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kemendin · 2 years ago

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And still, even sitting beside Khel, watching the slow rise and fall of the Sith’s chest against the blankets, Malavai almost couldn’t believe that both of them were here. His mind was still reeling under the abrupt reversal of his own circumstances. Five years in prison, culminating in being shoved against a wall and nearly shot by an Imperial execution squad, only for Khel to descend like a cold and vengeful star upon the scene and whisk Malavai away. Back to the proud, ordered spires of Kaas City, where Quinn had taken his own brutal revenge on the worm who’d thrown him in prison - uncovering a conspiracy against Empress Acina in the process - and then found himself, at the end of the day, not only pardoned for his crimes, but promoted.

Quinn couldn’t protest how things had turned out, of course. Not at all. But from any reasonable perspective - it really was all a bit much.

Malavai Quinn x Light Side Sith Warrior Words: 6200 A/N: I ended up writing a bit of an epilogue scene to Cleansing Our Ashes. While the main story has a decently happy ending, I felt that things wouldn’t continue to be quite as neat and tidy as that first gasp of relief. Quinn’s been through a lot, and he still has some guilt and doubts to work through - hence this fic. Lots of hurt/comfort, softness, intimacy, a dash of humour. Implied sexual content but nothing explicit.

Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

His tired eyes found Khel again, and after a moment he pulled himself a few centimetres closer across the bed. With a tenderness that surprised even himself, he reached out, brushing the back of his forefinger over the small diamonds of ink that patterned over the Mirialan’s shoulder and curved towards his neck.

It was the lightest of touches, and yet the Sith stirred beneath it. Khel’s eyes fluttered open and a low noise of question hummed from his throat. Startled, Quinn hastily pulled his hand back into his lap.

“I’m sorry, my lord. Did I wake you?”

“It’s alright,” came the mumbled reply. Khel dragged his head round to look up at the other man, a small and sleepy frown pulling between his brows.

“What’s the matter, Quinn?” he murmured. “Can’t sleep?”

“I’m afraid not.” Quinn offered him a quick, wan smile. “I can’t seem to turn my mind off.” He expelled a light breath and automatically raked his hair back from his forehead. “But don’t let me keep you up. I’m certain my thoughts will sort themselves out eventually.”

But instead Khel rubbed at his eyes and rolled onto his back beneath the blankets, his grey gaze no longer bleary, but quite pensive as he regarded Quinn.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered evenly, after a long moment.

That was the question, wasn’t it? Quinn dithered, his hands once again kneading together in his lap. Did he want to talk about the disorganised mass of thoughts and feelings which had begun to feel increasingly overwhelming, as they pawed and shouldered at the hastily erected walls of his composure?

Malavai wet his lips, feeling rather on the spot under Khel’s gentle yet still-keen scrutiny, and at length he admitted, “I - I’m not sure I can, my lord.”

Khel tipped his head slightly against the pillow. “Try,” he suggested quietly. Extracting a hand from under the blankets, he set it in Quinn’s lap, and gratefully the other man took it.

“The thing of it is….” Quinn started.

But he didn’t know where to go after that. His eyes lowered, watching the way he toyed with the Sith’s hand without even thinking about it, tracing the dark dabs of ink on gold-skinned fingers.

He had no trouble explaining statistics, or elaborate combat strategies, or the inner workings of any number of institutions that made up the Empire; but he was far less confident in expressing his own sentiments when not strictly pertaining to external affairs. During their early years together Khel had encouraged him to speak his mind in all matters, and in time Quinn had learned to do so - and then he’d spent the better part of a year having his words dismissed and discouraged by everyone he turned to, and ultimately it had been his mouth that had gotten him locked away. That Khel might treat him similarly was absurd, of course, but after so long being silenced, Malavai was having a very difficult time indeed removing the stopper again.

He released another small breath, this one tinged with embarrassment at his continued lack of reply. Haltingly, he tried again.

“I’m certain you’ll think me idiotic for it, but I’m still having difficulty… coming to terms with all of this. With - with you, in particular.” Quinn pressed his lips together and ventured a glance at Khel, who gave him a thoughtful look in reply.

“Truthfully, I thought your recovery seemed a bit on the quick side to be completely realistic.” Khel’s voice was sombre as he pushed himself up onto his available elbow. “That’s not idiotic, Quinn. That’s natural.”

“But it shouldn’t be, my lord,” refuted Malavai, with a vehemence that seemed to spring out of nowhere and seize him by the throat, causing his voice to quaver. “Not for me.” He gripped more tightly at Khel’s hand, as though that might steady him. “Clearly all is well - you are alive, and I am no longer incarcerated, and the two of us are doing our best to get back to normal. And yet this damned brain of mine is still refusing to entirely accept it, even when the evidence is right before my bloody eyes -”

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #swtor fanfic #malavai quinn #sith warrior #star wars the old republic #star wars fanfiction #swtor sith warrior #swtor:khel #kem oc #kem writes #kem fics #FINALLY FINISHED IT #MORE QUINN ANGST GO #but a happy ending I promise #otp: servants of the empire

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mysticstarlightduck · 1 year ago

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The Kingdoms of Agrannor:

The Kingdom Of Ergyre - The Iron Thorn

(The pictures were found on Pinterest and belong to their respectful owners. The montage was done by me on Canva)

Description:

Ergyre is an ancient kingdom, lying in the edge of the domain of the Free Realms and nearing the border of the Morosyn Empire. A proud kingdom, it grew rich due to its exports of ore from its many districts and provinces around the plentiful canyons and valleys of the borderlands, especially during the heights of the Agrannorian Civil War - during which it provided such resources for both sides of the war, which speaks for its dubious nature. However, this steel forged kingdom is also known for its sprawling black markets, where nearly anything can be found… for the right price, which has led to a sudden boom in the kingdom’s coffers - though their nobility grows more morally bankrupt by the day, and their cities are often led by their whims. Now known for its bloody involvement on the capture and trade of elfs, who are illegal in Ergyran lands by royal decree, its population cares little if their many luxuries and vices are paid with the blood another people. Ergyre is a proud and bountiful kingdom, but the means chosen to preserve their current status have led to their corruption. On the flip side of the coin, Ergyre is known for its beautiful forests, untouched by man or magic, where incredible rarities can be found, as well as its yearly festival known as the Carnival of Thorns - where untold wonders and mysteries await locals and visitors alike, and when the old ways of the kingdom can shine through for once.

The Kingdom of Ergyre is led by a triarchy of powerful royal Houses, who rule the cities of the kingdom in an alliance. Their parties are often extravangant, indulgent and mystical, and though they rule the kingdom with an iron fist - ensuring that their many trades and businesses continue to thrive - they are said to have become notoriously distant from their people.

The Ergyran nobility, though they outwardly repudiate the workings of the many illegal black markets in their cities, profits greatly from it, having many deals with the crime lords of the Kingdom. Unfortunately, the royalty are very openly favorable to the persecution of free elfs, who often flee from certain death in the Morosyn Empire to the lands of Ergyre, and are known to capture them for various forms of “entertainment”. The common people of the city are also notoriously indifferent to the sufferings of magical folk, though some have already begun to question it.

Despite the city having a ruling nobility, there is a rebel insurgency in their lands, and one of the leaders of this insurgence is considered the rightful or de facto ruler of Ergyre by the dissatisfied portion of their population, but with the invasion of the Ergyran borders by the Morosyn Empire, the priorities of both the royals and the rebels have been shifted elsewhere.

This is the home kingdom of Darian Caelestis, and the place where he met and befriended Tanwin Lyrandeth, a young elf who becomes his best friend. Darian is the son of the leader of the rebel insurgency and Tanwin is just an elf trying to live his best life without being captured by the ruling Houses - but when the invasion comes, they end up separated.

The Carnival of Thorns is an ancient and respected tradition of Ergyre, one of the few things both royalty and common folk can enjoy together, and a moment of peace where acts of persecution and rivalry are temporarily suspended for a week. In the Carnival, aside from the common celebrations and festivals, traditional celebrations are always a crucial part of it. Many feasts, games and shows take place in an extravagant though accesible festival of light and colors that attracts both locals and many travellers. It is a week where the ruthless nature of the kingdom can cease and give a moment of respite to those who sorely expect it.

Kingdom Vibe Playlist:

- Deal You Can’t Refuse - Cristina Vee

- Marketplace - Joseph King of Dreams

- Playground - Bea Miller

- King - Florence + The Machine

- Undone - Tommee Profitt

@lassiesandiego @writernopal @elshells @rickie-the-storyteller @clairelsonao3

@lyutenw @writeblrfantasy @sam-glade

#writing #worldbuilding #aesthetic #my writing #fantasy aesthetic #my wips #worldbuilding writing

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avatar-news · 4 years ago

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The Fire Nation Awaits 🌺 An in-depth look at the ever-elusive islands in the era of Korra and when we will finally pay them a visit

[Artwork by Avatar News; not official.]

Note: This article was published before the official announcement of Avatar Studios at the Paramount+ investor day.

“Water. Earth. Fire. Air. Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.” We’ve all heard those words a million times. The four elements, and the power to control them bestowed by four subspecies of giant lion-turtles, are at the very heart of the world of Avatar. The balance between them was once upon a time broken by one of the four, the Fire Nation, forming the main conflict of Avatar: The Last Airbender. For much of Aang and the Gaang’s quest at the close of the Hundred Year War, the Fire Nation was a forbidden, far-away location, until the curtain was finally drawn back in the aptly-named Book Three: Fire when our heroes entered the inferno, undercover behind enemy lines. A dramatic tropical destination! New outfits! Culture shock! Needless to say, it was a big deal.

→ 🌺 The big reveal of the Fire Nation in Book Three: Fire had its own marketing push, matching public anticipation.

When the Hundred Year War ended, the newly-instated Fire Lord Zuko dedicated his life to righting the wrongs of his forefathers and working with Avatar Aang to bring the Fire Nation back into the fold under peace. By the time Aang’s successor debuted as the next Avatar in the titular The Legend of Korra, Zuko had abdicated the five-pointed crown and his daughter, Fire Lord Izumi, took the stage leading a reformed, rebalanced Fire Nation.

There was no more war, no more enemy lines, yet the Fire Nation became more distant and mysterious than ever before.

Korra’s close encounters with the land of fire

To this day, Korra has never visited the Fire Nation, nor has it been seen at all, nor do we know anything about it in her era. In fact, practically the only thing we do know is that its leader is a noninterventionist, which conveniently gets it out of the way of making an appearance in Korra’s journey as the Avatar so far.

The closest we have come to seeing the Fire Nation in The Legend of Korra was in Book Two: Spirits, Chapter Five: Peacekeepers. In the midst of the Water Tribe Civil War, Korra sets out across the sea to get help from the royal family, however, she is intercepted by a dark spirit and never makes it to her destination. In the next episode, she washes up on a secret island home to the Bhanti sages, which probably technically counts as Fire Nation territory, but as we know from The Shadow of Kyoshi (more on that later), this faction predates the Four Nations themselves so it doesn’t really count.

→ 🌺 Korra washes up on the beach of Bhanti Island in Book Two: Spirits, Chapter Six: The Sting.

No, as cool as that location and the events of the Beginnings two-parter that happened there were, it wasn’t the main draw of seeing the Fire Nation that we’re still waiting for: seeing how the Fire Nation, which was already industrializing in Aang’s time, changed over the decades, compared to places like Republic City and Ba Sing Se; meeting new characters; visiting new and familiar locations; worldbuilding both new and expanding on what we already learned.

After this aborted tease in Book Two, we never come close to the island country again (at least not with this Avatar and in her era; yes I’m leading up to something...). Instead, the focus turns strongly to the Earth Kingdom in the third and fourth Books, and beyond.

Keep in mind that The Legend of Korra aired for about two-and-a-half years total from 2012 to 2014. Since then, the story has continued in comics. The comics era has lasted from 2015 to present-- seven years to the animated series’ two. In that time, there have only been two comic trilogies due to various production troubles, and neither have touched the Fire Nation. Instead, they directly continue the Earth Kingdom-focused threads started in Books Three and Four of Korra, both originally airing in 2014. Or, in perspective: we had a focus on Republic City in 2012, the Water Tribes in 2013, and the Earth Kingdom from 2014-2021.

Will we finally see the Fire Nation in the next graphic novel trilogy?

This question comes to mind every time new Korra content is supposed to roll around, and the powers that be know it-- it’s a pretty obvious gap in the world of Avatar right now. This franchise is iconically built around four elements and the Four Nations based on them, so one of them being MIA is quite glaring, and for that reason everyone is understandably always asking about it.

The most concrete confirmation we’ve gotten was this AMA answer from franchise co-creator Michael Dante DiMartino in 2016, two years after the show ended and a year before the first graphic novels did come out:

“Yes, hopefully in the [Korra] comics, we’ll have a chance to go to the Fire Nation and see how it has changed since A:TLA.”

Since then, as previously discussed, two comic trilogies have come and gone, obviously not getting closer to the Fire Nation-- and I would actually argue entrenching themselves further away from it.

I want to make it clear that I’m against fan entitlement. Creatives telling the tales they want to in service of the story and the artform is how the industry should run. I’m just hoping to offer some perspective on how we got to where we are almost a decade into the era of Korra and the metatextual pacing of the franchise itself.

Either way, the next Korra comic trilogy has been official confirmed by the editor for Avatar at Dark Horse Comics in this informal statement on Twitter:

We’re not ready to announce any details yet, but we are working on the next trilogy. I really appreciate your patience and hope it’s worth the wait! ✨

There’s currently some kind of holdup for which we really have zero context or information, and we of course have no idea what this next trilogy will be about. (I do speculate a bit on what it could be a few paragraphs down.)

But, like what turned out to be Ruins of the Empire before it, I faithfully made a mockup graphic for my post announcing the confirmation of the next The Legend of Korra graphic novel trilogy. And like before, I chose to completely speculatively and blindly make it Fire Nation-y, as if the next comic could/would(/should?) feature it. This is mainly because I feel like that’s what most people’s eyes would be caught by and thus result in the most successful post (hey, at least I’m honest), but also because it’s just fun.

Here are both images, from 2018 and 2020 respectively:

→ 🌺 Speculative edits I made for my posts on the announcement of previous and upcoming Korra comics before we knew anything about them.

In both cases, the response was huge, and people were super excited about the prospect of Fire Nation content just from my quick speculative mockups. I am of course hoping that the new artwork I made of the Krew for this post will have a similar effect (it’s the first time I just straight-up drew it instead of editing existing images) but again it’s really mostly just for fun.

Anyway, until the next trilogy is properly revealed, we’ll just have to wait and see.

However, that’s not the only place this could happen.

Are they saving the Fire Nation for an animated movie?

With Avatar’s HUGE success on Netflix last year, interest in the franchise rocketed to an all-time high. The streaming wars have begun, and Avatar’s owner and its parent company, Nickelodeon and ViacomCBS, have finally started to notice.

ViacomCBS is launching Paramount+ on March 4th, a relaunch of its existing streaming service CBS All Access. Paramount+ is meant to be a big expansion and refocus to compete with the big hitters: Disney+, HBO Max, and, yes, Netflix. (There’s quite an entanglement there, with Netflix being the home of Avatar’s big year and the upcoming live-action series.)

One of the keys to a successful streamer today is high-profile originals to drive new subscribers. ViacomCBS knows this and they know Avatar has just become among the highest profiles a property can have, breaking records and going toe-to-toe with other big-hitting sci-fi/fantasy/genre franchises. This knowledge goes right to the top of the food chain: the CEO of ViacomCBS mentioned Avatar by name when discussing potential originals for Paramount+.

I have previously discussed how The Search relates to this. The Search was the second ATLA comic trilogy, focused on the search for Zuko’s mother in the thick of the Fire Nation, and if you didn’t know, it was originally pitched by Bryke as an animated movie after the original series ended.

I just want to be clear that what I’m discussing here is purely speculative, but this is the only other piece of the Avatar franchise that we know was optioned for animation besides the shows themselves. It’s possible they would be interested in going back to this idea as a Paramount+ original (and it would certainly be popular among audiences), but it is of course set during the era of Aang and thus covers both a time period we’ve already seen, and also by nature of already being released as comics, events we’ve already seen too.

However, the whole point of this article is that there is one major, huge thing we haven’t seen yet, with massive anticipation building for a decade behind it: the Fire Nation in the era of Korra. So, again, this is just speculation, but it’s also possible that they could return to the very smallest seed of the original idea for a The Search movie, and do a Fire Nation-focused Korra movie now.

→ 🌺 ATLA’s Fire Nation-focused The Search was originally pitched as an animated movie.

You can skip this next part if you don’t want to see me embarrassingly promote my fan idea 😆 but this is where the artwork I made for this article comes into play. The general idea for it, and the reason I tried to replicate the show’s style as much as possible, is that it’s what a Fire Nation-focused movie could maybe look like. Something as standalone and unrelated to Earth Kingdom drama as possible, with fresh new looks for the Krew to get people excited for something fresh and new! I really feel like the Avatar franchise has so much potential for expanded content like this, that’s why I have high hopes that Paramount+ will make the most out of it! You can see the individual characters’ artwork in larger size here. Ok I’m done back to business.

If the idea of a movie seems too impossible to you, we can also take a deeper look at Bryke’s involvement with upcoming comics instead.

After Korra ended, they officially each went their separate ways. They vaguely consulted on Avatar stuff, and Mike of course wrote the Korra comics, but Bryan was planning on writing and drawing his own original non-Avatar comic series and Mike was releasing his own non-Avatar novels. This all appears to have come to a stop when they signed on to showrun the live-action retelling of ATLA at Netflix, officially reuniting the partnership and committing to Avatar again in a big way. Of course, they ended up leaving that project over creative differences, but it did result in a big, lasting change: this time they remained official creative partners and have indicated they’re still working on Avatar now, together. This is a far cry from the official breakup after Korra, so it begs the question what exactly they’re working on. I of course have my fanciful predictions of a sprawling expansion of the Avatar franchise at Paramount+, but what if it’s actually a combination of the ingredients from before the live-action series...

More speculation, but what if the reason for all the mystery behind the next Korra comics is because they will be made by Bryke, with the two of them co-writing and Bryan doing the art for the first time? If that’s the case, they could want to make them a bigger deal than the other Avatar comics have been so far, and maybe that’s why it’s taking so long to iron everything out, have a more significant story, have more of a marketing push, etc. If they’ve been saving the Fire Nation for something big, this could be it.

I personally think this is less likely than a show or movies or something, but it is possible. Anything is possible right now since we know so little about the large-scale direction of the franchise moving forward, just that it’s gonna get big.

⛰️🌋 The Fire Nation in the era of Avatar Kyoshi

We’re not done! Despite everything I’ve written here, believe it or not, the Fire Nation was actually the star of the show in the last year.

With the debut of the Avatar franchise’s first original novels, Kyoshi made a huge splash (in a way only she can). If you haven’t read them yet, you NEED to-- they’re some of the best Avatar content EVER. The Rise of Kyoshi hit shelves in 2019 and The Shadow of Kyoshi followed in 2020. The latter is of particular interest here, because it was almost entirely set in the Fire Nation and featured practically everything and anything you could want from a visit to elusive islands. Though obviously set in a historical period some four hundred years before Aang’s time, Kyoshi’s sojourn in the Fire Nation gave us a huge amount of new information, a depth and breadth of worldbuilding, culture, and character we’ve never really seen in Avatar before. It truly makes the most of the literary medium, so hats off to author F. C. Yee for the passion and effort he put in.

In The Shadow of Kyoshi, we learn about the era of the previous fire Avatar before Roku, Avatar Szeto. Through Kyoshi and her own Team Avatar, we learn about the different clans and islands of the Fire Nation, as they experience the fraught early reign of Fire Lord Zoryu and the conflict between the Keohso and Saowon clans, culminating in the Camellia-Peony War. We get a multitude of fleshed-out perspectives from the upper crust to the flea-bitten underworld, matching the heights of the worldbuilding quality of Republic City. It’s such cool, intricate stuff, and really shows Avatar’s potential (and that’s all just the worldbuilding-- the character work is also top-notch).

That’s not the only place the Fire Nation has shone recently. One of Insight Editions’ awesome scrapbooks, Legacy of the Fire Nation, gave us a tour through the royal family’s history, including never-before-seen looks at young Iroh and Ozai and much, much more.

All this just goes to show that the Fire Nation has been a hot ticket throughout the ages and there’s one conspicuous gap in that history: the era of Avatar Korra. With so much recent expansion and development of the Fire Nation in our world, it would be perfect to see the culmination of it all in the current time period in the world of Avatar too.

If this made you excited for the potential of what the Avatar franchise could look like in the coming years, same boat!

The next concrete date where something could be announced is February 24th, when ViacomCBS will host their investor day and present their streaming strategy, including Paramount+ originals. There’s no guarantee Avatar is mentioned, but I’m keeping a hopeful eye out.

As for comics, Dark Horse’s schedule marches to its own beat, so there’s no way to know when the next drop of information is coming our way.

Could this finally be the comics that take us to the Fire Nation, or could the much-anticipated visit be in another medium like animation? Stay tuned-- as always I’ll post as soon as we learn anything new!

#korra comics #paramount plus #the fire nation awaits

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the-silver-circle · 4 years ago

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Night Elf Paladin Headcanon

Early Night Elf Empire: Between 15,000 and 12,000 Years Ago

15,000 years ago the Dark Trolls, who would later evolve into the first kaldorei, began worshiping the moon goddess, Elune, who they believed was bound to the Well of Eternity itself. The mystics of the nocturnal tribes claimed that Elune slept in the fount's depths during the day and rose to bless them at night. The dark troll tribes gradually migrated to the Well of Eternity and settled by the shores of the lake. Over generations, the energies radiating from the lake suffused the trolls' flesh and bones, elevating their forms to match their graceful spirits. The independent and nomadic dark trolls were thereby transformed into highly intelligent being with vastly longer-lived lives that made them seem virtually immortal. The former trolls began communing with the goddess and discovered titan-forged words from Elune such as the name "Kalimdor" from which they named the land. Influenced by this newfound language, the former trolls renamed themselves kaldorei - "children of the stars". For many centuries, the kaldorei built a graceful society throughout central Kalimdor. In time, the kaldorei mystics began calling themselves Oracles of Elune and formed the first priesthood that would become known as the Sisterhood of Elune. The early kaldorei empire was scattered throughout the Kalimdor Landmass with their cities and settlements fractured by mountains, rivers, plains and forests. They were often preyed upon by neighboring troll empires, who were frequent aggressors against the peaceful kaldorei explorers. Of all the troll empires, none were more aggressive against the kaldorei than the Amani. When the kaldorei settled in the mountains east of the Well of Eternity the Amani led regular raids against their settlements. During this time, the legendary kaldorei warrior Anasili Moonblade (the "Night Warrior"), who was said to be the Scion of Elune, rose up to oppose the oppressive Amani trolls and won the kaldorei land in the east. It was during this time the early Sisterhood of Elune discovered that in order to spread the will of Elune throughout their scattered Empire, they would need to find ways to protect themselves during their travels.

Elun'nora, Warriors of Elune: Between 12,000 and 11,000 Years Ago

The Elun'nora or "Justice of Elune" (also known as the Elun'serrar "Blade of Elune", Warriors of Elune or Honor Guards of Elune) was an initiative brought forth by the first priestesses of Elune. The original purpose of the initiative was to train warriors in the faith to offer the members of the Sisterhood protection on their travels throughout the Night Elf Empire. Elun’nora served as guardians in a subdivision of the Sisterhood and were formally trained in both martial warfare and Elunarian spellcraft, and unlike the priesthood the Elun'nora were comprised of both men and women. They learned to embellish their martial combat with divine magics granted to them by Elune, and through that they became formidable foes. In ancient times the Elun’nora devoted themselves to the protection of the Sisterhood. Some Elun’nora were assigned to one or more priestesses, while others simply watched over a coven, temple or shrine that was tended to by the Sisterhood. They were not servants. They were shields of the faith, the ones ready to stand in the fire of Elune’s foes. And while most of their practices were rooted in physical and active protection, they also eased potential burdens on a priestess’ shoulder by becoming close confidants. Becoming an Elun’dora once granted an individual some amount of respect in the eyes of the kaldorei. These honor guards were permitted many of the same privileges as sisters of the temple, provided their motivations were in alignment with the Sisterhood’s needs.

Reign of Queen Azshara: Between 11,000 and 10,000 Years Ago

In time, the kaldorei became obsessed with unlocking the Well of Eternity's secrets. They began rigorous studies of the fount's arcane energies and learned to become sorcerers. They harnessed the powers of the lake to construct wondrous cities and roadways. Magic became in inseparable part of life and pushing the boundaries of their intellect became the driving force of their culture. It was during this era of unprecedented growth that the kaldorei's most prolific leader came to power. Her name was Queen Azshara. Under Azshara's reign, the kaldorei empire blossomed into a sprawling civilization that radiated out to the far corners of Kalimdor. Finally, after millennia the cities and settlements of the Empire were united. However, while Azshara was the first to accomplish this great feat, it was also under her reign that the kaldorei caste struggles were born. During Azshara's reign the most powerful nobles of the empire became known as the Highborne. The highborne were gifted sorcerers, loyal handmaidens or guardians to the Queen, or ruled the empire as magistrates or trusted advisors to the royals. All highborne occupied the upper echelons of the empire and believed themselves and their magic to be superior to the rest of their race and the archaic faiths. The practice of the arcane ruled the empire and in time the former capital that once honored the moon goddess was renamed to honor the Queen, changing from "Elun'dris" to "Zin-Azshari". During this era of arcane and vanity, the city of Suramar became the center of night elf worship and home to the Sisterhood of Elune. Kaldorei throughout the empire flocked to Suramar to become priestesses or Elun'nora, no longer feeling welcome to practice their faith among the self-important highborne of Zin-Azshari. The respect the titles priestess or Elun'nora once afforded no longer seemed substantial when compared to Azshara's highborne or other practitioners of magic. In time, the Sisterhood and its honor guards became sparse. Some Elun'nora left their posts, seeking new opportunities in the service of the highborne. Those who chose this path were no longer independent guardians of the Elunarian faith, they had chosen to become servants of the nobility. They began to pursue the arcane to better serve their masters and adapted new martial forms that would later become known as Spellblades and Battlemages. The highborne became fascinated by these ways of combat and spellcraft and began practicing it themselves, eventually forming the Eternal Champions. The Sisterhood began setting particularly difficult trials to those who sought to become Elun'nora, with the intention of weeding out the undevoted. One such trial involved an independent pilgrimage with nothing but a plain robe to a shrine at the peak of one of the northernmost mountains of the Empire. There, the aspiring Elun'nora was to meditate without food or water until they cleansed themselves of their inner turmoil to lighten their souls and connect to Elune.

War of the Ancients & The Sundering: 10,000 Years Ago

(Art by Jian Guo.) As the highborne toiled with the Well of Eternity, the kaldorei began getting in touch with druidism under the teachings of Cenarius, who hoped new druids like Malfurion Stormrage would help their people return to their harmonious roots. Yet, this change would not come. Unbeknownst to all save the highborne, Lord Xavius and Queen Azshara had begun communicating with Sargeras. The fallen titan promised to grant Azshara and her followers unfathomable power. Enthralled, Azshara and her highborne used the Well of Eternity to summon the Legion. Demons stormed across the empire from the capital city, leaving death and destruction in their wake. War, the likes of which no mortal empire had ever witnessed, had come to Azeroth. A kaldorei resistance formed to stand against the Legion's furious onslaught. The resistance consisted of several brave organizations including the Moon Guard, Sisterhood of Elune and the Elun'nora, the Rooksguard, Earthen, Tauren, Furbolgs and the Wild Gods and dragonflights. The skill set of the Elun'nora made them perfectly adapted for battle on the front lines, which was were most served. Their skills in warfare and healing proved incredibly valuable and unfortunately it made them prime targets of the Legion. By the end of the War of the Ancients and the Sundering, the Elun'nora were so few their division was dissolved and they became either priestess, sentinel or watcher in the ages to follow.

Modern Elun'nora: Paladins of Elune

The Paladins of Elune is a new initiative brought forth to the High Priestess at the suggestion of several Priestesses, including Priestess Delas Moonfang. They are warrior-priests or priestesses devoted to Elune. They are inspired by the old lore and old teachings of the ancient Elun'nora, as well as their new allies within the Alliance.

#world of warcraft #silver circle #wyrmrest accord #guild lore

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 4 years ago

Text

Slips of the Mind (The Mask of Death Series)

Colonel Wullf Yularen would like to say he was comfortable with his position within the Empire. He would like to say that he was proud of the transition he’d made from the Republic era, into the new era of dictatorship; maintaining his rank as one of the military figureheads. In a Galaxy torn apart by civil war, with a rising number of small factions joining the Rebel Alliance to revolt, he would like to say his job was as secure as they come. With no end in sight - although that wasn’t for the Empire’s lack of trying, as they doubled down on their efforts to persecute and eliminate the competition - he looked forward to a stable future, with a stable income, and a stable hand to play.

From admiral, to colonel, little had changed. But even he had his limits, and though he had once fought for the Republic naval forces - teamed up with the most reckless of Jedi generals - the man he had been paired with to overview the latest reports from the Imperial Security Bureau made even him feel tense and uncomfortable.

As he followed through, he almost regretted the choice. Initially, he had been sent to relay information to Grand Moff Tarkin. It was the usual debriefing, catching up in person every six weeks. In between, there’d be transmissions and holomessages. Initially, Grand Admiral Thrawn had been dispatched to join. Key word was initially. Instead of the semi regular procedure, Tarkin had been called off to oversee director Krennic’s progress on the beginnings of the 'secret weapon of the Empire; The Death Star. Thrawn had been delayed, foiled by a baited trap laid by rebel forces. Hence, when Yularen made his case to the Emperor himself; the most powerful man in the Galaxy had asked him not to worry, and assured him that he would be adequately received. There was a standin he may relay his findings to. Yularen had hoped that the cryptic, musing tone the Emperor used meant nothing. Still, he had already suspected whom he would have the pleasure of dealing with before the hydraulic doors slid open.

He wasn’t wrong.

He heard the even, rhythmic breathing cycle of a periodic respirator before he saw the man. Back turned towards him, Darth Vader stood with his hands folded behind his back; peering out through the floor length viewport of an office in what had once been the Galactic Senate. He appeared to be eyeing the setting sun, as it crawled lazily along the horizon; the coruscanti cityscape and its towering buildings mere shadows set against its dying orange rays. Keeping his head held high, Yularen entered and approached the freshly revised holoprojector planted in the middle of the room. Eyeing first Vader’s looming figure, the light reflected in the polished durasteel of his domed helmet, Yularen opted to trigger the fanning shades. The room would need to be darker, at least this close to twilight. He knew Vader was already aware of his presence, even as the shades began to unfold, covering the vast viewport inch by inch.

“Colonel Yularen,” said Vader promptly, his deep voice rumbling as he finally turned to look at the other man.

“Lord Vader,” Yularen greeted in turn, with a curt nod of acknowledgement. “I regret the circumstances demanding your attendance. I know this is well beyond your disposition.”

“Indeed. however, it occurs to me that little can be done to alter the issue at the moment. As such, we may proceed. I have been informed that you carry news of great interest to the Empire. I shall see to it that they are adequately conveyed - granted that I deem them worthy of such note.”

Yularen pursed his lips into a thin line, but offered another nod.

He’d always been unnerved in Vader’s presence. Sure, the times they found themselves forced to cooperate had been few and far between. But there was an uncanny quality to Vader, one Yularen had never sensed with another being. He remembered the days of the Clone Wars, commanding vast star fleets in direct battle. He remembered powerful Jedi knights, remembered the mystical, near whimsical aura they seemed to surround themselves with. Perhaps it was inherent to their nature, perhaps it was just their way of carrying themselves. He had seen the Force work in impossible ways; this unseen power, the root of the Jedi’s ancient religion. It was genuine, as real as the air he breathed. He had even spent an uncomfortable amount of time in the presence of a Sith Lord. Count Dooku had once been restrained on his vessel, albeit briefly, in holding before his separatist forces - led by the dreaded cyborg General Grievous - had come to his aid. Dooku’s veneer, his cold yet sophisticated flair, had been unsettling. There had been a chill in the air, much like a crisp, early autumn morning. One where dew became thin layers of frost, and ice crystals bloomed along branches and vegetation. Reminiscent of the freezing temperatures of Orto Plutonia, or Hoth, or Ilum.

Vader possessed the same icy cold quality, the same ability to suck any warmth out of every room he entered - but much amplified. The first time, Yularen had been surprised to find his fingertips numb when he left a meeting where Vader had been in attendance. Exactly how much of this imposing aura the man had direct control over, Yularen couldn’t say, but it seemed to vary from time to time.

Sometimes, there would be no more than the odd shiver running up your spine, as a sudden icy breeze wisps past your neck. Other times, it would be so cold, you’d find it difficult to stand still or keep your teeth from clattering. This evening, Vader appeared to be planted somewhere firmly between the two. No extreme frostbite, but enough to lessen what should have been welcoming, gentle rays of the sinking sun. Their mellow, golden lure disappeared behind the durasteel shades and the room was submerged in a gray, dim darkness before Yularen promptly accessed the map function and tapped in the adequate coordinates. The blue, wobbling glow almost felt reassuring when trapped in such a confined space with Vader.

“Jedha. I remain unintrigued,” said Vader, approaching slowly with heavy strides.

He came up beside Yularen, his large dark clad frame taking to the darkness like a duck to water. The blinking lights of his chest- and belt-boxes seemed almost hypnotic, alternating between bright greens and reds. Yularen glanced at the man’s face; the mask covering it never giving a scrap of emotion away. Stoic, frozen in a perpetual mockery of death. It resembled a skull, more than anything else; angled, black, stylized. Its gaping eyeholes fixated on the miniature holoimage of the planet overview in front of them.

“Actually, I was relying on you to fill me in on the importance of this particular planet. As I have been informed, we are intending to mine Jedha, but I have yet to learn what for. It appears indepth records regarding its history are… obscured. Ancient, yes, but I must admit I have never ventured close to its orbits,” Yularen began and cleared his throat, knowing that there was no better way to subdue the cynical beast that was Darth Vader; than to offer him an opening to share his own knowledge.

Many of Yularen’s fellow high ranking officers viewed Vader as a brute, a monster, and a mercenary. Little more than the hitman the Emperor dispatched when all else failed, when all semblances of negotiation fell through. Yularen knew better. He knew Vader was clever, he knew that Vader had the skill necessary to preplan and carry out complex schemes. While others may underestimate the man - especially those who had never existed in Vader’s presence - Yularen had a hunch for looking out for himself, and watching his own back. Stroking Vader’s ego would at least offer him free brownie points, much like they had done when he worked the same tactics on general Skywalker years ago.

“Neither have I, but I have… obtained the knowledge required to comprehend its importance to the Emperor’s machinations. Jedha is the root of a sect, dedicated to worshipping the Force. They revere it as their God, and while they follow the same false dogma that once belonged to the Jedi; they are insignificant. They are being closely monitored, for their bending of the law. I have been predisposed to interfere, should they alter their nature of compliance.”

“So they pose no threat?”

Vader nodded, as much as his helmet allowed him as he shifted to fold his arms defiantly across his broad chest. Yularen had always found that particular habit of Vader’s irked him, it took him back in time to the olden days. It made him ponder what may have happened to Skywalker, once the Jedi purge was begun. Once the Jedi were declared traitors of the Empire. Somewhere, his subconscious already knew the answer, and he refused to accept it. Much as he understood the consequences, Yularen had grown somewhat fond of that rowdy, unorthodox Jedi. Skywalker, who had a tendency to mimic the near exact same pose Vader was now holding. Back straight, arms folded, head held high. A small part of Yularen, would hope that he had somehow fled. That he had seen the error of his ways.

But that hope was futile, and best kept hidden.

“Perhaps in the future they might, but at the moment, no. The capital is a cesspool of misguided religious doctrines. The most prevalent cult practices non-violence, and they will succumb. If the Force wills it so, they will yield.”

“We’re not hunting Force wielders then, I take it,” Yularen hummed, keeping Vader in his peripheral at all times as he zoomed in; the aurebesh stats of what was only referred to as The Holy City greeting him.

“We are not. What we are hunting is their resources. These pitiful souls have long ago erected a temple to appease their skewed view of the Force. We are to exploit, and mine their deposit of kyber crystals - the true foundations of their reverence.”

Yularen scowled, skimming through the vitals of the planet. Breathable oxygen atmosphere, frosty climate with permanent winters. Feeling the hairs at the back of his neck rise, he ignored the tendrils of sharp, icy needles that seemed to radiate from Vader’s direction. The brunt of their assault focused on his right shoulder; wrenching themselves like unseen hooks underneath his skin. Impossible to shake off, or ignore. Like icicles, buried within his own flesh.

This was more like it, more like the near painful sensation of spending any time in Vader’s close proximity Yularen was used to. This was why he had dreaded the encounter.

“I presume this is to be our resolution, to replenish our resolve once Illum runs dry," he muttered, mostly to make a mental note to himself.

“Precisely.”

Yularen had had his suspicions, and was glad to see them confirmed. He knew he would have been debriefed on the status of Jedha and its importance to the Empire eventually, but he preferred to be one step ahead. He suspected Vader knew as much, and was humoring him by granting him this little tidbit of classified information. At least something good had come of their forced reunion.

“But, as I recall, I was not summoned here to educate you. You have a report for me, is that not so?” Vader continued after a short pause.

“Of course, my lord. My reasons for bringing Jedha up harken from the issue that we have detected unreported activity in the star systems surrounding the planet. We suspect rebel forces are attempting to establish a subdivision in the area,” Yularen was quick to explain, unwilling to keep Vader waiting and wear on his infamously thin patience.

“And what gives you these suspicions, Colonel? I suggest you provide me with reliable sources for your concerns.”

As Yularen had expected, Vader’s disinterest in the situation shone through. Vader had always come off as someone who saw himself as above pesky politics, but the Rebel Alliance had become an underground threat to be reckoned with. Much as Yularen suspected it must be more entertaining for someone of Vader’s prowess to hunt down befitting foes, he was required to scare the offshoots into submission by the Emperor’s orders. Neither of them could complain about the task offered to them.

“We have intercepted encrypted transmissions, and as such have been granted permission to dispatch a secondary garnison of stormtroopers to scout out the situation on spot.”

“If all this has already been accomplished, I fail to see how it relates to me,” Vader said, and despite the tinny, somewhat metallic tone to his voice; it came off as close to a scoff as Yularen figured Vader could manage.

Another thing Yularen had grown accustomed to while waging war aside general Skywalker - that had turned out to be a benefit when dealing with Vader - was Skywalker’s impatience, his adventurous spirit, and his unwillingness to carry diplomatic or political conversations. They’d got along well, once Yularen learnt not to try to draw Skywalker into discussing subjects he either didn’t understand, or simply thought he was too intelligent to have to deconstruct. And Skywalker was no idiot, he had been quick witted and skilled, but if there were negotiations to be had - Yularen would be relieved whenever general Kenobi was brought along to play the part on dual missions.

Now, there was no Kenobi to ease a disinterested party back into the discussion.

“Pardon me, Lord Vader, but that is what a debriefing requires. I am certain you are as aware of this as I am,” he pointed out, the scowl still dug into his brow.

“Perhaps, but it is not my duty to register these accomplishments,” Vader shot back, and he shifted to meet Yularen’s gaze head on.

“It’s not optimal, no, but we’ll have to make do. However, you are correct in that it is not a direct necessity.”

Yularen almost smirked at his own idea, and a part of him wished he had come up with this excuse before the inevitable meeting.

“Are you suggesting breaking protocol?”

Yularen quirked an eyebrow at that, and instead of the usual wave of apprehension Vader would instill him with; he could swear he detected an amused curiosity. Shrugging, the mental image of Skywalker smirking at his suggestion that they bypass customs just this once flashing before his inner vision, he cautiously let his guard down and scrolled through a couple of planets and systems he had reports on. He knew they would be of little to no interest to Vader, so he might as well skip them. He would need to write a digital predisposed copy of the overhaul at a later date anyhow. While Tarkin or Thrawn may have been thrilled to discuss tactics and strategies - Yularen figured there was no point in wasting either his or Vader's time on trivial drabble. He stopped when he located the one instance that may still peek some interest in his companion.

“Not quite. Simply bypassing irrelevant data. I believe this, however, may be of use to your likes, my lord,” he finally answered, and dared a hint of a coy smile before settling back into his more rigid, professional demeanor.

“Explain,” was all Vader said, but he had visibly shifted to a more attentive posture, albeit with his arms still folded to make a point.

“I will assume you know Waruuk for its… unsavory reputation. Run by crime syndicates, spice cartels, smuggling rings, slave traders - you name it, they have it.”

“I reckon you have a valid reason for bringing a planet built on scum up.”

Yularen felt the ire simmering from Vader but was intent on not shying away, pulling up the stats and indexes for the planet in question. He let Vader eye them for a moment, and as he had anticipated, the temperature of the room began to rapidly decline. From a cool, almost neutral environment; he now found himself in a hostile, freezing embrace. Its nature was oppressive, its artificial chill seeping into the colonel’s bones.

“Vos,” Vader spat, and Yularen almost flinched at the unfiltered disgust bleeding through what was for all intents and purposes a monotone voice.

Force wielder, possible Jedi. Male. Physical attributes in line with primary target, Jedi Master Quinlan Vos. Records incomplete, further investigation required; a tiny sidescreen note proclaimed, one Yularen had set aside from his own files. He had never intended to show it directly to Thrawn or Tarkin, unless actively questioned about it. What he had intended, was to transcribe it to Vader.

“Yes. I cannot be completely certain, but there have been recorded sightings of a supposed Jedi in these parts. I presume it would have reached your ears eventually, but I happen to know you prefer to have the news broken to you in person.”

Vader peered at him again, and Yularen found pride in the flat facial expression he managed to maintain as he was being meticulously studied. The gaze felt burdensome, but instead of the usual dismissive air to it; it came off as grateful, in a distant, wary sort of manner. That, too, reminded Yularen of general Skywalker.

Skywalker, who was barely more than a teenager when put in command. Skywalker, who was brash, and unable to adequately give or take compliments. He’d come into his own, as the war waged on. But those first few months, there had been several incidents of heated arguments and stubborn headbutting. With time, Skywalker had grown to respect Yularen’s advices, and his suggestions. In turn, Yularen had learnt to respect Skywalker compassion, and wit. They’d become a proper team.

Briefly, Yularen wondered whether Vader would hunt down Skywalker with a similar vigor to other Jedi, was he to learn the man had lived.

“You are correct. Others would be wise to follow your lead in their approach,” Vader simply stated in what was probably as close to a compliment as the man could muster, before immediately turning on his heel to head towards the single exit way. “Have the coordinates transmitted to my comlink. I shall investigate this Jedi traitor’s whereabouts in person.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Yularen replied, but Vader was already long gone, stalking down the corridor at an impressive walk speed; black cape billowing behind him and guard troopers scrambling out of the way.

Without thought, Yularen picked up his personal comlink device and brought up the adequate files Vader had requested from his private notebook. On autopilot, he dialled the five digit signal by muscle memory and pressed transmit. Then he froze, the colour draining from his face as he stared in wide eyed horror at the error he had committed. He became acutely aware of the fact that he had never sent Vader direct private messages before; and so, he didn’t know the man’s wavelength. He felt his stomach lurching, the sinking sensation in his chest. He must have been too distracted by the memories of the bright eyed young Jedi he'd once called friend, realizing too late that the number he’d typed belonged to general Skywalker. It buffered, but could not be cancelled. Instead of being dismissed, it went through with a chirping beep of approval.

But that was not the reason for the cold sweat breaking out along Yularen’s creeping hairline, his racing heartbeat, or the taste of bile rising at the back of his throat.

The encrypted transmission sent to Skywalker’s wavelength was successfully received.

The receiver was computed as Darth Vader’s private comlink unit.

*****

This one is perhaps not as scary as the others, but I think the impact still hits home. I wanted to write the dynamic between Vader and Yularen, and have been wanting to do so for a long time. Thus, I figured Yularen would be reminded of Anakin in Vader's presence, but not quite put it all together until... well, see for yourself.

Hope you enjoy, I had tons of fun with the lore and artistic liberty in this installment, if nothing else!

(Yes, the end may be a bit... I dunno, but I really wanted to have that conclusion in there, and it may be a bit forced, but I like it anyway. Sue me!)

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894/chapters/70242900

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black-paraphernalia · 3 years ago

Photo

Little-known document offering details about the names, ages, places of origin, and personal situations of thousands of blacks who fled American slavery and hoped to find their promised land in Canada.

It is called the Book of Negroes.

The handwritten ledger runs to about 150 pages. It offers volumes of information about the lives of black people living more than two centuries ago. On an anecdotal level, it tells us who contracted smallpox, who was blind, and who was travelling with small children.

One entry for a woman boarding a ship bound for Nova Scotia describes her as bringing three children, with a baby in one arm and a toddler in the other. In this way, the Book of Negroes gives precise details about when and where freedom seekers managed to rip themselves free of American slavery.

As a research tool it offers historians and genealogists the opportunity to trace and correlate people backward and forward in time in other documents, such as ship manifests, slave ledgers, and census and tax records.

Sadly, however, the Book of Negroes has been largely forgotten in Canada. And that is a shame. Dating back to an era when people of African heritage were mostly excluded from official documents and records, the Book of Negroes offers an intimate and unsettling portrait of the origins of the Black Loyalists in Canada.

Compiled in 1783 by officers of the British military at the tail end of the American Revolutionary War, the Book of Negroes was the first massive public record of blacks in North America. Indeed, what makes the Book of Negroes so fascinating are the stories of where its people came from and how it came to be that they fled to Nova Scotia and other British colonies.

The document, which is essentially a detailed ledger, contains the names of three thousand black men, women, and children who travelled — some as free people, and others the slaves or indentured servants of white United Empire Loyalists — in 219 ships sailing from New York between April and November 1783. The Book of Negroes did more than capture their names for posterity. In 1783, having your name registered in the document meant the promise of a better life. Source: Canadahistory.com

Black Paraphernalia Disclaimer- images from Google Images

The first proclamation appeared in November 1775, just months after the Revolutionary War had begun. To attract more support for the British forces, John Murray, the Virginia governor who was formally known as Lord Dunmore, infuriated American slave owners with his famous and the irony of him was he himself was a slave owner.

Dunmore Proclamation:

To the end that peace and good order may the sooner be restored ... I do require every person capable of bearing arms to resort to His Majesty’s standard ... and I do hereby further declare all indented servants, Negroes, or others (appertaining to Rebels) free, that are able and willing to bear arms, they joining His Majesty’s Troops, as soon as may be, for the more speedily reducing this Colony to a proper sense of their duty to his Majesty’s crown and dignity. Enslaved blacks attentively followed this proclamation, fleeing their owners to serve the British war effort.

The Philipsburg Proclamation

Came four years later and was designed to attract not just those “capable of bearing arms,” but any black person, male or female, who was prepared to serve the British in supporting roles as cooks, laundresses, nurses, and general laborers. Issued in 1779 by Sir Henry Clinton, commander-in-chief of the British forces, it promised: “To every Negro who shall desert the Rebel Standard, full security to follow within these lines, any occupation which he shall think proper.”

By 1782, as it became apparent that the British were losing the war, and as George Washington, commander-in-chief of the Continental Army, prepared to take control of New York City, blacks in Manhattan became increasingly desperate about their prospects. They had been promised freedom in exchange for service in wartime.

But would the British live up to their side of the bargain?

For a time, it looked as though they would not. When the terms of the provisional peace treaty between the losing British and the victorious rebels were finally made known in 1783, the loyal blacks felt betrayed. Article 7 of the peace treaty left the Black Loyalists with the impression that the British had abandoned them entirely. It said

All Hostilities both by Sea and Land shall from henceforth cease all prisoners on both sides shall be set at Liberty and His Britannic Majesty shall with all convenient Speed and without Causing any destruction or carrying away any Negroes or other Property of the American Inhabitants withdraw all its Armies, Garrisons, and Fleets, from the said United States.

Boston King, a Black Loyalist who fled from his slave owner in South Carolina, served with the British forces in the war, and went on to become a church minister in Nova Scotia and subsequently in Sierra Leone, noted in his memoir the terror that blacks felt when they discovered the terms of the peace treaty:

The horrors and devastation of war happily terminated and peace was restored between America and Great Britain, which diffused universal joy among all parties, except us, who had escaped from slavery and taken refuge in the English army; for rumor prevailed at New York, that all the slaves, in number 2,000, were to be delivered up to their masters, although’ some of them had been three or four years among the English.

This dreadful rumor filled us all with inexpressible anguish and terror, especially when we saw our old masters coming from Virginia, North Carolina, and other parts, and seizing upon their slaves in the streets of New York, or even dragging them out of their beds. Many of the slaves had very cruel masters, so that the thoughts of returning home with them embittered life to us. For some days we lost our appetite for food, and sleep departed from our eyes

Source: Canadahistory.com please click on link for the full fascinatiing story of the Book of Negros

#black paraphernalia #black soliders #black patriots #book of negros #did you know

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dumb-ology · 4 years ago

Text

Of Gods and Men (Series)

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Notes:

This is a fantasy one-shot. The story forms part of a group of short stories set in my fictional world of Iabis, a world I hope someday will be finished and be good enough to publish.

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Summary:

When he first had been brought before them, the young prince could not say that he was impressed with the ways of the people of Ker... . Or at least that was what he wanted to believe as he silently sipped from his chalice in an attempt to calm the erratic beatings of his heart, distracted as he was under the shameless scrutiny of his betrothed.

Of the Moon-borned and their Barbarians

When he first had been brought before them, the young prince could not say that he was impressed with the ways of the people of Ker. They looked intimidating, too powerful for his own comfort, with strange markings and an even stranger language. They bowed to no man or woman when they entered the halls of his house, and they knew nothing of the manners of his people nor seemed to care.

But as night came, and the stars above them shone brightly against the vast darkness of the sky, his fascination only seemed to outgrow his fears and reservations.

Instruments for which his people had no names began to sound throughout the halls. Exotic and foreign-sounding, hypnotizing in their primal origins, inciting all those who listened to jump and twirl and laugh. And so did the people – crying vibrantly into the night in a mixture of two completely different languages, two completely different cultures. And by the gods did Baekhyun joined them right away in their merriment.

Fire breathers were in action, their flames reaching the night skies as if they were dragons. Delicacies came and go from the kitchens to the tables – skewers, soups, sweet and juicy fruits, spicy meats of mouthwatering smells, vegetables that even he had not seen before – They had all been prepared for the celebration of the new found alliance between the Ker and the Huemor. The gods of the skies and their spirits had at long last blessed both their peoples, and now the Horse Lords and the Riukae sat together and shared the same bread – and yet, for as many Huemor those danced and drinked with the Ker, there were many others that did not looked pleased with this new reality.

But the Matriarchs had been firm. They had insisted at length and multiple times that the end of an era of war was to begin through an era of love, through the union of blood under the blessings and the ever-watching protection of the gods. The Matriarchs made their will known through their most faithful spiritual guides, and although reluctantly, it was becoming more and more obvious throughout Telandis that the proposal to these unions was being accepted by the people – either by fear to the gods, because of love or in order to avoid any more bloodshed, the young prince could only speculate.

And so, their old traditions and their way of life had begun to change.

The Ker respected the ways of the Huemor at first, married their sons and their daughters according to their sacred laws and under the blessings of the All-Seeing, but it was no surprise that once the relations with the Empire began to be more cordial, that they brought with them their own – insisting much to the surprise of a few incredulous, and ill-mannered Huemor, that the marriages amongst the Ker were held between equals. Their ways were to be respected, just as they respected theirs.

Baekhyun’s people called their most popular courting tradition the Reaping – A witty name that some bard in a lively tavern had attributed to the event, and that since, had become its official term. It was a simple tradition, one that required the consent of both participants in the courtship, and while at first frowned upon and misunderstood, Baekhyun knew of only a few participants that had not been… satisfied with the aftermaths: During a night of celebration, the Huemor partner was to be locked in their chambers, awake and ready to defend themselves alongside their family as they waited for their Ker betrothed to break into their rooms in order to take them as their partner.

It was a strange thing in the beginning.

The Reaping sometimes didn’t even happened at night, taking place in broad daylight and in very public places, with men and women alike coming into the markets without any type of ceremony or warning, only to choose their selected partners and slung them over their shoulders, running away from the city while being cheered on by their clan members.

It was a strange thing, but not without reason, as Baekhyun had come to find – The deserts and the steppes that the Ker lived in were dangerous places, life was rough and so they had to adapt to it, and marriage, as many other of their traditions and rituals that were of great importance, took a deep meaning that sometimes the Huemor seemed to have forgotten. The Ker saw themselves forever bonded with another, gifted with the responsibility of another’s life, with the responsibility of another’s clan’s safety, and so strength and bravery was demanded of their own and of their partners.

A Ker that failed to reap its partner was considered weak, and a partner that didn’t put up a fight was shamed as well. It was expected of both to be able to defend themselves, to defend their families and if possible, their future children. The survival of their clan demanded it.

Now however, as the Ker held no wars against the Empire or the Nomads, the Reaping had almost become symbolic amongst the clans from these lands. More reminder than a need to prove their strength in the eyes of their brethren – and as the Huemor started to see the importance of said traditions and saw the appeal of being, as Baekhyun’s sisters fantasized, ravished by a stripling and attractive Horse Lord, the Reaping had become romanticized, desired, and many were the Huemor interested in learning more of the Ker’s culture be it in search of passion or raw curiosity – it was no secret that as ravenous in its search for new knowledge as the Empire was famed for, the Riukae were also known for their depravity and decadency, and the courtship of one from a different culture was a way of satisfying both interests.

Baekhyun however, was tying his destiny with a Ker as it was his duty.

An alliance was needed to set an example, to afford protection for his sisters, for warfare as the second-born children of his Imperial majesty was their trade and their curse. Marrying one of the so-called Horse Lords could avoid tying his sisters onto a life of living by the sword. Or at least that was what he wanted to believe as he silently sipped from his chalice in an attempt to calm the erratic beatings of his heart, distracted as he was under the shameless scrutiny of his betrothed.

The man had been watching him all night, almost like he was studying him. Golden eyes that had lingered in the curves of his body and in the free expanses of flesh that his fusatan could not cover. Long hair that had grown darker as the night had closed in covered in a golden halo of jewelry that had crowned him in the same fashion as the paintings of the Gods he used to marvel at in the temples when he was but an Eyas.

The man held himself proudly, almost like he was exposing himself for his eyes, His posture screamed of a man who knew of war and action.

Through the transparency of his clothes, Baekhyun caught a glimpse of his muscular chest. His arms were marked with strange signs of pale red and brown that seemed to extend around his exposed skin like wildfire. The man was attractive, that much was true, in a wat that he could not explain but appealing to the eyes nonetheless.

Sharing his bed with him was not going to be an unpleasant experience.

Almost as if he had been reading his mind, the rider offered him nothing but a slight quirk of his lips upwards as he stood up and walked towards him, and for a moment Baekhyun felt as if all noise fell silent. It was as if for a moment, he was again a child, hiding himself against the strong legs of his Third Mother, swallowing hard and blinking fast in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

“If it weren’t for the dark colors of your robes and your breathtaking beauty I wouldn’t have noticed the difference between your Highness and a member of the Sun-borned” He simply said in a thick Ker accent. A shiver ran down Baekhyun’s spine at his words, but it was far from unpleasant. “But then again, beautiful things in the desert tend to be murderous… Say Saikhan, do you bite?”

Baekhyun’s breath hitched slightly as his words, hoping that the fire surrounding them could hide the color painting his cheeks. Oh, I could bite, he thought, you need only ask. By the gods, he was such a horny bastard.

“I am honored to meet you at last, Bey Jongdae”

The man seemed amicable, smiling broadly at his poor intent of addressing him in his language, moving to the next topic of conversation gracefully.

“Other Clans have taken Huemor brides and grooms, and in doing so, they have brought the prosperity of our Gods to their lands. I offer you and your house the protection of my clan and my Golden Army. They are strong and their devotion to me will extend to your people, this I swear to you”

Baekhyun hid his surprise as best he could. He hadn’t expected for negotiations to come to this point so quickly, but he stood beside him, tall and regal. “I swear to you that your battles will be ours, as well as your struggles. We will share feasts and your people will be welcomed as if they were our own, the colors of our houses seen as one.” – Anything for his people. With joy, anything they asked of him.

Jongdae laughed, throwing his head back and allowing his hair to fly out of his face. He was beautiful, with lips forming a sly smirk as he composed himself, and a sharp jaw that hid the tiniest of scars. “Your people are so formal, so serious. Fear not, I am aware of what I was promised, I have only come here to introduce myself and make my intentions for tonight very clear…”

Jongdae smirked and stepped closer to him, daring to see how close the young prince would allow him into his personal space. He had been told of the Huemor’s courtships, of the gradual desire that was supposed to grow in between them, but as his eyes roamed Baekhyun’s body in fascination he found the entire thing absurd.

The prince was painfully breathtaking, adorned in silver and shimmering blue fabrics that had move through the crowd with the delicacy of one born amongst royalty. Alluring eyes painted with kohl that had lingered on his own tentatively, allowing him in, inviting him to drink down his face as if it were water and Jongdae hadn’t had a taste for it in weeks.

He was no fool, much to Minseok’s disagreement.

He was aware of his husband-to-be’s beauty since it was his face that had kept him sane during the long waits in the desert. Baekhyun’s fair features, more boy than man, barely an adult when he first saw his lilac eyes. A tease, he learned after, a reminder from Baekhyun’s father for the long nights, small snippets of caresses that only piled up and burned him when he aroused alone at night and realized that his dreams were not tangible.

But standing now, chest to chest as they were, he realized that not even the most lucid of his dreams could ever do him justice.

“Intentions?”

“Yes. I needed to tell you that I have never seen hands as delicate and slender as yours. They are beautiful, and I long to become familiar with their touch and warmth”

“Wha-what?”

The Ker reached out to take a hold of his right hand, and Baekhyun couldn’t help but blush as he took a step back. Enough to give himself some breathing room as his eyes wandered to the thick and strong hands of the Bey, covered in small scars and calluses on his palms.

Better that, than the desire on the eyes of the man.

“My Gods would be displeased if I didn’t tell you how handsome I find you, how smart and capable I know you to be… How brave, how cunning” Baekhyun gasped and felt his blush deepen as the rider’s right hand tentatively descended towards his hips, asking for permission to touch him as he desperately seeked to keep his body pressed against his.

He smelled like leather under the aromatic oils he was bathed in, and he could feel the hot, hard press of his cock against him. Baekhyun bit his lip and looked into his eyes, only to be met with the intensity of a predator considering prey. He made him feel small, overwhelmed, two things that Baekhyun was not used to as he was never the one at the receiving end of such bold compliments.

But they were to be married, and that meant that two could play this game.

“Your charms can only help you so much”, Jongdae’s breath halted when he felt Baekhyun’s hand brush over his member. He stood still, and when he opened his eyes again they were shining with an expression that the prince understood perfectly. “We aren’t even married yet, and already you are behaving like a bitch in heat. How shameful”

“Baekhyun” The rider purred. The skin his golden rings touched felt like it was tingling. For a moment Baekhyun swore he could smell humidity in the air, as if there was an incoming storm nearby. No one had said his name like that ever before, and he liked the way it had fallen from his lips.

It was different, very different, but he found that he could enjoy hearing it being said like that daily, and also in other more… intimate circumstances.

“You have sharp eyes”, he whispered. Jongdae smiled softly a swift rise of his left eyebrow answer enough for him to continue. “We believe that the eyes tell much of a person. Yours are sharp, much like a cat’s; it means you’re cunning, smart… I eagerly await to see how you will try and steal me.”

He was quick to push Jongdae’s hands away from his waist as soon as his words loosened his grip over him. He stepped back, away from the rider and into the crowds, a blush setting his cheeks and neck on fire. Nervously he reached up to press his hand against his chest, hiding amongst the dancing and the drinking, everything to get away from Jongdae as his mind was awhirl with the things he wanted to do to him, his cock itching inside his pants.

All-Seeing curse him, he was already a mess.

----

Sleep, like a mischievous lover, was escaping Baekhyun’s mind.

Any other time, he would have been sleeping heavily, exhausted after a long night of feasting and dancing, assured that all in the palace was calm and that the loyal guards of his family were watching out for their safety. But this was no ordinary night. He was to be stolen, and the excitement of the act kept him awake, his heart hammering fast against his chest.

He was dressed in one of his best attires, a long pastel blue tunic thin and soft to the touch, decorated with silver threads intertwined in the hem and sleeves, slightly transparent in the right places. An outfit designed more for the aesthetic than practicality. But tonight, practicality mattered not.

Even if he was lulled by the sound of the fountains coming from the gardens outside his window, he felt the air shifting, a tension rising through the night. He saw how the curtains surrounding his bed swayed just the slightest bit, righting themselves almost immediately.

Baekhyun’s heart pounded faster. This was it, he thought, he has bested them all. He was careful as to not move, he was prepared.

The locks to his doors jiggled and gave, but once more, only the sound of flowing water blanketed his rooms.

So far, he believed, his stealing was going remarkably well. Suppressing a grin, he pulled his blankets higher up on his shoulders, grasping the small blade hidden amongst his pillows, and waited for the door to open.

And he waited.

And waited.

And wait-

A pair of strong hands grabbed his ankles and pulled him out of the security of his blankets. As fast as he could, he reached up into the abundant pillows and grabbed his blade. The grip of Jongdae’s hands was tight, but Baekhyun knew how to fight as well, and as he was being pulled out in a stunningly fluid movement, he maneuvered himself to rose up on his two feet bringing Jongdae down in between his legs. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, and he couldn’t help but to get momentarily lost in the golden eyes that were flashing under the moon light.

He smirked triumphantly as he pressed the tip of his blade dangerously close to the skin of Jongdae’s neck, before grabbing him by his hair and tilting his head backwards.

The Ker panted when he felt Baekhyun’s lips bite onto his neck, and he felt his member coming to life rapidly. The touches and kisses that the prince peppered in all the skin his lips were able to find were only adding to the fire that was rapidly growing between them. Tentatively he allowed his hands to rest against his rear, and Baekhyun felt as if fire was searing his skin as Jongdae’s fingers fidgeted with his tunic.

Magic hummed around them when Jongdae decided to attack his lips. A tiny bolt of electricity making them separate to catch their breath, the Ker gasping in delight as Baekhyun looked down at him with a smirk.

“I told you that your charms could only help you so much”, He whispered, before taking the chance to flee away from him. The chase was on.

Some people awoke at the commotion, jeering and hollering as they saw the Ker chasing after his husband. Some of the soldiers of Jongdae’s famed Golden Army were amongst the people, marveling at the strength and agility of the young prince, joining in the reverie and going so far as to offer lewd suggestions on what exactly their Bey should do as soon as he had his feisty little Huemor husband tamed in his rooms.

Baekhyun laughed loudly as he was being chased around the palace, dancing out of his reach, and laughing again as he felt Jongdae get close. He allowed him to reach him, coming again and again tantalizingly close to grabbing him, but every time the prince would just turn a different direction, managing to pull far enough for him to not be able to do anything to him anymore. Jongdae knew that he was playing Baekhyun’s game, and the realization was driving him mad with want.

He was going to be his. His and only his to ruin.

They soon entered the gardens and their magnificent pools, and it was here where the chase was cut short.

Baekhyun miss-stepped – purposefully or not, he didn’t know – But he was quick to take advantage of this mistake, reaching out to grab him by his wrists and submit him into the soft grass. Baekhyun tried to keep him away, swinging his blade to try and cut him until his back soon hit the cold floor. Soon he was pinned in by Jongdae’s arms and legs, pinning him on either side of his waist and taking control of his wrists, his blade thrown out of his reach.

The prince was breathing heavily while Jongdae loomed over him, his face barren of any emotion before throwing him over his shoulders to move them both to one of the chaise-lounge of the gardens left for resting under the sun.

Baekhyun was a work of art, splayed only for his eyes to see on the soft cushions and in the most seductive of poses, kicking and squirming as he tried to get away. But the prince didn’t fought back as Jongdae’s hands found his hips and moved to squeeze the skin of his butt, forcing him to rub himself against his member, still painfully trapped inside his pants. They kissed ardently, moaning when Jongdae stopped, hovering again over his body and taking in the view of his disheveled hair and pouty lips.

A whimpering, moaning and breathless mess with a beautiful erection that needed to be tended to. All his. His to touch and to take. He licked his lips when lilac eyes met his. Baekhyun’s expression was far from soft, as it was rather defiant, wanting as his cheeks flushed and perspiration covered his forehead.

“Did I say you could stop kissing me?” He whimpered, and Jongdae felt like he might have come right then and there. “Do not force me to flip you and ride you harder than you have ridden your mare in years”

His brattiness’ disappeared once Jongdae’s lips took over the tender skin of his thigs. His breath catched itself inside his throat, words dying to be replaced by whines as he felt the warmth of his hands sliding around his legs, a warm wet tongue darting quickly to lick up his shaft. He let out a choked moan, eyes shutting tight.

“Such a sharp tongue, little prince” Jongdae tsked, parting Baekhyun’s thighs again as he stood up and pressed his body against his, kissing his chest and creating a path of sloppy kisses down to his belly. Baekhyun was burning up, tangled up as they were, the heat of Jongdae’s skin providing comfort from the soft refreshing air of the night. The rider had slathered his fingers with abundant saliva, cupping one of his butt cheeks as he circled the skin that lay hidden within them.

“Ple-please…”

Jongdae obliged him by sliding a finger knuckle-deep, earning a long, deep breath from the man underneath him. He massaged in, quickly adding fingers as he found the spot that took Baekhyun’s breath away. He felt and saw the thick thigs of the prince begin to tremble in the pale light of the moon, sweat pouring out of him as he moaned lowly and untamed.

Jongdae kissed him and his hair covered the both of them as his hands ripped the cotton undergarments of the prince and freed his hardness from where it had been previously trapped. His cock hung low and thick, twitching as he took one more look at the man under him, thighs spread wide and his hole prepared.

He was going to fuck him properly, like a Ker was supposed to get fucked.

Baekhyun grabbed ahold of his shoulders when he felt the head of his cock against his entrance. He pushed inside him and he couldn’t hold the sigh that escaped his lips when he felt Jongdae’s cock stretching him and moving deep inside. His legs were trembling in the most delicious of ways, one that he had been craving the entire night, but then again, he had to remember that Jongdae hadn’t started to move yet.

The rider pressed his forehead against his, and he waited in silence for Baekhyun’s breathing to calm down. He kissed his neck, his chest, gently taking his hands and licking his fingers. Baekhyun kept looking up at him, too eager for his own good, and his hands found themselves sliding up to his black hair. His expression soft as Jongdae removed the ties from his hair, running his fingers through them until his braids broke loose and his hair was set free.

“You said you wanted to ride me” Jongdae murmured, and in a swift movement, he allowed Baekhyun to be on top as a cry of pleasure from his lips was drowned by sudden surprise. “Then ride me”

Baekhyun’s hole clamped around his cock, one of his hands curling around his neck delicately. Jongdae found himself smothered, suffocating, but he enjoyed the sensation far more than words could explain at the moment. His fingers dug into Baekhyun’s hips and he closed his eyes when he felt his inner walls clamping down around his cock as the prince rode him in a rhythm that only he seemed to know. He opened them again, and they locked in the way his cock moved inside Baekhyun. The pulling out only to swiftly ease back inside. The image was such that he had to concentrate himself to not lose control so soon. He grabbed his hips roughly and kneaded into them, rolling his hips in an attempt to meet his bounces. Baekhyun started to ride him with abandon, taking his hands and placing them over his chest for support.

He rides him. Deep and hard movements that rock him as well as the chaise. Baekhyun moves roughly, lost in the feeling growing in his member, lost by the desire and the power he feels as he sees Jongdae digging into the skin of his hips. Their voices are mingling together under the stars, Jongdae’s deep gravelly moans and Baekhyun’s song-like whimpers.

“Ma’ar, Ma’ar!” Baekhyun screams, as Jongdae’s rough hand takes care of his member while his hips worked their magic. “I’m close-“

Warm liquid cascaded between Jongdae’s fingers as Baekhyun’s back arched, his grip on Jongdae increasing as he loose his breath. Jongdae’s voice is choked off as he grunts and whimpers. His cock throbbing inside him as Baekhyun burns him in the most pleasurable of ways, squeezing around him as he releases himself over Jongdae’s stomach.

Baekhyun hears a loud grunt escaping the Ker’s lips soon after, and he cries out, panting and twitching too as he feels every pulse and shudder of Jongdae’s release. His seed is thick and hot, and he savors the sensation of feeling full once again, of having him so deep inside him, a small convulsion of pleasure causing small tears of absolute satisfaction to escape from his eyes, now stained with silver-colored kohl.

Baekhyun’s thighs and stomach feel wet as he drops exhausted against the cushions. He can see how his essence spills down Jongdae’s legs, staining the chaise underneath them, and feeling pity for whoever would have to clean up after their mess, he rolls and lies down, leaving his ass exposed to the air, breathing deeply as his eyes find his husband’s.

“I can’t feel my legs…” He licks his lips “I think I want more… After some rest”

Jongdae closes the distance between them, biting his lower lip while looking at him. His hair falls like a sheet of black silk over his neck and shoulders. “Good.”

Baekhyun scoffs happily, but the sound gets caught on his throat when he feels Jongdae propping up on his elbows, placing soft kisses on the skin of his back, fingers softly sliding through his hair. “My intentions were honest before” He begins, kissing and stroking the exposed skin before his eyes. “Every one of my soldiers and their swords is at your command. I will only think of you, live through another day only for you. This is what I am swearing to you, not to your father or anyone else, but you”

Jongdae shuts himself up and Baekhyun’s heart beats harder as he closes his eyes when Jongdae’s lips kiss the skin behind his ears, biting and licking the skin of his neck soon after. “I understand”, he whimpers, still sensitive as Jongdae’s hands find themselves wrapped around his reddish member.

“Good.” The rider smirks. “Because I plan on having you bedridden by the time I am done with you…”

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Copyright: ‘Of Gods and Men (Series)’ including all its associated content is COPYRIGHTED. All rights reserved by the owner and creator of this work, Liss (Dumb-ology) and any authorized copying, broadcasting, manipulation, distribution, or selling of this work constitutes as an infringement of copyright. Any infringement of copyright is punishable by law.

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#Romance #Shameless Smut #fantasy #one shot #Arranged marriage #Of Gods and Men (Series)#baekhyun #prince baekhyun #jongdae #exo chen #exol #exo baekhyun #baekchen #Chen is a Little Shit

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mythriteshah · 4 years ago

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The Sultan’s Dream

“Nyra… Glacius… It has been a journey of ten-thousand malms since we stepped foot upon Eorzea. I was but a simple lordling that wanted to make a name for himself, with nothing but my two greatest companions – my best friends – by my side. You two were always there. Through my triumphs and my failures, you were all I had to depend on.

Yes, I have my Angels to watch over and safeguard myself and the Regalia, but even they are not always around – unlike you two. ‘Tis not often I am given an opportunity to simply enjoy the scenery and share my thoughts; there are few whom I trust enough to divulge my deepest secrets. And to tell you the greatest truth of all, Nyra & Glacius… I’m tired. My time spent in Eorzea was one filled with so much turmoil that I would not even wish such a life on my worst enemies. And although I’ve brought the Regalia to a shining age of prosperity, I had still suffered a great deal since I first became an adventurer.

All this conflict is for the cloudkin. I’ve already cavorted with enough primals to live three full lives. And the repeated incursions of the Garlean Empire are evolving into quite the proverbial broken record. There are numerous other adventurers and ‘heroes’ strewn about the realm to make an army; what’s one merchant-lord in the grand scheme of things?

We’ve played our part on this grand stage of imbeciles, Glacius. Nyra. But now it is time for the curtains to descend. I am done fighting and tempting fate – I’ll grow old doing this for so long. ‘Tis time we returned back home to where we belong.”

Thiji reflected back on his speech he gave to his two most trusted companions some summers ago. While he has gained and lost much throughout his time as an adventurer, he was tolerant of the outcomes and made peace with them. Of course, there are certain moments in time he wish would have changed for the better.

His confrontation with the Harriers and their leader in the heart of Snowcloak, though successful in its objective, costed Thiji the life of the only Angel who ever loved him – Mamai Mai, who was given the title of “Lady” posthumously. She insisted on accompanying the then Mythrite Prince and his comrades-in-arms in his assault, offering her pugilistic skills to the table. Unfortunately, she was waylaid unexpectantly by what may as well have been a sub-zero blast of cold by the Lady of Frost. Thiji may have withstood the brunt of it, but Mamai was not so prepared, and she fell as a result. This was the beginning of a martial awakening within Thiji, for this event catalyzed his ascent – or descent, to some – into the path of the Dark Knight. This would later be realized in its fullest when he battled against the fourfold master of the blade in His home turf: Ravana, Lord of the Hive.

“Martial perfection”, the Amalj’aa called it. The apex of one’s skill for which all Amalj’aa seek to strive. This concept stuck close to Thiji as he eventually took up the sword and shield, continuing his adventures as a Paladin during the campaign to liberate Ala Mhigo. When he had faced off against the Lady of Bliss, whose Qalyana dreamers were coaxed into summoning their false deity due to threats from the Garlean Empire, he had received word from Nyra, who bore a message from one of his Angels informing him that his then-Sultana, Nanago Nago - whom was with child and under the care of Sarielle - had succumbed to her own avarice, consuming gratuitous amounts of aether from his weapons collected throughout his journeys during the Dragonsong War. The resulting effulgence – combined with her own innate powers as an Astrologian – caused her and their unborn child to perish in a stellar explosion, effectively removing them from existence. Another crushing loss – greater, even, than the one incurred from losing Mamai. Thanks to the laws of time and space, no one but he and his Angels know of this event. Once more unhinged, Thiji found new strength in not only his martial, but his magical prowess, effectively dispatching of the Lady of Bliss, though at the cost of his own blade and board… and his soul crystal, which he casted away with his armor following the battle.

It always seemed passing strange that the Dunesfolk nobleman from the Near East would gain new strength and prowess by leaps and bounds at the expense of some tragedy – this only further added to his eccentricity. He was a calm individual, but was incredibly vindictive – especially if one ever crossed his Angels, whom he cared for so dearly. Others may not have picked up on the cause of these… awakenings, but Thiji was more than aware of it. Some days following the Largesse, when he was alone in his Aldenard Branch office, he gazed upon a glistening blue greatsword of exquisite make. It was made by a Dragoon friend of his who had a fascination for all things Allagan, and upon the length of the blade was an engraved sentence:

“As long as you make it out of a battle alive, you're one step closer to fulfilling your dream.”

More than just pretty words to the Mythrite Sultan. He had experienced many battles and came out of each intact. Even now, as the kingpin of the Higuri Regalia, Thiji had even conquered a battlefield which extended beyond the physical: the realm of high fashion. He toiled for many winters to get to where he is now; to be the titan of aesthetic and philanthropy which has earned the respect of many (and, for some reason, the ire of some). Yet therein lies the problem:

What dream remained?

Sure, Thiji Higuri was a man of ambition and intellect. But he had not enjoyed the pursuit of a dream since the assault on Djanan Qhat. Ever since he was a child, he was spellbound by a particular play, and never missed a single showing. Thiji had experienced it so many times that he could (and probably still) recite the entire script verbatim. It was a tale of romance and tragedy; of a powerful sorceress with a good heart who stood up for a broken country’s people, and the solitary man who rose up to defend her: the Sorceress’s Knight.

A dream he may have fulfilled after the Dragonsong War, but was snatched away prior to Ala Mhigo’s freedom. It was a sensitive topic, and seldom brought up in the Mythrite Sultan’s presence, lest an Angel earns his anger. Why keep the claymore, then, if he had no dream to pursue? What other meaning could the decorative sword have to Thiji if he is a man bereft of that driving force?

The evening following the Largesse, the Mythrite Sultan was no longer present at the Aldenard Branch. He had begun making for the Main Branch for reasons as of yet unknown – probably to oversee the release of the Blessed Wardrobe’s second clothing line. As usual, his Advisor, Veeveena Veena, was present in his chambers, enjoying some Winter Lassi as she gazed upon the moon with that lovely smile on her face. It was yet another peaceful night in Radz-at-Han, and though she has seen the view many times, it was no less breathtaking to behold for the Near Eastern flower.

Veeveena took a few sips of her drink as the winds suddenly began to rise. The trees amidst the emergent layer of the jungle which could be seen from the city began to sway and billow, and would eventually cause a whisper or three to blow through the balcony. The sudden shift in temperature caught her off guard as the Dunesfolk woman let out a soft gasp, stumbling somewhat, but maintained her posture as the numerous jewels and decorations on her sampot clinked like wind chimes against her body.

“This breeze…” she whispered to herself. “Could it be the North Wind? Has he arrived in Radz-at-Han?” The sheer thought of meeting the elusive debonair was too enticing to resist, and Veeveena would quickly down the last of the lassi, enduring the brain freeze that would follow. As swiftly as she could, she doffed her garb to put on some evening attire before making her flight from the Main Branch Headquarters. Forgoing the usual method of taking the bridge out from the city, she utilized her fans to conjure wind-aspected aether to propel herself upward, gliding down gracefully toward the canopy.

Meanwhile, as Veeveena made her way to the rivulet, a lone figure was seen dancing about. It was shrouded entirely thanks to the shadows cast by the dense canopy beneath Menphina’s light. The figure’s movements were seamless, effortlessly transitioning into fouettes, sliding along the waters from one side to the other as they froze over, striping the rivulet with bands of ice. All throughout was the sound of steel ringing through the night air, and that same icy wind began picking up once more as the figure gathered aetherial energy for a brief moment before soaring from one end of the river to the other in a twirling flourish. Upon reaching the apex of the jump, it performed a flawless jete, the silvery moon cloaking the figure all the while as if the spectacle was taken straight out from a painting. The concealed terpsichorean was releasing the stored energy as it did its finish, resulting in an arch of slick ice to form over the rivulet. Sticking the landing with one final twirl into a plie, it detected movement within the trees. It did not bother to take the time to discern the incoming presence, and instead fled the scene with a blinding dash into the forest floor.

When Veeveena had finally emerged, the figure she believed to be the North Wind was nowhere to be found. All that she beheld was the stark scenery of a partly-frozen rivulet, the banks dotted with shards of frost, and an arch spanning its breadth. “This is beautiful… but the North Wind could not do this,” she thought, as she felt the scintillant snow particles kissing her face. While she was awestruck at the sight, Veeveena had to report this occurrence to her peers. Without wasting another moment, she contacted the Angels at the Main Branch, who would then arrive within the bell.

The “S” Trio (Sena, Sona, Suna) and the “L” Trio (Lena, Luma, Lina) were investigating the area as Veeveena brought them up to speed on what happened to the best of her ability. Sosona was easily able to deduce that the lingering aether was not the result of a primal’s thanks to her aetherometer obtained by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn (who, when asked about how she acquired them, stated that they didn’t seem to be using them anymore anyway); Lelena and Lilina, with their own unique abilities, further deduced that the culprit was not using the ambient aether or the influence of a construct; Luluma and Susuna had also come to the conclusion that the focus area was away from any wildlife or beastmen, so none were harmed from the result of this… phenomenon.

What really stood out, however, was Sesena’s observation after gazing upon the frozen arch for several minutes:

“Hey, Angels… do any of you feel… different?” she asked them. “Miss Veeveena?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I thought I was the only one who felt such… emotion from this scene, so I did not address it.”

“Miss Veeveena’s right… I don’t feel all that chipper,” Lilina commented, holding a hand to her heart. “It’s not… aether sickness, but when I gaze upon this scene, I’m seemingly overcome with… sorrow. But it’s a sort of… beautiful sorrow – like a dying maiden being held in her lover’s arms before the last flames of life fade from her eyes…”

The other Angels absorbed Lilina’s words, taking in the scenery, watching the snow particles dance in the air. The longer they remained, the more these senses seemed more profound. They may have been involved in many conflicts both small and large, but the Angels were no strangers to emotion – especially ones as palpable as what they were experiencing. They felt tranquility… yet sadness; bliss… yet loss. It was as if they were traversing a thin line between positive and negative emotion.

“I’ve heard tales of his prowess, Angels, but I don’t think even the North Wind is capable of something like this,” Sesena commented.

“Whomever it is,” Sosona began, “they’re damn good at expressing themselves.” The Angels remained for a while longer, until the icy spectacle would be whisked away by an errant gust of wind, freeing the rivulet from its frozen state in a cloud of diamond dust.

From atop the city in the Main Branch Headquarters, a Lalafell woman veiled in mythril blue and silver watched silently from her vantage point. Lady Mimizo, the Valide Sultan, was surprisingly awake during this bell, her face obscured by one of her fans. But for what reason was she spying on the Angels?

As Nyra flew to her side, Mimizo looked over her shoulder to find a slumbering Thiji, who seemed to be well into his sleep, a rare smile of content made visible on his face. His mother would grin in kind as she gave a kiss to the owl’s cheek.

“[I am indebted to you, Nyra. Thank you for keeping this secret for so long. But soon, the Angels will have to know. Until then, pray hold your tongue a while longer],” Mimizo whispered to Nyra in their native tongue. She would bow her head before taking wing, flying off into the night sky. Mimizo gazed upon the vestiges of the ice particles swirling into the heavens, enjoying the sight for a moment before quietly leaving her son’s bed chambers. She would return to accompany her husband before the Angels would make their way back to report this event to the other branches.

“May your dreams bring you the bliss you so rightfully deserve, my beloved son…”

#thiji higuri #ffxiv #higuri regalia #ffxiv a realm reborn #balmung #lalafell #endwalker #thavnair #hannish #radz at han #thavnairian #short story #dancer

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chrysalispen · 4 years ago

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borealis, prompt #2

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28633701/chapters/70569033

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ii. forehead

The calm and the relative hush of the Temple Knights Hospitaliers' infirmary was, Nero Scaeva assumed, intended to grant a sense of peace to its inhabitants and their loved ones. It was a false sense of well-being in his opinion, and one that did nothing for his frayed nerves.

Of all of it, the interminable waiting was the worst. Ever since he was small the concept of patience had ever been a learned trait: easily enough applied to a project with a set deadline, but considerably strained when he had no foreknowledge of an outcome.

His tenth circling pace about the hall led him to peer out the great stone window only to see precisely what he had expected: a Coerthan blizzard that reminded him uncomfortably of home, gray upon gray upon white. Snow fell in a heavy blinding blanket from a sky like lead, and the chill that radiated from the window seemed to sink beneath his flesh to gnaw so deeply into his bones that the woolen Ironworks doublet and the heavy overcoat he wore proved useless against it. His body ached in a dull sort of way, still healing as he was from his injuries, but worry and adrenaline ran so high in him that he barely took notice.

He ran his hands through his hair for the- how many times, in the past four bells? He'd lost count - and glanced at the shut door. No one had quit the room since he had arrived. That Elezen he remembered from the Alliance council had been there, the absurdly pretty Ishgardian lord with blue-black hair like a rook's feathers - he'd been speaking to a stooped man in a white coat in tones solemn and hushed, as though they stood in a cathedral vestibule before an effigy of their stone goddess.

The discussion had been all too brief. In a matter of moments, the chirurgeon hurried back inside and shut the door behind him with a click that seemed thunderous, and it left his taller companion suddenly aware of the Garlean's presence. Those sky-blue eyes bored into his own: a keen stare sharp with instant recognition and distrust for a brace of seconds before it was mitigated with a sort of wary understanding.

It surprised and annoyed Nero, that moment of intense self-consciousness - he had felt so small, and no matter how fleeting the impression, no matter that his own towering sense of pride had ruthlessly crushed it before it could break his resolve, the sensation lingered far past that one instant.

There was little way of knowing how much of his relationship with the eikon-slayer was actually common knowledge, but Ser Aymeric Something-or-other seemed to have been quite well aware of it. And yet anything the man might have had to say to him he had kept to himself. He had been the first to look away, only to quit the corridor entirely, and Nero had been left to his own devices with no company but stone walls and a stone sky and a silent curtain of white.

It was maddening.

(It was torment.)

He placed his hands flat upon ancient granite and mortar and peered through the glass panes, grimacing at the numbing cold. The sensation transported him, for that one disorienting instant, a good twenty years into the past; for that fleeting moment he was his boyhood self once again, bored and impatient and waiting for the storm to subside. Frost rimed the panes like watery lace and his warm breath was a fog bank to shroud what little visibility remained, and through the falling snow, he could see the outline of the great bridge past the city gates. This, Nero knew, was the so-called Steps of Faith. Aurelia and her allies had defended this city from a host of dragons with - among other things - the barbaric siege weaponry that lined the massive rails and towers like iron sentinels.

And unlike the capitol, there was not a scrap of magitek to be found.

The sight broke his momentary immersion. Restlessness reclaimed him once more and on its heels, the urge to save himself gave rise to every pernicious impulse he had like some subtle poison. I do have the option still to simply leave, he thought. Fingertips scraped against stone, digging into the age-worn mortar. Let them sort matters out with the Empire themselves. Be free from this web of absurd obligations.

But a much smaller part of himself, something soft and fragile and still growing, wasn't having it.

You could, it said, but you won't. You already made a promise to Garlond. Hells, to her. No more running.

If he walked out that door simply because his resolve was tested then he might as well take a blade to his throat. That act would be the end of the life he had tenuously begun to build here. He would once more be the ruthless and self-serving creature whose aetherometer he had flung into the depths of the Syrcus trench two years ago, the one whom he had sworn to bury as the morning's first light speared across one of Silvertear's rare clear skies. A new day.

Nero knew he was not a nice man, nor was he a good one. But he was a man who always kept his word.

At the opposite end of the hallway, the sounds of a turning tumbler and creaking hinges cut into his self-imposed reverie. More out of deeply ingrained observational habit than aught else, Nero glanced over one shoulder from his position at the north-facing window to see the chirurgeon in his whites emerge from the infirmary. The man paid him no mind, but instead crossed the hall to the stairwell entrance and down without looking back; the receding scrape of footsteps followed the healer's descent.

On its heels silence reigned once more, settling back into its place like snow covering freshly made tracks. His eyes flickered towards the door which stood ever so slightly ajar; the seam of light betwixt frame and plank was brighter than it should have been. He waited one heartbeat, two, then three, and heard nothing. No shouts, no clatter of sollerets, not even overheard conversations echoing within the tunnel-like keep walls.

He would suffer no more internal debate whether or not he should remain where he was and continue his vigil. His feet were already moving.

Nero was absolutely certain that the click of the falling latch as the door swung shut at his back would alert someone to his presence, but he passed the threshold unmolested and entered the room. Within as without, it was almost ominously quiet, albeit this was a much smaller space. A fire crackled within a great stone hearth to ward off the chill from the windows, their glass panes likewise rendered all but opaque by ice and frost. Redolent within the room, reminding him of its grim purpose: the herbal reek of elixirs, and laced beneath like some offensive counterpoint was the astringent and sterile prickle of some sort of Eorzean antiseptic. His stomach turned in a slow and alarming drop but its contents remained in place.

A held breath escaped his lips with a soft chuff, and he turned his focus towards the sole bed in the room and its occupant.

Muted gold spilled in rivers over a starched and lumpy pillow, dark lashes at rest against high cheekbones in a heart-shaped face suffused with a deathly pallor. She wore a simple robe that put him uncomfortably in mind of his long convalescence in the Reach, and the field dressings that peeked from beneath the linen were stained with old blood. Her lips were slack and slightly parted, and she did not stir at his approach. Were it not for the slow rise and fall of her chest, small sips of air that were barely visible and too quiet to hear, he might have feared the worst.

There was a low-slung stool at her bedside. He drew it close and sat, taking a few moments to arrange his limbs. It was an awkward and graceless business; the chair had clearly been built with the compact and sturdy frame of a Midlander in mind, not a tall and lanky Garlean man. He had to brace his feet against the floor to seat himself without discomfort, and it brought back a distinct memory of their reconciliation that night after her sound defeat at Zenos' hands. That had been dire enough. This was somehow worse.

"We really must stop meeting like this, hero," he said aloud, quite nearly startling himself.

He peered at her form once more, rendered nearly ethereal by the soft light from the hearth. Her right hand lay folded gently over her waist, the left upon the mattress at her side. With as much care as if he were handling one of his ancient tomestones, Nero took her hand. His fingers were slow and stiff from the cold - another memory of Ilsabard he hadn't missed - and he realized he hadn't taken any particular notice of his chill until he had curled the aching digits into the softness of her palm. Perhaps it was his imagination running wild and little else, but he fancied a gentle and quiet warmth sinking into his frigid skin. It was a small balm upon his inner turmoil, but a balm all the same.

"I meant to tell you before all of this happened," he said, his voice calm and even and conversational, "but I've made arrangements with Miss Jaye to contract with the Ironworks on a more permanent basis. My first month's wages will go to pay the remainder of my debt to the House of Splendors. I had thought that it might please you."

No answer. He had hardly expected one, but he had also not anticipated how difficult it would be to speak to what was essentially an empty room, and the way she simply laid there, senseless and unmoving, made his skin crawl. The eikon-slayer's strength was a seeming constant, something those who knew her or even knew of her simply accepted in stride, puissance quite often taken for granted.

But it went well beyond mere martial prowess. She was such a reliable and stable presence, and a positive force in the lives of so many, that even Nero found it barely possible now to imagine a world without her. Finding oneself confronted with the reality that she was a woman as mortal as any other beneath it all was-

Sobering. And for reasons he preferred not to examine too closely, he found it more than a little terrifying, as well.

"That new wall of yours out in the Steppe will require regular maintenance, as I've no doubt you're aware. I'm to accompany Garlond and his team in the next fortnight to help oversee the process," he continued. "I'm told those Allagan ruins you found are nearby, and I should very much like to see them myself."

Wind wailed around stone, and ice smacked against glass, and he talked. Her hand lay limp and warm in his careful grasp, and he recounted one of his own adventures in the same way she'd done for him while he was bedridden in the Reach. He watched her composed and pallid face as he spoke and remembered all those unending days of recovery in which she or Garlond had come to visit him, to keep him entertained, to help him with the most basic of tasks. At the time it had been acutely embarrassing but their presence had been vital. Thinking about it from this new perspective, those acts held a meaning they simply hadn't had for him before.

When he heard footsteps ascending the keep steps, Nero knew his time was up. The knights would likely clear him out and give orders to bar him from the infirmary indefinitely if they caught him, and that would be highly inconvenient.

He leaned forward, smoothed her sweat-dampened fringe away from her brow, and pressed his lips briefly against it before righting himself again. For that brief moment before it was concealed once more by her hair, the curve of her third eye - illumined as it was by the hearth-light - seemed to shimmer like a pearl, iridescent and precious.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Nero murmured. He hated having to ask Garlond to intervene on his behalf simply to visit an indisposed friend, but the man was as well respected in Ishgard as she was and he was not too proud to make that small concession on her behalf. "And I will bring some of your personal effects along with me. That robe they've put you in is absolutely hideous and I imagine it's about as comfortable as that slab of rock they call a bed."

What if she doesn't awaken? If she remains comatose, like the others?

He cleared his throat, trying to clear the hot and stifling tightness that lingered at the thought. That creeping feeling of impotence left him feeling uneasy and frustrated. All the engineering skills he could bring to bear, all the intellect he so greatly prized, were useless here, as much as it pained him to acknowledge the fact. But there was little else to be done. He had to take it on some faith that whatever it was that had happened to her, she would prevail against it as she prevailed against most things.

For a man who considered himself intensely rational, who believed only in those things he could provably see and hear, that felt like waiting on a miracle. But it was pointless to worry over matters beyond his control. She would come back to them in due time, he was certain. And while she had need of it, Nero would offer what assistance was within his means to give, as ever.

The small hand that he clasped, he folded over the other yet draped over her slim waist. She lay silent and still, features perfectly preserved: the picture of a saint in gentle repose. It was the sight he took with him upon his departure. And as the door clicked shut at his back, the Warrior of Light's unnatural slumber continued apace.

#nero/wol #referenced spoilers for 4.5x #cw violent imagery #it's metaphorical but still

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ottomanladies · 4 years ago

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Why is The relationship between Cihangir and Mustafa colored by many legends, when the reality is quite different. Mustafa left Istanbul in 1533, when Cihangir was still an infant. Later, no interaction was known between the two princes. Cihangir never visited Mustafa in his princely province, and there is no evidence that any letter was ever exchanged. Based on the evidences, there was no connection between the two princes, so they probably never stood close together.

So, I have done some digging (instead of studying, so you'll tell my professor that on the day of my exam) and I think I have found something interesting. In Relazioni degli ambasciatori veneti al senato collected by Alberi, there's a Relazione Anonima (anonymous report) which talks about the war against Iran in 1553 and therefore Mustafa's execution as well. This is what it says about Cihangir:

With the Gran Signore was always Sultan Gengir, fifth-born, hunchbacked and much loved by his father, who - after sultan Mustafa's death - wanted to give him the sanjak of Amasya, where [Mustafa] had lived, but Gengir refused, saying that he did not want to leave his father's presence until he died at his feet, as happened later.

the author goes on saying that Cihangir also hoped that by staying right next to his father, should Süleyman die, he was in the perfect position to assume control of the empire... which I don't know whether it is true or not.

“It was said that he incredibly mourned the end of his brother Mustafa, and that when he received the news he was about to give himself death by his own hand, which is very hard to believe because not only is life very dear [...] but with the death of his brother there was a great hope for him of ruling this great empire.”

The author also said that Selim, who was near Süleyman's camp, was summoned by his father several times but he did not move because he was afraid he would meet Mustafa's end. He only obeyed when things seemed to have calmed down.

About Cihangir's actual death, he says:

“On the 29th of that month sultan Gengir died. His ailment was a fast one, which ended him in four days; and because his condition was not known outside the serraglio, when the news of his death came out, it was believed that the Gran Signore had died, and this news spread so that it was believed in different parts of the city, where in some places sackings had begun.”

So while he says that Cihangir mourned Mustafa's execution, his death seems to have nothing to do with him. It was an ailment which was most probably linked to his condition. It is interesting that he says that no one knew - outside Topkapi - that Cihangir was disabled so his death came as a shock to people. Maybe this is why his death gets connected to Mustafa's?

I have tried to find more reports of Mustafa's execution.

Unfortunately, the Venetian ambassador to Istanbul at that time - Domenico Trevisan - in his relazione refers back to his dispacci which are not published, though, so... that's disappointing. He literally says that he has already talked about Mustafa's execution at length and therefore will not repeat things he has already said. That's just the most disappointing things I have ever read, personally.

Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq was the Austrian ambassador from 1554 to 1562 so technically he was not a witness of Mustafa's execution. I could not find a translation of his letters in a language I know but I did find The Life and Letters of Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq; unfortunately, it does not mention Cihangir (though it perpetuates the myth that Hürrem asked Süleyman to execute Mustafa's son... sigh).

The French ambassador of the time was Gabriel d'Aramon. Interestingly, one of his secretaries - Jean Chesnau - wrote an account of his embassy: Le Voyage de Monsieur d'Aramon dans le Levant. Jean Chesnau says:

“And from this death [Mustafa's] ensued that of Sultan Janguier Bassa, last son of the said Lord who died due to having seen his brother so cruelly treated. Others say that it was for a few words and threats that he told his father, and others that he was poisoned in a bath.”

I think it's very interesting that he calls Cihangir a pasha? It could be a mistake, of course, but he doesn't call any of Süleyman's sons like that in the rest of his work.

This chronicle was annotated by M. Ch. Schefer in the XIX century, who says about this:

"Djihanguir did not stab himself on his brother's body as some historians claim. He died in Aleppo on November 29 1553, of pleurisy after four days of suffering, two months after the execution of his brother Sultan Mustafa."

And indeed there are people who claim that Cihangir stabbed himself right after Mustafa's death: Michel de Codignac, French ambassador, for example.

"Then the Signore had his son Zangir the hunchback summoned, who did not know of these actions [Mustafa's execution], and ordered him to go see his brother who had come and was in the pavilion. Said hunchback, who arrived to embrace him, inside found the body of his poor brother strangled on the ground, and almost at the same time his father sent someone to tell him that he gifted him all the treasure that had been Mustafa's, with the pavilions and the province. The living brother replied: Ah wicked dog, traitor and not father. Let him enjoy Mustafa's treasures, pavilions and the province, because if he could find in his angry soul the reason to put to death such a virtuous son - and with such expectations, that no other like him the Ottoman house had or will ever have - God forbid he'll rejoice to do the same to me, miserable hunchback. And he pulled the dagger he had at his side and stuck it in his chest between the two humps, and immediately died. Having the King heard such an unexpected thing, he was greatly affected by it. And in truth this was the success of the Hunchback, although in order not to fill the world with ugliness, due to the reverence for the Ottoman house, the Turks say that he died of infirmity because he was ill." — Ruscelli, Lettere di Principi, tome I

This is the translation of a letter Michel de Codignac - who was not a witness and was not even the ambassador at that time - sent to the bishop of Lodève, who had become the French ambassador to Venice in 1555. The letter itself is marked 3 October 1553 but it is a mistake, according to Charrière in Négociations de la France dans le Levant:

"... the letter he [Ruscelli, author of Lettere di principi] gives written, or rather translated into Italian, appears to be a relation composed much later, and it is undoubtedly 1555 that we must read as the year, when M. de Lodève came to occupy the post in Venice. [...] In relating the incidents of [Mustafa's] death, [Codignac] gives circumstantial and very curious details, but which only concern the history of Turkey, and do not differ from those given on this subject by Turkish historians."

This is how far I was able to trace these claims.

Basically from the aftermath of Mustafa's death rumours began to circulate that Cihangir had either a) cursed his father or b) greatly mourned Mustafa.

(I think we can discount the reports that Cihangir died on Mustafa's same day because... well he was alive for two more months)

While I can believe that Cihangir was affected by the execution, and the reasons could be several (among which the fact that his father had unexpectedly executed one of his sons), I do not believe that he told Süleyman that he was a "wicked dog" and a "traitor" or that his death was connected to Mustafa's.

I think it's very interesting that the Relazione Anonima says that no one knew of Cihangir's weak health and therefore when he died people started to think that it was the sultan who had died (who, on the contrary, was rumoured to be in bad health—Mustafa himself knew that and was said to be waiting for the messenger to ride to Istanbul and take the throne). All the references to Süleyman being deeply affected by Cihangir's death of course come from the deep love that the sultan had for his youngest son and not from those words that de Codignac says Cihangir uttered.

So there's that.

I was not able to trace back to the source of these claims but I am almost sure that Mustafa's entourage manipulated the narration in the aftermath of his execution. I could think of Yahya Efendi, who composed a eulogy in his honour and who blamed Rüstem right away. As he was someone very close to the prince, he was most probably considered a good source.

For my part, I found the Relazione Anonima very interesting because it gives away details almost... without noticing? (and these are the best sources) The author mentions the janissaries asking to go pay obésaince to Mustafa (which was forbidden) and Rüstem not allowing it because he knew that otherwise he would lose control of the army. He also mentions that they went anyway and that Mustafa treated them with honours, showering them with gifts; we can only speculate on why Mustafa decided to do that even though it was against protocol, but I think it was that that spurred Süleyman to action. We must never forget that he was a teenager when his father took the throne from Bayezid II; he witnessed the first coup d'état with the help of the Janissaries in Ottoman history. He probably thought that the same was going to happen to him.

I am so sorry that your question got derailed LOL I just hope that I somehow managed to answer your question while I blabbed.

(this is so long yikes i’m so sorry)

#anon #ask post #ask: ottoman history #sehzade mustafa son of suleyman i #sehzade cihangir son of suleyman i #suleyman i #Anonymous

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charlottedabookworm · 4 years ago

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I was rereading part of your blog, and I found your Escape Artist Ardyn tag, which prompted my brain to supply this: Phantom Thief Ardyn! Because he's flamboyant enough to pull it off, and stubborn enough to /completely ignore/ Buhamut's prophecy. He'd probably ignore the Lucis Caelum line as well(outside of possibly stealing something from them).

Ardyn finds that he quite likes escaping from things - people, hunts, anything really. It uses a skill set that he’d learnt out of necessity but one that he can lord over people.

There is nothing quite like the faces of the people attempting to return him to his prison when he slips free of the restraints at the last moment and disappears from their sights.

In fact, he had asked for lessons on how to use his new ‘camera phone’ simply so that he could immortalise those expressions of shocked disbelief.

And he finds that these skills translate well in other ways, which is useful in maintaining the lifestyle he prefers when he had begun with only a few scraps of cloth and vague knowledge of the geography. Stealing is perhaps below a king, yes, but Ardyn is finding that he vastly prefers being a thief.

For instance, he hasn’t had to complete any paperwork outside of some legal identity papers in months.

Thievery is also enough of a challenge that he finds he rather enjoys it - like the thrill of a fight without any of that messy bloodiness, combined with a guaranteed pay off and an excuse to travel and see this new world.

Ardyn loves it.

It should come as no surprise, then, that when he stumbles upon an advertisement about an unstealable object within the empire’s showing, well.

He simply must test that.

And he does.

The item - a jeweled necklace dedicated to Shiva that may well be as old as he is and that he would prefer to not be touching at all - is not impossible to steal as Ardyn manages just fine, but it is rather impossible to steal undetected as he finds when photographs of his colourful outfit of the week end up across the news of the continent.

He cannot bring himself to be annoyed, however, when it turns out that a career as a ‘phantom thief’ is even better than annoying the crownsguard sent to recapture him and stealing items without a trace.

Finally, he can practice his speeches with an attentive audience and an increasing challenge!

Truly, it seems as though the role is designed purely for him.

(And if it happens to further increase the current King of Lucis’ blood pressure when he decides to make an attempt at the crown city archives and retrieve some old belongings...

well.

It simply serves the man so)

#ask #2020's a hell year but the inbox needs emptying #snippet #my fic #Anonymous #for that anon #i finally got around to it #sorry flr the wait #ffxv #escape artist ardyn

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virlath · 4 years ago

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Theories on the Black City and what happens after the veil is destroyed

No traveler to the Fade can fail to spot the Black City. It is one of the few constants of that ever-changing place. No matter where one might be, the city is visible. (Always far off, for it seems that the only rule of geography in the Fade is that all points are equidistant from the Black City.)

The Chant teaches that the Black City was once the seat of the Maker, from whence He ruled the Fade, left empty when men turned away from Him. Dreamers do not go there, nor do spirits. Even the most powerful demons seem to avoid the place.

It was golden and beautiful once, so the story goes, until a group of powerful magister-lords from the Tevinter Imperium devised a means of breaking in. When they did so, their presence defiled the city, turning it black. (Which was, perhaps, the least of their worries.)

I’ve been pondering some of the foreshadowing/prophecies throughout the DA series recently, and I have some major crackpot theories on the Black city and Solas’ end-game that I just have to get out of my head.

Disclaimer: I always try to back up my speculation with evidence but a lot of this is personal conjecture. This post also contains spoilers from Tevinter Nights.

===

The foreshadowing

In light of everything that has happened so far, I think it’s widely accepted that Sandal’s prophecy was in fact referring to Solas and his plans.

One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, and the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.

As we know, the Black City is a constant landmark in the Fade. Consequently when the veil is destroyed, we can assume the Black City is what everyone will see, dreamer or non-dreamer alike.

The Black City and the aftermath of the veil’s destruction is further foreshadowed in the Tiniest Cave quest in DAI:

"Pulling back the curtain. Let the light in. Let it burn."

This sounds awfully familiar to the Chant of Light, which we can also use as foreshadowing.

At a touch, the gate swung wide, And the Light parted before them like a curtain Swept aside by nothing. Fearful to touch them. And none saw the black mark Spreading like a sore upon the shining gate Where mortal hand had lain.

Solas tells us his plans involve restoring “the world of his time- the world of the elves”. If we subscribe to the theory that Arlathan was once the Black City (which I do and will further elaborate on), it stands to reason the Black City, one of the most important landmarks in the Fade, will be at the top of his agenda once the veil is destroyed.

The Black City = Arlathan

...at the center of the world stood the great city of Arlathan, a place of knowledge and debate, where the best of the ancient elves would go to trade knowledge, greet old friends, and settle disputes that had gone on for millennia.

According to Solas, Elvhenan was the elven empire and Arlathan was its greatest city. Arlathan was thought to have been sunk into the ground by Tevinter magisters after the creation of the veil, but no trace of it has ever been found until recent events in Tevinter Nights. I don’t think this is a coincidence.

In fact, I presume pieces of Arlathan are only surfacing now because Solas' ritual to tear down the veil has already begun to take effect in the Fade.

In Trespasser, various codices reveal the ancient elves once defeated the “pillars of the earth” and rendered their “land” to the People:

"Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!"

It is also implied the elves took control of the titan’s workers and used them as slaves/minions while harvesting their bodies for materials. The below codex implies Elgar’nan even used the body of a titan to carve a statue of himself:

The pages of this book—memory?—describe a monument made in a single afternoon by a thousand-thousand toiling servants swarming over a lump of fallen stone as large as a collapsed mountain. By the end of the day, the stern figure of Elgar'nan stares down into a valley, carved out from the foothills of the rock. The slaves have disappeared. Light radiates from the eidolon's narrowed eyes and its open, snarling mouth.

"Hail Elgar'nan, first among the gods! Mark his victory eternal!"

I theorise it was the elves’ defeat and subjugation of the titans that truly allowed the elven empire to flourish. The elves took control of the titan’s workers (the first dwarves) and used them to build their statues, temples, and cities.

The elves’ biggest and grandest city was Arlathan - a city carved from the body of a titan, floating above an underground sky deep underground. Arlathan was "the center of the world” because the elves willed it so. The city was ultimately a beacon of their pride and false divinity.

The pages of this book—memory?—describe an elf approaching a city of glass spires so deeply blue they ache. The city's outskirts are wrapped in lakes of mist, and figures stroll along the pearly, glowing strips as if they walked on solid ground. Groves of trees woven into enormous parks shelter elves in quiet hollows, while other elves walk below a river churning along an invisible shoal in the air.

The scene hums with quiet talk and contentment as the memory's maker reaches the city's gates, already thrown open wide.

“Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing. That is what was lost.” - Solas

This is why Tamlen describes seeing the Black City underground in the eluvian - because Arlathan was originally “underground”- within a titan’s biosphere.

When the veil was created, Arlathan fractured and displaced due to its innate tie to the Fade, much like the Vir Dirthara we see in Trespasser. Despite this, the idea and will that formed its foundation(alongside a potential heart/lyrium spring which I’ll get to later) anchors it in the Fade as a constant landmark - a reflection of the evanuris’ pride.

Since the creation of the veil, no trace of Arlathan had been found in the waking world until a piece of the city was recently discovered by scholars in the Deep Roads in Tevinter Nights:

...Arlathan, the ancient elven capital, had not been destroyed by Tevinter, but by the strange magics that caused the rise of the Veil. ...

...Natural caves and the occasional support beam suddenly gave way to delicate elven carvings, the stone floor abruptly changing to mahogany hardwood. There was no doorway, no planning or joinery. It was as if a pocket had suddenly formed in the rock, replaced by the notion that shelves and reading desks should simply be there. They had turned a corner and stepped into an elven library. When Arlathan “fell,” a piece of it had “fallen” here.

- excerpt from Tevinter Nights, Genitivi Dies in the End

This lends credence to the idea that fragments of Arlathan and other ancient elven locations are still somewhere deep underground, or will soon manifest in the waking world as the Fade slowly joins together with reality. When Solas’ ritual completes, Arlathan will be free to manifest itself completely in its original location (presumably underneath Arlathan Forest).

The Fade version of Arlathan (ie. the Black City) has always remained inaccessible to all beings. I believe this is because Solas hijacked the city’s defenses and used it to imprison the evanuris. Theoretically this plan would work in his favour because the city would always be visible in the fade for him to keep a watchful eye on (thus corroborating legend in a way).

It is simple to say that the laws of nature do not apply in the Fade, but while traveling in the Fade is often confusing for mages, it is rarely so chaotic as to defy description. In fact, while the placement of items may seem random, those items usually operate as we would expect them to in the real world. A book opens to show pages, although the pages may be blank or lined with gibberish. A pen and inkwell let a user write, though the pen may write on its own, and the inkwell never runs dry. Those items that float usually hover at the relative height where they would have sat had the objects meant to support them existed—candles suspended in the air as though held by a phantom candlestick, for example.

Why are the laws of the Maker bent but not fully broken? Why does a book not turn into a dragon, or a statue explode into countless shards of energy? The answer, I believe, lies in the fact that the items we see in the Fade were most often made by the hands of men. A statue is a created thing. The mortal hands that shaped it gave it purpose, and it knows what it is meant to do. The objects that strain against the laws of nature are ironically those that are more natural themselves. Great stones, for example, hang in the sky. No hand has ever touched them, no mortal mind shaped them to purpose.

I suspect, though we may never know, that if dwarves dreamt and shaped the Fade with their own perceptions, the rocks would not float.

—From The Shape of the Fade by Enchanter Ephineas Aserathan

According to the codex above, the more natural an object is, the more it will defy “laws of nature” in the Fade. This is further evidence Arlathan is formed from organic material- the body of a titan. Furthermore, elves depended on lyrium for their magic as it was quite literally the foundation of their empire. Dagna also tells us the Fade and lyrium are linked.

Because of these facts I infer there is a good possibility Arlathan was built around the very heart of a titan, or they built an endless lyrium spring within the city, acting as a pump/generator. The infinite flow of lyrium fuelled the magic that held the city aloft in the sky as a constant landmark, and that is what made it the “center of the world”. They used the light from the titan to illuminate the city, making it look golden by reflecting light off its gleaming, gilded walls.

“It shapes the Stone. It is the Stone. It sculpts the world within and without.”

The Fall mosaic from DAI also gives us some interesting information on dwarven craftwork, and is further evidence Arlathan was in fact built by the first dwarves.

Here's something interesting, though. You've got a hint of pigment and leaf causing some sheen, but there's meant to be more. All of these were painted and repainted at some point, to match whatever lord's three-holer. But there's a type of finishing that you can do, a very fine and time-consuming pass that evens the surface. Do it right, you can get stone as smooth as glass. And that tower, and Beardy's skull, are meant to have it. And only a little is present on the others.

So, the first time this carving was wheeled out, it would have looked like Beardy was the target, so maybe he was first in the door? And the "light," it burns him and spreads to the others. And the polish or leaf would have caught light like a mirror and caused the viewer to squint. They'd have to look down or away, "joining" the magisters in their punishment. Makes them feel part of it.

In DAI, Solas remarks the Temple of Mythal was gilded head to toe purely to impress. Knowing the evanuris claimed divinity, I think it’s likely they used the ancient dwarves’ knowledge and their sheer numbers (thousand-thousand toiling servants) to sculpt their palaces and make them shine like metal.

The statue above is a good representation of this in action. Notice the base? It’s rock...that eventually gives way to form a bronze like finish that is "smooth as glass”. The smoothness of the metal here is only paralleled to the gilded statues in the Temple of Mythal, all of which I believe were crafted by the dwarves.

===

The Black City, post-veil

One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, and the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.

While fragments of Arlathan might be currently scattered underground in the waking world, once the veil is destroyed I imagine the city will reform and manifest itself fully within the “sky” of a titan. I presume this would happen underneath Arlathan Forest.

Thus when the veil is destroyed, dreamers and non-dreamers alike would finally be able to see the Black City for themselves (that is, if they delve underground).

According to Avernus, the morally corrupt grey warden mage in DAO, the Black City holds the key to the blight:

There must be some way to refine the Joining. Isolate the true power that is found in darkspawn blood, and leave behind the evil that kills us...

In my dreams, I see the Black City, and I am drawn towards it. There is something there, an answer to what this taint is, this taint that we share with the darkspawn...

Tamlen was also tainted by the infamous eluvian in DAO, which somehow had a link to the Black City. His dialogue and the sound effects from the eluvian makes me think something incredibly powerful and malevolent resides within the city itself.

One of the most important things to know about the Black City is:

Dreamers do not go there, nor do spirits. Even the most powerful demons seem to avoid the place.

This correlates with Avernus’ notes on blight magic:

Blood magic comes from demons; they could counter every bit of lore I possess. But the darkspawn taint, that is alien to them. And it has power.

This effectively means that Solas- the big bad dread wolf with instant KO petrification powers, has a weakness just like the rest of the beings on Thedas, and that weakness is the blight.

Considering his lyrium idol is tainted and the Black City is ground zero for the taint, is Solas intentionally opening himself up to corruption to carry out his plans?

Let’s analyse that mural again:

The tree branch is reminiscent of the Vhenadahl, a symbol of Arlathan

The big circle motif represents the evanuris’ prisons within the Black City

The lyrium idol and the seven old gods (the semi circles) are the “two factor authentication” needed to unlock said prison

Solas is standing inside the Black City, and it looks like he’s either holding back the tide or about to open pandora’s box

everything is on fire

This is where we set aside (most) evidence and let imagination take the reigns. :)

===

The end-game

Once Solas destroys the veil, I think he intends to destroy the Black City and everything within it.

This is what the mural is depicting - Solas, corrupted, alone, standing in fire in the Black City, about to blow the evanuris and himself to smithereens.

I don’t believe the Black City itself is the origin of the blight (another theory for another day) but I think the City itself is fostering the growth of red lyrium in the Fade in the form of an endless lyrium spring/generator within it, as I theorised earlier.

Through events that are currently unknown to us, somehow the Black City became ground zero for the taint as we currently know it. ( I have way more theories on this topic but alas this post is already rambly enough as it is)

This is why we see red lyrium everywhere in the Fade, particularly so in DAI because we are so much closer to the Black City than we have ever been.

Lyrium is a natural material that grows in the Fade, however I believe the Black City itself is corrupting and fostering the growth of red lyrium around it.

The theme of fire and light is interesting to analyse in this context because it is used in the teaser mural and the Chant many, many times as a metaphor for rebirth and cleansing.

Andraste gives Drakon his destiny I covered my face, fearful, But the Lady took my hands from my eyes, Saying, "Remember the fire. You must pass Through it alone to be forged anew. Look! Look upon the Light so you May lead others here through the darkness, Blade of the Faith!"

Her touch was like fire that did not burn. And by Her touch, I was made pure again.

The ninth sacred mountain upon which rests The moral dust of Our Lady ascended Whole into the heavens, to be given high honor In the Realm of Dreams forever. And around it, a chorus of spirits sang: "Whatsoever passes through the fire Is not lost, but made eternal; As air can never be broken nor crushed, The tempered soul is everlasting!"

By using fire to obliterate the Black City, Solas would destroy the false gods and the very system of power he loathes. But to do this, he has to do it alone (even his demon army can’t help him here), and he has to face the corruption and potentially taint himself in the process. Remember his greatest fear? Dying alone.

Tevinter Nights gives us some insight into how his plan would play out, in the form of Dumat’s Folly.

Dumat’s Folly is supposedly a piece of the Black City itself.

In Half Up Front, the real Dumat’s Folly is replaced by Solas’ agent with a similar artifact from the same time. The lesser replica is then used to blow up the Qunari’s Darvaarad, which was turned into a floating fortress after the events of Trespasser.

“It is an ingenious device. Not a piece of the Black City, like the true Dumat’s Folly, but taken from the same time. It draws magic into itself. Stores it, and then when it is full . . .” She clasped her hands together and then pulled them apart. The universal sign for something exploding. Yeah. Not good.

With the real Dumat’s Folly, I think Solas intends to use it as a catalyst to destroy the Black City for good. By pairing it with a rune and triggering it from within the city, the artifact would nullify the corruption (like Dagna’s rune for Samson’s armour) but the side-effect is, the city eventually explodes with all the built up energy.

It is possible that if Solas’ orb still existed, he might not need to go to all this trouble. After all, Imshael has knowledge of how to reverse red lyrium growth, and Mythal was seemingly able to nullify it for Andruil.

But to halt the spread of red lyrium in the destructive state as it is now, destroying the source that is feeding the corruption is necessary.

But will everything go according to plan?

And I looked up and saw The seven gates of the Black City shatter, And darkness cloaked both realms.

There is foreshadowing in the Chantry that eludes to the gates of the City shattering. When you pair this with Eleni Zinovia’s prophecy...

"The prison is breached. I see the encroaching darkness. The... the shadow will consume all..." - Eleni Zinovia

Is this foreshadowing a darkness- an endless night, after the Black City’s destruction? Will Solas fail somehow, or will his plans induce a new blight? Will he destroy the City but free the false gods in the process? Is that why all the teaser images are set at night?

I’m not saying I want Solas to fail or anything, but I admit hearing from another primary source from ancient times would be a nice contrast to Solas and Mythal’s biased viewpoints. Also, if an endless night is on the cards this would be the perfect time for Lusacan/Falon’Din to make themselves known.

"Bring faith. Bring hope. Bring a dream of life."

When the veil is destroyed, willpower would be needed more than ever if any survivors are to forge ahead. After all it is sheer will that shapes the fade and creation itself.

"He'll remake the world to suit his desires. His chosen to reign."

If Solas plans to “remake the world” and give up his life for his cause, who are his chosen to reign? Will the veil’s destruction reveal more secrets from the ancient elves? And if Solas does indeed plan on destroying the Black City, does this align with Mythal’s vision? More things to ponder for another day!

#dragon age #da4 #arlathan #solas #dread wolf rises #tevinter nights #titans #red lyrium #the blight #the black city #da theories #drabble

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billcouture · 5 years ago

Text

Monsterverse Treatment

Godzilla vs. Kong ( two films)

Opens on a young tribesman, javelin in hand, bronzed skin. He’s silently gathering large red berries in a dark, thickly enclosed jungle, looking wreaked with nerves. Suddenly, an unearthly screeching cry shakes the ground, he knows what that is and whose hunting grounds he’s encroached upon. The next instant he’s running for his life through a primordial jungle, thick with vegetation. He escapes into a clearing, behind him explodes his pursuer, a 50 Ft long Tyranosaur. All seems lost when the enclosing screech is drowned out by a much larger roar from above which comes crashing down beside him. The sun bleached 100 Ft figure towering above brings both fists down on the pursuing creature, and in a few swift motions, snaps the lower jaw clean off, easily removed from the rest of the Tyranosaur’s body between two enormous leathery hands. It tosses the jaw aside, winds up, and throws the carcass back over the tree line far behind them.

The tribesman, having leapt to the side by the explosion of beastly violence, gets up standing tall regaining his composure land looks up at the Kong. The rage calms from the Kong’s face and the two figures eyes meet with a knowing glance, the tribesman has known this beast since his youth, they had fought and grown together as warriors, lords of the land. Casually the two collect themselves. The tribesman picks up his javelin, and vaults down a rocky slope, bounding huge gaps with a practiced expertise. The Kong jumps from a cliffs edge near by heading in the same direction, bounding down in terrific leaps, amazing but routine maneuvers of incredible power and agility, down into the grasslands below towards their coastal city home.

They emerge into a grand utopia. Half made for man, half for Kong. Steps, pyramids and temples made and accommodated for something far larger than human, mixed into the more familiar architecture of man. Looking up and down the coast, the vista is enormous, the landmass huge. Mountains stretching off into the distance, wide sweeping shots, beautiful cliffside structures above, strange ships enter and leave a harbor off in the distance. Enormous wide streets, a city to dwarf the Aztec or Egyptian empires, something grand to inspire awe.

Text stamps the screen; Skull Island, 20,000 BCE

This was the golden age of Skull Island, before it was all but lost to the sea. Adolescent Kongs, sized 30 - 75 Ft can be seen in the distance. The peaceful scene is short lived, all of a sudden, the coastal area waters sweep out, soon to come back in as a large tidal wave crashing into the city. Thunderous steps make landfall crashing out from the surf. The just arriving warrior tribesman shouts out, but is cut abruptly short. Above, a sweeping step from a clawed foot levels buildings and crushes him. A devastating tail sweeps past all that remains shrouding the streets in dust and debris. The Kong that had arrived with the tribesman, largest among them, stands before the invading creature, jumping in fury at his lost friend, he gets swatted aside by it’s enormous sweeping tail and crashes towards the ground as if he were nothing.

The intruding creature lets out an enormous roar that shakes the city, and in the momentary silence between footfalls, a roar from the mountains answers.

The people know that roar, it was King, their god; King Kong, leader of both the tribes of man and beast of all Skull Island. That battle-cry of rage fills those below with more fear than any outside force ever could, they know the fury that is coming, and they mustn’t upset their lord. Alarms ring out, those closest rush into the sacred weapons grounds on the outskirts of the city in preparation. The pyres go ablaze, and drums of war blast the signal out into the wilderness above. All citizens become warriors, all set in motion to assist their living god.

King Kong explodes swiftly from far into the mountains, crashing in upon the sacred weapons grounds below. A pyre of gigantic protruding bone, reinforced in metals and terrible spiked protrusions tower above the worshippers below, hundred Ft high blunt weaponry, constructed by titan blacksmiths, made and for use only by King Kong. Weapons rack of the gods. All around, the fires blaze, the guise of civility melts away as tribal madness takes hold. King Kong tears away a large spear of bone and metal dipped in oils and lights it afire, a 100 Ft weapon of insanity carried in one hand by the 200 Ft. beast. The survivors of the city’s attack from the creature fleeing below, King Kong tears in, bounding over huge buildings into the spiked mountain we now see clearly as Godzilla. The handful of younger Kong seen in the distance before part ways for their leader, they are no match for this threat and they know it. The gods above them clash.

King Kong tear into him, going for his legs, stabbing the blazing weapon into his side. A 300 Ft reptilian thing, two-thirds larger, superior in mass, tail swinging crys in rage. Huge, brutal fists, pummel into him, and a city begins getting demolished below. The two deafening war cry’s from opposing gods above destroy all in their path, survivors below seek refuge they will not find. Frenzied, harsh cuts gather momentum and ferocity with every blow. Cut to black against the thunder of hits drowning each other below the beating drums of war;

Title stamp; Godzilla vs. Kong

Deep underwater, a scuba diver examines archaic ruins, packing some pieces away carefully into the two drone submersibles beside him, he gets a call to return to the surface right away. Grabbing the back of one of the submersibles, he uses it as a propeller to speed himself up, passing huge intimidating statues and structures half fading into darkness around him. He surfaces to a ship off the coast of a familiar island to speak with some top brass waiting aboard, just arriving by helicopter with an urgent mission.

Text stamp; Skull Island 1985

Bullet Points:

-Monarch has had a presence on Skull Island since 1973, directly after the events of Kong: Skull Island. Multiple outposts, on and off coast. As this is humanity’s first concrete source to examine the newly discovered hollow earth, along with living titans, it is logical all resources be poured into its study, and protected in secret over the next 47 years. Humanity’s place in this newly unearthed ecosystem brings with it a new age of humility and fear which began with the discovery of Godzilla in 1954.

-After the climax of Kong Skull Island, Kong has become more of a beast master, wrangling the rest of the unruly Skullcrawlers under his thumb after their leader was conquered. More species emerge, ever larger and more formidable, challenging him in endless succession.

-Finding off coast ruins in the late ’70’s after the events of Kong Skull Island leads to the discovery that Skull Island was just a small remaining section of a far larger landmass and lost civilization. If Skull Island was the head, this submerged land and civilization was theorized to be the size of the rest of the skeleton. Exploration continues finding new discoveries submerged further off the coast.

-Mystery of the ancient civilization, far pre-dating all others known, is compounded by the discoveries of other similarly dated lost civilizations; namely the recent events of Godzilla: King of the Monsters. The new knowledge of man worshipping Titans as the first living gods goes much further back than anything known.

-Discovery of man and Kong working together, worshipping them as gods, a golden age that devolved into the Skull Island of today seen through the eyes of the descendants of the Iwi tribe. Leads to the study of Kong’s intelligence far surpassing anything expected.

-Many new plants and species discovered and researched on Skull Island such as the mysterious red berries found far inland. It has incredible properties Monarch begins using in different experimentations.

-Secrets of the Iwi tribe continuously uncovered. More history discovered.

-Titans have begun migrating to Skull Island. Why? What is calling them, what is underground there waiting? What event is about to take place? Why had Godzilla initially invaded Skull Island 20,000 years ago at they height of it’s civilization, why again now? What other civilizations lay across the globe at that ancient time as humanity worshipped the other known Titans? How did Godzilla’s home, seen and destroyed in Godzilla King of the Monsters end, sinking into the abyss ages ago?

*The answer; the hollow earth army of giant monsters below, preparing full scale invasion through the portal on Skull Island. As they have tried before, so they will again. We’ve seen Skullcrawlers and the parasitic Mutos, but the awakening/ unearthing in 1973 and 2014 was just the beginning, many far older, nastier species of Titanus and lesser beasts are yet to be seen. Throughout the millennia, Godzilla has tasked himself to hold the the horde at bay as a balance of nature for the surface world, recognizing, and keeping check on the open portals across the earth. The black mirror to the Titans above such as himself wait below, wishing only destruction and the surface to be theirs. Ghidorah came from outer space above, but the true threat has been under our Earth waiting.

-20,000 years ago, Godzilla heeded the call as he had in the past to the landmass known as Skull Island. Although over the passing age since he last patrolled it, a new Titanus evolved; the tribe of Kong. Smaller, mortal, unlike Godzilla; immortal and last of his kind, The Kong has been able to grow formidable, with an incredible evolution of problem solving intelligence. They became symbiotic with the newly evolving tribes of man, both living alongside long dead species in a land of the lost; Skull Island. Godzilla coming in contact with Kong’s ancestors was only in the crossfire of Godzilla’s journey towards the hollow earth portal there. Although since then, because of that first devastating meeting, the two species have become much hated rivals. Godzilla has not since returned, and because of that lack of his intervention, the tribe of Kong unsuccessfully couldn’t keep the hollow earth there in check. Skull Island over the millennia devolved into a doomed island of fear, the Kong’s going all but extinct, with only one survivor remaining humanity met in ‘73.

-Godzilla’s invasion then, as now in 2020, is strictly routine. Awakened by the brutal events of Godzilla King of the Monsters on the surface, the hollow earth has once again become active. Although Kong, now last of his kind like Godzilla, has tasked himself as protector as well, keeping the horde at bay, devolved from the golden age of his species, but still fighting. And larger and more capable than all that came before him. As all Titans converge towards Kong’s home to answer the call of war, the threat from below reaches a fever pitch. Unknown creatures, new species of Titan, not seen in hundreds of millions of years, are about to explode upon an unsuspecting Earth.

-Kong must defend his home, even as it is surely doomed for annihilation. Both from Titan, as well as mankind with their finger at the button ready to strike, aware of the potential incoming threat through Monarchs decades of research. We know the hell that could be unleashed. As his ancestors fought, so will he, immortal vs mortal. Who is destined to lead the Titans into a new world, the old order, or the new? Two god-kings, millennia of rivalry. Godzilla has defeated Kong’s ancestors as they tragically crossed paths before, although now, this last remaining Kong has grown far stronger and larger than all that came before, can he re-claim the title of King that his lineage lost in ages past? Fighting alone against the horde, species his ancestors never dreamed of conquering. Is it possible for them to work together long enough to save the surface world, or will they kill each other before then, dooming all above?

-End goal; to have man and Kong working together again, and to have him earn the title King. Godzilla to have revealed his purpose. A balance of nature cleansing unnatural elements begun with Ghidorah, but now at the expense of lesser life; we have become expendable in the face of such a great threat. An explosion of the hollow earth, humanity overrun by Skullcrawler and new species, containment becomes futile, many pockets discovered across the globe.

Separated across two films; Godzilla vs Kong duo logy.

Part 1:

Ends after the total destruction of Skull Island, nuked from a bomber high above in hopes of leveling the portal and blocking the invasion. Godzilla, Kong, and many other Titans fighting above, barely escape, some don’t. Godzilla naturally survives, but Kong is buried, lost below into the hollow earth, finding refuge and escaping the island through underground passages and swimming to land towards South America, he becomes a refuge making a new home deep in the Andes mountains. The film cuts between the deep past of Skull Island and the present, to better understand the history of the threat, as well as Godzilla and Kong’s millennia old rivalry.

Part 2.

Kong’s home destroyed, he levels his eye on hunting Godzilla, wrangling hollow earth creatures along the way. Godzilla was the last creature he fought before his exile, all his rage is directed towards him for the destruction of his land, never comprehending our nuclear intervention. It ends in New York City, the culmination of a 34 year hunt, the year is 2054. The world has changed, the hollow earth has steadily been creeping past our defenses, threatening our dominance and control. G-Team and monarch has evolved. Kong battles one last time in a marathon against Godzilla, who has over the past few decades become more aggressive, causing unacceptable levels of collateral damage in his wake. An ally in the past, but now a clear threat to our survival. The tribal warriors of Skull Island’s past are reborn, we fight alongside our modern day Kong. Using the weapons of man and all at his disposal Kong fights to his last, but ultimately falls to the King of the Monsters, incinerated in a nuclear blast.

Godzilla reigns as the immortal king, having felled the last mortal champion in Kong. In a world over-run from below, Godzilla transforms into a new, more brutal god to combat this new threat; the God of Destruction re-born from ages past. No longer on any terms with the unknowable god from the distant past, humanity shrinks back from any semblance of control, as the balance of nature, discovered 100 years prior, no longer has any regard for us below. The war with the hollow earth escalates further.

The world no longer ours, it becomes unrecognizable. The old gods are at war. As it may have looked hundreds of millions of years ago, a world we truly have no say in stokes fear and madness in man; the Mechagodzilla project is born.

Sequel: Godzilla 3: Terror of Mechagodzilla

Humanity vs. Godzilla, in a post apocalyptic over-run monster wasteland. Humanity’s last effort to seize any semblance of control in a world no longer ours as we face total annihilation.

Note* The opening is not of the surviving Kong we know fighting Godzilla, but his distant ancestors. The Kong’s lifespans are more around 120 years old, Godzilla is millions. Meant to establish Godzilla’s dominance over the 100 Ft adolescent, a 200 Ft alpha; (the original King Kong) then much later to fight our modern day Kong, having grown largest to 300-325 Ft against the 400 Ft Godzilla, reclaiming his worth as the successor to his past as the new King Kong.

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