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aquadestinyswriting · 11 months ago

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When Forever Comes Songfic

Summary: You know what? Since I've been giving some thought to the way the early parts of the Selene/Edwin relationship is going to unfold, I might as well post the songfic I did for this song on my playlist for The Wizard's Tale. I haven't written a songfic for nearly 14 years, so this doesn't live up to my usual standards. However, I am way past caring now. Green text is for the parts Edwin is "singing", purple is Selene. I've also modified the lyrics a little to make the song for this fic make sense.

Words: 1,189

Warnings: some spoilers for To Heal a Broken Soul and Confessions of a Troubled Heart. There's nothing graphic in here, just fluff and a little angst.

tags: @druidx, @sparrow-orion-writes, @warriorbookworm, @mariahwritesstuff, @writeblrsupport, @ashirisu, @thesorcerersapprentice, @blind-the-winds, @philosophika, @the-down-upside-finch

The flowers gold Will softly sway To reunite the lost And lead us on our way

Edwin frowned as he tried to figure out what on Titan Selene meant by Daffodil Field, at least until Chrackle started squawking ‘Yastie’ at him over and over. Thanking the bird, the cleric cast his Scry and waited for his old friend to pick up on the other end.

The glow of soul Will light my face The river's current Flows inside each act of grace

The light of the Cure spell lit up the cleric’s face as he cast. He smiled as the gash on the little boy’s leg healed over. Selene waited in the doorway until he was done, the young boy hugging the new Abouna gratefully before dashing off with a happy wave.

Walk the garden breathe the scent of life Take this moment just to feel Comfort in my tiny paradise A place for lonely hearts to heal

Edwin had just finished tending to the back half of the Garden of Galana and was walking around to the front to work on the rosebushes by the front doors, when he noticed a shock of auburn hair out of the corner of his eye. Startled, the cleric looked over to the oak tree in the corner only to find the Grand Magus sat underneath it, her nose stuck in a book of some kind and totally oblivious to the world around her.

And when forever comes to be Will you remain inside? A little light of empathy To keep us unified Let me inside

“I know you’ve never been one to talk about personal matters with other people, Sel.” he said, “But this is getting completely out of hand.” The wizard shook her head,

“I can’t… not right now anyway.” she replied, her voice tight, “Look, just drop it. Please.” Edwin noticed the tension in his old friend and relented. Heaving a sigh he rubbed at his forehead,

“Alright, fine.” he agreed with a grumble, “But you need to talk to me sooner rather than later. You can’t keep carrying the weight of… whatever this is by yourself.”

The warmest smile A waiting hand A friend to free my heart And help me understand

Selene glared up at the laughing man above her. Edwin shook his head, a warm smile on his face as he extended his hand and helped the wizard up,

“Sorry, but...your face.” he giggled. Selene’s glare lifted as she too started laughing as she stood,

“Yeah, well don’t expect me to save your sorry behind if you end up in the same situation, mister cleric.” she retorted.

Through life and loss Through thick and thin You help all others Face the pain they hold within

“How do you even do it?” Edwin looked up, a confused frown on his face as he looked up at Selene,

“Do what?” he asked. Selene gestured to the door where the grieving family had left a little earlier. Edwin shrugged,

“To be honest, I never really thought about it.” he admitted, “It’s just something I’ve always done.”

Eyes of greed are ever watching me Lonely rooms and broken time Plots and plans to pluck the petals free To drain them of their golden shine

~I can’t get him involved in this Chrackle. It’s bad enough Schreiber has it in for me, I don’t want him getting rid of the only other one of us left!~

~You honestly think Schreiber doesn’t know he was with you guys? His statue is in the plaza outside along with yours.~

~That’s not the point. Edwin isn’t on the Council so Reginald has no real reason to feel threatened by him.~

~You really think that once he gets word that the new Abouna is another Hero of Toreguard that he’s really just going to leave the man alone just because he’s not on the Council? Schreiber wants you all gone, or did you forget that little detail?~

And when forever comes to be I will remain inside A little light of empathy To keep us unified I’ll Keep you outside

“What happened?” he asked, keeping his voice low and body language as relaxed as he could manage. For several long moments there was no reply, or even any indication that the woman had heard him. Eventually, however, the wizard shifted a little, and buried her head in the crook of her arms,

“I don’t want to talk about it.” she muttered, her voice muffled.

When I learn of the loss that defines me Can I hold to the promise that binds me And carry on into tomorrow's sorrow

“No, damn you! You can’t do this to me, not now!” he cried, falling to his knees and burying his face into the bedding as Selene’s body finally relaxed, rattled out a sigh and stilled. Edwin squeezed the rapidly cooling hand he still held tightly, ignoring the sharp pain in his palms, “I love you.”

When I'm facing the ghosts of my destiny Will I turn or remain in the memory And choose to stray or choose to follow

“Alright then, let me rephrase.” she said, “You said that I was still needed but that heading back or not was my choice. What then, is the point if either one of us ends up dead for good shortly after?” she asked. Greg looked up at her through his highlighted fringe with a soft smile,

“Then you make the most of the time you have.” he replied easily.

And when forever comes to be Will you remain inside A little light of empathy To keep us unified

Edwin frowned, worried, as the pink tinge in Selene’s face darkened somewhat and spread to her ears,

“Selene are you..?” he was quickly cut off by Selene waving her free hand,

“Nono, I’m fine.” she assured him, “It’s just… she trailed off, flailing a little as she tried to find the right words, “Cur ita velim Durus.” she hissed in Draconic. Edwin’s frown deepened, having no clue what it was the Wizard in front of him had just said. He took both of Selene’s hands in his own,

“Ok, breathe. What’s the matter?”

I’ll let you inside

“I heard you, you know.” she said quietly. Edwin’s head snapped back round, his heart skipping wildly in disbelief.

“You… wha..?” he stammered. Selene squeezed his shoulder to stop him from babbling, took a shaky breath and continued, “That’s why I came back. I didn’t want to leave this world before I got a chance to tell you that… I love you too.” she finally admitted…

#aquadestinyswriting #titan fighting fantasy #the wizard's tale #selene frigidwake #edwin goodwin #edwin/selene #songfic

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cymorilcinnamonroll · 1 month ago

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Awake O Sleeper (A Jesus x Mary Magdalene Romance)

The Asherah grove at the heart of the temple of Our Lady is full of olives and grape vines, in the sacred heart of our worship. Men come to do penance to the Goddess, worshiping us as the qadesh leads them into the bosom of the Mother. I often go to the well at the temple’s courtyard and wish upon the moon reflected in the still waters. She is beauty in the grips of Yahweh, bosom companion of our Heavenly Father.

Jerusalem is a bustling city, full of Canaanites and Samaritans and Jews and Philistines. This Bethany township is but an extension of the metropolis. Herod rules from his abode and the Temple is corrupted, and people are forgetting the old ways, cutting down Asherah groves at the root and pissing on her fig and olive trees. Where stands a temple to El, there rests an Asherah grove. From the Mount of Olives to our own temple in Bethany, where I left Martha and Lazarus behind to become a priestess, I have been trained in anointment and service to the Goddess.

Sometimes starlings roost in the roof and we clip their wings to keep as pets, and I am reminded, I do not live for myself, but for Her, and my body is but a vehicle of prayers. The grove has stood for mayhaps thousands of years, as the olive tree does, cut down then to spring forth from the stump. We prune, we worship, we sing hosannas and we do not weep.

There is nothing to weep over in the temple of the Goddess. Sacred whore, they say, woman of seven devils. It is true, there are demons in my mind, and I am wont to make love to the Damned as well as the angels, as all my fellow anointed qodeshah are, but that can break the body, disassemble the mind, leak out your wineskin until you take the shape of the emptiness of stars, and then, mayhaps, you die. But I survived the temptations of Samael, I have roosted in Lilith’s Huluppu tree, I have eaten flies with Beelzebub and tasted fish to fight back Asmodeus. I have consecrated my virginity to El and Asherah, and Asherah, dear Asherah, has staked her claim on my destiny.

There are rumors from Nazareth. From Egypt. From Galilee. From sea to desert to mountain strand. God walks in human form. Merely twenty, and I am eighteen. He goes by Yeshua, like Joshua of old, and I am Miriam Magdalene in this temple, a watchtower of the lord, Migdal Eder. Mary Magdalene as the Greeks who worship through me say. They say this young man preaches sermons on mountaintops and topples false idols and cuts down Asherah groves. Cuts the Goddess down by the root. Says he is El, says he is the Father.

I have no time for fools. I have no time for false messiahs. I know Asherah, I know El, and though the Messiah is promised, he does not live on manna alone. This Yeshua shits and bleeds, I am sure he fucks, and were he to come to my temple, I would take my teraphim and drive it through his heart.

God bleeds, after all, and Simon Magus is just as much a fool, levitation or not. So is that John the Baptist, beheaded someday soon, an Essene surviving on stale locusts and rotting honey and dumping bodies in the River Jordan.

I survive on the wilderness alone, the barrenness of my heart, for it is only by being empty that one can let the Goddess in. I am a vessel of dripping myrrh and a garden of lilies, oh Asherah. These cults come with passing moons and cycles of suns, and they wax and wane, Mithras and Cybele and Anath and Baal (there are many Baals, after all) and the strange peculiarities of the Romans. I say, stick with what is tried and true. Lady Asherah is Queen.

My brother Lazarus has taken up with this Yeshua, and I hate this false prophet for it. For stealing my impressionable, starry-eyed brother as some false disciple. They say Yeshua loves Lazarus so much he would raise him from the dead. Crackpot talk. Martha, my sweet older sister, has entertained this Yeshua at our rich home across the field. I refused to go. Why, perhaps because Martha wants to know the heart of God, and this Messiah, this Yeshua, has a strange draw on the practical types like Martha and dreamers like Lazarus alike.

They say he believes women equal to men. That his mother Mary and aunt Salome and friend Joanna and now my sister Martha are equal in his eyes, his radical ministry in the desert. They sew and preach and anoint. In his name, they cast out demons. This strange man that claims to be God may well be speaking parables of smoke and mirrors. Here at my temple, we give our bodies over to the Goddess. When has this Yeshua given his body, his blood, his Sacrament, over to God? If that happens, I shall fall to my feet and worship. But he goes around in tattered clothes, a wanderer, and has the woman radically engaged in his ministry. How strange.

Lazarus writes that Yeshua will not touch women. Resists worshiping the Mother. Does not know the way of the flesh, is a Rabbi yet will not take a wife. Will not even contemplate a woman to share in his ministry at its highest point. I think of the rumors flying around Jerusalem and the provinces often as I tend to the duties of the temple, sewing and cleaning and singing and worshiping in body, wine, and moon’s blood.

How can this Yeshua have sway over Martha and Lazarus, when but Asherah is the way and Yahweh, squeezed into a man’s body, would have but the world as his Logos? Were he to meet me, would he give in to the Goddess? Has this strange madman forgotten the way of our ancestors? For every Yahweh, his Asherah. Thus this Yeshua needs a bride. To neglect the Goddess, why, that usurps the whole sun and moon. That is light without the darkness of the womb.

A starling comes with a note summoning me from the High Priestess. There is a visitor. I must go attend to my temple duties. He has requested me to anoint him and be his vessel of worship. The High Priestess say he has paid handsomely for my Sacrament. Far more coins than ever spent on one of the temple priestesses. I wonder if it is mad Herod himself. That would amuse me more than anything.

I dress myself in scarlet, anoint my cheeks with rouge and lips with berries, line my eyes with kohl, and make a messy knot of my curls. My hair never behaves, auburn in that strange way of women burned in Egypt as witches and my eyes the light speckled brown of a sparrow. Once I am done preparing, bedecked in jewels as befit Asherah, I go to the qodeshah room.

There he awaits. Smiling like a lamb yet with the grace of a lion, dressed simply in dusty white, all lithe muscle and smiling dark green eyes that the fire dances in. Smoke clouds the room. I have the sudden urge to run my hands through his dark locks and kiss him senseless. Gravity overtakes me, that calling that drives me into ululations of ecstasy, only it is not one of the seraphim or cherubim that courts me, but divinity himself. Who is this stranger, eating grapes and draped like a Roman over dinner?

“Miriam, a glass of wine?” he asks with a voice like olive oil. He takes the carafe from the table and smiles bemusedly. The red sloshes into a bejeweled cup. His hands are like the milk from the cows of spring. Not the color, mind you, or the softness – they are tan and calloused, fingernails short like the poor. I would think him a carpenter or stonemason, someone who carves idols or builds temples.

I take the glass of wine and scrutinize him. “I am the one who offers wine and anoints you, oh mysterious stranger. Don’t you know the ways of Asherah?”

He laughs like an ewe. “Oh sweet Miriam, but that is not my purpose. My purpose is to do penance and devotions unto you. Come, sip the wine of my blood. It is to you I offer the first Sacrament. They will forget it was you who I offered the Last Supper to first, thirteen years before my death. Eat this bread, this loaf of my flesh.” He takes from his pocket a rich loaf wrapped in linen. I take it hesitatingly, dip it in the wine, nibble a bit, and it is somehow the best meal I have ever had as I chase it down with the goblet. Strange, this man, a mystic perhaps.

Suddenly, I smell blood. “What?” I ask, incredulous. I look down at the bejeweled cup and am horrified to find ruby blood. The bread I hold is a heart that is bleeding. I drop both and scream. This man laughs, laughs at my terror, laughs at his miracle, as if it is the most mundane thing a woman could ask for.

“Yeshua?” I breathe.

He beckons me to him. It is the most natural thing to curl up beside him. I am under a moonspell of Michael, and rushing water fills my veins, icy yet warm, like the River Jordan meets a desert night. We lay together chaste yet starstruck and I stare aghast at him, unable to resist his gravity.

“That is my name, yes, sweet Magdalane, my comely Bride. They will call you a Whore. But you are my Truth, the Gnostics will adore you, and the Cathars, troubadours, and Knights Templar will worship at your hips. You are Asherah. There is no need for this temple, not anymore, as I hold you here manifest in my hands!”

He runs a hand through my curls and unbinds them. “So it’s all true. You are the Lord made flesh…” I trail off, my tongue still bloody and warm with skin and meat and muscle and gore. The bread I dropped and my goblet of wine have disappeared. I am hyperventilating, barely cognizant in the overwhelming grace and fire of this stranger, yet I know him better in my heart than Yahweh, for he is the Father El, made Son.

Lazarus and Martha were right. Damn me a nonbeliever.

“I am but a man, at most, with a few tricks up my sleeve. You will be my comfort, dear woman. My apostle of apostles. My witness. Follow me out of this cursed ground and leave your seven devils behind. The ways of Asherah are over. For you are Asherah, not these statues, never these trees. To be material is a terrible thing! The ways of whoring out your body are done. It is the dawn of a new age, of my sweet Shekinah, my Wisdom, Sophia made New Eve. Cannot you see how red thread bears my loins and your womb together? They will whisper about us in hushed circles millenia down the line, write us poems and canticles and heresies and all agree that to me, you were above all the reason, my anointer, my best disciple, my most beloved. I will raise the dead for you. I will die for you. And you will grow old without me, and you will be my testament, oh Migdal Eder.”

His words are rapturous. His words are true. I cannot divine the future, but I feel the shape of it.

We burn the Asherah grove down with my oil lamp.

I leave behind any vestige of myself.

I follow him out of the temple, across the field, on a donkey out of Bethany, into the winepress night.

And never, ever, do I look back.

Thirteen years pass, and the Last Supper draws close. I am a mystic following in Christ’s footsteps, ever-weeping, washing the dust from his feet. Peter damns me for my passions, but Levi praises me, and Mother Mary holds me closest of all.

Rain outside the window of our kitchen, and Lazarus’ body is held up in the tomb for four days. My sweet older brother, a starstruck wanderer at Christ’s side, just as I cast my lots in with this mad messiah whose gristle and blood I drank down thirteen years ago at the tender age of 18. All to know redemption, as my Temple of Asherah burned and I left my wanton ways behind for higher ground, better things, blessed by doves. To become Asherah in my own might and right! The plague took Lazarus, a wasting away with pustules and jaundice and fragile limbs.

I thought with the Lord, all things were possible, but in his domain is death, and so in my quiet ways, I rage.

Martha and I have washed and dressed and anointed our brother in myrrh and linen – our wealthy parents died when we were but children, leaving us treasures beyond measure as merchants are wont to do and Martha and Lazarus to raise me. The whole town is in mourning over Lazarus, and our expansive household has been filled with mourners.

Yeshua has been at Jerusalem preaching to the masses, but I sent a pigeon from our dovecote with a letter to my Lord of his beloved’s death, our family whom he cherishes above all, and Christ wrote back in eager, wrathful script that even death has no hold on his disciples.

So we have prepared a feast for the other wanderers: dates, lamb, greens, bread, wine. Martha and I have been hard at work in the kitchen baking and cooking and mixing herbs and fruits and vegetables. I purchased vintage straight from Italy a local trader had traveled far to obtain, enough casks to hold a wedding feast like blessed Cana, only this is a funeral.

I can hear him rumble with wrath in the distance. My sweet Rabboni feels like an oncoming storm. Sometimes when I am debating and sparring wits with him over philosophy and pedagogy and theology, the sky suddenly darkens and thunder rumbles as Christ opens his lips, and out comes rains and retorts as lightning strikes. Once we were debating the virtues and vices of angels – how do they serve God, do they have free will, yetzer ha ra versus yetzer ha tov: is a teraphim able to care for its family or is it more golem?

I said I did not believe in free will, and Yeshua said: “Then what shall I die for but humanity’s freedom, my Migdal Eder?” and he laughed like a wine press and it began to gale and storm.

He took me into his arms and we danced by palms at the oasis in the radiance of the tempest, singing hosannas, and I was soaked to my underclothes and my red dress clung to my breasts and hips. Peter would call me an adulteress just for that. Christ’s dusty white robes were glued to his skin like a snake, Nachash be damned. Lazarus found us both dancing like plagues and begged us come inside and break bread with the other disciples, but we were lost inside each other, starved of the wrath of God.

Mother Mary brought us blankets afterward as we both rid ourselves of chills by the fire, Joseph laughed, and Salome made it a running joke: Mary and Yeshua have the tempers of storms, beware if they curse your fig trees or drive your demons into squealing pigs in the ocean’s squall. Salome and her dagger tongue! Judas remarked we could have been struck by the firmament, but Yeshua said: brother, I am God, can’t you see how the storm is my heart of darkness? Peter and Thomas and Luke and John and James paid reverence to Christ, but I was too busy staring into the fire we grilled fish on, eating my loaf, haunted by what would come when the sky darkened for Yeshua’s death.

My eyes tear up at that memory as I am tending Christ’s bread, which is his body, a small taste of what is to come. It is leavened and ready to be devoured. I set the table, the long wooden beauty my father picked up from some far northern country, was it Ing’s land? Who knows, but the Celts have such intricate eyes for knotwork. Living beasts in the legs. I would like to go to their province someday. To see where these curiosities come from. What strange gods and demons they worship.

There is a knock at the door. Salome is there with Zebedee, John, and James in tow. She looks like a gazelle, all proud and lithe lines, not a bit of wasted space about her. “Mary, Martha, we came as soon as we heard!” Salome explains, impassioned. There are tears in her, Zebedee’s, John’s and James’ eyes. She wipes at it with a cloth. “Lazarus was the best of us. How you two must mourn. Here, John, James, take the horses to the stable, Zebedee, why don’t you unpack and set up camp? Lord knows Miriam’s house is big, but not enough for all the disciples. Elohim took Lazarus under fair weather, so we will have no problem in the courtyard.”

I hug Salome close to me, this mentor of mine who was Christ’s midwife and the first besides Elizabeth to declare him the Son of God. In some ways she was first, first to catch the placenta and afterbirth and caul of Christ the King. Finger withered at his might.

No wonder he was a calamity come into this world that has been relentless ever since. He is my storm dancer. My soul. I can only imagine 33 years ago, Salome at 12, in a manger with blessed, tough-as-nails Mother Mary and nervous Father Joseph. Mary is never nervous. Never doubts. Always asserts. She is our strength, like Gav’riel, who favored her. Sometimes Gav’riel still visits her when he thinks no one is looking and they have long talks in the reeds – angels sound like panpipes and bells and regrets. I have caught her in quiet corners talking with that messenger of the archangels about Yeshua’ road to Calvary and ending in Golgotha. Gav’riel has prophesied as much, told us his days are numbered. Christ accepts it, with the bullheadedness of his mother.

That I will grow old without Yeshua.

It is something I do not like to contemplate much.

“Mary, my sweet daughter, in all my 45 years, I have never seen anyone with as much devotion to Yeshua as you, besides his own mother. He said he would raise the dead for you.” She hugs me hard with her whipcord muscles, then accompanies me to the kitchen and greets Martha.

“Martha, my other blessed daughter, do you not know what service you do to our Lord? Us ladies are the backbone of the ministry, after all. From our own funds we support these rambunctious men. I have tried holding James and John in check, but yet they go casting out demons and fishing for souls and preaching. Zebedee is easier to tame. That is why I married him, hah!”

Martha laughs and embraces us both. “Oh Salome, our family reunited, yet for such sad occasion. Having Lazarus gone, why, a missing limb. Wine without a glass, spilling constantly. Here, eat!” She takes a date and presses it to Salome’s mouth. Salome smiles and bites it mischievously.

“Let us go to the wishing well, girls. The women rode ahead. Yeshua held a lengthy sermon with the men, giving us time to charge ahead and prepare the banquet and speak to the angels. Joanna and Mary and Susanna await.”

“Oh!” I say, wiping away hot tears as I dwell on Lazarus. They say my tears could fill an ocean.

The peach pit in my throat lightens a bit at the thought of my spiritual sisters here to visit my Bethany township. We make our way to the well outside and see Mother Mary and the others divining in the well. They are staring coolly into its depths. Martha, Salome, and I join them in silence. The six of us peering into the silver depths and we summon an image: Lazarus alive, at the cost of Yeshua.

They are inextricably linked.

“A life for a life, my dears,” Mother Mary says, dabbing at her strong brow with her sleeve. “My son will give his life for Lazarus, for that is the only way to cheat the grave. But Lazarus is well worth the sacrifice. We all know what awaits at Golgotha. Perhaps the men doubt, but my son granted us all the sight. Women’s magic: prophesy. In dying for Lazarus, he gives life to us all, a way to Heaven. It is not what I would have chosen for my only child, but he is the Lord, and I will be living testament to his short life.”

We gather round Mother Mary, hugging one another in sisterly love. Salome grips her fiercely and I fall to her feet and kiss them. We then retire to the dining room until the men arrive.

“There was no choice in this, was there, Mother?” I ask Mary.

Joanna and Susanna share a look of wistfulness. Salome bites like a lion with fury into a bit of crusty bread ends dipped in olive oil. The two phases, or likewise feelings, surrounding what awaits Yeshua ahead: fury at Christ’s death or sadness. Or an interim like me, awe and resignation.

Mother Mary sighs. “No, Gav’riel told me as much, sweet Magdalene. My son’s life was never his own, but then again, neither are ours. We will be near deified, us outcast desert ramblers. I just hope I have prepared my loving son for the hatred and ultimate cost of his sacrifice. Joseph will take it the hardest. Joseph always does. Martha will take it the second hardest. Salome, you shall curse the ground the Devil walked upon. Susanna and Joanna, you two will be wed in memories and become some of the most eloquent in voicing his ministry, but they will forget you, just as they will hold small memories of Salome.”

Mother Mary takes a sip of wine, then looks to me with lambent eyes under her shawl. “Girl of Migdal Eder, yours is the most cursed fate. For asking Lazarus back, to you goes the blame. For your passion and devotion, they will mark you a whore. I can see how this all ends, centuries, nay, millenia down the line. Our ministry divided into a thousand fractured shards. Our legacy used for villainy and anything but radical love. They will snuff our teachings out at the bud and mark them heresies. Us women used as props and all but forgotten. They will say my son stood for hatred and oppression, yet while he walked this earth, he was hated and oppressed. And you, my Miriam. You will suffer the most out of love. Love is all our cross to bear. But I say, drink now, live well, and so be it!”

We all echo her and raise our glasses in toast, then chase down the wine. Martha’s eyes are fire. “I know what price I ask of Yeshua. I ask it anyway, so damn me to Gehenna. Lazarus needs to live, just as Yeshua must die for our sins. That was shown to us all in the well, my sisters sweet.”

There are muffled voices outside and the whuff of horses and call of hounds. The men have arrived. With a steel face done with crying, Martha goes outside to meet our maker.

I sit with the women who are closer to me than my own mother. “What Martha asks, what I ask of Yeshua, his will be done, a life for a life, flesh for flesh, blood for blood, a grave for a grave, perhaps they will look back on us and think us selfish. Perhaps they will believe us mighty. But asking never hurt anyone, I say.”

“The sun gives life but cares not who he burns,” Joanna and Susanna say in unison. They are always together, commiserating, sharing ecclesiastic knowledge, singing the Song of Solomon, speaking in rhyme and time. They are full of the Holy Ghost, moreso than any f us.

We all smile. “Makes the mustard seed grow, does the Son,” Salome says in but a whisper, and we all laugh.

There is weeping at the door. Levi clings to hunched over Martha, who looks like she has gone into labor of the soul. He practically carries her inside. Tears flow like gold from her blue eyes. “Mary, the Master is come, and calls you out.”

My heart stirs like a falcon. I walk out to the well. Yeshua stands alone, drinking water from a canteen. The other disciples are heard with Zebedee and James and John setting up camp in the courtyard. My Rabboni’s eyes have flames like Uriel’s sword in them. Some kind of samiel wind from Arabia. Without a word, he embraces me, then kisses me on the lips as he does his disciples when we need the Logos most. I cling to him. I will get in trouble for clinging to him someday, somewhere in a garden, with a stone rolled away, beyond the grips of death.

He laughs and strokes my hair. “Do not cling to me, woman,” he teases. I laugh through my tears and kiss him back. “What did you think, that I would let Lazarus lay dead? Oh my Magdalene, damn your doubts. For you I would raise the dead. It is for you I will die. It is for me you will live and be my witness. Can’t you see how our love will be consummated on the Cross? Me bleeding blood and water into your mouth. Pick up that sword that will stab me, sweet Mary, and become an angel of the Lord, with flaming blade and your red hair of fury. I want you to wreak vengeance with your words and wit when I am gone, my girl.”

I wipe my tears. “Yes, Rabboni.”

“I am not Rabboni now, not ever, Mary Miriam. Call me servant. Call me your lover. Call me your witness.”

“Witness, servant, lover, it doesn’t matter. You are my heart.”

“You are a stubborn girl, aren’t you? Remember when we met those thirteen years ago, I twenty and ever the fool, you 18 and priestess to a dead goddess? No, Miriam, the Shekinah is stubborn, Wisdom never gives up, Sophia is relentless. She comes with the greatest pearl of great price. Challenge me in your storm. Ask, and ye shall receive.”

“Give your death for my sweet brother, Yeshua. Raise him from the dead.”

Yeshua smiles and contemplates the lines on my palms clutched to his hands. “Thy will be done, my Migdal Eder. Where have you laid him?”

“In a cave outside town. The mourners are still there.”

We make our way to the stony entrance. People are red eyed and watery mouthed, wailing, commiserating, remembering, drunk off and stinking of wine. Lazarus was always the most loved, bookish neighbor of Bethany. He was the only one that died of the sickness, as if he was marked by the Lord to suffer. A bleeding wound of God’s tear.

Yeshua falls down weeping, wracked with sobs, and from his tears grow ivy. From his tears grow roses. From his tears grows vines ripe with red grapes. The sky darkens, and the familiar storm of our hearts engulfs from Galilee to Nazareth, with its dancing eye in Bethany. The surrounding firmament is tumultuous, but here where the sky parts, the sun glows, and there is a rainbow akin to God’s promise. The brilliance engulfs my Rabboni, and he curses the stone, and it rolls away of its own accord, revealing my brother’s corpse.

Martha and the disciples have heard the commotion, and Martha is bereaved. “Oh my Lord, he has been dead four days, how he must stink. Surely this is beyond even your glory!”

Yeshua chokes on his tears and roars, hitting the stone and then it fractures into hundreds of pieces. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing and turns to Martha with a feral smile. “I said to you Martha, that, if you truly believe, wouldn’t you see the glory of God?”

Martha is silent, just falls to her knees weeping, and nods. Salome and Mother Mary are by each of her shoulders, comforting and supporting her.

“Have faith in the Lord I have brought into this world,” Mother Mary whispers with her indomitable strength. There is a bit of Gav’riel in her eyes. Over the course of the years, her and her angel have both become messengers, almost yin and yang, Adamah and Chavah, one and the same. At this point, Mary is more queen of angels than human.

Martha blows snot into Mary’s sleeve. Unlike me, she was never a beautiful crier. That makes it more important, the messiness of it. No one would ever build a statue of Martha bereaved, but to me go the idols and repentant whores.

All the disciples and town are weeping. Ululations even, screams of Lazarus, but Christ’s sobbing and fury at that great enemy, Death, are strongest of all. He kneels down, shaking, in prayer, then looks to the swirling sky and violet and green of the parted clouds haloing Lazarus’s stinking grave and suddenly the light illuminates him like a candle flame in Samael’s darkness.

“Father, I thank you that you have heard me. This storm is testament to your wrath, my wrath, at that great enemy, Death. You who always hear me. You who fulfill the wishes of my people, and hence all the world, that follows and loves me. They believe in me through you. I believe in you through them. They are my brides, every one of them, and come New Jerusalem, I will wed the world. But there is a man whose time is not done. My beloved disciple. Lazarus, come forth!”

White light fills Lazarus’ grave, and suddenly my brother rises, rot and sickness gone, still bound in corpse clothes, and his eyes are near violet for a moment until they settle on their black, and Martha screams, and I laugh, and we all fall down in worship to the Christ. I cling to his feet and weep. He embraces Lazarus and undoes the cloth covering his face.

“Yeshua,” Lazarus breathes. “You kept me to your bosom for four days. I would like to return there on my true dying day, to become your marrow, but here I am healed and whole, my body restored, no longer hollow of soul. You talked long over these four days and nights of how Martha, Mary, and I will serve you.”

Lazarus and Yeshua kiss, and then Yeshua picks me up and kisses me. “Rise, my flock!” he says through fierce tears, then embraces and kisses every one of us. We are moved by the spirit and begin singing. The rain comes and we are soaked. Yeshua eyes me as he is kissing sweet, innocent Judas. There is a trickster fire in his eyes, just like Gavr’iel. It is a message I am not yet privy to, as if to say: this is my death, and you are my life, my Magdalene.

Later that night, past supper, Yeshua takes me out into the storm for one of our secret talks, the storm of his heart, and he kisses me, and he whispers in my ear: “In six days before Passover I shall return to Bethany. Wait for me here, sweet Magdalene. Peter may be my Sapha, but you are my Migdal Eder. Your rivalry: watchtower and cornerstone, is but the fight of Adamah subduing Chavah only for Chavah to be triumphant in the end of days. You will cry at my feet as you always do and anoint me as the Bride does the Bridegroom for my death. It is you I place this burden on: my witness. My accuser. My seducer. My destroyer.”

“You know not what you ask,” I whisper.

“Oh, but Miriam, I do. On the Cross I will make love to you finally after these long thirteen years, if only through my wounds nursing you. You will never bear my children as you want, Mary. We will never marry. We will never join as man and wife. I will leave you long behind when I take my place beside my Father, but you will always be faithful in ways Peter will forget. They will curse you. They will drag your name through the mud. But at the end of days, it will be you I wed foremost. It will be you who eats the final Sacrament. Can you promise me Mary, that you will not shy away from dressing me for the tomb? I promise you as Apostle of Apostles, Miriam of Bethany. I pledge my troth to you, though it is a strange and scary vow.”

“I accept it all, all the pain, all the testaments to you! I will anoint you with my own wanton red hair and costly myrrh. I knew this was coming. I bought the myrrh three years ago, sweet Yeshua.”

“Let us dance in this storm, my Magdalene.”

So we did.

#jesus #jesus christ #mary magdalene

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kendertrove · 5 months ago

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This EP recommended to me by a very kind anon!

We’re doing something a little different this time as this is a concept album, but i am here for it. One Master lends a great creepy vibe to Raistlin’s rise to power, rendering it as a horror story.

The first song, “The Dark Tower,” establishes Raistlin’s position as master of the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas. “Chill of the Grave” is Raistlin issuing a challenge to Takhisis, and shows his plan to rule. I especially love the last verse: “I will not rule over a dead world/The Abyss is calling for me/I will feel the chill of the grave.”

“Unholy Grimness” is Raistlin at the top of his game. Everything’s going his way, and he finally feels on top of the world. (The lines describing Nuitari as “an unnatural hole of darkness/Radiating in the night sky” make me think of a black hole. That could be something fun to explore in a fic.)

“The Test” goes back in time to show Raist’s own test at the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth, and developing this scheme. “Master of Past and Present” has him accepting Fistandantilus in Silvanost, and using him to become that same Master of Past and Present. The final song, “I, Magus,” shows Raistlin’s own identity, his will.

This was a great breakdown of the beginning of Raist’s storyline. I loved listening it. It’s not the style of metal i usually listen to, so it was fun to hear something different. Thanks again to the anon who brought it to my attention.

Lyrics below the cut (yes, all of them):

"The Dark Tower" The one place where evil reigns Where the guardians of the tower keep watch

The one who stared into the face of insanity Impaled at the gates of despair Calling a curse upon the mighty tower Until the master of the past and the present Shall return with power None shall pass into the accursed woods Without the seal of its master

Proud warriors shall fear its embrace Mortals who enter shall never return Void of life, awaiting my call Awaken my friend, for now I am your master Black bound tomes, cloaking secrets of the dark arts The keys to my final victory

Within the shadows of my laboratory The site of my greatest creations Life shall be called forth by the power of my magic

Untouched by the sun, blacker than the darkness The watchmen bow before me, as I plan my greatest triumph

Silence and darkness are the ones I can trust None shall disturb the master of the tower While I forge a power stronger than the gods

"Chill of the Grave" Behold dark queen of the night sky A challenger to your reign is calling I am coming for your seat in the hall

With your key and the tomes of the great one I possess the power to usurp your throne All that I need is access to the abyss I must find a soul of purity

Her blind faith in everlasting innocence And my quest for eternal creation Will open the portal in Zhaman

I must pass the test of Wind, Water, Darkness, Fire, and Blood It will bring knowledge Of emptiness and pain

I will not rule over a dead world The Abyss is calling for me I will feel the chill of the grave

"Unholy Grimness" Eternal will and strength Shaped by the darkest forge Reaching the heights of the gods I stand at the center of the world

Rising above the filth and decay My ambition is above the world I am alone on this quest Seeking none to stand by my side

Unholy grimness

It is always winter in my sight Beauty becomes death none can escape from The crushing gaze of the hourglass

Endless hunger for the knowledge of a master Filled with a darkness without dimension I control the river of time with only one goal No god can halt my powerful fury

My frail shell cloaks a deadly force The gods themselves will tremble in my presence

An unnatural hole of darkness Radiating in the night sky I will raise the hourglass I will rule unchallenged

"The Test" On the 7th day of the 7th month During the 7th minute of the 7th hour The conclave will summon my presence At the tower in the woods

To face the test of high sorcery From which many do not return Where I will gain the right To enter the private realm of magic

Accompanied by a fool Who greets his weakness with a smile I begin by entering the forbidden inn Seeking refuge from carrying the burden

Bringers of doom greet my presence I will follow their dangerous path Seeking the tomes of the war magus I am drawn to his cold grasp

Revealing his plans of triumph I plan my own ascent to the sky Using his magic to crush my enemies And resist his deadly bloodstone

Facing one final obstacle I annihilate the false one Who threatens my final victory I have been granted access to the order

"Master of the Past and Present" Once the hand the kingpriest The age of your might has passed Your cold hand seeking my heart Your bloodstone draining my life

I do not fear your deadly grasp For I will become the true master I will rise into the night sky

My body forever shattered in torment Feeling the presence of your ancient hand Guiding my future into the darkness I lie before the giant hall Broken by the power of the great orb I will call for your aid

You cannot see my future you know not I bring your doom you will answer my call My ascent to the great tower is complete

With the key from the dark queen of evil I will find the secret of the abyss In the forgotten ages of the past

You were master of the past Now you are just a frozen corpse I am now master of the past and the present

"I, Magus" My soul was forged by the blow of the hammer Finding comfort in the darkness My only true companion The power of magic pulsing within my spirit None can break its grip of fire around my heart My will for creation cannot be overcome It will bring my only moments of solace

A teacher without a true spirit But one with the discipline I will need Unworthy tormentors fuel my hatred Feeling the sting of my misanthropic fury Gods of magic I will serve you I will bring glory to your name Grant me the power that I seek Let the fire burn strong I will rise from the ashes Leaving my mark in the untouched snow The crisp winds of my eternal winter Breathe a chill of life in my soul

My soul was forged by the blow of the hammer Finding comfort in the darkness My only true companion The power of magic pulsing within my spirit None can break its grip of fire around my heart

#dragonlance #dragonlance music project #one master #forsaking a dead world #raistlin majere

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bangerbattlethemes · 2 years ago

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The bracket (In no particular order yet) under the cut!

Name Redacted - ARMS

Serpent Eating The Horizon - Bravely Default

Return of the Snow Queen - Epic Battle Fantasy

Vector to the Heavens - Kingdom Hearts

Masked Dedede - Kirby

Ghost of Culvert - Mad Rat Dead

The Darkest Lord - Miitopia

Rivers in the Desert - Persona 5

Battle! Champion Cynthia/Battle! Volo - Pokemon

Fly Octo Fly/Ebb and Flow - Splatoon

The Champion Revali - Legend of Zelda/Hyrule Warriors

Guilt and Resentment - Toontown Corporate Clash

U.N. Owen Was Her - Touhou

In Circles/_n C_rcl_s - Transistor

The Death of God’s Will - ULTRAKILL

Death By Glamour - Undertale

You Will Know Our Names - Xenoblade Chronicles

One-Eyed Slugger - Yakuza

Pursuit ~ Cornered - Ace Attorney

Partners ~ The Game is Afoot! - Dai Gyakuten Saiban

Sanctuary Guardian - Earthbound

One-Winged Angel - Final Fantasy VII

God Shattering Star - Fire Emblem Three Houses

Scaramouche, the Prodigal - Genshin Impact

Paradise Lost - Granblue Fantasy

God of the Dead - Hades

Sealed Vessel - Hollow Knight

A Bewitching Dance ~ Mizutsune - Monster Hunter

Decisive Battle II - Octopath Traveler

Confronting Myself - Celeste

Revived Power - Shadow of the Colossus

Ludwig, the Accursed and Holy Blade - Bloodborne

Battle with Magus - Chrono Trigger

Notorious D.I.G. (Fortissimole) - Crypt Of The Necrodancer

Avarice - Death’s Door

Myosotis - Deemo

The Only Thing They Fear Is You - Doom Eternal

Because of You - Dragalia Lost

Why Oh You Are LOVE - Everhood

Anima Ataraxia - Fate

Surtr - Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice

Fast As You Can - Hi-Fi Rush

The Trapper - Inscryption

Restless Gwishin - Jjimjilbang: Haunted Sauna

Between Two Worlds - Limbus Company

Signal Interference - Little Nightmares 2

Megalomania - Live a Live

In the Final - Mario and Luigi: Bowser's Inside Story

Wave Battle! Ride On!! - Mega Man Starforce 3

Song of Ancients (Fate) - Nier Replicant

Pepper Steak - OFF

Tussle Among Trees - Omori

This Is The End - Scott Pilgrim Vs The World: The Game

Saturn - Seraphic Blue

Battle F4 - Shin Megami Tensei IV

Roar of the Jungle Dragon - Terraria

The Final Battle - The Legendary Starfy

The King of Hearts - Wandersong

Red Sun - Metal Gear Rising

Chains of Fate - Trauma Center Under the Knife 2

Guardians of the Sorrowful Ice - Etrian Odyssey 2 Untold

Internal Conflict - Black Mesa (Xen)

Last Battle - Cave Story

Distorted Happiness - Caligula Effect

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andmaybegayer · 1 year ago

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Last Monday of the Week 2023-07-03

There's situations but I'm handling it and everything will be fine

Listening: Missed the latest song from We Kill Cowboys, Pink Codeine. I love We Kill Cowboys but they do most of their music live and release albums almost never, and even when I still lived in South Africa they mostly play around Cape Town, so I have not heard much of their new shit barring what lands up online.

youtube

They changed labels to Mongrel Records recently. Mongrel handles a lot of the heavy rock stuff around ZA, some good bands including Acid Magus, Springbok Nude Girls, All This For Nothing, and Ruff Majik.

Reading: Kaiju Preservation Society, sci-fi fluff from Scalzi. A guy down on his luck during The COVID gets recruited to go along as grunt labour on a scientific expedition to parallel universe Greenland, where there are giant kaiju roaming around in tropical forest.

Very loose spec bio that is nonetheless fun to read about, Kaiju are giant nuclear-powered walking biomes covered in various parasites, commensalists, and mutualists that scour the nearby area for food and give some to the Kaiju in exchange for mobility and protection. Like if mycorhizzal fungi were wolves.

At its best it is a light workplace comedy on a research base, and a moderate action romp. There is a story but it's not anything special. It is fun that our Protagonist has a literature masters and is there mostly to move heavy objects. I enjoy the feeling behind scientific expedition living and I'm still a little bitter about not getting on the Antarctic expedition so I enjoy reading stories about similar environments.

Very much "I wrote this in COVID when all I could think about was COVID and I wanted to imagine a guy for whom pretty much everything goes okay." I enjoyed it enough, with modern sci-fi style snark and snappy one liners.

Watching: Nothing, fell behind on the Fast and Furious watch because it's hard to write about #4, since it's just #1 again.

Also assembling a bunch of Ikea furniture, I have a home office desk now and more than the bare minimum space to stash clothing. In a month or two I'll also have a desktop computer, but that's future me problems.

Making: Made bread as part of what will hopefully be an ongoing project to improve my breadmaking. I can almost always make something vaguely serviceable but it's always pretty random whether I can get bread to behave the way I want it to.

Playing: Also very little, did another bonus level or two in Terra Nil. The challenges are much more interesting in the bonus levels, they force you to consider some much longer view tasks like "leave enough low lying soil intact for wetlands" and "manage river access for your cleanup" but still not too challenging on normal mode.

Tools and Equipment: When I was choosing a kettle I insisted on one that had a minimum boil volume of no more than 500ml, the one my parents have has a rated minimum of 800ml which is positively wasteful when I mostly boil a single cup for tea. Anyway the one I got has a 250ml minimum boil which is so good. You can do one cup of tea and drain it basically dry. Winning. Great for my sense of accomplishment.

#last monday of the week

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theluckywizard · 2 years ago

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Bottles of Thedas Writing Prompts

I recently encountered a bottle of Thedas that had a particularly entertaining setting for a prompt and thus the idea was born! If it's been done, I apologize!

Butterbile 7:84, Hinterlands, found on a table in the locked round house; see side quest Blood Brothers

Carnal, 8:69 Blessed, Hinterlands, on the first floor of Master Dennet's home located on Redcliffe Farms.

Vint-9 Rowan's Rose, Hinterlands, on the second floor of the Winterwatch Tower tavern.

Vintage: Bethany Hawke, Carver Hawke, (or) Warden Steed, Hinterlands, Redcliffe Village, inside the locked Wheelhouse located near Redcliffe Village's entrance.

Vintage: Warden Anras, Storm Coast, southeast of the Small Grove Inquisition Camp, on top of the cliff overlooking Long River (on the northern side of the river).

Vintage: Warden Riordan, Storm Coast, east of the Driftwood Margin Inquisition Camp, found in the same hut as the Warden-Commander's Badge and Wardens of the Coast objective.

Golden Scythe 4:90 Black, Forbidden Oasis, at the bottom of Spiral Mine.

Dragon Piss, Fallow Mire, In the second house northwest of the fourth beacon.

Garbolg's Backcountry Reserve, Fallow Mire, in a house northwest of the Fisher's End Inquisition Camp. -Hawke/Rose in Skyhold Cellar

Vintage: Warden Gibbins, Crestwood, from the drained lake area of Old Crestwood and south of the North Gate Inquisition Camp (near the Flooded Caves entrance and the Mayor's Old Home) head west from the house with the locked door to the damaged house near the lake.

Vintage: Warden Daedalam, Crestwood, south from the Fisherman's Hut landmark (in the drained lake area of Old Crestwood) found inside the broken down house with a chest visible from the doorway on the right.

Hirol's Lava Burst, Crestwood, from the drained lake area south of the North Gate Inquisition Camp (near the Flooded Caves entrance and the Mayor's Old Home in Old Crestwood), head into the house with a closed door, search inside on the left.

Antivan Sip-Sip, Crestwood, Found in the Glenmorgan Mine region near the Guide of Falon'Din landmark. Head inside the cave just east of the astrarium that is located in the same area.

Alvarado's Bathtub Boot Screech, Exalted Plains, inside a tower on the Eastern Ramparts.

Finale by Massaad, Exalted Plains, in the basement of the Riverside Garrison.

Vintage: Warden Korenic, Exalted Plains, In a yellow house by the river in Ville Montevelan.

Vintage: Warden Tontiv, Exalted Plains, southwest of the Riverwatch Inquisition Camp in a burning red house.

West Hill Brandy, Western Approach, In the tower located between the Craggy Ridge Inquisition Camp and the Underground Cavern above the astrarium cave, climb the east side and head up the ladder (Giant's staircase. Also features skeletons and a giant wheel of cheese)

Vintage: Warden Jairn, Western Approach, In Dustytop Fort.

Vintage: Warden Eval'lal, Western Approach, In the Ritual Tower.

Absence, Emerald Graves, on top of some boxes in a small room located inside Argon's Lodge.

Chasind Sack Mead, Emerald Graves, Lyrium Inquisition Camp north of Southfinger Tower.

Mackay's Epic Single Malt, Emerald Graves, at Bear Cave north from Chateau d'Onterre.

Sun Blonde Vint-1, Emerald Graves, on the river bank at Silver Falls south from the Direstone Inquisition Camp.

Abyssal Peach, Emprise du Lion, inside Suledin Keep past the cages and the first giant encounter, prior to the lyrium tents.

Legacy White Shear, Emprise du Lion, in the Sahrnia Quarry tower near the entrance.

Aqua Magus, Hissing Wastes, outside the Burial Grounds Tomb, south of the Logging Inquisition Camp; see side quest The Tomb of Fairel.

Flames of Our Lady, Hissing Wastes, northwest of the Sunstop Mountain Inquisition Camp in the quarry structures.

Silent Plains Piquette, Hissing Wastes, In the Venatori Camp southeast of the Sunstop Mountain Inquisition Camp; see side quest Sand and Ruin.

#DADWC Prompts #Dragon Age Writing Prompts

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ladymischievous · 1 year ago

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Warcraft Fic: A Twist of Fate Chapter 6: Night of the Wicked Harvest

Chapter 6: Night of the Wicked Harvest

Author’s Notes: Okay, so, some warnings for this chapter. This chapter ended up being really long and having a lot of stuff happening in it. Also beware of horror elements and imagery.I also play with a lot of headcanons and worldbuilding in this chapter.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Khadgar clung to Medivh for dear life. He watched as the mountains of Deadwind Pass sped past, giving way to the forests of Sunny Glade. The tops of trees were a sea of rustling green bathed in the moonlight. The gryphon was suddenly jostled a little by a powerful gust of wind. Khadgar tightened his hold on the Magus and buried his face into the back of Medivh’s cloak.

“You okay back there?” Medivh called out over the wind.

“Y-yeah…!” Khadgar said, muffled against the cloak. “I’ve…just never been this high up before…!”

“We can go a bit lower if you need!” Medivh offered. Another squeeze around his waist was all the answer he needed. Carefully, Medivh steered his Gryphon to glide lower. “We’ll be reaching Elwynn soon. Hang in there, and please don’t throw up. If you throw up, I throw up, that’s unfortunately the rule.”

Khadgar turned his head and looked out once more. The sight of the ground being closer put him more at ease, and he gave a sigh of relief. It was amazing how fast the flight made the trip through Sunny Glade. Already Khadgar could see the river that divided Elywnn and Sunny Glade just up ahead. His hold on Medivh loosened, if only a little, as he pulled back just enough to get a better look around.

“Nothing quite like flying, huh?” Medivh called out to the younger mage.

Khadgar said nothing. He was too busy focusing on the feeling of flight. The wind blowing past them, the view of the moon above, the coolness of the night air. His anxiety melted away to an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Khadgar had seen many things done with magic throughout his life. What most would find amazing and wondrous was mundane to him. But there, in the skies, he felt goosebumps rise from his skin and a chill crawl up his spine. It was the first time in a long while that Khadgar felt a genuine sense of wonder.

They rode the winds. Medivh guided the gryphon to fly up a little higher, putting more distance between them and the trees. They soared over secluded forest houses, and soon enough, they arrived at a small town. The gryphon flew towards a tower that looked over it all. Khadgar had recognized it as a roost, where gryphons were usually kept. He had seen them when running errands for Guzbah. It then occurred to Khadgar that many of the errands he’d run that took him outside of Dalaran would have been much easier if they allowed him to use the gryphon services. Perhaps Guzbah thought it’d help Khadgar build some character. That was the usual excuse older people made. He wasn’t ready to think the worst of the man.

Medivh steered the gryphon in for a landing. Upon touching ground and trotting to a stop, Medivh patted the beast on the side of its neck affectionately, and praised her. “Good girl, thank you for the ride. We’ll be back soon.”

Medivh then climbed down from the saddle and offered a hand to Khadgar to help him down. He then turned his attention to one of the saddlebags, opened it up, and rummaged through it. He pulled out a quite old looking staff, adorned with a long red ribbon, a couple of baubles that hung from them, and an elegant-looking raven at its top. Khadgar could feel power thrumbing from within the staff. He had seen such things in Dalaran. Works of craftsmanship made from precious metals, rare woods, and gems. They had practical uses as focuses, allowing for spellwork to be done without the usual needed components. But they also were flaunted as status symbols. The more ornate, the more beautiful, was meant to say a lot about the mage holding it. Medivh’s staff was simple, beautifully carved, but lacked a lot of the usual flare. Khadgar couldn’t help the feeling of curiosity that nibbled away at him. There was a mystery there.

“Welcome to Goldshire.” Medivh announced, breaking Khadgar away from his thoughts. “We will not be staying here for long. It’s a nice little town during the day but…quite a strange place at night. I’m going to get our gryphon situated. Please don’t wander off.”

Khadgar frowned a little and looked out at the small town from the roost. He had to admit; it was certainly more lively than he would have expected a place to be at this time of night. There were plenty of people out on the streets. Their dress was certainly ‘different’. Khadgar could have sworn he spotted a pair dressed as the front and back ends of a horse meeting up with someone dressed in dark leather, sporting a riding crop. He could hear loud music in the distance and saw multi-colored lights flashing in the windows of what he assumed was a pub. He had to wonder if there was a festival happening.

Khadgar felt curiosity tugging at him. Surely it wouldn’t be too bad if he just went down and waited by the entrance, right? Perfectly harmless. With that thought in mind, Khadgar went on ahead, going down a set of stairs and stepping outside of the roost. He found himself suddenly swept away by a group of passersby. They barely paid him much attention, too focused on where they were heading. Khadgar stumbled free from the group, only to bump into another night dweller, and was shoved out of the way.

Khadgar almost tripped over himself before his back hit a brick wall. He could feel a sudden fear wash over him. He looked around and realized he had moved quite a distance away from the roost. Khadgar could feel his heartbeat picking up, he placed a hand on his chest in an attempt to calm it. He didn’t need his magic lashing out.

“J-just go back in the direction you came, you’ll be right back where you started.” Khadgar told himself. It felt more grounding to hear it, even if it was just from himself.

Khadgar took one deep breath, then one more, and the anxiety calmed, if only a little. He moved, looking up to find where the roost was. He saw the landing and more unease faded as he picked up the pace. Everything was fine. He’d be there in a minut--

A pair of arms reached out and grabbed onto him. A large, calloused hand clamped onto his mouth as the other arm snaked around his middle. Khadgar then found himself dragged into an alleyway. He was shoved against the wall of a building, his kidnapper’s forearm pressed against his throat. The glint of metal immediately caught Khadgar’s attention. His eyes locked onto the blade held close to his face, then moved to the face of the man who held it. Heat in the alleyway gradually rose. The palms of Khadgar’s hands began to itch and feel hot.

“What do we have here?” his captor said as he looked Khadgar over. “Todd, check his bag.”

Another man walked over and tore open Khadgar’s satchel. They rummaged through it. The silver cricket moved out of the way of the searching hand and hid in one of the bag’s inner pockets. The thief began tossing aside items. A makeshift book, a pack of tools. They were about to toss vials of catalysts until Khadgar found the ability to speak up.

“Those are valuable. Don’t throw them!”

The thief paused before giving a look at the vial in his hand. It was full of what appeared to be crushed amethyst. The corner of their mouth quirked into a crooked smile before he placed them back into the satchel. “May as well take the whole thing.”

Khadgar’s hand slammed down on the satchel. He couldn’t let them take it. He felt more pressure pressed against his neck. It was hard to breathe, let alone speak. Still, Khadgar’s stubbornness spurred him on, forcing out syllable after syllable of a spell.

He moved his hand from his satchel and grabbed onto the upper arm of the thief, crushing his throat. His palm ignited with roaring flames, the flash from the spell blinded the thief and Khadgar was able to push him off of himself. He gasped and gulped for air, breaking out into a cough.

“It’s a damned spellchucker! Forget this, you’re on your own!” The other thief sped out from the alleyway and disappeared into the crowds.

Khadgar moved to grab his spellbook and tools, but felt a violent tug on his hair. The thief that had pinned him had recovered and wasn’t about to let him go. He wrenched Khadgar onto the ground and sat on top of him. Before the young mageling could speak another spell, the thief’s hand clamped over his mouth. Khadgar’s hands shot up, trying to pry the hand away, but a glint caught his eye. The thief was about to plunge his knife down into him.

“That’s enough of that, thank you!”

Khadgar could have sworn he heard a familiar voice. He was too focused on the knife to be too sure. Suddenly, it moved away, trailing off to the side as the hand that held it struggled to keep a grip on it. Khadgar looked upwards and saw the hunched over form of Medivh. He stood behind the thief, the man’s ear pinched tightly between the Magus’ fingers.

“How about you leave the lad alone and you get to keep your ear?” Medivh said before turning his wrist a little. The thief cried out in pain but was guided to move to the side, and off of the mageling.

Khadgar scrambled to put as much distance as he could between himself and the thief. He watched as Medivh let go and stood at full height. The Magus was a considerably tall man. He had a lean build but with his feathered mantle and his staff at his side; he looked truly imposing.

The irises of Medivh’s eyes glowed a venomous green. In the shadows of the alley, he went from imposing to outright frightening. A boogeyman made real. “I’m not in the mood to deal with you. Leave us.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

The rest can be found on AO3

If you are new to the fic, Chapter 1 starts here.

#World of Warcraft #Khadgar #Medivh #RavenTrust

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thesolarangel · 2 years ago

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I was tagged by @corrodedbisexual (thank you, I love these music asks!💖) - share 10 favorite songs with names in the title:

I knew I would find songs in the pagan metal Genre haha! They love writing songs about Nordic mythology..

I also have a song called Loreley, also from a German Band 😂 makes sense, since the Loreley legend comes from the Rhine river in germany somewhere... I've been there during holiday years ago..

I'm tagging (without pressure of course):

@starlady66 @queenmeriadoc @goldfearless @fenharel-enaste @elvenqueenofmischief-blog @eremeldanin @rock-the-hobbit @captainbutterflynonsense 💖

#Spotify #Pagan metal

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votestaynight · 2 years ago

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4th day "partners" (scene 2)

Even if I'm going to listen to her, I have to know the situation I'm in first.

I have to know where I am before I go somewhere else.

That is the basic principle of a journey.

"I want to know what happened yesterday first."

"That's right. Knowing the current situation comes first. Wow, you're pretty smart."

Tohsaka smiles contently and describes what happened yesterday.

It seems that Berserker left after I fell unconscious.

She tells me that my body started to heal itself, and that it looked fine after about ten minutes.

And she says she brought me here since I didn't regain my consciousness even when my wound had healed, and that's where we are right now.

"Of course not. I can't do anything like revive a dying person any more. Emiya Shirou himself healed his own wounds."

"The important thing here is that you survived on your own. I did help you, but it was your own power that healed that wound. Don't mistake that part."

"It seems that way from what you told me. So you didn't heal it?"

"―――Hm."

What can I do, now that she said that?

My stomach is certainly healed, but I have doubts about Tohsaka's story.

I can't use healing magic, let alone revival magic.

"A line? You mean like the karmic line connecting a familiar and a magus?"

"Then the cause must be the Servant.

Your Servant must be really powerful, or something went wrong during the summoning. …Well, I think it's both, but I think some kind of line formed between you two."

"Oh, so you have a working knowledge of familiars?

Then this should be easy to explain. In other words, Emiya-kun and Saber's relationship is not a normal relationship like the one between a normal master and their familiar.

"It looks like Saber has natural healing powers, so some of that may be flowing into you.

Normally, the magus's power flows into the familiar, but in your case, the familiar's power is flowing into you and helping you out."

"…Hmmm. So putting it simply, it's like a river flowing upstream?"

"That's a good way to put it. It is not naturally possible, but I bet Saber's magical energy is so great that it can even change the flow of a river. That's the only reason she is able to go against Berserker with her small size."

"Not naturally possible… then is the relationship between you and Archer that of a normal magus and familiar?"

"Yes. He doesn't listen to much of what I say, but we do still have such a relationship."

"The connection between a Servant and a Master is like that of a gasoline and an engine. We provide the magical energy, and the Servant just uses it.

…Well, I guess there have been some Masters who shared their physical bodies with their Servants to obtain fake immortality. Not dying until their Servants are dead, something like that… Hey, are you listening, Emiya-kun?"

"Huh…? Yeah, I'm listening.

Then, are you saying most wounds on my body will heal even if I don't do anything?"

"No, I mean that if that's the case, I've nothing to worry about. Don't worry about it, it has nothing to do with you."

"Using your Servant's magical energy. I don't know how, but I'm sure the cause is in Saber's materialization. I know you haven't learned the curse of self-healing."

"Of course not. My father never taught me anything that difficult."

"…?"

What is it?

Tohsaka's words are indirect and hard to follow.

"I understand. I feel bad about taking damage and having Saber helping me."

"Oh well. Just don't do anything too reckless.

It's good that you survived this time, but you won't survive if you take that kind of wound again. You shouldn't get any optimistic hopes that you'll survive any major wounds."

"Idiot, that's not the reason. I'm sure you're not just using Saber's magical energy to heal your wounds.

―――You're definitely using something.

I don't know what it is… your life span, your luck, or your savings account, but you're definitely using something up."

Tohsaka gives a humph once again.

I feel the same way, but…

"Tohsaka, doesn't my savings account have nothing to do with this?"

"Of course it does! Magic uses up your money, so it's something that drains your money the more you use it!

I won't allow myself to be wrong!"

Tohsaka Rin erupts with the fires of personal grudges.

It's strange.

The more I talk with her, the more I understand this is the real Tohsaka Rin, and that the Tohsaka at school is just a mask she puts on.

…No, it's something I had realized already yesterday.

"Well, putting the part about money aside.

I'll be serious, is that all right, Emiya-kun?"

"That's why you stayed here, right? All right, I'll listen."

"Then I'll be direct about it. What are you planning to do from now on?"

She asks directly the one question I don't want to be asked.

…No, that's not it.

It's not that I don't want her to ask me, but I haven't made my mind up yet.

I'm the one who wants to ask, what do I do now.

"…Honestly, I don't know. You say I should fight for the Holy Grail, but I've never been in a fight between magi.

First of all, I―――"

I want to try to avoid killing people, and most of all―――

"I'm not interested in something mysterious like the Holy Grail.

I'm not too sure about risking my life for something I don't want."

"I knew you'd say that. You'll be killed by your Servant if you say something like that."

"Wha… Why would I!?"

"Because the Servant's goal is also the Holy Grail.

They can be summoned by the Masters because the condition on their summoning is that they obtain the Holy Grail."

"The most important thing for a Servant is to obtain the Holy Grail.

They obey their Master and risk their life for their Master, because they have a chance of obtaining the Holy Grail.

So just try saying that you don't want the Holy Grail. You can't complain even if they kill you and call you a betrayer."

"…What is that? That's weird, because Servants are what the Master summons, right?

So―――"

"Do you think a Servant would obey a human for no reward?

The Holy Grail grants the wish of whoever obtains it. The Servant of the Master who obtains it is no exception.

Even the Servants have their own wishes. That is why they respond to the otherwise impossible summoning."

"It's not that the Masters are summoning the Servants to obtain the Holy Grail.

The Servants are answering the Masters' call because they can obtain the Holy Grail."

"―――――"

Servants have their own desires…?

Then, does that mean Saber has a wish she wants the Holy Grail to grant?

"That's why the Servants try to eliminate other Servants even without orders from their Masters. Only one can obtain the Holy Grail. They cannot accept other Masters obtaining the Holy Grail.

Unlike their Masters, they don't have the power to take away the Command Spells. So the only way they can disarm other Masters is to kill them."

"So even if the Master has no intention of fighting, battle is inevitable.

A Master who is attacked by a Servant must fight it off with their own Servant. You heard enough from Kirei to know that this is the nature of the Holy Grail War, right?"

"―――Yeah, he told me that last night.

But―――"

That means allowing your Servant to try to kill other Servants.

I thought it would be over if I reached a compromise with other Masters, but if the Servants are ones summoned to obtain the Holy Grail and if it is true that they will not give it up, then a battle between the Servants is inevitable.

…Then…

The girl that fought to protect me is also ready to kill or be killed to obtain the Holy Grail?

"…That's awful. I don't know about this heroic spirit thing, but Saber is human. She was bleeding badly yesterday too."

"Oh, don't worry about that part. There's no life or death for the Servants. Even if Servants are eliminated, they just go back to where they belong. Heroic spirits are a phenomenon. They can't be killed. The only ones that can be killed during a fight are the Masters."

"No, but still…"

Even if it's a temporary death…

There's still the fact that something human-shaped has disappeared from this world.

"What? Are you saying it's murder? Are you still carrying such a sense of justice even though you're a magus?"

"――――――――"

Her comment is only natural.

As a magus, death is always right beside me.

I understand it and I'm already prepared for that.

But still―――I'm not strong enough to judge people's deaths as good or bad.

"―――Of course. I won't participate in a fight to the death."

"Oh? So you're just going to wait for the others to kill you? You're ceding the victory to other Masters?"

"Oh, so you'll be staying on the defensive. Then you'll just be observing what other Masters are doing, right? So even if someone like yesterday goes around killing everyone, you're going to ignore it?"

"That's not it. The point is to survive to the end, right? I don't have any intention of killing others, but I'll have no mercy in a fight to protect myself.

…If the opponent is out to kill me, they won't complain if they are killed in return, right?"

Someone like yesterday…?

She must mean that inhuman monster.

"―――――"

Superhuman strength that allows the destruction of a house or two with a single blow…

…Certainly, if that thing wished, this town could be in ruins in just one night.

And on top of that, the problem is that the Servants are normally in spirit form.

Humans can't see those in spirit form.

But since the Servants can affect the real world as spirits, you could call them the most powerful weapon.

With the technology we have now, there are no weapons that can affect a spiritual being.

Our attacks are useless against them, and their attacks can damage us.

It's not just a one-sided game.

Murder by a Servant is like a natural death for normal people.

Death caused by an invisible killer will just be treated as accidental death or suicide.

"What is that? Servants―――no, Masters and Servants don't just attack other Masters? Other people have nothing to do with them, right?"

"Yeah, I really wish that was the case. But if it were, you wouldn't need a supervisor like Kirei, would you?"

"I do. So they can use magic repeatedly, right?"

"I should have said earlier. Servants are spirits. They are already complete, so they don't grow.

But magical energy used as fuel is different.

The more magical energy they have available, the more they can use the powers they had in life.

That part is the same as for us magi… do you understand?"

You could say magical energy is the gunpowder to fill a gun, and the magus is the gun itself.

The type of gun depends on the magus's abilities: pistol, rifle, machinegun, shotgun…

Using that metaphor, Servants are cannons.

Using a large amount of gunpowder, they fire a large bullet.

"That's right. Servants aren't given their mana by nature. They act with the magical energy inside them.

We Masters support them, so Servants can only use their powers using their own magical energy plus the magical energy of their Master.

"But that means an amateur Master like you would be no match for other Masters, right?

So there's a loophole… well, I guess you could call it an obvious answer. Servants can supplement their magical energy from other sources.

Servants are spirits, so they can get nourishment from eating things that are like them."

"―――Hm?"

Nourished by eating things that are like them…?

"Things like them? You mean spirits? But what kind of spirits would they eat?"

"It's a simple answer. Nature spirits obtain power from nature itself.

So where do you think Servants, human spirits, get their power from?"

"―――Oh."

It is a simple answer.

As we humans eat meat, the human spirits―――

"Exactly. Usually, they replenish enough magical energy from their Master.

But it's obvious that one gets more magical energy from many people rather than just one person, right?

To put it bluntly, a weak Master makes his Servant eat humans."

"――――"

"Servants transform human emotions and souls into magical energy.

That is the most efficient way to make your Servant more powerful. There are many Masters who kill humans as sacrifices for their Servant."

"As sacrifices… so you're saying that if a Master didn't care about his methods, he would kill humans to make his Servant stronger?"

"Yes. But I don't think a smart Master would do such a thing."

"You see, even if Servants are powerful, there is a limit to their magical energy capacity. They can't store magical energy over their capacity, so there is a limit to how much they can kill and collect magical energy.

The Association wouldn't ignore you if you went around killing people, and most of all, other Masters might figure out your Servant's abilities and identify them from the cause of death. Not to mention the identity of the Master as well.

It is highly advantageous in the Holy Grail War to keep your identity a secret, so a normal Master should be stingy about using their Servant."

"…I'm glad. Then there's no problem. That means Servants won't indiscriminately attack humans without orders from their Master."

…I see.

Certainly, if nobody knows that you are a Master, there's no danger of other Masters attacking you.

Conversely, if you know who the other Masters are, you could definitely pull a surprise attack on them.

By that theory, there won't be many Masters that would have their Servants attack humans and reveal their identity―――

"Right. They are heroes, right? Someone who would go out and kill people wouldn't be called a hero in the first place―――well, no, I can't really say that for sure.

There are many examples of people becoming heroes just because they were a mass murderer."

"―――"

Tohsaka makes an ominous comment.

As it seems to be her true feelings rather than just sarcasm, a bit of strain in her personality might be showing.

"Let's get back to the conversation. So, what are you going to do?

Since you don't want to kill people, you're just going to watch, is that right?"

…I take back what I said.

She really has a bad personality. She's a real bully, putting me on the spot and asking me that with a smile.

"Yeah, I know it's selfish, but I can't think of any other choices. I won't change my decision no matter how much you argue against it."

"I'll just have to stop them. The Masters will calm down once they lose their Servants, right?"

"Unbelievable. You say you won't go out and kill other Masters, but you also say you'll kill them if they do anything bad.

Emiya-kun, do you realize you're contradicting yourself?"

"Hmm. But there's one problem with that. Can I tell you what it is?"

She's plotting something. With that face, she's definitely plotting something.

But as a man, I have to listen.

"O-Okay. What is it?"

"Do you remember the Master yesterday? The girl who was talking about killing you and me."

"――――"

How can I forget? They attacked us mercilessly.

"That girl will come and kill us. I think you know that too."

"―――"

I… see.

That girl is a Master too.

Since she knows Tohsaka and I are Masters, she will come and attack us someday.

I don't know if it'll be today or tomorrow, but I do know it's a death sentence.

At least, I know I can't stop such a monster.

"―――Sorry. But you wouldn't be able to beat it either, right?"

"Her Servant, Berserker, is on a different level.

You can't match it, being an inexperienced Master. You say you won't do anything except defend yourself, but you won't even be able to do that."

"I wouldn't be able to beat it head on. It's the most powerful Servant in hand-to-hand combat. I don't think any previous Servant could match it. Even I wouldn't be able to escape if Berserker attacked me."

"…I feel the same way. I don't think I'll get another chance if it attacks me again."

"That's right. Do you get it? You can't choose to wait until the Holy Grail War is over without doing anything."

Unconsciously, I place my hand on my stomach.

The wound on my stomach is healed now.

No, you couldn't call it a wound. It was pretty much instant death.

My nausea returns just at the thought of taking another blow like that.

"…Yeah, I get it. But what are you trying to say? I don't quite understand.

You're not having fun watching me being condemned to death, right? …Uh, or are you?"

"I don't have such bad taste.

Geez, don't you get it after I've said so much? In short, I'm asking you if you want to join up with me."

"…?"

Hm? Hmmmm, hm?

Um, if I take that at face value, that's…

"―――Join up!? You mean, me and Tohsaka!?"

"Yes. My Archer received a fatal wound and is healing right now. It will take a while for him to heal fully, but he should still be about half as useful.

And there are no problems with your Servant, but her Master is dragging her down, so she is half as useful as well. See, it adds up fine."

"Huh. I'm not that bad."

"Even though you've almost died three times from what I know of? I think you're the first person I've ever seen almost die three times in one day."

"Guh―――but that's…"

"I'll compensate you for the alliance. I'll forgive you for beating Archer and I'll teach you about being a Master. Oh, and if we have time, I can look at your skills as a magus. How about it?"

…Ugh.

That certainly is an attractive proposal.

As I don't know anything, Tohsaka would be a reliable teacher.

And if I can help it, I don't want to fight against Tohsaka.

Not because she's the girl I admired at school.

In fact, if I didn't know her like this, I wouldn't have felt this much resistance.

…The Tohsaka Rin in front of me is so different from how people describe her as an honor student.

But talking to her, she is just Tohsaka and it seems she's just as she appears.

Well―――in other words, I'm saying I find her so much more attractive this way that I'm wondering why I even have to tell myself this―――

"Emiya-kun? I want to hear your answer."

She urges my response.

I―――

#votestaynight #fate #fate stay/night #fate route

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