#I got DAGAN on first try! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jinmukangwrites · 1 year ago

Text

weep little lion man (10/14)

First - Previous - Next

Fandom: Jedi: Fallen Order / Survivor Rating: T Warnings: panic attacks, one or two gorey metaphor. Ao3 Notes: I apologize for missing last Thursday. I've had some irl things I had to focus on, and then then when I planned to upload on the weekend Iskall85 broke into my house and held me at gunpoint until I downloaded Minecraft Vault Hunters and played it. It was all against my will I swear. Anyways, welcome to the climax to the story, I hope it lives up to expectations >:3

Summary: After defeating Dagan Gera for a third and final time, the Compass ends up in Bode's hands without a scratch. He could go back to Jedha with Cal... but he's holding what he wants. He doesn't see the point in pretending any longer. He makes a split-second decision. Or: Bode's betrayal goes a bit differently.

-o0o-

Cal didn't need to ask why Bode didn't let Cal throw the muzzle himself; not that Cal wanted to of course—if he could go the rest of his life knowing that he'd never touch one of those humiliating things again, he'd die fulfilled. Regardless, he's sure even if he did ask to do the deed himself, Bode's fingers would have tightened and his posture gone stiff, a no quickly breathed out. There's been too many instances in Cal's life where people have purposely made sure he would not touch something that he's long since stopped being surprised, or offended, by it.

People know when an item is important to their emotions. It was the same when Cal was a youngling and the older Jedi would keep him away from various rooms, or when he was a Padawan aboard the Albedo Brave and troopers would hold things in the hand furthest from Cal, or after Cere first explained to Greez what psychometry was and Geez did a deep clean of the ship and stuffed several items into his quarters. He saw it when Merrin refused to let him touch her necklace for months. He saw it with the Partisans, with his old group, how personal belongings quickly got locked up somewhere Cal couldn't get into.

Bode knew he had memories attached to that muzzle, and he didn't want Cal seeing them. That was fine, Cal didn't want to see them either. Honestly, this close to escaping this planet, the last thing he needed was getting into the mind of his captor and experiencing what Bode was thinking and feeling while putting that blasted thing around Cal's jaw.

Cal doesn't need psychometry to sense Bode's overwhelming and barely disguised guilt. He doesn't want to know what can motivate a man to dehumanize someone he once called brother despite that guilt.

-o-o-o-o-

Bode's avoiding Cal like Cal's suddenly caught a new stand of the Blue Shadow Virus rather than have just gotten over a bad cold. Cal wakes up the next morning with every intention dialed in towards playing along until an opportunity to escape without being immediately missed presented itself; and he almost thought he'd have to do just that until Bode grumbled off a small list of chores and announced he was off to see if the poultry laid any eggs.

It's worrying that Bode's mood has soured so quickly while Cal was sick. If he's honest, Cal's not sure if he wants to know the cause of it or not.

Not that it matters, after about a half hour of waiting to see if Bode would suddenly come back (he doesn't), Cal decides it's about time he gets out of here. He shares a meaningful look with Kata, fighting the sudden bout of anxiety pooling acid in his stomach; shaking his hands.

"Go," she says, giving a small smile. "I'll be okay."

Cal desperately wishes he could take her with him, but that would be reckless and risky. It would already be disastrous if Bode catches him on the way to steal the Compass and the jet while alone; if he's caught taking Kata with him, he's pretty sure whatever goodwill Bode has squashed deep down would suddenly become irrelevant. If he leaves alone, Kata can lie—she can lie and say she didn't know Cal was trying to escape, and Bode would believe her. But if he takes her, he's pretty sure Bode would see that as Cal actively threatening or endangering his daughter, and capture would be replaced with murder if those day-one threats are to be believed.

Leaving Kata will also give him time. If Bode comes back and asks where he is, she can give a fake excuse until Bode gets suspicious around nightfall. Cal hasn't forgotten about Bode holding his family over his head; he's pretty sure communications off Tanalorr are still impossible and that Bode hasn't magically found a way to bypass that, but it's not a risk Cal can make. He needs to leave and find his family before Bode goes through with his threats of calling the Empire on them.

He doesn't know what he'd do if he escaped just to find Bode followed through; that the Empire had found his family and had possibly... no. That won't happen.

So he nods at her, mentally promising to do everything in his power and return for her when he has more backup and a better fighting chance against Bode. He won't leave her here, to become a prisoner of isolation and loneliness.

Before he leaves, he goes to the corridor containing the bedrooms. He doesn't enter his own room, nothing in there really belongs to him and all he needs are the clothes on his back and the lightsaber at his hip. He could probably go through Bode's room to try and find his blaster, but then he remembers that Bode gave it to him in the first place, and his gut twists a bit uncomfortably at that. Besides, going through Bode's room would mean possibly entering memories he didn't want to enter.

So, instead of either of those things, he goes to the end of the collapsed corridor and presses his bare fingers against rubble. He sees a single Jedi, her blue lightsaber blazing as she stands her ground, protecting her Padawan who had fled further into the temple; he was too young to fight in a battle like this—only thirteen and so shy and sensitive. She shouldn't have brought him here; but it was supposed to be safe from the Nihil. It was supposed to be impossible to visit unless you had a Compass. She fully supported Master Khri and Master Gerra into making this strange place a haven, a temple, a planet for Jedi, but no one could have seen those blasted Nihil coming with their blasted ships that traveled through hyperlanes in ways no one could understand.

The ground shuttered under her feet and the walls screamed through a crumbling roar. A Nihil anarchist ran towards her, screaming their meaningless selfish words beneath their monstrous mask, and she swirled her lightsaber, eager to clash. "We are all the Republic," she hissed through clenched teeth right when another explosion rippled through the temple, burying them both below merciless rubble.

Cal blinks, pulling his fingers away. He hopes that Padawan got away safely and didn't die horribly, trapped on the other side.

Cal doesn't like the similarities.

Gravel shuffles underfoot as he carefully follows the directions Kata had given him to the cave. He needs the Compass first, the jet was useless without it; and there's all the possibility Bode might spot Cal leaving with it. It's better to have the Compass first and foremost.

Eventually, he comes across the very cave Kata had described; carved into an unassuming cliff face and hidden behind tall purple bushes. Its mouth barely came up to Cal's chest, but the width was about as long as two Cal's laying foot-to-head. He pushes himself through the shrubbery, then crouches low to hobble inside. Natural light dimly illuminates the small cave, the structure itself scales significantly the second he's passed the initial lip. He's able to stand fully—though the width remains about the same—and there's a slight decline in the elevation. The depth of the cave doesn't go far at all, in fact it only takes several small steps to get to the far wall where a duffle lays innocently, abandoned and untouched.

He watches carefully for any sensors or alarms before he fully approaches the bag, heart slow but loud. He doesn't find anything, and the Force stays silent, nothing feels off or dangerous—not like the Force has warned him about Bode before. After a few moments of finding nothing, Cal bends down next to the duffle and digs his fingers into the zipper. It takes a breath to open the bag, but it's a breath soon stolen as the contents reveal themselves. He can't say he's surprised to find all those thrice-damned restraints looking back at him, but it still stuns him into falling still, doing nothing but forcing breath through his lungs and staring at the cuffs and coiled rope.

It takes him entirely too long to swallow what felt like a lump of poison. The cave walls seem to shift at the corners of his vision, and every joint becomes tense with an overwhelming urge to get out. He can feel the air pressing around him, becoming stale and thick, every instinct suddenly very instant for him to get to open air as quickly as possible before the walls collapse around him like that Jedi at the temple, or the horizon in his nightmares...

... or the tight compartment of Bode's ship.

Breathe.

He needs to get moving. He tries to shift away the various restraints to dig further into the bag, but his hands shake so much that nothing stays where he tries to put it. Frustrated with his own irrationally rising panic and fear, he rips his gloves off for more dexterity and grip; building up familiar mental walls to avoid falling into unwanted echoes. He can sense his own emotions raging through the restraints. Confusion, betrayal, claustrophobia, terror. He's never sensed an echo of himself before, he didn't really think those kinds of echoes were possible. He blocks the emotions from whiting out his vision and rewiring every nerve in his body; he doesn't want to test and see if he can fall into an echo of his past self, especially when he already knows exactly what he'd think and feel.

He'd like to stay in denial about his new relationship with tight spaces, thank you.

He tries not to think about it, just like how he quickly finds himself also trying not to think about how there's extra restraints in here that he doesn't recognize; particularly a collar and a handful of tranquilizers.

He finally reaches the bottom of the bag, his heart fluttering and his vision swirling. His eyes soon land on the familiar cylindrical shape of the Compass and his knees nearly collapse in relief. He reaches his hand down to grab the small device and get the kriff out of there, but his hand accidentally brushes against something small and metal.

And everything goes blindingly white.

Strings of his own consciousness have just enough time to feel terror at entering an echo of himself, just enough time to curse himself for letting the relief crack his mental walls, before vision returns and...

... and his hands aren't his own. His thoughts aren't his own. His emotions aren't his own.

This memory isn't his own.

He- Bode is standing above Cal's body. He's fueled by instinct. Impulse. Fear. Guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt-

Resolve.

Bode lifts a small communication device to his lips, almost robotically, his eyes never leaving Cal's prone body as he clicks the button that will link him through to his intended audience.

"This is a secure channel! How did you-"

-o-o-o-o-

Cal's thrown out of the vision violently at the end of it. He crumples to the ground like gravity has suddenly increased, chest heaving and the structure of his bones feeling all wrong. It's been ages since he's had such an exhausting vision, such a horrible vision that he immediately wishes he could unsee.

But he can't unsee it. He can't unhear it. The words pound through his skull over and over and over again.

"There are multiple Jedi at this location, inform the Inquisitorius at once. If Lord Vader wants Cere Junda, he'd better hurry."

Voices flood through his system; every easy lie Bode's told him, the sound of mechanical breathing and the deep eruption of a red saber, screams of his family, of his friends, of everyone and everything and the Force itself.

His own voice joins the screaming, the communication device easily snaps in his fingertips as he clenches his fists against the stone ground, sobbing and dry heaving until he throws the vile thing across the cave, bringing his hands to his hair and weeping.

He thought he knew betrayal before, but this? This feels like being pulled apart by the seams; flesh being torn from bone and nerves left bare to be flayed.

The screaming mercilessly continues, so loud and piercing he's surprised his ears aren't bleeding.

Emotions rage, realizations stabbing into him like vibroblades between each and every rib.

He called the Empire- no, he called the Inquisitorius. Darth Vader. He sent death incarnate itself to Jedha where Cere and Cordova are... where Greez, BD, and Merrin could have gone after Cal was taken. And he lied when Cal asked about their safety.

He screams again, throat painfully cracking as his brain works against him to show him images of corpses and blood on his hands. He can feel the thud of Master Tapals body sliding down to the floor; he can smell the heat of Trilla's lightsaber as he tries to slam his own down on top of her; Prauf slumping down to the rain soaked stone. He can see Gabs's face go slack and eyes unfocused. He can hear heavy, mechanical breathing cut down Trilla after she begs to be avenged. He can imagine all of this and more so easily, so unwillingly, so vividly, happening to Cere, Cordova, Greez, Merrin, BD-1, even everyone back at the saloon. It's like he's been forced back into a vision, and he's watching it all happen, red lightsabers leaving glowing yellow embers in the flesh they cut through, unable to do anything.

Clutching his skull, groaning, he stumbles to his feet as tears leak through the corners of his eyes and down the tip of his nose. The screaming isn't stopping—why isn't it stopping?!

The ground rolls under his feet, his brain stuttering like an old hyperdrive to try and figure out what his next move should be. Is it even worth grabbing the Compass anymore? Is it even worth leaving this planet?

"You keep losing people."

His mind shudders, cringing within itself as overwhelming grief, pain, hate, floods into his very soul.

"Hold the line."

He doesn't know what to do. Anguish clouds his every thought. He had refused to entertain the idea of Bode lying, and the new information has shocked him to his core, ripping away everything that makes him him and replacing it with a body that acts on instinct and heartsickness. His family is dead. He's stayed in one place for too long. He's trusted someone he shouldn't. He didn't hold the line. He's a disappointment as a Padawan and an even more worthless friend.

This is his fault.

His eyes harden as his body, as the screams, as his hatred know what to do next. The urges come naturally, and easily, and there's hardly anything left of him to try and fight them off.

He stumbles out of the cave, the light of the sun burning against the back of his neck can't compare to the rage in his heart as his hand goes to his hip and grabs the hilt of his saber.

An orange blade erupts, and the tears clear with an angry, vengeful blink.

"BODE!" He howls, his hand tightening against the blade with resolve to avenge his family and surrender to the screams urging him onwards.

He's going to kill Bode. He doesn't care what comes after.

#cal kestis #bode akuna #jedi fallen order #jedi survivor #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars jedi survivor #jin writes #fanfiction

16 notes · View notes

mrsfullbuster500 · 2 years ago

Text

Star Wars Jedi Fanfic Thoughts

Ok, so I’ve been playing and streaming Star Wars Jedi: Survivor over on my Twitch channel lately, and been really adoring it. I’ve already got outlines for the Reunited Sequel/Survivor Fanfic, better hurry up and write more of my Fallen Order fic at this rate.

Gonna put the rest of the post under a keep reading since I don’t think I can fully discuss this particular idea without spoiling what I’ve played through of the main story for Jedi Survivor so far, but also bear in mind I’ve not actually finished the main story yet. So yeah, beware some Survivor spoilers below.

But in any case, like the rest of the fandom, I have been absolutely obsessed with Dagan Gera. I cannot tell you how much I love that man, even just the idea itself of a fallen High Republic Jedi is super interesting to me.

Also, can we just address how dark it was for him, as a Jedi, to kill other Jedi before he’d even properly fallen to the darkside? Not a discovery I’d expected Cal to find about him.

I’ve been doing some thinking about Luna in regards to Dagan. I was thinking of making her a descendant of his, I’ve done some asking around and so far it seems the general consensus is that it’s not too far fetched for two related force users to sense the familial connection to each other through the force. So they’d probably just know by the time they physically meet for the first time when Cal and Luna free Dagan from the bacta tank.

I feel like it would create some interesting scenarios for her to deal with, and she’s just kinda caught in the middle between her found family in the Mantis crew and her flesh and blood ancestor. I definitely reckon that Dagan would initially try to sway her over to his side I’d also probably weave some threads in my Fallen Order fic leading up to the Survivor storyline.

What do you guys think? Do you guys like this idea? Because I’m seriously considering it, and the more I play of Survivor the more I want to go with it.

#star wars jedi #star wars jedi: survivor #Survivor #jedi survivor #fanfic ideas #star wars jedi fanfic #fanfic #fandom: fallen order #fandom: survivor #dagan gera #luna blackrose #spoilers

6 notes · View notes

dirthara-dalen · 2 years ago

Text

So i made my newest star wars (clone wars era onward) oc in swtor after having been inspired by certain things in Jedi survivor. His name is Zayne Carson which later becomes Zayne Starwing-Nar after marrying into my other main oc's family. i'm gonna put his info under a cut just in case someone doesn't have the jedi survivor tag blocked.

Zayne was born 218 years prior to the clone wars. He is half mirialan, a quarter human and a quarter sith. This has an impact on his appearance as he is born with one amber eye one slightly glowing yellow eye. He has slightly pointed ears that he got from his father, his skin is green like his mothers but has a slightly reddish undertone.

He was given to the Jedi as an infant and after passing the initiate trials he became the padawan of Oppa Rancisis. He was a prodigy in the force and saber combat which came natural to him as he was a descendant of Scourge and Kira Carson (I love the ship). After becoming a knight at only 16 he joined the Khobo research project. He became close friends with Santari Khri who then introduced him to Dagan Gera. Zayne considered Dagan a friend but never knew if he felt the same. He was also in a relationship with another teen his age. Lane Starwing, he had meet the teen when he ha join his father on Khobo for some work they were doing for the order.

After his first visit to Tanalorr, he became fascinated by the planet. However, when the Nhili attack he was more than willing to abandon the planet when his former master ordered and evacuation. He watched as Dagan slowly fell to the dark side over his obsession with the planet. He left Khobo to help deal with the Nhili and by the time he was 18, he had achieved the rank of master for his feats against the Nhili.

He returned to Khobo after hearing rumors that Dagan had lost his mind. What he wasn't expeting was to be redirected to the moon upon leaning Khri wished to speak to him. He learned that she held one of the last working compasses and was concerned Dagan was coming for it. She was right. Zayne intercepted Dagan to try and stop him resulting a duel between them. Zayne only lost because Dagan threatened to hunt down and kill Lane. AS a result he was impaled but that didn't kill him. Drawing on the dark side of the force he held on long enough for Khri to find him. Like Dagan he was brought to Khobo where he was placed in a bacta tank. However, despite recovering rather quickly he was forgotten about due to the emergence.

Believed dead the tuner that was specially made for his location was given to Lane. Lane lamented the loss of his lover whom he had planned to marry. Instead Lane married a fellow mirialan, the couple ended up having several children on of which would go on to be the ancestor of a one Lee Shan Starwing.

Lee would eventually locate the tuner and using psychometry learned about Zayne shortly before the clone wars fully began. As a result of this Lee went and freed Zayne who was not overly happy that he had been trapped for 200 years. Despite this Zayne was accepted back into the order but he found the new order a bit lack luster. Near the end of the second year of war Zayne entered a relationship with Lee's twin brother, Sio, and his husband, Zero Nar. He does survive order 66 claiming the clones are nothing compared to fighting the Nhili.

I'm still working on his role in Fallen Order + Survivor as he is involved with both events along side Lee.

#jedi survivor spoilers #swtor #the starwing legacy #Zayne starwing-nar

1 note · View note

kraviolis · 1 year ago

Text

im never gonna get over this game its just gonna fucking sit with me forever. im going to have bode akuna haunting me for the rest of my life just like cal is going to. ive never felt this... this kind of oneness and connection with the main character of a game with a set narrative before now. not until cal and i started begging for bode to just surrender at the same time.

im not even exaggerating when i say i felt like my heart got ripped out of my chest when i saw bode light that saber for the first time. i had even already been spoiled that bode was force sensitive and it still hit me like a goddamn train.

like just fucking look at these texts i was sending to my brother during my playthrough:

THE MOTHERFUCKER. GOT ME. EVEN THO I WAS SPOILED ABOUT HIM BEING FORCE SENSITIVE. EVEN THO IVE BEEN SUSPICIOUS OF HIM SINCE THE BEGINNING.

AND THE LAST ONE!! I HATE BEING FUCKING RIGHT ALL THE TIME

i was looking for layers to him that werent there. he wasnt an evil darksider trying to destroy the jedi like dagan. he was just a grieving widow looking for a place for his daughter far away from the empire that took his wife. thats all he was. and thats the worst fucking part.

he didnt feel scorned. he wasnt seeking power or acclaim. he wasnt cracking under the pressure of expectation. and as much as i agree that helping the path was the best thing they could do, bode was not being selfish for wanting to protect his daughter. he wasnt in the wrong for putting her well-being above the lives of total strangers.

all he wanted was to keep his daughter safe.

need this immortalized on here. its such a simple lullaby but it's so haunting and beautiful and painful.

#jedi survivor spoilers #sw #krav talks #its reminding me of “all we wanted to do was see our mom's smile again”#but they didnt use this as an excuse to hurt innocent people. they were nothing like shou tucker.

47 notes · View notes

yamayuandadu · 4 years ago

Text

Rider of Clouds

A a loose adaptation of the Ugaritic Baal cycle of myths, with some changes and the holes patched up with other myths and historical trivia. It will probably go on and on as some sort of silly “myth crossover” thing. Mount Saphon, the spiritual center of a large but poorly defined area spanning from the Mediterranean Sea to the Euphrates and the residence of many gods, needs a new king. While the former king of the gods, El, favors his distant relative Yam, this decision is not popular with the other deities and would be a disaster for their human followers; however, few dare to question El decisions in public. The exception is Baal, the heir(ess) of El's popular but not very ambitious rival Dagan, determined to take Mount Saphon to the bright future of the late bronze age.

Protagonists

Baal (Hebat) – the eponymous Rider of Clouds (a real title used in myths and cult texts), a young weather deity born to Dagan and Shalash (not pictured), semi-retired agricultural gods who settled in Tuttul on the Euphrates shortly before Baal's birth. Dagan hails from Mesopotamia proper, while Shalash is Hurrian. While the mythical Baal Hadad is male, my version is a woman – the idea started as a joke about conflating Baal from the Baal cycle with Baalat Gebal, a female figure associated with another levantine bronze age city (BG's actual identity is an object of much scholarly debate) being more valid than conflating him with much later Baal Hammon from Carthage (or rather with Roman hot takes about this deity), which happens a lot online, but I got attached to it o now here we are. She nonetheless uses a male title inherited from her father, much like a few historical female rulers did. In my version “Hadad” is only a title (or rather a me, eg. divine attribute), and her real name is actually Hebat. Irl Hebat was, among other things, the name of a goddess mentioned in one inscription as Dagan's daughter, and thus a featureles sister of Baal. As the levantine/syrian Hebat lacks a defined character in real mythology (”another” Hebat was regarded as the Hurrian storm god's wife but was at times replaced in this role by the more interesting sun goddess of Arinna and that's about it; I'm not going to use that one in my story) it should be fine to conflate her with Dagan's best attested divine child, I think? Baal is impulsive and follows a moral code which, depending on the point of view, might be either naive or heroic, which means she's not exactly the optimal person to get involved in n-dimensional divine politics (the ideal person to be the protagonist of an Ugaritic epic poem, as evidenced by history), but that's not enough to stop her from trying; the popularity with humans helps, too. The story documents her rise to the position of the head god of the pantheon residing on Mount Saphon, ruling over Ugarit and other surrounding areas.

Astarte (it should be Ashtart for maximal accuracy but everyone knows the later form of the name better so...) – a goddess of humble origin and no particularly well defined attributes, who attaches herself to Baal initially in hopes of advancing own career, though the two eventually develop a more genuine relationship. She patterns herself after the much more famous Mesopotamian Inanna, seeing her as an ideal to strive for. While Baal has the name recognition and disposition fitting for a major deity, Astarte is the part of the duo actually capable of navigating politics, and takes the title of Face of Baal, negotiating support for Baal's bid with other gods. The image of Baal she projects differs slightly from reality, though not enough for most onlookers to notice. Astarte is also a connoisseur of foreign clothing (as pictured above) and art.

Anat (art courtesy of my girlfriend who sadly isn’t on tumblr but who helped a lot with figuring out a lot about this story) – the younger daughter of the ruling couple of Mount Saphon. Her philosophy differs greatly from her parents' and as a result she isn't really seriously considered for succession. Her hobbies include bladed weapons, gambling and heroic epics; in the past she attempted writing her own self insert one. Her temperament means she was never considered for succession, which she doesn't particularly mind. She's deeply invested in Baal's ascendance, and is probably the god Astarte wants to recruit for their cause the most.

Gupan and Ugar – two minor gods who might be some of the only allies Baal recruited herself rather than with Astarte's help. They play a minor role in the story as her messengers and heralds (just like in the real myth!). They're also a couple. The cuneiform on their coats says “Baal.”

Kothar-wa-Khasis – a craftsman god who, by own admission, only works part time in Ugarit and travels the world for the rest of it. He's kind and dependable and his wares are both affordable and of great quality, but his real motives are hard to ascertain. His real identity is likewise a subject of much speculation among other gods – while his preferred manner of clothing hints at an egyptian origin, nothing is known for sure. His true name is that of the god Ptah of Memphis; he spends most time outside it and incognito because he thinks smaller pantheons on the periphery of Egypt's influence offer more artistic freedom. He speaks in a very poetic pointlessly complex way (basically... imitating the style of ancient poem translations). While an architect first and foremost he a reneissance man - architect, sculptor, engineer, armorer, musician. He isn't very fond of Yam due to the latter's lack of aptitude for art and cost cutting suggestions.

There are actually two gods hiding behind the title “Kothar-wa-Khasis,” with the second one hailing from Caphtor (Crete) from where Kothar arrives when commissioned to build Baal's palace in the real myth. She's shy and refuses to reveal her real name and hides behind the title “Mistress of the Labyrinth” and the labrys symbol. Her arrival is generally a sign of the duo taking a project particularly seriously.

Shapash – El's firstborn daughter, serving as “the torch of the gods”, a royal herald and solar deity. She also handles her parents' “foreign policy” on their behalf, which in practice means figuring out how to placate neighbors whose decisions aren't guided by the need to avoid angering various reviled figures.

Antagonists

Yam (right) – a sea monster more than a god, presiding over the nearby section of the sea and all that dwells in it, including the commercially significant sea slugs. He's also the son of the formerly influential Anatolian god Kumarbi, banished to the underworld by the current head god Teshub due to his many past misdeeds. As a result of his father's past influence over the world (and current influence over the ruling couple), Yam gained El's support and received many titles, which de facto makes him the most likely to succeed El as the king of local pantheon. He's capricious and inconsiderate, but maintains a larger than life public image meant to make him palatable to potential backers. The exact circumstances of his arrival in Ugarit are shrouded in mystery, and may or may not be responsible for his unusually strong hatred of Baal. Mot (left) – profoundly unpleasant and unsociable being kept around by Anat's parents for unclear reasons. He resides in the great offering pit in the abandoned city of Urkesh, formerly the center of Kumarbi's sphere of influence, reduced to a ghost town. While his equivalents in neighboring areas generally view themselves as impartial or as a necessary evil, Mot gets his kicks from posing as a personification of death itself, and is notoriously corrupt. El and Athirat – the ruling couple of Mount Saphon and parents of Anat and Shapash, currently pondering retirement, which stirs many contenders to the throne into action. El is a lifelong opportunist changing views and allegiances as he sees fit, though he pretty consistently favors his distant relative Yam as his main underling ever since the latter arrived in the area.

El was originally Amurru, a courtier of the sky god Anu, overthrown by the nefarious Kumarbi. For unclear reasons Kumarbi made Amurru his vassal and bestowed the name Elkunirsa, or El for short, upon him.

Athirat is largely responsible for El maintaining his title for so long, and is a much craftier politician than he is. She comes from an influential dynasty of sea gods, but lacks dominion over the sea herself.

She and Yam are related, as seen here.

Abduyam – an attempt at developing an obscure figure from the original myth, Yam's nameless and seemingly rather rude and infuriating messenger, into a full blown character. The theophoric name he uses (there are real theophoric names invoking Yam, surprisingly) is just a pseudonym, and his real identity is a mystery. He interned under a variety of famous mythical villains in order to gain a greater understanding of their ways, and currently serves as Yam's messenger, adviser, doorkeeper and punching bag.

Ashtar – a feeble opportunist who sides with Yam, hoping to receive a share in the gains he's making thanks to El's blessings. He's pretty content with playing the role of a toady though his aspirations might be different, as Baal and Astarte suspect due to his love of gaudy imported textiles. Megalomania doesn't necessarily equal malevolence, though. He also loves sea slugs.

Foreign dignitaries

(ignore the ?, it’s just Baal) Marduk (right) – the tutelary deity of Babylon, a prominent and internationally renowned god. While technically the area encompassing Mount Saphon, where the events of the story take place, isn't directly under the control of the Babylonian pantheon, as one of the oldest in the world and the source of the writing it nonetheless has a tremendous impact on smaller neighbors. Formally Marduk is merely a representative of his father Enki and the assembly of the gods in Nippur, but as the old gods are not very mobile, he's the de facto acting head of the pantheon in foreign relations. He doesn't have a unified mythical narrative about himself yet at this point in time, despite his position, which is a source of insecurity for him. During travels, he's assisted by his personal aide and biographer, Nabu (not pictured), and his pet mushussu, Tishpak. Seth (left) – in real life, ancient Egyptians equated many gods of their neighbors with Seth; therefore in Rider of Clouds Seth serves as an ambassador of the Egyptian pantheon, usually residing in Gebal near Mount Saphon – a city whose gods (and human rulers) take pride in trying to be more Egyptian than the Egyptians themselves, and regard Seth as their spiritual liege (under the title “Lord of Lebanon”). While ultimately Marduk's judgment matters the most, Seth gets the right to veto his decisions when it comes to validating claims to local thrones. On good terms with Kothar-wa-Khasis, which is a subject of much gossip among other gods. Teshub (center) – the head of the Hurrian pantheon, technically capable of projecting the most power in Mount Saphon politics due to the Hurrian influence on huge number of other local pantheons, including that of the Hittites, thanks to his marriage to the Hittite sun goddess of Arinna; however, as the local gods for the most part share closer affinity with Mesopotamia than Hatti, he competes with Marduk for political influence. As he and Baal are a very similar type of god, he's the most outspoken supporter of Baal's ascension to the throne out of all 3 foreign dignitaries. El’s support for his nemesis is probably a factor, too.

Kubaba – the head goddess of Carchemish; much like the king of Carchemish served as a Hittite viceroy taking care of affairs of the vassals irl, she acts as Teshub's ambassador in the southeast, mediating between the Anatolian and Syrian gods. She hopes that Baal's rise will normalize foreign relations to the benefit of her human followers – El's erratic behavior and sympathy for a number of widely detested figures made that rather difficult. While she's not much older than Baal, she poses as an ancient deity and dresses like someone twice her age. She also seeks opportunities to insert herself into suitably ancient narratives. In another time and place she'll be known as Cybele, and eventually as the Roman Magna Mater, but this is not the story about it.

Plot-relevant but not present in the story physically

Inanna – the celebrity superstar of every pantheon from Hatti to Elam. After being elevated to one of the foremost positions among the gods she started a profitable franchising business, offering help with setting up own cult system and the right to use the title of “Ishtar” and the eight pointed star emblem in exchange for a share in potential profit and a spot in the franchisee' home pantheon. As her fame is unique even among the greatest of the gods, this isn't that bad of a deal. Other benefits of the franchising program include free tickets to the annual Ishtar meetup in Uruk and a 24/7 tech support line ran by her sukkal Ninshubur. Asides from Astarte, prominent members of the franchising program include the Hurrian Shaushka, the Elamite Pinikir, and the night goddess of Kizzuwatna.

Kumarbi: an agricultural god of the Hurrians who seized the kingship of their pantheon violently before being overthrown himself by Teshub and his allies. Now he resides in the underworld and plots, aided by a network of allies – some opportunistic, some stupid, some simply malevolent. His will is usually carried out by an unspecified number of identical fate goddesses, possible to differentiate only by the numerals on their veils. At the core he and Baal's father Dagan are very similar gods in function, but not in temperament.

#Rider of Clouds

22 notes · View notes

facelessxchurch · 5 years ago

Note

I’d love to hear what you think life would have been like for Mev when he was younger apprenticing under the unnamed

Uff, this is a hard one bc phase 2,especially Bedlam, fucked up all my headcanons.

Short Answer: Watch the movie ‘Krabat’, or betteryet, read the book bc the movie is trash. But essentially that is how I imagineMev’s apprenticeship was lmao. Well, kinda.

Way too long answer:

Previouslythe timeline was: Mev grows up in the Faceless Church as an orphan. He serves under Arthur Dagan's grandfather as a blacksmithapprentice, until the Unnamed discovers his potential and takes him in as his solestudent.

The Unnamed is the head of the Faceless Church and chose Mev not onlyfor his magical potential but also for his devotion to their dark Gods. He wastraining Mev to be his successor

Since the Unnamed is the head of the church, Mev has his room in thechurch along with the other orphans but ends up having to share it with Nefafter he finds him guardianless and takes him with him to the church and istold “you dragged in another mouth to feed, YOU take care of him”.

Seeing how obedient and devoted to Mev Nef is, the Unnamed tells Mevthat him finding Nef is no coincidence and that he is a gift from their darkGods and to take good care of him/not be too cruel to him and break him.

In his youth, Mev was arrogant and reckless and showing off his ever-growingpowers to Nef almost got Nef killed. Mev also had a bad temper and the Unnamedtaught him to be modest and to control himself and his emotions bc if he can’teven control himself he won’t be able to properly control his powers either.

At the end of his apprenticeship the Unnamed and Mev leave for 5 years topilgrimage to different locations important to their religion (like the Facelesstombs) to continue training Mev by those places of power and potent magic.Mev returns from the pilgrimage without the Unnamed and declares himselfthe new leader of the Faceless Church and starts traveling the world along withNef to recruit more mages to their cause.

(( TimelineAges: Looking up apprentice agesduring the time period I’ve got differing results. Blacksmith apprenticesstarting at age 7/8, while Workhouse apprenticeships lasted from age 10 to 18,but the Pariser Apprentices act of 1698 changed the allowed age to 7, and anarticle about Victorian era apprenticeships says they lasted from age 14 to 18. Tho bcmages live longer I could see them starting and ending later, althoughthat would also still depend on their social standing and what they arelearning. So I would say Mev would start his blacksmith apprenticeship betweenage 8-10 thanks to having a low social standing as orphan and blacksmith beinga working class job. And starting his apprenticeship with the Unnamed at age 14which even for an elevated apprenticeship of that kind is a little late but istolerated bc of his great potential. And he finds a 12 year old Nef with age15. Between age 18 and 20 Mev goes onthe pilgrimage with his master and returns 5 years later about age 23-25. Meanwhile Nefis done with his own apprenticeship at age 18. ))

But Phase 2 ruined this headcanon almostcompletely.

First of all, the Unnamed didn’t want to have the Faceless Ones returnthus he was not the head of the Faceless Church. That also means the Unnamedwould not have taken a fanatic worshipper as a student, unless he believed himparading as a descendant of a Faceless One would make the fanatic worship himinstead. So Mev could have pretended to adore and worship him, tricking theUnnamed into training him and helping him meet important people and to network,just to kill him and his family off once they had outlived their usefulness.

And since it’s stated that the Unnamed had multiple students and Mev wasthe most gifted and trusted one it seems he had multiple students at once, instead of one after another. And since he had a daughter, he wasn’t traininghis students to be his successor (Krabat style) but instead it’s more likely hewas training his own elite; powerful soldiers that are loyal to him and hisfamily alone.

Since I think the Unnamed took Mev with him to his castle after having taken him from Arthur Dagan's grandfather’s servitude, I still have to figure out howNef fits in there. Maybe have Mev take him in at an younger age and since itseems no pilgrimage ever happened, have the time they were separated be whenMev was being the Unnamend’s student. Mev would seek Nef out once the time tokill the Unnamed drew closer to plot against him along with his loyal littlepet.

Since the Unnamed had multiple students at once, I could see most of thembeing friends, while Mev is faking friendliness but truly is highly competitive andambitious, growing insanely resentful and hateful should one of the otherstudents be better at something than he is and train obsessively until he canbest the other. And also growing jealous whenever the Unnamed should giveanother student more attention than he’s giving Mev. In order for his plan tosucceed he has to be the favoured student, the most trusted and praised.

I could see Mev using his charm to get theother students to trust him, so he can pick them off one by one, before facinghis master, instead of having to face the Unnamed and all his other students, whostill remained loyal to him, all at once. Perhaps he even gave them the choiceto either join him or die, but perhaps he didn’t even try since he knew theywere too blindlessly loyal to the Unnamed to ever truly betray him.

I love the idea of Nef being another one of the Unnamed,s students,but one that betrayed him and followed Mev instead, but I think it’s unlikelybc Nef doesn’t seem to be on an high enough power-level that the Unnamed would have chosen himas a student.

Ultimately his students dying one by one tipped the Unnamed off and hefigured out who was behind it and attacked Mev. Mev had to flee the castle andlater on returned with his own loyal followers, that all believed the Unnamed tobe blasphamers and traiters to their own kin, keen to kill him and his familyoff and instead bring back full-blooded Faceless Ones.

#skulduggery pleasant #Mevolent #the Unnamed #the Unnamed sp #headcanon #my stuff #RIP mobile users for having to scroll through this #long post #Anonymous #answered

9 notes · View notes

superectojazzmage · 2 years ago

Text

Yeah the kyber bleeding and a lot of the way kyber is depicted in Disney stuff in general is shit compared to the original lore and I don’t know why they keep doubling down on it because as far I can tell literally nobody likes it. Bleeding especially is just dumb as shit and partly seems like a really lame attempt to shear away any potential nuance or depth or grayness in the Jedi/Sith conflict (“no morally ambiguous or non-villainous Sith ever!!! they’re all so EEEEEEEVILLL that each and every one abuses their saber crystals like big meanies!!!!”), not to mention imposing weird limitations on something that doesn’t really need it. Survivor especially highlights how dumb the concept is with Dagan, how it’s like they’re saying the color red is in and of itself evil and corrupt. It’s a really unnecessary and counterintuitive change in general.

Inquisitor lightsabers feel like one of those things that sounded good on the drawing board, but didn’t really work out like they wanted it to, but instead of getting rid of or reworking it, they just doubled down hard on trying to make it “happen”. That can be said for a lot of the Disney lore changes tbh.

I think the crossguard sabers COULD be made to work if some more thought and creativity was put into how they would function in lightsaber combat, like maybe having the crossguards be made of cortosis or beskar or something; with the former you could fuck up your opponent by using the crossguards to forcibly deactivate their saber midswing, the latter you could use the crossguards to block attacks or as a weapon, there are probably other ideas, I don’t know I’m just throwing these out there. But TFA did it in the stupidest-looking and most impractical way imaginable and subsequent stories keep aping that look for sake of synergy instead of using the more sensible/cooler variants of it that have cropped up in some stories, concept arts, and fanworks.

Tracking fobs are, again, one of those things that probably sounded better on the drawing board or made it into the final product without anybody pointing out how it didn’t make sense. Probably the latter, because it was an extremely minor detail in Mandalorian season one and basically amounted to an extremely minor plot device to get Din to Grogu so they could get the main plot started right away. Just one of those stupid little things where someone threw in something that sounded “cool and sci-fi” instead of more simple, non-universe-breaking like having the client know where target is but needing a hunter to do the legwork.

Most of the High Republic stories have actually been pretty good or at least enjoyable and in absolute fairness to Disney, that whole era of history was one of the major eras that Legends never got around to filling in beyond some vague summaries. The dumbass “lost era of technology” thing is the only major flaw with it because, as you said, why the fuck is it talked about that way when there are sitting members of the Jedi Council who lived in that time, and not just the long-lived ones like Yoda.

That being said, they might actually be planning to address that exact point as part of the plot; a big part of the story of the High Republic stuff is that the Nihil — the bad guys of that time — are massively fucking galactic society up through their campaign of terrorism that’s boosted by a type of hyperspace magic only they know how to use plus some ancient, Pre-Ruusan weapons and monsters they’ve gotten ahold of. The first major arc ends with the Nihil all but cutting the Republic off from the entire Outer Rim and forcing the Chancellor to enact major restrictions on hyperlanes that lead to economic chaos across the galaxy because of how dangerous their hyperspace magic is, with it all being implied that this conflict is partly responsible for the decaying state of the Republic by the Prequels. So, yeah, they MIGHT be actually addressing that complaint. Or maybe they just didn’t think it through/didn’t care. Either or.

Star Wars: Jedi Survivor Stuff

This is not the review. Yet. It’s coming.

Someone was nice enough to buy me Jedi Survivor and I was able to get it to run on my computer. I’m going to do a review of it, but there’s a number of things in the game that I’m not a fan of that doesn’t actually impact the game at all.

Most of these are spoilers, so I’ll be putting a spoiler down below. Mostly these are things that I dislike being introduced/retconned into Star Wars from Disney. Mostly, this is an excuse for me to bring these up now because they won’t be in my actual review. My dislike for the lore changes doesn’t hurt the game at all.

Spoilers below:

Keep reading

17 notes · View notes

orienteddreamerrr · 6 days ago

Text

Okay continued playing Jedi Survivor this past Saturday (finally! Took some convincing wit my mom…not sure why she’s against this...) … and lemme tell you…nothing has changed! Lol

I went through the first fight with Dagan (where I left off)…of course I had the difficulty on Jedi Grandmaster…and I’m trying to fight this man…(this game had an update recently so everything got enhanced)…I had drawn out this fight though for ONE reason…for his little dialogues…and here’s what happened…he “chuckles” only once as I’m “reacting” to his attacks (I’m being giddy about this so I think he knew already!)…he goes on complaining how I’m no “match” for him and how I’m not “strong in the Force”…and I’m like…”Okay he’s not that aggressive during this round he just complains!”…And I remember doing this on the first game with boss battles…I would try to run and run around them to see if they run after me…but for Dagan, since he is weakened during this first round…HE JUST FRACKING STANDS THERE AND WATCHES ME, AND DOES NOTHING!!! AND TRAILS AROUND…SOMETIMES SPEED-WALKING HIS WAY OVER TO ME! LMAO AHHHHHHH!!! He’s like:

Literally like Feyd! And get this…I went from 12 stems to 4 or 5 of them…I know what you’ll say but I just wanted to draw this out and experience this again…after so long…heehee! He ALMOST got me though at one point too I’m like “NO SIR! NO SIRRR!”. Anyways, I managed to save some screenshots (so far…there will be more hopefully)…saving them from the ps5 onto a USB…and connected said USB to my laptop…I had wanted digital copies of these so here yah go:

#star wars #star wars jedi survivor #cal kestis #dagan gera #YAS HIS SCRAPPER OUTFIT!#BUT THEN I CHANGED IT TO THE WHITE COAT CUZ IT'S COLD #my screenshots #ps5 screenshots #lol sorry there were no other examples #I took too long finding one

6 notes · View notes

elaianna · 6 years ago

Text

The Hangman’s Noose - Part Two

The Company dismounted from their steeds and elbowed, shoved and pushed their way through the crowds. All except for the Admiral.The decision to push through the crowd kept the Company from running through and trampling citizens, causing casualities, but it wasn't without effect as the Rear Admiral took the lead, barging into the crowd, attempting to wade through with a shoulder here and a shove there all while yelling. "CEASE AND DESIST AT ONCE BY ORDER OF THE LORD ADMIRAL!"

A shaky breath left Elaianna's lips as she heard the cease and desist order. She'd live another day.

Dagan pulls on the harness of her hippogryph, forcing him to stop in his tracks, upon him standing in place, the Mercenary looks over to Elaianna, her frail figure, the rope around her neck. "My dear friend, what have your people done to you?" spoken barely above a whisper.

Thomas still did not drop from his saddle. Despite the clamor and the crowd, his steed was faithful. A well bred animal, it did not balk at the noise nor danger of violence. A steady -- and high -- vantage from which to aim from. His hand rest on the stock of his rifle, tendons in the wrist flexing in preparation.

Yet the words stirred protest within the crowd. The people begun to riot every which way. To make matters worse, seeing that situation just went from tense to a possible death toll, the Executioner feigned not hearing the Rear Admiral and hit the lever.

Elaianna looked to Thomas, seeing him sitting up above. This wasn't a hallucination. Relief painted her features. For a moment, she looked elated. "Thom--!" His name was cut short, as down she went, a strangled gulping sound leaving her as the air left her throat. It didn't snap. She was left swinging on the hangman's noose, choking for air with her hands bound behind her back, preventing her from attempting to loosen up the noose or hold herself aloft.

The sudden departure of his wife from solid ground gave flight to Thomas' hand. Even as she was falling, he was raising his rifle to sight in for the bundle of cordage that knotted the line of rope to her neck. Better to risk sending shrapnel and wood down from above than to take a chance at severing the single noose. Yet while his steed was a well bred sort, and not prone to startling, it was still pushed and the rider jostled, causing his aim to miss it's mark. Indeed, shrapnel and wood rained from above as the bullet hit the gallows, rather than the knotted cord.

As she fell, Karthe folded his hands behind his back to try and subtly manipulate the arcane, preparing to Arcane Blast the beam holding up the ropes. He didn't need to shove through the entirety of the crowd when he could cast magic.

As he did so, three men, Joseph, Dhargul and Daniel, came barreling through the crowds, pushing past to where Elaianna gasped and fought for air.

Daniel ran through like greased owl poop, shoving people aside as gently as possible as he moves through. Not listening to protest, attempts to stop him only meeting the shield he wielded, he finally reached Anna. Dropping his shield immediately, the Captain grabbed Elaianna by the feet, lifting her up, so that she can stand on his hands.

Joe let out a bellowing roar as he charged through the crowd, plowing through and shoving everyone aside, knocking folks down left and right without feeling sorry for once! His only focus was to stop that rope from choking her. He helped lift her up in what looked like a hug.

Elaianna was able to gasp for a breath of air as Daniel got ahold of her legs and held her up. She swayed and leaned to one side, but was able to get at least that gulp of precious air before she was struggling-- then Joe joined and held her upright. With the support of both men, she was no longer swaying so heavily to and fro like a helpless rag-doll.

Meanwhile, Dhargul had made his way through the crowd, stopping before the two men holding her up. He had his weapons brandished, offering protection to Elaianna and those that held her aloft, eyeing those that came close.

As the beam above head broke at Karthe's well placed spell, slackening the rope that held Elaianna, she crumpled down against the group holding her. She was passed out. A body could only take so much strangulation.

Dhargul wrinkled his nose as he heard the rustling behind him. "I'll beat up a path fer ye if I have to lad, just give tha word."

As Karthe's spell hits the beam, Danny, luckily, caught her, pulling her into his arms, to carry her like an infant. Anyone trying to hurt the Lady would have to get through the tall, muscled man's defenses.

Dagan, seeing that Elaianna dropped into the waiting men's arms, pushed through the crowd as Warpson did, bursting on through the other side to see a crowd surrounding to where the Lady dropped.

Despite a rough entrance, Marius was soon able to maneuver the dense crowd with practiced ease. As he made his way to the center, a small glass vial was sipped from his belt and casually dropped to the stones where it shattered. He had also lifted an old, gold scarf over his face before doing so. Every aggressor within range of the alchemical fog that emerged from the vial would start to feel... A little woozy but far more passive. However those without strong constitution might just find themselves asleep.

The passing glance of his shot left Thomas' gut curled against itself. But -- by the grace of the Company's good efforts, his wife was relieved from her hanging at the noose. Past his lips a silent prayer of thanks spilled as Captain Conaroy and Mr. Brandstone took her weight -- even Karthe's efforts entered his prayer, despite his feelings on the Graybush. By all manner, it seemed as if Marius' endeavours had worked as well. Rationale over bloodshed -- it almost felt like a first.

As members of the crowd begin to lose interest thanks to the rising mist of that alchemical potion, it gave the Rear Admiral a chance to break through and bark his orders once more whilst reaching down to yank the bell from the poor shell-shocked boy’s hands! As with all Kul Tirans the sound of a bell gradually caught the attentions of everyone. “I SAID CEASE AND DESIST! BY ORDER THE THE LORD ADMIRAL, I AM ORDERING THIS CROWD TO DISPERSE! ALL CRIMES LEVIED AGAINST THE WOMAN, ELAIANNA NESBITT-STALSWORTH ARE HEREBY REMANDED…" He continued on as more of the crowd begrudgingly calmed to listen. ”Furthermore, those responsible for her unlawful and neglectful incarceration will be taken into custody and put to trial for their crimes against a noble woman. Should any here attempt to stop the removal of her presence here, my men and our associates are hereby ordered to shoot at will. AM I UNDERSTOOD!?”

Dagan and Marius converged towards Elaianna, seeing her limp form carried by Daniel, who's main goal was to get the Lady to her husband. Who knew when the crowd would turn volatile again? "Were we too late?" Dagan asked. "Is she conscious?" asked Marius. The questions caused Joseph to frown. He truly didn't know if she was alive or dead. He didn't know if she had made it, or if she was gone.

Thomas bucked his stirrups into the haunches of his mount, ushering the beast to rake hooves through the air and thunder forward. By the clamor of the Rear Admiral's bell and Marius' handiwork, few stood in Thomas' path as he brought himself to the gallows platform. An expression of restrained relief wracked his face as he cast a glance to the unconscious form of his wife -- but he turned to address the crowd from atop his horse. "Men! Women! Lads and girls! We are not your enemy, and neither is the Duchy! A ship is guided by starlight, and you've been led astray under a fog -- will be put right soon, so heed th'words of the Admiralty an' harbour in your homes until things are settled!"

As the Admiral spoke, Captain Daniel carried Elaianna up to him, still cradling her like an infant. " 'ere ya go, lad." Not really one for conversation, he lifted her towards her husband as he finished addressing what was left of the crowd. At the urging of Conaroy, Thomas leaned down in his saddle. With his rifle falling to rest inside its scabbard, he used both arms to carefully lift his wife into his arms. There was a moment wherein he clearly had expected more weight -- surely he had lifted her before. But now, she was slighter -- smaller -- weaker. A throbbing vein amongst his forehead came to life, and stowed it's blood in his jaw.

Elaianna's head lolled to the side as she was hoisted up. The sudden change in her upright position caused her to cough, startling herself to be awake. Through half-lidded eyes she looked upwards, seeing her husband. "...Am I dead..?" her voice asked in a whisper, a hoarse rasp of what her voice often was.

There was a lacking of attention from Thomas to any but his wife. He cradled her against his chest. The gentle clatter of chainmail reminded him of how far apart they still were. No matter, his lips lightened at her voice and he shook his head, "Ain't so yet, gal. I got ya'." After his words, he blew a soft air across her face. Well -- not quite air, but a curling of pale mist. Minor, momentary, but invigorating.

Thanks to the Company, her family, and friends, she would be safe now.

@atc-wra @thomasstalsworth @calling-gull @brandstonethings @adventures-and-artifacts @marius-blackwood @eidrich-crone @gloryofsteel @themercenarycorner @karthe-surick

A huge OOC thank you to Sabine and Eidrich who were major storytellers for this entire story arch. What started out as something meant to be a small personal plot evolved with more and more people, both in and outside of the guild, wishing to become involved and help. It took a lot of work on their ends to make this something they could do so with. Thank you!

A huge thank you to my guild for also not killing me, even though you came pretty close. There was one point where it was a very real possibility.

#Anchor Trading Co #Anchor Trading Company #WRA #IC #Canon #RP #The Lady and the Sailor #Stormhollow

39 notes · View notes

jinmukangwrites · 1 year ago

Text

weep little lion man (8/14)

First - Previous - Next

Fandom: Jedi: Fallen Order / Survivor Rating: T Warnings: implied rape/noncon (NOT INVOLVING CAL OR BODE, IT'S A VAGUE FORCE ECHO MENTION), illness, fever dreams, mentions of blood and death. Ao3 Notes: I promise this chapter isn't as heavy as it sounds. This is actually one of my favorite chapters I've written too, so I hope y'all enjoy :>

~~~°~~~

One of the advantages of being a psychometric is that Cal learnt, from a very young age, how to tell reality from unreality.

Master Tapal used to sit him down for hours and lecture him through various exercises; as rare as psychometry is, it wasn't unheard of for psychometrics to lose grasp on reality after particularly harrowing visions, sometimes going as far to forget who they are in the real world. Cal's heard horror stories of a psychometric centuries ago who was so convinced her own life was an echo of someone else to where she eventually tried to end it.

Cal desperately wished he had brought gloves with him for this mission, but Tapal had instructed him to try and refuse echoes, practice sensing vague details of the memories before touching them. He couldn't run from them forever. He had to learn to control through the Force what is shown to him, and what he ignores. He was still getting used to it, but luckily most of the echoes were small, or they weren't anything he hadn't experienced before.

Granted, Cal's had rough experiences with echoes even with the exercises. Master Tapal had done his best to keep his young Padawan away from echoes that could include death, but there are plenty of things more traumatizing and painful than death.

Cal knows this, he's experienced them.

There was one time he and his master had been called to assist on a resistance effort on some Outer Mid-Rim planet a bit too close to Hutt Space for anyone's comfort. Cal hadn't been sent to help at the front lines with his Master, but instead had been stationed to help care for the refugees. There, Cal helped plenty of people, breathing through every single memory that the brushes off their clothes, their rings, their water flasks, had tried to shove into his mind. A bandana from a man who has sobbed into it after his son died stillborn. A scuffed shoe from a woman who used to dance before her theater was destroyed by a thermal detonator.

At some point, a woman had caught Cal's attention by desperately looking for a small earring, he had nothing better to do as most of the clones had the medical stuff and the handing out supply stuff handled, so he helped her.

He found it, and the second his fingers closed around the earring his mind got ripped away, replaced by the thoughts, emotions, memories of an escaped slave. She wasn't free in this echo, however. She clutched the earring in one hand, the one her lover had given her before she was taken, as she was violated, tears streaming down her face.

The memory wasn't long, but it was violent and strong. He'd fallen to the floor during it, his knees hitting the stone hard enough to bruise the next day. Cable, a clone that had been stationed in the 13th Battalion for as long as Cal's been there, recognized the signs immediately. Cal had always suspected Master Tapal had assigned various troopers with the task of paying attention to Cal when he couldn't. When Master Tapal wasn't there, Cable always was.

He ripped the earring out of Cal's hands and returned it to the woman, gently calming her down when she assumed she had done something wrong. Then, he returned to Cal, picked him up by the arms—Cable never had memories attached to his gauntlets, they were always new, another piece of proof that Tapal had troopers specifically assigned to handle Cal, careful to the point not even their armor could distress him more. Cal knew that other troopers often teased Cable for being a shiney, despite being older than many of them—and he dragged Cal over to the corner of the supply tent and talked him through exercises to return to himself.

It wasn't as bad, mentally, as it could have been. Cal knew his name. He knew the year. He knew where he was. But even after getting his breathing under control, he could feel the hands on him. On her. The weeks following, Cal flinched at the slightest touch, then finally broke down sobbing the second Master Tapal gently initiated an intervention when the flinching got in the way of training.

There were other bad echoes. Ones of victims beat to an inch of their lives. Ones of children abused by parents. Ones of small unwanted animals tied into a bag and thrown into a river.

His nightmares had always been overflowing with horrific memories that were never really his, and after the Purge, it had only gotten worse. He couldn't avoid echoes of death, not when half the ships he scrapped had death soaked into every wall and his gloves had holes, or the tools he worked with needed dexterity his gloves wouldn't allow. One time, Prauf had to call his name five times before he responded, because Cal was dissociating, thinking his name was Sev and that he was supposed to be dead.

Master Tapal had always encouraged him to seek out happy echoes, strong echoes didn't necessarily mean only pain and suffering. Sometimes it meant love, happiness, peace.

There wasn't any of that on Bracca. Besides Prauf.

The echo he got from Cere's hallikset was probably the first genuinely peaceful echo he'd sensed in the five years after the Purge. He was so caught up in Cere's peace, her love for the instrument, that after he sensed the tune, he couldn't help but sit down and hold it like she would, strum it like she would, only blinking back to his own mind and his own body when Cere herself arrived, it took a heartbeat to dismiss the unease of being someone, and then seeing that real someone show up.

All in all, Cal's not perfect at it, but he's used to telling memories and reality apart. The past from the present. He's used to reminding himself who he is and where he was whenever his mind stubbornly tries to convince him otherwise.

There's one thing he'd never gotten the hang of, however. It's the nightmares. Telling things apart is so much easier when you're awake, but asleep it's near impossible. Sometimes, he'll wake up screaming; clarity always comes quickly but it doesn't stop how reality becomes indistinguishable when asleep. He often dreams of being someone else, or he'll dream of his Master's death, memories assaulting him the moment he's unconscious enough to not be able to tell himself they're not really happening to him.

Cal's standing on an open expanse of wet, smooth stone. Rain pours down, and he pulls his poncho hood up to cover his ears. There's nothing but horizon around him, and thunderstorm clouds to fence him in. The air reeks of electrified ozone, he feels like he's breathing soup.

"Cal," a voice calls from behind, and Cal startles. It's Bode's voice, which relieves him slightly. If anyone's in here with him, he's glad it's a friend.

He turns, but Bode isn't there.

"You're too late," A monster says instead. Large, completely covered in black, mechanical breathing louder than the pounding rain. Darth Vader's lightsaber erupts, replacing the puddles of rain in the stone with the blood of its light. "You've failed."

Cal barely has time to think about anything before his throat is grabbed through the sickening pressure of the Dark Side. He chokes, body moving forward against his will, the tips of his boots scraping through the puddles of blood, each ripple sending a distant death scream straight to his brain. He claws at his neck, desperately trying to breathe, but Darth Vader doesn't relent. He just keeps dragging Cal towards him, his lightsaber raised lazily, Cal's torso heading right towards it.

It slides easily through him, right below his ribcage, out his back. He chokes for an entirely different reason, Vader doesn't even hold his throat anymore. He can feel his blood boiling within him, the charred remains of his stomach muscles spasming, the reek of his own burning flesh filling his nostrils.

"Cal," Bode says.

Cal coughs copper, eyes wide, Vader breathing with perfect time. He can see over Vader's shoulder, his toes still barely on the ground, his body held up more by the blade than by anything else, like a bug pinned by a single needle. What he sees makes him scream. He's freezing, hacking blood, suffocating, but nothing compares to seeing Gabs, Bravo, the Twins, everyone at Ramblers Reach, Cere, Greez BD, Merrin... Prauf, Master Tapal, hundreds upon hundreds of bodies slaughtered like wild animals, like killing them wasn't a second thought.

"Cal, please," Bode continues.

Cal's shivering. He's dying. Every single body behind Vader's back is dead because of him and he knows it.

"Where were you?" Merrin groans, eyes dead, smoke rising from the hole in her chest. "Where were you?"

Darth Vader laughs, squeezing the Force around Cal's body once again. The thunder rolls, the clouds warping and approaching like Darth Vader himself is summoning them closer. The pressure is suffocating, the sounds of his friends asking him why to the tune of distant screams makes his head spin. He coughs, and coughs again, he's tangled within the power of the Dark Side, his limbs not responding like how he desperately wishes they world.

The clouds come closer, they're pressing in on him, and panic stings him like Bane Back Spider acid.

"Cal!"

The walls are closing in. He can't move. He can't breathe. His hands shake so hard, but there's nothing to grab onto but the seams of Darth Vader's armor.

Trapped. He's trapped. Trapped trapped trapped let him go, he needs to move, he can't breathe he can't breathe he can't-

"Cal wake up!"

He gasps, lungs sucking air greedily as his eyes fly open. But they're trapped in Bode's hands at the wrists, he struggles faintly, curling forward, gagging on the build-up of congestion at the back of his flaming throat. He coughs, then coughs again, whining through the agony that tears through his lungs with each hack. Bode holds him through the fit, saying something, but Cal can hardly focus on anything besides the embers that must have replaced the air, the shivers wracking his own body, the pressure in his ears.

Eventually, the fit fades, and he comes back to himself.

He's Cal. It's ten years after the Purge. He's on Tanalorr. The taste of blood is actually the taste of phlegm, the pain in his ribs isn't from a lightsaber, but from bacterial infection, his shivers are from the fever, the pressure keeping him trapped isn't from the Force or from closing in walls, but from the blankets tangled around his limbs, Bode's hands holding his wrists, he can feel blood trickle down his neck down onto his collarbone. He must have been clawing at his own neck.

He didn't even know he fell asleep.

More and more energy abandons him with every realization. The fit fades. Soon, he's sagging back, weakly tugging his arms out from Bode's hold, and thankfully he lets go. "It was just a dream," Bode says, the second Cal's returns to laying on his back, arm going up to lay across his eyes.

-o-o-o-o-

Bode swallows thickly, watching Cal as he recovers from whatever nightmare had him clawing at his own neck. He'll have to get some bacta on the cuts, he doesn't know what's under Cal's fingernails.

"How long," Cal croaks.

Bode sighs, standing up from where he'd been sitting at the edge of Cal's bed. Cal removes his arm from his eyes, wearily watching him as he bends down and grabs the damp cloth Cal had thrown off his head during his thrashing.

"About twelve hours. Your fevers only gotten worse."

"Oh."

"Whatever you have, it's moved further than a cold."

Cal snorts, then coughs.

Bode frowns. "It's not something to joke about. If we don't get your fever down..."

"I'm fine," Cal says, as if his voice didn't sound like he's replaced his vocal chords with gravel.

"You're shivering."

"I don't," he cuts off to cough, groaning, "need your opinion."

"Opinion? Cal-"

Bode stops before he can even begin the sentence as Cal turns onto his side, face away from Bode, eyes set firmly on the wall.

Frowning, Bode drops the rag into a nearby pail of water. “Look, I know you’re sick, you’re angry with me, and it seems like you just had a pretty hefty nightmare—I need you to work with me just this once. We can’t let your fever get worse.”

“Or what?” Cal asks, not turning away from the wall. Spirits, his voice sounds like volcanic ash. “You’ll lock me in here?”

This petty son of a gundark.

“You’re really going to hold a grudge right now?”

“Grudge? That’s what we’re calling it?”

Breathe in, Bode. Breathe out.

He opens his mouth to argue further, but Cal’s entire body shudders with another coughing fit, knees curling to his chest and mouth pressed into the crook of his elbows. The fit eventually passes, but Cal’s eyes are unfocused and exhausted after. He shivers.

“Just…” Bode says, when it’s clear Cal isn’t going to say anything further, “just drink some water. And keep this rag on you.”

He wrings out the rag then tosses it at Cal’s prone form, knowing Cal’s probably feeling like a cornered animal right now; restrained to his own sick body. He doesn’t want to provoke him further than what that nightmare probably did.

Cal grabs the rag, Bode doesn’t note how his hands shake.

“I’m going to try and find some rations that’ll not be too hard on your stomach, and some bacta; tell me if you start feeling worse.”

Cal grunts, but doesn’t reply any further. Bode sighs, then quickly exits the room. He needs that fever to cool down. If it doesn’t, he might be forced to leave Tanalorr to get some fever reducers. It’s not something he’d like to risk; not with Denvak probably having caught on to him. He’d have to go out of his way to a trading post a few systems out.

He’d risk it though. If it was the only thing that would make Cal better. If that fever doesn’t break by nightfall, or it gets worse, he’ll do it. He’ll make sure Cal gets better, then he’ll find out what he was doing in the forest the whole day despite knowing he was sick.

When he shuts the door behind him, he notices the soul of Kata’s shoe disappear into her room. She’s been no doubt listening in. He sighs, his stomach aching. He’s asked for this. He’s asked for Cal’s hatred; for Kata’s potential rebellion.

He just wishes it didn’t… feel so much like regret.

It would have been so much easier if he hadn’t been so stupid as to call the Inquisitorious on Jedha. He’d been working on high emotions, guilt and terror and adrenaline. If he had kept a cool head, he would have just taken Cal and left his family out of it. Then, once it became clear as it is now that Cal will find ways to destroy himself with or without the Empire, then the thought of letting Cal go back to Koboh wouldn’t seem so impossible. The decision would still be painful, but at least then, Cal wouldn’t find that his freedom came with a price.

He enters Kata’s room before going to find the food and bacta. She’s sitting on her bed, playing with her doll, pointedly not looking at him. He sits down next to her, exhaling into his hands.

“Is Cal okay?” Kata asks after a moment.

Bode squeezes his eyes, then opens them to look at her. “He’s still sick,” he answers. “I need you to do something for me.”

Her eyes light up, she sets her doll down and stares intently back at him.

“Cal’s still angry with me, I don’t think he’ll let me help him much. Maybe, he’ll let you.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together. “What do I need to do?”

“Make sure he’s drinking water. Eating. Replace the rag with new water whenever it gets too dry. Things like that.”

She considers for a moment, then bites her lip. “So you won’t apologize?”

Bode clenches his jaw for a moment. “Kata… not now, okay?”

She looks down to her doll, the bride of her nose wrinkling. “I’m sorry.”

How has everything gone so downhill in just a matter of days? He deflates, feeling exhausted to his core. “It’s alright, baby girl. How about you go keep Cal company while I get some food?”

She nods and stands up, looking entirely too eager to leave the room. Before she leaves, however, she turns towards him, fingers twisting the arm of her doll. “What happens if Cal doesn’t get better?”

Bode feels bone-deep exhaustion as he answers. “I’ll have to leave and get medicine. I’d like to avoid that if we can.”

She nods. “Okay.”

And then she patters out, leaving Bode in an empty room with his whirlwind, traitorous thoughts of shame.

-o-o-o-o-

Cal stares at the ceiling. It’s been ages since he’s been this sick, though luckily it hasn’t been ages since he’s last had a nightmare like that. Sleep always brings the death of his friends.

He needs to get off this planet. Who knows what the Empire is doing while he’s trapped here. How long will it be before they hurt more people that he loves, and he’s stuck on the other side of an abyss with no way to help? To stop it?

And then he just had to get himself sick. And contrary to Bode’s belief, he didn’t purposely make himself more sick. He’d gotten lost in thought; in emotion. He’s long since lost the ability to control his own emotions and let them pass through him like proper Jedi’s did. He doesn’t know how to healthily let the fear, the anger, the betrayal, the humiliation, just… not affect him. Whatever control he’s supposed to have shattered like everything else the second the escape pod crashed onto Bracca. He had to find other ways to control himself. Movement became his main source of output. On Bracca, he moved his fingers with the scrapper tools, blasting music so loud his thoughts were nothing but the music shouted in a language he didn’t understand. After Greez and Cere rescued him, he didn’t have his music much more, but he had BD-1 to chat his ears off. He had planets to explore. Zeffo culture to find. A mission. A purpose.

It’s easy to forget about how shattered your soul is, how aimless your existence is, when you had a purpose.

He wishes he didn’t get sick like this. It wasn’t supposed to go like this; he was supposed to play along and act happy, but his body decided to be miserable and he can barely control his mouth around Bode while feeling awful like this.

The ship. He found the ship.

He can find the compass too.

He grudgingly takes a small sip of water, ignoring the agony that slathers over his esophagus on the way down. He needs to get better, then he can go back to pretending, and he can find the compass and rid himself of this purposelessness.

The door creaks open, and he looks over with a barely contained glare only to freeze at the sight of not Bode, but Kata.

She slides into the room, shutting the door behind her, then looks him dead in the eyes.

“You can’t get better,” she says, “not today.”

#cal kestis #bode akuna #jedi fallen order #jedi survivor #star wars jedi survivor #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars #jin writes #fanfiction

11 notes · View notes

themercenarycorner-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Not everything.

“The beaches of Lor'danel are gorgeous, it was among one of the first I remember seeing after crashing on this world. Still to this day, I still think it to be beautiful, it’s lushes life, how ever, perhaps a bit dull in color, still, there was nothing else like it, it was unique, that’s what I like about it, the animals were content, healthy and so was the land. The Kaldorei took such good care of it.” - Dagan, recounting the tales of her adventures during the Pandaria Campaign to fellow Pandaren Tavern goers. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Indeed the beaches were beautiful. Now they were stained with the blood of both the pushed back Kaldorei and the pressing Horde, fire illuminated the sand from the trees not to far behind in this amber glow. Nothing warm about it, the heat felt intense, rage filled, if only there was only one and that it can be snuffed out. No, there were many, so many of them, slowly consuming the once perfect yet fractured image of Darkshore, more importantly, Lor’danel. With forces of the Night Elves were kicked off their own beaches, they had to retreat to the World Tree, as any other assisting forces did, Mages that were able to quickly portal to Kalimdor from the Eastern Kingdom to assist, Druids that flew off in their winged forms, Warriors and Hunters were ushered into boats to evac them to the tree so they can help. Among these passengers, was Dagan, palm of her hand pressed against that infamous skulled helmet she owned, holding her head to keep it from smacking the wooden boat, this... defeat was heavy, perhaps they can protect Teldrassil from the portal before entering the city, hold off some sort of choke point in which they can fully control, it sounds like a solid plan to hold the Horde at bay as they try to evac more civilians. Perhaps this will work and this is what will put the battle at a true stalemate.

Upon arriving at the shores of Rut’theran Village, those who weren’t blessed with the powers of teleportation and flight who storm the land, trying to set up, by no means a ambush, their front here would be far too predictable, they were going to set up a strong hold, of sorts that is, something to pick them off while they travel the water to get to this Village, in other words, they had the High Ground. Either loading extra bows into their quills, oiling their swords or checking ammunition from a rifle, they were prepping to be at one hundred percent when the Horde got here, or well, as one hundred percent a defeated fighting force can me.

Taking aim at the distant Horde controlled shore on the other side, those who were at the bottom waited with baited breathe. Only then would they realize what they have done was not only a waste of time but a mistake. Raining from Lor’danel’s beaches were balls of that same consuming hate, smacking against the very trunk of Darnassus, by the Light, they were going to burn it to the core.

“QUICKLY! GET TO THE CIVILIANS!” One of the Sentinel shouted, as many would rush for the portal that took them from the bottom to the very tip top of it all. Even in this small time frame, those catapults were raining hail of fire upon the tree, smoke threatened to erupt from the very ground, peaking through the mossy grounds of the ever benevolent Teldrassil. No one could have predicted such a tactics, quickly those Adventurers and Sentinels rush through the city, quickly trying to usher and warn the inhabitants of the danger for staying any longer than now, more and more the smoke darkened and funneled through the ground but from the exterior of their great tree as well, the leaves turned to cinder and ash was starting to rain from above, by the Light, by Elune, what horror.

Dagan bolts through the city, quickly pointing over to the Temple of Elune, surely that is where they would congregate, with their Goddess, with their Priests, with standing walls stone and solid material oppose to the other buildings made of wood and very much flammable material. Rushing through the each opened bed room inn and merchant stand, her voice demanded the unknowing Kaldorei to move, to run, to seek shelter from the ash and fire, the Temple was so much better than the rest of the tree, they must go or else they risk it all.

Those who were warned would run for the Temple as if the Legion was wiping them off the face of the earth again, wails of cries and pain echo through the city, there were only so many civilians to be found and saved. Her hooves aggressively skirt across the walk ways, trying to find someone to save, wild screeching catches her ears, turning to face the source of this scarred sound, Dagan finds the stables of Hippogryphs, they were there once for their own protection and sort of home but now acted as their coffins, she had to save them too, before the black smoke thickened to much, making haste, the draenei starts throwing the wooden bars aside that kept these majestic beasts pinned, ushering them off. “No! Not everything will burn!” She shouts as if arguing with Fate itself, anyone within the tree can hear them screech and cry out of sheer terror, they were just animals, they didn’t know what was going on, who was setting fire to the tree, bucking in place before bolting out of the pens, they set sail into the air, those who didn’t were eagerly pushed by Dagan, encouraging them to take flight and to ignore the panic. “You must go!” This demanding shout devolves into a pained wail. “Show the Kaldorei that not everything burned this day!”

With that, the last Hippogryphs would set sail into the air, flapping it’s ashen covered wings through the air, breaking through the thicken layer of smoke before it was to late, they set sail into the amber lit sky, they will someday show those who have suffered this day that something else survived the consuming hateful flames.

With slumped exhausted shoulder, the fire started to consume the vicinity, throwing it into a smoky black and red atmosphere, the fire was coming, Dagan had to evacuate herself as well before it was too late, just as many other adventurers' have done, tearfully, she passes through the portal to Stormwind.

3 notes · View notes

seuzz · 4 years ago

Text

Story: “The Prophet of Dagon”

Some excavate in order to study the past. Others excavate to unleash it!

"Gentlemen, our guest of honor!"

The president of the Royal Archeological Society with a beaming but perspiring face raised his glass to the man seated on the dais to his right. I rose with the rest, and with a smattering of applause and a few hoarse hear hears we of the Society (to our own sullen amazement) also lifted our glasses to toast the health of Baxter Carswell.

He was a small man with dark hair and pinched features, and even when he smiled—and I suppose he was trying to smile as we cheered him—his face tended to curl into something between a grimace and a scowl. He acknowledged our applause with a quick wave of his palm, then hunched in his seat.

"Perseverance— Perseverance and scrupulosity," continued our president, "are two of the virtues without which no archeologist can hope to succeed. Without them—"

And so he was launched.

Professor William Stapleton was a man of some twenty stone, and when appearing in evening dress his critics had been known to unkindly compare him to a timpani drum. And like a timpani, he had a tendency to boom, as he now boomed his remarks at our gathered Society. They were his usual. Diligence, caution, skepticism, humility ... The archeologist's virtues, as he had reminded us many times.

They were also, signally, virtues that Baxter Carswell lacked. Twice, Stapleton himself had venomously attacked the man in the pages of the Society's Proceedings, mocking his outlandish claims and his "swinish and disgusting" theories. How galling, then—and not one of us present, I'm sure, wasn't thinking it—for our president to now have to acknowledge and honor Carswell's momentous discoveries on Crete.

"Thank you, Mr. President," I heard a voice say, and I retrieved my attention from the foggy distraction into which I had fallen. "I know how hateful tonight's ceremony must be for you, and so I am immensely gratified to be attending it."

It was Carswell speaking. He had risen to his feet, and it struck me what a little man he was. Not only morally—an audible murmur of disapprobation was rippling through the assembled members—but physically. Even standing, the crown of his head barely o'er-topped that of our seated president. Unpleasant, too, was his accent, for he spoke through his nose in a kind of quack.

"—the magnitude," he was saying, "nay, without conceit I assert, the epochal profundity of the revolution that will attend the resurrection of that city we have gathered tonight to mark—"

"I say, he's really laying it on, isn't he?" murmured my neighbor, a man named Wilditch, into my ear. "Well, the man has a right to preen, I suppose."

Indeed. There was not only the extraordinary find itself—the one that had forced the Society to recognize Carswell and the truth of his theories—but the extraordinary circumstances that had confirmed them.

It is every archeologist's dream, I suppose, to find a "lost civilization." Few would dare conjecture them, however, and none save Carswell would have so brazenly asserted the existence of a drowned city off the coast of Crete—the lost outpost, he insisted, of an antediluvian culture wiped from the Earth ere the founding of Atlantis. Under its cyclopean walls and within the tentacular labyrinths of its temples and palaces, he had written, prospered things more like unto gods than men. Or unto demons, he had cryptically added in a footnote, if one's morality is of the conventionally cramped sort.

No, these were not the sort of cautious and conservative conjectures Stapleton liked to commend. But then, Carswell was an amateur, a man known to "dabble in the dregs of metaphysics and moonshine," as Stapleton had described him in one of his (less vituperative) passages.

Carswell was describing the city now, I noted as I again began to attend his remarks. It was hard to concentrate on him. It was not only his accents and manners that were odious. His very claims were repugnant.

He was, of course, entitled to describe for us the ruined city that had lunged so spectacularly to the surface of the Aegean—exactly where he had claimed it existed—as the result of a violent undersea tremor. And if one forgave the pugnacity of the image, one might even applaud his descriptions of its "sturdy bones still dressed in the glistening, oozing muds of the deep." But—

Come, come, I thought with some irritation. You still have not established that it was Dagon they worshipped. And even if you mean it as a poetic turn of phrase, it is meretricious to credit the earthquake to the agency of some god or other.

"Even now," Carswell was wheezing as the choler in our president's face deepened, "my men are obliviously scooping away the slime and silt of centuries from out the avenue that leads to the pythonic temple of dread Dagon, before whose idol—whose immensity still fails but to impotently gesture at the awful exaltation of the deity it represents—but before which, as I was saying, the frenzied divines of his cult performed such mighty oblations as caused the very stars to wobble. Even now," he piped as he flushed, and his glittering eye roved the room, "yea, even as we speak, the very lineaments of eternity are bending into alignments monstrous, to parallel that roadway out of Deepest Time, and down them like ladders shall descend—!"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Carswell," interrupted the president. He stood and politely clapped some three or four times, nodding at the assembly to join in. (We didn't.) "We shall be delighted to hear all about it when—"

"The Earth's very foundations shall shatter! The continents shall reel!"

"Yes, yes, the earthquake. Certainly," murmured Stapleton as he laid a great hand on his guest-of-honor's shoulder and shoved him back down into his seat, "we should all of us pray for such happy accidents as that which helped confirm your—"

"Accident!" shrieked Carswell, and even at a remove I could see the whites of his rolling eyes. "Was it by 'accident' that I drenched the Altar of Meleck-Taos in gore, to slake the long-parched gullet of Dagon's Herald?"

The Altar of Meleck-Taos? I thought I knew the name. I turned to my neighbor Wilditch, to confirm that that was the identification given by Carswell to some immense sarcophagus or other he had found buried twenty feet beneath the foundations of the palace at Knossos.

He forestalled me with a question and frown of his own. "Gore?" he asked. "Wasn't there some ghastly business back there on Crete, nearly got him kicked off the island? Some local girl gone missing?"

The murmur of the company had risen, but even over it I could hear snatches from Carswell. "By bribery, the keys to this hall!" — "Sigils written in invisible blood!" — "Tentacles and beaks and the baleful eye of Dagan Takala!" — "The wall behind this dais!" Spittle showed on his lips as two burly waiters, at a signal from Stapleton, seized him by the arms.

"Yes, spare me a day, a week, a month!" he laughed as he was dragged away. "You are but the first! Gladly did I seek to mingle with you tonight, that I might delight at the whistling music your bones will make after the marrow is sucked from out them by the gale-force hurricanes that shall envelope your blaspheming company! But to the maddened squeals of humanity's writhing mass shall I yet dance and cut myself before the—!"

Twisting like a thing of coiled wires, he was carried bodily from the banqueting hall.

"I must apologize to you all," said our president as he patted his forehead with a white handkerchief, "for the, er, regrettable behavior just shown by our distinguished guest." He said the words with undisguised contempt. "Even a madman may have lucid intervals," he went on, "but I think we can all congratulate our fortune in being able to remove the madman whilst retaining, for our own delectation, the antique remnants he—"

He got no further, and few had attended him even that far before he broke off as those of us seated before the dais began to stand and gasp and point at the wall behind him, in which there had opened what to all appearances was a swirling vortex of smoke and mist.

That in itself was unaccountably strange. But I could not help but believe I comprehended within it certain uncanny shapes. Was that not a black and baleful eye glittering from out its center? Where those not beaks that orbited, darting and biting as they dipped in and out from between the vortex's whirling arms, which were themselves like tentacles tipped with cruel pincers?

I had but a moment to take the nightmare in before the lights of the hall blinked out, and a roaring gale lifted and sucked me into it.

Prompt: Use "gale-force," "dread," "pincers," "swirling," and "toast" in the story.

#story #weird #horror

0 notes