#also no way Lore’s parents told her her ancestors story in that way
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Found out that the main character of this booktok book is a descendant of Perseus, immediately knew it would have nothing to do with Perseus, his family nor his rich history, I was right. I did a quick word search and Danaë and Andromeda aren’t even mentioned, none of Perseus’s real descendants are mentioned.
#look I know that Andromeda isn’t ‘’’’’’’’technically’’’’’’’ black and she can be interpreted as white#but making her decendant a plain American yt girl#just rubs me the wrong way#especially since most booktok FL look like that#also no way Lore’s parents told her her ancestors story in that way#they’d focus mainly on Perseus himself and barely talk about Medusa#bc guess what? Medusa is a hilariously small part of Perseus’s journey#greek mythology#ancient greek mythology#greek pantheon#greek goddess#perseus#andromeda#Athena#Perseus and Medusa#Medusa#lore book#perseids#Greek heroes
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its taken me a WHILE to think of any interesting lore lol
- i had to save my sister once when she was really little. she took off her gloves, touched the snow for too long, and started getting a lot of pain in her hands, and the fastest way to get her to warmth was to pick her up and carry her home. we had a huge backyard so imagine carrying like a small 4-6 year old human across a huge field of snow thats at Least 3 ft deep. she had frostbite but i managed to get her inside in time to warm up her hands. she caught pneumonia a while later i'm not sure if it was related.
- i'm the only one in my family who WASNT taken to the hospital regualrly for medical issues. my brother basically lived there (born with a cleft palete and asthma, so, yeah), my sib had asthma and knee issues (their knee would dislocate randomly based on the smallest activity), and my sister had asthma, split her head open and had to get it glued shut, and shes a horse girl now so she goes pretty regualrly to check if she broke this or that. so far every single injury hasnt been worse than a sprain thank god. also my mom and dad both have so many medical problems its insane. i was supposed to be the "normal" one with no problems. needless to say, the only "doctors" i've seen regularly are counsellors for "therapy".
- i have a huge attachment to plushies of animals because i love animals so much i want all of them but i cant have all of them </3 so a stuffie will do. my nanna used to work at a hershey factory in our hometown and they had free reese's and hershey beanie babies for us for easter and stuff :)
- i learned what gay peoole were due to mean girls (2004), i basically saw 2 girls kissing in the background (unsure if this is actually in the movie or i made it up) and i asked my mom why they were kissing, and she said sometimes girls kiss each other! and i remembered telling her that i was definitely someone who liked girls and wouldnt mind kissing them. YEEEARS later (despite having memory problems) she recalled this and found out i had a girlfriend in high school, which is how i ended up coming out. because of this, everyone automatically assmes i'm a lesbian even though i've told them i'm bisexual like 600 million times since then.
- (fucking obviously) i grew up going to catholic school from kindergarten to 6th grade. not because my parents are super religious, just, there were rules about which schools we were allowed to go to. my dad's side was catholic and my mom's side was assimilated into catholocism, but eventually broke away. my great aunt does geneology and traced back our ancestors to native roots, so she basically went from catholic to following native teachings immediately. we were taken to pow wows since i could remember, so, we definitely had it better than they did. despite the whities trying to take our culture from us, we're still here <3 still sharing our language and stories and music.
- i was raised by the tv and computer. quite literally. i had an incident when i was younger that caused my dad to distrust people, so i wasnt allowed over at friend's houses or to hang out with them unless they knew them super super well. because of this, i tried to understand social interaction through tv shows like dawson's creek and charmed. on the internet i would watch smosh and... (sigh) sh*ne d*wson and dan and phil and would treat it more like an entertaining break. i swear i was on the family computer for so long sometimes my dad would tell me to go to bed 900 times and i'd stay on until at LEAST 1 or 2 in the morning talking to the friends i made over the internet that i wasnt allowed to have in real life. those friends actually helped me learn how to talk to people like a normal human being!! i'm greatful to them every day and i still talk to them all the time ^_^
- i pretended to hate girly stuff when i was a kid to overcompensate my masculinity, but theres so many "girly" things i really like! i really liked playing house, i really liked playing with baby dolls, i really liked sundresses and nail polish and stuff, i just never liked when all that made me a "girl" according to others, and i didnt realize that was why at the time. egg moment 🥚🏳️⚧️
theres way more fhat may or may not be interesting but ^^; i think thats enough for now
it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore
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Lore of magic
This is some lore about the magic of the land.
Old vs New magic
Magic has been in this new world since the beginning of time. It used to belong to the monster races but slowly, humans began to start using it and they did not use it for good. Witches and wizards are terms for those who use old and dark magic to torment others. Soon, Sorcerers and sorceresses (users of New and good magic) grew tired of being ridiculed because of them and soon the two sides clashed in a magic civil war. The new magic won and there are now less witches and wizards in the world, but some say an uprising of them is coming. The witch queen, Hecate, was thought to have been killed on the battlefield but her soul resides in her staff, waiting to be resurrected and to take revenge on all. Sorcerers and sorceresses use their magic in the service of nobles or to help others. During the accord of union, use of old magic was illegal and is punishable by death. To this end, those who are born with old magic are executed as a way of preserving peace. It was thought long ago that the fairies and old magic users hated each other, which in some way is reflected in fairy land. One of these famous wizards was the wizard king, a proud man who had a son. After the king’s wife passed away, the king was grief stricken and ventured far away to capture a princess from another land. There, the prince was forced to rescue the princess from his father with the help of a fairy. Today, that prince’s ancestor is in the form of a mage named Merlin. Mages are extremely rare as they are able to use both old and new magic, they are not executed but instead forced to serve kings. Merlin has served many kings, his current king being King Charming. With threats of Heacte in the winds, Merlin fears that his great great grandfather may join the battle as well.
Witch hunters
Witches and wizards are still threats to the people of the fabled lands, becoming more active because of the war. But they have always been a problem, with stories about children being taken from their homes or being cursed. Many of the stories were fake to keep children in line but two children discovered the truth to those stories. In a small village known as Bedica, this little village was going through a famine crisis. Parents were forced to either kill their children or abandon them, send them somewhere far away so that there was more food to eat or to eat them. Hansel and Gretel, twins were more clever than most kids so they saw the dark truths of the adults. So when their parents told them they were going on a trip to the Enchanted forest to find some good food, they knew something was up. Whilst going through the woods, Hansel left bread crumbs on the ground so they can find their way back. Thinking they would be left somewhere, the twins were instead given to a nice old lady in the middle of the woods. The parents left them with her, but she is actually a witch. She tried to kill and eat them but instead, the twins killed her before they were rescued by the witch hunters. The twins were enrolled and have become the best witch hunters, facing many powerful witches and wizards. Later, the pair would lead a group back home where the witch they killed has risen from the dead, enslaving the town in a mad frenzy. They would face off against the witch one more time but this time, only one of them would survive.
I feel like it’s an interesting subject and just adds more conflict in the world. I did also like the idea of Hansel and Gretel becoming witch hunters, I got some inspiration from the 2013 film with Jeremy Renner.
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RP Meme from "Chapter One: Caliah (Lore)" in the Bastet breedbook from "Werewolf: The Apocalypse"
Once there was a cat who dreamed he was a man.
Like the morning mist, she appeared from nowhere, or so it seemed.
The winds have spoken of your dilemma and I have come to show you the way home.
Why do you call me brother?
We are family.
We have different parents but share the same blood.
You need to meet your people
You are my sister
I have no other family. Don’t leave me!
We all have family
What are the dreams of a cat?
Let us welcome each other and speak of hidden things.
If they come in peace, we welcome them.
I’m just a mutt.
Listen up and listen close, ‘cause this isn’t stuff you’ll hear from any old place.
I’ve got friends with friends, if y’know what I mean, and this is good stuff.
They don’t get along, y’know.
A good lorespeaker tells different stories every time, and she makes ‘em as cool as possible.
Sound like anyone we know? Nah! Couldn’t be!
So how do you trade secrets, anyway? After all, isn’t a secret shared a secret lost?
If you don’t play the game, you don’t learn a thing.
Each element of the message becomes a metaphor, and the message becomes a story.
Florid? Hell yeah! But ya gotta admit it’s more graceful — and exposes a hell of a lot less — than blurting out the truth.
You might say, “I heard a story about so-and-so” but you’d never say “I did so-and-so.” If your audience has a clue, they’ll catch on.
Everything’s told in metaphors.
A good obtuse metaphor makes you look imaginative if someone gets it, really stupid otherwise.
Everything is larger than life. People don’t just cry, they “explode in showers like the sea.” Folks don’t just get mad, they “turn into coals that burn through the floor.”
If what you’re saying is important, bigger is better.
Simple? Not if you don’t get the lingo.
A wounded cat can surrender without disgrace.
Not enough to go around.
Hey, don’t let on you know what I told you, huh?
It was a time before life, a longing when the dream of birth was yet to be.
This marked the end of peace and the beginning of struggle.
Such promises are soon broken.
Why does even the skin of my daughter flee from my hands?
Why must I always be alone?
Master, what would you have of us?
Nothing exists for him but annihilation.
Go across the world
Let that which is pure stand whole, but erode that which is impure from within.
He tells many tales, but all of them are lies. He is rage made manifest, and he coils within us all.
There was no want, no war, no anguish, and all living things gave of themselves to help others exist.
Until some cataclysm happened, everything lived in peace and plenty.
Life has ever been a struggle, my brothers and sisters. Life has always meant that some may die for others’ pleasure.
That pleasure may be as necessary as hunger or as frivolous as sport, but it has always been fatal and always will be.
Only through struggle can we progress.
Only through sacrifice can we succeed.
We were born from conflict and we grow through adversity. Our ancestors are predators, great cats and human hunters who rose above their surroundings and mastered them.
We know our place in the Great Order, and it is not passive.
Like the moon, our world waxes and wanes.
Each era glows brightly, then fades into night before rising again as some new age.
As creatures of light, dark and twilight all, we are not moved much by the vagaries of fortune.
Each tribe has its creation story, and they differ in many ways.
I have my own ideas.
We are a breed eternally apart, and we are rare.
Water runs silent, yet crushes with the power of an elephant.
Its depths hold secrets that only the brave can find.
The first of our kind were nearly the last.
Those it caught were devoured.
Let this be your legacy
My tears, shed for you, will boil in your veins.
All people will fear you, and all animals, too.
Begone and tend the flocks that need killing.
I banish you from sight!
They still live on in us, and we carry their curse to this day.
As the humans prospered, they grew quickly out of hand.
It was a bloody, useless time, and we fractured as a people.
Secrets became the only thing to bind us.
It’s hard to forgive these raging bastards.
Very territorial, and I know how that feels.
There are enough horrors in the night already.
Corruption has a million voices; sometimes they drown out the song of the moon and lead us over cliffs.
That song wails from nightclubs, boom boxes and televisions every day.
Stop up your ears, my friend and listen to the wind.
Those secrets led the wolves to our door — literally.
Gods damn the dogs for that!
Their misbegotten crusade killed hundreds of our Kind and Kin.
She mated with serpents, wolves and great cats in an effort to become like them, but gave birth to monsters instead.
Some legends portray her as one of our kind, but we know this isn’t so.
If the tales I’ve heard are any measure, they have no pity for us at all.
We are where we are born.
I think our unique insights show us that humanity is a mixed blessing — especially where the earth and the wild are concerned.
Men are the cleverest monkeys, no doubt, but they don’t have much sense of self-preservation.
Our forebears fought to let humanity prosper.
We have an amazing world at our fingertips, but it’s filled with poisons and lies.
Honor seems to be a fading dream in lands where the rich starve their people and the poor kill each other.
We hold magic within ourselves, within our hearts and minds and spirits. To dishonor ourselves is to disperse that magic and scatter our souls.
It’s acceptable to lie to other creatures; they’re not of our blood and not bound by our laws.
We will flee to survive a fight, but will not run when others depend on our strength.
We must make restitution to those we deceive, in deeds, trade or money.
We may be exiled or branded.
Our weapons are many — secrets, claws, teeth and allies — and we will not hesitate to employ them for our world’s
survival.
Our people have walked too close to extinction for us to take such matters lightly.
We will not ally ourselves with shadow powers or drink corrupted wisdom.
We do not fail our Earth and mother. That path leads to death.
We are the keepers of secrets, and our fates depend on silence.
Each of us bears the hidden doom of our own people, and we know the cost of betraying that trust.
We also know that we have what others want — or what they think they want — and it amuses us to make them squirm.
Our knowledge is our concern.
We will not share it unless we wish to.
We will hide ourselves from outsiders; they will think they know us, but we will delude them.
We will wrap our lore in riddles and tales; let the clever ones puzzle out their meaning.
We will act as if we know even more than we do, for it keeps outsiders guessing.
Let them wonder at our insight; they value us more highly when they do.
We will cover our tracks with misdirection, pretend to be other than what we are, fill the air with idle rumors and hide messages in code.
There is no forgiveness for this crime.
Well, let’s just say I know what I’ve seen. And I’ve seen a lot.
His eyes were so filled with pain that I decided to help out.
I’d swear he was grinning as the semi ran him down.
That felt good.
Guess they’ve gotta live here, too.
I say they’re not as smart as they might think.
Maybe I’m the one who’s being fooled.
I could tell you stories all night, all week, all month and more.
As the temples rose and the hordes crossed through, our parents sat on the sidelines of history and observed the passing of kings.
The cultures we witnessed shaped our own ways.
Cities rose, each with secrets too tempting to ignore.
For a long time — 4,000 years — there was all the room in the world for us, and no lack of secrets to keep us entertained.
We should have seen the signs in the Classical Age, when armies swept across the land in the names of gods, kings and conquerors.
We should have met en masse when trade and crusades brought East and West together.
I will not belabor the point. We know what happened.
Explorers, slavers and great white hunters bounded into the wilderness and cast a chain around our kind.
Suddenly, we went from having all space to having little.
I can’t say I don’t share the sentiment just a bit.
We didn’t stop until a greater evil forced us to align, but that’s another story.
It’s a wonder anyone survived.
We studied their secrets, but could learn nothing from them.
We have no one to blame but ourselves.
For all our vaunted sight, we’re blind. For all our gathered lore, we’re stupid.
The world is falling apart.
I don’t know whether to believe it or not, but we are living in interesting times!
We must pool our secrets, combine our efforts, and bring the world’s secrets to light.
We must act on what we discover and disperse what we learn.
Do I lose my cool?
The modern age is the greatest puzzle we could want endless streams of secrets, enigmas, wonders and dazzles, wrapped up in an explosive package that could blow us all to hell.
Anywhere, at any time, the whole ride could fly off the rails.
Those who ignore the warning feed the vultures the next morning.
I’ll simply say the tigers are not where you’d expect.
People have begun to open their eyes, but they still need your counsel to see the cliff’s edge before falling off
Those stories are true — violently true — and they add up to an appalling picture if you string them all together.
They get an idea, work on it a bit, and try to rule the world. Typical. We’ve seen their kind before.
Look around you if you doubt it.
Surely the secrets you’ve uncovered have given you the idea that maybe, just maybe, something’s going on, something bigger than another plunder, another invasion, another city that falls to ruin in a century.
Discover what you can, but bury your tracks well.
We’re strangers to each other for most of our lives, and we like it that way — a few careful gatherings are all we
can stand.
The moon is our patron, but the shadows are our father too, and they call to us at our weaker moments.
Most of us dance on the edge, though, and that’s where we like to be!
Despite our pains, we’re spirited and wild, inquisitive yet careful, sensual yet refined.
Our beauty is our greatest pride, and our wits are second to none.
We know what we are.
To hell with them all!
Still, we cannot let pride blind us to the facts.
The morning it foretells is up to us.
We must come together, yet retain our pride.
We are the keepers of secrets.
Perhaps it’s time those secrets were revealed.
#rp meme#rp memes#rp starters#roleplay meme#roleplay memes#roleplay starters#bastet#werecats#werewolf the apocalypse#world of darkness#owod
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Guardian of creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 11
*Author’s note*
Well this got done within a night shift of writing lol but now we discover the TRUE mythology of the Wizards in this story. I also hope you all enjoy the face cast I’ve picked out for you all, I know some of you are gonna FLIP OUT!! So enjoy this chapter folks and until the next update :)
Taglist:
@plethora-of-things
@queendeakyy
@queensdivas
@queen-paladin
@geek-and-proud
@waddles03
@psychosupernatural
@ixchel-9275
@simonedk
@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels
@kinole009x
@wormzteef
@glitter-at-the-panic
Chapter 11,
The Truth
__________________________________________________________-
*3rd Person POV*
Serafina and Balthazar walked side by side along the desert as the rain continued to softly pour down on top of them.
“Why didn’t you tell us that you were—the Balthazar when you first met us?”
“I don’t usually give out that information freely.” He answered using the Egyptian’s actual voice. It was more softer compared to his original voice but it still held a commanding tone to it.
“Also this body……this clearly isn’t your human body. Are you possessing this poor man?”
“He volunteered it freely all those centuries ago when I went to find you and John. Plus I have to keep my true self hidden. As I’m sure you remember that the Sorcerer Supreme can sense every living creature on Earth. And ghosts give out the strongest power force known to our realm. If Grindelwald saw me freely moving about in the world, all hell would break loose.”
“That is true.” She muttered.
“We’ve arrived.” Balthazar soon said as he stopped. Serafina stopped beside him and the two of them stood on top of a semi-high (around 3-4ft) rock wall which stood over more desert.
“You woke me up in the middle of the night just to bring me out further into the desert?” Serafina sassed at the great Wizard. He softly chuckled and said with a sigh.
“Oh you even have his sarcastic nature.”
“Whose sarcastic nature?”
“Close your eyes dear one.” Serafina closed her eyes before feeling 2 fingers press against each side of her temples and soon Balthazar’s real voice spoke in her head.
‘Over a thousand years ago the world of Sorcerers was a very different place. Instead of one Wizard ruling over all others, all of us lived and helped serve under the 3 great apprentices of Merlin.’
“This was the story we were taught on our first day of school. The history of Wizards.”
‘Indeed. While each wizard and witch lived in their own countries, all Sorcerers were considered equals and called a special sacred place known as the Garden of Merlin, home. Now—open your eyes.’ Serafina opened her eyes and she was greeted with an amazing sight.
Nothing but pure green surrounded her, the sky was just shining it’s dawning colors of pink and blue as the sun continued to rise higher into the sky. She stood up on a hill and saw wildflowers growing as far as she could see in all various colors and types, trees so big she’d swore they’d brush against the clouds in the sky.
“Did we just time travel?” she turned and saw Balthazar as his true self. He now stood roughly about John’s height, maybe a couple inches taller. His ghostly eyes stared at Serafina as he told her.
“There’s too much to see and so little time. Try not to ask too many questions.” With that he walked deeper into the forest. Serafina ran behind him and when she caught up to him, she looked around the forest.
Listening to the frogs and birds bring the forest to life, squirrels scampering around the tree branches and deer along with other forest creatures doing whatever it was they do.
“This is where your family was born. Behold.” Balthazar pushed back a shrub and soon they saw a group of wizards all talking amongst one another, children playing games with either one another or with their parents.
“But won’t you disrupt the time stream by being here?”
“No. Because this is just a vision. No one can see nor hear us.” Serafina looked out watching everyone all happy and smiling at one another. Nothing like she had seen before with sorcerers of different nationalities and skin colors truly living like brothers and sisters.
“Hang on you said this is where my story began? That’s not true at all. My family didn’t come around till after the fall of the 3 apprentices.”
“Not true.” He immediately said to her. She looked at him confused. “You see that little girl over there? Who does she remind you of?” he pointed towards a young girl with long brown hair and blue eyes.
Playing alongside her was a Hispanic man with brown hair, warm brown eyes and a mustache over his upper lip while at his jaw a stubble of a beard was forming. He wore an elegant golden wizard robe and watched with pride and a warm smile as he saw this young girl practicing her magic.
“She…..she almost looks like me.”
“That’s because she is your ancestor. Wanda Arya Black. And that man she’s with is my brother Archimedes.” Serafina’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped.
“Archi—Archimedes?! As in Archimedes the Wise?! That Archimedes?” she turned to Balthazar.
“Yes is there an echo in here?” wow he was definitely John’s ancestor. He cleared his throat and said, “He was the only one out of the three of us to take on an apprentice. As the first muggle-born witch she showed prose and potential, so Archimedes took her in as his ward as well as her teacher.”
“But there was never an apprentice in the legend. Balthazar no offense but I’ve been taught your story throughout my entire life. Why did you bring me here?”
“Because you don’t know our story. Come with me.” He walked away leaving Serafina to stare at her ancestorial grandmother as well as the 3rd great apprentice of Merlin. As she watched the two of them walk away, Serafina turned and followed in the direction Balthazar went.
Day soon turned to night as they kept walking to another part of the garden. As they stopped, they spotted 3 figures sitting at a clearing looking up at the moon and the stares in the night sky. Serafina obviously recognized the two men because she was standing right next to him now.
The two men were Archimedes and Balthazar (back when he was alive). A woman was also with them. She wore a long, short-sleeved black dress and had long wavy brown hair. She was around their age and she was sitting upon a rock beside inbetween the two men.
“It’s you guys. And that woman, is that—”
“Shh! Pay attention now.” Balthazar told her. They turned back towards the three young apprentices and soon they heard Archimedes speak up.
“I know that I was chosen to be his wisdom and destined to teach future young ones of our ways but I—don’t think I’m ready just yet.”
“There’s no way we could ever feel ready for this. I mean how do you think I feel about being the next Sorcerer Supreme?” asked Balthazar.
“Some help you are.” Archimedes scoffed out a laugh.
“I’m not finished!” Balthazar stated.
“I think what cheekbones is trying to say is, is that we’ll be fine. Merlin has never steered us wrong before my brothers. We are all ready for this. And we’ll always have each other for when things get hard, right?” Morgana said as she got off the rock and placed her hands on each of her brother’s shoulders.
“Right.” Balthazar agreed with a strong nod.
“Right.” Archimedes however had a slight hesitant tone to his voice but the smile on his face fooled the other two. Morgana let out a yawn and Balthazar said.
“I think we’ll go ahead and retire for the evening.”
“Goodnight. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Archimedes said. As Balthazar and Morgana flew off, together (Balthazar using his magic to fly while Morgana summoned her broom).
“Cheekbones? Really Morgana?” Balthazar asked offensively.
“C’mon Balthazar, you’ve got to admit you have sharper cheekbones than even our Master.” Morgana teased back. The two of them continued to banter with each other till they were out of sight.
Archimedes softly chuckled and shook his head before growing solemn again and looked back up at the moon.
“You see…….at the time I didn’t realize that while Archimedes was ready to take his place as the Wisdom of Merlin, he wasn’t happy.” Balthazar explained to Serafina.
“You guys have the most famous story in all of Wizard lore, what was it that could make him happy?”
“A friend of yours.” They turned back around and after a little while a female voice spoke up.
“Are they gone master?”
“They’re gone.” He said. Soon coming out of the shrubs was Wanda. She was older, now the same age as Serafina and she could see for herself that she looked almost identical to her ancestral grandmother.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep him away much longer.” She suddenly shrieked as someone lifted her up and spun her around.
“Well then don’t make me stay away so long next time!” Soon coming into the light of the full moon was none other than Roger Taylor himself.
Serafina couldn’t believe it! She knew Roger had been around since the creation of the seas but he actually was there before the fall of the 3 apprentices of Merlin? He knew Archimedes the wise personally as well as her ancestral grandmother?! Was that why he seemed to flirt with her cause she reminded him of Wanda? And why didn’t he ever mention it before?
“How can I survive without my favorite witch and wizard?” Roger said as he nuzzled into Wanda’s neck affectionately.
“We’re sorry my friend, we just don’t……don’t want Morgana and Balthazar to—” Archimedes said as he pulled Roger away from his apprentice and gave the Nokken a brotherly embrace. Roger separated from Archimedes and looked at him confused.
“You—you mean to tell me that Roger. My Roger knew Archimedes as well as my infinite great grandmother!? So what were he and Wanda friends like we are? Or—”
“Archimedes and Wanda both cared for their brother and sister wizards. But the beings they both could be truly happy with, were the Magical creatures.” Balthazar explained to Serafina.
“I just don’t understand why you won’t tell them you don’t want to do this anymore? What will you do tomorrow when Merlin crowns you the Wise?” Roger asked.
“I’ll go through with it. It’s been destined that I become his Wisdom after he passes on so—I will.”
“And then what you’ll forget about all the creatures we’ve helped? Forget about me?” Wanda said.
“No! That will never happen! Querida you know I’ll always love you.” Archimedes said as he cupped Wanda’s cheeks in his hand, stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs.
“Right. You say you love her, but you don’t want your fellow wizards to know what you both have been building! Sure we get it!” Roger huffed as he took Wanda back into his arms.
“This duty was chosen for me at birth what else am I supposed to do?! I don’t have a choice Roger.”
“You weren’t born to serve a purpose. You were born to live your life. You always have a choice.” Roger said.
“He’s right Master. Think of what we’ve worked so hard to build. Do you really want that to go down in flames? I don’t have the power to convince the Wizard council to keep what we’re trying to do secure. I need you. They need you.” Archimedes brushed a strand of Wanda’s hair out of her face and placed a hand onto Roger’s shoulder.
“Come on. This way now.” Balthazar guided Serafina away from the three of them and the two of them walked to another part of the garden.
The sun slowly started to rise but already in Serafina’s mind, dozens of questions were buzzing around her head. She soon saw Balthazar stop beside a tree and she ran up to catch up to him.
“Where is he?!” Morgana’s voice snapped. “Sorcerers from across the world are out there waiting for our coronation!”
“We’ve searched everywhere. But no one’s seen him ma’am.” Said a young blonde wizard.
“Well look again! He could’ve been captured or-or killed!” Morgana snapped.
“Lady Morgana! Lady Morgana!” soon a young witch with ginger hair came running up. She had freckles decorated all over her face and bright green eyes. “I have news about Lord Archimedes.”
“Thank Paracelsus. Where is he?”
“He and his apprentice Wanda left with a creature known as a Nokken. He said to tell you that he and Wanda are safe and not to worry.”
“Left with a Nokken? For what?”
“It seems that he—” she went quiet. She cleared her throat and continued hesitantly. “He said he had a greater calling. Than staying here, ma’am.” At hearing this, Morgana went silent. Slowly her face contorted to anger as she sneered softly.
“You said a Nokken right? They’re like sirens yes? It tricked them both and then kidnapped them.”
“No. My Lord Arch—”
“I AM MORGANA LE FEY! MERLIN’S CHOSEN LAWKEEPER!! I DECIDE WHAT’S TRUE!! Where did it take them!?” she snapped with pure rage at the young witch.
“He—they didn’t say.” She said fearfully.
“No matter. I’ll find them one way or another.” Morgana growled lowly.
Balthazar sighed heavily with solemn. He then turned to Serafina and warned her.
“This next scene won’t be pretty.” He walked ahead. As Serafina passed over the tree, she was greeted with a gruesome sight. Hundreds upon thousands of sea creature corpses lay across the land.
From mermaids, to sirens, Nokks to Kelpies. Every sea creature known to mankind could be seen. Their bodies pale and their eyes soulless with death.
“Morgana declared war between us and the sea creatures. Accusing Roger of seducing both Archimedes and his apprentice and demanding retribution. It resulted in a massacre on a scale never seen before in Wizard history until two other occasions.” Balthazar explained as he and Serafina slowly walked over the corpses of the poor sea creatures.
“Me and Freddie.” Balthazar nodded solemnly. They arrived at seemed to be the end of the garden. “Heartbroken at his apprentices fall into darkness; with his final breath, Merlin arranged the meeting between the four of them to meet at the sacred, neutral ground known to all creatures.” Balthazar once again pushed the shrubs away and Serafina soon saw Roger, Wanda, Archimedes, and Morgana standing in a landscape that she knew all too well.
“It’s—my home.” She whispered in awe as well as shock.
“I’ve come as Merlin decreed. Now give them back, and all of this can be over.” Morgana took a step when Roger, who was now in his full Nokken form guarding Archimedes and Wanda, snarled as his gills flared angrily.
“Stay back! They came here to talk! That’s all!”
“Please sister stop this. I can’t give you what you want.” Archimedes pleaded.
“That’s not true. You’re our brother!” Morgana tried to reason with him.
“Yes. You and Balthazar have been my brother and sister. You both will always be my brother and sister. But our journey together has come to an end.”
“You’re—abandoning us? For what purpose? What purpose is greater than being with your own family?” Archimedes swallowed his tears and said as he looked directly at Morgana.
“The protection and safe security of all Magical creatures. So please, let them live in peace.”
“There is no peace without you Archimedes! You belong with your own kind. With Sorcerers. With us.” Morgana pleaded. Archimedes turned his head and refused to look Morgana in the eye. She took another step before looking towards Wanda now. “Wanda, you know this is the way. Please child come with me.” Roger’s claws dug deeper into the ground as his fangs grew longer.
“I said….STAY BACK!!” then like the animal he truly was, he launched himself at Morgana, pinning her down and snarled down at her.
Morgana’s gagging echoed in the night as Roger began to choke her to death before he felt ready to deliver the final blow. He wasn’t just doing this for his Sorcerer friends but he also lost all his best friends and family to this witch.
She cause in a complete genocide against the sea and now he was going to have his revenge.
“Roger stop it what are you doing!?” Wanda exclaimed.
“SHE’S A MONSTER WANDA!! She’ll keep hunting you both. Just like she hunted my people! I. Have. To end this!” Morgana continued to choke as she tried to get Roger off of her but he was too strong for her.
“Roger please listen to me! I know she’s slaughtered your people but—” Archimedes started off. “If you kill her now, you will be no better than she was. We—we can’t bear to see you……”
“Please Roger let Lady Morgana go! For us.” Wanda pleaded as tears formed in her eyes. Roger looked at his friends with helpless eyes but when he looked down at Morgana, his eye grew hard and filled with hatred.
But he knew they were right. If he killed the high witch now, he’d not only have to go into hiding but he’d also be consumed by revenge. Soon enough what would stop him from killed all other sorcerers? Including Wanda and Archimedes who have shown him nothing but kindness and love. Something his kind never truly understood, until he met them. He turned back towards them and said softly.
“Only for you both.” He released Morgana and crawled over towards them. Morgana let out a series of coughs as she slowly raised herself off the ground. Archimedes pressed his forehead against Roger’s and whispered.
“Thank you my friend.” Roger then turned to Wanda who immediately hugged him and kissed his blue/grey scale cheek. “Sister Morgana I—”
“SANGUINE MALICE!!” Morgana cried out. Wanda pushed Roger away and took the spell head on. She stumbled backwards as she clenched her stomach with one arm and held her hand to her mouth. Wanda grunted and groaned before she suddenly vomited out blood.
Serafina watched with horror as she was experiencing déjà vu. For that spell was the very same spell that was used on her by John’s own mother.
“WANDA!!” Both Roger and Archimedes exclaimed fearfully. Roger quickly phased back into his human disguise and caught Wanda as she collapsed and proceeded to keep coughing and vomiting out blood. Her eyes dripping out bloody tears as they slowly went red. Her coughs and gagging now pierced the air.
Archimedes joined alongside Roger and took the young witch’s face in between his hands.
“She-she wasn’t the target. It was for the Nokk. But if a witch is willing to die for a monster, then she’s no different!”
“No. No, no, Wanda. Wanda, Wanda hey, hey, hey querida por favor. Por favor, stay with us. Stay with me.” Wanda slowly lifted her bloody hand towards Archimedes’ face and tried to speak, but all that came out were haunting gurgles. “Shhh, shhh, shhh. Save your strength my darling girl. Shhhh, shhh.”
“Please Wanda just hold on. Archimedes will heal you just hang on we’ll get you help. Just please hold on for us. I love you so much my soulmate.” Roger pleaded as he stroked through her hair.
Slowly her head became limp as her gurgling ceased and her arm fell to the ground, leaving a bloody sweep across Archimedes’ right cheek.
“No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no! No!” Roger pleaded and begged but it was too late. Wanda Arya Black was gone. “NOOOOO!!!!” Roger roared out in heartbroken agony and wept over her corpse. Archimedes too couldn’t hold his tears back as he pressed his forehead to Wanda’s and his tears fell upon her face.
When Roger slowly turned his head towards Morgana, his blood boiled with more rage than ever.
“You’ve killed one of your own!” He went to charge towards Morgana but a hand stopped him from moving any further. Roger looked down and saw that Archimedes had stopped him. Before he could snap, Roger’s anger suddenly turned to fear as he sensed a sudden spike of power rising within Archimedes.
The wizard slowly stood up and Morgana stared at her brother in fear.
“Archimedes?” she softly spoke his name. Suddenly she felt something beginning to choke her. She dropped her wand as her hands went up to neck, trying to feel what it was that was choking her but she felt nothing but her own skin. The sky grew dark, the wind softly picked up and even the moon went dark. It was then Archimedes spoke in a low, haunting chant.
By the Guardian of all creatures
I give my voice to the Seers.
Soon even the moon itself grew black till it practically seemed to have disappeared completely. Archimedes began to glow a bright white color as his lower half changed and morphed into a long snake-like tail.
It soon came towards Morgana as it now revealed that a tail was now choking her. Coils also formed around Wanda’s body protectively while Roger fell to the ground and submitted in fear, for he knew just what was coming.
Suddenly from Archimedes’ lips not only did he speak but a thousand other voices both male and female came out of him.
“FOR YOUR CRIMES ON THESE SACRED GROUNDS, YOUR SOUL WILL KNOW NO PEACE! NOT FOR YOU OR YOUR DESCENDANTS!!” Soon Archimedes’ upper-half grew and grew till he stood well over the trees themselves.
His eyes now glowed pure gold with a white slit as the voices continued to speak through Archimedes.
“EVERY DESCENDANT YOU GIVE BIRTH WILL BE MARKED WITH SUFFERING. AND WE, SHALL BE YOUR DEATH IN EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM. SO SAYS THE NAGA, THE SEERS OF ALL. THE GUARDIAN OF CREATURES CONDEMNS YOU. MORGANA THE TRAITORUS!”
Morgana had never in her life felt such fear surge through her body. Her brother had surrendered his very being to the most powerful and dangerous creatures known to the supernatural world. The eyes closed and with a bright light, all three of them disappeared, leaving her cowering on the ground as the wind blew her hair around her face.
Her expression frozen in pure terror.
From the bushes Balthazar looked down solemnly while Serafina was just in shock.
“None of this—was taught to us at school.”
“That’s because Morgana obliviated the entire Wizard community of what really happened that night, told her own version of the tale. And from there she made Morgana’s law, the execution and hunting of all magical creatures, out of her hate and fear. Years after I became Sorcerer Supreme, and saw for myself what happened that night thanks to the help of Freddie Mercury himself, I exposed her for the coward she really was. But when you obliviate an entire community, there is only so much you can do to rewrite certain parts of history without dire consequences. And her laws and teachings would soon make their way to my bloodline and the massacre of the Naga soon commence.”
Soon the forest changed to the very day the Naga genocide happened with Thomas Riddle Deacon was Sorcerer Supreme. All of the Nagas surrounded them before the vision went black as Balthazar choked out sadly.
“I did my best to warn him, but—it wasn’t enough.” Soon the two of them were back in the real world. Balthazar in his vessel’s body, a broken expression on his face as his head lowered in sorrow. “Archimedes has been missing since that night and Morgana’s law continues to be enforced. That’s why at the end of every Sorcerer Supreme reign they plan, target and exterminate every living creature.”
“You mean Archimedes—is alive?” Balthazar nodded sadly. “This whole time?! So why hasn’t he been protecting these creatures?”
“He renounced his claim to it. So their only hope is for the next chosen one to take the mantel. That’s why Freddie also chose you along with John.”
“What?”
“You are Wanda’s descendant. You are destined to be the next Guardian of Creatures. If you don’t, the cycle will only continue. Archimedes will stay hidden, Morgana’s law will remain, and Sorcerers will continue to kill till only they are the supreme beings. That’s why we want you to help us end it.”
“I’m—sorry Balthazar. That’s too much even for me.” Serafina sat down along the wall and said as she held her legs to her chest. “I’m not a Guardian or a descendant of anyone connected to the 3 apprentices, I’m just……me.”
“You can believe in that and forget what I’ve told you or can continue to help fix a broken world. Your choice.”
For years she had been following in what Freddie has foreseen her and John to do but never did she imagine that she’d have to also lead all Magical creatures into peace. Not to mention that she now suddenly got a whiplash of the fact that her family line was connected to the 3 apprentices of Merlin through apprenticeship.
But she had come too far now. If she fled now then all this work would have been for nothing. She’d be abandoning her family yet again and that was something she couldn’t do. Not when she finally started to rebuild it once again with the return of her adopted sons.
“Okay. What do you need us to do now?”
“Find Archimedes. He’s in his Motherland of what is now known as Chile. He has got to crown a Guardian of Creatures.”
“But Chile has one of the most powerful magical barriers. We wouldn’t even know where to start looking once we got there.”
“He’ll come to you dear one. He’ll trust his apprentice’s bloodline. But uhh… Archimedes won’t train you if you bring forth my descendant let alone know that you’re married to him. Best if you go find him alone.”
“You want me too—abandon my family?”
“You’re not abandoning them. Your destiny lies on a different path than theirs right now. You and Archimedes both need this.”
“I don’t know if I can do this on my own.” Balthazar placed his vessel’s hand on Serafina’s shoulder and both the vessel and Balthazar’s real voice spoke to her.
“When the time comes, I know you will do the right thing.” Their voices echoed in her head.
Back at camp Serafina’s eyes suddenly shot open and she panted heavily as a cold sweat stuck to her entire body.
“Melda?” John’s voice groaned beside her. She looked down and rested her hand against John’s temple and used her magic to put him back to sleep.
“I’m alright my love. Go back to sleep.” He cleared his throat tiredly before letting out a moan and immediately fell right asleep. Serafina stared outside of the tent and thought to herself, ‘A descendant of Archimedes’ apprentice.’
She turned her night dress into traveling clothes and looked down at her husband and sons one last time.
“I’ll be back my loves. Please don’t worry.” She sent three red auras of magic into the minds of her boys who all smiled in their sleep and let out tired moans.
Serafina got out of the tent and she got on top of her horse and proceeded to race off into the desert.
#john deacon#john deacon x reader#john deacon x oc#john deacon imagine#john deacon imagines#roger taylor#roger taylor x reader#roger taylor x oc#roger taylor imagine#roger taylor imagines#brian may#brian may x reader#brian may x oc#brian may imagine#brian may imagines#freddie mercury#freddie mercury x reader#freddie mercury x oc#queen#queen band#queen fanfic#queen fandom#queen imagine#queen imagines#AU!Queen imagine#queen x reader#bohemian rhapsody#bohemian rhapsody imagines#bohemian rhapsody fanfiction#bohemian rhapsody x reader
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Of monuments and memorials...
I cannot imagine life without liberty, without the freedom to take a nap or road trip on my days off, or a life without days off, or work without a paycheck. I cannot imagine life without the security of knowing my family’s whereabouts because they had been sold to an unknown buyer…slavery.
I cannot imagine having no choices, and though mine haven’t always been sound ones, they were still mine to make (not to diminish the fact that as women, many of our choices have been hard-won, some during my lifetime, and some of those battles still rage because of old white men.)
I cannot imagine living in fear and uncertainty because of the color of my skin, of being considered less than a human being. Even in the face of a largely misogynist work and social culture, I have never feared dying at a traffic stop. I know men who do, and I also fear for them.
I am among the blessed, for even as impoverished as my ancestors were, they were autonomous and free to seek new opportunities. Even those who worked in dreadful feudal circumstances were not property. I have been a daughter, a wife, a mother, an employee, but never property. I cannot imagine a life as property. Slavery…
…such recent history.
I knew my maternal great grandmother; we called her “Nonna Vecchia” and she fascinated me. Teresa Gandini was born in 1874, only a few years after the unification of Italy. Italy has been one nation with a common language for only a century and a half. That’s great-grandparent history, and because I knew mine, it feels pretty recent to me.
My husband’s great grandfather Lewis was born in 1861, at the beginning of the Civil War. His childhood was marked by the absences of his father and uncles who were soldiers on both sides of that conflict, and Lewis grew up in the days of reconstruction and the movements that followed. That is not ancient history. It is recent...great-grandparent history.
Many of us learned the stories told by our great-grandparents and grandparents, and the family lore that gets passed down by our parents who shared the oral histories with our children we will share with our grands. My great-grandmother’s little shack was gone long before I ever met her, but the stories were so vivid that I swear I can smell the smoke from that fireplace at the end of a long day in the fields. I can feel the hunger during the lean times, and I am still angry at the way the Lavellis mistreated my family. That history is in my bones. It is cellular. It is part of who I am. Am I the only one with a sense that we can reach back and almost touch those family memories?
In 1905 America anyone over forty had been born during the Civil War. In the South, they would have been born in a slave state, which means black people of that generation had most likely been born into…slavery. Those are the great-grandparents of my generation, and their bondage is part of the family history to which my friends can reach back and almost touch. That is recent, fresh, and I would find it still pretty damn painful, because...great grandparents.
In 1905 Alabama the grip of Jim Crow was a tight one, and the mistreatment of people of color was not only largely ignored, but at times encouraged. The idea that black people were somehow inferior and should not be allowed a place in white society was a driving force behind the laws of the day. Those who had been freed from slavery were still working forty years later, struggling to build their lives within a community that was powered by those who once owned them and against a deep-seated resentment of having to relinquish that “peculiar institution.” Some moved away, but many remained…great-grandparents.
In 1905, the business of living often required a trip downtown where segregation and inequality were celebrated on every corner by signage directing “colored” folks to the rear and away from “whites only” amenities. Renewing a license or paying a tax meant visiting the courthouse and required a cautious approach for those relegated to back entrances and back seats…great-grandparents.
In 1905 the Daughters of the Confederacy erected a monument on the courthouse square:
"In memory of the heroes who fell in defense of the principles which gave birth to the Confederate cause erected by the Daughters of the Confederacy. Our Confederate dead. In memory of General John Hunt Morgan, ‘Thunderbolt of the Confederacy, born in Huntsville June 1, 1825, died defending the noble cause Sept. 1864’”
Read that again:
“In defense of the principles which gave birth to the Confederate cause…”
No matter how many have tried to shift the narrative, that “cause” was the fight for states’ rights to own human beings for the purpose of doing the work and building the infrastructure that established the wealth of an economy which enabled southern white society to flourish. Simply put…slavery.
Having lived the other side of that sentiment, those former slaves understood all too well. Imagine having to walk past that memorial to the very men who bought and sold you, and who fought for the right to own you and yours, and whose legacy still required you to use the back entrance or walk an extra block to find a “colored” bathroom. In 1905, I imagine that newly erected granite insult stoked the fires of more than forty years of still-fresh memories, oral histories which were shared at family dinner tables and on front porches by the very generation who lived them, former slaves…great-grandparents.
Today the Madison County courthouse still sits on the square, though the old columned structure has been replaced with stark modern architecture, and that old Daughters of the Confederacy monument to the defenders of the “cause” still stands. We still have to go downtown for the business of life, and the great-grandchildren of slaves are still faced with that granite memorial to the men who fought to keep their beloved ancients as property.
Consider how it feels for them to see these public monuments to the efforts of men who fought for the “cause,” and how insulting it is to see people still fighting for the protection of that sentiment. Imagine how it feels to hear people you thought were your friends arguing to preserve a monument to the men who fought to enslave your great-grandparents. The signage of segregation may be gone, but we are daily reminded that our society still has much work to do to ensure everyone is safely included within it. It is long past time for that thing to be in a museum instead of the town square, and for society to recognize the truth of the “cause” for which it is displayed.
Reconstruction may have begun in earnest, but it lost it’s way too soon, and here we are, the great-grandchildren, still on both sides of the struggle to put things aright. We have a responsibility to correct the myth of the “cause,” while we still have voice, especially if we are white. We will soon be the great grandparents telling stories at dinner tables and front porches...oral histories.
As for those whose great grandparents were defenders of the “cause,” they left behind some valuable lessons. We can teach the wrong side of history without celebrating it. As for monuments and memorials...we all have skeletons in our family closets that should not be commemorated on the courthouse square.
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M E E T E L L A
1. Full Name?
Eloise Grace Dawson
2. Preferred Names or Nicknames?
Ella. Only her parents call her Eloise, and when they do it’s never a good thing.
3. What does their name mean? Does it have any significance in their family? Do they like their name?
The name Eloise means ‘famous in war,’ in French and ‘healthy’ in German. The name Ella means ‘beautiful fairy woman,’ and ‘light.’ The name Grace means ‘eloquence, beauty, kindness, and mercy.’ Although Ella relates to these varying meanings in different ways, from her fierce courage to her romanticized way of viewing the world, she wasn’t named for them. Her great-great-great-grandmother was named Eloise, and ever a man dedicated to honoring family and tradition, her father thought it would be a suitable name for his first-born daughter. Funnily enough, Ella’s ancestor Eloise was also known for being a brash-spitfire. The family has several antique photos of Eloise marching with suffragettes at a rally in 1919, as well as a picture of Eloise at what was presumably a speakeasy sometime in the 1920s, puffing on a cigar with pearls draped around her neck, playing poker at a table surrounded men in white shirts and three-piece suits. Ella likes to think they’d have gotten along. She also feels a sense of pride in the history surrounding her name.
4. Age and Date of Birth?
Ella is 17 years old and her birthday is December 15.
5. Gender and Pronouns?
Female. She/her.
6. Hometown?
Boston, MA. She was raised in a townhouse in Beacon Hill.
7. Does your character fit into any well known archetypes or tropes?
The Black Sheep
The Lovable Rogue
The Storyteller
The Dreamer
8. How long have they been at Broadripple?
Ella became a student at Broadripple during her Sophomore year. She was originally attending a private school in Boston where she lived with her parents, but after being caught sneaking out of the house with a rather unsavory young man ( and after one too many second chances in the eyes of her parents ) Ella was shipped off to Broadripple Academy. She hasn’t been able to go home since, spending every weekend, holiday, and break at the Academy that they are able to. In the words of her father, this was to “prevent her from being a bad influence on her little brother.” But Ella suspects it’s a prolonged act of punishment that will never end.
9. What led them to apply to Broadripple? Was it a decision made by them or by their parents/guardians or somewhere in between?
The Dawson’s are a legacy family, and although they initially intended to keep their family close together, Ella’s disobedience, rebellion, and reckless behavior pushed them to sending her to Broadripple. They believe the Academy will be able to ‘straighten her out,’ pushing her into maturity through rigorous course work, high expectations, and the watchful eyes of the nuns.
10. Whether they’ve been at Broadripple four days or four years, do they enjoy it? Do they like Broadripple?
Ella does not enjoy Broadripple. She likes some of the people and classes, but ultimately she feels trapped. Her ability to leave campus is limited, and her parents try to keep her on a tight leash so she can’t make any ‘poor life choices.’ She would probably enjoy the school more if it felt less like a prison.
11. What house are they in? Do they care very much about their house?
Ella is a legacy student in Seton. She doesn’t carry much house pride, perhaps in spite of how much her father values their identity as a Seton Family. However, she is very fond of the color blue and has been long before she became a student at Broadripple. This is the extent of her passion for the Seton Legacy.
12. Who do they share a dorm with, or are they on their own for the moment? What are they like to live with? Are they clean or messy? Early risers or night owls?
Ella is roommates with Gwen Prescott, and it is most definitely not a happy pairing. Ella finds Gwen’s incessant need to follow the rules frustrating. Her domineering personality, demand for no boys in the room, and meticulous attention to the cleanliness of the room makes Ella want to spend as little time there as possible. That being said, although Ella isn’t anywhere neat as Gwen, she isn’t especially messy either. Her desk tends to get messy rather quickly, as it is the place she happens to ‘drop off’ everything, including her jackets, homework assignments, in-progress books, and discarded articles of clothing she feels won’t fit her outfit and she hasn’t put away yet. Her bedside table is always stacked with books and her bed is made, but not tucked in - she prefers her bed to look comfy and soft rather than sterile and pressed. Ella is an odd combination of both. She finds something about the night invigorating. Because of this she is prone to sneaking out. However, Ella has a hard time relaxing. This makes sleeping in challenging, as she is often compelled to go out and do something with the limited free time she has.
13. How is your character’s dorm decorated? Is it bare or bursting at the seams with personality? Any particular sentimental items from home?
Ella’s portion of the room is thoroughly decorated. String lights line the walls above her bed all the way along her ‘half.’ Polaroid pictures are stuck in the frame of her mirror and taped to the walls. On the wall above her bed, Ella has a full-sized world map speckled with push-pins of places she wants to travel to. Her walls are crowded with quotes from books, poems, and songs she has found meaning in, art prints. The storage space beneath her bed and her bookcase are stuffed with books, most of which are dog-eared, framed by notes scribbled in margins and dashed with highlighters. Under her bed she has a box of CDs - her Just In Case jams. Essentially, a compilation of the music she knows she couldn’t live without in the case of a zombie apocalypse or the collapse of the internet.
14. What is their favourite subject at school? Do they even have a favourite? Why?
Creative Writing. Ella has been passionate about story-telling and writing ever since she was a little girl. Any time to completely immerse herself in the subject makes her immeasurably happy. She probably gets a little ‘too into it,’ in the eyes of her classmates, especially those who took creative writing as the ‘easy’ writing course. She’s the person who brings a 30-page short story to workshop, much to the chagrin of her peers.
15. Are they involved in any clubs? Which ones?
Ella is involved in Women of Broadripple and Chamber Choir.
16. How does your character feel about Broadripple’s Unofficial Clubs? Do they know about them? Are they a part of any of them?
Ella doesn’t have any strong opinions about Broadripple Unsolved. If anything, she thinks they’re pretty cool, mostly because she finds the notion of sleuthing around at night for clues or using an ouija board to try and contact a ghost to be thrilling. Ella has a complicated relationship with the Broadripple Boy’s Club, mostly because she loathes bullying and finds the people who participate in it to be, generally, lame as hell. However, she can’t deny the undeniable draw she feels to ‘bad boys’ with inflated egos who smoke cigarettes and have a penchant for getting in trouble. The Unofficial Chastity Club is something Ella rolls her eyes at, mostly because she thinks it perpetuates a stigma around sexuality that she doesn’t approve of.
17. Does your character participate in any sports? If so, what made them join the team?
Ella is an avid member of the swim team. She’s adored swimming ever since she was a child and participates in the sport out of passion and enjoyment rather than a drive to ‘be the best.’ That being said, her father expects a lot out of her swimming and is prone to sending her harsh texts if she doesn’t ‘perform well’ at a meet. This has somewhat tainted her love of the sport. Although she can’t deny that one of the places she feels happiest at Broadripple is at the pool in the middle of the night when no one else is there.
18. What afternoon activities does your character do? Do they just do the one mandatory one or are they involved in multiple? Why?
Ella participates in two afternoon activities - drama and the seasonal musical. She’s a total drama nerd and enjoys performing on stage. The two activities complement each other, and Ella finds her experiences in both enrich her capabilities in the other. Additionally, she just finds them really fun. Occasionally, she volunteers at the animal shelter.
19. Do they miss their home when they’re at Broadripple? Do they often go home for the weekends or do they only go home during holiday breaks?
Ella’s hasn’t been home since she was sent to Broadripple. She misses her brother most of all, but her feelings towards her parents are complicated. She misses them and is saddened by the state of their relationship, but she also harbors a deep-set anger for the way they have treated her. Ella typically doesn’t go home during the holidays, either filling out special paperwork to stay at Broadripple or staying with a close family friend or relative.
20. Did your character know Izzy De Santis or Maggie Monroe?
She knew of them but didn’t know them personally. She finds their disappearance to be suspicious, especially since no one seems to know where they’ve gone. Ella has always had a wild imagination and what might have happened to Izzy and Maggie finds itself consuming more and more of her thoughts.
21. Has your character heard of Edith Lynch? Do they know the story?
Ella heard the story of Edith Lynch when she first came to Broadripple. She’d snuck out with a few older boys and they’d told her the story to try and scare her. Eager for the thrill, Ella demanded more details, which the boys were unable to provide. This led her to doing some thorough research at the Academy’s alumni and records section of the library. In short, she knows the ghost stories, the lore and the Academy’s sanitzied record of events, but she often finds herself questioning the truth.
22. How does your character feel about Nighmore? Have they noticed the recently closed shops yet?
Ella is grateful Nighmore exists because it gives her a brief respite from the campus, but ultimately its locations and activities are lacking. She’s taken note of the closed shops and is most impacted by the Kettle closing down. Ella adored their baked goods and found she often got a lot of good writing done there. Plus, it always offered a place for her to hide out when Gwen was in one of her moods.
23. Have you made any aesthetic Pinterest boards/WeHeartIt collections for this character? Or playlists? Anything you would like to share!
**under construction
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Lore Episode 11: Black Stockings (Transcript) - 25th July 2015
tw: violence, death by fire, medical details, ableism, child abuse, torture, unsanitary procedures
Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!
Before we begin, I want to share something exciting with you. My newest novel, Grave Suspicion, is finally here. In fact, today is release day, and like every other type of release, the first day is always the most important. The novel is a supernatural thriller. If you like the unexplainable, the odd, and the mysterious then you’ll love this book. It’s available in paperback as well as a number of digital formats from eBook stores, and it would mean the world to me if you’d consider buying a copy today. You can go to amazon.com and search “Grave Suspicion Aaron Mahnke”, or visit aaronmahnke.com and find links to your other favourite formats. And thanks in advance for an incredible release day for this book, and know I couldn’t have done it without you. And now, on with the show.
Most of us have had the joy of being sick once or twice in our lives. It’s a part of the human experience, I suppose – we get sick, and then we get better. At least, that’s how its supposed to work. One thing I’m constantly thankful for is the fact that we live in such a modern, enlightened age of medicine. We no longer use urine as an antiseptic and we don’t diagnose illness based on our astrological signs, but that wasn’t always the case. Gone are the days of bleeding ourselves with leeches or trying to balance our humours to make sure our sanguine fluids aren’t overpowering our melancholic fluids, and I’m probably not the only one who’s happy that we no longer treat sick people with enemas administered with metal syringes filled with boar bile. Yes, bile from a boar. I could not make this stuff up. Our ancestors didn’t know why certain things happened, but they sure did their best their best to try. Stories were created, myths were told, and superstitions took root. All of them were designed to explain why things happened, and these reasons, even if they were pure fabrications, somehow helped people deal with the realities of life. Why was my child born deformed? Why did my husband’s personality change overnight? Why did my entire family die from a plague last year? These questions haunted people in ways we can’t understand today, and they grasped for anything that would help them cope. They found answers in their common folklore. Among the countless tales and stories told, there’s one superstition from Ireland that saw more usage than most. You see, when something didn’t seem right, when things went wrong, and people suffered, there was only one explanation in the minds of the Irish that covered it all: they blamed it on changelings. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.
A changeling, according to the folklore of Europe, is a kind of fairy. Stories of them can be found in Germany, Ireland, England, Scandinavia, Spain, and many other European countries. In all those cultures, changelings have the same methodology: they are a substitute for a kidnapped human being. Either out of jealousy or great need, fairies were said to enter our world and make a trade without our knowledge. They would leave one of their own behind and return to the fairy realm, where the kidnapped human would live a happy, joyful life in paradise. We have a great summary of changelings thanks to the Irish poet William Butler Yeats. “They steal children”, he wrote, “and leave a withered fairy, 1000, or maybe 2000, years old instead. At times, full-grown men and women have been taken. Near the village of Colonie lives an old woman who was taken in her youth. When she came back, at the end of seven years, she had no toes, for she had danced them all off”. Changelings, according to the legends, can actually take one of three forms. The first is the kind Yeats wrote about: the senile and ancient fairy, who is disguised as a child. Another kind of changeling was an actual fairy child, and the third type was simply an inanimate object, such as a block of wood or a carved log. This third type is sometimes known as a “stock”. The logic, at least to someone in medieval Europe, was simple. If a child was born with birth defects, was sickly or ill-tempered, they were often thought to be the fairy substitute, left behind when their real child was taken from their home. If an adult went missing, or was later found mysteriously dead, people would often assume that the body was really a bundle of sticks that had merely been enchanted to resemble their loved one. Folklore blossomed on the subject. Wives’ tales and legend taught new generations how to spot a changeling, instantly providing them with both one more reason to fear every little change in a person’s life, but also some safety and hope that they could cling to.
Even the overall wellbeing of a family could hinge on these creatures. Changelings, you see, were said to drain all the luck away from a home, and by doing so, they would leave a family cursed to struggle with poverty and misfortune, all while trying to care for a child they saw as a curse more and more, every day. When the stories focused on men and women who had been swapped out for a fairy, the symptoms were more psychological in nature. Signs of an adult changeling included mood swings, becoming argumentative, and losing interest in friends and family. Changelings were said to have enormous appetites, eating everything they were given and then asking for more. It was said that if your infant preferred food from the larder rather than being nursed, there was a chance they weren’t really your child at all. While most changeling infants died in early childhood, those that survived were said to become dim-witted adults. Men and women who survived this long were sometimes called “uffa”, which is where we get the word “oaf”. Thankfully, though, there were ways to test people to see if they were, in fact, a changeling. One method involved putting a shoe in a bowl of soup. If the baby saw this and laughed, it was seen as proof that the child was a changeling. Another method involved making a tiny loaf of bread inside half an eggshell, again meant to make the fairy laugh. And once discovered, a fairy changeling could be driven from the house in a variety of ways, in which case the kidnapped human child or adult would be returned unharmed. One trick involved holding the suspected child over a fire, while another recommended forcing the suspect to drink tea brewed with foxglove, a poisonous flower. It was thought that as the person’s body expelled the toxin through vomiting and diarrhoea, the changeling would be forced to return to the fairy realm. It sounds crazy to think that people would believe such stories, even centuries ago. Surely no one actually performed these tests, or administered these treatments, especially to their own family, right? Unfortunately, history teaches us that desperate people are capable of just about anything.
In July of 1826, a woman named Anne Roche from Tralee, Country Kerry in South-West Ireland, was caring for a four-year-old boy named Michael Leahy. According to her own testimony, the boy was unable to walk, stand or speak. Convinced that he was, in fact, a fairy changeling, she bathed him in icy waters three times to force the fairy out. The boy drowned. She was tried by court, and they found her not guilty. In 1845, a woman suspected of being a changeling was placed in a large basket filled with wood shavings, and then hung over the kitchen fire until the contents of the basket ignited. In 1851, a man in Ireland literally roasted his child to death, because he believed the boy to be a fairy. Three children were suspected of being fairies in 1857 – they were bathed on a solution of foxglove, and then forced to drink it. Sometimes babies were left in or near bodies of water as a way of forcing the changelings to leave. In 1869, an exorcism was attempted by dipping a child three times in a lake in Ireland. Another woman actually left her infant on the shore of a lake, and walked away, expecting the fairies to come and make the swap. Thankfully, she returned later to reclaim her child. Sometimes neighbours stepped in when the parents of an obvious changeling would did nothing. In 1884, while the mother of three-year-old Philip Dillon was out of the house, Ellen Cushion and Anastasia Rourke snuck inside. Philip, you see, could not use his arms and legs, and these neighbours saw that as proof enough of his condition. One of the neighbours stripped the boy naked while the other stoked a fire. Then, when everything was ready, they placed him on a large shovel and held it over the flames. Little Philip survived, but he was severely burnt by the incident. We hate what we fear, you see, but rather than fade away as the 19th century moved on, the fears and superstitions around changelings only seemed to grow in Ireland, and as hard as it might be to believe, things were about to get worse.
In the late 19th century, one of the governing bodies in Ireland was the Board of Guardians in each district. They were tasked with dispensing public aid, and one of the ways they did that was by building labourer cottages, homes built to provide housing for rural agricultural workers. Many workers had lost their land in the recent famine, and this was one way of helping alleviate some of the homelessness and poverty that had become so common in the country. One cottage was constructed in Ballyvadlea, a small community of just nine homes and 31 people, in County Tipperary. The family who was awarded the cottage moved in, but there was a problem. It seems that the house had been built on a rath, a low, earthen ring, and while archaeologists know them to simply be remnants of an Iron Age fort, some of the Irish still thought of them as “fairy rings”, portals into another realm. After the family moved in, odd things began to happen. Cries in the night, noises that couldn’t be identified, and a feeling of dread. Almost as soon as the tenants had moved in, they were leaving. In their stead, the cottage was given to an old, retired labourer named Patrick Boland, who moved in with his adult daughter and her husband. His daughter, Bridget, was unusual. In 1895, it was the men who controlled the family, they were the breadwinner and sole provider. But even though her husband, Michael, did well as a cooper, someone who makes and repairs barrels, a business that has always done well in Ireland, Bridget wasn’t dependent on him. She had her own business making dresses and keeping hens, and the income from those jobs was more than enough to meet her needs. She was also said to be clever, flirtatious, and highly independent. You can imagine how she must have annoyed her husband and caught the ire of the neighbours, and then there were the rumours of the affair she was having with another man. Bridget Cleary was a self-made, self-possessed woman, and everyone else was bothered by that. I tell you all that because stories have layers. There’s the meaning you glean from the initial telling, and then there’s the rest of the story. The deeper you dive, the more things begin to make sense, and believe me when I tell you there’s a lot about this story that fails to make sense. On March 4th, 1895, Bridget left home on an errand. She had eggs to deliver to the house of her father’s cousin, Jack Donne. It was a short enough distance that she decided to walk, but the weather turned sour while she was out. She spent the next day in bed, complaining of a raging pain in her head. She had chills and shivered constantly. Donne came by the little college to visit a few days later and found Bridget still in bed. He took one look at her, and declared, “That’s not Bridget”. According to him, she was a changeling. Thankfully, no one believed him. Yet.
On March 9th, five days after Bridget’s walk in the cold, her father walked four miles to the nearest doctor and asked him to come help. Two days later, there was still no sign of the doctor, and so her husband, Michael, made the journey. After yet two more days of waiting, the doctor had still not come, and so Michael went again, this time making sure that he brought along the summons from the local health authority. While her husband was out looking for the doctor, the doctor arrived unexpectedly. He did his typical house call check-up, prescribed some medicine, and then left. Still frustrated, the family called upon a priest to come by and give her last rights, just in case. Things weren’t looking up for Bridget Cleary. This was March 13th, a full nine days since taking ill, and so later that evening neighbours and relatives gathered at the cottage to help administer fairy medicine in the form of herbs. Bridget refused the treatment, and they held a red-hot poker in her face until she complied. Things got worse the following day. Cousin Jack Donne had begun to spread word that Bridget had been taken by the fairies and replaced by a changeling. At his urging, a man named Denis Ganey was called to the house. Ganey was known in the community as a fairy doctor and was well-versed in treating cases such as these. His treatments wouldn’t necessarily fit into modern medical textbooks, mind you. They included the use of the hot poker, forcing the changeling to drink first milk from a cow that had just given birth, dousing the person in urine and exposing them to flames. Bridget was slapped and held in front of the fireplace, while her husband demanded that she state, before God and family, that she was indeed Bridget Cleary. Even though she answered yes, the gathered crowd didn’t believe her.
Now, before I continue, there’s something you need to understand about Michael Cleary’s state of mind. While his mother had died when he was young, his father had just passed away hours before. He and Bridget were childless, and they lived with her father in a spare room in the 19th century equivalent of public housing. His own wife was rumoured to be cheating on him, and she didn’t even need him to support her. Michael Cleary was adrift, he had come undone, and maybe that’s what drove him to the edge of sanity. The treatments continued late into the night. Friends and family began to ask to leave, but Michael was said to have yelled that no one was leaving until Bridget came home. He locked the door and placed the key in his pocket. If they could just get this right, he told them, if they could just drive the fairy out and be done with it, his Bridget would come home. Again, she was asked to declare her identity, and Bridget refused. Now, historians don’t know why. Maybe she was just afraid, maybe her independent, stubborn nature prevented her from handing over authority to her husband. Whatever the reason, her silence infuriated Michael. He stripped her to her undergarments and pushed her to the floor. “Come home Bridget, in the name of God”, someone was said to have cried as she lay near the fire. “She’s not my wife”, Michael replied, “you’ll soon see her go up the chimney”. And with that, he doused her with lamp oil, and grabbed a log from the burning fireplace, which he used to ignite the oil. Bridget Cleary burnt to death on the hearth of her own kitchen fireplace, in front of her husband and father, cousins and friends. She was 26 years old.
We haven’t always known as much about the world as we do now. Compared to the centuries before our own, we live in a veritable golden age of knowledge and understanding. Science has eradicated much of the ignorance that once plagued us, and while I’m a fan of mystery and unanswered questions, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Ignorance has been used as a justification for the barbaric, inhumane treatment of other people, to fuel our hatred of those who aren’t like us. That kind of fear often becomes the agent of a dark transformation. Under the influence of fear, humans have a history of mutation, of changing into something grotesque and dangerous. We become monsters. Fear drove Michael Cleary and the others to kill his wife - fear of illness and disease, of mental and medical mysteries, the fear of the loss that seems to be creeping ever closer to his household, and blinded by that fear, Michael Cleary lashed out with the only tool he had: superstition. In many ways, it’s beyond ironic that his fear turned him into someone else. In the end, perhaps, he was the changeling. After forcing one of Bridget’s cousins by knifepoint to help wrap her body in a sheet, he carried her to a nearby field, and buried her in a shallow grave. A short time later, some of the neighbours told the local priest that Bridget Cleary had gone missing. They said, in whispered tones, that it had been a fairy exorcism. When the priest found Michael Cleary praying in the church the next day, he brought up the man’s wife. “Is your wife alright?” the priest asked. “I heard she’d been sick”. “I had a very bad night, father”, Michael told him, a wild look in his eye. “When I woke up, my wife was gone. I think the fairies have taken her”. He was convinced she would return. He had plans to visit a nearby fairy ring and wait for her. She would arrive, he said, in a white gown on a pale horse, and he would cut her bindings with a blackened knife. His Bridget would come home. The priest, to his credit, didn’t believe a single word. He called the police, and a massive search was undertaken. On March 22nd, two constables found her body in the shallow grave her husband had dug just days before. She had been badly burnt, and lay in the foetal position, her knees against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Because her face had escaped the fire, a cloth sack had been placed over her head. All that remained of the little clothing she had been wearing was a pair of black stockings. Bridget Cleary would never come home.
This episode of Lore was produced by me, Aaron Mahnke. You can learn more about me and this show over at lorepodcast.com, and be sure to follow along on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram, @lorepodcast. This episode of Lore was made possible by you, the most thoughtful and knowledgeable listeners around. [Insert sponsor break]. Let me take a moment to say thank you. Because of you, Lore has been a runaway success, and truth be told, I couldn’t have done any of that without you, and I’m thankful to each and every one of you. Now, many of you have asked me to step it up and produce this show weekly, and I’ll be honest – I would love to do that. But to get there, I need your help. So, do this for me: visit my sponsor websites and sign up for their free trials, that helps so much in the long-term success of this show. Pitch in over at Patreon, leave an iTunes review, buy some of my novels, every little bit helps me get closer to being able to take Lore to a full-time, weekly schedule. You can find links and info on how to do all of that over at lorepodcast.com/support. As always, thanks for listening.
Notes
Literally no Celticist with any level of proficiency would use Yeats as a source for “Celtic mythology”.
I can’t find any source for this word “uffa”, but the etymology of “oaf” apparently does trace back to the Old Norse alfr, meaning elf.
#lore podcast#podcasts#aaron mahnke#changelings#bridget cleary#fairies#ireland#folklore#transcripts#11
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This war of ours. Ch.1
The wind blew over the great plains of Whiterun. Gripping her spear and watching from atop her mare Lyra, Lucy Heartfilia looked with contentment.
She was the fairest Dane of the north. Unequaled by any other human on the continent in cheer beauty.
She was vain enough to know that. After all, the Heartfilia women had conserved the same physical appearance since the time of Ysgramor.
Her ancestor had been the famed squire girl who killed the snow prince on Solstheim. And this was how they had retained his magical spear to this day.
She licked her lips.
She had always felt the trill of a ride across the old kingdom. But she could feel that dark event were starting to emerge.
She downed her gaze to see her beautiful horse left eye watching her. Smiling she petted her while speaking.
"Yeah we will go back to the city. I know that you don't like to be outside of your pen by nighttime."
She swept the great steppes of the central valley a last look, before muttering a quick 'let's go' and directing herself toward the east and her home.
As she rode, she looked at the light of the setting sun. Solstheim was again in elvish hands. The thought rubbed her wrong.
She wasn't what one would call a racist person. But she was deeply entrenched in the lore of the nords and their great history. The difference between her and a majority of the dark elves and even most high elf was humility.
She didn't belive one race to be above another. But she believed that her homeland was worth fighting for and even dying for if called upon.
A frown subtly took place on her face. She sounded so old fashioned. The Heartfilia's had always been a Matriarchal a and progressive family. It's what allowed them to keep ruling for four straight eras.
During the Dragon civil war, one of her ancestor had personally fought against Alduin and survived. Another one ensnared the great dragon Numinex into a trap with her cunning wit.
No, her family was anything but 'old fashioned'.
But her father was. When she was younger, she had been a big daddy's girl. She always had his attention. He had taught her himself the art of rhetoric and speechcraft.
He had taught her how to count, how to write, how to philosoph, and most civilian things. The things that a merchant would need to learn to make a fortune, and how not to lose it in a bad deal.
He had also taught her to discern the underlying tone or will behind carefully crafted illusion. Her father was very good at this.
So when she was young, she always was with her father, much more than her mother.
Then, she had reached the age of nine, and her day to day, easy and cheerful learning ended. In its stead, she had learned with her mother how to ride, how to fight, how to lead troops, the art of tactics, strategy and grand strategy. She had learned how to ensnare her mens to kill her opponent.
Basically, she had learned how to lead and end a war.
This period of her life, though not as easy, was just as interesting and fascinating.
She had enjoyed the meal of bread and elk jerkins, as well as late night storytelling. Camping under a blanket of stars and the boisterous laughter in the campement.
It has a spirit of companionship and warmth that had seduced her.
She spent six years living with the soldiers and the guards in the barracks or campement. Fighting and raiding bandits. Protecting the civilian. Competing over who would get the head of the next bear coming to steal their honey.
It had been fun. And sad also. When one of the men left to retirement or, sometimes, died.
But still, she had learned many things of value.
When she stepped into Dragonkeep, she was met by a young huscarl named Yukino Aguria. She was from the Aguria family. The oldest Whiterun family with the greymane and battleborn.
"Lady Lucy, you have recieved a letter from the heir to the jarldom of Winterhold and the Rift. Your mother had it deposed in your room." She was informed.
After thanking her friend and making a quick turn to greet the Leader of the Hirsht, the professional cavalry of the jarl, she went to her room and quickly looked at the letter.
Gray's nice and flowing calligraphy was basically an invitation to go on pilgrimage to high Hrothgard with him and Sting. He didn't want an answer and told her to just meet him at Ivarstead if she was interested by it.
She scoffed at the idea that she would refuse a chance at adventure and then smirked. She rushed to her parents room to tell them of her incoming traveling.
"Mother! Father!" She cried happily when knocking on their door.
They answered rapidly, though they looked slightly disheveled and frustrated, but gave her their attention.
"Yes Lucy? Asked her father.
-I'm going on pilgrimage to High Hrothgard! I will be joining with Gray and Sting at Ivarstead, though I don't know when I'll be there." She chirped happily.
Jude immediately looked worried but Layla exploded in pride and gave her blessing to Lucy as long as she took two of their huscarls with her and all the way to the top of the mountain.
Lucy nodded and went to happily pack, though she also went and asked if Orga and Yukino were willing to go with her. Of course, both accepted.
And so, with this first trip outside of the hold of Whiterun, Lucy Heartfilia made her first step in the world of adult, barely at sixteen years of age.
During the next years, she would experience hardship, violence, war, grief, joy, anger, hate and love as well as deep friendship.
This is the story of how people from all over the empire of Tamriel, will be involved in the famous Great War between mankind and the Aldmeri Dominion.
This war would lead later to another, Greater war.
But for now, the young heiress was traveling on horseback toward her destiny, that would not yet come.
#fairy tail#lucy heartfillia#nalu fanfiction#nalu fanfic#gajevy fanfiction#gale fairy tail#jerza#fairy tail jerza#fairy tail/elder scrolls crossover#fairy tail fanfiction#fairy tail nalu
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Chapter One: Back on the Wagon (Part 1)
A young witch’s longcoat swept a cloud of dust up into the darkness after a loud crack announced her arrival. She lowered a bandana from her mouth, breathed the desert air in deep, and stepped into the wilderness of the Sierra.
She had been after it for months when the trail went cold. But after weeks of no luck, a whisper of mysterious sightings and disappearances she overheard in a dank no-maj dive bar led her there. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t supposed to be on that trail to begin with, or, at least, that far ahead of the authorities. But no-maj disappearances, she knew for certain, weren’t at the top of MACUSA’s list anyway. And, as far as she was concerned, a bounty was a bounty.
She stopped and squinted. The blackened peaks of the Sierra surrounded her, their valleys sharpening the winds that cut through her bones and whistled, surrounding her with the eerie crackles and moans of what little life survived there.
A fire flickered ahead, just a speck, and she moved toward it. She considered lighting her wand, but remembered she couldn’t afford another run-in with Aurors, much less another agonizing afternoon spent in her former office, now occupied by the biggest pain in her ass. And while it was unlikely anyone else, magical or not, would be able to spot her in that darkness, she continued with just the distant fire as her guide. Talking to strangers wasn’t exactly her favorite, but whoever the campers were, there was a good chance they knew some helpful clue to point her in the right direction.
With every step, she sensed something familiar growing. Magic always leaves a trace, and she was sure it had been there, and might be there still.
It occurred to her how strange it was to feel something so alive in a place so desolate, despite the knowledge that a hundred years earlier this land flourished with the life, magic, and harmony of its Native stewards. Legend had it these lands never forgot their original caretakers, that the dirt and stone and water and scant greens were imbued with the longing of their return, and wariness of any who later trod there. It was an ancient magic that made her spine tingle, and her arms prickle with goosebumps, but somehow it wasn’t foreboding. In fact, there was something about the sensation that was inviting, like a gentle greeting after a long absence.
“Who’s that?” a gruff voice greeted her as she reached the edge of the camp.
She hesitated. A young man sat huddled beneath a blanket, wide-eyed and afraid -- she felt she recognized the expression, but couldn’t place it. To his right was a much more imposing figure, with a long, unkempt beard and suspicious eyes.
“I said, who’s that there?” the bearded man repeated, and she noticed his hand hovered over a wand-holster.
“Sorry,” she said lightly, “I didn’t expect to run into anyone else out here, least of all a wizard.”
“Ah, you’re a witch, then,” he replied, brightening, his hand returned to his lap, “Shoulda guessed it, I s’pose, what with you bein’ all the way out here without a pack er nuthin’ like them no-majs dreamed up.”
She nodded, mustering a smile.
“Still ain’t answered my question, though,” he said, gesturing to an empty seat by the fire, “What’s brought you out in the middle o’ nowhere?”
“I heard some no-majs talking about something strange going on around here, so I thought I’d check it out.”
“Spend alotta time with no-majs, do ya’?” he said, his eyes narrowed.
She considered her answer carefully.
“On occasion. Besides, when no-majs see something strange, there’s usually treasure nearby. Even if they can’t see it.”
He held his gaze on her, and, after a moment, laughed.
“Ain’t that the truth! Too blind. It’s a danged miracle they survived this long,” he mused, laughing and elbowing the man in the blanket, who stayed quite still, “Much too blind. And useless. So you’re a curse-breaker, huh? Gringotts?”
“Not officially,” she grunted, the memory of her dismissal still all too vivid, “I heard there might be a cave around here with something worth digging up. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”
“Freelance, huh? That’s the life, ain’t it? Me n’ my buddy here, on the other hand, we’re on a delivery job, fer our boss. Got ourselves a contract -- inked, so to speak.” And he unconsciously touched his left arm.
“That so? What’re you delivering?” the witch asked the man in the blanket.
“Oh, don’t bother with ol’ Mack here. He ain’t made a peep since he thought he saw a wampus this mornin’. Anyhow, even if he made a peep, t’wouldn’t be much worth listenin’ to. Ol’ Mack here’s ‘bout as useful as a broomstick in a tornado.”
But the man in the blanket’s eyes met hers, and she finally remembered where she’d seen that look. And the old man noticed.
“Anyhow, lemme show you what we got here,” he said loudly, pulling a large, aged book out of the rucksack behind him, “This here’s got the name o’ every ancient and noble pureblood family in these here United States. Gimme any name and I’ll tell ya’ if they’re pureblood -- or if they ain’t worth nuthin’ at all.”
He turned to a page that was dog-eared, presumably for moments just like this, and pointed.
“There, Crassley, that’s me. William ‘Bill’ Crassley, atcher service. Now, your turn.”
“Oh, you won’t find my name in a book like that,” she said, and, when the old man’s eyes flashed, added, “My folks weren’t from around here. Mom was a dragonologist from Korea, and dad...he was a healer. Taíno.”
The first part was almost true. Her mother, she was told, was Korean-born and American-raised. She traveled to the Dominican Republic in hopes of finding the Caribbean Nightcrawler, a breed long thought extinct, when she was injured and later nursed by a young doctor from a nearby village.
The doctor, her father, wasn’t magical, though his ancestors were known to live peacefully with the magical community for centuries. That is, before witches and wizards from Europe made their way west. She remembered the bedtime stories he told of a lost people, betrayed by the very travelers they intended to help. She remembered sitting quietly at the top of the stairs, well past her bedtime, listening to him and others she didn’t know scheme to reunite and to rebuild what their ancestors lost to tragedy and time. She watched as he pored over ancient histories and lore, and scraped together what he could of the traditions the ancient Taínos left behind. But he did heal people, with modern no-maj methods, sure, but also with the plants and herbs and anything else the earth provided him, and with his soothing touch. And that, the young witch decided long ago, was more powerful than magic.
When her parents died and she was shipped off to Ilvermorny, the young witch learned the meaning of the look Bill and so many others gave her, and what it meant to reveal the full truth. So she often chose her words carefully, and steadied her gaze.
Bill watched her closely.
“I hearda them Taínos,” he said darkly, “Buncha half-bloods, ain’t they? That is, if ya’ count what they call ‘magic.’ Ain’t even got wands, do they?”
“They don’t believe in separating no-majs from us, no.”
“Couldn’ta been very powerful, their magic, then, I reckon,” Bill said, shaking his head, “Di-luted, probably. Shame. All that good magic blood gone to waste. High time someone came along n’ put it right, ‘afore s’all gone.”
That kind of talk, not new nor uncommon, had recently grown louder.
Since the Salem witch trials, MACUSA and general magical society unanimously agreed to isolate, conjuring up an impenetrable wall between themselves and no-majs, which stood for centuries. At least, until just a few years prior, when the ban on inter-blood marriage was lifted. For many, the end of the ban meant hope, at long last, and the prospect of coming out of hiding. For still many more, it was the last straw.
The rise of a new and ruthless dark wizard in Britain emboldened the purist community around the world. As far as the young witch knew, the one who called himself Voldemort had never set foot on American soil, but his presence was felt far and wide, regardless -- as little as MACUSA wanted to admit it.
She loved her parents and their history, but at times found herself keeping them a secret, frustrated with how difficult it was to find her place in a world that never intended for her to exist.
Her jaw clenched.
“An’ what is it, exactly, you believe?” he asked, slowly.
His holster was suddenly in his hand, and she glanced at the man in the blanket.
“Well,” she started, as she slowly lowered her right hand to her side, “I don’t believe ol’ Mack here’s a friend of yours.”
At that, Bill unsheathed his wand and pointed it directly between her eyes, but the young witch was faster. With a quickdraw and a flick, she caught his wand and sent him crashing to the ground.
She stepped forward to make sure he was out cold before turning her wand to Mack.
“Finite incantatem,” she said.
Finally, Mack relaxed.
“Th-thank you,” he croaked, “I-I really thought...I mean, thank you.”
“That’s okay,” she said, helping him to his feet, “I’m only sorry I didn’t stun him sooner.”
“You and me both.”
“So you’re a wizard.”
“Yes, ma’am. Half, anyway. Same as you.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, I'd never seen a pureblood get trigger happy for half-bloods before.”
With that, the witch blushed. An unfamiliar warmth flooded her chest for a moment, and she shook it off, clearing her throat.
“We should tie him up before he causes any trouble. Incarcerous.”
“Righteous.”
“Why’re you all the way out here, anyway?” she asked, rifling through Bill’s belongings, picking up his book, “Why didn’t he just kill you on the spot?”
“That’s friendly,” Mack scoffed, “I don’t know. He said something about cracking some kind of gnarly cave open, paying a price, etcetera, etcetera. Snapped my wand in half. Next thing I knew, I was here.”
“Here, take his wand. It won't be as good as yours, but it’ll do until you Apparate to MACUSA.”
“Okay, I hear you. Just two things: why am I going to MACUSA, and...how does one Apparate?”
“You need to turn Bill in. You can’t Apparate?”
“I didn’t quite get that far...”
Bill stirred.
“And you won’t get further now.”
As the other two watched, Bill shifted slightly and maneuvered his hands, which were still tied behind his back.
In a second a chorus of loud cracks filled the air, and they were surrounded by a dozen masked men with wands raised.
The young witch quickly cast a shield, grabbed Bill’s books and Mack, who in turn snatched a clump of a howling Bill’s hair, and the three vanished under a hale of red and green light.
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We Gladly Feast: Author's Commentary
Pugsly’s Attendance:
If he was being bullied at Nancy Regan High, that implies to me that he goes to that school with Wednesday. So, why wouldn’t he also be at Nevermore? If Wednesday turns 16 while at school, then she’s likely a Sophomore, and I would presume that Pugsly is a year behind her as a First Year if they attend Nancy Regan High together. I’m sure for the show he wasn’t at Nevermore was because they didn’t want to add his character and give him any creative real estate as the story was supposed to revolve around Wednesday. For WGF, I think it makes sense he attends Nevermore, and I am looking forward to writing about their sibling interactions.
I do plan to focus more on lore and their time at the school. It’s what I enjoy and am more interested in.
Goody Addams grimoire:
I don’t think such a powerful family artefact would have been left with Normies. I get that for the Frankenstein element, they needed a powerful spell, but I feel like they should have come up with something other than Goody Addam’s book that I think would have otherwise been passed down to her own children/heirs, as obviously the Addam’s family survive after her and flourished. It doesn’t make sense to me either that if the Goody Addam’s grimoire was genuine and in Pilgrim World, that the Outcasts would just leave it there. Even if Pilgrim World post dated Gomez and Morticia’s attendance at Nevermore, Nevermore students have been there in the past several years. No one was like, hey there’s Outcast property they’re showcasing…maybe alert someone so this magical item isn’t in the hands of Normies?
I also feel like Morticia Addams would have told Wednesday about their family learning their powers through their ancestors early on. Feels like pertinent information, maybe something told to her along with other information dealing with puberty. Even if she wouldn’t because it was possible that Wednesday would not get visions, then Wednesday would know if she had a sister who did get her powers earlier.
I will be pulling things from every incarnation of the Addams to build the lore, but most of it will be from the 90’s movies and this series.
I do like Xavier and I want him and Wednesday to be a romantic ship eventually. Ace Wednesday is totally valid, and more in line with canon IMO. That’s not the story I want to write, so hopefully I write it in such a way that the eventually Xavier is someone that Wednesday could actually like.
What I want to expand on Xavier’s character:
Ajax can be quoted as saying “he’s my boy, but he’s super competitive…bro’s got a darker side.” Two things that I think Wednesday would actually find appealing…IF WE EVER SAW IT. So, I am definitely going to make Xavier darker and competitive…as a treat.
We also see that his father is physically absent in his life but involved enough to order that if Xavier needs mental health help, he can get it, but he can’t make it known. Xavier can only see Kinbott in secret. This is a man who can’t be arsed to show up on Parent’s Weekend, but will step in if he thinks his reputation is at risk.
This is also a fellow wealthy Outcast family, as Wednesday implies they’re equals. “Girls in glass houses…” “Throw bigger stones.” We know that the Thorpes and Addams are close enough that they’d be invited to the same funeral. I want to really play around with the idea of like an elite wealthy echelon of Outcast society, with their own traditions and rules.
Right now, we know of several Outcast families that are socially entwined: Addams, Frump, Thorpe, Itt, and Amor. I see these as THE top wealthy and known Outcast families.
I did change Godmother to Grandmother. I think it’d be kind of weird that a) Outcasts would have Godmothers as it’s mostly a Catholic/Christian thing and b) to make someone as old as a friend of Grandmama’s a Godmother kind of defeats the purpose of making them a guardian if something were to happen to Mr. Thorpe. I think making the Godmother the Grandmother also gives more of a bond between Xavier and the relative he lost.
I made Grandmama and Grandma Thorpe lovers because that’s just what it sounded like to me when he told the story. They were “friends” who “spent their twenties in Europe, swindling the rich and notorious.” Sounds like Be Gay, Do Crimes to me. The “friends” euphemism just sounds like something Vincent Thorpe would tell his ten-year-old, and Xavier just never thought to question it. Or perhaps that’s something they only do in Catholic families like mine. Lol Uncle or Auntie so and so’s “special friend.” The Addams, however, would be more open and blunt. I see maybe Grandmama Addams married her husband young, had at least one heir to appease the marriage, leave the child rearing to husband, and then Grandmama has a grand ol’ time tearing up the countryside with her lover.
Enid’s Blog/gossiping:
I think they glossed over this way too quickly. If there is some student who openly gossips about other students, I can’t imagine that she is that popular, even if some see her as useful for some entertainment. There was a reason why Gossip Girl was anonymous, especially in a small school, there would be many a people pissed if someone was openly talking shit about them. In a school filled with powered teenagers, I would have thought there would have been retribution already.
Or does everyone see Enid as so pathetic, she's not worth getting worked up over? Is she just some lone wolf to be pitied?
We also notice that Enid is not part of the Nightshade Society, while her friend and dorm mate Yoko is. This to me implies that Enid just isn’t that popular. Especially since two members, Xavier and Bianca, might have been victims of Enid’s gossip site. I’d be like, fuck no she can’t join. I wouldn’t trust her. Enid even gossiped about Wednesday, whom she was DIRECTLY LIVING WITH, which is just asking for a knife to the throat.
Not only would Enid’s gossip make her unpopular, but I see some exclusion because she can’t wolf out. I want to explore that more, where Enid has a lot in common with Wednesday because they’re both misunderstood and don’t fit in with their peers. Does she gossip and make it obvious, so she stays ahead of any gossip about herself? If potentially being a “lone wolf” can affect her joining a real pack and taking on a mate, I can see wolves keeping their distance from her until she can wolf out. Because whether or not she’s a true lone wolf or a late bloomer, the situation is the same, she can’t wolf out and isn’t truly one of them yet.
Let me know your headcanons
#We Gladly Feast Fanfiction#AO3#FFN#Archive of Our Own#Fanfiction.net#WednesdayxXavier#EnidxAjax#wednesday netflix
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could you tell us a bit more about the family situation with vendetta and dimentio?
*wiggles my gay little fingers eagerly in excitement*
OF COURSE I CAN
now, just to clarify a few things: this all ties in with the extravagant lore I’ve sort of built myself involving the various gods, species, and family trees, as well as how I’ve sort of grown to interpret the lore SPM gives about certain influential characters as stuff.
So, to begin:
SO. The family of these two and their early life is what I’ll babble about.
Dimentio is ~150 during the events of SPM, with Vendetta being ~200. By Masked Magician standards, that’s just barely an adult. That’ll give you a basic range as to when this is all starting.
The Tribe of Ancients had pretty much all but dispersed/run dry by this point–Very few remained that still considered themselves part of it, and those who didn’t weren’t, uh… Weren’t really of the same creed as their ancestors, with the whole love thing and all. (Also all that nonsense with their power fading after the Pixls did and yadda yadda, those details have yet to be fine-tuned safagdf)
So Vendetta and Dimentio were born in a rather nameless town home to a variety of dimension-traveling creatures, Masked Magicians included. Their family, the Filou family, was pretty dang influential. They had a strong reputation for being a powerful magical family that was still tied to the Tribe of Ancients, so they had a lot to live up to. (Given that it’s implied Dimentio is the descendant of the Pixl creator’s son, it’s no wonder)
Thing is, as soon as Vendetta was born? All talk of said ancestry ceased. Nothing was mentioned in the presence of the kids. They weren’t told they were Ancients, and they weren’t told they were Masked Magicians.
Their parents gave them their masks pretty early in life, and all they were told was to never take them off. Stories of the Ancients were considered nothing more than fairy tales, and that was that.
So in their early life, Vendetta and Dimentio were pretty much regular kids. Vendetta was obviously the more athletic and rash type, while Dimentio was quieter and more interested in scholarly things.
They were quickly raised to adjust to their social status, however, by their rather domineering parents–Lady Hornetta and Sir Whimsett (Names are not final tbh oops). If they behaved in ways their parents deemed inappropriate, they would be punished for it.
Needless to say, it was Vendetta who was often on the receiving end of this discipline. Her frustration and difficulties with magic caused her to lash out more often, even going so far as to attack people who questioned why she was lagging behind her brother.
Dimentio, on the other hand, was quick to learn and develop his charisma. Everyone in town grew to like him, and pretty much ignored the existence of his sister.
But while Dimentio seemed like he behaved, it’s only because he knew what he could get away with, and how to do things without getting caught.
So with this in mind, his studies began to drift towards the subject of the Ancients, something that had fascinated himself since childhood. At first, he thought they were merely myths and legends one could draw information from (such as Greek myths for us).
But then he began to realize there was… Too many truths in certain stories. Certain things didn’t line up, and other things lined up too well.
Well, his parents refused to say anything about it, so he figured he would just go behind their backs and find out for himself.
Cue him leaving the day before Vendetta was to be married, traveling and eventually leading up to the events of SPM.
Oof this all may get altered just a bit as time goes on because I’m bad at lore involving really long/nonlinear timelines. But I try so hfhfhfhfhf
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The funny part about this is, if you want to know my favorite part of 80% of my WIPs’ worldbuilding, just ask about the elves XD Every single one of my WIPs that has elves, and most of them do, does them in a very different way from each other. And if my other WIPs are any example, the lore on the Forgotten Gods elves will only get deeper from here, lol.
Kitan is not an elf. Beastkin are their own race just as the humans, orcs, elves, dwarves, and other races are. However, it is fairly for them to marry into elven families, specifically the coastal elves, as there’s an overlap between the regions where they’re most commonly found. I’m sorry if my wording got confusing when I was using it as an example of what kinda traits half-elves and elves with mixed bloodlines might have.
The beastkin are humanoids with animistic traits, these vary greatly depending on which god made their ancestors and how their bloodlines have crossed over the generations. They can have only the ears and tails, like many anime characters and some creatures from folklore, they can also look like werewolves and minotaurs. Though there are many shades in between those two extremes. These traits tend to breed true, which means if one of the parents is a beastkin then the child will most likely inherit a beastkin trait regardless of what the other parent is, hence elves with fluffy ears.
Kitan, for those curious, is mostly human in appearance with cat-like eyes, ears, a long, fluffy tail; and sharper, more predatory-like teeth. His coloring is natural, though some come in odd colors, like blue and purple. Because when you’re in a world full of gods who all have different opinions about how things should look, work, and act, natural is a very broad term lol.
I’m pretty sure all of these different peoples with animal features being grouped into one started with humans being humans and treating them all as the same thing, and then the name beastkin just kinda stuck for everyone. Though, the beastkin do keep track of their individual lines and origins.
Their behaviors and living styles vary much like humans, from building and living cities to roaming the wilds as nomads. Though the animal appearance they have seems to have less bearing on their personalities and lifestyles than one may expect. If I’m being 100% honest, Kitan does have some of his quirks and body language modeled after my cat, and I imagine there are beastkin who are very much like the animals they represent as well as ones that completely contradict their appearances. But, again, it probably depends on which god created their specific lines and why. Many came from gods of nature and hunting, and many beastkin still worship those gods, like Kitan’s mother and grandfather, though some probably come from the bored dabbling of other kinds of gods messing around with the mortal realm.
Truth be told, I didn’t really put much thought into the why it’s called an exile for the coming of age ceremony, though thinking on it more, I believe you’re on the right track with it. Cutting ties to your home for nearly a century and being thrown out into a world you may or may not be prepared for would be terrifying, and I imagine several of the youths needed that external push. Reuven certainly wasn’t eager to leave his village behind and has been pining for it since I started writing the poor guy. There’s also the aspect that they’re not allowed to come home until the 75 years are up, under any circumstances. So it is, in a sense, a literal exile. A temporary one, one that’s not so long in the face of their lifespans, but an exile all the same.
Fun trivia fact: Reuven’s journey on his route to discovering himself is really just him retracing his mother’s own journey that she took when she was exiled using the stories she told him as a map of sorts. That’s how he ended up in the far north of the continent, following in her footsteps until he rode onto Silver’s lawn.
Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday! Can I ask more about elves in Forgotten Gods? What's their relationship to humans? What is characteristic of them? Do they often exile elves like it happens to Reuven? How are half-elves looked upon in this world? @writingonesdreams
Happy belated wbw, sorry for the delay.
Elves are a fun subject in Forgotten Gods. ^^ They are perhaps my favorite aspect of the world building to date. So expect a bit of a lengthy read here.
Right now, I have two clans of them in the world: the elves of the deep southern forests, which is Reuven's clan, and the coastal elves. These clans are loosely allied, referring to each other as cousins on the rare occasions when they meet. However, you'll find elves in other parts of the world, living among communities of the other races as well, though cases of finding more than a few in a single foreign village at a time is rare.
Now, clan may be a bit of a misleading term, as each clan is made up of several allied villages in the same region. For example, the coastal elves have a few villages on the coastline, one a little more inland, and two more out on small islands, yet these villages are all considered the coastal elf clan. Reuven's clan has a number of outposts, villages, and hunting posts set up all throughout the giant trees of the southern forests, as well as a few trading posts on the outside edges.
Half elves are a bit of an interesting bit to this. Unlike The Plight of a Sparrow, to the elves half-elves just one of them. It's actually not uncommon for the coastal tribes to marry outsiders, as they have frequent dealings with them. It's also not terribly uncommon for forest clan exiles to return with non-elven spouses or half-elf children, and all of them are considered apart of the clan and elves. Which is part of why elves appearances and traits can vary even more wildly than humans.
That being said, outside cultures do differentiate them from the full-blooded elves. The human spouse is human, the elf is an elf, and the child is half-elf to them. Depending on the region depends on how that pans out. In areas near the clans, it's probably not that big of a deal. Get to areas where elves are rarely seen, they may be recognized as an elf, or they could have to start dealing with creeps and jerks.
The elves tend to be darker skinned, as they originate from the south. They tend to be quite tall, 6 foot or 1.82 meters. However, they also tend to be very slender with fine bones, so they're deceptively light and prone to injury. They have the classic pointed ears, and one of the keenest senses of hearing of all the races. They can live for up to 3,000 years, the trade off being they have a low birthrate. However, this does vary greatly, as I mentioned before depending on the bloodlines. Ones with human bloodlines may be sturdier, but have lesser hearing. Ones with beast-kin (Kitan's people), may be shorter and have some of the animal-like traits. Ones with orc bloodlines may have green or gray skin and be significantly stronger than their kin. And the best part is, you can have all of this in a single family tree. The elves are fun.
And for the final part of your question: the exiles. So, 100% of the southern forest clan will be exiled at one point in their lives. It's their coming of age ceremony. When they turn 50, they have to go out into the world for 75 years to 'find themselves.' It may sound insane/harsh, but it came about from practicality.
Since they live in seclusion, with literally no other races being crazy enough to come into their forest with all of the monsters, rough terrain, and the gods that influence that particular region, they have to leave to go learn about what's going on in the outside world, see new technologies, learn trades that the villages may not have a master for, ect. It also gives the youth of the villages a chance to explore and go on adventures and see the world, instead of feeling trapped in their little villages underneath a canopy so dense you can't really tell day from night. And as I mentioned, elves have a low birthrate, so sending the kids out is partly in hopes they find a spouse or adopt a kid to help keep the bloodlines going. Most of the youth who leave will return to their village, but some will stay out in the world. Some of these adventurous spirits kinda act like spies, sending letters back to their leaders will information about what the other communities are up to. Most of them just found somewhere that called to them more than their homeland did.
Reuven, as you've probably guessed, is currently in his coming-of-age exile.
Coastal elves don't do this. As they are a trading people, they don't need to actively seek out the outside world, it comes to them asking for pearl jewelry, fish, and other bounties of their sea-side home. It's actually quite a serious matter for someone to be exiled, and includes a trial overseen by a council of elders. If you get exiled from their villages, you really messed things up and they don't want to see you again. Ever.
And while I could literally write several more paragraphs about the Fogotten Gods elves, I have just realized how long this one ended up being, so I think I'll stop myself here for now.
Thank you for dropping by, I had fun answering this ask. I hope you have a lovely day/evening. ^^
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iprinny
“There’s a lot that gets me about the love story in FFXV and how it…”
Im super curious to know what your thoughts are on that absurdity with prompto’s “dramatic reveal” in chapter 13
Hoo boy. My opinion about the “dramatic reveal” is pretty much my opinion on the whole game, which is
“Good plot, terrible execution”
Prompto was an MT? Neat. However,
it should have happened earlier
it should’ve been resolved earlier
it should have had a bit more foreshadowing if it was going to be dragged out to Chapter 13 of all things.
With regards to the actual scene, my first impressions were “Damn, Prompto looks good for a guy that fell off a moving train and got tortured!” then “Oh, oh shit, this is the twist– Prompto’s gonna strangle the shit out of Noct, isn’t he? He’s right there–” and finally “…. Oh.”
The game has Prompto like “Oh, I’ve been tortured for a while in this dungeon, also I wanna tell you guys I’m a Nif/MT”(1) and the bros are like “Ok so? That doesn’t change anything. We still care about you.” which matches more the reaction parents should have when their kid comes out of the closet than anything else. One of their own revealed themselves to be part of the same army that, like, has been attacking them relentlessly on the World Map every 15 minutes ( and interrupting the important dialogue we’ll never hear again ). You know the reaction Wakka had about Rikku being Al Bhed? Yeah. I was expecting that, most likely from Gladio. But they’ve known each other since they were kids, more or less, and those of us who have played the game, regardless of whether we did or didn’t see Brotherhood or the extra media, have likely already seen proof of their unwavering friendship toward each other even in portions of the game where it wouldn’t even make much sense for them all to still be cool.(2) So this… is a waste. It reinforced what we already knew. It served no purpose except to reveal a plot-convenient serial code on his wrist to help them escape, and it raised more questions.
MTs are made from daemons made from Starscourged humans, and Niflheim would need a lot of humans, so they started making clones and infecting them. Prompto is supposedly one of them, but escaped when he was super young and adopted into the Argentum family. Okay, so who got him out of that lab? Why did he still have “no parents” in Brotherhood? Who were his parents? Were they natives to Insomnia? How did he get a nice place to live in and not end up in the outskirts/slum parts of Lucis on account of his being a foreigner? If he got a serial code imprinted when he was a baby, wouldn’t it have deformed as he grew up? How did it maintain its shape? Was the barcode the same size throughout his life? Why isn’t he wearing light-resistant armor, like the other MTs? This is stuff we’d have to read the Wiki or the strategy guide about, except I’m still asking these questions, so the answers exist nowhere. Even to this day. And people still have theories on whether the Naga in the beginning of the game ( the one that kidnapped Prompto and cried about her baby ) was actually Prompto’s mother. That’s fucked up storytelling, not because they did it on purpose, but because they didn’t.
The reveal happens and is resolved so quickly, no one has the time to process anything. A lot of this game is pretty much “Here’s this earth-shattering detail! Let us never speak of it again”.
Like, yeah, Noct is broken up he attacked Prompto and knocked him off the train, but did he process the part where he said everything was Prom’s fault and demanding that Prom stop following him around? Right to his face?
Did no one stop to think that Ardyn being able to make himself look like another person means that there’s 0 chance any of them would know for certain that their allies were their allies? Wouldn’t they be in an intensely paranoid state, questioning each other on stuff the “real” them would know about? How do any of them know Ardyn isn’t still right there, hiding in plain sight?
Details that would have worked as foreshadowing for Prompto’s reveal, instead of Ardyn dropping eleventh hour infodumps on Niflheim’s army allowing for post-hoc bullshit:
The constant Magitek encounters come specifically from the Nifs geotracking Prompto’s barcode. The party actually brings up the frequency of these attacks, but Prompto is hesitant to say anything.
None of the Magiteks attack Prompto, focusing on the other three in the party instead of “one of their own”. Possibly dumb luck, and saves every gamer the trouble of Prompto always dying first somehow.
Increased frequency of goofy Ardyn selfies and creepy Prompto pictures on any day Ardyn is with the party.
Instead of Ardyn’s “stitch in time” thing that is never explained again, and Ardyn’s immortality just being the Astrals going “Ew, cooties” and banning him from the Beyond to inflict him on the living, have this: the way 'Ardyn’ appears and disappears is by body-hopping from one Starscourge-afflicted/daemonified person to another. Some individuals are more receptive to him than others based on how far along they are in their daemonification or MT experiments. So why was he on that train, in the place of Prompto? Because something inside Prompto allowed him to be there ( enough to alter his looks but not his speech patterns ). He could drop that particular bomb in Ch 12 before telling Noctis that Prompto is in Gralea.
Ardyn’s immortality comes from the fact that when he ‘dies’, he just manifests in the next likely person to host him or maybe someone of his choosing if he wants. That adds the drama of Ardyn not really ever being dead for good, and the possibility that he could take over Prompto in his next life if he felt like it. That’s a better justification for “You have to kill this dude, then kill yourself, then kill him again” than “Because the gods said so”.
TLDR the Prompto reveal sucked ass.
(1) Let me get this out: Fuck This Game. The localization sucks in its consistency by language. Bahamut is either the Draconian or the Aetherian. Ardyn could have either vaguely “known” Gentiana died, or personally had a hand in killing her. Izunia is either a relative of Ardyn, and Noctis’s ancestor, or is a completely random name Ardyn made up that he forgot the origins of. The Japanese version of the game, rather than hinting that Prompto is an MT, has sections where Ardyn instead taunts Noctis about “Did you know he’s originally from this city?”, and when Prompto reveals it to the group he says “I’m a person of Niflheim”. Even the JP VA confirmed it. So whether or not Prompto is even a Magitek is dependent on language of the game. I can understand that they were trying to go for, but they should have been consistent. Must have been something to do with the constant rewrites of the plot.
(2) Fuck This Game Part Duh: No, seriously. It tried to eat its cake and still have it, and I’ll tell you why. The game doesn’t actually give a shit about your choices. It wants its narrative both ways, telling us that Noctis in particular has certain “fixed” character traits but giving us a choice to make him another way in his dialogue options typical of Western RPGs which have “blank slate” characters. Using both methods and no lasting plot divergences to support those choices beyond the immediate cutscene makes it so that the dialogue options have no impact on the story or make sense, suggesting you play it “Square’s way” or else the game ignores your choices, which is fundamentally not how open world western RPGs work.
A playthrough in which Noctis acts like a total jerk to Prompto and dismissing him every chance he gets will still result in Prom wanting to hear from Noct that he cared about his well being, as well as Prom expressing sadness that Noct will die.
A playthrough where Noctis puts only platonic or indifferent notes into the book he sends to Luna will still result in the scenes in Chapter 9 where he sheds a tear at her speech, laments that he wanted to save her, and then is quiet rather than impassioned and vengeful, even though he summoned Ramuh and busted a base to rescue the Regalia and to get revenge for Jared of all people.
A playthrough where the Altissian woman interrogates Noctis and Noctis answers by straight-up fucking metagaming and showing more understanding of the lore of the story than he’s ever been told and treating her with respect should count as “gaining her implicit trust”, but we still see a scene where Luna is sitting in the chair across from the Altissian woman and Imperial forces come in and surround Luna anyway, meaning the Altissian lady sold them out.
A playthrough where Noctis only ever responds maturely to Gladio, and his conversations with others have the options for him to act like a leader and the King he’s meant to be, will still result in Gladio chewing him out unnecessarily while the game clunkily tells us Noctis “is a spoiled brat/selfish”, “is being immature” and was “moping for weeks” about Luna even though we just saw her death five minutes ago and Noctis is shown to be quiet but otherwise not stalling the quest in any way. We didn’t even see a funeral, or excessive crying or outbursts, or Noctis demanding that everyone focus on his pain and staying in Altissia locked in a hotel room. He’s just quiet on a train.
Chapter 13 of the game is especially awful, when both it and Ardyn insist that Noct is supposed to be some scared, frightened puppy without his weapons when he’s wielding the most canonically powerful item in the game, casually ripping gashes in reality and insta-killing a fortress full of daemons with an anti-daemon ring, and the player is able to ignore most (if not all) stealth mechanics and blitz through that chapter with no penalty.
For those that did the side quests throughout the game, the only trait from gameplay that sticks in the narrative is that Noctis is a passive entity. He’s told to do something, he just does it. Otherwise, no matter what, even if you played the game and had Noctis act like a rude shit and played as if none of the Bros were his Bros, they’re still going to be Bros. They’re still going to care about him, including Prompto. Especially Prompto.
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On Chara, Asgore, and Goat Family Dynamics: This is going to be a long post, so head under the read more for the headcanon.
First off, we have to start way before Chara even arrived - to the war between monsters and humans. We know from the signs in Waterfall that the humans started the war because monsters could absorb human souls (which begs the question how did they find out? If a monster can only absorb a human soul after the human has died (because human souls persist after death), then they would have needed to be around when that happened - whether as a cause of death or because they were simply friends enough with the human for it to happen. I’d prefer it was the latter, but I think it was more likely to be the former - not necessarily an intentional cause of death, but certainly that the human and the monster weren’t on friendly terms, thus leading the human populace to have more reason to panic than to see it as a way to live longer after death -- but that’s another thing entirely. To be honest, I think if it’d been friendly circumstances, the monster-human fusion likely wouldn’t have said anything if they didn’t have to do so-- but, then, this assumes that not all such fusions cause a physical appearance change as the Chara-Asriel fusion did, which I think is based more on the souls of the two involved and their age. Asgore, for instance, absorbing one human soul would likely not have that vast amount of change. But that is beside the point and I’m getting carried away), despite the fact that humans were, as a result of their souls naturally stronger than monsters. We do not know how long the war went on, and we don’t know who was in charge during the war. Signs point to Asgore (due to his crappy naming scheme) or an ancestor of his (because crappy naming can be passed down in genetics, I have no doubt). Either way, Asgore or a direct ancestor led the monsters during the war. For ease of discussion (and because canon more clearly points to it), let’s say Asgore led the monsters during the war between monsters and humans. Now, why does this matter? What does this have to do with later dynamics? Humans started the war. Asgore led the monsters during the fight - which means they fought back. Humans are naturally stronger - which means they could easily have killed the monsters, his people. Asgore continued to pursue peace (even within the context of war), because that is more his personality, but humans refused peaceful terms - which meant more fighting and more monsters dying because humans were afraid, humans were fighting, and humans weren’t allowing for any sort of reconciliation. We have seen how Asgore reacted to his son’s death and the pressure of his people; it is likely that under this pressure he cowed and ordered the monsters to fight. And every time a human died, their soul was absorbed, which made the humans more afraid because look at how much damage that monster can do - but we also know from the canon lore that when monsters don’t want to fight, their whole physicality reacts to it. A human soul can fight the monster who absorbed it (as noted with Chara but even more noticeable in how the six human souls dealt with Flowey), can make them weaker, so even such a powerful fusion, in that circumstance, would likely have fallen to the humans. And when they won (after the loss on the monster’s side was too great to continue), humans sealed the monsters into the Underground, where they would have no hope of getting out ever again. No leader - even a monster leader as completely capable of love and compassion (since that is, after all, what monster souls are made of) as Asgore is - would, after that, be able to look on a human and feel anything but conflicting emotions for them. Perhaps before the war, it would have been nothing but love, but after? After humans decimated his people? After they were forced to fight? After the humans locked them away? Maybe that part of him was still there, but there had to have also been some sense of despair, some sense of anger, frustration - hatred is a strong word when we’re talking about Asgore, but in this context, it makes sense. Certainly his first reaction would have been a negative one instead of a positive one. This leads us to Chara. We know from canon that they are the first fallen human - the first human to fall into the Underground after that great war. Asgore’s initial feelings towards them could not have been good. We know that Asriel found them first, and I tentatively headcanon that Asriel was born in the Underground, sometime after the war - which would mean that he hadn’t seen a human before. He had probably grown up with the stories, but he didn’t have that same lingering...hesitancy, anger, negative feelings that Asgore would have (likely because he is Toriel’s son as well, and her first instinct with human children is to mother them the way she would any abandoned child. Her reaction to a human adult falling is debatable, but to her, a child is a child is a child, and she will mom the heck out of them and protect them). It is even possible that Asriel didn’t know that Chara was a human until Asgore said something about it, may have just thought they were another sort of monster they hadn’t met before (less likely, but possible). Either way, Asriel struck up a friendship with Chara before Asgore met them. Given all of the above, Asgore’s reaction was not necessarily a good one - likely wasn’t - but even if he tried to fight that off to be a good adoptive parent he does not want to adopt a human child Toriel and he does not like that their child is associating with a human but Asgore is a pushover and fine, fine, let the human live with us, they don’t seem so bad for a human, I suppose we will get along just fine and I will do my best - Chara grew up in an abusive household (my headcanon, not necessarily canon) and would know that something was off. They don’t necessarily know what love looks like from a parental figure, not until they learn it from Toriel, but they know what disgust and anger and a lot of negative emotions looks like. And maybe he doesn’t hate them entirely, but those negative feelings towards humans in general are there, and Chara can feel that and feels that directed towards them. So, from Chara, at least, there’s that instinctive wariness of Asgore - not because he dislikes them specifically, necessarily, but because he is wary of them, as a human, and even if that slowly fades away, there’s still a part of Chara that is scared of Asgore and identifies him as a threat. From an abusive household standpoint. And that’s the problem with Chara/Asgore - they don’t dislike each other specifically but they see in each other a lot of negative associations they have with other people in their past. And no matter how hard Chara might try to get Asgore to like them, they do it because they’re afraid that he hates them (even if he doesn’t hate them), and no matter how much Asgore might like Chara, it’s still a hurdle because humans are bad. (Toriel would say not all humans, but Asgore doesn’t necessarily believe that is the case. He saw the war. He led during the war. He watched what humans did. Toriel might forgive readily unless it’s personal, but from what we’ve seen Asgore does not - not when it comes to leading his people. His people come first, regardless of what he personally might feel. A human is a threat. Regardless.) I think this is why Asgore constantly mentions that Chara is the future of monsters and humans. From what he has seen, Chara does not seem to be as monstrous horrible as other humans did. He sees the way they interact with Asriel (besties ftw!) and they see the way Toriel dotes on them and how that makes them shine, and Asgore likes to push hope, so he’s saying - look, here’s hope. Here’s hope that maybe humans and monsters can get along. But for Chara, that’s an additional pressure, that’s something they have to live up to, and since they already suffer from suicidal ideation (and at least one previous attempt) and likely have a history of being abused when they don’t live up to a parent’s expectations, that instinctive fear is still there. They feel they have to live up to that. They feel they have to earn his love (and rightly so, although they don’t know they probably already earned it). Further - it’s likely that Asgore has to use that phrase to get his people who have just come out of a war with the humans and many of them still remember it to accept that their king and queen have just adopted a human child. Bitter is the word I’m looking for. Inevitably, this comes to a head with the accidental buttercup butterscotch pie. This looks like a murder attempt and Chara laughs. It’s a nervous laugh, it’s an I tried to do something nice because I feel like you don’t really love me and I want your approval so much and I fucked it up and now you’re going to hate me more than you already do and for once in my life it felt like I had something good and I just fucked it up, and it’s possible that Toriel understands it was an honest mistake, and Asgore likely understands it’s an honest mistake (even if he has his doubts because, hey, human), but that doesn’t mean that Chara isn’t still beating themselves up over it. (I also think it’s likely that they told the monster populace that Asgore was just sick because that would not have looked good on Chara.) And that’s when Chara comes up with their plan. If they die, they can live up to what Asgore has constantly told them they are meant to do (be the future of humans and monsters). Asriel can absorb their soul (hopefully) and go take out a few humans (they can give him descriptions of their parents, their family, who are horrible, Asriel, their deaths aren’t so bad) so that monsters can go free. Because monsters have treated them better than humans ever did. And, yeah, they die in the process, but that’s okay, isn’t it? They’ll have done something nice for their family and made up for almost accidentally killing Asgore. And they wanted to die anyway, so that works out for them. At least they had something good for a little while first. (And then they don’t die when Asriel absorbs them and then Asriel refuses to kill anyone and then they actually die because Asriel refused to do anything and now Asriel is dead, too and then, fuck this, everyone deserves to die because if my best friend can’t do this, if he chooses the people he knows hurt me over himself, his family, over me, then fuck it all. And then they’re soulless, which really makes everything that much worse. Bitterness, my dear friends, is the word.)
#[ ordinary deviation from external reality | first fallen human ]#long post for ts#undertale spoilers#[ i have a lot of other thoughts but this is the primary one ]#[ because while i do think that on a whole the four of them were a good family ]#[ i DO think there was a bit of internal conflict between chara and asgore ]#[ and i think it would get kind of smoothed over and then get ruffled up again ]#[ and i don't think asgore truly considered chara his child in the same way he considered asriel as his son ]#[ i think he tried but it wasn't the same ]#[ ON THE OTHER HAND ]#[ asgore did start the war against humans because his son was killed ]#[ or was it because BOTH children were killed? ]#[ because surely as a monster he would know what would happen if they fused ]#[ that chara would still have voice and mobility and ability and still exist ]#[ chara wouldn't have known that - at least i headcanon they don't; i headcanon they fully expected to die and then didn't ]#[ and it would have been better if they had tbh ]#[ and that maybe asgore wanted to destroy humans because they killed BOTH ]#[ and he probably regretted that later because he would see kids and they would remind him of chara and he'd feel bad for pushing chara to#what happened but he pushes himself anyway because this is just as much for Chara as it is for Asriel ]#[ but that's really up to someone writing asgore ]#[ -shrugs- ]
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Aipmt 2015 Admit Card.
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