#all of my empires art is severely late and i think its a part of my brand now

[thedo0zyslider]

this was supposed to be done in march but whatever. have a god

[galedekarios]

gale & curing the orb - early access

writing my current series of cut content from early access made me think a lot, especially about how curing gale of the orb might have originally worked out if larian had kept to what had been set up in early access. it's no secret that a lot of things were changed or cut entirely, big and small, like for instance halsin's involvement with ketheric's fall, isobel and the shadow curse.

gale's condition, too, seemed different then.

what exactly was different in early access?

while only a few body models were unique in early access, gale's key art showed his left arm in bandages.

in early access, auntie ethel had vicious mockery lines, which hinted what might be beneath those bandages:

Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.

we also had information from gale directly as to what happened to karsus in the aftermath of casting his spell:

Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story. Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic.  Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.  Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus’ folly.

which is in accordance with the lore:

Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood. The city of Karse was built around its base. Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder, like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed. Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. When he spoke, the pool fountained upwards, its height varying on the volume of his voice.

the netherese orb then seemed to have a immediate visible physical effect on gale, in addition to the ones that carried to the full release version of the game.

so putting these clues together, i think it's safe to say that the orb caused gale in early access to be afflicted with some form of corrupted petrification, which makes sense given that it's a piece of magic unleashed during karsus's folly.

at that point, this corruption seemed to be affecting his left arm the most, perhaps either from opening the book containing the netherese magic with it, or trying to shield himself with it - but that's just speculation on my part.

so what did the early access set up in terms of curing gale from his affliction?

gale in early access showed a great interest in the astral plane, especially in the absence of time there. he has several banters with lae'zel, which are still in the game now and showing his vested interest in the astral plane as well as any knowledge or insight lae'zel might offer on it:

Gale asks Lae'zel about the Astral Plane. Has she been there? Gale: Tell me, Lae'zel, what is it like on the Astral Plane? Your home realm intrigues me. Lae'zel: Githyanki lay their eggs on other planes. They cannot mature in the Astral. Lae'zel: I will only be welcomed once I obtain a mind flayer's head.

lae'zel notices gale's interest and initiates a banter of her own:

Lae'zel asks Gale what his interest is in the Astral plane, and he equivocates Lae'zel: Tell me, Gale: what is your interest in the Astral Plane? Gale: Time. Or rather: the absence of it. In the Astral Plane, everything is eternal. Lae'zel: It will be my home soon enough, should Vlaakith will it.

in addition to these banters, which clearly show gale's interest in the astral plane - which now in the full release seems merely academic - hinted at another solution to ridding himself of the orb.

what points to that quite conclusively is gale's dialogue when he reveals the truth about the orb to the protagonist.

this reveal differs quite significantly from the full release version. most notably, the protagonist was able to ask him about his own ideas for a what might be able to cure him from the orb.

gale had something very interesting to say to that question:

Player: What would permanently rid you of the orb? Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again. Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass. Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerun brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?

so what does this all mean?

in conclusion, i believe originally there were either more ways to cure gale from the orb - or maybe even in a different manner entirely - than there are in the full release version of the game (begging mystra to remove it, ascension, or accepting/keeping the orb).

perhaps even one that would circumvent having to beg mystra for forgiveness entirely, without gale having to sacrifice his mortality to do so.

i think these banters and lines of dialogue show that the astral plane, which would have rendered the orb inert and stopped the corrupted petrification of his body, would have played a bigger role in gale's quest.

[autisticexpression2]

Gobekli Tepe and the Natufian culture predate those blue-eyed people. You'd know that if you read the article. The Neolithic was well under way by 6,500 BC.

There is no ancient white god tradition. Quetzalcoatl and Kukulkan were envisioned as feathered serpents, and their occasional depictions in human form are too stylized to make any extrapolations of ethnicity. Quetzalcoatl was occasionally described as "white" as opposed to his "black" enemy Tezcatlipoca, but those are not racial terms unless we theorize about a rival faction of black gods. They're symbolic terms referring to light and darkness.

Egyptian gods were depicted with gold skin, and no facial hair to speak of. Their occasional blue eyes shouldn't be taken any more literally than the blue hair seen in many other statues.

Seriously, one of the statues you posted even has blue eyebrows.

Egyptian mummies also had hair like this:

They were never one "race." There were Nubian, Semitic, Persian, and Macedonian dynasties. You are severely underestimating how ancient Egypt is.

"Caucasian" is a meaningless term unless we're talking about people from the Caucasus region. The only notable Caucasian person in Egyptian history I am aware of is Raffi, a popular Canadian children's entertainer born to Armenian refugees in Cairo. He lives on Salt Spring Island now, and he's apparently a great guy. Charming, too. I think he stole one of my dad's friend's girlfriends.

Most of the people I posted were not Nubians, but even if they were, it wouldn't matter because Nubians very much were and still part of the Egyptian melting pot. Almost all Egyptian paintings depict a black-haired and brown-skinned majority.

Does this man look like a fucking slave? The big one, not the blond guy. That's a noblemen called Mahairpri. Look him up.

More images of dark-skinned Egyptians with attendants of differing complexions:

You got some nerve accusing me of "quoting myths and bullshit" when I provided multiple sources, and you responded with "white gods."

DNA from a place where people have lighter skin on average doesn't necessarily guarantee that you will also have lighter skin, especially when you're under selective pressure to develop darker skin, like if you live in a desert climate.

I'm not sure what that last screenshot was responding to, but I've actually been reading a lot about the Proti-Indo-Europeans lately! Fascinating stuff!

I'd like to take the opportunity to address your earlier comments about African civilizations as a whole that I left unaddressed in my previous reblog. "If we're equal, why isn't Africa greater than Ancient Rome?" you asked. "Where are all the Wakandas?"

I'm sure you'll be delighted to know that Africa has actually been home to many impressive civilizations besides Egypt:

Dahomey in particular was a direct inspiration for Wakanda. They even had a unit of elite warrior women guarding the king!

As a history enthusiast like myself, I'm sure you'll enjoy reading all these articles. I look forward to hearing your thoughts!

[eastern-anarchist]

Why intersectional theory doesn’t fit the description of ethnic discrimination in Eastern Europe (longread - I don't know if you will read this, but I think it's important)

Disclaimer 1: I am a historian, not a sociologist, and this affects my analysis. Disclaimer 2: I know best the history of the Russian Empire and least of all the Ottoman history. As we know, intersectional theory emerges from the concepts of "privilege" and "oppression". There are social categories that have greater access to benefits (education, good income, representation in art and media, etc.), and there are those that are oppressed for certain essentialist reasons, although the reasons are actually socially constructed (non-white skin color, non-straight sexuality, but you know about this without me). It’s important that such a system has been established for centuries, starting from about Early Modern times.

Intersectional theory is aimed at increasing the diversity of discourse and representing as many identities as possible in society. Also, the theory assumes a description of the intersections of various discrimination, where race, class, gender and sexuality aren’t separated from each other, but together form a person's identity. But ironically, this theory is very Americancentric, as it stemmed in large part from racial conflicts in the United States. It’s also partly Western Europeancentric, and includes mainly such colonial relations as between Britain and India, France and Algeria, etc.

But on the example of countries on the territory of the former Russian, Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires, it doesn’t work well, and here's why.

Mostly, the intersectional theory assumes the same type of conflicts and relations (racial, class, gender) in society over the centuries, which began to be established precisely in the late 15th - early 16th centuries, and this isn’t at all obvious for Eastern Europe.

Eastern Europe has distinguished itself by its "long" feudalism. Feudalism, on the other hand, means political fragmentation instead of absolutism, a greater concentration on religious affiliation (hello to the beginning of secularization in Western Europe) and the priority of status over class. Yeah, in capitalism it was difficult for a peasant to become a worker, and a worker (even more difficult) to become a small entrepreneur. But feudalism, in principle, doesn’t imply any social mobility - everyone is literally obliged to remain within the framework of their social strata.

Thus, the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth remained de facto politically fragmented up to partitions in 1795. The Russian Empire retained the priority of (Orthodox) religion over class until (!) the February Revolution in 1917. For example, in imperial Russia there was such a concept as the Pale of Settlement - a territory where Jews could live and were forbidden to move outside of it. At first glance, this looks like normal segregation, HOWEVER. Christianized Jews could live outside the Pale of Settlement, and especially rich and educated Jews had the right to do so. Yes, here it’s necessary to make disclaimers that there were such a minority and towards the end of the Russian Empire there was state discrimination of "privileged" Jews (for example, under tsar Alexander III). But we must take into account this "ambiguity" of social relations.

In the three empires, very different peoples lived side by side, who didn’t live segregated from each other, and built their identity not on "citizenship", but on the same religion or even on the area of ​​residence. It can be said that Russians were an ethnic group in the Russian Empire, but this statement will tell you nothing about the relationship between Jews and Ukrainians, Poles and Romanians, Georgians and Armenians, etc. Moreover, empires had many mixed families, which significantly influenced attempts to build "nations" in these regions.

Serfdom existed for a long time in the Austro-Hungarian and especially in the Russian Empire. In fact, this is a form of slavery, but it extended to peasants, regardless of their ethnicity. In general, returning to the first point, the stratification here was very strict. In the Russian Empire, at the time the Bolsheviks came to power, 3/4 of the population were peasants and illiterate.

Oh yes, the Bolsheviks. The USSR in general confused everyone. At the beginning of the USSR, all nationalities were formally declared free (the Pale of Settlement and the priority of religion were abolished), but things went badly after the arrival of Stalin, under whose rule massive repressions were carried out against national minorities. At that time, many Germans lived in the USSR, who were a rather privileged community in the Russian Empire (recall that Catherine II was an ethnic German). But under Stalin, the Germans were among the first repressive and deported  groups (largely due to the arrival of the Nazis in Germany and the invasion to the USSR). But by God, for reasoning about whether the USSR was an "empire" and what ethnic conflicts there were, 10 more posts are needed.

Finally, relations with the metropolises. Due to the redistribution of territories, the same territories with ethnic minorities belonged to different empires. The Balkans were part both of the Ottoman Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and Russia also wanted to annex them. As for today, the Czech Republic or Western Ukraine are unlikely to have any conflicts with Austria (but I’m not saying here about the entire Western European world). What can’t be said unequivocally about the Balkans and Turkey, and even more so about Russia and Belarus, Ukraine and Central Asia. In general, guys, it is possible to operate with intersectional theory only in the case of countries which 1) colonies were far from the metropolises; 2) capitalism developed early; 3) racial and ethnic minorities were severely segregated. And it hardly applies to countries that have been feudal for a long time, have gone through a massive revolution, a Soviet / nationalist dictatorship and suddenly become neoliberal.

[vyeoh]

this is your chance: wax poetic about an Empires or DSMP character of your choice to a fan who is new to both. Explain why I should love them. I need guidance in this new and meme-populated land.

okok this is a lot of pressure haha. Spoilers for EmpiresSMP and DreamSMP below, obviously. I wrote a lot so prepare yourself, anon

I watch a lot of empires POVs but the ones I most anticipate every week are Scott and Sausage.

c!Scott (I'll call him Smajor for the sake of simplicity) starts off the series chilling, not really getting involved with the rest of the server, and staying aggressively neutral. After all, he's an elf. He has lived far longer than most of the other rulers already, and will most likely outlive them for many years. So, the best thing is to stick to his mountains and not get invested in the dealings of mortal affairs, maybe sometimes causing problems on purpose and dipping because what's life without a little spice right.

But then, this demon comes to the server, Xornoth. He's going around causing havoc and wants to send the world into an eternal winter, but he doesn't bother the kingdom of Rivendell much so Smajor stays tentatively cautious but ultimately unbothered. But then, the puzzle pieces start falling together. The first thing that the audience noticed was was Xornoth sounded like Smajor, but we mostly thought that this was just due to cc!Scott voicing both of them and there was nothing more to it. However, then, the people the demon starts possessing start chanting in elvish. The demon hates mortals, and the elves are conveniently one of the two confirmed not fully mortal races in Empires.

This culminates when Smajor stumbles across a cave that contains the backstory of the patron god of Rivendell, Aeor. Basically, there's two opposing forces, Aeor and Exor, and both have a champion. In a previous life, those champions were two brothers, where Aeor eventually prevailed and banished Exor. In this life though, the champions are - you guessed it - Smajor, and the demon Xornoth.

So now Smajor is like. Well fuck. It's my literal god-given destiny to be responsible for defeating this demon who is technically my brother, and if I fail the server gets plunged into an eternal winter. And I have no fucking clue what is happening because I've just been here on this mountain actively trying to stay out of the issues outside my kingdom. We watch him panic and teeter on the verge of spiraling for an entire episode, and when the followers of Xornoth go to the End to kill the dragon, releasing Xornoth's full powers, he fails to stop him. Smajor is a character who was used to being the smart one, the prepared one, the one who has the least deaths on the server. But he's also a character who runs away from his problems and ignores them. Before and during the dragon fight, we hear the desperation in his voice, as he's thrown into a situation he is wholly unprepared for, and it's bigger than him going to the Cod Empire to kill their king, or assisting in other people's plans to kill the codfather. He can't run from this. cc!Scott plays this scene so well as well, as I've said before, one of the best parts of Scott's acting is how he's never super dramatic, but he's so effective in the little things like inflection to make you feel, viscerally, the panic and dread.

So after the dragon fight, Smajor realizes, I can't do this on my own. I've tried and failed. So he gets allies. We watch him, someone who has so strongly been an isolationist, learn the benefits of allies and watch him learn to trust others and watch him learn how to get that trust in return.

My favorite thing about Smajor's characterization is that he's an incompetent protagonist, but not in the way of the "plucky young adventurer". He's capable skill-wise, and fairly jaded and very pessimistic. However, his issue is that up until recently, he did not care about the rest of the server at all, and by the time he learned to, it was way too late.

Also, in 3rd Life, cc!Scott and cc!Jimmy were canonically married and they reference it sometimes in Empires. Like, Scott goes over to the Cod Empire every so often both in and out of character to kill and/or flirt with Jimmy, the ruler of the Cod Empire, which may develop as a secondary plot into the future who knows. So ty Scott for giving the gays what they want o7

Now onto Sausage: his is a story of Icarus, his hubris and ambition being his downfall. He's one of the two followers of Xornoth, who promised him endless power in exchange for his servitude. He started the series being eccentric, but not outright unhinged, but slowly gets more and more extreme as the series progresses, as he gets brought more and more to Xornoth's side.

One of the best parts of Sausage's character, in my opinion, is how his gradual corruption affects the people around him. Initially, he got into a conflict with the Cod Empire and was allied with two other people in the Witherrose alliance. They were allies, but also close friends. The fandom liked to joke that the three had sibling energy, and I'm pretty sure the ccs played to that even more lol.

It was painful to watch the other two members, Gem and fWhip, watch Sausage get corrupted right in front of them, and see them desperately clinging on to this old idea of Sausage in their head because if they faced the truth, it would mean that their friend was gone. Eventually, they do finally cut him out of the alliance, leading him to fully commit to the side of the demon. Sausage felt very clearly betrayed by this, and declared the remaining two Witherrose alliance members to be enemies.

He gets more and more possessed, and we even see the other Empires, his enemies even, slowly realize that something is very wrong with the ruler of Mythland. He starts doing more and more evil things, like killing people more, making sacrifices to the demon, and eventually helping to kill the dragon to free Xornoth. So things are good for Sausage, for a bit. He won, and is more powerful than ever. Then he finds out: he's going to die. Xornoth's possession is slowly killing his soul, and eventually, his body going to be fully taken over and he himself is going to be trapped in the spirit realm. So how do you react to this? Over the next few episodes, we watch Sausage struggle between "the demon is literally killing me" and "the demon has given me so much, and I love it", all while Xornoth takes over more and more of him. We hear him exclaim that "don't worry!! I'm still about 15% there!" while trying to downplay every time Xornoth completely takes over his body. We watch him willingly oppose anyone who is trying to end the thing that is killing him.

My favorite thing about Sausage is that he is undoubtedly evil and proud of it, but he's also undoubtedly human. If you like to watch evil characters go absolutely feral, he's the guy for you. He makes the deal with Xornoth in the beginning, knowing and fully embracing the evilness of the demon, but at the same time he knows what he's doing is detrimental to both himself and everyone around him, but he's gotten in way too deep at this point, and to be fair the demon has held up its end fo the bargain, right?

Also, I would be damned if I don't talk about cc!Sausage's editing. Every one of his videos is like a movie. The way he does camera angles and uses music is so skillful- every lore scene feels like something out of a high fantasy action saga (think: LotR). Every big lore event I always wait in anticipation for Sausage's ep because his editing truly takes lore to another level.

I'm just generally very excited to see where this series goes. Empires is such a good mix of talented builders and good lore. Part of the reason why the series is so immersive for me, beyond any other lore smp, is that they have the settings to back it up. There is a certain charm to the DreamSMP's objectively terrible builds (with a few exceptions) but in Empires, the settings help sell the plot so much.

Another part of why I love EmpiresSMP is how much the ccs are involved with the fan community. I'm sure you've seen the memes about Scott being on tumblr, and Sausage regularly goes through the EmpiresSMP fanart tag on Twitter and likes art, even ones not related to Mythland. Most of the ccs, in fact, have brought up tumblr content on stream at some point or another. Like, several ccs have said that they read tumblr lore theories and hcs and stuff and sometimes take inspiration from them. Fun fact: Rivendell's church was inspired by my pinned drawing; confirmed by Scott Smajor himself. It's just such a good cycle of ccs and fans being excited about each other.

As for DreamSMP, I'm gonna be honest here, the only person I really am invested in in Technoblade. I started watching when he joined the server, and he's the only person whose lore I keep up to date with.

Techno's fun to watch because he's like the Deadpool of DreamSMP. Virtually unkillable, very skilled and scary, but consistently cracks jokes and breaks the 4th wall during plot. His POV is just fun. Like, he does wild plans and gives speeches and some of the stuff that happens to him should be called deus ex machine if it wasn't for the fact that Technoblade is the one who's doing it, and all the stuff is grounded in the fact that cc!Techno is just that good at the game.

However, the fact that he rarely takes anything seriously makes the few times Techno is 100% serious so much more impactful. His whole character has a basis in being perceived as inhuman and being treated as such, and therefore in return trying to hide his humanity. So, when he shows that humanity, whether that's fear, anger, or genuine love for his friends, it really makes you go "oh shit."

Techno's often said not to have character development, but I'd argue that while he remains steadfast in his moral code, he develops leaps and bounds as a person. Like, at the beginning, he's brought onto the server to help Wilbur and Tommy overthrow a government; them knowing he's 1) an anarchist and 2) very very powerful. His character was more of a plot device at that point and was treated as such in the canon. Wilbur and Tommy straight-up lie to him about their plans to establish another government after they overthrow the current one, while he was led on to believe that they were abolishing all governments in the area. But he isn't a plot device. He's a person, as much as he only shows the terrifying, blood god side of himself.

After the establishment of New Lmanburg (the new government its a long story), his friend Phil joins. And for the first time, we see him be fully human with someone and we see someone treat him like a human. Like, we saw glimpses before, with Wilbur and Tommy in Pogtopia, but Phil is the first person we noticeably see he trusts 100%. Then Doomsday happens, and Techno essentially retires to the tundra. During this time, we see Techno learn to be more human, first with Ranboo, then Niki when he establishes the Syndicate. In fact, the two of them, along with Phil, canonically throw him a birthday party, which is a far cry from his treatment in Pogtopia.

Techno's development is one of a god learning to be human, and I just think he <3

[quokkacore]

𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 [nct collab call]

take a look inside the chapters of this history book and read of several events spanning across all of human civilization. read about people from all walks of life: great heroes, legendary foes, daring outlaws, ordinary people. read about the rise and fall of empires, conspiring courts, the rise and fall of empires, forbidden alliances and romances. in fact, dear reader, don’t just read. learn from the past, because if we don’t, we are doomed to repeat it.

𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉

in lieu of hitting 500 followers, i’ve decided to announce this collaboration!! i’ve always loved history so why not? some of these eras are specific to certain cultures and places, but others are a lot broader. at the end of the day, they’re your stories. also if you saw me post this on accident the first time... no you didn’t <3

𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

this is a historical au collaboration, but any genre is allowed as long as your story is set in your chosen era! however, smut is not allowed for jisung or if you, the writer, are underage.

all works must be member x reader. love triangles and the like are allowed, but the main male character must be the member you chose.

eras and members are chosen on a first come, first served basis. please message me if you want to participate! if your main blog isn’t your writing blog, please be sure to tell me your writing blog so i can add it to this list correctly :)

you must have discord, since i will be sending all writers working on this collaboration a discord server link. there, i will send announcements and we can all give each other feedback!

tag any triggering content. if you’re not sure, ask in the discord server!

research is definitely encouraged as you will be writing about historical eras, some with specific cultural significance! please be respectful of any cultures or traditions you write about.

in the same vein, don’t romanticize any historical events or figures that are controversial, or have had negative cultural impact (ie, 9/11, the crusades, colonialism). again, if you’re not sure, ask in the discord server!

minimum word count is 2k. your words cannot be blurbs or timestamps.

please inform me if: you’re changing your url, you’re going on hiatus, or if you need to leave the collaboration.

the deadline is currently november 2021, but it is very flexible and can be pushed back even further should several writers ask!

after you’re added, i would really appreciate it if you reblogged this post to boost its reach :D

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖝

moon taeil - 

johnny suh - @aquamoonchaii - the joseon dynasty

lee taeyong - @moondustaeil - the victorian era

nakamoto yuta -

qian kun -

kim doyoung - me! - the renaissance

lee ten - @sleepylixie - the 1940s

jung jaehyun - @doderyscoffee​ - the rococo era

dong sicheng - @loonacitys - the regency

kim jungwoo - @smileyjaeminies - ancient greece

wong yukhei -

mark lee - @lamaiejeno - the 1920s

xiao dejun -

wong kunhang - @zephyr-abyss - the golden age of piracy

huang renjun - @seulgiswhoreee - the 1930s

lee jeno - @jenoentry - the roman empire

osaki shotaro -

lee donghyuck -

na jaemin - @jaehyyns - the 1960s

liu yangyang - @lovelyutas - the late middle ages

zhong chenle - @softcrescendo - the tang dynasty

jung sungchan -

park jisung - @heejinnien - the three kingdoms period

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖘

listed below are historical eras to choose from, a brief description of them (except anything past the 1900s as they’re pretty self explanatory), and a few examples of media or cultural phenomena you could use as inspiration if you can’t think of anything! media will be in italics, cultural phenomena will not.

ancient greece (800 BCE—32 BCE): a civilization based in the mediterranean, known for its extensive mythology and advancements in math, art, western philosophy and government. inspiration: the odyssey, hercules, the iliad, percy jackson.

the han dynasty (206 BCE—220): known for its long reign and achievements, it was the second imperial dynasty of china. it is highly regarded as an age of peace and prosperity that allowed china to grow into a major world power. inspiration: painted skin, the virtuous queen of han, the king’s woman

roman empire (27 BCE—476): in its time, this was one of the most powerful empires in the “known world” as a result of its political prowess and military power. it spanned from england, to the mediterranean, to parts of the middle east. inspiration: the heroes of olympus, pompeii, gladiator 

the tang dynasty (618—906): regarded by many as china’s golden age of arts and culture, the tang dynasty allowed aristocratic life to flourish. poetry, art, and education prospered. inspiration: house of flying daggers, the empress of china

the viking age (793—1066): time period in scandinavian europe during which vikings conquered parts of north america and england. inspiration: vikings, how to train your dragon trilogy

the three kingdoms period (892—936): period in korean history in which the korean peninsula was split into three kingdoms, all wanting to conquer one another: goguryeo, silla and baekje. inspiration: the blade and petal, hwarang 

feudal japan (1185—1602): period of civil unrest in japan, during which the political world was unstable, and power fluctuated between the shogunate and the royal court. it can be separated into two main eras: the kamakura period, and the sengoku period. inspiration: samurai, inuyasha, hakuouki

the late middle ages (1250—1450): a relatively brutal period, known for its numerous wars and civil unrest, throughout europe and asia. inspiration: the princess bride, robin hood, marco polo

joseon dynasty (1392—1897): the last and longest ruling confucian monarchy in korean history. inspiration: 100 days my prince, mr. sunshine, rookie historian goo hae-ryung

the renaissance (1450—1600): period based in europe (mainly italy) which was known for its advances in art, technology and science. inspiration: shakespeare in love, romeo and juliet, ever after

the golden age of piracy (1650—1730): during which maritime piracy across the world grew more and more prominent due to large shipments of cargo making their way to places like the caribbean, west africa, north america and europe. inspiration: pirates of the caribbean, treasure island

the rococo era (1737—1770): art movement in europe which glamorized grandeur and luxury, revolving around heaven, angels, love and lavishness. inspiration: barry lyndon, marie antoinette, a little chaos

the age of revolutions (1765—1849): a period in which a shift occurred in the western world, and monarchical institutions were overthrown in places like latin america, north america, and france. inspirations: les miserables, hamilton

the regency (1795—1837): british time period surrounding the time before, during, and after which prince george of england iv ruled as prince regent after his father was deemed unfit, during which time aristocracy flourished. inspiration: pride and prejudice, emma, bridgerton

victorian era (1837—1901): period spanning the rule of queen victoria of england, during which the industrial revolution occurred and urbanization became widespread. inspiration: the young victoria, the phantom of the opera, penny dreadful

the old west (1860—1890): period in american history during which many made the dangerous decision of migrating west of the Mississippi river, in search of gold, new land, and money. inspiration: jane got a gun, the good the bad and the ugly

the 1900s: moulin rouge!, finding neverland

the 1910s: downton abbey, my fair lady, anastasia

the 1920s: the great gatsby, boardwalk empire, silent films

the 1930s: bonnie and clyde, the handmaiden, the beginning of hollywood’s golden age  

the 1940s: casablanca, the godfather, the notebook

the 1950s: swing kids, grease, dead poets society 

the 1960s: american graffiti, the british invasion, summer of love

the 1970s: the lovely bones, mindhunter, the birth of punk music

the 1980s: atomic blonde, stranger things, the americans

[writingwithcolor]

Mixing North America with Old World Cultures in Fantasy: What Are The Issues?

So I sent in an ask several years ago that, due in no small part to your response, I have grown from and eventually led to a complete restructuring of my story. I included a measure of context in this, so if you need to skip it, my main three questions are at the bottom. I think this mostly applies to Mod Lesya.

The new setting is both inspired by and based on North America in the late 1400s where the indigenous cultures thrive and are major powers on the continent. Since there is no “Europe” in this setting the colonization and plague events never happened. Within the continent itself (since it is a fantasy setting) there are also analogous cultures that resemble Norse, Central European, Persian, Arabic, Indian, and Bengali. Although not native to the fantasy continent, there is also a high population of ‘African’ and ‘Oceanic’ peoples of many cultures, the latter usually limited to coastal cities as traders and sailors. Elves are entirely not-human, or at least evolved parallel to humans ala Neanderthals/Denisovans; they have green blood, black sclera, and skin tones that run from pale to dark. 

The main national setting of the story takes great inspiration from a Byzantine/Turkish/Mississippian background, and the neighboring nations are based on the Haudenosee (Iriquois Confederacy), Numunuu (Comancheria), and the Hopi and Zuni (as the descendants of the Ancestral Puebloans) (I also know that 2 of these 3 occur much later than the 1400s, but I love the government systems and they provide excellent narrative foils for the more ‘traditional’ fantasy government that takes place in the story). The Maya inhabit the role analogous to Ancient Greece in that most writing systems on the continent descend from Maya script and all the Great Philosophers were Maya (and nobility from across the continent spend lots of money to send their children to schools in the Maya City-States or in the Triple Alliance (Aztec Empire)). There is magic with varying traditions, practices, and methods spread across the continent, some of which are kept secret from outsiders, so I would hope that this avoids the “Magical Native” trope. 

Beyond the setting, I have three main questions:

When it comes to foodstuffs, I was originally planning to limit myself to Pre-Columbian cuisine from the Americas (eg the Three Sisters and potatoes) but in doing my research, Navajo fry-bread seems to be a fairly integral part of the food culture and that does require flour, which originated in the Old World. Would it be better to incorporate some of the Old World stuff that has since become traditional to indigenous groups?

For place names used in the setting and writing systems would it be better to use existing languages or writing systems or ones inspired by them? EG should I make a language that is very similar to Cherokee, complete with its own syllabary, or should I use IRL Cherokee and its extant syllabary? I ask because I feel like using the real language might step on some toes, but using the conlang might seem like erasure.

One of the main themes of this story is the harm that even a ‘benevolent’ Empire can wreak on people. The Byzantine/Turkish/Mississippian culture is the main Empire on the continent, taking cues from both western and American monarchical systems (eg the Triple Alliance (Aztec) and The Four Regions (the Inca Empire)), but when I think about it having any kind of even vaguely western ‘Empire’ spring up from the soil of a North American inspired setting might be troubling.

Thank you for your time and consideration! Do you guys have a kofi or something so I can compensate you for time spent?

I actually do remember you, and I am going to 99% disregard your questions here because you went from glaringly obvious racism to covert racism, and none of your questions ask if your basic strings of logic for assumptions you built into the setting are okay. 

Since there is some extremely flawed basic logic in here, I’m going to tackle that first.

Question 1: Why did you originally title this “Pre Colombian North American Fantasy World” when you have more old world cultures than new world cultures?

A very simple, straightforward question. The actual content of the setting is what made me retitle it.

If you want to write a North American fantasy setting… why are there so many old world cultures represented here? 

Old world: - Greece (as a societal myth; see next point) - Byzantine - Turkey - Norse - Central European - Persian - Arabic - Indian - Bengali - African (which, let’s be honest, should be heavily broken up into multiple peoples) - Oceana (which, again, should be heavily broken up into multiple peoples)

New world: - Mississippian - Iroquois  - Numunuu - Hopi - Zuni - Maya - Aztec - Inca (maybe? not mentioned as having their own place on the continent, but one of your questions mentions them) - Navajo (maybe? See above)

To account for respecting Africa and Oceana, I’m going to make African cultures count as 3 and Oceanic cultures count as 5, and this is a purposeful lowball.

Old World: 17 New World: 9

It’s a giant discrepancy, especially if your attempt is writing an exclusively New World fantasy. And this is bare minimum old world, considering the fact I tried to limit myself to peoples who would be more likely to interact with the heavy Mediterranean/Alexander the Great’s Empire centricity. 

Question 2: Why does there have to be a Greece analogue?

I haven’t spoken about this topic at length on this blog, but Greek worship in the Western world is a very carefully crafted white supremacy based mythos that was created to prop up European “Excellence” and actually erases the reality of Greece as a peoples.

Cultural evolutionism is a theory that states the (assumed-white-European) Greeks were superior because of their philosophy, their abstract art, and their mathematics. When many of these concepts were refined in Egypt (African, aka Black), or the Arab world (aka brown), but white Europeans did not want to admit any of this so they instead painted everything as coming out of their ideas of Greece lock stock and barrel. 

The theory also ignored Iroquois science, Plains and Southwestern abstract art, and generally everything about North America, because the theory was designed to move the goalposts and paint North America as something it wasn’t, just to make Europeans feel okay taking it over and “bringing it to civilization.”

This theory was still taught in force up until the 1970s, and is still a major school of anthropological thought to this day (and still taught in some universities), so it is still very much influencing the Western world.

While the theory itself is only from the 1800s, it had long-growing roots in white/ noble Europe’s attempt to prop up European “Excellence” during its multiple periods of colonization, from the Crusades, onwards. You can see it in the copious amount of art produced during the Renaissance.

Europeans ignored the sheer amount of settling and travel that happened within Greece and Rome, and you’ll notice how many Renaissance paintings depict Greek philosophers as white, teaching other white people. In reality, we have no idea what their skin tone was, and they could have taught a huge variety of different skin tones. But it was appealing to European nobility to have people like them be the founders of all things great and “advanced”, so they invested huge amounts of time and money in creating this myth.

(Note: I said their nobility, not their population. People of colour existed en masse in Europe, but the nobility has been downplaying that for an exceptionally long time)

Greece took over most of the old world. It borrowed and stole from hundreds of cultures, brought it all back, and was assigned credit for it. White Europeans didn’t want to admit that the concept of 0 came from the Arabs, the pythagorean theorem came from Egypt, etc, and since Greece won, detailed records of how they were perceived and what they stole are long lost. It’s only glaring when they took from other global powers.

Question 3: Why would you pick totally different biomes to mix in here?

Turkey and the Mississippi are very, very different places when it comes to what can grow and what sort of housing is required, which makes them on the difficult side to merge together. They relied on different methods of trade, as well (boats vs roads), and generally just don’t line up.

The fact you pick such a specific European powerhouse—the Byzantine Empire—to mix into your “not European” fantasy world is… coming back to my above point about Greek (and Roman) worship in the West. Why can’t a fantasy world set in North America be enough on its own? Why does it need Europe copycats?

Question 4: Why are you missing a variety of nomads and Plains peoples?

Nomadic plains peoples were a thing across the globe, from the Cree to the Blackfoot to the Mongols. You have hyperfocused on settled peoples (with only one nomadic group named in both new and old world), which… comes across as very odd to me, because it is, again, very European sounding. That continent was about the only one without major populations that were nomadic, and if you look at European history, nomadic peoples were very highly demonized because of the aforementioned Mongols. 

Cultural evolutionism also absolutely hated nomadic peoples, which is where we get the term “savage” (hunter-gatherers, nomads) and “barbarian” (horticulturalists and pastoralists, the latter nomadic); these were “lesser cultures” that needed to settle down and be brought to “civilization” (European agriculture), and nothing good could ever come out of them.

Meanwhile, in North America, nomadic peoples took up a very large portion of landmass, produced a huge amount of culture and cultural diffusion, and mostly ignoring them while trying to create a “fantasy North America” is, well, like I said: odd. 

General Discussion Points

My suggestion for you is to write a fantasy Mediterranean region. Completely serious, here.

With the kinds of dynamics you are attracted to—the empires, the continental powers, the fact you keep trying to make Europe analogues in North America—you will do a much, much more respectful job by going into a really richly researched Mediterranean fantasy world than attempting to mix Europe and North America together in ways that show European traits (settled peoples, agriculture, a single empire dominating the whole culture and being viewed as superior) as the default.

I legitimately cannot see anything in here that feels like it comes from North America, or at the very least, treats non-sensationalized peoples (aka, those outside the Maya and Mississippian region) with respect. 

It falls into Maya worship, which is a very sensationalized topic and is fuelled by racist fascination, assuming no Indigenous peoples could be that smart. 

It falls into settled peoples worship, which is something that has cultural evolutionism roots because under such a model only settled peoples with agriculture are “civilized.”

It falls into placing Western concepts (public schools, large cities, the ilk) as the ideal, better solution, compared to methods better suited to horticulturalists, pastoralists, and hunter-gatherers and letting those teaching methods be respected.

There is no shame in writing inside Europe

The Mediterranean region contains Indigenous peoples, contains a huge diversity of skin tones, contains empires, contains democracy/a variety of governments, and in general contains every aspect of what you’re trying to create without playing god with a continent that did not evolve the way you’re trying to make it. 

A Mediterranean fantasy world would still be a departure from “fantasy world 35″ as I like to call it, because it would be different from the vaguely Germanic/ French/ Norse fantasy worlds that are Tolkien ripoffs. You can dig beyond the whitewashed historical revisions and write something that actually reflects the region, and get all the fun conflicts you want.

You don’t need to go creating a European/North American blend to “be diverse.” You can perfectly respectfully write inside Europe and have as much variety in peoples as you can write in a non-European setting. Europe is not the antithesis to diversity.

North America developed a certain way for a reason. It had the required fauna, space, resources, and climate to produce what it created. The old world developed a certain way for its own reasons, based off its own factors in the same categories.

You’re not really going to get them to blend very easily, and if you did, the fact there is such a strong European way-of-life preference (by picking places that mirror European society on the surface) makes me raise an eyebrow. It’s subtle, but very much there, and the fact you are ignorant to it shows me you still need to do more work before you go writing North American Indigenous Peoples.

Writing in Europe isn’t the problem, here. Writing a whitewashed, mythologized, everyone-not-white-is-a-caricature, ahistorical “Europe” is the problem. And you cannot fix this problem by simply painting European ways of life a different skin tone when the setting isn’t European. In fact, you’re perpetuating harm by doing that, because you are recreating the cultural evolutionism that calls anything you can find in Europe “better.” Indigenous cultures were vastly different from Europe, even if they shared similar trappings. 

Let North America exist without trying to shoehorn its most famous peoples into European analogues.

~ Mod Lesya

[guileheroine]

a sky full of song, chapter one

Korra, princess of the Water Kingdoms, receives a gift from her blacksmith friend on the auspicious winter festival / Korrasami royalty AU / ao3 / My piece for the @korrasami-valentine-exchange (assignment: Date A) (reposting with cover!)

“The wedding of the Earth Prince, yes, on the solstice. But it’s an opportune moment for a longer tour, we don’t want to waste the journey. I’m afraid your father can’t afford it, and before you ask, I’ve been conferring with your mother’s office. And frankly, I’m loath to request it of her after…

Councillor Panak trailed off as Korra hurried him along with a gesture of the hand. He pushed his eyeglass up his nose and took her eye seriously. “To the point, then—what do you say?”

Korra was tapping her foot under the meeting table. Prince Wu, if she recalled, was equally as intolerable as old Hou-Ting, the spirits bless his poor betrothed. But the prospect of a fortnight around the Earth Kingdom, with its delicious fare and diverse landscapes… that made her much more amenable to the whole idea.

“Around the solstice, huh? Alright. Why not.” It was a way off. She had time to arrange her retinue and her schedule as efficiently as possible for maximum enjoyment.

“…That means a tour to the Earth Empire in the spring—or summer, if Her Royal Highness prefers it?”

“Oh, spring,” Korra said in a rush. “Spring. I’m not sure I can do Earthen summers.”

Panak smiled quite kindly at that, and nodded at his scribe to jot it down. Korra returned his smile. They really were getting along better. It was nice. This meeting was also stretching much farther into the evening than she had understood it would.

The Lotus Guard at the doorway didn’t so much as blink as she pushed the heavy door open and went out. He was one of the older men, having been here long before the war, and quite accustomed to her ways.

Once Korra was out in the foyer, she raced. Her quarters, and her next appointment, were in the other wing of the palace, but she had promised to go see her mother first for a few minutes before the Queen went to bed. The winter sun was long gone; all the windows she skipped past were dark, torchlight gleaming on the icy sills. In the halls, on the other hand, the air was bright as frost, festive. She wove around decorators from all over Agna Qel’a hanging new crystalwork along the old bead tapestries and tying berry wreaths around the tall pillars. Down the stairs, in the main hall, the humongous fires that burnt uninterrupted over the winter lit the place generously. As she sped through, headed for the opposite staircase, Korra caught the eye of one of the housekeepers.

“Mina! Mina, are you busy?” She took the girl’s arm, whose eyes goggled, alarmed only at the princess’s sudden appearance but unperturbed by her familiar ways. “Could you go to the kitchen and send for some tea to my apartment? Milk and honey for me—and some of whatever black blend is left, what my blacksmith friend likes. They’ll know. Thank you!”

When she turned to continue, she was immediately waylaid by one of the ice sculptors.

“Your Highness! A moment.”

Just a moment to breathe was exactly what it took for Korra to finally notice the centerpiece of the hall: an elaborate sculpture-fountain of Yue. The moon and ocean spirits hovered above each of her hands, water pouring in gentle arcs out of their gaping mouths.

Korra’s father was pulling out all the stops for Yue’s Day. She knew, for her part, that it was a private gesture for the Queen, newly returned from a long diplomatic engagement with the northern Air court. Korra stood at attention for the sculptor, whose fingerless gloves allowed him to bend with especial precision.

“Should her hair run—” he said, bending Yue’s locks of ice into free-flowing rivulets, “or stand arrested?” Another curl of his palm froze them again.

“Freeze them. More volume!” Korra said, thinking of her mother, who always grumbled about her limp hair. Then she was on her way to the Queen’s chambers, and then her own.

“I got your tea. Hi, princess.”

Korra’s blacksmith friend took a pointed sip when she finally entered her drawing room. Asami’s smirk was hidden behind the glassy cup, and her hair was wet. One of Korra’s towels was slung over the back of her seat—one of the nice ones with the finely embroidered monogram.

“Asami. Sorry I’m late!” Korra slumped onto her divan, sending one of the cushions flying onto the carpet. “It’s good to see you.” She took a moment to catch her breath before picking the cushion up, sitting comfortably and grasping for the tray on the table.

“Don’t worry about it,” Asami said, moving the cup from her mouth, the smirk finally melting off. She pushed the tray into Korra’s reach. “I’m done for the day. A couple of the apprentices are closing up shop for the very first time.” Her brows waggled.

“Impressive! But still, thanks for coming. I know you’re working hard.”

“We had an appointment, right? And—” Asami grinned and stretched, pulling her warm wools tighter around her “nothing like the thought of a royal shower at the end of the day to get you through it, you know?”

Korra rolled her eyes. The staff knew to let Asami into Korra’s apartments, and even if she could tell they were a little reticent about her using the princess’s bath and vanity, they of course said nothing. The dogs more or less dragged Asami in through the gates every time she came by the palace, and by order of the princess, they were the ones that decided things in her absence.

Asami scrutinised the tray from the kitchen carefully before picking out a little moon pastry. “How was your meeting?” She took a bite, attentive both to the pastry and Korra.

“Looks like I’m going on tour to the Earth Kingdom in the spring,” Korra told her. She wasn’t surprised to see Asami’s brow spring up, and her taste-testing pause.

“What, all over?”

It was a town in the Earth Kingdom that Asami originally hailed from, before she travelled to the Fire Empire with her father, an innovator in the art of war. After the war’s end and the subsequent reunification of the Water Kingdoms, the newly humbled Sun Emperor had gifted King Tonraq an ancient forge for the royal armoury as a token of good faith and cultural exchange. Korra remembered how it had taken several pulleys, and days, for it to be transported into place in one of the main avenues in the city. They had set up a house around it for a new smith to eventually train locals in the foreign art. Asami—skilled as a metalworker, but bereft of a livelihood and a family after her father’s foundries were shut down—had decided to venture north to start afresh. She vied for the position and won it handily.

Korra glanced at her long. “You could come with me, you know. Take a vacation, if you manage to get this new shop set up in time. I’m sure you’ve trained all your underlings well.”

“We’re getting there,” Asami said vaguely. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

Korra was musing, recumbent with her feet up now. “I must warn you, t’s for the wedding of the Queen’s nephew. They’re a lot stuffier in the Earth kingdom. All the pomp and pageantry,” she clarified. “I’m not looking forward to that part.”

“I’ll bet.” Asami gave her a sympathetic smile.

Sitting pretty in formal assemblies, she did not enjoy. Peace was harder than war, in a lot of ways. At least it was for Korra, who had been right at home as a strategist commanding the bending battalions in the few Fire Empire skirmishes that had reached the north. Or as a captain fending off the marauding warlords and shaman-kings in the southern fiefs who took advantage of the chaos to arouse the spirits and stage deadly rebellions. Her leadership, covert though it was, had played no small part in subduing the northern theater and paving the way for all the ancient Water tribes to be reunified under Agna Qel’a and her father’s leadership. The lasting peace of the years since had proven they were stronger together. Just as it had proven that the Princess’s patience for peacetime bureaucracy needed a good deal of practice.

“You should come. We’ll do you up as my retainer so you get a salary. I might need you to keep me straight.”

Asami was good at that, blowing off steam after long, boring days. The mellowness of the warmth, nothing like that of her forge, evened Korra’s mood like little else.

“Oh, so you want me to drop everything and trail you around as a handmaiden?”

Korra scoffed, embarrassed. “Well, don’t put it like that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Asami sat up. “An Earth royal wedding, huh? Think they’ll let me in?” She picked at the cushion in her lap.

“They will if I have anything to say about it.” Korra yawned. “It’ll be my turn soon enough.”

“How’s your mother?” Asami said, following her train of thought seamlessly—it was always the queen that pestered Korra about finding a match, good-natured but more earnest than she ever realised she was appearing.

“Sleeping. She had a long journey back from the Northern Air Temple. Dad’s happy, though. Just casually planning her a ball this weekend for Yue’s Day.”

“Hey, is that what that business down in the hall is?” Some forgotten curiosity clearly jolted Asami. “There were all these new kayaks moored around the drawbridges when I came through, too.”

Korra nodded, while tentative recognition continued to filter into Asami’s expression. It was easy to forget Asami had been here nary a year. But she had, and it had been a busy year too, with little time for exploration, per her own frequent complaints. “You know about it, right?” When Asami shrugged evasively, Korra explained, “It falls on the day of the first full moon after the winter solstice. Yue was a princess of legend—our ancestor, apparently—who became the moon spirit.”

Asami sat forward. She loved tales like this, and listened to them like she was being entrusted a secret.

“We’ve celebrated it as long as anyone remembers, but the festival is supposed to usher good fortune and fertility. I think that’s why it became a couples thing.” Korra didn’t think much of that. “But, well, the idea is to spend the evening under the full moon, which is why all the kayaks are out. Really, everyone just needs an excuse to liven up the winter!”

“That I understand,” Asami said wryly, ill accustomed to the polar night. “Yeah, I went to the market in town to pick up some new gloves and they had stalls and stalls of new fare. Jewelry, wind chimes, furs.”

Korra sat up, conspiratorial. “I bet at least one of your new proteges will sneak you a little gift. I get messages every year. Mostly upstarts, but some cute ones, too.”

When Asami had first been appointed as the blacksmith, Korra was uncertain what a girl her age was doing heading up an official royal undertaking like that, with all its bells and whistles. When she arrived at a welcome dinner with her family, Korra found her altogether too precious, and definitely not deserving of the private summons and the White Lotus escort. Especially not when the whole rigmarole was keeping Korra from her planned retreat to the kennels for the evening, where, in the end, the strapping night guards were giggling and blushing about the new blacksmith.

At her father’s behest, Korra had put on her most functional anorak and taken Asami some cakes, conserves and newly dried jerky from the palace a couple weeks after their meeting. He insisted it was a part of the Princess’s duty to look after someone in their employ so new to the land—a girl her own age no less. Down in the city, the townsfolk were pleased to see Korra as she made her way to the workshop, but no one made a fuss (unless they were young and excitable already), unlike what she had heard of the other Kingdoms, larger and loftier as they were. She wondered if Asami the Blacksmith liked that about here, or found it lacked decorum, as Korra knew some folk abroad definitely did.

Asami had a study above the forge, from which she dealt with its administration, and living quarters on the next storey. These were yet lonely and sparse, but not completely devoid of homely touches, as though she would have spruced them up if she only had the opportunity. Korra noticed well-kept shrubs and a vivid landscape on the wall; then Asami came and curtseyed deep and pulled off her apron.

She was willowy and beautiful under the gear and the soot (over it, too, to be honest), which endeared and repelled Korra in fairly equal measure, ultimately leaving her as indifferent as ever.

“My parents and Lord Arnook want to know how you’re getting on.” Lord Arnook was the esteemed keeper of the royal armoury, and he liked Asami just as much as everyone else did.

A flicker of sadness—shame?—crossed her face, then she put her hand on the table. “Won’t you sit? Your Highness. Let me bring you something hot first.”

Asami lit the fire in the blink of an eye and stoked it without watching, like it was the back of her hand. She had some bread in the pantry, over which she spread the aqpik jam Korra had delivered her. Korra watched her as she boiled the water. Her skirt was heavy, probably to insulate from the heat and cold alike, but it fell flatteringly from her height; and her long hair, which had flown in waves in a foreign style at dinner, was pinned into a practical bun. She made a sharp, fragrant tea she had brought from the continent. Her eyes lit up unexpectedly when Korra bent her own cup to cool it.

“Ah, I love seeing that,” she cooed. “I suppose I’m still not used to it. The other elements don’t bend like that. And I hear you have great skill.”

Korra’s own smile came too quick for her to suppress. “Who told you that, the King?” Then she regarded her keenly. So, how are you… Do you need anything? Do the men from the quarry treat you okay?”

“Oh, everyone here is… They’re very warm. Makes up for the chill,” Asami laughed.

It was a line so hackneyed that gritting through it was itself a country-wide inside joke. But this calm and rosy girl injected fresh, charmless charm into it. Maybe everything was charming if someone this winsome did it. After that, Korra softened considerably.

“They are,” she replied, with no small amount of pride. A sudden shame crept up her chest, that she probably couldn’t count herself among those nice people that had made Asami feel welcome.

Then Asami swallowed and the colour of her voice changed. “I miss my home, though. I know this job is more kindness than I deserve, after what we did but… It is a little lonely here.” She confirmed what Korra had already deduced, mostly because she knew the feeling all too well. “I guess I just don’t have a lot of time to go and make friends after work.”

Korra didn’t doubt that; it was hard, physical work. The one or two times she’d witnessed it, the clang rang in her ears for hours afterwards. She wouldn’t have pegged a girl like this for it. Asami reminded her more of some of the young ladies she knew from her old classes, when all the children around the court would be dumped into the royal healing hut together for some hands-on learning.

“Have you been beyond the city yet? The land out there… that’s our land. This is just a fortress.”

“Oh, I’ve been wanting to,” Asami said, wistful. “Pretty sure I can’t go on foot though.”

“Well, if… if you don’t know anyone else, I could take you. I have the best dogs in the Four Kingdoms.”

Before the month was up, Korra had sent a commission to the Queen’s personal seamstress for some sealskin gloves and winter-grade furs. She gifted them to Asami on her birthday. “You need these anyway, I think, but you’ll definitely need them where we’re going.” And that night, Korra took her to see the aurora.

There was a hamlet a few miles north of Agna Qel’a where Korra knew the elderly chief and had asked her for passage to an outcrop in their territory, after divining the well kept secret that it was one of the prime spots for watching the sky dance. Asami, enchanted, never took her eyes off it—so unflinching that Korra almost began to feel envious of the lights.

It became a routine. Korra knew every inch of her realm. If a diplomatic mission sent her to one tribe or settlement, she would be sure to take a day or two exploring the local country before she returned to the capitol. It had been a great boon when the southern tribes first came under their stewardship. The Princess spent time in every village, took interest in their land and in their lore; met challenges of the wilds and the weather with hunger, and any unknowns thereof with abiding curiosity. She knew what to wear, which sled or boat to take. When to find the rarest whale pods before they went south; where the starriest cliffs were, and the sunniest lakes.

All of which impressed Asami a great deal, and that made Korra happier than most things. And no worse were the days they spent in her apartments going over the sordid palace gossip, or in her apartments tracing old scars by lamplight, healing them word by gentle word.

On Yue’s Day, Korra stopped by to see various palace aides located around the city with customary gifts. In a castle town, there were plenty with such connections, and she relished the ruddy smiles, quick drinks, and flustered curtsies she received in turn. She saved Asami for last, because Asami had asked for some time together. Korra entered the smithy by the front, her senses clogging with immediate heat. Two of the apprentices were there: one of them gaped while the other barely blinked.

“Asami? I come bearing punch… and those moon pastries you like!”

She commenced the usual ritual of announcing her presence over the steam and noise while peeling off all but a couple of her layers, when Asami emerged out of the back. She was squeezing her hands together in excitement.

“No, no, no, don’t,” she urged, a gleam in her eyes like the blades that hung behind her, “we’re going somewhere.”

A few minutes later, they were walking along the main canal under the sparkling lights, milling through the townspeople. A fresh drift crunched beneath their boots. In a few more, they were alighting one of the kayaks in the dock.

Asami faced her and paddled like a natural; and naturally, Korra gaped.

“Do not tell me you haven’t done this before!”

Asami’s tongue stuck out in concentration as she suppressed a giggle, but her limbs moved with finesse. “Just the once. So far. Don’t be distracting me.”

“I won’t let us capsize,” Korra assured her.

Eventually, Asami settled into her rhythm, and the canal carried them out of the city, past all the lights. The banks of glass-cut brick gave way to a more jagged channel littered with pack ice at its mouth, floating blue and still. Korra gripped the edge of the kayak, not for any physical comfort. A crackling anticipation, and an unnameable fondness both, were welling and welling in her with every mundane word they shared.

When they disembarked on the lake’s other edge, the ice was landfast: a ghostly field glowing under the full moon.

Korra knew this place, but she had scarcely been here in the middle of winter, when the ice field extended endlessly, as vast as the sky. As they tramped across the snow, she began to wonder what Asami’s surprise was. There wasn’t much for a mile in any direction.

“We should sit for this,” Asami said, pointedly ignoring Korra’s prying questions.

The wind had kicked the snow up into berms along the field. Korra froze one so it was sturdy enough to perch on. Then Asami took her pack, and pulled out some plain tubes of parchment; nothing Korra would have looked at twice, although she didn’t know what they were.

“What’s in there?” She said.

“Some of my metals, some of my salts,” Asami replied enigmatically, almost sing-song. “Wait here.”

She heaved herself off the berm, ran several yards towards the horizon and stooped. She planted the tubes, and did something else Korra couldn’t see, though she thought she recognised the bright filigree on the cover of the pocket matchbook Asami carried everywhere.

When Asami had trundled back and sat again, Korra crossed her arms and laughed, bemused, her humour ebbing. “Are you going to tell me what’s going—”

BOOM!

Korra gasped, startled out of her words. She would have fallen from the perch if Asami didn’t catch her around the waist, giggling blithely all the while—

A wheel of light bloomed in the sky like a flower, dazzling and surreal. All the colours of the aurora—except they were peals of crystal fire, pouring out like diamonds before disappearing into the smoky air. Another wheeled up after it with a strange whirr, before it exploded into a glittering shower, and more in succession.

They reminded Korra of the spirit hales in the heart of the wilds, and even deeper in a buried memory, of the Fire explosives some of the raiders had once set off on the Southern Sea. Except these were brighter—and safer, because Asami had made them.

Korra looked to her when they had died, beaming under the mitten that covered her mouth in shock. “Are there more?”

To her eternal delight, there were more. New flowers sprouting on the celestial vault, they would be burned in her memory forever.

“They’re no aurora,” Asami said, while Korra scoffed and slung her arms around her, huddling for the cold and the buzz. Under her embrace, and half her weight, Asami looked chuffed. “But I thought they might liven up your night.”

Korra cupped her earmuff, then her cheek. “Thank you. This is the best day I’ve had all winter.”

Asami’s pyrotechnical skills didn’t even surprise her, but that could hardly diminish the sheer majesty, and novelty, of the display. Even minutes later, Korra could hardly believe what she had seen.

“Well, I couldn’t let you be the only show-off around here.” Asami smiled. Then the smile dropped from her eyes and she hesitated, like she couldn’t let that sit for an explanation. “Korra. I wanted to do something special. You’ve made me feel at home here in a way I never imagined. And I’m just a smith, from the Fire Empire!”

Korra felt her eyes water and blinked the tears back quickly, because they would ice and sting in the bitter air. She bit the smile off her lips. “You’re not just anything. You’re a terrific handmaiden.”

She snorted as Asami shoved her off and reached for her pack again.

“One more thing. I thought it might be too smokey for this after all those incendiaries, but it’s worth a shot anyway.”

This time Korra recognised the device she emerged with. It was made of two cylinders, and the mechanism that held them together spun smoothly like the spokes of a wheel. She handed it to Korra, who held the spyglass up.

A field of stars materialised. Korra held her breath.

The stars were luminous at the poles, but she had never seen them like this, and for the first time they felt close enough to touch, invoking a bracing, irrepressible wonder. In silence, she gazed.

“The moon spirit leads all the stars out tonight, right?”

Asami had done her research. Korra turned back to her. “So they say.” She hooked her arm through Asami’s, and held her hand. With the spyglass still to her eye, she let her head fall against Asami’s bundled shoulder.

“Tired, princess?”

Korra rustled her breath, long-suffering. “Why do you call me that!”

The way Asami said it—like it was something of her own decree, and not that of ten thousand years of tradition and some profoundly sacred doctrines. There was a sweet and strange tug in Korra’s belly whenever it happened, and this time, tonight, it lingered longer than ever.

“‘Cause you’re a piece of work,” Asami said, trying to interlace their thick, mittened fingers, which required some effort.

Tentatively, Korra turned the spyglass to the moon herself. She winced— it glared straight back, too bright. Maybe another night, when it wasn’t Yue’s Day.

Yue’s Day. She now held the thought delicately in her chest, as if she wanted to guard it from the wind and chill. If Asami loved her—were to love her—there were several reasons not to say it. They both knew them, whether they had turned them over consciously or not.

But the risk of showing was low. And the reward, as her own euphoric mood tonight proved, was magnificent.

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- The Shadowed Lords

I know I keep throwing new characters and places at you.  Sorry.  Scoundrel shenanigans will return next story.  However, this is important for the story progression, and, to be blunt, these are some of my personal favorite characters I wrote in here.  Enjoy the story, and if you are interesting in it, please read the end note.  

“Nine heroes and their colleagues.

Six Shadowed Lords and the assets they bring:

One Ghost.

One god.

One collector.

One Man

One Cypher.

One Leader.

Six Stones.

One Weapon.

One Crucible.

One Ring.

Seven Lords:

One Lion

One Phoenix

One Warhawk

One Wolf

One Son

One Salamander

One Raven

And a little luck.”  -A List of Items Required

Titanfall Galaxy

The Outlands

Hammond Robotics Lab 365-772

It was night out, and Dr. Lisa Wiltalker sat in the same chair, in the same office, as she did every night.  But this time, she didn’t really mind.  It was a wonderful night outside, crisp and clear, with the stars shining through the window, creating an ambient atmosphere of peace.  Though, in reality, it was actually due to her work that she didn’t mind staying late.  

She was the head of the facility, one of the most important ones in the Outlands region of space, and it was her duty to advance the Hammond company by any means necessary.  And, by God, the opportunities that presented themselves now!  Eight new universes that had just materialized from nowhere.  Eight!  The circumstances that presented themselves for Hammond and herself were...endless.

She was currently studying everything she could about these new galaxies, trying to learn anything and everything she could…

She looked up sharply.  Could have sworn something was moving in the shadows…  No.  She had been here for...fifteen hours, was it?  It was nighttime, and it was a lonely, empty office building, so no wonder her senses were playing tricks on her sleep deprived mind.  She stood up, stretched, grabbed a coffee from the machine in the room, and sipped it while looking out the window and the stars.  Feeling better, or at least more caffeinated, she returned to the task at hand. 

Eight new galaxies.  Endless opportunities to sell the products of Hammond.  Spectre robots, the latest and greatest in infantry fighting machines, faster, stronger, and tougher than a man; explosive Ticks, small drones that seeked out enemies and detonated; and, of course, Titans.  She didn’t think that any of the other galaxies had technology like that, and where better to add to their arsenals but from the Hammond Corporation?  Made perfect sense…

She snapped around sharply.  She swore she could have heard something moving, swore she could see something just inside her peripheral vision…  She shook her head again.  The office was massively secure, with guards, both of bolt and steel, and flesh and blood stationed throughout it.  When in a sleep deprived and lonely situation, everyone started seeing the boogeyman hiding in the corners.  She shook her head ruefully and turned on more lights.  

Where was she?  Ah, yes.  Opportunities.  Who to sell to?  Everyone, if possible.  Who could turn down six meter tall war machines, implemented with the finest in A.I. technology, programmed in the art of death and destruction?  Well, probably a few of the more dense and/or peaceful of the governments out there.  She leafed through a dossier.

The Galactic Assembly?  No.  Has only had two major wars in the last century, both of which had ended within the year.  The United Federation of Planets?  Also no.  Too regulatory, too jealous of their own technology.  The Galactic Empire?  This one looked promising.  A pro-human empire that had been fractured and on the losing side of a major war in recent years, desperate for anything to turn the tide.  Yes, this-

A cold, metallic hand gripped her throat, preventing any sound from getting out, and a horribly deep, rasping, grating voice sounded in her ear.

“You ever get the feeling you’re not alone in the room?  It’s because you’re not.”

The extremely tall, spindly...thing stood over the corpse of Dr. Wiltalker.  The body had a massive, jagged, yet precise hole ripped through the torso, directly where the heart was, and currently lay deep in a pool of its own clotting blood.  The thing, made of cold steel yet looking oddly humanoid, stood above it, watching, savoring the sensation.  

“One more off the list,” it said in the same rasping voice.  It made a move to turn, to exit the room, but stopped.  It stared at the desk.  At the dossier.  “Interesting,” it muttered.  It picked it up.  “Very interesting indeed.”  It leafed through it.   The machine turned.  

It had once been he.  He had once been living.  He had been turned into this… synthetic nightmare by Hammond, against his will or knowledge.  He snarled and suppressed a shudder of rage.  Once the greatest hitman the Syndicate, Hammond, or anyone else had ever known, at some unknown point his mind had been altered, his body destroyed and replaced with… this.  He snarled again.  

He had been having his revenge against everyone and everything associated with the company… but this new knowledge.  This changed things.  So many possibilities.  So many skinsuits.  So little time.  He was the boogeyman.  He was the Revenant.  And he would have his vengeance.

Warhammer 40k Galaxy

Solemnace, Necron Tomb World

The hallways were jet black, cut from a strange stone that seemed to absorb all light around it.  The only illumination came from strange runes and lighting fixtures that seemed to blend into the halls and ceilings.  The light was a pale, bright green, and cast strange shadows on the halls and objects residing within.  It swirled throughout the space, as if it didn’t quite understand what exactly it was supposed to be illuminating.  A human would have found the long halls exceptionally strange.  Disconcerting.  Creepy, even, if one were less eloquent.  It seemed like something from a horror movie, with mad creatures waiting to leap from the shadows on the unaware.  

Even more strange and disconcerting were the objects located within the halls.  Strange devices, artifacts, and objects littered the space.  Each one almost unrecognizable; completely unknown except to the most knowledgeable of galactic historians, and, of course, the curator.  For this place, this entire planet, in fact, was so much more than strange alien hallways and lighting that did not agree with the human ocular system.  Above all else, itt was a place that preserved history.

The massive galleries, for that is what they were, contained a great many strange, horrifying, and wondrous things.  Everything, from inactive artifacts of history to living beings had their place here.  Each was protected, frozen in status by eldritch technologies.  A massive man in baroque power armor.  Tens of thousands of Imperial Guardsmen, from many different worlds, (including some lost) scattered throughout different exhibits.  Huge war machines, from almost every race to bestride the stars.  A large, beautifully embellished bell.  Korks, the ancient and ferocious genetic predecessors of orks.  The ossified husk of some strange, jellyfish-like being.  The preserved head of an Imperial Saint.  The graceful Eldar of the last high council of the destroyed Craftworld Idharae.   Space Marines, from almost every chapter and legion imaginable.  Several Inquisitors that had been just a bit too nosy.  A Custodian.  Stange, undocumented blue crab-like aliens.  Members of species thought to be long dead by the rest of the galaxy.  The total list would probably take hours, if not days or weeks, to describe.  

The long galleries were patrolled by odd beings, bipedal silver robots with elongated skulls, wielding strange spears.  They seemed to be mindless, uncaring of the weariness that would affect any other beings by the constant patrolling.  

On one of the wings of the planet-sized museum, an individual studied a huge sculptured head.  It was old and grimy, its original and secondary colors lost to time.  The figure was lost in it, its bulk taking up a huge display gallery.  Once upon a time the head had been part a a figure called the Statue of Liberty, and had resided in the human hive city of Nuva York on the Throneworld of mankind.  38,000 years ago.  It was a huge monument to human accomplishment.  38,000 years ago.  It was a historical relic, a testament to mankind’s history.  30,000 years ago.  It disappeared, never to be seen again, a missing piece of history.  24,000 years ago.  Now it resided here.  It mattered nothing to the individual.  He was older than the statue.  Older than the human race itself.  

His body was similar to those of the gallery guardians, but much more ornamented and higher quality.  Made of silvery metal, his legs were long but powerful.  A metallic rib cage, with a strange symbol etched in the breastbone attached, the legs to similarly structured arms.  His metallic skull had a largely elongated jaw, with a permanent mouth etched in the metal.  A cloak made of interlocking metallic plates was thrown across his back, and in his hands was a strange staff, made of the same metal as he was.  

A sigh of contentment, strangely synthesized, escaped his lips (or what passed for them).  While he did often travel the galaxy, looking for artifacts and individuals to add to his ever-growing collection, it was nice to look at his gains.  He turned and strode out of the gallery hall.  

A vast open room stretched before him, much better lit than his galleries.  Ornamented skeletal warriors, weapons at the ready, stood on guard.  They were there not only to protect him (not that he needed it, mind you, there were plenty of tricks up his sleeve), but the massive museum itself.  He surmounted the steps to his throne, ornamental carved from the black rock, and surveyed his domain.  He was not here simply to oversee his galleries.  No.  A voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“My lord?” asked another metallic servant, this one bearing heavier limbs and more decoration than its fellows.  The seated figure looked up.  A huge holographic map, made of eerie green light, sprung to life, taking up the majority of the colossal room.  It showed not one, but nine different galaxies.  Each a treasure trove.  Each begging to be explored.  

Trazyn the Infinite, Phaeron of the Nihilakh Dynasty, Archaeovist of Solemnace, curator of the Prismatic Galleries, and collector extraordinaire turned his head to the map.  Eight new galaxies.  Eight new sets of history.  So little time.  So much to collect.  

Marvel Galaxy

Within the passages between worlds

There were ways.  Passages between realms and planets, known to only a few.  Some might call them ‘wormholes’, some ‘slip spaces’, others just plain ‘magic’.  They were small, strange, holes in time and space.  While naturally occurring, and while able to be explained by science, few ever found them.  Fewer still ever used them.  

Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief, was not among those few.  He was with the tiny minority, the smallest percentage of all beings: he knew where they were, knew how they worked, and used them frequently.  They were so incredibly useful; too hard to pass up.  Not even Heimdall, all-seeing guardian of the Nine Realms, could not peer into them.  Poor Heimdall.  The man was a tedious bore, but he really didn’t deserve to die like he did.  

Loki died that day too, choked to death at the hands of the Mad Titan, Thanos.  Or did he?  Was this the original Loki, cheating death yet again?  Was this another Loki from the same universe, the same timeline, transported here?  Maybe.  Or was this a Loki from somewhere else entirely; the same individual from a different universe?  It was possible.  One never really knew with the God of Lies.  

Loki wasn’t truly evil.  He had a habit for causing mass death and destruction, but those killed were mortals, were they not?  A few years taken off their miserably short lives wouldn't really affect anything.  He liked power, enjoyed it, would use force to get it, but, at heart, he wasn’t malevolent.  

But now, out there, seen in the spaces between time and space, there were new things.  Things that truly were malevolent.  Evil.  Things that would enslave all sentients, destroy all life, rend reality asunder.  

He was no hero.  But things like this...they needed to be stopped.  So, unfortunately, he would probably end up fighting on the side of heroes.  However, that didn’t mean he still couldn’t find time for mischief...  

Mass Effect Galaxy

Cronos Station, Headquarters of Cerberus

The room was bare, with only an ergonomic chair standing alone in the center.  A huge window, sleek and curved, with no obstructions, gave view to a massive fiery star.  Tendrils of fire, both red and yellow, spun into space, guaranteed to take any viewer’s breath away.  The floor was black and polished, reflecting the star’s burning light.  Sitting in the chair in the center of the room, surrounded by orange and blue holograms, was a single human.

He was wearing an extremely expensive, well-tailored suit, the edges perfectly cut to fit his frame.  His brown hair was neatly styled, and his eyes glowed blue, replaced long ago with prosthetics.  He stood, glass of incredibly expensive liquor in hand, the glowing tip of a cigarette sticking from the edge of his mouth, staring at the holograms.  Somehow, he contrived to make the vices look incredibly elegant and classy, like a movie star of old.  

He was the Illusive Man.  One of the, if not the most powerful individuals in the galaxy. Creator of the pro-human terrorist organization Cerberus.  He saw his duty plainly: humanity must become the most prominent race throughout the stars.  He was not xenophobic.  Far from it.  He simply wanted his species to succeed, and if lesser individuals saw that as racist, saw him as a terrorist, then so be it.  He cared nothing for the opinions of the weak.  Those who were not willing to act were not worthy of inheriting the stars.  But now...complications.  

Eight new galaxies.  He knew a great many things about them; far more than most.  There were new threats.  New problems.  New factions and people of incredible power.  But most importantly, humanity existed in all eight.  His species.  

Whether through the iron might of the Imperium of Man, or the peace and technological progress of the United Federation of Planets, humanity was in a prominent place in all of them.  He would see them remain that rightful place.  But now there were threats.  Too many to handle alone.  He would need help, and he would need it as quickly as possible if he were to succeed.  

The holograms scrolled past, showing names.  Faces.  Dossiers.  Heroes.  Villains.  Species.  

The Illusive Man sat in his chair, cigarette dangling from his mouth as if forgotten.  He was thinking.  Planning.  He needed more help, needed more people, needed more knowledge.  Knowledge was power.  Power was required to raise mankind to the top.  Simple, but not easy.  He thought some more.  

Unknown Location

The faint light, cast by the glow of a nearby star, emanated from large floor to ceiling windows.  The star was old, cold, but still let out a pure white light, enough to illuminate the room through the heavy, cathedral-like windows.  It contrasted with the empty blackness of space, the only light beyond the star being faint pinpricks, barely enough to cast a second glance at.  The room itself was dark.  Nothing could be seen of it.  Not its size, not its purpose, or any items within.  The light only illuminated two figures standing side by side, staring out into the blackness of space.  

The one on the right was the shorter of the two.  It looked to be human, with two arms, two legs, and a head sticking out from a normal human frame.  However, one couldn’t really tell what it was, for its face was hidden by an armored black mask and helmet.  Two rectangular eye slits, glowing a dim red in the light of the star, looked out through the window.  It wore black armor and gloves, stylized so as to allow the greatest range of motion possible.   A heavy black coat, reinforced by some form of anti-ballistic material, reached down to the figure’s ankles.  Holstered at its side was a large pistol, a human-made automatic of heavy calibre.  

The figure on the left was massive.  While the one in black was slightly taller than six feet, it towered a full eight feet tall.  Its form was large and bulky, with joints of massive power armor poking through a plain white robe that hid the majority of its figure.  A white hood covered its head, and while one might think this figure was some strange alien, the bottom of the face that could be seen through the hood and shadows was unmistakably human.  It had a broad and chiseled face that fit the rest of its massive form, hinting that the bulkiness of its figure came not from the armor, but from the body beneath it.  Two pistols were holstered at its side, both oversized to fit in the figure’s large armored gauntlets.  One was blocky and black, and while heavily ornamented, seemed to be of the type that fired something akin to bullets.  The other glowed a soft blue, coils replacing what would have been the slide on an automatic pistol.  

An utterly massive sword was strapped to the figure’s back, and while beautifully adorned and seemingly crafted by a master, it was too large even for the tall man to wield it.  Instead, it was kept in its place, resting on his back.  

The taller man spoke.  “You know what must be done, yes?”  His voice was a deep baritone, rumbling with massive power and reverberating through the darkness.  

“Yes.”  The shorter figure’s voice was scarred and metallic, spoken through some sort of modulator in the mask it wore.  

“Then we must move quickly.”  The man on the left turned and stared down at the black-clad figure on the right.  “There are those who would seek to stop this.”

“It is logical.  I see no other way to make things right for everyone.”

“Good.  Then it is necessary to do what must be done,” said the deep voice.  

“The fate of the universe hangs on the shoulders of a few.  But they have done it before.  Proven their worth,” replied the black figure.  

“This time there are forces outside of their control.  Things they are not powerful enough to fight.  This is why we must help them.”  The red lenses tilted up towards the tall man’s face.

“Indeed.  We have a mission, and for the good of all we must not fail.”

Hope you liked the story.  I know that both Loki and the Illusive Man are kind of bad guys, and the the Illusive Man goes heavy off the deep end in ME 3, but that hasn’t happened yet, and I need all of these characters on the same side.  Now, the message.  If you have any ideas for stories you want me to write or any characters that fit in with the Shadowed Lords you want to include, please tell me and I will consider writing them if the fit in.  If you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, or questions, don’t hesitate to ask!  I hope you enjoyed the story, and I hope that you have a great day.  Or night.  Or whatever.  

Edit: Also, Revenant is a sociopathic murderer, so he isn’t exactly a good guy either.  

[carewyncromwell]

Welcome back to the POTC AU! Sorry for the day-long delay -- I was out and away from my computer almost all of yesterday, so I wasn’t able to finish this up until today! XD; But yeah, moving on to the notes...

The information about the Chest and its locking mechanisms, honestly, was all stuff I had to kind of surmise and research, since to my utter shock, there were just about no sources I could find online discussing the process of designing the original Dead Man’s Chest for the Pirates films. There is concept art for it, showing some possible decorative designs for the outside, and there are prop replicas showing the different angles and the inside of the lid -- but there is NO discussion made about the Chest’s construction/locking mechanism or what kind of 18th century or earlier chests may have inspired it. And that kind of blows me away as -- for all of the films’ flaws -- I have to applaud them on taking a lot of historical influences for things, especially in the costume and prop design. I apologize in advance if any of my research on 18th century locks and lock-picking is flawed or incomplete, but I did try my best. XD;

The song “Fifteen Men on a Dead Man’s Chest” was originally featured in the book Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, which was written in the late 1800′s, over a hundred years after the end of the Golden Age of Piracy, but it has since become entwined with the idea of pirates in pop culture, to the extent that it’s also referenced in Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, where it’s sung by Joshamee Gibbs and of course it inspired the core concept that the movie is named after. The original song was likely about Blackbeard or a similar pirate marooning a bunch of his crewmates, but I changed the meaning slightly to better fit with this narrative.

This version of Davy Jones, who is in truth an AU!Finn McGarry, belongs to @theguythatdraws Ican’twaittotrydrawinghimsoon, while Juliette “Jules” Farrier-Weasley belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier...and the previous part of this AU is here, while the entire tag is here! Hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Cutler Beckett did turn out to be just as unpleasant as Skye and Orion had suggested. Pretty quickly Carewyn could suss out that this so-called “businessman” had no loyalty to or caring for anyone or anything besides himself and his vested interests, namely his own wealth and status.

Unfortunately Percy was not as quick to catch onto that, presumably because of Beckett’s stated interest in supposedly bringing all pirates to justice and (Carewyn suspected) the fact that Beckett had spoken on Percy’s behalf before he was named a Captain himself. Part of Carewyn wanted to chastise Percy for letting himself be blinded by Beckett’s attempt to manipulate him, but she knew she couldn’t risk doing so. Not only would it make Percy and therefore Beckett suspicious that she was more sympathetic to their enemies (namely, Orion, Bill, and other pirates), but she also didn’t want to come down too hard on Percy. She knew that Percy, being the youngest Weasley brother in the Navy, had a lot to prove, especially considering that his “older brother” (namely, Carewyn) was a well-respected Commodore and war hero. Even his real older brothers had gotten their fair share of glory while they were enlisted in the Navy and now were seen as wanted criminals...so it was little wonder that Percy was determined to stand apart from them, not just as great in his own right, but ultimately better because he didn’t “fall from grace” like they did.

Cutler Beckett stayed at Governor Farrier’s mansion for the next week and visited the fort just about every day in that time. Whenever he was there, he pretty frequently sought Carewyn out, engaging her in conversation and asking her about her experiences fighting the Spanish and in escaping from the crew of the Revenge. Carewyn didn’t enjoy his rather pointed attention, but she hid her discomfort and mistrust as best as she was able. As much as she really found herself disliking the man, she knew that Beckett trying to get to know her better could give her the opportunity to get some information on him too. And ultimately, her polite, charming affect did help her learn a few things.

“From there, it was simply a matter of applying the proper pressure to the cylinder with one of the hat pins, while pushing the pins into the proper alignment with the other,” Carewyn explained. “Once the padlock on my chains was properly unlocked, I was then able to adjust enough to still look like I was locked up, wait for one of the enemy soldiers to enter my cell, and then overpower him so I could take his uniform, weapons, and keys and escape.”

“You truly are quite an escape artist, Commodore,” said Beckett, his eyebrows raising approvingly. “I’m impressed.”

Carewyn offered a casual smile. “Thank you -- but I only learned those things out of necessity, Lord Beckett.”

‘Jacob and I knew we’d both have to know how to pick locks, if we ever had to escape the Revenge’s brig. And even before that, it helped keep Grandfather happy, for us to be able to open chests of loot we didn’t have keys for.’

“It’s not a skill set I like to use if I can help it, considering I’d much prefer to be the one locking others up, not vice-versa.”

“Yes,” said Beckett, “I suppose for one with such a strong moral compass as yours, it would be only natural for you to wish to enforce justice, rather than fight against it.”

“Just as I’d say it’s only natural for a gentleman such as yourself to work toward the protection of our realm and interests -- am I right?”

“Of course,” said Beckett airily. “Someone has to make sure that people get what they pay for and that business remains profitable -- make sure the world turns properly, as it were.”

“A difficult proposition for any one man to do,” said Carewyn lowly, “considering this wild, untamed world we live in.”

Beckett smiled -- unlike Carewyn’s, however, there was no warmth in it at all.

“Fortunately, Commodore, the world we’ve been saddled with will soon be a thing of the past.”

He and Carewyn looked out over the wall of the fort. Down below, at the western dock, several rows of newly arrived red-garbed militia were disembarking from a Man o’ War and marching into Port Royal.

“As the map is filled in, our hold around this world becomes better defined,” said Beckett. “Its treasures are collected, its value assessed...and with that, a new sense of order begins to take hold.”

Carewyn looked down at the Man o’ War, her eyes narrowing slightly. She hadn’t seen such a strong military presence in Port Royal since the War against the Spanish -- and yet, here they were, being used not against foreign countries, but against individual people -- some of them even British citizens. As much as she knew that there were plenty of pirates that weren’t as goodhearted as Orion, it still seemed bizarre to her to unload all this firepower to destroy and kill, as opposed to capturing.

“And hopefully, peace,” said the Commodore softly.

Beckett glanced at Carewyn with a discerning eye. “Indeed. Peace and order do go hand-in-hand, wouldn’t you say?”

‘Not if the order is being instilled by a tyrant,’ she thought, as Charles Cromwell rippled over her mind.

“Definitely,” she lied instead.

Carewyn glanced at Beckett out the side of her eye, before turning her gaze out to the ocean.

“...I only profess as much knowledge to this matter as one can acquire, fighting against the likes of Orion Amari and being in the captivity of a pirate crew like the Revenge’s,” she said in the hardest, least sympathetic voice she could, “but it seems to me that pirates know their existence is unsustainable. Regardless of how renown they are and how much they can terrify merchant sailors, they’re still only men, facing off against Empires and kings. And as the world is plotted out -- as you yourself pointed out, Lord Beckett -- there will soon be less and less havens where such criminals can hide...”

She then looked at Beckett with a cold look in her eye.

“...From the way things stand...it seems to me that it would be in their best interest to stand down while they still can.”

'It would be, if there was any true justice for those who turned themselves in.’

Beckett’s lips spread into a slightly wider, cold smile as he inclined his head in agreement. “Well said. There could always be clemency, for those who embrace that wisdom -- it’s just good business.”

With this conversation, Carewyn had gotten a proper fix on Beckett, and it made her feel more disconcerted. It only got worse when later that week, both she and Percy were summoned into Carewyn’s own office at the fort for a meeting with Beckett. Some might have been offended at the idea of someone coming in and stealing their office just to demand a meeting with the office’s owner, but Carewyn honestly couldn’t make herself care too much about that. She couldn’t help but think that Beckett being so forceful could only be a bad thing, and when she arrived in her office, Percy right behind her dressed in his shiny new Captain’s uniform and powdered white wig, she immediately got the feeling she was right.

Beckett had already made himself very at home in Carewyn’s office. A crystal decanter filled with red wine and several glasses had been laid out and an entire map complete with tiny soldier pieces plotted in different positions covered nearly all of Carewyn’s desk. There was also an even larger map that had been applied to the back wall, which an employee was currently adding more details onto with his paintbrush. Standing in front of Carewyn’s desk across from Beckett was a middle-aged woman with hair as ginger red as Percy and Carewyn’s -- when the two officers first entered the room, her sharp-lidded dark blue eyes ran over both of them, lingering on Carewyn critically.

“Ah,” said Cutler Beckett, his lips spreading into a smile as his eyes narrowed upon Carewyn, “Commodore and Captain Weasley. Good of you to come.”

Carewyn and Percy both saluted.

“Lord Beckett,” Carewyn greeted formally.

She glanced at the older woman out the side of her eye, to find that she was likewise still looking her over with narrowed eyes. Carewyn couldn’t help but look at her suspiciously in return -- Percy had said Beckett had a female associate...and, if Charles Cromwell was to believed, then this woman had to be  --

“Allow me to introduce my associate, Patricia Rakepick,” said Beckett smoothly. “Madam Rakepick -- this is Captain Percy Weasley, and his elder brother, Commodore Carey Weasley.”

Carewyn’s blood ran cold. Being face-to-face with the woman who tried to kill Jacob was like a dose of cold, shuddering poison to her system. It took everything in her to not look at Rakepick with wrathful, vengeful hatred -- instead, she tried to hide the bile she felt by bowing respectfully, her head slightly bowed to obscure her expression.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madam,” she said softly. Somehow her voice came out levelly, despite the rage pulsing through her blood.

Rakepick’s eyes narrowed a bit more on Carewyn’s face.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Commodore,” she said, but she didn’t sound quite so convincing -- she almost immediately turned back to Beckett, looking noticeably impatient, “Lord Beckett, you can’t think that these -- ”

Beckett held up a hand to silence her and turned to the employee working on the map. “One moment -- Mr. Elliot, you may stop there, for today. On your way, now.”

The employee bowed his head respectfully, before descending from his ladder and quickly leaving the office. The door shut with a SNAP behind him.

“Now then,” said Beckett, as he rose to his feet, “Commodore...Captain...I invited you here to request a favor of you. Madam Rakepick has recently uncovered a rather unique and valuable artifact.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. Even Percy looked startled.

“What artifact is that, your Lordship?” he asked.

Beckett poured some red wine and offered a glass to Carewyn. She accepted it to be polite, but did not drink it. He then similarly offered a glass to Percy, who took a sip, even if he still looked a bit confused.

“How familiar are you both with the legend of Davy Jones?” asked Beckett.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The captain of the Flying Dutchman?”

“Well, I’ve...heard the stories, of course,” said Percy, glancing at Carewyn uncertainly. “We both have -- the silly things the soldiers would pass around, at sea...ghost stories, you know...”

Rakepick scoffed, crossing her arms. “‘Ghost stories’ -- and these two are supposed to be sailors? Any sailor worth their salt knows that these things are hardly just stories -- ”

“Madam, please,” Beckett cut her off very coolly, as Percy frowned deeply, clearly offended. “I’m afraid the stories are indeed real. We now have the Chest to prove it.”

He reached under his desk and placed an intricately carved iron treasure chest on top of Carewyn’s desk.

It looked older than anything Carewyn had ever seen, and yet also oddly beautiful -- the inset lock framed by the moon’s phases and stylized flames, and iron tentacles clutched at the lid as if keeping it shut.

Carewyn immediately put down her full wine glass on a side table so as to walk up to the chest, trailing a hand along the heart-shaped lock.

“This is the Dead Man’s Chest?” she whispered.

Percy glanced at Carewyn. “The Dead Man’s Chest? Like in the song?”

Carewyn shook her head. “‘Fifteen Men on a Dead Man’s Chest’ was about this Chest, Perce. It’s said that Jones was so determined that no one know where he buried this treasure chest that he abandoned the entire crew who knew of its existence on that island with nothing but a bottle of rum to sustain them.”

“Leaving them to take the secret of its location to their graves,” said Beckett. He was idly playing with a silver piece of eight in his right hand as he spoke, his eyes resting on Carewyn. “Alas, it seems that the key needed to open the Chest may be in a location we cannot reach -- ”

He shot a cool look at Rakepick, who looked very affronted and opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t before Beckett spoke again.

“ -- so I’d like to ask for your expertise on the matter, Commodore. Can this Chest be opened, without its key?”

Carewyn looked from Beckett to down at the Chest, unable to hide the trepidation completely from her face.

“...I can’t say for sure,” she said slowly. Her mind was working very fast as she regarded Beckett with a cautious look. “Were it an ordinary chest, I daresay it’d be easy enough to find a way to open it...but if there were any kind of curse placed on it or, more importantly, the treasure inside it...it might not be wise to try to break it open.”

“Curse?” repeated Percy disbelievingly. “Carey, you can’t be serious -- ”

“I saw the curse of Isle de Muerta with my own eyes, Percy,” she reminded him sharply. “If the Dead Man’s Chest has such a curse on it, it would not be worth the risk to open it, no matter how valuable its treasure is.”

Percy immediately quieted, looking a bit uncomfortable. Rakepick once again looked Carewyn over with a critical eye, even as she gave another light sniff.

“The treasure inside is not magical, so it would have no chance of hurting us, that is for certain,” said Rakepick dryly. “And from all the evidence I’ve gathered, I found nothing hinting that Finn McGarry -- pardon, Davy Jones -- was particularly adept at curses. All of the abilities he has now were a result of the role bestowed upon him by Calypso, as ferryman of the damned.”

Her face then turned much more serious.

“I will agree with the Commodore on one thing, though: Jones’s Chest will be too strong for the likes of a single man to break open. Look at the lid -- there are dead bolt locks around the entire Chest. The only way we’ll be able to unlock it is if I fetch the key from Jones myself -- ”

“And yet the Commodore thinks it’d be easy enough, to find a way to open the Chest without that key,” said Beckett rather coolly, raising his eyebrows as he once again shifted his gaze to Carewyn. “Commodore -- if you would?”

Carewyn looked from the Dead Man’s Chest to Beckett again, before glancing back at Percy. Percy gave her an encouraging nod, but it didn’t make Carewyn feel any better. She wished beyond reason that Charlie or Bill had been there instead -- they’d understand why she was so hesitant to help someone like Cutler Beckett.

But at the same time...she couldn’t refuse. She was put in the position that she had to open the Chest, if she wanted to stay on Beckett’s good side and keep the position that allowed her to protect Bill, Jules, Charlie, Jacob, and Orion. Even if she did refuse to open the Chest, then Beckett would no doubt find someone else who would...and would also likely not trust Carewyn enough to let her overhear any more information that could help her protect the others.

'If the treasure inside isn’t cursed, then there isn’t much reason to refuse,’ she thought grimly. ‘And lining Beckett’s pockets with a bit more gold would only help me help the others that bit more, by earning his trust.’

And so, swallowing back the ball of fear in her throat, Carewyn started looking over the Chest. She turned it around a few times, examining the hinges and the dead-bolts lining the base of the lid.

“What do you think, Carey?” asked Percy anxiously.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed upon the Chest as she ran a hand over the top and pushed down on each of the iron tentacles one at a time.

“Its construction most resembles an armada chest -- some of the Spanish captains used them to hold their valuables during the War, and I’ve seen some pirates use them too, to hold their loot,” she murmured to him, though she could feel Rakepick hovering over her other shoulder as she worked. “On armada chests, the locking mechanism is actually built into the inside of the lid -- that explains the dead bolts around the edges. It also would prevent you from just unscrewing the hinges on the back of the chest and opening it from the back, like you can on a lot of wooden chests. But armada chests usually have a false keyhole on the front, with the real keyhole being hidden under a flap on the lid. This one does not. Judging by the construction of the keyhole, there looks to be a double cylinder design -- one that requires pressure on both sides of the keyhole, as well as the pins inside both cylinders to be in the proper position...”

She looked up at Beckett.

“...It’s easily the most complicated locking system I’ve ever seen on any chest,” she said grimly.

“Can you open it?” asked Beckett.

Carewyn steadied her jaw, her face blanching slightly as she inclined her head in a short nod.

“I think so.”

Beckett got Carewyn the tools she needed. Due to the two-sided nature of the keyhole, she enlisted Percy to help her -- he had far less experience with opening locks, but he followed Carewyn’s directions as closely as he could.

After almost an hour, there was a loud, booming CLICK as all twelve of the dead bolts around the lid popped out and the lid opened a crack, letting off a small gasp of dust.

“You did it!” said Rakepick.

Despite the seriousness of her expression, there was a slight echo of excitement and awe at the back of her voice. She was clearly impressed.

Carewyn stared at the slightly open Chest. Her heart was slamming up against her rib cage anxiously.

Nothing had happened, when she’d opened it -- so had the Chest not been cursed, after all? That was a relief. And Rakepick had said the treasure inside wasn’t cursed, so...

Tentatively Carewyn reached out a hand and slowly eased the lid open.

When she saw what was inside, though, she couldn’t hold back a sharp intake of breath.

The Dead Man’s Chest was devoid of any of the gold or jewels she’d envisioned. Instead, all it held was a slimy, reddish, pulsing, thumping thing about the side of a coconut.

It was a human heart, still beating lowly despite no blood rushing through it.

Percy squeezed Carewyn’s shoulder as he looked down at it too, visibly taken aback.

“Is...that...?”

“The heart of Davy Jones,” finished Rakepick darkly, “first cut out when he was named captain of the Flying Dutchman -- for the Dutchman must always have a captain who’s left his heart behind in the world of the living. Only then can he truly be a subjective judge of the dead and dying at sea...and thus the souls of the damned will not haunt the seas and terrorize all those who sail it.”

Carewyn’s eyes were very wide. ‘Then...the treasure Jones locked away was his own heart?’

Rakepick’s dark blue eyes flickered down to the heart rather pitilessly.

“Not that Jones hasn’t done a fine job of terrorizing those who sail those seas all on his own, over the years,” she added very dryly.

“All the more reason for us to bring Jones into our enterprise.”

Beckett rose from his desk again. Taking a sip from his own glass of red wine, he came around to purposefully take a step between Percy and Carewyn and look down at the heart himself. His lips curled up in a dark smile as he reached out a hand and picked up the heart to get a better look at it.

“Whoever controls the heart of Davy Jones...controls the sea,” said Beckett.

He gave it a rather tight squeeze. Carewyn couldn’t stop herself from flinching.

‘If that thing is still beating,’ she couldn’t help but think, ‘then does that mean that it’s the only thing keeping Davy Jones alive? If so...’

She felt like her own chest was being squeezed.

‘...Beckett’s holding Davy Jones’s life in the palm of his hand.’

For all of the terrifying stories Carewyn had heard about Davy Jones over the years, both on the Revenge and in the Navy, she found herself feeling nothing but righteous anger and pain at this thought. What a disgusting, terrible thing to do to anyone -- no matter how awful a person they were...

There was a loud splash outside the window of Carewyn’s office.

Carewyn, Percy, Rakepick, and Beckett all looked up, to see a giant, terrifying ship erupting out of the waves just outside the fort. It was a sickly gray with torn sails and a bow cut into a set of massive, jagged jaws like a crocodile.

“The Flying Dutchman,” breathed Carewyn, hardly daring to believe it.

Beckett’s smile broadened, actually showing some teeth. “A rather fine addition to the fleet -- especially considering that it can go just about anywhere and travel in record time...”

Rakepick turned to Beckett sharply.

“If that’s the case, the first thing we should do is have him hunt down Black Jack Roberts. I know he made a deal with Jones -- he’ll have a way to track him down and kill him once and for all -- ”

Carewyn’s heart spasmed in horror, but fortunately no one else in the room noticed the fear flashing through her face.

“Didn’t you say you already destroyed the Tower Raven?” said Beckett coolly. “One can hardly see a pirate with no ship as a real threat.”

“Don’t underestimate Black Jack Roberts,” said Rakepick lowly. “By all accounts, he should’ve died, and he would have, if he hadn’t somehow managed to recruit a merman to his crew -- ”

Percy sputtered in disbelief. “‘Merman’ -- you mean, like mermaids? Those are real too?”

“Afraid so,” said Carewyn.

Her mind and heart were both racing, but she tried desperately to keep her cool. She couldn’t let them go after Jacob...or Duncan, either, if he was the merman who’d helped him like she suspected. Now that she knew the true power Beckett now had, thanks to her opening that Chest for him, she couldn’t stand by and let him use it to hurt her brother --

“...I can’t say I know much about Black Jack Roberts, aside from him being captain of the Tower Raven...” she said slowly, “...but it seems to me that attacking one man would be a poor way to use the weapon we’ve acquired.”

All three of the others looked at her. Beckett raised his eyebrows in keen interest.

“And what would you say would be a better way to use it, Commodore?” he asked, sounding intrigued.

Carewyn’s eyes drifted away from the others as she walked up to the window of her office and looked out, her arms crossed behind her back as she went. She tried to keep her face as stoic as possible, even with how scared she truly felt.

‘In order to pass up the chance to hunt down and kill one of the most wanted pirates in the world,’ she thought, ‘I have to offer an even more enticing option...’

The idea forming in her mind made her feel ill.

‘It’s been over two weeks since I saw Jules, Bill, and Charlie,’ she thought very quickly. ‘That’s more than enough time to have made the repairs to the Revolution and get some new crew members, especially if Orion and the crew of the Artemis is helping them. And...whether they’re just leaving or have already left...this way, they’ll know the true extent of the danger. All pirates will know what the Navy’s new weapon is...and can prepare for it.’

She closed her eyes solemnly.

“...I say we send a message to all pirates -- one that makes them tremble in their boots, the way they’ve made merchant sailors tremble at the sight of their black flags...by attacking them where they’ve always felt most safe. By arresting them somewhere they all gather together, in one place.”

She opened her eyes again, her gaze blazing as she turned back to Beckett.

“I say...we sack Tortuga.”

[papermoonloveslucy]

THE WILLS

March 19, 1950

“The Wills” (aka “The Coopers Make Their Wills”) is episode #80 of the radio series MY FAVORITE HUSBAND broadcast on March 19, 1950.

Synopsis ~  After Liz and George make out their wills, Liz is convinced that George intends to do away with her. Liz is startled to find a receipt for some arsenic and rope in his pocket, but is shocked when George suggests a trip to the country - with a one-way ticket for Liz!

Starting with this episode, “My Favorite Husband” moved from Thursday nights, to Sunday nights. 

Note: This program was used as a basis for a scene in “I Love Lucy” episode “Lucy Thinks Ricky Is Trying to Murder Her” (ILL S1;E4) filmed on September 8, 1951 and first aired November 5, 1951. For various reasons, it was the first episode of the series filmed, but the fourth aired. 

“My Favorite Husband” was based on the novels Mr. and Mrs. Cugat, the Record of a Happy Marriage (1940) and Outside Eden (1945) by Isabel Scott Rorick, which had previously been adapted into the film Are Husbands Necessary? (1942). “My Favorite Husband” was first broadcast as a one-time special on July 5, 1948. Lucille Ball and Lee Bowman played the characters of Liz and George Cugat, and a positive response to this broadcast convinced CBS to launch “My Favorite Husband” as a series. Bowman was not available Richard Denning was cast as George. On January 7, 1949, confusion with bandleader Xavier Cugat prompted a name change to Cooper. On this same episode Jell-O became its sponsor. A total of 124 episodes of the program aired from July 23, 1948 through March 31, 1951. After about ten episodes had been written, writers Fox and Davenport departed and three new writers took over – Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Pugh, and head writer/producer Jess Oppenheimer. In March 1949 Gale Gordon took over the existing role of George’s boss, Rudolph Atterbury, and Bea Benadaret was added as his wife, Iris. CBS brought “My Favorite Husband” to television in 1953, starring Joan Caulfield and Barry Nelson as Liz and George Cooper. The television version ran two-and-a-half seasons, from September 1953 through December 1955, running concurrently with “I Love Lucy.” It was produced live at CBS Television City for most of its run, until switching to film for a truncated third season filmed (ironically) at Desilu and recasting Liz Cooper with Vanessa Brown.

MAIN CAST

Lucille Ball (Liz Cooper) was born on August 6, 1911 in Jamestown, New York. She began her screen career in 1933 and was known in Hollywood as ‘Queen of the B’s’ due to her many appearances in ‘B’ movies. With Richard Denning, she starred in a radio program titled “My Favorite Husband” which eventually led to the creation of “I Love Lucy,” a television situation comedy in which she co-starred with her real-life husband, Latin bandleader Desi Arnaz. The program was phenomenally successful, allowing the couple to purchase what was once RKO Studios, re-naming it Desilu. When the show ended in 1960 (in an hour-long format known as “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour”) so did Lucy and Desi’s marriage. In 1962, hoping to keep Desilu financially solvent, Lucy returned to the sitcom format with “The Lucy Show,” which lasted six seasons. She followed that with a similar sitcom “Here’s Lucy” co-starring with her real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr., as well as Gale Gordon, who had joined the cast of “The Lucy Show” during season two. Before her death in 1989, Lucy made one more attempt at a sitcom with “Life With Lucy,” also with Gordon.

Richard Denning (George Cooper) was born Louis Albert Heindrich Denninger Jr., in Poughkeepsie, New York. When he was 18 months old, his family moved to Los Angeles. Plans called for him to take over his father’s garment manufacturing business, but he developed an interest in acting. Denning enlisted in the US Navy during World War II. He is best known for his  roles in various science fiction and horror films of the 1950s. Although he teamed with Lucille Ball on radio in “My Favorite Husband,” the two never acted together on screen. While “I Love Lucy” was on the air, he was seen on another CBS TV series, “Mr. & Mrs. North.” From 1968 to 1980 he played the Governor on “Hawaii 5-0″, his final role. He died in 1998 at age 84.

Gale Gordon (Rudolph Atterbury) had worked with Lucille Ball on “The Wonder Show” on radio in 1938. One of the front-runners to play Fred Mertz on “I Love Lucy,” he eventually played Alvin Littlefield, owner of the Tropicana, during two episodes in 1952. After playing a Judge in an episode of “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” in 1958, he would re-team with Lucy for all of her subsequent series’: as Theodore J. Mooney in ”The Lucy Show”; as Harrison Otis Carter in “Here’s Lucy”; and as Curtis McGibbon on “Life with Lucy.” Gordon died in 1995 at the age of 89.

Bea Benadaret (Iris Atterbury) does not appear in this episode. 

Ruth Perrott (Katie, the Maid) was also later seen on “I Love Lucy.” She first played Mrs. Pomerantz (above right), a member of the surprise investigating committee for the Society Matrons League in “Pioneer Women” (ILL S1;E25), as one of the member of the Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League in “Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress” (ILL S3;E3), and also played a nurse when “Lucy Goes to the Hospital” (ILL S2;E16). She died in 1996 at the age of 96.

Bob LeMond (Announcer) also served as the announcer for the pilot episode of “I Love Lucy”. When the long-lost pilot was finally discovered in 1990, a few moments of the opening narration were damaged and lost, so LeMond – fifty years later – recreated the narration for the CBS special and subsequent DVD release.

GUEST CAST

Herb Vigran (Doctor Stephens) made several appearances on “My Favorite Husband.” He would later play Jule, Ricky’s music union agent on two episodes of “I Love Lucy”. He would go on to play Joe (and Mrs. Trumbull’s nephew), the washing machine repairman in “Never Do Business With Friends” (S2;E31) and Al Sparks, the publicity man who hires Lucy and Ethel to play Martians on top of the Empire State Building in “Lucy is Envious” (S3;E23). Of his 350 screen roles, he also made six appearances on “The Lucy Show.”

EPISODE

ANNOUNCER: “As we look in on the Coopers tonight, it's just after dinner, and we find Liz and George settling down to a normal evening's conversation.”  

George has something he needs to talk to Liz about. Liz immediately thinks it is something to do with her household budget, but George wants to talk about their wills. The subject immediately upsets Liz. The idea of living without George sends Liz into gales of tears. George wants her to read it, and threatens to leave everything to his mother if she doesn’t. Liz snatches the will from him. George then tells her that he has had her will drawn up as well. 

LIZ: “What for? You're the one who's going! What are you trying to do, push me ahead of you in line?”

George reminds her of the three acres of Florida beachfront property that her father left her, which she calls ‘Sunken Acres.’  George always assumed it was oil land. 

LIZ: “If there's any oil down there, it's still in a whale. Oh! I see it all now, George! You want me to sign a will leaving everything to you, and then you'll bump me off! You want to get your dirty fishhooks on my oil holdings!

Liz agrees to read and sign the will as the scene fades out.  At the bank the next day, Mr. Atterbury notices that George seems tired. George admits he was up late talking to Liz about their wills. Mr. Atterbury proposes that the Coopers join him and Iris at their mountain lodge for the weekend, flying up, and then leaving the girls there for the week while they fly back for work. The following weekend they will drive up to get them in Mr. Atterbury’s new car. 

Mr. Atterbury has already bought the airline tickets and asks George to go to the hardware store for a few items. 

MR. ATTERBERRY: “I need poison for those horrible little gophers up there. And some rope for a clothesline, and a couple of sacks of cement. Iris wants a patio so she can sunbathe. Come to think of it, that ought to keep the gophers away.” GEORGE:  “Let me make a list on the back of this envelope. Now, poison, ropes, cement...” MR. ATTERBERRY: “Oh, and I need an axe, too.”

Mr. Atterbury tells George that they should tell their wives that they are just going for a weekend, so that they don’t rush out to buy a week’s worth of new clothes.

At the Cooper home, Katie the Maid is preparing dinner. George comes home and tells Liz the good news that they’ll be going to the Atterbury’s lodge this weekend, and he’s got the airline tickets in his pocket. As George goes upstairs to prepare for dinner, Katie reminds Liz that she has a beauty shop appointment on Saturday. Liz wonders what time the plane leaves, and fishes in George’s jacket pocket to check the tickets. She notices that one tickets is round trip, and the other is one way!   Liz immediately assumes one of them isn’t coming back, and reminds Katie that George asked her to sign her will!  She notices some writing on the envelope that looks like a shopping list.

LIZ: “Poison! He's going to take me out in the woods and poison me! Look, at the next item - rope. If the poison doesn't work, he's gonna hang me! Cement. If I live through the poison and the rope, he's gonna put my feet in cement and dump me in the lake! Look what's next - axe! If I able to hold my breath, he's gonna swim in the water and chop me to pieces!” KATIE: “Oh, how can Mr. Cooper do such a thing?” LIZ: “With that list of weapons, how can he miss?“

Liz realizes why George might want to do away with her - they’ve finally struck oil on Sunken Acres!

End of Part One

Announcer Bob LeMond reads a live Jell-O commercial. 

ANNOUNCCER: “As we return to the Coopers, we find Liz in a state of nervous apprehension. After years of having George under her thumb, she's suddenly discovered that he's bout to put the finger on her. Or at least she thinks he is. But right now it's after dinner, and Liz, the intended victim, is in the living room, reading. While George, the killer, is slowly stalking up behind her.”

George kisses Liz on the back of the neck. She screams!  Liz nervously says that she’d rather not go to the Atterbury’s lodge this weekend. 

GEORGE: “What? Why, Liz, you love the lodge. You always say that's your idea of living.”  LIZ: “Well, I want to keep it that way.”

George says that he has a big surprise for her up there. Liz suggests he take his mother and give HER the big surprise!

GEORGE: “Now, don't be silly! You just wait: When you wake up Monday morning, you'll be very pleasantly surprised.”  LIZ: “If I wake up Monday morning, I'll be surprised.”

Liz wonders if George is having money problems. She asks him why he made her sign her will last night. George says that if it bothers her so much, he’ll tear it up - as soon as they get back from the lodge. 

Liz runs to her bedroom and locks the door! George telephones Dr. Stephens (Herb Vigran) to report that Liz is acting peculiar. 

DOCTOR: “Peculiar for Liz, or peculiar for normal people?”

RICKY RICARDO: “Lucy is acting crazy!” FRED MERTZ: “Crazy for Lucy or crazy for ordinary people?”

This joke was adapted for Lucy Ricardo in “Lucy Thinks Ricky Is Trying To Do Murder Her” with Fred Mertz taking the Doctor’s line. 

Doctor Stephens cannot make a house call because he’s got an appointment with his psychoanalyst, but he tells George to give Liz a sedative until he can get there. 

Liz comes in for a glass of water. George tells her that he’s had Katie prepare them some hot milk. In the kitchen, Katie tells Liz that she saw Mr. Cooper pour a powder into one of the glasses. Liz says she’ll just switch the glasses so that George drinks the one with the powder in it. 

In the living room she distracts George just long enough to switch the glasses. But when George lifts his glass to drink, Liz dashes it from his hand. She says she couldn’t do it to him, even if he could do it to her. 

LIZ: “You put something in my glass, didn't you, George? Well, I fooled you! I switched glasses!”  GEORGE: “I had a hunch that's why Katie called you, so I switched them again while you were out of the room.”

Liz starts to gag as if she’s been poisoned! Liz falls to the floor, convinced she is going to die, trying to make peace with George in her final moments.

LIZ: “If I had my life to live over again, I want you to know I'd do better. I could stay within the budget, if I tried. (coughs) And I'd never buy clothes I need. (coughs) I'd throw away my charge-a-plate.”

The doorbell rings. It is Mr. Atterbury, come to make the ‘final arrangements.’  Liz tells George that she saw the one way ticket, and the shopping list for poison and the axe.  The men dissolve in laughter.  Mr. Atterbury explains that those were supplies for the lodge.  Liz is angry that she’s been tricked, and refuses to keep the promises she made in her ‘final moments’.

LIZ: "I didn't know what I was saying! I was under the influence of warm milk!”

End of Episode

In the live Jell-O commercial, Lucille Ball plays a Mexican spy, and Bob LeMond is interviewing her for a job. 

In the bedtime tag, it is five in the morning and George is reading a suspenseful magazine story. Liz begs him to turn out the light, but then can’t sleep until he knows the outcome of the story. Liz grabs the magazine and reads the last lines.

LIZ: “The huge, shapeless thing crept slowly up behind Mildred, and before she could scream it slipped its bony hands around her - Oh, no!!!” GEORGE: ��What does it say, Liz? Around her what?” LIZ: “Around her continued next week! Good night!”

ANNOUNCER: “You have been listening to ‘My Favorite Husband’ starring Lucille Ball, with Richard Denning, and based on characters created by Isobel Scott Rorick. Tonight's transcribed program was produced and directed by Jess Oppenheimer, who wrote the script with Madelyn Pugh and Bob Carroll, Jr. Be sure to get the April Issue of ‘Radio Mirror Magazine’ with the big picture of Lucille Ball on the cover. That's the April issue of ‘Radio Mirror Magazine.’ Original music was composed by Marlin Skyles and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Bob LeMond speaking.”

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 28

Read along on AO3 Here

<< Previous Chapter <<     >> Next Chapter >>

This time: Ivant and Thrawn seek out an old ally.

Next time: The enemy lies in wait.

-/

Thrawn looked down at his left hand, clenching it as though he could still feel the phantom of Eli's calloused hand in his from days before. It had been warm, but humans ran warmer than Chiss. That was a biological fact. Chiss were able to sustain far cooler temperatures, though they were capable of handling intense heat as well, their bodies simply more adaptable to extremes.

Beside him in the cockpit of their transport, Ezra hummed, directing his question behind them. “So why, exactly, don’t you want me to come with you guys?” His tone indicated it was nice to speak Basic for a change.

“It’s for your best interest.” The left corner of Eli’s lips lifted in a half-smile, and there was something amused in the gaze he gave Thrawn. “I don’t think my contact would do anything, but,” Deep brown eyes met luminous red.

Thrawn said, “Krennic is dead.”

Eli nodded, and Ezra calmly steered their shuttle into the bay they’d been given by the control tower that overlooked the port. A moment later, Eli mused, “Yes, he knows.”

“And he doesn’t like the Emperor, therefore this should not even be a consideration.”

Ezra looked over his shoulder, seeking clarification. “How many ex-Imps do the Chiss employ, exactly?”

“The question you mean to ask is ‘How many Imps did Thrawn ship off to the Ascendancy,’ and the answer is two.” There was humor in his gaze and his voice as he added, “Be grateful you’re stuck with me."

Thrawn didn’t laugh, but his quiet huff was as good as. For Ezra’s benefit, he said, “I doubt Brierly Ronan would sell him out to the Empire.”

“I told you he still calls me ‘the traitor,’ right?”

Thrawn swiveled the co-pilot’s chair around to face Eli, who stood, leaning casually against the hatch. “Yes,” The Chiss said. “However, as I've said, he doesn’t like the Emperor which should make him an ally.”

“I think I also told you he’s attached to House Chaf?” The look on the human’s face was flat as he argued back. “As in, he's the very publicly recognized liaison to Formbi, who even more publicly despises your brother?”

“Surely Syndic Chaf’orm’bintrano would not appreciate such an indelicate statement, Captain,” Thrawn all but crooned. “Besides, my service to our military negates any benefits I would receive from my house.”

“Right,” Eli agreed, both sarcastic and reluctant, all at once. He was all too aware of a multitude of situations - not just Thrawn’s own - that might suggest otherwise. “Regardless, Ezra is staying in the ship for his safety, on the off chance, well,” He broke off, admitting, “I don’t think Ronan’s about to try and contact anyone, but consider it a favor to me and keep an eye on the ship, okay?”

Ezra scoffed as he activated the landing gear and methodically toggled the brake and shut down protocols to begin as necessary. Eli might have total control over the Navigators, but Ezra had one final card to play: Ezra was no Navigator, and he answered to Thrawn. He tried not to think about the vast number of close friends who would be very concerned for his mental state at the thought as he said, “No offense, but you’re not my boss.”

“Fine,” Eli said, turning away from them to toggle the door hatch. He didn’t lose that casual-confidence Thrawn now associated with him, even with their mission starting. “I’ll go alone.” He stepped out.

“You will not.” Thrawn looked at Ezra, who sulked with a shift of his lips. “Bridger will stay on the ship,” He called louder, addressing his fellow captain’s retreating back.

“If I didn’t know better,” Ezra murmured slyly, leaning back to cross his legs and prop them up on the dash, much to Thrawn’s displeasure, “I’d think Captain Ivant is just trying to get you alone.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“You are insufferable,” The Chiss hissed in reply. It seemed the prospect of being behind bothered him more than he realized.

“But I might be right.” Ezra sang in a buzzing hum.

“We are professionals, on a mission from our Admiral,” Thrawn insisted. “That is not what this is.”

“Riiiiight,” Ezra drawled, “And I’m a Sith Lord.” He met Thrawn’s glower with a dull expression. “Call it what you want, but you better catch up with him before he leaves you behind for real. I’ll keep the ship company like a good aide.”

Thrawn did lengthen his stride, noticing Eli waiting for him in the open doorway of the building that lay on the outskirts of the docking bay. It was newer in design, the architecture of an age after Thrawn had departed on his mission, though it was at least a decade old. The outside of the building had been smoothed by Csilla’s unforgiving climate.

It had been a long time since they’d naturally fallen into step beside each other on a mission without one or the other forced to stand a step behind and to one side or the other, following social etiquette. Something long forgotten, yet still familiar bloomed in Thrawn’s belly. Even at Royal Imperial, all those years ago, they hadn’t truly been on even ground, though it had been nearly impossible to notice. Now, though, he felt it. He had always wondered if a day like this would come.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Eli steered him to a longer ancillary corridor to the left with nothing but a subtle shift of his stance, only looking up at Thrawn at the last second. He smiled briefly. His eyes were clear and bright, like polished riverstone. When his wrist brushed Thrawn’s forearm as they stepped through the doorway, he didn’t react. Neither did Thrawn. But he didn’t step back, content to let their sleeves brush as they continued on their way.

Had this happened before, in the Empire? Thrawn wondered. He hadn’t been looking, hadn’t considered this a possibility for himself, much less for his then Commander. They’d been what he’d hoped were friends. And regardless of his valiant actions, Thrawn had come to realize that Eli had hoped for the same.

Thrawn wasn’t used to being so hopeful, but he found that he didn’t mind. The concept of discovery was exhilarating.

Eli’s lips thinned and twisted as they approached another door leading to what sounded like a far more busy place. “This is the main drag,” He informed Thrawn as the hydraulics did their job, and a beautiful mezzanine was revealed. “Usually I wouldn’t indulge Ronan by meeting in such a place, but I like the café.”

His fellow captain completely ignored the beautiful, whimsical art, suspended from the ceiling and done in expansive murals on almost every wall. In fact, Eli paid the art little mind until Thrawn had stopped several paces back, inspecting a crystalline sculpture that seemed to accept the rare glow from the sun that peeked through the skylights overhead and warmed to a kaleidoscope of color in the infrared, subtle and intricate in its execution.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen that look,” Eli said into Thrawn's analysis. He licked his lips, wetting them. “I can’t wait to hear you tell me the artist’s entire life story later.”

Thrawn glanced away from the tangle of elements that comprised the complex, suspended piece. “Oh?” He asked, surprised.

“I know who the artist is. We can test how well your art-sense is now that you’re back where you belong.” The words weren’t playful, more inquisitive, curious.

The Chiss turned back from the artwork and let Eli guide him. “You know the artist?”

“Oh, I do,” He said. “And I’m not telling you the story until you give me your analysis.”

“She came onto you,” Thrawn speculated immediately. His eyes flickered between the piece and Vanto, narrowing as he appraised the human.

“She?” Eli questioned. His eyebrows accentuated the question.

“He?”He frowned. “No. The artist identifies as female. You can tell-”

Eli’s head tipped back and he laughed, honest and unbidden, interrupting Thrawn’s absurdly accurate conclusions. Thrawn’s lips quirked upwards into a tiny, helpless smile.

“Was my speculation correct?” The Chiss couldn't help but ask.

“Hell," Vanto was still laughing. "You don't miss a trick, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. I missed that.” Before Thrawn could think on those words or their meaning, Eli clapped his arm. “C’mon,” He drawled, “I don’t want to listen to Ronan bitch because we’re late.”

-/

The cafe was upscale and incredibly dim by human standards, playing up the Chiss side of superior sight. The mugs, Eli had been told, were a kind that lit up beautifully in the infrared, despite being made of some flimsi-like material so patrons could take their drinks to go. Considering the cautious look Thrawn gave a table’s beverages, that seemed to be about right.

Ronan, as expected, proceeded to scoff at the sight of Thrawn. “I’d heard you weren’t dead,” He said drolly in accented Cheunh as he stood to greet them. He shook Thrawn’s hand delicately when the Chiss said his name in greeting. Then, “Hello, Traitor.”

Rolling his eyes, Eli shook his fellow ex-Imperial’s hand in greeting. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your charm,” He said in Basic. “I think we can save your horrific attempt at that posh accent. I’d like to get through this without you needin’ to repeat yourself all the time.”

“I’ll have you know my accent is that of House Chaf. The population on Sarvchi speaks many different dialects of standard Cheunh. It isn’t my fault your military education didn’t properly culture you,” Ronan said primly, adjusting his yellow cape. Thrawn looked to Eli instead of speaking, and Ronan’s eyes lit up. “I thought he wasn’t on your good side?”

“Things change.” Eli said, foot nudging Thrawn’s before the Chiss realized the snarl threatening to break through his seemingly blank expression.

“Formbi won’t be thrilled,” Ronan snorted. “We do not want any part in your war.”

“Formbi is, as always, welcome to join us. I have yet to hear this sentiment to my face.”

“You know he has far more important things to do,” Ronan said with a self-important adjustment of his bright yellow cape. It drew Thrawn’s attention, and the syndic’s aide noticed that attention immediately. “It’s an upgrade from the drab one I wore during my time in the empire, don’t you think? Savit bit a hole through it during his little temper tantrum.”

Eli buried his face in his hands. Thrawn shrugged, not nearly as affected as Eli had thought. “It is… yellow,” The Chiss captain settled for commenting.

“That’s one word for it,” Eli muttered into his palm, then straightened and got down to business. “Did you get me the files I needed?”

“You could at least say please,” Ronan rebuked his lack of manners.

“I’ve got info, I don’t need to beg,” Vanto said, straightfaced.

“Of course,” Ronan said idly, producing a datacard. “The information you requested for your little project. There’s not much. The Empire was keen to make everyone forget what came before it.”

“Anything is something,” Eli commented mildly, pocketing the tiny chip within a hidden compartment in his tunic and producing another. He didn’t set it on the table between them, but held it between his fingertips, even when Ronan reached for it. He looked to Thrawn, calculatingly, then back to Ronan.

Ronan tapped the table twice, nonchalantly, then picked up his drink from the heavy coaster it rested on. It was a jamming device, the deep blue indicator blinking intermittently to show it was active. His gaze rose back to Eli as he set the drink back down.

Thrawn stroked his chin. “Were you followed?” He asked.

“There is a guard posted nearby. Two of them,” Ronan said. His expression gave away no indication of concern.

“Can you lose them?”

The pale human grinned. “With ease. Formbi is always disappointed when I don’t.”

Eli rolled his eyes, though he didn’t appear entirely irritated. Lower, he intoned, “I could give you this, or we could go to our ship and discuss things in detail.”

Eyes gleaming, Ronan asked, equally soft, “Is that where you’re hiding the Jedi? My sources say he doesn’t stray far from Thrawn.”

Thrawn eyed Ronan coolly, taking Eli’s earlier warning seriously. “Any actions you consider taking against my aide, I suggest you consider carefully.”

“Oh, please,” Ronan waved him off. “I wouldn’t.” He gestured to Eli. “This one’s just paranoid.”

“For good reason,” Eli said, stone-faced. His eyes remained hard, though his eyebrows rose. “What do you want to do?”

Smiling wanly, his aura shifting to become every bit the overworked Syndic’s assistant he was advertised to be, Ronan rose, ripping the datacard from Eli’s fingers with an over-dignified harrumph. Loudly, for effect, he said, “This conversation was incredibly pointless, per usual, with nothing of value for me.” Sliding his gaze between the two captains, ignoring Eli’s hiss of discomfort from the card scraping his fingernails. “You’re welcome for the information, Vanto.” He barely spared Thrawn a glance as he turned, drink and jammer in hand, letting his cape billow over his shoulder like an obnoxious victory flag.

Thrawn waited a few moments, watching as the yellow-clad human took his leave with all the air of pompous importance he remembered, then saw the two Chiss that were very clearly his escort follow at a calculated distance. They were subtle, Thrawn could give them that. “He will find our ship?”

Eli nodded. “Docking info is on the datacard he yanked out of my hand. He should be able to access a terminal somewhere to get what he needs after he dodges the two goons on his tail.”

“This was the plan all along,” Thrawn voiced, after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Why do you think I had Ezra stay with the ship?” Eli’s smile was knowing. He nudged Thrawn with an elbow. “At least this way it should give you enough time to check out the rest of the art on display in the mezzanine before we head back.”

Thrawn nodded, his eyes sharp and eager, though his mouth was held in that typical, serious line. “You should hope that Ezra won’t attack him,” He mused to his fellow captain.

This time, Eli’s grin was alight with amusement as he shrugged, “Well, we’ll find out how well he listened, now won’t we?”

-/

Ronan was sitting at the small table in the shuttle’s living area when Eli and Thrawn made it back.

“I see you two took the scenic route,” He commented. He held up his wrists, which were in binders. Ezra leaned against the wall beside the hatch, at a good angle to see Ronan and also get the drop on any unwanted visitors. The room was entirely empty save for the table and chairs bolted to the floor of the cabin.

“Good work, Bridger. The binders were a nice touch,” Eli said, extending a hand for the tool that would unlock them.

“Thanks for the heads up, by the way,” Ezra commented dryly.

It was Thrawn who skirted around the rest of the humans and took a seat to Ronan’s left. “Plans change, Bridger. You must adapt.”

Ezra waved the multitool nonchalantly but gave it up to Vanto with a sigh. He gestured to Ronan. “He said this was always the plan.”

Rubbing his wrists as the thick cuffs were removed, Ronan motioned to his bag and Ezra retrieved it with an exasperated sigh. The jammer from before was produced, as well as a holorecorder. “You understand I will have to record this for Syndic Chaf’orm’bintrano.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eli said. He exchanged a glance with Thrawn, who did not look so at ease. “You really should have brought him. Recording is dicey, especially considering the subject matter.”

“I will not be galavanting off on a galactic tour. I am going directly to Formbi the second this meeting is adjourned. He is nearby.” Reorienting the conversation, Ronan said, “House Chaf wants nothing to do with militaristic enterprises. That I am even here is only because you promised me samples.”

“I did,” Eli said, pulling a small, well-concealed cylinder with a tiny vial from within his tunic. He laid it out on the table. “That’s enough to kill three Chiss,” He said. “If it’s used on one, cardiac arrest is more or less instant. If you spread it out, you’re just slow, but fatal torture.”

Ezra swore and turned away, disappearing into the cockpit. Ronan’s eyes tracked him Almost silently, he murmured, “And the antidote?”

Eli sighed. At this point, it was what it was. Ezra was bound to find out eventually. He spoke soft, but even, and didn’t plan to mince his words even when the Jedi returned. “That’s where house Chaf comes in. We cannot research it ourselves, and House Chaf has both the technology and the defenses to do it without our protection.”

“An interesting proposition.” He furrowed his brow. “Admiral Ar’alani would be willing to concede control like that?”

Thrawn looked between them briefly, then intervened. “It is a necessary concession,” He said. “There is a traitor within our midst.”

“Aboard your ship,” Ronan commented doubtfully. “Surely you can-”

“No,” Eli said. “Within the Aristocra.”

“Who?”

“We believe it is one of the ruling families,” Thrawn said. “We do not yet have-”

“It’s Inrokini,” Eli said.

“We suspect,” Thrawn interjected, looking at Vanto strangely. “We do not yet have-”

“Well,” The other captain leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Regardless, this is a Grysk poison that was not created by Chiss hands. The risks in accidental exposure are too great. We’re concerned about our science team even taking it out of vac-seal to put under a microscope.”

“Syndic Formbi will be pleased you at least consider our research teams above your own,” Ronan said smartly. He frowned, though. “Why do you suspect Inrokini?”

Thrawn said, “The most recent casualties were all supporters of House Inrokini.”

Eli looked at Ronan. “I think they’re going to frame House Chaf, use Formbi’s hate of Thrass as a motive. They’ve already tried to kill Thrawn once.”

Huffing, Ronan had to ask, “So how many bolts did you put into the idiot’s head, really?”

“Only one,” Eli commented. “I don’t miss.”

“Shame they denied the promotion.” He shrugged. “I figured it had to be worse, considering they had Kresh take your ship out from under you. That woman sure knows how to make a reward look like a punishment,” He said sharply.

“The promotion was a sham and you know it,” Vanto said, more to abate Thrawn’s curious look and Ezra’s head, peeking back into the unsealed doorway between cockpit and main cabin. “Back to the point: We need house Chaf’s help.”

Ronan nodded, his usual bluster melting away. “Look, I can take it to Formbi and plead your case. But it’s military. I don’t think he’ll go for it. He barely tolerates the CDF engaging the Grysks as it is.”

“The traitor situation may change his mind,” Thrawn said. “Whomever is getting this poison from the Grysks,” He indicated the innocent-seeming vial of fine, crystalline powder, “Is working with them directly. We believe it is a plot to subjugate one of the houses and take control of our people from the inside out.”

“You mean,” Ronan looked up in surprise. “That is - the Grysks are trying to make us a client species?” He looked between the two men. “Like those-” He shuddered, well aware of the Scratchlings. “Can they do that?”

Eli nodded. “Given enough time and the right access, I believe they can.” He shrugged. “Besides, it’s easier to get information and build power if two of the families are fighting to eliminate each other from power. If you were smart, you’d convince him to speak with Thrass and form an alliance.”

“You clearly do not understand the nuances of Chiss politics. That is impossible.”

“I think they could put aside their pride and turn their mutual disdain on a worthy target for a few cycles,” Thrawn interjected. “My brother is petty, that much is true, but he does not have a death wish.”

Ronan nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced, and contemplated. “Like I said, I’ll make your case. Suggest that he speak to Ar’alani, if not the two of you.” He indicated the vial. “Is there more? This is nowhere near enough for an in-depth study.”

“Yes,” Eli said. “I can have some folks run it to a place of your choosing if the syndic agrees.”

“Oh great,” Ronan said. “I do love receiving visits from Commodore Faro.”

“It’s Commander now,” Thrawn offered.

Ronan made a look that clearly said ‘of course it is.’ “How do you continuously convince these beings to give up everything and stay all the way out here?” He asked. “I didn’t think recruitment was part of your duties.” He wasn’t really expecting an answer.

He got one, anyway.

“Hey, he’s a likeable guy,” Ezra quipped from the doorway. “I mean, once you get over wanting to kill him a little.”

[gffa]

Sometimes I think about yelling at STAR WARS fandom to slow the hell down because I have so many things to read and so many books and comics on top of all the fic, but then I remember, THIS IS THE BEST PROBLEM TO HAVE, oh no I have so many fun things to read! How awful! I can’t keep up with everything that I know I’m going to enjoy, so I have to post a list before I’m finished catching up, because otherwise it’d take me another month! Terrible! The fandom really has put out some absolutely wonderful things lately and I’ve just felt really happy and fizzy about them, I’ve been excited to yell about them and now I want to yell at other people about all the stuff I loved. STAR WARS FIC RECS: TIME TRAVEL RECS: ✦ Hearts Entwined by KeeperofSeeds, obi-wan & shmi & qui-gon, time travel, 6.5k wip   stolen moments between Padawan Kenobi and Shmi Skywalker, glimpsed by Qui Gon Jinn, and his continued attempts to understand both this strange new addition to the Temple and the unexplained relationship between the pair PREQUELS RECS: ✦ And the Void Answered Back by Ghost_Owl, obi-wan & anakin & rey & finn & poe & ben & yoda & maz & cast, force ghosts, 37.5k wip   (Follows the Force ghosts of Anakin, Obi Wan, and friends getting dragged kicking and screaming through the events of The Force Awakens) ✦ Youngling by LostintheTARDIS, obi-wan & anakin & cast, de-aged!anakin, 65.5k wip   Obi-Wan is sent on a rescue mission to find his missing padawan, shot down after completing a mission of his own, but what he finds is not what he expects. “No, it… It’s not possible, Obi-Wan. How can Anakin Skywalker be this little boy?” ✦ Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi by stonefreeak, obi-wan & anakin & padme & cody & bail & palpatine & cast, 16.5k wip   By an old Republic law, all members of the Jedi High Council are senators in the Galactic Senate, and can thus be voted in as chancellor. ✦ The Orchards by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & qui-gon & cast, 3.6k   When young Obi-Wan Kenobi is injured on a previous mission, Qui-Gon Jinn refuses to accept further off-planet missions until his Padawan’s recovery. Yoda assigns the pair an in-Temple mission of utmost importance while Obi-Wan heals. Master and Padawan welcome the change of pace. ✦ Staggering Is For Those With Nothing To Live Up To by shiningjedi, mace & ponds & depa & yoda & obi-wan & cast, 4.9k   Ponds has fought side-by-side with his general for over two years, so if Windu thinks that he can’t tell when something’s off, then, with all due respect, he’s made a serious error of judgement. ✦ Blow me away, Master Kenobi by stonefreeak, obi-wan, 1.9k   An explosion at a spaceport caused by anti-war extremists leaves Obi-Wan to navigate his way up through the surface through the debris. And then he finds the children… ✦ Found Clan by silvergryphon, boba & ocs & obi-wan & anakin & cast, 18.4k wip   After the Battle of Geonosis, a Jedi Healer discovers young Boba Fett mourning the loss of his father. Not about to leave a ten-year-old boy on his own, she promptly adopts him with the full collusion of her Padawan. ✦ The Art of Dual Wielding (Specifically, How to Not) by F-117 Nighthawk (F117_Nighthawk), obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, ~1k   “Hey, Master, can you teach me Jar’Kai?” ✦ On the political ramifications of a marriage between a Jedi and a Senator by Deviant_Accumulation, obi-wan & anakin/padme & cast, 9.4k wip   In a shocking revelation, Nabooian priest Father Herriem has come forward stating that one year ago, he has officiated a marriage between Senator Padmé Amidala, former Queen of Naboo, known for playing a major part in the Liberation of Naboo, current Galactic Senate representative of Naboo and leader of the liberal south-up faction, and Knight Anakin Skywalker, Jedi General of the Republic Army. ✦ The House of My Father by ReneeoftheStars, dooku & cast, 2.4k   Dooku has left the Jedi Order and returned to his homeworld of Serenno, where he claims his rightful place as the Count of House Dooku. His sister-in-law is less than thrilled with his arrival. ✦ untitled by stonefreeak, dooku, 2.6k   Yan Dooku looks out over the holotable, filled with recent battles against the Republic. Battles that has started to go increasingly well for the Republic, with the heightened morale from their new chancellor. ✦ Full of Charts and Facts and Figures by ambiguously, mace/depa, 4.3k   Mace and Depa get kidnapped by pirates. ✦ Shed by SingManyFaces, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, ~1k   Not long after being assigned to Anakin, Ahsoka becomes worried he’s hiding something serious and goes to Obi-Wan for advice. ✦ Tipping Point by Ria Talla (ronia), adi gallia & finis valorum & eeth koth, 3.3k   “I believe that if what’s happening on Naboo is allowed to continue, the other member systems will wonder what they owe to a Republic that can no longer protect them.” ✦ The Path of Totality by Raven_Knight, obi-wan & yoda & qui-gon & cast, 1.8k   Before going their separate ways into exile, Obi-Wan Kenobi shares with Yoda a lesson of wisdom he’d learned from his late Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. A lesson of darkness, light, and hope. OBI-WAN/ANAKIN RECS: ✦ Homecoming + Ben + To Love What Death Can Touch by Ripki, obi-wan/anakin & luke & leia & cast, western au, 3.7k   After a long absence, Anakin finally returns to the Lars farm. (Western AU.) ✦ The Missing Part by Nightstar269, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, modern au, 57.4k wip   Anakin Skywalker, a student of mechanical engineering, has always felt that his life was lacking something, a feeling that was made much worse with the deaths of his mother first, and of the woman he loved some time later. Still haunted by the pain and heartbreak, he tries to go on with his life as well as he can. When an initiative of the director of the university has the students attending the classes of another degree so as to enrich their knowledge, he will meet someone that will turn his world upside down. ✦ Across the Darkness by xpityx, obi-wan/anakin & anakin/padme, 19.3k wip   Obi-Wan knew they had hit the temple’s inner security measures when Anakin went from calm to clutching both Obi-Wan and his lightsaber between one step and the next. ✦ Desire by Ralph_E_Silvering, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, mild d/s, 10.8k   Anakin Skywalker decides to take his investigation of an illegal smuggling ring in entirely the wrong direction when he finds a substance called “Desire"…and Obi-Wan cleans up his mess, as usual. ✦ What An Expensive Fate by FromDreamstoEmpires, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, sith!anakin, 1.3k   Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him, “But you like it when I tell you what to do.” He said softly, hand pulling on his curls until Anakin was forced to look at him, “Don’t you, sweetheart?” ✦ In the Details by SingManyFaces, obi-wan/anakin & anakin/ahsoka & obi-wan/anakin/ahsoka, NSFW, 2.3k   Anakin spends time learning the bodies of those he loves, and enjoys the same treatment. ✦ Collar by bell (belldreams), obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, d/s, 4.1k wip   “You have to be sure, Anakin. Once we’re in, we’re in.” “I think I can handle being your sub, Obi-Wan.” ✦ Pursuit by Icse, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, 18.5k wip   Aka ‘Obikin Equestrian AU’ on Tumblr. ✦ Thank You, Dear Heart by supercalifragilistichespiralidoso, obi-wan/anakin, ~1k   Obi-Wan calls Anakin by a pet name when they’re not alone ✦ came last in the technical by destiny919, anakin & ahsoka + background obi-wan/anakin, 1.5k   “Okay, Snips,” Anakin said confidently. “We’re doing this. We’re making this happen.” ✦ my heart is an echo chamber by Burning_Nightingale, obi-wan/anakin, 3.4k   Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Vader don’t meet again until their final confrontation on the Death Star. Not in person, at least. ✦ Rebel with a Cause by planetary_retrograde, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & cast, 12.6k wip   A year after the fall of the Republic and the rise of the Galactic Empire, former Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi has formally joined the Alliance to Restore the Republic. His new mission: training Rebellion pilot and resident loose canon Anakin Skywalker. ✦ untitled by subskywalker, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, d/s, cock warming, 1k   “Remember dear one,” Obi-Wan reminded him as he pet his curls with one hand while the other stroked his cheek gently. “If it gets to be too much or if your need a break just tap our signal, okay?” ✦ Out Of Control by Gildedmuse, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.2k   “All right. But you owe me, and not for saving your skin for the tenth time . .” “Ninth time. That business on Cato Nemoidia doesn’t count.” ✦ last one on the list by destiny919, obi-wan/anakin & cast, ~1k   TIL the Han Dynasty was founded by a sheriff who was transporting convicts when several escaped. Knowing the punishment for this was death, he freed the rest and organized many into a rebel band, eventually going on to help overthrow the ruling Qin Dynasty and install himself as Emperor. ✦ darling can’t you hear me (s.o.s.) by nessa_j, obi-wan/anakin & cast, 3.5k   Stranded alone on a planet, Obi-Wan thinks his transmissions aren’t being received, and starts sending private messages to Anakin, not knowing that Anakin can hear everything. ✦ a night full of stars by Ralph_E_Silvering, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, 2k   Obi-Wan, Anakin and Ahsoka are sent to Batuu on a mission by the Jedi Council. While there, Anakin and Obi-Wan finally act on the unspoken feelings between them. ✦ untitled by spell-cleaver, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, ~1k   So for the prompt mashup, Magical Accident, Accidentally Married, Obikin Thanks! ORIGINAL TRILOGY RECS: ✦ The Family Tree by frodogenic, vader & luke, 12k   In which Luke Skywalker is stranded in a tree waiting for a flash flood to recede. Too bad he’s got company… Post-ESB oneshot, can be read as canon-compliant. ✦ They rhyme by liv_k, obi-wan & anakin, 5.2k   Past and future, darkness and light, despair and hope meet one last time. ✦ Stitched With Its Color by lammermoorian, luke & hera & cast, 4.4k  Luke’s been all over the galaxy searching for clues about the Jedi - he should have started a little closer to home. REBELS RECS: ✦ in this world by xpityx, zeb/kallus, NSFW, 2.1k   It had been eight months. Eight months since he’d last seen Alex in person. He’d still been Kallus then, had still been convinced that the Ghost crew were taking him to his executioners. FULL DETAILS + RECS HERE!

[trevorbarre]

Eddie Prevost Part Two

Eddie goes on to describe a performance by one Alexander Strickland, who performed as Syncopating Sandy, at the New Cross Empire sometime in the late 50s, a solo piano performance that lasted from 9AM Monday through to 11PM on Saturday, “without stopping, without sleep, fed at the keyboard”. This gives one pause to consider LaMonte Young’s 1960 instruction to “feed hay to the piano”, and thus to consider the boundaries between Fluxus-informed and music hall-informed performance art. Sandy’s ‘act’ may have been more of a very impressive circus turn than an artistic performance, but it makes one think that the LMC ‘Circadian Rhythm’ improvisers managed just 14 out of their proposed 24-hour continuous performance in 1978, as part of David Toop’s week-long Camden Town-based festival, ‘Music/Context’. Perhaps there is something to comparisons that have been made between the soi-disant ‘Second Generation’ of British free improvisers and pantomime/music hall performance? The late great Lol Coxhill would certainly have accepted this allusion.

Whatever, this is all great stuff, historically-informed material that gets one thinking about the “barbaric days of marathon dancing and other bizarre feats of endurance”. I will touch on this in my new LMC book, but long-form works by the like of Young, Autechre and ex-Pogue-turned-conceptual-artist Jem Finer demonstrate continuingly unfolding ideas of extended performance.  Prevost then moves on to another interesting arena Indeterminacy versus Improvisation, or, more particularly, the co-determinacy of the two. Prevost uses the ideas of trombonist/composer George E. Lewis, to postulate that “the spirit of jazz spontaneity was somehow displaced and maybe culturally expropriated?” by ‘contemporary composers’, both American and European (page 86). Or, whether ‘the likes of Cage and the graphic composers’ (such as Cardew, with ‘Treatise’?) used so-called ‘open scores’ as ‘capitalist enclosures’ of ‘possessive individualism”, using improvisers as ‘cannon fodder’ for the primary and secondary gains involved in the notion of the ‘composer’. This is indeed explosive stuff, and worthy of considerable thought. Several reputations may be at risk here. In particular, the expropriation of African-American experimental musicians and improvisers’ work, in the name of white Americo-European ‘composers’. Not a good look at this point in time.

The idea of Graphic Scores as ‘enclosed improvisations’, in which the ‘composer’ gets the financial and reputational rewards, “commanding property status” (page 88) is a seductive one, as is Prevost’s suggestion that Post Modernism is the handmaid of neo-liberalism, with” “there is no other way” as its totemic signifier”.  Overall, the book is an anti-neo-liberal, pro-communitarian and anti-commodification tract, with “the market imperative” as the bogey man, with the avoidance of plagiarism of other or self held forth as an imperative. It does at time sail close to pompous self-importance and wind-baggery, not helped by Prevost’s language (or ‘meta-language’?), which is occasionally ‘preachy’ and academically alienating for the average reader. But would such an ‘average’ reader be approaching such a book? This will be a book for the already-converted. I certainly couldn’t order it from my local Waterstones, so I got it from the author himself (and jolly quick to deliver, he was too! )

All minor stylistic reservations aside, there are enough ideas in this book to make its more recondite sections more than worthwhile getting through. There is much important stuff contained herein, especially in these times of No Live Music. “Keep music live” has never been more important.

[tanadrin]

You seem to really like EU4, which, as it happens, is the one Paradox Grand Strategy game which I have *not* played (not counting Imperator, but then, does it really count as a Paradox game before the 4th DLC is released?), and I'm a little apprehensive about the usual 40-hours-to-familiarize-oneself investment which Paradox games tend to require. Would you mind selling me on it?

EU4 was the first Paradox game I played, funnily enough; I got into it before the first big DLC was released, although it must have been just about the time PDS was breaking out if its niche market with the release of CK2.

I actually have a lot of complaints about EU4: the modern DLC model incentivizes a bunch of tacked-on systems that don’t integrate with one another well, parts of the game get a lot of attention in one DLC and then are abandoned permanently. E.g., natives in CoP were given the ability to colonize without westernizing, I think so you could mimic, for instance, Iroquois expansionism in the 17th century, but it never really worked and now natives just... sit around. Institutions only kindasorta replicate the function of the old Westernization system--which was terrible! don’t get me wrong--but if anything getting institutions is a bit too frictionless now. And of course there’s the infamous lack of attention or balance to anything other than the 1444 start date, which is an artifact of the Great Error in developing EU4 (i.e., that there is anything other than a 1444 start date). And, of course, EU4 is a war game above all else: it does not simulate internal politics well (or at all), and it does not simulate economics well, and I crave, crave different forms of government that more profoundly affect how you play the game. And even in war, I crave systems that even permit the existence of asymmetrically distributed power between opponents to have a complex outcome, to say nothing of model it well. Historical example: East Frisia maintained its independence from the HRE for ages because the fens of the North Sea coast were super hard to invade and control for outside powers; but in EU4 that province just gets the bland “marsh” modifier, and Oldenburg or West Frisia conquers it in 2 seconds flat. There are ways you could model this! There are even ways you could model this within the constraints EU4 presents (province-based gameplay, generic battlespace), but the longer I spend with the game the more I realize just how much it leans, not in the “game about history” direction but the “game with historical coat of paint” direction.

That said, there’s a reason I have like 3800 hours played on Steam, and in comparison only 850 on CK2 and 1200 on Stellaris (aside from Stellaris being hella broken right now): I think the map-painting elements it has are done really well; wars are super fun; and I feel like I can play strategically in a way I can’t in, say, CK2. In CK2, the almost total reliance on event-driven systems, rather than geographically, economically, or politically-based systems, means that I very often feel like I’m being punished or rewarded solely on the basis of random chance. Even where some interpersonal contest is involved--say, my dastardly vassal trying to have me assassinated--it’s still often driven by random draws (% chance to discover a plot, etc) in a way that EU4 isn‘t. I think EU4 has had some of that, with events like the Iberian Wedding or the Burgundian Succession, but these are one-off artificial constructs meant to provide a point of reference to real-world history. They don’t drive the entire game. Personal unions are a big exception, as a mechanic, and one of my least favorite ones as a result; but even there you have a lot more control than it feels like you do in CK2.

And, of course, CK2 (along with, I gather, HOI4) has turned a bit more toward the “memey alt history” side of things than EU4 has. I’m not opposed to that in principle. Reforming the Germanic faith to become a religion of Amazonian cannibals, or electing a horse Pope or w/e is good wholesome fun for the whole family. But it’s not what drew me into EU4, which was basically the appeal of “here, let’s take all these disconnected things you vaguely learned about in history in school, remind you forcefully that they were happening at the same time, and give you a clear visual representation of them.” It doesn’t matter that the game itself probably isn’t a very good history teacher; its representations of history have made me much more interested in learning about, at different times, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, the whole history of India, the succession of Chinese dynasties, and the history of central Asia. In comparison, CK2 suffers for being set at a time when a lot of the map has to be filled in by guesswork, and where it does touch on more clearly recorded elements of history, it filters them very much through a “this is what D&D nerds imagine the Middle Ages were like” lens. And maybe this is my bias for my exposure to medieval history showing through: but there is so much art and music and just general medieval Weltanschauung you could draw on to make a game about politics in the Middle Ages feel, well, medieval, and CK2 just... doesn’t. There’s a reason you can drop a total conversion mod like Elder Kings or that GoT mod on top of it and not have to change any of the art style or like 90% of the default events. EU4 does this a little better, via flavor events and specific mechanics like colonization and the layout of trade routes, that make it actually feel like you’re playing a game that has at least some contact with early modern history, instead of being a febrile hallucination by someone who fell asleep on top of some Penguin Atlases of World History.

This is turning into a generic rant about what I like and don’t like about PDS games, and before I go off on an enormous tangent about how I would design a history-based GSG, let me return to the original topic: if you like RTSes, and “strategy” as a game genre more generally, EU4 will have strong inherent appeal. There are a lot of DLCs, but several of them are deeply meh and totally skippable (especially Golden Century & Cradle of Civilization; and the single-nation-focused ones like Rule Britannia and Third Rome). I think a lot of people who get into CK2 but don’t like EU4 as much probably have a preference for RPG-style gameplay over strategy gameplay, which makes sense to me since I usually break the other way. But also, if you like the CK2 thing where you start as a count and work your way up to Roman Emperor or something, EU4 has a ton of opportunities for that extremely satisfying feeling of taking a tiny country and building it out to a big empire. The very late part of the game when you have defeated all your rivals and can blob freely can be pretty boring, but I’ve played to 1821 like twice, tops: the early and midgame are some of the most fun I’ve ever had in a single-player game. EU4 also deeply appeals to the Johnny in me, because I love stupid minmaxing strategies like seeing if it’s possible to go Coptic as the Mughals and massively reduce coring costs so you can conquer all of Asia for a handful of admin points. (DDRJake did a version of this back in the day with the Minghals IIRC, using the old faction system, that was pretty damn funny.)

Not sure how useful all that is, but I hope it’s worth something.

[guileheroine]

a sky full of song

Korra, princess of the Water Kingdoms, receives a gift from her blacksmith friend on the auspicious winter festival. Korrasami royalty AU 🏰🤍🕯️ / My piece for the @korrasami-valentine-exchange (assignment: Date A) / 4.2k / ao3

“The wedding of the Earth Prince, yes, on the solstice. But it’s an opportune moment for a longer tour, we don’t want to waste the journey. I’m afraid your father can’t afford it, and before you ask, I’ve been conferring with your mother’s office. And frankly, I’m loath to request it of her after…” 

Councillor Panak trailed off as Korra hurried him along with a gesture of the hand. He pushed his eyeglass up his nose and took her eye seriously. “To the point, then—what do you say?”

Korra was tapping her foot under the meeting table. Prince Wu, if she recalled, was equally as intolerable as old Hou-Ting, the spirits bless his poor betrothed. But the prospect of a fortnight around the Earth Kingdom, with its delicious fare and diverse landscapes… that made her much more amenable to the whole idea. 

“Around the solstice, huh? Alright. Why not.”  It was a way off. She had time to arrange her retinue and her schedule as efficiently as possible for maximum enjoyment.

“...That means a tour to the Earth Empire in the spring—or summer, if Her Royal Highness prefers it?”

“Oh, spring,” Korra said in a rush. “Spring. I’m not sure I can do Earthen summers.”  

Panak smiled quite kindly at that, and nodded at his scribe to jot it down. Korra returned his smile. They really were getting along better. It was nice. This meeting was also stretching much farther into the evening than she had understood it would.

“Are we done, then?” Korra stood before he answered, and he scrambled to his feet after her. “Perfect!” 

The Lotus Guard at the doorway didn’t so much as blink as she pushed the heavy door open and went out. He was one of the older men, having been here long before the war, and quite accustomed to her ways.

Once Korra was out in the foyer, she raced. Her quarters, and her next appointment, were in the other wing of the palace, but she had promised to go see her mother first for a few minutes before the Queen went to bed. The winter sun was long gone; all the windows she skipped past were dark, torchlight gleaming on the icy sills. In the halls, on the other hand, the air was bright as frost, festive. She wove around decorators from all over Agna Qel’a hanging new crystalwork along the old bead tapestries and tying berry wreaths around the tall pillars. Down the stairs, in the main hall, the humongous fires that burnt uninterrupted over the winter lit the place generously. As she sped through, headed for the opposite staircase, Korra caught the eye of one of the housekeepers.

“Mina! Mina, are you busy?” She took the girl’s arm, whose eyes goggled, alarmed only at the princess’s sudden appearance but unperturbed by her familiar ways. “Could you go to the kitchen and send for some tea to my apartment? Milk and honey for me—and some of whatever black blend is left, what my blacksmith friend likes. They’ll know. Thank you!” 

When she turned to continue, she was immediately waylaid by one of the ice sculptors. 

“Your Highness! A moment.” 

Just a moment to breathe was exactly what it took for Korra to finally notice the centerpiece of the hall: an elaborate sculpture-fountain of Yue. The moon and ocean spirits hovered above each of her hands, water pouring in gentle arcs out of their gaping mouths. 

Korra’s father was pulling out all the stops for Yue’s Day. She knew, for her part, that it was a private gesture for the Queen, newly returned from a long diplomatic engagement with the northern Air court. Korra stood at attention for the sculptor, whose fingerless gloves allowed him to bend with especial precision.

“Should her hair run—” he said, bending Yue’s locks of ice into free-flowing rivulets, “or stand arrested?” Another curl of his palm froze them again.

“Freeze them. More volume!” Korra said, thinking of her mother, who always grumbled about her limp hair. Then she was on her way to the Queen’s chambers, and then her own. 

“I got your tea. Hi, princess.” 

Korra’s blacksmith friend took a pointed sip when she finally entered her drawing room. Asami’s smirk was hidden behind the glassy cup, and her hair was wet. One of Korra’s towels was slung over the back of her seat—one of the nice ones with the finely embroidered monogram.

“Asami. Sorry I’m late!” Korra slumped onto her divan, sending one of the cushions flying onto the carpet. “It’s good to see you.” She took a moment to catch her breath before picking the cushion up, sitting comfortably and grasping for the tray on the table.

“Don’t worry about it,” Asami said, moving the cup from her mouth, the smirk finally melting off. She pushed the tray into Korra’s reach. “I’m done for the day. A couple of the apprentices are closing up shop for the very first time.” Her brows waggled.

“Impressive! But still, thanks for coming. I know you’re working hard.” 

“We had an appointment, right? And—” Asami grinned and stretched, pulling her warm wools tighter around her “nothing like the thought of a royal shower at the end of the day to get you through it, you know?”

Korra rolled her eyes. The staff knew to let Asami into Korra’s apartments, and even if she could tell they were a little reticent about her using the princess’s bath and vanity, they of course said nothing. The dogs more or less dragged Asami in through the gates every time she came by the palace, and by order of the princess, they were the ones that decided things in her absence. 

Asami scrutinised the tray from the kitchen carefully before picking out a little moon pastry. “How was your meeting?” She took a bite, attentive both to the pastry and Korra. 

“Looks like I’m going on tour to the Earth Kingdom in the spring,” Korra told her. She wasn’t surprised to see Asami’s brow spring up, and her taste-testing pause. 

“What, all over?” 

It was a town in the Earth Kingdom that Asami originally hailed from, before she travelled to the Fire Empire with her father, an innovator in the art of war. After the war’s end and the subsequent reunification of the Water Kingdoms, the newly humbled Sun Emperor had gifted King Tonraq an ancient forge for the royal armoury as a token of good faith and cultural exchange. Korra remembered how it had taken several pulleys, and days, for it to be transported into place in one of the main avenues in the city. They had set up a house around it for a new smith to eventually train locals in the foreign art. Asami—skilled as a metalworker, but bereft of a livelihood and a family after her father’s foundries were shut down—had decided to venture north to start afresh. She vied for the position and won it handily.

Korra glanced at her long. “You could come with me, you know. Take a vacation, if you manage to get this new shop set up in time. I’m sure you’ve trained all your underlings well.”

“We’re getting there,” Asami said vaguely. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”  

Korra was musing, recumbent with her feet up now. “I must warn you, t’s for the wedding of the Queen’s nephew. They’re a lot stuffier in the Earth kingdom. All the pomp and pageantry,” she clarified. “I’m not looking forward to that part.”

“I’ll bet.” Asami gave her a sympathetic smile.

Sitting pretty in formal assemblies, she did not enjoy. Peace was harder than war, in a lot of ways. At least it was for Korra, who had been right at home as a strategist commanding the bending battalions in the few Fire Empire skirmishes that had reached the north. Or as a captain fending off the marauding warlords and shaman-kings in the southern fiefs who took advantage of the chaos to arouse the spirits and stage deadly rebellions. Her leadership, covert though it was, had played no small part in subduing the northern theater and paving the way for all the ancient Water tribes to be reunified under Agna Qel’a and her father’s leadership. The lasting peace of the years since had proven they were stronger together. Just as it had proven that the Princess’s patience for peacetime bureaucracy needed a good deal of practice. 

“You should come. We’ll do you up as my retainer so you get a salary. I might need you to keep me straight.” 

Asami was good at that, blowing off steam after long, boring days. The mellowness of the warmth, nothing like that of her forge, evened Korra’s mood like little else. 

“Oh, so you want me to drop everything and trail you around as a handmaiden?” 

Korra scoffed, embarrassed. “Well, don’t put it like that.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Asami sat up. “An Earth royal wedding, huh? Think they’ll let me in?” She picked at the cushion in her lap.

“They will if I have anything to say about it.” Korra yawned. “It’ll be my turn soon enough.” 

“How’s your mother?” Asami said, following her train of thought seamlessly—it was always the queen that pestered Korra about finding a match, good-natured but more earnest than she ever realised she was appearing.  

“Sleeping. She had a long journey back from the Northern Air Temple. Dad’s happy, though. Just casually planning her a ball this weekend for Yue’s Day.” 

“Hey, is that what that business down in the hall is?” Some forgotten curiosity clearly jolted Asami. “There were all these new kayaks moored around the drawbridges when I came through, too.” 

Korra nodded, while tentative recognition continued to filter into Asami’s expression. It was easy to forget Asami had been here nary a year. But she had, and it had been a busy year too, with little time for exploration, per her own frequent complaints. “You know about it, right?” When Asami shrugged evasively, Korra explained, “It falls on the day of the first full moon after the winter solstice. Yue was a princess of legend—our ancestor, apparently—who became the moon spirit.”

Asami sat forward. She loved tales like this, and listened to them like she was being entrusted a secret.

“We’ve celebrated it as long as anyone remembers, but the festival is supposed to usher good fortune and fertility. I think that’s why it became a couples thing.” Korra didn’t think much of that. “But, well, the idea is to spend the evening under the full moon, which is why all the kayaks are out. Really, everyone just needs an excuse to liven up the winter!” 

“That I understand,” Asami said wryly, ill accustomed to the polar night. “Yeah, I went to the market in town to pick up some new gloves and they had stalls and stalls of new fare. Jewelry, wind chimes, furs.” 

Korra sat up, conspiratorial. “I bet at least one of your new proteges will sneak you a little gift. I get messages every year. Mostly upstarts, but some cute ones, too.” 

When Asami had first been appointed as the blacksmith, Korra was uncertain what a girl her age was doing heading up an official royal undertaking like that, with all its bells and whistles. When she arrived at a welcome dinner with her family, Korra found her altogether too precious, and definitely not deserving of the private summons and the White Lotus escort. Especially not when the whole rigmarole was keeping Korra from her planned retreat to the kennels for the evening, where, in the end, the strapping night guards were giggling and blushing about the new blacksmith.

At her father’s behest, Korra had put on her most functional anorak and taken Asami some cakes, conserves and newly dried jerky from the palace a couple weeks after their meeting. He insisted it was a part of the Princess’s duty to look after someone in their employ so new to the land—a girl her own age no less. Down in the city, the townsfolk were pleased to see Korra as she made her way to the workshop, but no one made a fuss (unless they were young and excitable already), unlike what she had heard of the other Kingdoms, larger and loftier as they were. She wondered if Asami the Blacksmith liked that about here, or found it lacked decorum, as Korra knew some folk abroad definitely did. 

Asami had a study above the forge, from which she dealt with its administration, and living quarters on the next storey. These were yet lonely and sparse, but not completely devoid of homely touches, as though she would have spruced them up if she only had the opportunity. Korra noticed well-kept shrubs and a vivid landscape on the wall; then Asami came and curtseyed deep and pulled off her apron. 

She was willowy and beautiful under the gear and the soot (over it, too, to be honest), which endeared and repelled Korra in fairly equal measure, ultimately leaving her as indifferent as ever.

“My parents and Lord Arnook want to know how you’re getting on.” Lord Arnook was the esteemed keeper of the royal armoury, and he liked Asami just as much as everyone else did.

A flicker of sadness—shame?—crossed her face, then she put her hand on the table. “Won’t you sit? Your Highness. Let me bring you something hot first.”

Asami lit the fire in the blink of an eye and stoked it without watching, like it was the back of her hand. She had some bread in the pantry, over which she spread the aqpik jam Korra had delivered her. Korra watched her as she boiled the water. Her skirt was heavy, probably to insulate from the heat and cold alike, but it fell flatteringly from her height; and her long hair, which had flown in waves in a foreign style at dinner, was pinned into a practical bun. She made a sharp, fragrant tea she had brought from the continent. Her eyes lit up unexpectedly when Korra bent her own cup to cool it.

“Ah, I love seeing that,” she cooed. “I suppose I’m still not used to it. The other elements don’t bend like that. And I hear you have great skill.”      

Korra’s own smile came too quick for her to suppress. “Who told you that, the King?” Then she regarded her keenly. So, how are you... Do you need anything? Do the men from the quarry treat you okay?” 

“Oh, everyone here is… They’re very warm. Makes up for the chill,” Asami laughed.

It was a line so hackneyed that gritting through it was itself a country-wide inside joke. But this calm and rosy girl injected fresh, charmless charm into it. Maybe everything was charming if someone this winsome did it. After that, Korra softened considerably.

“They are,” she replied, with no small amount of pride. A sudden shame crept up her chest, that she probably couldn’t count herself among those nice people that had made Asami feel welcome. 

Then Asami swallowed and the colour of her voice changed. “I miss my home, though. I know this job is more kindness than I deserve, after what we did but… It is a little lonely here.” She confirmed what Korra had already deduced, mostly because she knew the feeling all too well. “I guess I just don’t have a lot of time to go and make friends after work.”

Korra didn’t doubt that; it was hard, physical work. The one or two times she’d witnessed it, the clang rang in her ears for hours afterwards. She wouldn’t have pegged a girl like this for it. Asami reminded her more of some of the young ladies she knew from her old classes, when all the children around the court would be dumped into the royal healing hut together for some hands-on learning.

“Have you been beyond the city yet? The land out there… that’s our land. This is just a fortress.” 

“Oh, I’ve been wanting to,” Asami said, wistful. “Pretty sure I can’t go on foot though.”

“Well, if… if you don’t know anyone else, I could take you. I have the best dogs in the Four Kingdoms.”

Before the month was up, Korra had sent a commission to the Queen’s personal seamstress for some sealskin gloves and winter-grade furs. She gifted them to Asami on her birthday. “You need these anyway, I think, but you’ll definitely need them where we’re going.” And that night, Korra took her to see the aurora. 

There was a hamlet a few miles north of Agna Qel’a where Korra knew the elderly chief and had asked her for passage to an outcrop in their territory, after divining the well kept secret that it was one of the prime spots for watching the sky dance. Asami, enchanted, never took her eyes off it—so unflinching that Korra almost began to feel envious of the lights.   

It became a routine. Korra knew every inch of her realm. If a diplomatic mission sent her to one tribe or settlement, she would be sure to take a day or two exploring the local country before she returned to the capitol. It had been a great boon when the southern tribes first came under their stewardship. The Princess spent time in every village, took interest in their land and in their lore; met challenges of the wilds and the weather with hunger, and any unknowns thereof with abiding curiosity. She knew what to wear, which sled or boat to take. When to find the rarest whale pods before they went south; where the starriest cliffs were, and the sunniest lakes.

All of which impressed Asami a great deal, and that made Korra happier than most things. And no worse were the days they spent in her apartments going over the sordid palace gossip, or in her apartments tracing old scars by lamplight, healing them word by gentle word. 

On Yue’s Day, Korra stopped by to see various palace aides located around the city with customary gifts. In a castle town, there were plenty with such connections, and she relished the ruddy smiles, quick drinks, and flustered curtsies she received in turn. She saved Asami for last, because Asami had asked for some time together. Korra entered the smithy by the front, her senses clogging with immediate heat. Two of the apprentices were there: one of them gaped while the other barely blinked. 

“Asami? I come bearing punch… and those moon pastries you like!”

She commenced the usual ritual of announcing her presence over the steam and noise while peeling off all but a couple of her layers, when Asami emerged out of the back. She was squeezing her hands together in excitement.

“No, no, no, don’t,” she urged, a gleam in her eyes like the blades that hung behind her, “we’re going somewhere.” 

A few minutes later, they were walking along the main canal under the sparkling lights, milling through the townspeople. A fresh drift crunched beneath their boots. In a few more, they were alighting one of the kayaks in the dock.

Asami faced her and paddled like a natural; and naturally, Korra gaped. 

“Do not tell me you haven’t done this before!”

Asami’s tongue stuck out in concentration as she suppressed a giggle, but her limbs moved with finesse. “Just the once. So far. Don’t be distracting me.” 

“I won’t let us capsize,” Korra assured her. 

Eventually, Asami settled into her rhythm, and the canal carried them out of the city, past all the lights. The banks of glass-cut brick gave way to a more jagged channel littered with pack ice at its mouth, floating blue and still. Korra gripped the edge of the kayak, not for any physical comfort. A crackling anticipation, and an unnameable fondness both, were welling and welling in her with every mundane word they shared.

When they disembarked on the lake’s other edge, the ice was landfast: a ghostly field glowing under the full moon. 

Korra knew this place, but she had scarcely been here in the middle of winter, when the ice field extended endlessly, as vast as the sky. As they tramped across the snow, she began to wonder what Asami’s surprise was. There wasn’t much for a mile in any direction.

“We should sit for this,” Asami said, pointedly ignoring Korra’s prying questions.

The wind had kicked the snow up into berms along the field. Korra froze one so it was sturdy enough to perch on. Then Asami took her pack, and pulled out some plain tubes of parchment; nothing Korra would have looked at twice, although she didn’t know what they were.

“What’s in there?” She said.

“Some of my metals, some of my salts,” Asami replied enigmatically, almost sing-song. “Wait here.”

She heaved herself off the berm, ran several yards towards the horizon and stooped. She planted the tubes, and did something else Korra couldn’t see, though she thought she recognised the bright filigree on the cover of the pocket matchbook Asami carried everywhere.

When Asami had trundled back and sat again, Korra crossed her arms and laughed, bemused, her humour ebbing. “Are you going to tell me what’s going—”  

BOOM!

Korra gasped, startled out of her words. She would have fallen from the perch if Asami didn’t catch her around the waist, giggling blithely all the while— 

A wheel of light bloomed in the sky like a flower, dazzling and surreal. All the colours of the aurora—except they were peals of crystal fire, pouring out like diamonds before disappearing into the smoky air. Another wheeled up after it with a strange whirr, before it exploded into a glittering shower, and more in succession.

They reminded Korra of the spirit hales in the heart of the wilds, and even deeper in a buried memory, of the Fire explosives some of the raiders had once set off on the Southern Sea. Except these were brighter—and safer, because Asami had made them.  

Korra looked to her when they had died, beaming under the mitten that covered her mouth in shock. “Are there more?”

To her eternal delight, there were more. New flowers sprouting on the celestial vault, they would be burned in her memory forever.

“They’re no aurora,” Asami said, while Korra scoffed and slung her arms around her, huddling for the cold and the buzz. Under her embrace, and half her weight, Asami looked chuffed. “But I thought they might liven up your night.”

Korra cupped her earmuff, then her cheek. “Thank you. This is the best day I’ve had all winter.” 

Asami’s pyrotechnical skills didn’t even surprise her, but that could hardly diminish the sheer majesty, and novelty, of the display. Even minutes later, Korra could hardly believe what she had seen.

“Well, I couldn’t let you be the only show-off around here.” Asami smiled. Then the smile dropped from her eyes and she hesitated, like she couldn’t let that sit for an explanation. “Korra. I wanted to do something special. You’ve made me feel at home here in a way I never imagined. And I’m just a smith, from the Fire Empire!” 

Korra felt her eyes water and blinked the tears back quickly, because they would ice and sting in the bitter air. She bit the smile off her lips. “You’re not just anything. You’re a terrific handmaiden.”

She snorted as Asami shoved her off and reached for her pack again.

 “One more thing. I thought it might be too smokey for this after all those incendiaries, but it’s worth a shot anyway.”

This time Korra recognised the device she emerged with. It was made of two cylinders, and the mechanism that held them together spun smoothly like the spokes of a wheel. She handed it to Korra, who held the spyglass up.

A field of stars materialised. Korra held her breath. 

The stars were luminous at the poles, but she had never seen them like this, and for the first time they felt close enough to touch, invoking a bracing, irrepressible wonder. In silence, she gazed.

“The moon spirit leads all the stars out tonight, right?”

Asami had done her research. Korra turned back to her. “So they say.” She hooked her arm through Asami’s, and held her hand. With the spyglass still to her eye, she let her head fall against Asami’s bundled shoulder.

“Tired, princess?”

Korra rustled her breath, long-suffering. “Why do you call me that!” 

The way Asami said it—like it was something of her own decree, and not that of ten thousand years of tradition and some profoundly sacred doctrines. There was a sweet and strange tug in Korra’s belly whenever it happened, and this time, tonight, it lingered longer than ever.

“‘Cause you’re a piece of work,” Asami said, trying to interlace their thick, mittened fingers, which required some effort.

Tentatively, Korra turned the spyglass to the moon herself. She winced— it glared straight back, too bright. Maybe another night, when it wasn’t Yue’s Day. 

Yue’s Day. She now held the thought delicately in her chest, as if she wanted to guard it from the wind and chill. If Asami loved her—were to love her—there were several reasons not to say it. They both knew them, whether they had turned them over consciously or not. 

But the risk of showing was low. And the reward, as her own euphoric mood tonight proved, was magnificent.