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orlissa · 2 years ago

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January reading summary

My one New Year’s resolution this year was to read fifty books in 2023–that would mean 4.17 books per month, just for fun math’s sake. In January, I managed to finish nine. Okay, that’s a bit of a fib, because two of these nine were started back in 2022, and one was read twice (once when I translated it, and once when I proofread the manuscript, but I’m gonna count those too). Still, it’s a pretty strong start. Anyway, I thought I’d do like a monthly summary of my reads, partially to motivate myself, and partially just to review to books I read, because we Leos thrive on attention. So, January reads, here we go:

Richelle Mead: The Indigo Spell/The Fiery Heart/Silver Shadows/The Ruby Circle – I read these right after each other (I started The Indigo Spell on December 31), as a part of my Vampire Academy re-read I started early December, so they kinda bleed together in my mind and I’m not even gonna try and write separate reviews of them. Truth is, I like 75% percent decided to read Bloodlines because I wasn’t ready to let go the Vampire Academy world yet after finishing Last Sacrifice–I just needed more Rose and Dimitri. Sure, there were things I liked in Bloodlines beyond their cameos, like the new magic system, the theme of rebellion against oppressive structures, dealing with parental trauma, and I especially enjoyed the whole re-education sequence in book five (there are very few things more terrifying than psychological torture, and the whole storyline of Sydney not giving up and fighting against it was absolutely fascinating). Still, I couldn’t get into the characters as much as I did with the original series, and, let’s be honest here, the last book sucked. The plot was all over the place, and the author basically fridged two women for a fanservice twist within a storyline with a hamfisted outcome (I mean, as a fan I was very much serviced, but it could have been done in a better way).

John Gwynne: The Hunger of the Gods – This was my translation project, so one of the books I started last year and the book I read twice from this list. As for the book itself… So, it’s a Viking-lore inspired epic fantasy (second in a trilogy) with a huge cast, where warring factions are allying with gods to gain power over the continent called Vigrið. Is it something I would have chosen to read for myself? No, it had way too much blood, eye-gouging, disfigurement, and child abuse in it for my taste (extensive facial scaring of characters has always made me squeamish). Was it objectively a good book? Yeah, sure. There is a wide range of interesting and diverse characters with depth, an exciting plot, and remarkable worldbuilding. Do I manifest the editor stepping on a Lego? Yeah, that too, because on the textual level the book had some issues that had me wanting to rip my hair out. But if you are into hard-core bloody fantasy and Norse lore, yeah, I definitely recommend it.

George Takei – Justin Eisinger – Steven Scott – Harmony Becker: They Called Us Enemy – I read this one in preparation for a course of mine which I won’t be teaching after all. Still, no regrets here (I mean, I’m sad I won’t get to teach this class, but I’m not sad that I read this book). So it’s George Takei’s memoir about his family’s time in internment camps for Japanese-Americans during WWII, while also dealing with the impact that time had on his later life, in a graphic novel format. It’s poignant and heartbreaking and honest, and really helps to put this segment of American history into perspective.

Ali Hazelwood: The Love Hypothesis – I read this book out of morbid curiosity, because I’ve seen how divisive it is (having started out as a Reylo fic, the author talking about how her agent is feeding her tropes, etc.), and honestly, I did not expect to enjoy it as much as I did. Sure, there were icky parts, like it took actual willpower not to try to equate the main characters with Reylo/the actors, and not to try to match the supporting cast to the… well, to the Star Wars supporting cast (which I really needed to do, because I don’t like the new Star Wars, and although he has my absolute respect as a human being, I do not find Adam Driver attractive at all), the author sometimes really went overboard with the “OMG, what an actual giant the male lead is”–gushing, the sex scene had some questionable lines/metaphors, some of the side plots had a distinct fanfic crowd-pleaser feel (like Malcolm and Holden, who I’m pretty sure were originally Finn and Poe, going from “vaguely aware of each other’s existence” to “in a stable, have met the parents, banging like rabbits relationship” in like three days), and the ending was definitely rushed. However, on the other hand it was a fun little rom-com with a witty language and some commentary on sexism and sexual harassment, and although I’m not in STEM, the quips about academia and PhD candidacy really, and I mean really resonated with me. I’m definitely going to read more of the author’s stuff.

Brodi Ashton – Cynthia Hand – Jodi Meadows: My Imaginary Mary – I’m a big fan of The Lady Janies-series, but I’ll be the first one to say that they seem to be running out of steam. Sure, I know this book wasn’t even the original plan – they wanted to do one with Marie Curie, but they had to scrap that idea for some reason, so instead we get Mary Shelley and Ada Lovelace –, but still, in some aspects this book falls really… flat. While in the previous books the fantasy element felt like an integral part of the world, here it’s just… there, just thrown in, and the whole “fae godmother” introduction is just lazy writing (literally, a character just appears, brings one protagonist to the other, introduces them to each other, tells them she is their fae, not fairy, godmother, and she is now going to teach them magic. Just like that, in medias res, deus ex machina, and all that jazz). At the same time, Pan is sweetheart, the pop culture allusions are a stroke of genius, and the whole discourse about what is life is nice. So, yeah, the style is great, the message is great, but the plot is meh at best.

#orlissa reads #books

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lartazurde235942-blog · 5 years ago

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freeSilver Shadows: A Bloodlines Novel audiobook free mp3

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pinespittinink · 2 years ago

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18, 27, 32, 33?

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

I chose this passage from Bloodlines because it’s a keystone of the story; the very beginning of Victory and Enfriator’s relationship. I’m an extremely strong lover of Intense Circumstances Accelerate Emotional Connections + Close Quarters Physical Space, and both of those are in play here; there’s a fine line especially for a reader between instalove and the nuanced articulation of those events, and it’s something I’ll be revisiting again in this scene when I rework the story. But the essence of it will always stay the same. The kiss has been here since the beginning, just like the dialogue between them.

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

I don’t think I really have characters like this. Big Bad Villains are tricky for me because I want them to be believable and with a genuine sense of power that doesn’t just come from their position; again, it’s another nuance I’m always working at.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

I have many of these, but the ones I think I come back to the most are “we’re all stories in the end (just make it a good one)” from an episode of Doctor Who, and this line from Sam in The Return of the King: “there is light and beauty up there, that no shadow can touch.”

The Doctor Who one gets me because it’s true. However long the story lasts is beside the point here; it’s that it exists at all, our lives and memories and how we touch other people. Why wouldn’t you want to leave a good story behind, life a good life?

Sam’s words get me on a comforting level; it’s just a very special sentiment I relate to that there are good things in the world, despite all else, and that will always be the case, no matter how small or faraway they may be. I will always be a romantic and never a cynic.

This passage from LOTR also means the world to me, I have a very very personal connection to it that I won’t ever get into, but it’s incredibly calming and assuring for me: “the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver-glass, and then you see it… White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.”

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

I sing! I’m a classically trained mezzo soprano actually. I’ve got an intrinsically emotional connection to music, and while I know this is not uncommon hahah, there are pieces that I cannot listen to without immediately crying.

Interestingly enough, I don’t always or even often listen to music while I write. I will focus too much on the lyrics, or even just the undulations and chords and melodies and bass, riding them subconsciously like a river, and that’s ah, distracting to me.

🐚 writing asks! 🐚

#thank you laufire this one took me a while but i'm glad i did it #asks #my writing #laufire

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liviavanrouge · 2 years ago

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Livia smiled, fixing her hair after she got dressed. She walked down the hallway, meeting up with Malleus. "I got you tutors, come on"Malleus smiled. This was her duty from now on, being raised by Malleus since she was five gave her some insight on how a royal should act, being his heir and princess of this Valleys have her a lot of new responsibilities she was gonna try her best to keep up and follow. "Livia, meet your etiquettes teacher"Malleus smiled. Livia lifted her dress up, placing one foot behind the other as she bowed her head. "I am Princess Livia Vanrouge, it is an honor to meet you"Livia greeted. "Such great posture! A good introduction as well!"The pale blond haired woman beamed. "Your majesty, I am Silvia, I hope we can get along and have fun together"The woman smiled.

"This is your history tutor, Duke Nilo, he taught me when I was younger"Malleus smiled. "We'll see how smart she is"Duke Nilo scowled. "Do you know how many jaguars and Faes died during the Jaguar Revenge War?"Livia asked. "2,760 Jaguars died and 1,593 Faes died in that war"Duke Nilo says Malleus smirking when Livia smiled. "Actually sir the correct number is deaths is 3,570 for the jaguars and 750 for the Faes! The people who wrote the history book on the war tried to make it seem like it was more than that so everyone can fear Jaguars!"Livia corrects shocking the Duke. "My Daddy knows a lot of history and taught me the truth of it, did you know the famous Author that wrote the novel Moonlit Love was actually a Female Jaguar who spied on my Mother and Father, during their nightly meetups!"Livia went on.

Duke Nilo sputtered in shock, staring at her, seemingly impressed. "Everyone says the author was a male, but if you look closely at the bottom of the page you'll see a name there, the name Springlily, a female Jaguar who is also my auntie, she wrote the book about my parents love story which is how I know how they feel in love and had me!"Livia beamed. "Most impressive...I say Malleus, you've chosen a good heir despite her not being of Royal Blood"Duke Nilo smiled impressed. "Sir, correction again, I am of Royal Blood but not with Draconia blood, my Ancestor Queen Virda was the Queen of the Woodland Kingdom who is hidden away in a mysterious place, nobody knows where they are, after I was revived I chose to become a Fae Demon Jaguar, so I am now of Royal Blood"Livia giggled getting another impressed look from her history tutor.

"Looks like me and you are gonna have a lot of history talks, I would love to know more about the truth of our history"Duke Nilo smiled. "There will be time for that later, Livia you can go explore while I speak with your tutors"Malleus smiled. She nodded and left the room, walking down the hallway silently. She stopped, hearing a few maids talking among themselves while doing their work. "Malleus was wrong to chose that hybrid instead of having his own heir when he's an adult!" "Exactly, I'm so angry he chose that little brat!" "She's worse than her mother, Thea Vanrouge disgusts me, sleeping with the King of the Jaguars, then proceeding to sleep with the great Lilia Vanrouge, she's tainted the Vanrouge Bloodline, and they had that little devil spawn, nobody wants her around!" "Yeah!" "Exactly!"

Livia frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, wondering how she should go about this, then smirked and stepped out into view, her eyes starting to water as her smirk faded. "Y-You don't like me!"Livia says tears falling down her cheeks. "PRINCESS!!" She let out a hurt cry and covered her face, falling to her knees. "Livia!"Sebek gasped hurrying over. "Sis!"Shadow called following Sebek with Silver behind him. "They were speaking ill of me and Mom, calling me a devil's spawn!"Livia cried. Sebek and Silver looked at the maids, Shadow growling at them. The three led the maids away down the hallway, Livia giving them a small nod reassuring them that she'd be fine on her own. She got to her feet and frowned, wondering if that was how she should've went about it.

She sighed and walked away down the hall, her hair swaying behind hall. "Princess! Your highness, wait up!" Silvia ran over and beamed at Livia. "Come on, and lets get started!"Silvia smiled. "Yes ma'am"Livia nodded following her. She entered a large room, looking around silently. She blinked twice, Silvia placing three books on her head. "I'll be right behind you to catch you! Try walking, back straight and head forward!"Silvia smiled. Livia lifted her dress up as she walked, keeping straight forward, Silvia beaming looking proud. "Such great posture!"Silvia praised. "If you're pretending to be nice, you don't gotta, I know I'm terrible"Livia says. "Now who told you that!"Silvia demanded looking angry. "Mairons mother.."Livia says. Silvia took the books away and sat her down, talking about what happened.

Malleus sat in the library, silently reading a book. A puff of white smoke made him perk up, Livia appearing with her fathers old spell book in hand. "Oh sorry Mal Mal!"Livia says earning a small smile from him. She flipped the page and vanished again, causing him to chuckle in amusement, shaking his head. He looked back down at his book, until the white puff of smoke returned, Livia coughing. "Let me see"Malleus smiled amused as he walked over. He flipped through the book and handed it back to her. Livia snapped her fingers together and vanished, blue smoke bring left behind this time. He chuckled, waiting to see if she returned. Livia came back and kissed his cheek. "Thanks Malleus!"Livia says before vanishing again, blue smoke making him laugh. "It's a blast having her around"Malleus smiled.

#twst oc #twst livia #twst malleus #valley of thorns #briar valley #princess of the valley #princess livia #thorn princess

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grisailledreams · 3 years ago

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Song lyrics for you from one of my favourite songs!! King by The Amazing Devil:

Your fingernails are the colour of rust / and your veins are empty of dust / but our voices collide with each howl of the tide / singing all hell and its fire waits for us

Holy crap! 1) I had no idea that Joey Batey was in a band and 2) That this song EXISTS!!! and 3) That I needed it in my life!!! This is so good! Thank you so much for sending this in!

Now, shock and chagrin, this brought up my WIP novel "Chaotic" rather than SoS this time XD I'm sorry! I hope you still like it! It's a wee bit long, but this is honestly cut way down from what I was going to do.

((Context: Witch teams up with a disenfranchised god to steal back his magic and after that happens, all hell kind of breaks loose and the witch starts regretting her life choices.))

Gemma heaved the door shut and leaned against it, panting. The winding staircase she left behind was full of angry, muffled gruntings, but the stone shielded her from the worst of it. She pinned down a cross-beam to block off the door to buy herself some time.

The top of the lighthouse held no reflective, spinning mirrors and blinding lights, but a blue-green flame bright enough for this strange, ancient land. Sapphire smoke rose in a thick column through a hole in the ceiling. Runes in the gods' language marked the columns and masonry, telling tales that mankind had long since forgotten and that she couldn't read without a few days.

In the very heart of the fire was a silver, glistening box.

Ados's secret.

But how to reach it? The spells she knew might guard against regular fire, but this was definitely a different species. She might as well lop off her own arm. There had to be something in the room...

While she weighed her options, the clamor outside grew still without her notice. Tiny claws scuttled across the ancient, ruddy stone floor. Gemma rolled up her right sleeve and began drawing a fireproof sigil with her forefinger, adding a few Hail Mary flairs to hopefully beef them up. The claws stopped behind her, just in time for her to see the giant shadow spring to life.

Ados pulled her away with his huge, spidery hands wrapped around her torso.

"Are you insane?" he hissed in her ear.

She squirmed like a cat, weaponizing her elbows, and eventually caught him in the ribs. It couldn't have hurt him, but he let her go. In the same breath, he waved a hand and sent her flying back into the opposite wall with an oomph.

"Can we please not keep fighting about this?" he asked. His heavy steps clunked closer. All seven feet of him seemed so much larger from this vantage point. "I don't want to make you stop. I want you home. Safe. Away from all this."

"You should have thought about that before signing me up to be your personal assistant in the first place," Gemma snapped back. "What's the fire about?"

"Lightning that birthed the gods." He rubbed his forehead, exasperated. "If you'd like a history lesson, I'd be more than happy to-"

Gemma flung out a hand of her own. Golden, rootlike tendrils unfurled from the stone below Ados's feet and wrapped around his legs, then yanked him down. She was on him in a fury, knife drawn. He rolled his eyes. She sneered.

"You should be grateful it's not the Doomsword," she hissed.

"Release me," he drawled.

"Why?"

"So I can knock some sense into you and take you home."

"Why don't you want me to know what you've been keeping here for so long?" she shot back. Her dagger, unyielding in an unsteady hand, pressed its flat side into the soft flesh where his neck and shoulder joined up. Both of them knew she wouldn't do it. Not really. Not from that way he was looking at her. "If you ever loved me-"

"Nutha gemelot, you know I do."

"Then be honest."

Ados made to caress her cheek, but she flinched away. He turned irritable. "Why isn't theft good enough?"

"It's not a reason to start a war! Not when you're a god!" Her lower lip trembled. As the tears welled up and caught on her lashes, Gemma added, "You've been holding onto this rage for longer than my entire bloodline has been alive. I need to know what made Oleyar's murder worth it."

He pressed his lips into a hard, thin line and his face blanched. She knew that face. The one he wore when he saved her life.

"It was you."

#it was so fun!#though I'm kind of disappointed that it's not SoS T.T #maybe tomorrow if I need another exercise to get me going #also this book is my baby so i can't be that mad at it #ask meme #patchworkgargoyle #THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS IN!!!

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mz-elysium · 4 years ago

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Finished Series: City of Fallen Angels

[ID: a photoshopped header, with a weathered and cracked angel statue on the right, with a gold and red title of “City of Fallen Angels: A Vampire the Masquerade Series”, and four pictures of characters’ eyes on the left. The first, a white man with dark hair and blue eyes; the next, a Black woman with makeup and curly black hair; the third, an Asian man with shaggy black hair; the fourth, a young white woman with unkempt curls and freckles. (end ID) ]

GENRE: vampire urban fantasy; gothic-punk; tragedy with happy ending; romance (+gay romance); slice of life

INCLUDES: fluff and angst, Everyone is a Monster/No Heroes, hopeful ending, everyone lives (sometimes living is worse), found family, everyone needs hugs and therapy, vengeance, political intrigue, morals and facing who you are as a person

POV: multi third person

SETTING: Los Angeles, 2003; using Vampire the Masquerade setting, takes place the year before Bloodlines. VTMB events primarily book 2.

Book 1: Sundown: 133k words; AO3

Los Angeles, 2003. The Father of the Revolution, Jeremy MacNeil has abandoned the Anarch Movement three years ago and left his legacy in the hands of Salvador Garcia. The Barony of Angels in Central LA is a patchwork of roving vampire gangs, brutal Anarchs, and outcasts. No one to give orders. No one to restrain the Beast. Survival of the fittest. The Anarch way.

Charlie Bradley is Embraced into this chaos. The Malkavian fledgling digs her heels into what remains of her human life — her little sister, who fell into her care when their mother died last year, and her last best friend. Every night, the human life slips further and further out of reach.

Matthew Monroe has accepted it as his last option. As autarkis and a former Ventrue, he takes no voice in politics, rarely attends social events, and keeps largely to himself. His heirloom ghoul, Miss Audrey Hawthorne, is the last remnant of the sect and clan he misses dearly.

MacNeil granted him dominion over Silver Lake three years ago, when he arrived. But, as Garcia tends to remind him, MacNeil isn’t here anymore. When hunters begin to dog their footsteps, Monroe knows they are on their own.

Los Angeles is a powder keg and the sun is going down.

Book 2: Blackout: 290k words, AO3

December 2003. Los Angeles is under siege. A traditionalist faction of Camarilla, led by the enigmatic Jan Pieterzoon, cunning Victoria Ash, and the once-Anarch Prince Bartholomew Vaughn, has taken the Valley and looks to the rest of the city. Brewing in Westside, Sebastian LaCroix has brokered an alliance with the Voerman sisters and claimed his own crown. What remains of the fractured Anarchs squabble, terrified, and Nines’ Downtown barony hangs together with duct tape and promises. In the dark and dank, Sabbat stir and Tremere plot.

Four vampires tell the story of the cold war struggle over Los Angeles. Matthew Monroe, the Ventrue leader over a growing independent faction in Central LA. Jack Shen, a Gangrel with ties to Downtown and a mage lover who is more ruthless than he imagined. Charlie Bradley, a Malkavian fledgling who begins to explore her identity and place in the night. Zari, a Toreador infiltrator in Prince LaCroix’s court who can’t let her past go.

Blackout is a novel of personal horror and political intrigue. When the lights go out, all of us are left alone with our shadows.

Book 3: Daybreak: 180k words AO3

April 2004. One way or another, Los Angeles will fall. The war has lost its pretense of friendly smiles. Enemies have been declared, battle lines drawn. There will be no surrender. The Sabbat are beaten, but not gone. Camarilla realms of the Valley, Westside, and Angels stand steadfast against the struggling Anarchs of Nines' Downtown. The Middle Kingdom sharpens their claws in preparation. Deals are struck. Old blood bonds creak in the night. Generational cycles are broken. Splintered relationships long to be healed, as others shatter and reform in new shapes. A sarcophagus washes ashore. The Final Nights are at hand.

Six vampires tell the conclusion of the power struggle over Los Angeles. A novel of political intrigue and the power of mercy and compassion, where broken characters find love and learn how to heal each other’s wounds. In the darkest of nights, there is always hope.

Vampires lie. Vampires don’t have friends. All vampires are both knife and wound. When day breaks, we all must be able to live with what we have done.

original writing or fanfiction?

uses Vampire the Masquerade world and history, original main cast, mostly original supporting cast, original plot, and is largely written fandom-blind with exposition. Has tongue-in-cheek references to the game.

posts

Tag, including asks/memes : #wip: the city of fallen angels

A Sword to Fall On finished

Sundown WiP intro (less accurate)

Sundown comic sans powerpoint (mostly accurate)

Sundown finished

Monroe Intro (for Sundown)

Brief Character Intros

Book 2 comic sans powerpoint (most recent/accurate)

Sundown finished (2)

Book 2 intro/announcement for starting to post

Three beautiful commissioned covers

wanna read?

A Sword to Fall On (complete) : AO3

City of Fallen Angels: (1) Sundown (complete) : AO3

City of Fallen Angels: (2) Blackout (complete) : AO3

City of Fallen Angels: (3) Daybreak (complete) : AO3

the crew

Matthew Monroe. A perpetual outsider and outcast of noble Clan Ventrue, stoic and unsmiling and unfun. He strives to do the right thing, though has a streak of ruthlessness and anger. Loathing and fleeing the games of political intrigue, he finds himself dragged into them again and again — and, to his horror, learns to like them. Alone for too long, he struggles with feelings for his blood-bonded ghoul, Miss Hawthorne, and they share a tremulous relationship of love and hate that spans the series. Deeply longs for the home he left behind in San Francisco all those years ago, and the brotherhood of the clan he knows has never existed. INCLUDES: friends-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers, political intrigue, the meaning of leadership, found family.

Zari Adeyemi-Swan. An Anarch-sired rose of Clan Toreador, Zari finds the chaos of LA much to her liking. Her foster sire, Ashley Swan, is a living nightmare. Snarky. Cruel. Greedy. And such things have ways of rubbing off. Even escaping him after three decades, she has learned to look ahead and never face her past. As a mortal, she left behind a young family — thirty years ago. Now, babies are grown, a husband is wrinkled and white-haired, and life has moved on. Desperate to escape herself, she runs, but finds she is always there first. INCLUDES: secret admirer, the price of immortality, building a family, finding purpose later in life, #Growth.

Jack Shen. A himbo Gangrel with no intelligence but far too much perception, Jack’s crooked smile and mullet hides more than most will ever see. A determined cheerfulness beats back the darkness of his endless nights, as he seems to lose friends at every corner. Damsel, Skelter, the Professor. He finds his lover of fifty years, Ryuko Saito, an old mage clinging to life and youth at the end of his years, far more desperate than he could ever imagine. INCLUDES: personality cults, bickering married couple, magic and ghost busting, the strength of well-worn love.

Charlie Bradley. A new fledgling of addled Clan Malkavian, she grapples for the fast-fading memory of what it means to be human. As her nights wear into her, she struggles to atone for her crimes. A young lesbian searching for purpose and meaning, in a world that has taken everything from her. With everything it has taken, perhaps it owes her, too. INCLUDES: the Cobweb (supernatural schizophrenia), first kiss and first love, grief and starting over, exploring butch/gender, new adult building a life, found family.

#writing #original writing #vtmb #vtm #writers of tumblr #urban fantasy #vampires #vampire the masquerade #wip intro #wtwcommunity

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randbwrite · 3 years ago

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The Phoenix Queen

Just a teaser of something I’ve been working on for a long time. It’s the beginning of a dark fantasy novel. Enjoy. -R

Faster, she had to move faster. She knew, she could feel it, he was almost gone. Why did she have to sleep? It was just a nap and he promised he wouldn’t leave the throne room. Please…. Please…. Don’t be too late.

She threw the heavy doors to the throne room open and gasped for air. Though there were only about twenty or so nobles present, the red liquid slowly seeping down the steps to the throne was quite visible. She took off in a run again, her shoes clattering hard against the solid and cold stone.

She shouted his name, yet she couldn’t hear her own voice as she ascended the steps. Her husband lay in front of her, blood slowly trickling down the steps from several stab wounds. She sank to her knees, tears forming in her eyes, her breath shaking as she pulled him into her arms. For the second time in her life, she held the one she loved most, as they lay dying in her arms. His beautiful blue eyes met her brilliant teal ones as she slightly shook her head. He mouthed the words “I love you” and then slowly closed his eyes.

She let out a cry from the very depths of her being, a wail that sounded of a world-ending. Had her hair not already turned white from the events of her childhood, it would have done so now. The room grew cold and ice crystals began forming across the floor. The nobles glanced back and forth between one another, with several bolting for the open doors. The doors, as if making sure that none would escape justice, slammed closed, the nobles turning back to look upon their queen.

The light in the throne room began to dim, as outside, what appeared to be a solar eclipse suddenly and rapidly appeared in the sky. Hushed whispers of panicked voices arose in the room, all seeming to be some variation of “it can’t be”. The room plunged into total darkness and silence, save for a pair of glowing amethyst eyes near the throne.

Unearthly sounds could be heard from the windows followed by a beastly and deep growl. Small bursts of a purple-black fire ran along the walls, lighting the sconces along the wall with the strange magical fire. A deep, raspy voice echoed through the throne room,

“My, my, my. What have we here? A murdered king in the throne room. Did none of you pay any attention in school? Or did you think it was all just an old legend meant to scare bureaucrats into not killing their rulers?”

As the room lit more and more, it revealed a man, or what looked like a man, with glowing red eyes standing near the throne. He was dressed oddly, wearing what appeared to be black dragon skin in the form of a long, tailored coat. He leaned against a cane, with a silver dragon head at the handle. His smile sent chills through the nobles who were present, especially when he ran his fingers through his black hair. He picked a piece of dust off the vest of his black suit, seemingly bored with the whole affair.

A nobleman, still holding a knife drenched in crimson, spoke up, his voice trembling, “A-are you?”

“The one who appears whenever a Wizard monarch is murdered? Yes, that would be me. Please tell me you remember my name at least? One can’t go around bringing about prophecies and fulfilling old legends properly without the requisite knowledge of just who is smiting who, now can we?”

“Dracten? No…. it… it can’t be.” The noble shook his head in disbelief.

“Ah, well, at least your schooling was good for something. Now, let’s see here. I count…. Five of you with blades, several more with magical residue. My, my, what did he do to deserve such a death?”

“He and his queen have yet to save us from the undead scourge that is threatening to take over the realms.” The noble replied.

The same beastly growl filled the room from before and the man dressed in black slowly walked towards the nobleman, looking quite annoyed. “If you mean to lie to a god, I suggest that you do a better job of it, mortal.” Once Dracten was right in front of the noble, he tapped his cane on the ground, “Let’s try that again, shall we?”

“He’s only half wizard. Not fit for being a royal.”

Dracten’s eyebrow twitched and his expression grew stern. “THAT is why he was murdered? Not for power, revenge, personal vendetta, the throne? No, you all chose to kill someone, over THAT?”

“Without a pure-blooded heir, the Wizard kingdom would surely suffer a lack of power against the other races.”

Dracten inhaled a few times, seeming to start speaking before pressing his lips together, only to repeat the process over again. “You…. Are an idiot.” Dracten walked away, shaking his head, making his way to the grieving queen. He stretched out his hand to her, which she reluctantly took as he helped her stand. He looked her over and then sighed, “My, my. Being the one to fulfill the prophecy of reuniting the realms apparently was not enough, was it? As you know, I am here at your service, especially seeing as you are the last of the royal bloodline, are you not?”

Her eyes had grown puffy, and her tears had crystalized into ice along her cheeks. She nodded and then spoke in a hoarse voice. “I am.”

“What is your request then? Torment for all eternity? Death, destruction and chaos? Come now, I must have an answer.”

“Any of you who had nothing to do with my husband’s death, leave now.” Her expression grew distant as the doors to the throne room swung open. All but a few hurried out of the room. Just beyond the threshold of the door, several sets of eyes watched with great interest and relief, thankful that they were not caught in the ancient enchantments of the throne room. “Dracten, my wish, in part of my family’s agreement with you ages ago, is to borrow your power for a time.”

He grinned with a deep laugh, “Now THAT, is one I have never been asked for before. Very well, you will be granted my powers for a time. And in return?”

“You may do with their souls as you wish. This I grant you, not only as the queen of the Wizards, but as the rightful heir to the Angelic and Demonic thrones, unifier of the races and restorer of the realms.”

He hit his cane on the floor twice and laughed again, “Excellent! I do love a good show.” He hopped over to the throne and sat down as if getting ready to watch a highly anticipated play.

The nobleman spoke up, now visibly trembling, “Your Majesty, please, understand what we did was for the good of the kingdom.” Her eyebrow quirked and her gaze met his, her eyes both glowing a deep blood red. “Please… there must be someone far better suited, that you would prefer.”

The ice that had initially formed across the floor now spread, coating every nook and cranny. Dracten watched and laughed, “I’m afraid that won’t do when she loved him dearly. Be a good mortal and die with dignity, or do you mean to grovel?” Dracten’s laughter filled the room. It was an unnerving laugh, one that only one who enjoyed death and destruction could produce. He hit his cane on the floor twice and his eyes glowed brilliantly, the amethyst hue pouring out of his eyes. Blackened smoke, with purple lightning, began to pour out from him, taking the shape of a serpent dragon. It surrounded the queen until she was completely enveloped.

When the smoke cleared, she stood there in the room, one eye glowing red, the other purple. Dracten now held a goblet and took sips here and there as he made himself more comfortable on the throne.

“Hear me now. I will never love another. There will be no heir and the royal line will die with me. Then this realm and all our underwater cities will lie in ruins, all for your intolerance of someone who was merely half. And while I will defeat the undead and necromancers that plague us, I will do so on my terms, the same with the remainder of my rule.” She spoke clearly, yet her voice shook, not with sorrow, but with rage. “Tell me. You know me as the Phoenix Queen, yet, have you ever seen a dark phoenix?”

“Erm… no, your Majesty.” He replied, afraid not to answer her.

The same creepy smile that Dracten once displayed now took hold of her lips as a dark shadow grew from behind her. The fire on the sconces dimmed and the screech of a bird sounded. A great many screams were heard afterward, as retribution and an old bargain was once again fulfilled, the floors stained red, and the sky darkened.

In the days that followed, several funerals were held, the queen standing by at each, expression ice cold, her teal eyes hollow and devoid of emotions. She never cried publicly over the loss of her husband, but rather issued a decree stating what had happened that day, the surviving bureaucrats signing as witnesses.

The kingdom mourned for their king and for their queen. But there was little time for such things, as there was a horde of undead that needed defeating.

#rwrites #dark fantasy #magic #dragon god

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trustsalvatorewriting · 5 years ago

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queendom || hope mikaelson - chapter seven

Summary: In which a tribrid falls in love with a human girl

Word Count: 1,982

"DO YOU WANT TO explain what you're doing outside of school?" Rebekah questioned as the three girls entered a small motel room. She set her things down on the nearest bed and approached Hope, arms crossed over her chest.

Hope's eyes wandered away, almost refusing to look at her aunt's disappointed glare. "I was just going on a date."

"Hope, you can't just throw a temper tantrum and commit grand theft auto every time you want to meet up with your newfound lover. This isn't a romance novel." Rebekah glances at the young girl standing by the door, whom Rebekah had compelled to remain calm.

It was odd. They were all the same age, appearance-wise. Rebekah was sixteen, nearly seventeen, when was turned into a vampire by her mother. That had been a thousand years ago, when the Vikings had taken over American land and proclaimed it the New World. Her appearance had stayed true to the day she was turned. Her shiny blonde hair had never faded to gray, her pale freckled skin never wrinkling, her crystal blue eyes never wisening.

So many years alive, yet nothing to show for it but a few supernatural abilities and the ache that came with the death of her brothers. Ones whom she'd once promised "always and forever" to, still wrapped in the idea that they were immortal.

The silver-haired girl standing before her was human. Her porcelain cheeks were lightly flushed, likely due to a mixture of the chilly wind and Rebekah's red convertible. Her heart was beating quickly as she avoided eye contact with Rebekah. Understandable, considering it seemed as though the two Mikaelsons had just kidnapped the poor girl.

"Well, now, don't be afraid, little bird." Rebekah took a step forward, brushing a stray hair from the girl's face and tucking it behind her ear. "I'll simply have a stern talking to with my niece, and we'll send you on your merry way."

"You're not compelling her, are you?" Hope asked nervously, following Rebekah as she went to look through the bathroom of the motel room, checking to make sure that everything was in order. "Aunt Rebekah, you can't."

It stung a bit knowing that Rebekah would be the one giving Hope a stern talking to regarding her first real relationship. Niklaus had always been more experienced with those -- he'd managed to kill several of the suitors that had chased after Rebekah throughout the years. She'd hated him for it, it's true, but Klaus had had the right intentions -- regardless of how poorly he'd carried them out.

Rebekah didn't wish to raise Hope as her own daughter. To discipline her and compel away the memories of a girl she'd clearly come to fancy; but what choice did she have? Kol and Davina were halfway across the world, and although Kol meant well, he wouldn't be able to provide the same patience and discipline that Hayley and Niklaus would have given her. Rather, his first instinct would have been to congratulate Hope for the mess she'd made, followed by a visit to the nearest theme park.

Freya, although she'd chosen to remain in New Orleans -- the closest thing Hope had ever gotten to a home -- had her own family to stand with. A son, named in honor of Niklaus, of whom shared the blood of two powerful witches and a werewolf.

The Mikaelson bloodline would remain supernatural for the upcoming generation, and for generations after that. The magic of the Original witch, the blood that carrys the werewolf gene -- with great power came great danger. Hope would know several heartbreaks before she found the one she would be with forever. This would have to be one of those several.

"You can't be with a human girl," Rebekah argued, taking a step towards the stubborn tribrid. "Don't you understand how foolish that is?'

Hope shifted her weight. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it bloody matters, Hope," Rebekah spat. She could see all of the boys Nik had taken from her. Drained of blood or thrown from great heights -- he always did fancy spontaneity -- in order to protect her. "You're a Mikaelson. An Original. You can't afford to love someone so vulnerable."

"I can't afford to be vulnerable," Hope hissed. "Everyone I love dies so long as I accept that I'm an Original. Maybe I don't want to be an Original."

"Hope!" The blonde vampire rested her arms on Hope's shoulders. "Listen to me, all right. I know as well as you how hard it is to be a supernatural creature. I understand how badly you want to be human, but you can't put your heart on the line purely to live out a fantasy in which you are human. You're not."

The young witch's eyes lit with flames. She took a step forward and for a moment, Rebekah could have sworn she'd seen Nik's face. "You're not my mother. You can't tell me how to live my life."

"Then who will?" She raised her eyebrows. She turned, heading towards the young girl standing by the door. They locked eyes as Rebekah began to compel her to forget. Forget everything that she'd seen or heard, and that Hope had never shown up to their date, and her best bet was to forget that Hope Marshall ever existed.

It'd be best to keep as much of her memory as possible. She'd likely told her friends about Hope, and it would create lapses in her memory if she had a date with a girl she didn't remember, at a place she'd seemingly forgotten.

She followed the compulsion by suggesting that Angel call a friend to pick her up.

"We can't even drop her back off at the fair?" Hope snapped, her teeth gritted together in anger. "Or even at her house? She could get hurt."

"You weren't worrying about her safety when you brought her into our world," Rebekah growled. It hurt a bit. She wanted to protect both of the girls, not just Hope. For a moment she could look at the young girl, and see a bit of herself. Vulnerable, young, naive. Completely unaware of the monsters that lurked in the shadows. Sure that she would live the rest of her life human.

The girl had a right to be human. No one could take that away from her.

"What's your name, love?" Rebekah asked after a moment.

"Angel," The girl responded calmly. It was almost robotic. "Angel Nguyen."

Rebekah nodded after a moment. "Vietnamese ancestry, Americanized first name. Interesting. Were your parents first generation immigrants?"

"I... " The girl blinked, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "I'm not sure. They always speak fondly of Vietnam, but they've never shown me any pictures of them there. Just pictures of the villages in black and white."

Hope took a step forward. "Angel, you said you've never been more than an hour outside of Statera. That you've never even stayed out of Statera for longer than an hour. Have your parents?"

Angel's heart rate increased. "I don't know."

"Are you lying?" Rebekah questioned, crossing her arms. "Tell us the truth, Angel."

"I am," She responded, beginning to panic as she realized the situation around her. It was as though the compulsion had worn off completely. "Please don't hurt me."

"Wait," Hope paused. "Angel, you said you're from Vietnam, right?" Angel nodded in response, and Hope continued. "And you've never been outside of Statera for longer than an hour." The young human continued to agree, until Hope came to her conclusion. "What happens if you stay outside for too long?"

As if on cue, there was a bang on the door. Rebekah glanced at the time, only to realize it had been an hour since she'd picked Angel and Hope up from the fair. Quickly, she grabbed hold of Angel's wrist and pulled the girl behind her. Her heart began to race as the door began to shake, the hinges weakening with each hit.

'A wolf. A hybrid. Mikael.' The Originals thoughts drowned her, her mind separating from her body for a few moments. It was as though she'd floated away for a few moments.

Hope pushed past her aunt and muttered a spell under her breath. The dresser flew towards the door, blocking it from opening. "It'll hold it, but not for long. We have to find a way to get out of here."

"Can you do that thing from Wizards of Waverly Place where you flash us to a different location?" Angel asked, oddly calm. "That would work, right?"

"Not how magic works," Hope responded, only slightly amused. She pulled on Rebekah's jacket as she and Angel ran into the bathroom, likely searching for a window. Rebekah took a few moments to herself before she saw part of the door burst amount, only the arm of a seemingly human man trying to push its way into the room.

Rebekah turned, breaking off a piece of the dresser and throwing it in the direction of the monster's arm. She watched as it impaled its wrist, but continued to push it's way in, as if nothing had happened.

"There's no window!" Hope yelled as she returned from the back of the motel room. "What do we do?"

The three girls watched, paralyzed with horror, as the hinges of the door gave in and the monster pushed its way into the motel room. It looked nothing like a human, but rather, a deformed creature. Its limbs were decomposed, peeling as if it were that of a zombie. The body, impaled with swords, arrows and ancient weaponry -- created before even the dawn of the Original vampires -- moved as though it felt none of it.

Immune to physical pain, to blockades, to even something as obvious as death itself. A monster with no ability to die, and no way to be stopped.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Hope whispered under her breath. "I've read about these. Foetoribus Careat. Latin for 'unsullied.'"

Rebekah raised her eyebrows at her niece. "And what the bloody hell are we supposed to do with that?"

"I don't know," She admitted, taking steps back as it fought its way through the blockade of dressers. "They're supposed to be extinct. They haven't been seen in centuries. They were made to protect people living inside the cities of Indo... China."

Angel. It wanted Angel. The teenage girl who'd done absolutely nothing, who was seemingly protected from the supernatural world, was being hunted by a mindless, immortal corpse. And by an unsullied monster.

"So it wants the girl," Rebekah stated. "It was meant to protect her. Maybe it won't harm her."

"He doesn't look very harmless!" Hope yelled, pushing Angel further behind her. "Look, maybe we could take her to the Salvatore School. Maybe we could protect her."

"That's not an option, Hope, that means endangering the lives of more innocent supernatural teenagers -- all of whom are not protected by this stupefied corpse." Rebekah grabbed a lamp and through it at the monster, watching as the glass shattered and pierced through its arm. Still, no blood, no sign of weakness. "Our best bet is to let it take her. At the end of the day, it's protecting her, right?"

"She didn't obey their commands. They might kill her to punish her!"

"Well, sometimes teenagers have to learn some bloody discipli--" The monster reached for the blonde vampire's throat, wrapping its fingers around her neck and squeezing. Rebekah felt the air leaving her lungs, followed by a burning sensation as she began to lose air. Vampirism didn't protect you from the death that came with a mortal body. She clawed at its hand, feeling its flesh tear off as she did so, but it was no use.

Seconds passed, and it felt like centuries as her senses were consumed by darkness.

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itsomgitsgreenblogging · 5 years ago

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It’s Not Living (If It’s Not With You): A Critical Role Fanfic

Guess who’s back? Honestly, I have to thank the Essek Fanclub Server for this. You guys are awesome, and an amazing inspiration. 2019 was a pretty bad year in terms of my writing, but, it ended amazingly because of the Critical Role Fandom. Here’s to 2020! Have some hot wizard yearning and sexy dream sequences inspired by my favorite song by the 1975.

Enjoy!

Warning: Explicit Sexual Content

Read it on AO3

Preview:

This was all because he hadn’t seen the Mighty Nein in a month. He was...getting all confused and acting like some sort of lovelorn maiden from one of the trashy Empire smut novels that he definitely didn’t read after he confiscated them.

“By the Luxon, let them come back soon, or else I might really go mad,” Essek muttered to himself.

“Where are they?” asked a courtier. The question was hissed at Essek as he paused in the Lucid Bastion, the green-lantern glow washing his face out to a pallid hue.

“I do not know,” Essek said simply, with a smile, finding it better than lying.

____

“Where are they?” Professor Waccoh grumbled at Essek, over the tops of the papers she had stacked on her desk. Reports, ideas, and death machines all found their place there, scattered like snowflakes or ashes amongst the heap.��

“I do not know,” Essek responded, still smiling.

____

“Where are they?” the Bright Queen demanded, hand dripping with jewels glinting like knives in the light as she slammed it upon the table.

Essek smiled, and shook his head.

____

“Where are you?” Essek asked the empty house, but the windows remained darkened. It stared back into him, searching, and he didn’t have a response.

____

“Will you be long, Shadowhand?”

“Not too long, but I do wish for some privacy,” Essek told his shadow with a sidelong look. In the next moment, the shadow disappeared. For a moment he remained outside the temple, just relishing the stolen moments of being alone, before slipping inside the building without any further delay. Really, it was better to get this over with.

The Temple of the Lord of Light that was closest to the Bright Queen’s abode was a lavish affair. The ceilings were crowded with rows of geometrically patterned lanterns that cast a glow that could be hard for Essek’s eyes to handle. Carved into the walls were the sculptures depicting the mythology of the Lord of Light, His Glorious creation, the Vanquishing of the Spider Queen, and the Ascension of the Bright Queen. Along that were prayer altars that various drow and other citizens of the Dynasty huddled by, to light their own candle and pray. Often when one saw Essek float by, they bowed their heads out of respect for him.

He approached the private praying rooms, and as he did so he apparently caught the eye of one of the clerics. Essek recognized her as Derise, one of the head clerics of the Lord of Light. Though he loathed to do so, he dispelled his levitation magic. His heels clicked as they touched the floor. Clerics could be touchy about the appearance of power in their sacred spaces, and many of those with power among the clergy did not like him for a litany of reasons. He was young, not of one of the storied bloodlines, rather recently adopted in comparison to others, and yet he had gained remarkable power within his first life. They didn’t like him because he wasn’t one of their little puppets and he knew all their secrets in a way that perhaps only the Luxon might, and that made them afraid of him.

(Though he didn’t wish to think of them, it was part of the reason he had found certain members of the Mighty Nein so refreshing. Religion without certain pretenses had its own charms.)

“Lord Shadowhand,” Derise said, pointedly not bowing her head. She held her head up high instead, as if issuing him a challenge. Essek, instead, smiled as he usually did. He curled his fingers behind his back in a display of complete openness.

“Lady Derise, I pray the Light finds you well on this day,” Essek said, not bowing because he was certainly still wearing his back brace. Instead he inclined his head an inch. A vein jumped at her jaw. Amatuer, Essek thought derisively.

“And may it find you well, too. It is a lovely surprise to see you haunt these halls,” Derise said, with a tight smile. “I am sure the Bright Queen will be pleased to hear you are working on your religious studies today.”

“Matters of security tend to keep me from my spiritual needs. A bad habit of mine, unfortunately. The Bright Queen understands, of course, being the leader she is.”

“The Bright Queen is certainly accommodating with her favorites,” Lady Derise said, looking down at him from her nose.

“I am afraid that I am far too stubborn to be accomodated,” Essek laughed lightly as he walked forward only pausing to look back at her. “Your daughter, however, is a very accommodating creature. I know she was so pleased about her cousin’s engagement to General Dozall, that is how she ended up at his house at the witching hour.”

“That--it was---” Derise sucked on the air like it had been punched out of her chest. she coughed hastily, like being caught on her own deceit was physically painful. Really it was pitiful when those older than him were so easily tangled in the web. He almost felt bad for her. Almost. But it wasn’t in his nature to pardon stupidity.

“Hm? Well, all’s well that ends well,” Essek said evenly. “You really ought to go to a healer. I can always have one of my shadows escort you, just like they did for your daughter. It wouldn’t do to have you in trouble, my lady.”

“I am too busy to entertain bad jokes, Lord Shadowhand,” Derise said, her tone clipped and icy. “May the Light keep you.”

“And may it keep you as well.”

Derise stormed off. Essek found the royal prayer chamber, which he was allowed to use due to his position as Shadowhand, off of the main cathedral. It was a beautiful chamber with lofted roof painted with images of the constellations and the sun and the moon. In the center was a large fountain, portraying one of the first lives of the Bright Queen holding her arms aloft with the dodecahedron, about her were creatures of the forest and behind her was the fountain styled as a waterfall. It was popular among artist renderings of the queen to have her placed like that, though the fountain of youth iconography was a bit on the nose for him. Essek enjoyed the arts, but hadn’t had time to properly commission something since he had his portrait painted.

He cleaned his fingers within the blessed waters, before kneeling before the altar. He cleared his mind, closed his eyes, and prayed in Undercommon,

“Oh Glorious Lord of Light, You who were first in the Universe and Master of All Creation. Keep me and bless me, in this life and my future lives. Let Your glow illuminate the darkness inside, so that I may reach new heights. Show me the way as you did Our Most Righteous Queen, so that I may never be led astray. Let me pray for ascension, for consecution…”

There was the sound of delicate footsteps upon the marble and rustling fabric. Essek opened his eyes and looked to see the Bright Queen. As always she was arresting to look at, today fashioned more like a river-bathed-in-moonlight. She was without the armor she tended to wear at court, but adorned with a necklace made of platinum and blue topaz that clasped high at her throat and spilled across her skin like the tide. He began to stand, but she lifted her hand and he remained where he was.

“Your recitation of the Book of Madark is quite beautiful,” the Bright Queen remarked, looking towards the altar with the deeply fervent expression she always did. “I always did prefer Madark. He made me sound quite grand.”

“He never overstated your glory, your majesty,” Essek said honestly, bowing his head slowly.

“Madark was quite in love with me, I’m afraid,” the Bright Queen sighed, smoothing out her dress that shimmered like the scales of a fish. “Quite boorish about it too. I do not like men who overstay their welcome.”

“Or women who flirt and swoon,” Essek added before clearing his throat, “And the glorious star herself, may She guide us forever. Our Eternal Blessed Queen, who Heralded the Truth. Beauty Incarnate, who sets the heart ablaze with a single look-- ”

“Oh, the Book of Terawane. Ghastly stuff. I always told her that she was much better suited to singing than to writing. So melodramatic,” the Bright Queen said with a long-suffering hum. “I can bear it when you recite it, Essek. But do not make me listen to the High Priest give his lecture of how my breasts are twin fawns and my lips are a violet ribbon one more time.”

“Are you asking me to sanction his disposal?” Essek asked, taking a seat beside her.

“Nothing so dire,” the Bright Queen laughed, her voice silvered bells upon the marble and high ceiling. She looked into the fire of the candlelight thoughtfully. “No…”

Looking upon her, he often wondered what she felt. She had achieved perfection, she was the umavi. And yet as the firelight danced across her cheek, Essek wondered if she ever tired. She broke his revelry with a tap of her fingers against the stone bench.

“I’m sure you need no news,” the Bright Queen said. “The Mighty Nein have met with King Dwendal after being missing for so many weeks.”

“I was aware.”

“What do your shadows tell you that the human arcanist did not? Was it right to pull back the assault do you think?”

“Yes, it was. It was the cultists who were utilizing our assault to better their aims, we have confirmed reports of a Priestess of the Dawnfather being in cahoots with the conspiracy, and the Mighty Nein dispatched her. Now they work to broker peace. They are being asked to coordinate a parlay between Empire and Dynasty, by giving us back one of the beacons. In their private talks, they are anxious about finding a neutral location, but have not seemed to betray us. Though, Beauregard did state she infiltrated us to get closer to the enemy.”

This was all really just a formality. She knew what he knew, and he knew what She knew. Just another part of the game, Essek thought. The game in which they would all be winners or they would all be losers. It would be up to the Mighty Nein, and the prospect was somewhat terrifying.

“Just that claim is enough for me to have them killed on sight,” the Bright Queen warned him.

“Considering the slipshod job they did of infiltrating us, I find it very likely and compelling that they are just saying what they need to say to retrieve the beacon. That was the assignment given, and that seems to be what they are doing. Besides, they did not hinder our operatives while in the Empire.”

“One of the reasons you amuse me so is you are such a delightful pacifist,” the Bright Queen said.

“So long as it amuses you, your majesty.”

“You would be all I wish you to be, then? Have you no thoughts of your own?” the Bright Queen dared.

“All I have ever done, and will ever do, I do to serve at your leisure. I am just one of the voices you allow to fill up your ear. However, considering you chose and continue to choose to fill it with mine, it gives me some hope about where your opinion lies.”

“And where is that?”

“The long game, your majesty. It would do the Dynasty no good to rip the Empire out by the throat, utterly decimating their population and society. It would only serve to prove the Empire’s propaganda right, and move the masses against us. Instead, we take the high road. We show the Empire citizens we are not the monsters they claim us to be. And then, slowly, we can...improve upon their society,” Essek said simply.

“You care for the masses.”

“I must admit my bias for the common people, no matter their country of origin. At my core, I am still very much the street rat Skysybil yanked off the street.”

“And does it not concern you that they haven’t messaged?”

“I’m sure they are just busy, saving the world and all that,” Essek stated.

"Are you sure you are not just lonely for your wizard pet?" The Bright Queen's asked.

"This is far more amusing," Essek promised with a smile.

The Bright Queen's considered him. She reached out to cup his face and turn it up towards the candlelight. Essek blinked rapidly, but was docile and allowed her to do what she wished.

"Tell me something that no one else knows, Essek," she commanded him.

"I have no secrets from you, your majesty," Essek said, unable to help the way his head tipped to the side in curiosity. "What would you have me tell you?"

"I would have you look at me, unhindered by the mask you wear," she bid him, her fingers running in his hair. "And tell me your feelings, uninhibited. Do you believe that I am in the right?"

"With all of my heart," Essek said without hesitation, "I believe in you, for you are my sovereign."

"And you live to serve me, of course. But do you trust in my judgement?"

"I do, but I do not trust those who may seek to influence your decisions. You are divine, my queen, but not infallible. Though I am devoted to you with all of my heart, I will do my best to change your mind should I think you wrong.”

"With most of your heart," the Bright Queen's corrected, releasing him. "I hope you don’t take me for a sentimental idiot. You are a mortal, and your desires are that of a wild young foolish creature."

“I’m sure it seems that way.”

“They cannot be changed, my dear Shadowhand,” the Bright Queen said mournfully. “My nation will only ever be safe when the Empire has been decimated. It is within their nature to expand and conquer, and even if we broker a peace now it will not last.”

“If you believed that, I would be out of the job,” Essek informed her.

“Perhaps,” the Bright Queen stated. “But for now, what can we do besides pray?”

Between that breath and the next she was gone, leaving him in the prayer chamber alone.

_____

"Will you require anything else, my Lord?"

Essek looked up from his reading to see one of his servants. Essek smiled at him, and watched as the servant relaxed minutely and settled the tray with tea by the bedside table. This one was a newer hire, an assistant to the cook when he wasn’t completing general housekeeping tasks though Essek had the sneaking suspicion he would prove to be a better cook with time. It was important, to know and cultivate your assets.

“No, Amald, you are dismissed for the night,” Essek said. “Tell your wife I send my regards and well wishes to her health. She is with her third, yes?”

“And ready for the end of it, I’m afraid,” Amald said, tusks showing with his smile. “This pregnancy has not been easy on her. Our Denmother believes the birth will be difficult too.”

“Well, I shall send for my personal healer then,” Essek said, closing his book. He held up his hand at Amald’s immediate attempt at response. “Do not worry about the cost, I shall take care of it. Consider it my gift to you and your wife, and a favor I may ask repaid.”

“Of course,” Amald said his voice rich with feeling and gratefulness, bowing so deeply that Essek was worried he would topple over. “You are most kind, my lord.”

Essek blinked at the sight, fighting off his frown easily. Essek often enjoyed compliments. He was handsome, talented, shrewd, powerful, generous any number of things. Kind though? Not one of the usual ones.

“Until tomorrow,�� Essek said, and Amald took off.

Essek enjoyed the remainder of his tea, a wonderful blend of ginger, licorice root, peppermint, and chamomile. He always found going into a trance so much more pleasant on the tail-end of nice tea and a good book. He could almost hear his Denmother lecturing him about the importance of trance, after collapsing with exhaustion during his first year of his education.

Essek slipped into bed, laying down among the sheets and pillows. It was always easier to trance when he wasn’t sitting, or his back would protest. He listened to his heart beat, to the breath in his lungs, felt the way his ribs moved beneath his skin, fell deeper...deeper…

He was in his Denmother’s salon. Not his Denmother yet...at least not on paper. Mathulsda Theylss was frowning at him severely, looking him up and down as if all his faults were written upon his features and could be categorized accordingly.

“Smile in a way that doesn’t make you look like you swallowed a frog,” his Denmother scolded. Essek’s reflection looked back at him. A sixteen year old Essek looked annoyed at best, contemptuous at worst. “Smile.”

“I don’t want to smile,” Essek snapped at her.

“You are lucky you were born in this era, boy,” his Denmother scoffed, leaving his side for a moment to take a sip at some wine. “Or you wouldn’t have a choice about what was done with your pretty face. You were the one complaining about the way they treat you, listen to my advice or don’t bother to complain.”

“How is smiling better going to help me? They hate me because they think me common,” Essek demanded, and was given a pinched cheek for his question. She released him and he held his cheek, glaring at her.

“No, they hate you because they know you are anything but common,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She looked at herself in the mirror, and Essek looked at her reflection and saw the transformation. She was truly arresting, in the way she smiled and turned her head just so. “It is easy then, to change hatred to love. You suss out those who hate you, and then you go to their friends. You find their weaknesses and can exploit them easily, because there is nothing for them to hate about you. Your professors will adore you, and will teach you all you wish to know. The noble dens will look at you and say, what a wonderful boy. The Bright Queen will favor you. Forget how to frown, Essek. That horrid little street urchin you were doesn’t exist. You are pretty, pleasant, considerate, and you smile. It is no longer a mask you can slip on and slip off when you play your childish little games with Skysybil. It is who you are now, forever.”

“I’m not like that, that’s not who I am,” Essek said, staring at himself. “I’m…”

“Essek Theylss is,” she said softly, as if it were a mercy. Her hands were upon his shoulders. “If you wish to be Essek Theylss, it’s who you will become. If you cannot get along with them, if you cannot make allies and cannot play the game, we have no use for you. There are other children with talent, though maybe not as talented as you, but they can become far more useful to us if you will not. So? Are you willing?”

Essek watched his own reflection as he schooled his face into a soft smile. It fit onto his face cleanly, naturally, as if this were the way he was always meant to look. Maybe it was the way he was meant to look. Maybe she was right. If this was what everyone wanted then this was for the best. The Denmother patted his shoulder, in a mockery of fondness that tore that thought out by the root.

“Very good, Essek,” she praised, standing in front of him to fix the collar of his uniform. She was taller than him, looking down at him with cruel delight. “Isn’t that so much better? We must always look our best, don’t we--?”

Wake up!

Essek tore himself out of that trance, jerking up so fast that his back twinged. He pressed his hands to his face, taking a few moments to just breathe. He knew better than this, Essek thought, thoroughly annoyed at himself as he lay back down with a huff. A trance was a fluid state, a visitation of memories or dreams affected by waking emotions and thoughts. Bad thoughts led to bad memories or dreams which led to bad trances.

“All I have are bad thoughts,” Essek said as he breathed out to the ceiling, resigned to his fate. There was just too much jumbled together in his mind, too much worry.

Something you don’t know? Essek thought crossly. I miss the Mighty Nein, their shenanigans and their quirks that make me feel like I am not altogether that odd and that I have my life in a workable order. I don’t believe that I have a mask anymore, there is only this. I don’t know how to be without a smile. I don’t even know what it’s like to be that person anymore, but I feel as close to it as I ever have when I am with Caleb Widogast of all people. I want them to like me. I want him to want me, whoever that is.

Essek continued to breathe, though he felt that it was a struggle. He needed to rest. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be as sharp as he needed to be.

Rest, Essek told himself, forcing his eyes closed. Rest.

Entering into a trance again, he was greeted with a dark space. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was a comforting absence. It was a night sky without stars, the inside of your eyelids, the feeling of being underwater, in the warmth, in the bath--

"Essek," Caleb murmured.

Essek was in bed, somewhere comfortable and soft. A weight on the bed next to him, a body pressed deliciously to his as if searching for warmth. This wasn’t what he wanted, Essek thought dizzily. He wouldn’t be able to rest like this, not when his body suddenly felt so alive.

“Essek,” Caleb called again. There was a dip in the bed, the sensation of being straddled, a press of a kiss to his neck. Essek shuddered at the soft touch, the way he was being kissed like he was precious. Like he would shatter at a harsher touch. He gasped as his eyes fluttered open.

“Oh,” he sighed, reaching up to touch Caleb’s face, brushing across his cheek with the back of his hand. Caleb leaned into the touch as if he chased it. His eyes were the powdery blue flowers painted in the mural on their barbarian's wall, regarding him with a tender, searching expression. The emotional whiplash almost took Essek right out of this, but he was anchored by the feeling of Caleb’s body against his.

“Will you stay with me?” Caleb asked him, catching his hand. He nuzzled it sweetly, causing goosebumps to ripple across Essek’s skin, before cradling Essek's face in his hands. Caleb didn’t smile as much as he should, in fact, Essek had gotten the distinct impression that Caleb had long since gotten out of the practice of smiling. But he would look so lovely, if given the opportunity. Essek’s traitorous heart told him that perhaps he would be the one to offer those opportunities, if Caleb would let him.

"Yes," Essek said, managing to get the word out from his heavy tongue. Caleb managed to remedy that problem by dipping his head down and catching Essek in a kiss. Essek tipped his head, to deepen the kiss, to let it linger as long as he could. To feel the imprint of teeth and the stroke of the tongue that left him tingling all over. Essek trailed his fingers over Caleb's bare arms, feeling the hair there, the rough criss-cross of scars against sun-worn freckled skin.

They kissed and explored each other without worry or haste, until Essek lay breathless beneath Caleb, allowing Caleb to pamper his skin with attention, to lavish him with his desire in a way that had him shivering. Essek couldn’t untangle himself from Caleb, from his legs or his arms, and he didn’t want to. Essek was caught there and he never wanted to escape from Caleb’s arms.

"You are so beautiful," Caleb whispered, nipping his collarbone. Essek's breath caught in his throat.

Essek regarded Caleb through a half-lidded gaze, memorizing the exact way Caleb’s hair escaped his tie, and the constellation of freckles dusted across his nose. The adorable little human curve of his ear, the human thickness of his body. Essek had seen the way that others looked at Caleb, with a desire that soaked in one’s skin like a warm summer rain. It made Essek covetous and proud, because Caleb had eyes for him. They were a well-matched pair, in Essek’s opinion.

"Please, do tell me what you find so beautiful about me," Essek bid him.

“Smug,” Caleb chuckled.

“I am merely asking for the facts of the matter,” Essek told him, sitting up. He climbed into Caleb’s lap, something very bold and daring for him, but it was nice to be somewhat taller than Caleb in that moment. Essek found the shell of Caleb’s ear he had previously admired, tracing it with his lips and the barest brush of his canine, letting Caleb shudder under his touch. He curled his arms around Caleb’s neck, looking deep into Caleb’s eyes as he pulled his head back with the softest tug. Caleb bared his neck to him easily, so easily submitting to the touch, and it set upon Essek the fire of desire “Tell me, be a clever boy and tell me what I want to hear.”

“You are the most powerful and beautiful man I’ve ever laid my eyes upon,” Caleb groaned, moving their hips together in a way that made Essek shudder. “I need you. No one else could ever compare to you, Essek.”

“Yes,” Essek gasped, feeling Caleb hot and hard and longing against him. It was driving him crazy. He had spent so long without a lover, without sampling the pleasures of flesh. He hadn’t needed it, and he hadn’t missed the few and sparse flings of his youth. They had been bare-boned things that couldn’t even be called romance, a simple almost instinctual satisfying of urges, a useful distraction, a way to utilize his pretty face to get what he needed. Knowledge, power, the game of politics had been so much more entertaining, and intellectual curiosity being quenched was so much more satisfying. People were easy to manipulate when they were kept at an arm’s length, it was so much easier to smile when there was nothing at stake.

But this? This was something else entirely. He couldn’t even control his body, couldn’t think through the haze of desire. He resurfaced and had to have pushed Caleb underneath him, because suddenly his hands were digging into his shoulders and his hips were moving desperately to the staccato rhythm of his heart as Caleb dragged him harder and more deliciously against him. Pleasure tore him open, it filled him up, it was so good--!

“Look at you,” Caleb moaned, pressing his flame-hot hands against Essek’s belly. “So lovely, so beautiful wrung out like this, just for me. What a treasure you are…”

“More,” Essek demanded, not sure how much longer he could last but wanting to wring out this moment as long as he could. Everything was on fire, on a pin-needle edge, but he wanted to be greedy. He wanted all the things he couldn’t allow himself, all the things that Caleb could give him and that he could give to Caleb in equal measure.

Oh by the Light, they were making love. The realization made Essek lightheaded, it made his back arch with the intensity of the sensation, it sent his teeth on edge. He would be ruined for everything else, Caleb would ruin him, but he had to give in.

“You are exquisite,” Caleb gasped, reverently, desperately--lovingly and then he gave in to the pleasure, forcing Essek over the edge with the intensity. Essek wilted upon him, no more strength in his limbs to hold him. Caleb stroked him through it, with him. For a few blissful moments, there was nothing else in his mind.

Slowly though, he emerged. Essek peppered Caleb’s face with kisses, curling his leg around him, burying his face into Caleb’s shoulder and his soft, fragrant hair. Caleb’s fingers scratched the back of his head, in a way that made him sigh with sated pleasure.

“It is time to wake, Essek,” Caleb chuckled, voice amused and hazy with warm gentle lovemaking.

“No,” Essek grumbled, more firmly pressing himself to Caleb. It was a stubborn childish thing that well in his chest, but he didn’t care. In that moment, completely divulged of his mask, he just wanted to be selfish.

“Yes, it is,” Caleb said wistfully, and as Caleb gently stroked Essek’s back in soft comforting waves that drew him deeper, further...softer…

Essek resurfaced having drooled into his pillow. He sat up and looked at himself in the mirror, at his mussed bed-head and very inelegant splotches across his cheek and--his dream!

His face burst into heat, he grabbed the closest pillow, buried his face into it, and bit into it hard to stifle his scream. Oh by the Light! Had he reverted back into his second decade? He thanked the Luxon and all the Gods above and below for the gift of living alone. He didn’t think he had ever been so mortified in his entire life.

“I’ll never be able to look at him again,” Essek said mournfully, spitting out feathers he had managed to rip out with his fangs. He brought his blessedly cool fingers up to press to his hot cheeks.

“By the Luxon, let them come back soon, or else I might really go mad,” Essek muttered to himself.

His reflection in the mirror seemed to agree.

#Critical Role #Critical Role Fanfic #shadowgast #essek theylss #caleb widogast

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thecreaturecodex · 6 years ago

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Spellscale

“Half-Dragon” © deviantArt user mmmegh, accessed at her gallery here

[The spellscale originally appeared in Races of the Dragon, a D&D 3.5 book devoted to dragon-influenced PCs. It was the third of three player races, the other two of which have long shadows. One was kobolds, cementing them mechanically as “little dragon people” to go with the flavor introduced in the 3.0 Monster Manual. The second were dragonborn, which reappeared in both 4e and 5e as a core race. The spellscales were not nearly so popular.

Why? Two reasons. First, they’re mechanically dumb. Their signature mechanic is that they can meditate on different dragon gods every day and pick from between twelve different bonuses. Too bad that all of these bonuses are good for spellcasters only, and most of them aren’t any use until high levels, since they grant metamagic feats. Second, their flavor text is quite frankly offensive. They are painted as an entire species of camp gay stereotypes. Which is not helped by all of the art for them being androgynous and purple skinned.

So this is an in-name-only conversion. The basic idea of magically talented dragon people is a good one, but pretty much only that core remains. And new art for dragon people is easy to come by on the internet. The trick is finding some that isn’t overtly pornographic.]

Spellscale CR ½ CN Humanoid (reptilian) This powerfully built humanoid has a small pair of horns growing from her head, claw-like fingers and toes, and a fine layer of silver scales for skin.

Spellscales are to dragons as tieflings are to fiends or aasimar are to celestials—they are humanoid descendants of draconic bloodlines. Many dragons are capable of interbreeding with other creatures, and their magical nature imbues humanoid lineages for countless generations. Ironically for being descended from such long-lived creatures, spellscales have lifespans equivalent to those of humans. This (relatively) short lifespan gives most spellscales a level of drive and ambition not seen in their dragon ancestors, and most try to make an impact on the world around them.

Spellscales are typically magically gifted and curious, frequently innovating with new spells and magic items. Even those without levels in spellcasting classes possess some magical talents. They tend to live in larger mixed race settlements, rather than sequestering themselves in their own communities. Most spellscales delight in trying as many novel sensations and experiences as possible, and spend at least part of their lives as adventurers. They get along well with other cultures with strong magical traditions, like most gnomes and elves

Spellscales vary in appearance with their levels of draconic traits. All have their namesake scales, but some have clawed feet, tails, horns or other physical markers of dragons. Despite what some prejudiced folk may think, the color of a spellscale’s scales has no reflection on their alignment—metallic spellscales can be evil, chromatic ones be good, and many spellscales have patterns and colors not reflected by true dragons at all. They tend towards chaotic alignments, but even spellscale monks and paladins are not unheard of.

Spellscales as Player Characters A spellscale does not have racial Hit Dice and advances by character level. Spellscale characters have the following traits +2 Str, +2 Cha, -2 Con Spellscales have powerful muscles and personalities, but lack stamina Medium size A spellscale gains no penalties or bonuses due to their size Normal speed A spellscale has a land speed of 30 ft. Darkvision 60 ft. Spell Ward A spellscale gains a +2 racial bonus on all saving throws against spells and spell-like abilities Magical Gift A spellscale gains a single cantrip from the sorcerer/wizard list as a spell-like ability usable at will. It uses its HD as its caster level, and the save DC (if any) is Charisma based. Shrewd A spellscale gains a +2 racial bonus on all Appraise and Spellcraft checks. Languages A spellscale begins play speaking Common and Draconic. A spellscale with an Intelligence bonus may pick any language as a bonus language, except for secret languages such as Druidic.

Alternate Racial Traits Claws Some spellscales have clawed fingers. A spellscale with this racial trait gets two claw attacks that deal 1d4 points of damage. If a spellscale with this trait takes the draconic bloodline or any other class ability that gives them claws, their claws deal damage at one die higher. This trait replaces magical gift.

Imperious Some spellscales are imbued with draconic mastery over fear. They gain a +2 racial bonus to all Intimidate checks, and the DC to intimidate them increases by 2. This trait replaces shrewd.

Dragon Immunities Some spellscales have the immunities of the dragon type instead of a general protection from magic. A spellscale with this trait is immune to sleep and paralysis effects. This trait replaces spell ward.

Spellscale sorcerer CR ½ XP 200 CN Medium humanoid (reptilian) Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +3 Defense AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 Dex) hp 9 (1d6+3) Fort +0, Ref +2, Will +1; +2 vs. spells Defensive Abilities spell ward Offense Speed 30 ft. Melee morningstar +2 (1d8+3) or 2 claws +2 (1d4+2) Ranged light crossbow +3 (1d8/19-20) Special Attacks draconic claws (6 rounds/day) Spell-like Abilities CL 1st, concentration +4 At will—detect magic Spells CL 1st, concentration +4 1st (4/day)—enlarge person, snowball 0th—arcane mark, daze (DC 13), ray of frost, resistance Bloodline—draconic (silver) Statistics Str 15, Dex 14, Con 10, Int 10, Wis 8, Cha 17 Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 14 Feats Eschew Materials (B), Toughness Skills Bluff +7, Perception +3, Spellcraft +6; Racial Modifiers +2 Appraise, +2 Spellcraft Languages Common, Draconic Ecology Environment any land Organization solitary, pair, or party (3-6) Treasure NPC gear (light crossbow with 20 bolts, morningstar, other treasure)

#spellscale #half dragon #D&D #pathfinder rpg #playable races

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captainfangirlll · 5 years ago

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Daenerys book vs Daenerys show

Book: Daenerys has purple eyes and silver hair.

Show: Daenerys has green eyes and blonde hair.

Book: Daenerys is 14 years old in the books and Khal Drogo is (according to Danys perspective) like 23.

Show: The age gap between Drogo and Daenerys is not that big, but still he looks older than her.

Book: Daenerys assumes she’s gonna marry Viserys at some point for Targaryens traditions

Show: This is never mentioned

Books: The first time Daenerys burns and her dragons born she is naked and her hair burns so she stays bald.

Show: Daenerys hair doesn’t burn.

Book: Many Daenerys' followers died, including her maid Doreah

Show: Doreah betrays Daenerys with Xaro Xhoan Daxos

Book: Three emissaries from Qarth come to invite her to the city.

Show: People in Quarth didn’t want Daenerys in the city Xaro invokes the ancient custom of Sumai to allow her and her people to be admitted under his protection

Book: Xaro Xhoan Daxos invites Daenerys to be a guest at his manse and repeatedly asks her to marry him. She realizes that he does not physically desire her and that he only wants her dragons. The custom of Qarth is that after marriage each one has the right to ask one thing of the other. Eventually he tires of her refusals and politely tells her to leave his manse.

Daenerys is told to come to the House of the Undying to seek counsel from the warlocks, as their visions would reveal her future, but instead of aiding her they try to imprison her there. Fortunately, she has brought Drogon with her, and he sets fire on the ancient undead warlocks and burns the place to the ground.

Pyat Pree the warlock who had brought her is furious and vows revenge. Luckily, Magister Ilyrio had despatched three ships to find her with one of his finest warriors Strong Belwas, a mighty warrior-eunuch, and his Squire Arstan Whitebeard of Westeros. They are to escort her back to Pentos. Daenerys however never does what is expected. She decides to take the ships to slaver's Bay to buy herself an army.

Show: Xaro welcomes Daenerys to the city and makes her a guest, but her dragons are stolen by the warlock in the House of the Undying. Daenerys later escapes after retrieving her dragons and with her men invades Xaro's house where she finds Xaro in bed with Doreah, revealing that she had in fact betrayed Daenerys and her dragons to Xaro and Pyat Pree she locked them inside the merchant prince's vault to die, she and her people ransack Xaro's house of all its gold and precious items.

Book: Ser Barristan doesn’t tell Daenerys his identity he pass himself as man called Arstan Whitebeard and in Meeren Daenerys find out. Furious, she gave him and Jorah a mission to prove their newly-proclaimed loyalty.

Show: Daenerys always know Ser Barristan identity.

Book: Daenerys is visited by Quaithe of the Shadow, who warns her of the others descending on her: "Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon."

Show: This prophecy is not mentioned.

Book: Daenerys problem in Meeren is not only The son of the harpy but, the "pale mare" that is a literal horse, carrying a refugee from Astapor. He too brings a gift: plague; by coincidence or not, those who contract it are said to be "riding the pale mare." It ravages not only the Meereenese but the armies of Yunkish slaves and sellsword companies.

Show: The only problem Daenerys has in Meeren are the songs of the harpy and rebel citizens.

Book: In the reopen of fighting pits in Meereen Drogon is attracted by the noise and chaos. Daenerys leaps into Drogon's back and the two fly away, leaving Meereen largely in the hands of Ser Barristan Selmy (who is not dead in books) not Tyrion who in books she haven’t meet yet.

Show: Daenerys is attacked but The sons of the Harpy in the fighting pits, but Drogon saves all and she flies away with him leaving Tyrion in charge because Ser Barristan is death.

Book: The final chapter (aside from the epilogue) is Daenerys's, as she attempts to return on foot to Meereen from a hill in the southern reaches of the Dothraki sea, which Drogon has taken for his haunt, only to be encountered by the khalasar of Khal Jhaqo as the novel ends.

Show: Drogon takes Daenerys in the Dothraki sea, and she is captured by them, that’s the end of season 5 and we all know what happens next.

Book: Tyrion Lannister is smuggled to Pentos with the help of Varys and left in the care of Illyrio Mopatis, supporter of Daenerys Targaryen. Tyrion decides to offer his services to her, and makes the journey in the company of a tall taciturn knight, "Griff," and his son "Young Griff." Tyrion takes note of the care with which Young Griff is tutored, as well as his coloring, and deduces that the boy is actually Aegon Targaryen, long-believed-dead son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia of Dorne;Jorah kidnaps him as a prize to win his way back into Daenerys's graces. Unfortunately the Selaesori Qhoran, the ship Mormont hires to take them to Volantis, is waylaid by slavers, and he, Tyrion and Penny are sold at markets in the shadow of Meereen, claiming to be an entertainment act. From there, Tyrion sneaks his way to the camp of the Second Sons, led by Brown Ben Plumm, and pledges his sword to them as another step in getting closer to Daenerys.

Show: There is not an Aegon Targaryen and we never see Illyrion again, Jorah takes Tyrion to Daenerys and he serves her until (almost) the end.

OTHER DIFFERENCES

Book: The kraken, Victarion Greyjoy (Eurons brother), Captain of the Iron Fleet, has sail his forces east towards Meereen to serve Daenerys.

Show: Victarion doesn’t exist in the books.

Books: Prince Quentyn Martell, eldest son of Prince Doran Martell of Sunspear, is traveling east as well. He has a parchment signed by Ser Willem Darry many years ago, establishing that his elder sister Arianne Martell is to wed Prince Viserys Targaryen when he comes of age; it is Prince Doran's wish that Quentyn and Daenerys stand in place of their deceased elder siblings in this matter. Alas, he arrives too late, finding Dany about to enter into a political marriage (see below), and is then left in a bad position when her new husband tries to have her poisoned—a tactic notorious to Quentyn's uncle Oberyn Martell. In a last-ditch effort to prove his worth, Quentyn visits Dany's two dragons, Viserion and Rhaegal, and attempts to tame them. He dies of his burns three days later.

Show: Quentyn doesn’t exist in the show.

Book: Ser Barristan is a loyal servant to Daenerys and their relationship is deeper than the show, she names him the Lord Commander of her Queensguard and gives him new gold-and-silver armor.

When Drogon begins attacking people in Daznak's Pit, Barristan tries to protect Daenerys by drawing the dragon's attention to himself.

Show: Daenerys and Barristan relationship and his loyalty to her isn’t that explorer in show because he dies by the Son of The Harpy.

Books: Missandei is 10 years okd in books so her relationship with Daenerys more of protectiveness from Daenerys part.

Show: Missandei and Daenera are arround same age and they are best friends.

MY THEORIES

There is a lot of significant changes in Daenerys history from the books, so I think she will reunite with Tyrion like in the show, we don’t what will happen with Victorion is very possible he takes Yaras roll and give Daenerys the ships to go to Westeros.

At the moment she is with the Dothrakis amd we don’t know how she is gonna escape.

Aegon Targaryen is also a thing and theres a lot of theoriea that he is gonna be the one who cause Daenerys craziness and not Jon.

Personally I think Aegon will arrive first to Westeros and he will take KL, in books he he suggests attacking Westeros and go for it, establishing a beachhead which Daenerys can later reinforce. He too seeks Daenerys's hand, and too is keenly aware that he must have something worthwhile to offer her besides his own bloodline as her nephew, in a revelead chapter of Winds of Winter shows Aegon is already in Dragonstone.

My theory is that we will see a war between Daenerys and Aegon before a war between Cersei and Daenerys. Or Daenerys will go North to help Jon and after she will fight against Aegon for the throne.

• I don’t know how is gonna be her relationship with the Stark, I think Jonerys will be a thing in books aswell, maybe her relationship with Arya will be better since they both are alike and the two favorite female George characters.

• Missandei and Greyworm aren’t a couple in books so I don’t think Missaned death will be crucial in Daenerys journey.

• There is a possibility one of Daenerys dragons become and ice dragon but not in the way that happened in the show. Maybe with the Joramun's horn, which is a legendary horn with magical properties, This horn is mentioned by Ygritte and Free folk believe that blowing the horn can bring down the Wall awakes Dragons and more.

So we actually don’t know how is gonna be Daenerys descent to madness in the books or if is she will become mad at all. She still have Ser Barristan, Jorah, Missandei, the unsullied and her three dragons.

Is very possible she will meet Jon but she have to deel with Aegon first, in books Jon Targaryen blood isn’t confirmed yet.

Personally I believe she will fall in love with Jon like in the show, collaborate in the long night and become mad at the end. Also I believe Jon will kill her too, but George will writte the plot very different and with logic so we have to wait, there’s gonna be HUGE differences.

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becomestorm · 6 years ago

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the night was nature's sort of quiet. she awoke to the sound of crickets with something soft against her, stirring. they must have fallen asleep. lotus dragon's brow knit, they looked troubled. she shifted herself so their head could rest against something softer. fingers carded through threads of ebony, her other hand held onto theirs, softly she sang a lullaby. maybe... just maybe their nightmare could be changed to a dream. she'd hate to wake them when rest was so hard for them to find.

unscripted nugget.

❛ you aren’t a burden.

ren was but three summer’s old when the cruelty of the extended lie family made their first impact. a noble and endangered lineage must conserve their bloodline, while at the same time weeding out the weak. lie fei hong was beautiful and charming, but ren loved her because she was kind. the first to aid them when they would fall and graze their knee, she’d weave their hair, protect them from teasing, and she was by far ren’s favourite cousin. none of this mattered to their patriarch, and because she was not gifted in academics or huntress skills she was married into a different family. a baby ren didn’t understand until far far later, and had thought fei just decided to go and leave them behind. the second instance of cruelty came not long after that. six years old and they were betrothed, doomed to suffer the same fate as their beloved fei. from a very young age, ren knew that love was not for them. that choice had been made for them, along with their future. they would not be a burden, they would uphold the family honour. this is how lies treated their loved ones.

❛ please, just stay for a little while. i don’t want to be alone.

ren was eight ( on the eve of spring equinox, they had been eight and a day ) when they learned of sacrifice. their mother, beloved lie zhilan, youngest daughter of the patriarch, ran away with her roguish lover and a child born out of wedlock. dispute about ren’s stance as an heir had made them them the target of ridicule since they were born, and so both parents would eventually elope to oniyuri. or so they thought. there they sacrificed everything to keep their child safe ; their statuses, their lives, their home, and then their lives. the stupid little fantasies in ren’s novels would often forgo the devastation, and romanticise loss in the name of love, would sugarcoat the complexes and deep seated heartache of tearing apart such vital pieces of themselves. that had been love. it had been in the way their mother would light up when father came home, when she cried over missing her siblings, when he’d brush her hair behind her ears, when she tended to his wounds. when an, and ren, would be the only one to make li smile on his worst and most painful days. this is how rens treat their loved ones.

❛ you aren’t alone.

an affinity for ice had named her glacial girl. the snowstorm of her trademark schnee hair, white wild blue fire in her eyes had deterred all but those select few from understanding the fragility of her faith. broken by the man meant to mould her, and then countless others who had tried to tear apart her innocence had forced her hand. ‘round her a fortresses of frozen walls had erected, waiting for that which might wait patiently for one of them to melt. her reflection would often dance in shadows of this ice prison, every so often ren would spy a smile, hear a laugh, coax out the mysticism of the stars on long lonely nights with naught but bitter brew to keep them company. there was kindness there, in how the walls would melt just enough to water the flowers ren planted by the citadel walls. ren had stopped waiting for them to melt, content that come what may they’d be happy with what they had. they’d all but stopped paying attention ‘til the second they’d been lost to their own inner turmoil, a tempest had ravaged their own barriers and left them vulnerable in the wake of their pain. without noticing, princess had emerged from the walls to wrap them in her fine velvet cloak. ( “ it’s me. don’t worry, i’ll make sure you’re safe. ” ) there, where ren had learnt of love’s sacrifice, they allowed themselves to feel again.

❛ how is your grimm statistics report going ?

what was love ? they wondered. they ought to. their very name could mean it. ren, by definition : benevolence, humanity, and love. qing ren, by definition : lover. for so long their semblance had deprived them of such thoughts, allowed them to feel nothing but grief, anger, and sadness. it had taken them too long to see them morph into something new, the old ache in their chest that would pang with loneliness now did so with something else instead, something indescribable because ren had never known it themselves. they had seen it, heard of it, read about it, dreamt of it, maybe, but never experienced it. in equal parts the new feeling was elation and hurt, anxiety and calm, solemnity and fury. it was too much, and too little. it was the taste of blueberry smoothies, the pleasant flutter of butterflies kissing skin, the sight of a star sea across a vast open field, the sound of girlish chimed laughter ringing with delight. it was watching the flush spread across the apples of cheeks, the silken caress of starlit strands on long scarred fingers, and the thumping heartbeat at the sight of pearlescent tears, her hands outstretched and cradling their treasured resin charm.

❛ ah, mine’s already finished.

ren rarely reached sleep deep enough to have nightmares, but when they did they were always suffocating. the smog of nuckelavee breath was a staple, until grimm ichor was near palpable on their tongue. it coated their mouth, and lungs and congealed until breathing felt like a hot drag across a pit of coals. in them they always see and hear the voices of their loved ones falling into into the abyss of blackened primordial tar, and they are always too late. they live to see everyone die before them. cooling touch along their hand beckoned they turn the other way, and just like that waking was instantaneous, but not jarring. ren’s eyes remained closed, but their synapses started firing off gathered intel. were they safe ? yes. were their weapons nearby ? not apparent. what else ? ren focused quietly on the feeling of weiss’ hand trail through the choppy strands framing their face. they could tell it was her because of her scent, floral with a hint of vanilla, signature even when at beacon. they could remember the scent of her blanket when she would shroud it over their sleeping form. her cloak in kuroyuri had carried the same scent. upon recognition, their head tilted down into the pillow of her lap, puffing out a few clouds of lily scented smoke. happiness. safety.

❛ i used to be terrified of the dark.

the dragon had been on their side, facing the outer edge of the couch. still feigning sleep they rolled over so their forehead pressed into her hip, so they could curl in on themselves and hide their face. they couldn’t remember the last time they’d entrusted those parts of themselves to someone without fear they would break them, or how she allowed them into parts of her life other people rarely got to see. even when they’d only met one another they had the instinctive knowledge that the both of them crafted masks, even if their reasons differed. who was the last person they’d trusted to cradle their broken pieces ? not even nora knew the extent of the damage in kuroyuri. if she had seen them break down like they had, then it wasn’t since they were children. throughout their nightmares in beacon, their long sleepless nights, and in the recovery process of the nuckelavee’s defeat weiss’ presence had been a soothing balm over decade long wounds. and they had allowed her something terrifying, the ability to ruin them, some reign over their emotions that should she leave, should she pass, ren wasn’t sure if they could handle the heartache.

oh, gods.

❛ it is quite ridiculous, isn’t it ?

if they focused hard enough, they could hear the slight clink noise of their red thread bracelet on her wrist, the silver clasps touching. eyes barely opened, they brimmed until they couldn’t see beyond the distortion of their lashes. ren bit down on their lip to stop any sound from escaping, willed their body to stop seizing. a single tear fell from the duct of hazy magenta hue and rolled across their nose bridge, over a cheekbone to drip onto weiss’ skirts. the only sound grounding them was her lullaby, murmur quiet to a backdrop of crickets and night song.

❛ not in the slightest.

i’m in love.

…

i’m terrified.

@fractaele.

#fractaele #ans.#fractaele. ⎯⎯⎯⎯ the cracks in the mask where my light seeps，those are for you.#long post.#:3

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helsung · 6 years ago

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WHO IS INTEGRA FAIRBROOK ?

you hear the headlines read, articles in newspapers ( both online or in print ) attempting an exposé on this mysterious figure of the british nobility whenever the sunlight shines her way . but rarely do they tangle with fact, rarely are the words presented illustrative of the who integra fairbrook REALLY is, or of what she is . no journalist has ever managed to reach her, each & every request for interview seemingly personally denied ( though rumors say these never get past her butler ) ; rarely is she spotted in public, appearing to spend her days within her family’s mansion which resides on the outskirts of london, where entry is denied to any & all not belonging to her bloodline or her staff . & should one try to approach whenever they find themselves lucky enough to see integra outside the walls of her household, getting past the armed guard which surrounds her proves too hard a challenge .

such articles attempt to piece together a clear background from very few facts offered, that she’s wealthy, a member of the british nobility, believed to be of indian descent, & someone whose contributions to society come in the form of generous donations to various charities . but they always fail to ask the COMPLETE question, because it is not simply a matter of who integra fairbrook is, but who she is to whom ...

TO THE PUBLIC

integra fairbrook is a reclusive british-indian millionaire with a seat in the house of lords, one she rarely uses ; a seat no one seems to truly understand how she got, though her family’s wealth serves as the easiest explanation . tales of her fortune speak of an inheritance from a father with a successful business, one she maintains by herself to this day . just what this business is differs from publication to publication, some say she’s an arms manufacturer for the british military & their allies, others speak of her as the head of a security agency which provides protection to the highest bidder, people of high importance across various governments . whatever the dealings of the fairbrook organization are, as some have taken to calling it, no one quite seems to know specifics, only ever taking notice of how well armed her bodyguards are .

she’s perhaps best known to the british public for the many headlines that speak of her many generous donations to a number of high profile charities, such as stonewall UK & the LGBT foundation . these acts have landed her quite some popularity among the populace, who praise her help in aiding LGBT youth across the UK & endlessly speculate about her focus on such charities . however, those who lean further left discourage such open support for a member of the british nobility, one who’s believed to participate in arms dealing . of course, right-wing publications speak ill of her monetary aid given to LGBT charities but praise her company’s work for the british military .

despite the occasional headline, the larger british public sometimes forgets of her existence, her face disappearing among the many members of the nobility, regardless of the aspects which set her apart . this might seem regrettable, but really is it more than intentional .

TO THE GOVERNMENT

integra fairbrook wingates van helsing is the current director & commanding officer of her majesty’s secret hellsing organization, a branch of the british government meant to asses & deal with any supernatural threat to the united kingdom . it was founded in 1899 by professor abraham van helsing through funds awarded for his service to the british government in dealing with count dracula, as per the events detailed in bram stoker’s novel . it was created so that the british populace may never have to fear such attacks by the forces of darkness again, & exists to slay any feral creatures of the night that make their way onto britain’s soil . the organization was later implemented as a permanent part of both the british government & the military through the efforts of abraham’s son & integra’s father, arthur van helsing & his wife, jayashree van helsing ( née revankar ) .

integra is also the current head of the convention of twelve, a meeting of twelve select individuals who are important figures among most branches of the british government, each knighted by the queen as part of her sacred order of the protestant church . however, unlike every other member whose business the public is mostly made aware of, integra & her organization are kept strictly CLASSIFIED, their existence kept secret to all but the highest members of parliament . this is because to admit the existence of the hellsing organization, & of the last living heir to the van helsing bloodline, is to admit to the existence of the supernatural .

the british government has devised its best efforts to keep all such knowledge strictly under wraps, the reality of the events of bram stoker’s novel fictionalized so that people would deem the supernatural a fiction, saving them from having to live their lives in fear of what moves in the darkness . the fictionalization serves also to discredit any whistleblower who would dare attempt to bring to the public’s attention the reality of integra & her organization, being written off as deranged conspiracies born of a mind which deems horror stories a reality .

this was scarcely their first of such cover ups, but it is their most robust attempt at hiding an entire branch of the government was quite the task . any & all missions carried out by the hellsing organization require a complex cover story, & integra takes personal responsibility in crafting such tales so that no members of the public suspect there’s something more at play . of course, keeping herself hidden from their view was an impossibility, so a fake identity was forged to fool the populace into viewing her as just another member of the british nobility, with an inexplicable amount of wealth at her hands & mild power within the government . a fake image which integra partakes in only under the most infrequent of circumstances, with the rare public appearance . her many donations to charity, however, were made in good faith & directly from integra herself, but do serve as occasional moments in the spotlight so that no one question’s her absence from public life .

TO THE SUPERNATURAL

integra &, consequently, the van helsing name itself carries great meaning among the supernatural creatures which scurry through the shadows . the hellsing organization, through its actions over the century of its existence, is FEARED for its efficiency in dealing with any creature of the night which makes itself known on british soil . rarely have hunters past banded together so effortlessly to form a governmental body meant specifically to deal with the supernatural . hellsing may have not been the first, but it certainly the most notorious among its prey for its dedication to purging the undead from this world . not just through missions carried out by trained soldiers carrying silver bullets, but by employing creatures of the night against their own kind . just as they fear hellsing & integra herself, they too fear their most well guarded secret ; the vampire, alucard .

to turn a vampire against its own kin is a feat that carries both meaning & fear among the forces of darkness, & in some corners ... hope, that perhaps one day the undead & the living can work together, in some form or fashion .

#* ( doing hirano's work for him ┊ worldbuilding. )#* ( signed & printed ┊ headcanon. )#basically if your muse isn't aware of the existence of the supernatural #or has access to classified britsh governmental information #they won't know integra is the director of the hellsing organization #and the granddaughter of professor van helsing himself #but they'll know her as a reclusive british millionaire #with mild popularity among progressives #wow you don't even need to read this long fucking post now #good job me #pwease read the post :'(

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theliterateape · 6 years ago

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"You’ll Never See His Like Again!": Revisiting Comics Legend Stan Lee’s Best, Most Literary (and Vastly Underrated) Story, The Silver Surfer (1978)

By Jarret Keene

Stan “the Man” Lee is dead, but his creations are alive, pouncing across theaters, game screens, and t-shirts with equal parts vitality and sorrow. Today, Spider-Man and Thor and Captain America and Black Panther and so many others dominate our media landscape to a degree unthinkable 40 years ago when my father bought me The Silver Surfer graphic novel from a B. Dalton inside Tampa Bay Mall.

Back then comics (22-page floppies) were relegated to a single spinner rack in mall bookshops, a gimmick to draw kids into the store so their parents felt obliged to pick up garbage Sidney Sheldon’s thriller Bloodline. But The Silver Surfer didn’t fit in a metal rung; instead it was displayed amidst the regular literary trade paperbacks. Today it is vaguely praised on obscure blogs as being among the very first efforts to push comics into the realm of the literary epic during a brutal moment in the history of the comics industry. Staggering inflation, a crushing 1977 (and then a 1978) blizzard, and rising paper costs nearly sank DC Comics. Marvel, though, endured such challenges with Stan Lee’s relentless cheer, his grace under pressure, his courage to always try something new when everyone else cowered, caved.

In the late 1970s, the U.S. continued to fall apart. There was the ongoing energy crisis, serial killers like Ted Bundy lurked in every shadow, the Jonestown mass suicide played out like a dress rehearsal for a larger and more diabolical event, toxic waste burbled in landfills adjacent to pleasant neighborhoods, and Soviet Russia rattled its nuclear saber. You wouldn’t know this from reading Marvel Comics, every issue offering a column called Stan’s Soapbox, wherein Lee waxed passionately, positively, and with the eloquence of a poetry-reading pitchman, about what was forthcoming from “the House of Ideas.”

Today Marvel is an idea-resistant shell of the company Lee built and oversaw, a house of ideology teeming with dour, OMG-chirping social-justice superheroes (gay mutant Iceman, lesbian Latinx warrior America Chavez, Muslim teenager Kamala Khan a.k.a. Ms. Marvel, female cancer-stricken Thor). Instead of debuting new characters, the current editorial team is content to reverse race and flip gender of, and add a dash of disability to, classic characters. In its prime, though—and starting in 1961 with the first issue of Fantastic Four — Marvel excelled at depicting authentic outcasts who felt a fierce responsibility to protect even those who hated them, feared them, wanted them dead. Lee’s characters — which he co-created with Jack Kirby, the artist who visually defined comics for an international audience — didn’t nurture wounds of identity and grievance; they waged their internal battles on a mythic scale. In the same way Oedipus confronted the ignorance of his birth, in the same way petulant Achilles struggled to overcome his narcissism, so did hapless high school reject and science nerd Peter Parker combat his own teenage doubt and ego and feelings of inadequacy.

Amazing Fantasy #15 (1962) containing the debut of Spider-Man, is arguably the single greatest and most important comics story ever written, its 11 pages defining not just the Marvel superhero but also the last half-century of U.S. comics. “With great power comes great responsibility” wasn’t merely an inspirational and moral slogan; it was also a metaphor for American exceptionalism, which could only result in senseless death (like, say, the murder of Peter’s uncle, Ben) if not applied toward just and proper ends. Parker is spoiled, his own worst enemy. He’s a purveyor of fake news, taking photos of himself in action as Spider-Man and selling them to the Daily Bugle to cover the cost of college tuition. We love Parker for his flaws, though, and for his commitment to overcoming them. We cherish his humanity even as we’re thrilled by his brawls with violent predators like Kraven the Hunter, bulky crime boss Kingpin, hideously armed Doctor Octopus.

The Silver Surfer isn’t human like Parker. The Surfer is carved from the “doomed messiah from beyond” mold a la Superman (or Beowulf or Jesus). But he isn’t adopted as a baby and given a Midwest upbringing. He is a silver-skinned alien riding a floating board, arriving on Earth to determine if it’s suitable for his planet-eating master Galactus. Lee and Kirby made a wise choice in never pinning down the exact size of this god of interstellar death, who, like the Surfer, was first introduced in the pages of Fantastic Four #48–50 (1966). That three-part story is a must-read, yes, but then, a decade later, Lee and Kirby collaborated on a 100-page retelling of the Surfer-and-Galactus saga, only this time the superheroes were removed, leaving just the god and his fallen angel. The result is a romantic, philosophical, and artistic statement that outstrips everything else Lee and Kirby collaborated on prior — which is saying a lot. It is also the last major work either of them would produce for Marvel, or for any company thereafter.

Today Marvel is an idea-resistant shell of the company Lee built and oversaw, a house of ideology teeming with dour, OMG-chirping social-justice superheroes

The Silver Surfer was published by arrangement with Fireside Books, an imprint of Simon and Schuster in New York known for publishing a famous chess book. Based on a Kirby sketch, the cover is by artist Earl Norem, known for painting the covers of men’s adventure magazines and more than a few Marvel mags (like Savage Sword of Conan). Indeed, the painted cover gives the book literary gravitas. The interior art is all prime Kirby, with eloquent inks by Joe Sinnott, colors by Glynis Wein (first wife of the late Len Wein, who created Wolverine). The Silver Surfer is a feast for a comics-lover’s eyes; my battered copy still radiates visual power. But it’s the heartbreaking story and dialogue that set this effort apart from anything else in the history of comics and in the bibliography of Lee and Kirby.

Here the protagonist must choose between living forever to serve a devourer of worlds, or else die alongside eight billion earthlings to be rejoined with the obliterated love of his life, lovely and golden Ardina. In The Silver Surfer, Lee gives us a hero who sells his soul to the devil so as to thwart a holocaust and save a populated globe. He only meets a few dozen — many of who attack him physically. But he understands their potential to grow beyond their limitations. It’s not a story in tune with the 1970s, that post-Vietnam, post-JFK, post-Watergate era during which Marvel delivered dark, humorous characters like Ghost Rider. No, this was something else entirely.

The opening splash page is the closed fist of the planet-eater: Behold! The hand of Galactus! Behold! The hand of him who is like unto a god. Behold! The clutch of harnessed power — about to be released! The tone here is elevated, serious, Lee is writing in a style that evokes the Old Testament of the King James. The second page is a splash, too; in it, the mitt of Galactus opens and from it erupts the Surfer, who “streaks through the currents of space — ever-seeking, ever-searching — for he alone is herald to mighty Galactus.” The image is the visual distillation of an artist’s self-confidence, his arrogance. After all, doesn’t every artist believe himself to be God as he manipulates his characters, his images, to suit his imaginative fancy? It’s also a breathtaking rendering of a big bang, or a biblical birth of the universe, without a benevolent designer in control. Here the god of the universe is a destroyer.

The universe seems endless and infinitely alluring to this mysterious star-wanderer, who yearns for his own homeworld, Zenn-La, lost to him forever for reasons Lee doesn’t initially explain, but we presume Galactus ate it.

The Surfer enters the atmosphere of “a verdant sphere” unlike any he’s seen before. Soaring high above the streets of New York, he doesn’t hide from view. He is fascinated by the fear in the eyes of people, noting “how it is always the young who are the first to accept — and to trust.” He sees a woman who reminds him of Shalla Bal, a woman the Surfer loved on his own world. Haunted by her memory, he pursues this woman through the alleyways of Manhattan while imagining a conversation with this Shalla Bal lookalike. We learn that, years ago, the Surfer sacrificed his mortal body to Galactus to save Zenn-La from destruction.

Finally, the woman abandons him to his painful recollections… and then Galactus suddenly appears in a whirlwind of crackling energy, ready to devour Earth.

He congratulates the Surfer on a job well done and articulates in excruciating detail how he plans to sate his appetite: “Here shall I drain the gently rolling seas. Here shall the bountiful land yield to me its gift of life.” It is an impending act of reverse creation, a backward Genesis. But the herald of Galactus isn’t having any of it. When the Surfer fails to convince his master that the price of eight billion souls is too high, he lashes out at Galactus with “the power cosmic,” using it seal the destroyer in a concrete cocoon. It doesn’t hold Galactus for long. Disgusted, the world-eater blasts the Surfer from the sky, cursing the herald to live amidst “the dunghills of man” for a spell in order to ponder his mistake. Then Galactus disappears.

The Surfer recovers from his fall, then disguises himself by altering his appearance to resemble a male fashion model from a billboard. He wanders the city with admiration for its denizens until muggers approach him in Central Park. The Surfer shoos them away with a pyrotechnical display, then pledges to walk around without hiding his identity; concealment did nothing for him anyway. Meanwhile, we witness Galactus gorging on a planet in another solar system. Sated, his thoughts turn toward his missing herald. What can Galactus do to make the Surfer submit? The world-eater’s counsel, a sniveling Master of Guile, advises Galactus to provide the Surfer — our alien Adam — with an Eve, someone to betray the Surfer’s heart.

And so beautiful Ardina enters the picture. She sneaks the instantly smitten Surfer beyond Earth’s atmosphere, and they share in the pleasures of the spaceways. Floating now on a patch of green ringed with bright flowers in a neighboring galaxy, our hero is tempted to give up his standoff with Galactus. In the same way Dido tempted Aeneas to give up his destiny to found Rome, so does Ardina begin to entice the Surfer to submit to her — and by extension Galactus. He refuses, says he’s willing to die to save Earth, and so Ardina leads the Surfer on a journey into human darkness. “You will perish for a worthless cause,” she warns. She shows him “brutal images, a morbid montage of heart-rending scenes filled with carnage and strife.” Domestic violence. A child killed by a hit-and-run driver. A mass execution. Bombed ruins of a once-thriving city. The Surfer is jarred but not dissuaded.

And then something interesting happens: Ardina, designed to coldly seduce the Surfer to make him betray his convictions, ends up feeling a warm love for him.

So much so that when the Surfer, driven mad from having set foot inside a suburban home where the walls seem to be closing on him:

The ceiling — almost touching my head! No room to move! No place to soar! I see no sun — no sky — no endless reaches of rolling space! Wherever I face — wherever I turn — I am surrounded by smothering objects! Shelves and books! Pictures, clocks, and lamps! Chairs and drapes and shuttered windows! But where is the sky? Where is the cold, crisp touch of rolling space? Where are the hills, the seas, the nourishing stars in endless profusion? Without them I perish!

Interestingly, the aspect of humankind that nearly causes the Surfer to surrender his mission is man’s stultifying existence inside tract-housing boxes.

Troubled by the experience, the Surfer races to escape Earth’s atmosphere. Riding bitch, Ardina screams: “The barrier! You have forgotten the barrier!”

The Surfer falls to Earth while Ardina re-materializes before Galactus inside his giant space vehicle. She admits she has failed. She confesses her love for the Surfer. Displeased, Galactus recalibrates her cloned body for one last mission. A mission that involves shattering the Surfer’s heart.

Meanwhile, the Surfer continues to be attacked by various humans. He is shot at, shackled and hammer-smashed, then the U.S. military blasts him with an ultra-sonic cannon, which nearly kills him. Ardina consoles him for a moment, kisses him, telling the Surfer she is with him and by his side, even after death. Which is when Galactus dissolves her into dead particles using a matrix-drone.

Now Galactus asks the Surfer to again join him in scouting the universe for other edible planets. It’s the only way Earth can be saved. The command is agonizing, for what Galactus offers is a living hell. To save Earth, the Surfer must cast off death, the ultimate escape and the one chance he has at being reunited with Ardina. But as the Surfer himself says: “Never was there a choice!”

The curse of immortality at the cost of true love is a familiar idea in ancient epics. The sea nymph Calypso offered Odysseus eternal life, but he refused it in order to be with his wife Penelope. But the Surfer has no options; he can’t be selfish enough to die and thus doom the Earth. What makes him a hero is his refusal to surrender and his willingness to embrace the agony of existence, of enslavement. He must deny himself every exit for humans to live on until they hopefully change themselves for the better. They must have a chance; the Surfer and Galactus give them one.

The Surfer returns to the gauntlet of Galactus, disappearing within the destroyer’s fist.

✶

In this story, there is no Fantastic Four. No cameo appearances by Lee and Kirby. No clever narrative captions. Just the purest narrative of a hero fighting for an ideal, for the steadfast belief in our ability to one day rise above our petty evils, our arrogance and wrath. Lee wrote so many masterpieces of comics literature, but this one is his best because it best speaks to the principle he and his characters lived by: Never succumb to nihilism and despair. Never forget that we are similar in our anxieties and weaknesses, and that our individual identities matter less than our collective aspiration to improve our world and the lives of the people who inhabit it.

It’s a moral stance that today remains obscured by Internet social-justice frothing and the political insanity of being ruled by a reality-TV star. But the embers of Lee’s views are there for anyone to ignite and carry forward. Make no mistake: the world is poorer now without Lee. As the blurb on The Silver Surfer ’s back cover announces: “You will never see his like again!” We can, however, always see Lee’s passion and his love for humanity — for life! — in the work he and Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko and others left for us to enjoy.

Lee didn’t need to die for our sins. He endures, and so will we.

Never was there a choice.

Jarret Keene is an assistant professor in residence in the English Department at UNLV, where he teaches creative writing and ancient and medieval literature. His fiction, essays and verse have appeared in literary journals such as New England Review, Carolina Quarterly, and the Southeast Review. He is the author of several books and editor of acclaimed short-fiction anthologies. He is currently working on a critical biography of comic book legend Jack Kirby.

#Stan Lee #Silver Surfer #Marvel Comics #Comics as literature #Silver Surfer First Appearance

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