) have told you, and are your helpers in this what I(asws) have ordered you, and are the best of the community of Muhammad(saww) and are all the Shiites of Ali(asws).’

'And I(asws) order you to console your believing brothers who are with you in verifying the truthfulness of Muhammad (saww) and accept them as your own, Allah(azwj) has Granted you Preference over the others, alleviate their needs and correct their ways and treat them as equal status to yours in faith and consider them as partners in your wealth, and if someone is higher in religion than you then, give him preference over your own self in your wealth until Allah(azwj) Knows from your actions that you hold His(azwj )Religion to be more dear than your own wealth, and His(azwj) friends are more honourable to you than your own family members and your relatives.’

'And I(asws) order you to preserve your religion and what we(asws) have taught you, and our secrets that we(asws) have entrusted you with. Do not reveal our(asws) knowledge to the one who will oppose you by his stubbornness and resort by verbal abuse and curses or cause you physical harm; and do not disclose our(asws) secrets to the one who talks ill about us(asws) and is ignorant of our(asws) position, and behaves badly with our(asws) friends by his ignorance.’

'And I(asws) order you to observe dissimulation in your religion, for Allah the Almighty has Said: “Let not the believers take the unbelievers for friends rather than believers; and whoever does this, he shall have nothing of (the guardianship of) Allah, but you should guard yourselves against them, guarding carefully” (3:28).

I(asws) authorise you to be friendly to the infidels if you have fear of them, and display avoidance of us(asws) in order to baffle them; and you can postpone your Prayers from their prescribed times if you fear for your lives or calamities or misfortunes, and you can give preference to our(asws) enemies over us(asws) out of fear as it neither profits them nor does it affect us(asws) adversely. Your display of staying away from us (asws) under dissimulation does neither reduce our(asws) virtues nor does it cause us(asws) any loss, as you are only expressing our(asws) avoidance for an hour by your tongue whilst remaining loyal to us(asws) for the rest of the time in order to save yourself and remain safe, along with those associates of yours that you are not recognised by, and those that are recognized by you, among your brothers and your sisters, until the months and the years pass by and the fear declines from you. This is more preferable for you than destruction so that you may not be cut off from performing the deeds of your religion and the correction of your believing brothers.

Beware and beware again from avoiding dissimulation which I(asws) have ordered you to observe otherwise you will be the cause of spilling your own blood and that of your brothers as well, causing your bounties and their bounties to decline, and causing them humiliation from the hands of the enemies of Allah(azwj). Allah(azwj) has Commanded you to bestow honour upon your believing brothers and if your were to go against this order of mine(asws), then the adverse effects of this on you and your brothers will be far more severe than what the Nasibis and the Infidels will inflict you with.’“ • Hadith of Greek medicine man with The Commander of Faithful #ALIIBNEABUTALIB(peace be upon him). • Tafseer Imam Hassan al Askari(peace be upon him) [Surah Baqarah: verses 23,24&25].

[everydayconman]

People are posting up Overwatch OCs tonight...

So yeah sure here’s mine.

Name: Flora

Real Name: Fiona Blath

Age: 34

Height: 185cm [6’1”]

Weight: 112 kg [247 lbs]

Nationality: Irish

Occupation: Environmental Professor Overwatch Experiment [Formally]

Base of Operations: Dublin, Ireland Eye Color: Bright Blue

Hair Color: Prominent Orange

Affiliation: Overwatch [Formally]

Voice: N/A

Quotes:  “Class is in session” “You’re actin’ the maggot.” “I speak for the trees.” “May the cat eat you, and the devil eat the cat.” “Just listen to teacher.” “Let’s put the heart crossways” “Aced It!” “Time for some corporal punishment” “Sorry, I’m not very good at apologizing.” “Your mind is a garden.” “I’m trying my best!”

Role: Tank / Builder

Health: 300

Armor: 150

Abilities:

Thorn Whip - Two Melee weapons for each hand. Each can stretch about 20 meters to hit an opponent. Each hand bound to the respective Fire and Alt Fire buttons.

Vine Snare (x3) - Lay down a path of vines that will slow enemies and increase versatility of allies.

Toxin Flowers - Plants a flower that will unleash a poison upon nearby enemies.

[Ultimate] Tree of Life - Grow a massive 2000hp tree that will obscure an opponent’s path. The tree can grow as tall as Flora wants it to however it’s HP stays the same. This tree can add vantage points, annoy enemies, and stop payloads.

[Passive] Thick as Bark - Replenished armor by 20 points per second after not taking damage for five seconds.

Outfits: Classic (Green)

Hibiscus (Red) [Rare] Dandelion (Yellow) [Rare] Hyacinth (Blue) [Rare] Verbena (Violet) [Rare] Lily (White) [Epic] Sakura (Pink) [Epic]

Lucky [Legendary] (St. Patrick Themed) Lassie [Legendary] (Similar to Lucky but more themed to traditional Irish Clothing) Toxin [Legendary] (Poison Themed, described in story) Mother Nature [Legendary] (Themed after Gaia the Greek Goddess)

History:

-Young Life-

Fiona Blath was a daughter to a loving mother and father. Her family consisted of the two and her older brother; all of whom supported her in her childhood. Her father teaching her the best morals he could, her mother teaching her the pay off of a hard day’s work, and her brother who taught her how to keep her chin up no matter the obstacles. Growing up, the little girl was living a life that could be framed as the perfect life. She started school and enjoyed learning with a burning passion and looking up to her teachers as role models. She had just gotten out of second grade… When the Omnic Crisis occurred. It wasn’t long before the uprising got out of hand and as it spread over the years, it soon reached Germany, The U.K., and Ireland. In a panic as the bots rolled through the streets; Fiona’s family attempted to evacuate as the Defence Forces of Ireland kept the Omnics off for as long as possible. It wasn’t long before events grew dim and the nation was thrown into a panic. They had no choice but to call out for help and Overwatch responded. Meanwhile back on ground, Fiona ended up getting split up from her family in the chaos of the evacuation; resulting in her getting lost outside of the city. In a panicked frenzy, she started running away into a nearby forest; immediately all was not well as she began to get rashes and sickened by various ivy and flowers. She tried to survive, however after the first two or three days, she collapsed. She laid still for days; so still that she was analyzed by scouting Omnics and they filed her “deceased” before continuing through the forest. As her slowing and final breaths approached; a figure, sporting a blue uniform, approached her. Realizing she was barely alive, the figure dashed towards an Overwatch medical ship; hoping to save her life…

-An Experiment-

Under the watchful eye of Overwatch, Fiona slowly recuperated over the years. However, as she was unconscious, Overwatch medics realized that she would grow flowers off of her body and emit toxins every now and again. Due to these strange infrequencies; she was put in a partial cryo-stasis to keep her flowery developments slow. As she grew into a teenager, she was able to communicate with the plants due to some kind of strange combination of the toxins and medication. As she reached her 20s, she began to get offers to join Blackwatch; which she denied in hopes that she would someday finally live a normal life. As time went on, Fiona constantly shrugged off the negative feelings and emotions that the plants brought to her. She lived decades forcing herself to trust in Overwatch, but as she reached the end of her 20s; she caved in to the emotions. In a fit of rage, she escaped Gibraltar and fully embraced her abilities; changing her skin a lifeless gray and veins turning a deep purple. She was recruited into Talon under the alias “Toxin.”

-Corrupted Toxin-

With her abilities to constantly communicate with nature, Toxin was a destructive machine. Constantly causing havoc and chaos, she single handedly doubled the maniacal capability of Talon forces as she was now the go-to tank for any operation. As Overwatch came crumbling down, Toxin was ready for revenge. She began suggesting that the team goes to Gibraltar and, after they decline, she storms out. Trekking to Gibraltar on her own, she had plenty of time to plan out her revenge on those who kept her captive for her whole childhood. However, when she tore open the doors to the base she learned that it was abandoned. In a fit of rage she began to consume the nearby technology in vines; destroying whatever she could before the lab’s lights blasted on. Temporarily blinded by the sudden lights, all she hear was a roar before being thrown into a nearby wall and passing out.

-The Cure-

She awoke on a table looking relatively… Normal. Cuffed to her wrists were two white cuffs; each one pricking into her arm. She panicked and started to shout; asking where she was at, who was there with her, etc. Before long, a Gorilla in space armor approached her. Informing her that she was still in Gibraltar and that Overwatch was waiting a long time for her return. The cuffs she was wearing counteracted the toxins inside of her and, while she wore them, she could still communicate with the plant life. However, in a few minutes she could remove them; and the voices would go away. She spent those few minutes learning about what happened while she was Toxin. What she did. What happened with Overwatch. What she should do from there. Filling in the blanks and curing her of her toxic life; the Gorilla informed her that what she does from now on is her own doing.

-Recall-

Fiona returned to Dublin to lead the normal life she strived for. Reuniting with her family, she was able to go back to school and eventually teach at the very college she was now an alumni from. Years of normalcy passed, however the anxiety stayed. While she loved nature, she always had this fear that one day the plants would start talking to her again. One day after class, she received a message; inquiring if she’d be willing to regroup with Overwatch. With this message came a package containing the same white cuffs she was wearing in Gibraltar. She, of course, denied the invitation outright. Finally living a normal life, she wasn’t about to go back to that hellish time. As days passed, her past began to haunt her and her anxiety made her believe that she couldn’t be a hero as she never was one to begin with. Her past caught up with her as Talon soon invaded her University, searching for a hero that recently got recalled and importing a bomb so they could… “persuade” them into coming out of hiding. An agent kicked in the door to Fiona’s room and gasped, lowering their gun in confusion. “T-Toxin?” The agent sputtered as Fiona stood trying to defend her students. She gritted her teeth at the accusation, however a student of hers swiftly grabbed the gun and pinned the agent against the wall. While they fought with each other, Fiona started to have a panic attack and fell to the ground clutching her head. However it wasn’t long before a chorus of small voices rang out. “We can save him.” The voices said in unison. The phrase broke through her panic and anxiety; it was calm and soothing. She reached into her desk, pulled out the cuffs, and latched them onto her wrists. She felt her body solidifying as if it was made of wood; as the needles punctured her veins, she felt herself fusing with the toxins once again. This time however, she was in control. She dashed in and broke up the fight, tossing the student behind her and pinning the Talon agent to the wall. “You don’t hurt my students.” She stated angrily, picking him up with a vine and hurling him out the nearby window. She lowered herself down using vines and lowered her hands to the ground. Communicating with the plant life, she was able to restrain the nearby Talon agents. With a chuckle, she then dashed towards the bomb, to try and stop if from going off until she was blasted in the face from the side with a shotgun. Tumbling and falling over, she got up to her knees as half of her face looked like damaged wood. Viewing her attacker, it dawned on her that this figure was the infamous Reaper that she’s heard news stories about. She attempted to use vines to restrain him, however his wraith ability let him slip through the cracks. The timer on the bomb ticked down as she came up with a new strategy. Flowers began to grow from the ground beneath the hooded rival and their purple smog mixed with his black haze; poisoning him. Once he stabilized back into human form, he backed away as Fiona grew a thorny vine from her right wrist and whiplashed it against the foe, striking his face and cracking the mask. The figure dissolved into a smog and, with evil laughter, began to retreat; leaving Fiona with a massive bomb that only had seconds before detonation. She gritted her teeth and threw her hands to the ground, giving as much as she can to save her new life. Underneath the contraption, a branch began to uproot and heave upward. This branch grew wider and thicker before it branched out and grew into a full grown tree. This tree grew taller and taller, pushing the bomb as high as possible and, as it detonated, the tree’s branches wrapped around it to muffle the blow. Collapsing to the ground, exhausted, Fiona started to giggle. After years of torment and villainy, she turned it all around and saved the day… She can now proudly call herself a hero.

[benevolentgodloki]

‘OH SHIT’ + 'FIGHT!' (sweetrobinbryne)

Send me ‘OH SHIT’ for a starter where Loki is corrupted by All-Black

Send me ‘FIGHT!’ for a starter where Loki fights your muse

This was supposed to be a story of redemption, of a wayward god meeting a young and kind woman who helped him grow into something more. Throughout time there have been legends of weapons bestowing their powers upon a worthy soul: Arthur and Excalibur, Thor and Mjolnir. There was a weapon that should not belong to anyone.

The necrosword speared its way through the cosmos to choose its wielder, seeking the one with the most potential. It struck frozen earth on the mountainside, right in the path of the wandering man. He was gathering strength, taking in the air while he recovered from his initial injury. Still human, but there was the essence of something else out of reach. All-Black hungered for it.

I will give you what was taken from you. I can break your enchantment. Join me and claim what you are owed, prince of two kingdoms. There will be no one who can stop you. We will topple the arrogant gods. You shall not fear the ones who would hunt you.

It was a false courtesy. All-Black so easily got into the mortal mind and drew Loki’s hand to its hilt, bonding with him with brutal force. It ravaged the curse Odin had placed upon him, tapping the source of his seidr, mingling it with the raw symbiote power. It was the All-Black’s turn to be surprised. Young as Loki was, there was as yet unbridled power it could hardly conceive, waiting to come into fruition. He would have been hundreds of years from accessing it. Until now.

The dark cloud scored down the mountainside toward the little house. Anyone looking closely, so long as they weren’t crushed by the line of felled trees, might glimpse the terrible god flying at its centre on manifested wings. Great black tendrils slammed into the ground and burrowed beneath the foundations of the home, uprooting it in its entirety, lifting it high on many spires of twisted, hardened black.

From inside there was a tremendous barking as the least human of its two occupants expressed its anger and fear. Loki the Necrogod, the All-Butcher, blasted through the doorway. Since this wasn’t a mean story, and no one likes a story where bad things happen to dogs, Duncan was delicately caged within tough bars of symbiote material.

As for Robin, as soon as he locked eyes with her, Loki grinned and cast a purple bolt of energy, intending to immobilise her.

“I think that walk did me the world of good. Can’t say it will be good for the world.”

@sweetrobinbryne

[mohanmekap]

Today is 5th May, 2019 two days after onset of extremely severe cyclonic storm Fani touched the coast of Puri town of Odisha, India. Even after onset of two days there was no active governmental help and when I went to morning walk after two days I saw the vivacious destruction of nature at the hands of extremely severe cyclonic storm of Puri town.

It is unbelievable how my native place gone backwards at least 20 years as there is no train, no bus, no electricity, no water, no vehicles, no petrol, diesel and other essential utilities. All ATMs are shut off and there is no chance of activation within shortest span of time. There are surge of selling of candles, torches and the cost of these are on higher side.

In meantime it seems time were not running at all and all these are in the state of absolute stand still. In the meantime, I heard the flying sounds of helicopter and aeroplanes which signifies that aerial survey is there and it provides hopes at some point of time there were chances of aid from these sources.

The sounds of all of these flying machines up and above the sky tended to remind us how my native place Puri town gone into the state of absolute solitary and it seemed the people all around there were in the state of complete standstill. In the meantime cousin brother reached at home and he told that how his hotel faced su h devastations and how there were complete destruction to pent hourse and other glass and windows shells and the hoarding of his hotel shell flied anywhere around out there.

While walking during morning walk I saw the state of absolute difficulties faced by people and how most of their valuables are lost forever. Some people were talking about how Lord Jagannath moved His sword and removed everything at the ration of similarity from poor as well as from the rich.

6th May 2019, aftermath of three days of severe cyclonic storm Fani:

When I look around here and there it seemed I reached into an unknown territory and from the far and wide side eliminated and making entire root in the absolute case of difficulties. To day I got up from bed after 5 to 10 minutes of alarm. This means I felt the state of absolute difficulties due shortages of everything and this makes movement and even thought processes are corrupted with different thoughts.

I stopped alarm and got up from bed. During that day ours out of order tube well was still in the state of non-functional. So, i manged with bathing with one bucket. The force of cyclone Fani uprooted asbestos from wall at terrace and that is whtg even at half past five the power of heat of rays of sun is tremendous and it reached nearer to home for this.

Fr the first time I realise that even there is no electricity still I found that the presence of natural light courtesy sun provides exemplify lighting nearer to star cases as well as nearer o master bedroom.

The state of M.G.Park or Nalco Park three days after extremely severe cyclonic storm of Fani in Puri town:

I went to morning walk and move by the side of VIP road and reached nearer to Gandhi Park and I saw its entrance was blocked due to fall of a large tree. Side wall fell and it blocked half of foot path to the entrance of this park and inside Gandhi Park there were huge losses as the side trees of there fell and most of trees fell and entire waling foot path is not walkable three days after cyclone Fani.

At side of entrance there were tow room with asbestos for caretakers. Bothe the asbestos of these rooms flied to nowhere and leaving both rooms in the state of complete The trees bewilderness.The designer side small bushes which provided nice design while walking or jogging now sadly everything wiped out due to severe wind and storm of cyclone fani.

Most of trees which aimed to provide shades to save from scorching sun were uprooted and this made direct fall of sunshine, into joggers and this made walk more difficult for all of us. It felt sadness to all of us as we beloved entire park and wanted these losses to repaired at the earliest.

This times I found that at the right side wall of boundary completely broken which was nearer to sky light building. It felt extremely sad and sorrow to me but still I felt proud and wonderful while walking inside footpaths of M.G. Park. I found very few people were walking and most of them presented a sad and sorry figure as they were trying hard to recover from the state of abject situation caused by extreme ferocious severe cyclonic storm of Fani.

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Last Updated on May 28, 2019 by Bubu

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[gracedman]

The Universal Conflict

There is universal conflict that forms and displays itself in the events and personalities in the Bible and in the events and personalities of our modern-day society. It is like a Shakespearean play. The actors and actresses may change but play has the same storyline. We as human beings must pray and ask for wisdom as to how we are to fit into the cast and the story development. In the book of Jude, we find this conflict displayed and called out:

  Jude 4 (ESV)

For certain people have crept in unnoticed who long ago were designated for this condemnation, ungodly people, who pervert the grace of our God into sensuality and deny our only Master and Lord, Jesus Christ.

 Particular people slip in stealthily, i.e. they sneak in. It is hard for me to not sense the suggestion of a snake’s activity. Quietly, secretly, moving in to its prey. Their motives are not immediately evident to the naked eye. But God knows who they are, and he has a designation for them. God has a classification for them and an end for them. Our God from an eternal perspective has long ago designated them for condemnation and classified them ungodly people, even later described them in this way:

  Jude 10 (ESV)

But these people blaspheme all that they do not understand, and they are destroyed by all that they, like unreasoning animals, (or brute beasts) understand instinctively.  

  Jude 12–13 (ESV)

These are hidden reefs at your love feasts, as they feast with you without fear, shepherds feeding themselves; waterless clouds, swept along by winds; fruitless trees in late autumn, twice dead, uprooted; wild waves of the sea, casting up the foam of their own shame; wandering stars, for whom the gloom of utter darkness has been reserved forever.

 The universal conflict is between God and Satan. Satan once called the beautiful Lucifer, was created with wisdom and beauty beyond all other creatures. He led worship of all the angels. He apparently ruled over the earth and its creatures. Under the headship of God himself all things went well until he launched into self-will and self-promotion. Iniquity was found in his heart and conflict with God himself arose and flared. It eventually blossomed into these declarations of rebellion:

  Isaiah 14:12–14 (ESV)

“How you are fallen from heaven, O Day Star, son of Dawn! How you are cut down to the ground, you who laid the nations low! You said in your heart, ‘I will ascend to heaven; above the stars of God I will set my throne on high; I will sit on the mount of assembly in the far reaches of the north; I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High.’

 Satan fell from heaven and then proceeded to ruin the earth. And God responded by a recreation of the planet and the establishment of a new ruler on the earth, Adam and his helpmate. Then came the slithering, silent, and subtle snake to crash the new governors into the hands of Satan again. Through their fall all of mankind became Satan’s pawns and a new playground for his disastrous tactics. When God has moments of recovery within man, Satan slithers in to corrupt its development. And so, the conflict rages through the pages of the Old and New testaments. God and Satan battle for the hearts of men. Each has a desire to bring this race to their final place. One to heaven, the other to hell.

 When the Son of God upped the ante and entered the battlefield himself as a man, Satan’s tactics needed to change. But his purpose remained the same: to defeat, dethrone, and destroy God’s place in mankind and hold mankind and the earth captive for himself.

What would be Satan’s new tactic? Here our verse from Jude applies:

  Jude 4 (ESV)

For certain people have crept in unnoticed who long ago were designated for this condemnation, ungodly people, who pervert the grace of our God into sensuality and deny our only Master and Lord, Jesus Christ.

 Satan sends his agents to promote by action and doctrine the notion that grace rather than changing a person from their fallen condition into their new condition in Christ, is a covering for fleshly activity. This is what is meant by the statement: “who pervert the grace of our God into sensuality and deny our only Master and Lord, Jesus Christ.” So such a person changes the grace of God to suit their purposes and denies the rights of Jesus Christ to be Lord and master of their hearts and lives. They resist the efforts of the Holy Spirit to root out, pull down and remove sin from their lives. They talk about grace without honoring the specific purpose of Grace in their lives:

  Titus 2:12 (ESV)

(Grace is or should be) training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in the present age,

 So here is the arena of the universal conflict: What will the grace of God do and be in the lives of God’s people? Will it be perverted and changed into a cloak for sensuality and luscious living? Or will it train and discipline us to distance ourselves from that and live for God?

Lord Jesus, our prayer today is that grace would rule and reign in our hearts so that we would be more and more like you in this conflict that is raging in the present age. Help us to respond quickly to your conviction of our sin and move forward without guilt or shame. But help us to move on and into all that your grace desires to be in our lives. Amen!!!

[mr-tired-eyes]

*TRIGGER WARNING* sexual violence and trauma

I used to hold my breath when i cried.

It started at a young age when my parents’ family friend entered my room unannounced one evening.

His chronic lanky figure moved swiftly across the floor.

He knelt down to me with his face close to mine.

His Whiskey-filled breath stinging my eyes.

I felt a sinking sense of fear that has haunted me every night I go to sleep.

Tears melted down my face as his hands explored my adolescent body.

I let out a small whimper and his hand traveled to my mouth.

He said “hold your breath, dont cry,” as the pressure of his hand against my lips grew.

I held my breath and closed my eyes focusing on the deep blackness behind my eyelids until I fell asleep.

The deep seed this man planted in my mind festered into an invasive ivy, absorbing all the nutrients in its wake, including my lungs.

I remember the man’s tactics came in handy, when the tornado flew over our house in the year following.

All four of us siblings piled into the bathtub, teeth clattering in terror.

Our parents were abducted by a man who I had never met, I think they called him Jack Daniels.

Our house quaked as tears ran down my cheeks and I remembered a familiar voice telling me to “hold my breath”

the demon disguised as an angel got me through that night, only watering the deadly plant growing in the catacombs of my mind.

Years passed and situations resulting in me restricting life from passing my lips continued, slowly but surely killing my corrupt soul.

I began to feel secure in the deprivation,

It became a talent of mine.

When summer came I would practice by holding myself underwater.

My vision would go blurry and my continuousness faded until eventually my natural survival instincts would rush me to the surface... but it was never enough.

It is only now, years later, searching through the jungle of my being that I found the root of my dejection.

I realized that holding my breath also translated into keeping silence. If I stayed silent I could avoid further harm.

I am actively working on uprooting these cancerous thoughts, planting trees of hope where the once monstrous ivy of destitution lay.

I have learned to use my voice to nurse my lungs back to health and I can say that I can now breathe easily on my own.

I used to hold my breath when I cried, now I allow myself cry in triumph, I cry for the person that grew in silence, breaking the chain with a fiery explosion.

[stillevann]

Quran 5:33 – ‘The Punishment Of Those Who Wage War…’ Discover The Truth Quran 5:33- “The punishment of those who wage war against Allah and His messenger and strive to make mischief in the land is only this, that they should be murdered or crucified or their hands and their feet should be cut off on opposite sides or they should be imprisoned; this shall be as a disgrace for them in this world, and in the hereafter they shall have a grievous chastisement” How does the above verse encourage killing of innocents? Let’s Read the passage again, “…the punishment of those who WAGE WAR AGAINST ALLAH AND HIS MESSENGER AND STRIVE TO MAKE MISCHIEF IN THE LAND IS ONLY THIS.” – Qur’an 5:33 Although the punishment described in the verse might sound harsh to some, but the passage is only to those who spread mischief and were at war with Allah and His Messenger. Read also: ‘Quran 5:33 In Its Historical Context‘ The above verse was revealed concerning some people from UKIL who came to Madinah, ate some food and later in the day murdered and robbed an innocent shepherd, 1400 years ago. The criminals tortured and then literally butchered this innocent man to pieces. This verse in turn was revealed to deal with those who make mischief in the land. To read further on the criminals from UKIL (or Urayna), who murdered the innocent shepherd, read the following article here. Commentary Sayyid Abul Ala Maududi – Tafhim al-Qur’an – The Meaning of the Qur’an 55 Here “the land” refers to that country or territory in which the maintenance of law and order is the responsibility of the Muslim State and “to wage war against Allah and His Messenger” is to wage war against the righteous system of government established by the Islamic State. As Allah likes that such a system of government should be established, He sent His Messenger to establish an equitable system of government, which should guarantee peace and justice to human beings, animals, trees, vegetation and everything in the earth, which may enable human beings to develop to -the fullest their natural capabilities; which should exploit natural resources of the earth for the true progress and improvement of humanity and not for its destruction. It is obvious that any attempt, big or small, to undermine or overthrow such an established system, is in reality a war against Allah and His Messenger. It does not make any difference whether that mischief is created by criminals and murderers who cause disorder in the settled and peaceful society, or by armed forces who attempt to overthrow the Islamic State and establish some corrupt un-lslamic system instead. And every sovereign treats such a violation directed against his authority or against any of his officials as war against himself. [1] Muhammad Asad: 43 The term ‘apostle is evidently genric in this context. By ‘making war on God and His apostle’ is meant a hostile opposition to, and wilful disregard of, the ethical precepts ordained by God and explained by all His apostles, combined with the conscious endeavour to destroy or undermine other people’s belief in God as well. 44 In classical Arabic idiom, the ‘cutting off of one’s hands and feet’ is often synonymous with ‘destroying one’s power’, and it is possibly in this sense that the expression has been used here. Alternatively, it might denote ‘being mutilated’, both physically and metaphorically – similar to the (metonymical) use of the expression ‘being crucified’ in the sense of ‘being tortured’. The phrase min khilaf – usually rendered as ‘from opposite sides’ – is derived from the verb khalafahu, ‘he disagreed with him’, or ‘opposed him’ or ‘acted contrarily to him’: consequently, the primary meaning of min khilaf is ‘in result of contrariness’ or ‘of perverseness’. [2] Malik Ghulam Farid: 741. Islam does not hesitate to take extreme measures when the interests of the State or society at large so demand to uproot a dangerous evil. It refuses to pander to the false sentiments of emotional visionaries but follows the dictates of reason and sound judgement while prescribing punishment for public offences. The punishment prescribed here is of four categories, the form of the punishment to be inflicted in a particular case would depend upon the attending circumstances. Awarding or imposition of punishment is the concern of Government and not that of any individual. The words ‘expelled from the land’ according to Imam Abu Hanifah signify imprisonment. [3] Maulana Muhammad Ali: 33a. The words used here imply originally all those opponents Islam who waged war on the Muslims and made mischief in the land by CAUSING LOSS to the LIFE and property of innocent Muslims who fell into their hands. But it has generally been accepted as including all dacoits and murderers who cause disorder in a settled state of society. In fact, when war came to an end in Arabia and the Kingdom of Islam was established over the whole peninsula, the enemies of Islam, being unable to oppose its authority openly, resorted to dacoity and murder to disturb the peace which was now established in the land. Hence, though it is such enemies that are primarily spoken of here, the words are general and include all cases of murder and dacoity. The punishment described is of four kinds, which clearly shows that the punishment to be inflicted in any particular case would depend upon the circumstances of the case, as well as the time and place where the crime was committed. For instance, if murder has been committed in the course of dacoity, the punishment would include the execution of the culprit, which may take the form of crucifixion of the offence is so heinous or the culprit has caused such terror in the land that the leaving of his body on the cross is necessary as a deterrent. In other cases, the punishment may be imprisonment, where the severer punishment of cutting off of hands is deemed unnecessary. The judge would take all the circumstances into consideration and inflict such punishment as he thought necessary. A particular case dealt with under this verse was that of a tribe called ‘Urainah. Some men of this tribe came to the Prophet, and accepted Islam. They fell ill and were sent by the Prophet to a place at a little distance from Madinah for change of climate. But when they regained health, they killed the very people who had served them and went off with their camels. Then they committed dacoities and violated the chastity of women and they were severely punished… [4] References: [1] Sayyid Abul Ala Maududi – Tafhim al-Qur’an – The Meaning of the Qur’an – http://www.englishtafsir.com/Quran/5/index.html#sdfootnote54sym [2] The Message of The Quran translated and explained by Muhammad Asad [3] The Holy Qur’an Arabic Text With English Translation & Short Commentary By Malik Ghulam Farid Page 244 [4] The Holy Quran Arabic Text with English Translation, Commentary and comprehensive Introduction[Year 2002 Edition] by Maulana Muhammad Ali page 257