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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years ago

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Rewrite the Stars

Day 7, Post #1 is by @adenei

Title: Rewrite the Stars

Author: adenei

Pairing: Ron/Hermione (Romione)

Prompt: Songfic

Rating: PG

TW: Depiction of blood purity/discussion of prejudices against Muggleborns, Violence/Murder mentioned (but not graphic)

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*This fic is inspired not only by the song, but also Anne and Philip's relationship in the movie The Greatest Showman.*

Summary: AU In a world where there’s no Voldemort, but blood purity is strictly enforced, Ron and Hermione must navigate their budding relationship, and all the trials and tribulations that come with it.

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“Are you sure this is alright?” Hermione asks as she smooths the front of her dress, checking for wrinkles for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Yes, it’s fine! You look beautiful,” Ron assures her.

He places a warm, comforting hand on the small of her back as they enter the grandiose ballroom where the Auror department is hosting their annual dinner. A handful of Aurors are honored for their achievements, but over the years, it’s turned into an event for the upper classes and Purebloods.

Hermione knows she doesn’t belong here, amongst the men and women whose wealth and social status put them leagues ahead of anyone else, and it’s rare to receive an invitation to such an event even as a Halfblood. But as a Muggleborn, Hermione braces herself for an onslaught of jeers and slurs. If Ron wasn’t being honored for his success on a case he’d worked six months to solve, she wouldn’t be here at all.

Ron has always encouraged Hermione to follow her dreams, even during their Hogwarts days. Though they were sorted into different houses, the two shared many Prefect rounds together. Being named Head Boy and Girl also brought them closer together, where they began seeing each other in secret . Neither had intended to break things off upon graduation, but when Hermione received rejection after rejection for potential jobs within the Ministry, she pushed him away too.

There was a time years ago when she hoped to be working within the Magical Law Department with dreams of making the magical world a more accepting place for every witch and wizard, no matter their blood status. But those bright-eyed and bushy-tailed dreams have long since dissipated. The rules are archaic, and there’s no chance of overturning something so set in stone until there’s a new Minister of Magic who would be open to the possibility.

So, for now, Hermione tends to a job that gives her equal satisfaction. She teaches young Muggleborn students in a special school that she founded with the help of Professor McGonagall. Hermione earned her certification to teach the primary levels at University after graduating from Hogwarts, and now works with Professor McGonagall to teach those students between the ages of five and eleven how to prepare for the world they’ll enter when they’re old enough to go to Hogwarts. This is in addition to all of the regular courses that Muggle England expects them to study.

The prep school is what reconnected the pair, when Ron was assigned to work the case of an eight-year-old that disappeared last year. It was determined that the child was abducted by Fenrir Greyback and turned into a werewolf. Ron found the boy’s body deep in the Forest of Dean, where it was determined that Fenrir became too bloodthirsty on that particular hunt.

Hermione was distraught over the outcome and took comfort in Ron, who was equally shaken by the case. As the weeks following the case progressed, Hermione found herself spending more and more time with Ron. Slowly but surely, they found their way back to each other and had only just rekindled their relationship a couple of months ago.

Since their relationship still feels so new to Hermione, they’ve kept things quiet. But she knows how important tonight is for Ron, and she wants to be there for him. To support him the same way he supports her. Hermione knows he will be by her side through it all, and has assured her that no one will make any comments.

Ron leads them around the room, exchanging pleasantries and mingling with people Hermione’s only heard stories about. Thus far, everyone she’s encountered has been polite. They are about to make their way to their table when a voice calls out to them.

“Ron! There you are, dear! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Hermione turns to see a plump woman with hair the same shade of red as Ron’s. A man follows in her wake who peers at them through half-moon spectacles with the same cerulean eyes that she’s so familiar with, only they’re attached to a different face. They’re much colder than the warmth Ron’s eyes emit, and that’s when the dread begins to expand from the pit in her stomach.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were both attending tonight,” Ron attempts to hide the surprise as he greets his parents.

“And miss the opportunity to see our son receive an award for his hard work? Don’t be silly,” his father responds with a wave of his hand.

Hermione has yet to meet Ron’s parents. A chill crawls up her spine as they talk to their son as if he is standing by himself. Suddenly, all of Ron’s promises become emptier than the desk of her former student.

“Er, right. Mum, Dad, I’d like you to meet someone.” Ron gestures toward Hermione.

She can see his mouth moving, but no sound comes out, at least not that she hears. The blood drains from her ears, causing momentary deafness as she stands under the scrutinizing stares of his parents. Hermione holds her head high as his mother admonishes his choice of a date. There’s no empathy for them whatsoever.

“...What will everyone think? You come from a certain class of people, and we need to uphold our status. At least go for a Halfblood, darling.”

Years of following the mantra ‘hold your head high, don’t let it bother you, stay in your lane’ have still not prepared Hermione to endure this moment. She is a strong-willed woman, she fights for what is right, and she refuses to stand here and take this woman’s judgmental words all because of the family she was born into.

This is the exact reason why Hermione insisted on keeping their relationship private. Her feet move on their own accord as Hermione tears herself away from Ron’s side and weaves in and out of the clumps of people. She manages to find the visitor’s entrance and exits to the bustling streets of London. Refusing to cry, she rushes along the cobblestone sidewalk and down a deserted alleyway.

Hermione forces herself to forget the sound of Ron’s voice calling after her as she disapparates away from the Ministry of Magic. She finds herself in her classroom, staring at all the empty desks in front of her. Desks of students who would be forced to meet the same unfair limitations that she lives day to day. She feels so helpless, not knowing what to do in an effort to make their lives easier.

Looking down at the elegant maroon ball gown she’s still wearing, she feels dirty. This isn’t the life she’s meant for, no matter how many assurances Ron can give her. She doesn’t belong in his world. Thank goodness she keeps an extra outfit in her coat closet, which she rushes toward before shedding the expensive formalwear from her body.

Once she’s changed, Hermione sits down at her desk, staring at the piles of papers left to be graded. Ron insisted she leave them there so they could spend their weekend together. A heartbreaking realization enters her mind as she thinks of his name.

We can’t be together. This is never going to work.

It’s as if he knows that she’s thinking of him as the floo lights up and he stumbles out. Ron sheds his dress robes, leaving him in his starched white dress shirt and pressed black trousers. She refuses to look up even though she can feel his gaze boring into her as he stands at the head of her desk.

“Hermione.”

She says nothing because what is there to say?

“They’re small-minded people. What do you care what they think?”*

He reaches for her hand, but she tugs it away as she sits back in her chair.

“It’s not just them, Ron. You haven’t lived this life. You don’t know what I’ve been up against. You’ll never know what it feels like to be looked at the way your parents looked at me tonight. The way they spoke down about me to my face. I can’t—I can’t be subjected to that. The way people will look at us because we’re together. I don’t deserve to feel that way.”

Hermione stands up and exits the classroom, stepping into the abandoned hallway. She can’t do this anymore— it’s too painful. She’s learned to pick and choose her battles. It’s better to let people like the Weasleys think they’ve won while she keeps fighting on her own.

You know I want you, it’s not a secret I try to hide.

I know you want me, so don’t keep saying our hands are tied.

You claim it’s not in the cards, that fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me,

But you’re here in my heart, so who can stop me if I decide that you’re my destiny?

“Hermione, don’t do this. Please. I don’t care what they think. I want you, and nothing else matters.”

She stops and only turns her head slightly to see him leaning out of the doorway, his hand gripping the door jamb as he calls after her.

What if we rewrite the stars, say you were made to be mine

Nothing could keep us apart, you’d be the one I was meant to find.

It’s up to you, it’s up to me, no one can say what we get to be

So why don’t we rewrite the stars, maybe the world could be ours tonight.

“Please, love, don’t let them dictate what our life looks like.”

The desperation in Ron’s voice is what makes Hermione turn all the way around to face him. She begins to walk a few paces toward him before the voices in her head get a hold of her. He’d become an outcast if she stayed with him. She can’t let him risk everything he’s gained by choosing her.

You think it’s easy? You think I don’t want to run to you?

But there are mountains, and there are doors that we can’t walk through.

I know you’re wondering why because we’re able to be just you and me within these walls

But when we go outside you’re gonna wake up and see that it was hopeless after all.

“You know it’s not that easy. We can’t just run away from everything so we can be happy. Your family would never forgive you, or me for that matter! Everyone will do everything in their power to tear us apart. It’s not worth it.”

“So, what? You’re saying we’re not worth it?”

No one can rewrite the stars. How can you say you’ll be mine?

Everything keeps us apart, and I’m not the one you were meant to find.

It’s not up to you, it’s not up to me, when everyone tells us what we can be.

How can we rewrite the stars? Say that the world can be ours tonight.

Hermione reaches out and clasps his hands with her own. “No, you’re not listening to me. You’re worth so much to me that I have to let you go.”

“But what if I don’t want to let go?”

All I want is to fly with you.

All I want is to fall with you.

So just give me all of you.

It feels impossible (It’s not impossible).

Is it impossible? (Say that it’s possible.)

“I don’t want to let go, either, Ron, but I have to. You mean too much to me.”

She knows it’s better to be hurt on her own terms than to let someone else hurt her instead. Ron will see reason eventually. He has to. Hermione wraps her arms around him, tighter than ever before, putting all her feelings into one single embrace, hoping that he can understand.

How do we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine?

Nothing can keep us apart, cause you are the one I was meant to find.

It’s up to you and it’s up to me, no one can say what we get to be

And why don’t we rewrite the stars, changing the world to be ours…

There are many things she can change, but her blood status isn’t one. Above all else, she’s proud of being a Muggleborn, and she’ll keep teaching her students to be proud of their roots as well. She’ll keep her memories of Ron and how wonderful he is locked up tight as she finds a way to navigate this world without him. Hermione has made her decision as she kisses his cheek and lets go. Perhaps in another lifetime, they’ll be able to be together with nothing standing in their way.

You know I want you.

It’s not a secret I try to hide.

But I can’t have you.

We’re bound to break and our hands are tied.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice leaves the faintest echo among the abandoned halls. Before she loses her nerve, she turns on the spot and apparates away, leaving the hurt look that is etched on Ron’s face burned into her mind as she leaves him alone.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #romione #ron x hermione #tw: blood purity #tw: prejudice #tw: violence (non graphic)#tw: murder (non graphic)

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fairycosmos · 3 years ago

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My unpopular opinion is that I find Megan Fox questionable and at the end of the day… just another famous person. Yes, she was treated unfairly and makes some good points but I feel like it all kind of goes down the drain when you look at her relationship with mgk who is not great (saying stuff about Eminem’s daughter when she was a minor, calling a black woman the n word right in front of her etc.) and like to me it’s just disappointing and strange that a woman who has been sexualised so much and had to deal with so much sexist stuff would be with a man like that sorry to the fans of mgk too but like he’s giving bad vibes

oh yeah definitely rule no 1 about celebrities is that they are all just famous privileged ppl despite their work or reputation. nd like obviously no ones a perfect person so we can't expect anyone to be fully aligned with complete moral purity 24/7 but. i totally understand y her being with mgk makes you give her the side eye. hes like very publicly been a dickhead on a major level, said some super sick stuff, so im not really sure what miss fox sees in him as like an intelligent and relatively self aware person.....i swear women will defend and stick by their shitty boyfriends to death and for what. bad vibes all around

#anon #talking

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sionanimations · 4 years ago

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The JNPR Tree a RWBY Fan Theory

WARNING: Some of the fictional triggers contained within this article involve graphic content such as death, gore, violence, and child abuse.

Read at your own discretion!

DISCLAIMER: All of the content written below are merely fan theories written by @sionanimations and @mood-owl for the sake of understanding the story of RWBY better. If you haven’t watched all of the episodes for RWBY, there are spoilers within this for seasons 4-7, so keep that in mind.

All referenced works will be linked in the google docs listed at the bottom of this article for your own benefit.

Enjoy!

-» The JNPR Tree «-

TL;DR:

The Juniper Tree (as linked) is a German fairy tale published in Low German by the Brothers Grimm in Grimm's Fairy Tales in 1812. It is based on the protagonist of the story, a young boy who is the child of the father and the father’s first wife, who is also Marlinchen’s stepbrother (or in other versions, her half-brother). The boy often afraid to return home from school since he would routinely be abused and beaten, he began to cry himself to sleep every night. Eventually, he is decapitated by his stepmother, she binds his head to the rest of his body with a bandage and props his corpus onto a chair outside, with an apple on his lap for his sister’s discovery. Later, after Marelen discovers that he is dead, his blood is drained and along with his body is cooked into “Blood-Soup/Black Pudding” by his stepmother. When his father returns home and questions where the boy is, she responds telling him that he has gone off to the country to live with his mother’s great uncle. The boy eventually reincarnates into a beautiful bird, returning with items: a golden chain (for his father), a pair of red boats (for his sister), and a millstone, which he uses to kill the stepmother in revenge and reverts back into his original human self by the end of the story.

THEORY NOTES:

I believe Oscar’s story is loosely based upon this fairy tale, but if he had lived through the traumatic experience. In RWBY Volume 4 Episode 1 - The Next Step, Oscar Pine is introduced to us upon waking up from a nightmare panicked, possibly indicating a traumatic experience from his past. Another thing noted to us in this episode is Oscar's outfit, much like the young boy in this tale, Oscar is presented wearing a bandage wrap around his neck, possibly indicating a former wound related to the traumatic experience.

In the Grimm story, after the boy’s death the stepmother responds to her husband stating, "he has gone across the country to his mother's great uncle. He will stay there awhile." However, in this theory, Oscar lives through the ordeal and actually does go to the country in Mistal as a farmhand to live with his aunt.

In the Grimm Brothers "The Juniper Tree," reincarnation plays a major role in the tale. Similarly to how the reincarnation of Ozma also plays a major theme in the tale of RWBY. However, Oscar is the reincarnation of a former like-minded soul (Ozma) instead of a bird.

But perhaps they didn’t entirely leave this out, in RWBY Volume 6 Chapter 8 - Lost, after Oscar is confronted by his teammates about Ozpin’s lies. Oscar, unsure of how to cope, retreats into the city and is later seen wearing a new outfit consisting of gold, green, and red - possibly a direct symbolism to the bird (often depicted as a pheasant) the boy reincarnated into in the story.

“...fine red and green feathers he had, and how his neck was like pure gold, and how his eyes shone like stars in his head.” A symbolism of Oscar’s purity and innocence.

"Wife," said the shoemaker, "go into the shop. There is a pair of red shoes on the top shelf. Bring them down." Then the wife went and bought the shoes [for the bird]. In RWBY Oscar is shown wearing a pair of red shoes/boots, which he purchased while trying to cope.

It is important to note here that in most instances red shoes in the Grimm fairy tales symbolize a curse or sin. - In the era of the Grimm Fairy Tales, red shoes were the symbolism of harbinger of evil due to the religious influence in society, where the church declared red as a symbol of the devil and unwanted attention.

The story of the “Juniper Tree,” is the archetypal bridge between other fairy tale stories produced by the Grimm Brothers: Cinderella, Briar Rose, and Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Using an object (normally represented through nature) that watches after the main character. In the case of this story, it’s a juniper tree.

The allusion of using a Juniper tree has long been recognized as one of the most powerful of all fairy tales trees. In the language of flowers, Juniper symbolizes perfect loveliness, beauty, and protection.

The Juniper tree is in the Cupressaceae family closely related to the Pine tree, a possible reference to Oscar Pine’s name.

Hopefully, like the boy in this tale, Oscar will be able to revert back into his former self at the end of the fairy tale, no longer another reincarnation of Ozma.

Google Docs Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/12dmrUTbvNouXAOTJPmfMVi45n_BWnB5d9X0zkzln4C8/edit?usp=sharing

@Mood-owl‘s Post: https://mood-owl.tumblr.com/post/626355128982765568/the-jnpr-tree-a-rwby-theory For more updates and future fan art on this theory please follow @mood-owl & @sionanimations onTumblr!

#BrothersGrimmFairyTales #TheJuniperTree #TheJNPRTree #TheJNPRTreeRWBYTheory #TheJNPRTreeTheory #Oscar Pine #Oscar #RWBYTheory #RWBY #SionAnimations #Mood-Owl

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kinksharne · 4 years ago

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My Top 200 Songs of 2020

This year I thought my Spotify wrapped sucked so I decided to rank my favorite songs released this year. This is just based on how much I like/enjoy the song and is totally subjective. If we like some of the same songs/artists (or even if you absolutely hated a song that I loved lol) send me a message! I love talking about music!

200. Cloud 9 – Beach Bunny

199. Sunblind – Fleet Foxes

198. Molly – Chase Atlantic

197. Let’s Sort the Whole Thing Out – Carly Rae Jepsen

196. Cuffing Season – Beach Bunny

195. Around Your Room – Kississippi

194. Identical – Phoenix

193. Cherry – Viji

192. Circles – Megan Thee Stallion

191. Flowing Over – Young & Sick

190. Arisong – Cignature

189. Got That Boom – Secret Number

188. Stay Gold – PVRIS

187. Not Shy – ITZY

186. Swimming Pool – Eliza and the Delusionals

185. GRWM – Gfriend

184. Temptations – BoA

183. Diabolik – Surf Rock Is Dead

182. 1988 – BBHF

181. Eternally – TXT

180. Dying to Believe – The Beths

179. Mermaid – Jang Ye Eun (CLC) feat. Rohann

178. Freaking Time – Valiant Vermin

177. Manta Rays – Chloe Moriondo

176. If Only – Young & Sick

175. Oops! – Loona

174. Daydream – The Aces

173. You.ZIP – April

172. Given-Taken – Enhypen

171. Tension – Dreamcatcher

170. Mona Lisa – Terror Jr

169. Hmph! – WJSN Chocome

168. Night Terrors – Diet Cig

167. Don’t Call Me Again – Twice

166. Sunflower – Dizzy

165. Pantomime – WJSN

164. Zombie – Day6

163. The Paradise – Weki Meki

162. Sahara – Dreamcatcher

161. Feel Good – Irene & Seulgi (Red Velvet)

160. 7 Years – Charli XCX feat. BJ Burton

159. Can I Believe You – Fleet Foxes

158. Bikini Porn – Tove Lo

157. Froze – The Moondrops

156. Maestranza – Fleet Foxes

155. In The Frozen – Dreamcatcher

154. I’m Coming – Tove Lo

153. Three of Cups – Gfriend

152. Jelly – Irene & Seulgi (Red Velvet)

151. Something Has to Change – The Japanese House

150. Maybe – (G)I-DLE

149. Lemonade – Oh My Girl

148. Mirror to the Fire – Yumi Zouma

147. Golden Goose – A.C.E

146. Shadow – Twice

145. Love Me More – Sandy

144. Red Sun – Dreamcatcher

143. Slip Away – Mini Trees

142. Wish – Dreamnote

141. Wounded/Surrounded – Kid Bloom

140. Drama – TXT

139. I’m Not Getting Excited – The Beths

138. Honey and Diamonds – BoA

137. Fever Dream – Mxmtoon

136. Feel Good (Secret Code) – Fromis_9

135. V.A.V.I. Girl – Fanatics

134. Potions – Day Wave

133. Salty – The Boyz

132. Helicopter – CLC

131. What You Waiting For – Somi

130. Cool – Dua Lipa

129. Can’t You See Me – TXT

128. Afraid – Day6

127. Girl on TV – Chloe Moriondo

126. Live 4ever – Magdalena Bay

125. Blonde – Glades

124. Bloodstream – Soccer Mommy

123. Holiday – Little Mix

122. Dizziness – Wild Nothing

121. Heat Waves – Glass Animals

120. Bet You Wanna – Blackpink feat. Cardi B

119. Dive – Nature

118. Break Your Rules – The Boyz

117. Worth It – Beabadoobee

116. Blue Hour – TXT

115. Mars, The God of War – The Beths

114. Dreamlike – I*ZONE

113. Black or White – Dreamcatcher

112. Kate’s Not Here – Day Wave, Lawrence Rothman, and Girl in Red

111. Hide and Seek – Loona

110. I’ll Show You – K/DA

109. Make Me Go – Twice

108. IPHONE – Rico Nasty

107. Aloha – SAAY

106. C2.0 – Charli XCX

105. Luv U – (G)I-DLE

104. Boss Bitch – Doja Cat

103. Jackpot – Elris

102. Naughty – Irene & Seulgi (Red Velvet)

101. Initial S – Sori

100. I Can’t Stop Me – Twice

99. Ice Cream – Blackpink feat. Selena Gomez

98. Angelina – Kitten

97. Untouchable – Everglow

96. Jump Rope Gazers – The Beths

95. Rococo – I*ZONE

94. Party 4 U – Charli XCX

93. Fall Again – Loona

92. Boca – Dreamcatcher

91. Girls – Nature

90. Starting Again – Day Wave

89. Panorama – I*ZONE

88. Lalalilala – April

87. Bouncy – Rocket Punch

86. Evita! – DeVita

85. Payday – Woo!ah!

84. Angel – OnlyOneOf

83. XS – Rina Sawayama

82. Hola – WJSN

81. Reveal – The Boyz

80. Red Moon – KARD

79. Bazooka! – GWSN

78. Sadder Badder Cooler – Tove Lo

77. Leave – Ultracrush

76. So Bad – STAYC

75. Rubyinsides – Purity Ring

74. Pporappippam – Sunmi

73. Comme Des Garcons (Like the Boys) – Rina Sawayama

72. Fiesta – I*ZONE

71. Ding Dang Dong – Loona

70. Ferris Wheel – Surl

69. Easy – Troye Sivan

68. The Aerialist (Wonderboy) – GWSN

67. I Am King – Nasty Cherry

65. Mago – Gfriend

64. Care – Beabadoobee

63. After the Bloom – GWSN

62. Levitating – Dua Lipa

61. Number 1 – Loona

60. Yellow Is the Color of Her Eyes – Soccer Mommy

59. Mare – Purplebeck

58. Just Shy of Sure – The Beths

57. Jazz Bar – Dreamcatcher

56. Vehemence – Purity Ring

55. Tag Me (@Me) – Weeekly

54. Oopsy – Weki Meki

53. Silkspun – Purity Ring

52. Susie Save Your Love – Allie X feat. Mitski

51. Yummy – Apink

50. Peacefall – Purity Ring

49. I Finally Understand – Charli XCX

48. Dazzle Dazzle – Weki Meki

47. Femia – Purity Ring

46. Shoulda Known Better – Nasty Cherry

45. 1 to 10 – Day6

44. Tweaks ~ Heavy Cloud But No Rain – GWSN

43. Anj – Ratboys

42. Goblin (Favorite Boys) – A.C.E

41. Malibu – Kim Petras

40. Ayayaya – I*ZONE

39. Dumhdurum – Apink

38. Lonely After – Yumi Zouma

37. Fun – Terror Jr

36. Weather – Fromis_9

35. Forever – Charli XCX

34. Eats Me Up – Fickle Friends

33. Mulgogi – Fromis_9

32. Like I Do – Elris

31. Open Your Eyes – I*ZONE

30. Nonstop – Oh My Girl

29. I Like the Devil – Purity Ring

28. Cool – Weki Meki

27. Star – Loona

26. Summer Savior – The Flowers

25. Night Swimming – Soccer Mommy

24. Claws – Charli XCX

23. Love Me or Leave Me – Day6

22. In a Dream – Troye Sivan

21. Colorblind – Beach Bunny

20. Detonate – Charli XCX

19. Pull Apart Heart – Eliza and the Delusionals

18. Secret Story of the Swan – I*ZONE

17. Drivin’ Away – Cayenne

16. Thank You – PVRIS feat. Raye

15. La Di Da – Everglow

14. Dionne – The Japanese House feat. Bon Iver

13. Day & Night – Loona

12. Outro: Ego – J-Hope (BTS)

11. Foyer – Wild Nothing

10. Stardew – Purity Ring

9. Cool for a Second – Yumi Zouma

8. Circle the Drain – Soccer Mommy

7. Pretty Great – Fickle Friends

6. Enemy – Charli XCX

5. Ringtone (Remix) – 100 gecs feat. Charli XCX, Kero Kero Bonito, and Rico Nasty

4. Oh (Yes I Am) – Loona

3. Pink Lightning – Purity Ring

2. Anthems – Charli XCX

1. Sinew – Purity Ring

#original #2020 #charli xcx #purity ring #loona #fickle friends #soccer mommy

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byzantine-nectarine · 5 years ago

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All the prophets have from the beginning cried out to my soul, imploring her to make herself a virgin and prepare herself to receive the Divine Son into her immaculate womb; Imploring her to become a ladder, down which God will descend into the world, and up which man will ascend to God; (Cf. Gen. 28:12 and John 1:51) Imploring her to drain the red sea of sanguinary passions within herself, so that man the slave can cross over to the promised land, the land of freedom. (Cf. Ex. 14) The royal son of India teaches my soul to empty herself completely of every seed and crop of the world, to abandon all the serpentine allurements of frail and shadowy matter, and then–in vacuity, tranquility, purity and bliss–to await nirvana. Blessed be the memory of Buddha, the royal son and inexorable teacher of his people! O heavenly Lord, open the hearing of my soul, lest she become deaf to the counsels of Your messenger. Do not slay the prophets sent to you, my soul, for their graves contain not them, but those who slew them. (Cf. Is. 7:14) Wash and cleanse yourself; become tranquil amid the turbulent sea of the world, and keep within yourself the counsels of the prophets sent to you. Surrender yourself entirely to the One on high and say to the world: “I have nothing for you.” Even the most righteous of the sons of men, who believe in you, are merely feeble shadows which, like the righteous Joseph, walk in your shadow. For mortality begets mortality and not life. Truly I say to you: earthly husbands are mistaken when they say that they give life. They do not give it but ruin it. They push life into the red sea and drown it, and beforehand they wrap it in darkness and make it a diabolical illusion. There is no life, O soul, unless it comes from the Holy Spirit. Nor is there any reality in the world, unless it comes down from heaven. Do not slay the prophets sent to you, my soul, for killing is only an illusion of shadows. Do not kill, for you can slay no one but yourself. Be a virgin, my soul, for virginity of the soul is the only semi-reality in a world of shadows. A semi-reality–until God is born within her. Then the soul becomes a full reality. Be wise, my virgin, and cordially receive the precious gifts of the wise men from the East, intended for your Son. Do not glance back toward the West, where the sun sets, and do not crave gifts that are figmental and false. - Saint Nikolaj Velimirović, Prayers by the Lake, XLVIII

The Great Buddha at Kamakura (Kamakura daibutsu) by Hasui Kawase, 1930

#Saint Nikolai Velimirovic #Prologue of Ohrid #eastern orthodoxy

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thebritishblabbermouth · 6 years ago

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Jungkook Fanfiction- BTS Mafia AU

Heyya :))

@atricksterwithwings requested a beautiful BTS mafia au, and I loved writing this for her. I’ve split it into three parts. Scroll down for the first and for the link to the latter.

A/N: I’ve mentioned Zhang Yixing in this fanfiction aside from the other BTS members. Its totally okay if you dont know who he is...although you probably do, he’s like such a popular sheep ;) Find information about him here .

Tell me your thoughts on this fanfic, Id love to receive any sort of feedback on my work and I totally think that likes and reblogs are recognition too :) Have fun reading, I know I really enjoyed writing this :) Its like 12 pages long on a word doc...idek anymore xP Jungkook is gorgeous. :)

Also...there is cursing in this, mention of the mafia from different nationalities and part two and three are rated M (its smutty xP) Reader discretion is advised if any of these things bother you.

Lots of love :) <3 - Enjoy :)

PART 2

PART 3 (final)

Jeon Jungkook stood at the 77th floor of Euphoria, the headquarters to the largest crime syndicate east of the Pacific Ocean. The height was dizzying for most, but not for him.

Jungkook had no fears; or so was assumed.

The man himself, was built at an impressive 6 feet and constituted of raw muscle, protein and a rather cynical approach towards life. Outwardly, the leader of the most legal crime syndicate was cold, intimidating and the type to burn you to ashes with a glare from his heated eyes.

Inwardly, he was exactly the same.

He was well aware of the effect he had on his employees, men and women who knew exactly of his affiliation with the Japanese Yazuka and the Italian Camorra yet pined to work under Jeon, the sheer power of his company bringing everyone to their knees with respect.

Euphoria was a giant.

It had dealings with government run telemarketing firms, banks, real estate agencies, alongside finance and technology markets. An easy way to convert money earned through extortion, gambling and trafficking to its pure and pristine form. The corrupt politicians whose elections he had funded didn’t complain. No one cared where the money came from and no one dared to ask otherwise. The cause of the founder’s formidable aura wasn’t a secret. Everyone knew how he had been tortured by his father, abandoned on the streets by a mother who seemed to love Heroin more than her own son. The story had been plastered all over the internet, and Jungkook would never deny reading through its many exaggerated versions. They were entertaining and did well to remind himself about how important money and power were, without those weapons, he too would be sitting in a room, writing about a life that belonged to someone else.

Materialism was reality and wealth- it’s currency.

~~~~~~~~~~~

‘’Sir, your coffee…’’ you said, walking through the office doors, a skip in your stride. There was no knock. No hint of awkwardness, no aspect of fear in the way she spoke. If anything there was the undertone of coercion, almost coaxing the man to leave his billion dollar thoughts in the gutter and focus solely on the warm drink.

Your playful extortion had worked, he was focused. Just not on the coffee.

Three months ago, Euphoria had issued an internal opportunity- PA to Jeon Jungkook. The post received 3 applications from his 20,000 employees. Min Yoongi, his chief of finance and operations took to appointing the least qualified of the bunch, a woman- aged a mere 22 years. The pitch to his ever frightening boss had been simple. ‘’You’ve let down 30 men in the last 6 months. I am done handling my job as well your shit. Those Harvard lunatics are too busy tending to their stupid resumes and I don’t have time for the garbage they throw at me when you fire their sorry arses. You’re settling with the woman, she’s got sick parents to feed- she won’t give a damn for ego as long as you pay her on time.’’

Jungkook could only snarl at the curses, the audacity of the man to speak in the way he did. Anyone else and they’d be lying in a pool of their own blood within seconds of the first word spoken against him. But Min Yoongi couldn’t be touched and this was a fact.

Jeon Jungkook was putty in the hands of his elder brother.

Today, he sent thanks to his sibling, for his aggressive outburst and daunting approach. You were priceless and the best decision ever- professionally of course.

He gave no reply to your request, not even a glance spared in your direction as your placed the drink onto his desk. There were just a series of footsteps, the man walking over to his maple work table, ready to do as he was told.

You had no idea of the prerogatives you held, and at that point, neither did him. The slight tease in your voice had mellowed down completely- replaced with the air of innocence and obeisance. Jungkook groaned at the sight.

‘’So I was thinking…it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow…and well…’’ you said... Shuffling your buckled black heels.

‘’You aren’t leaving early.’’

His abrupt command had no thought behind it. Other than the fact he couldn’t let you out of his sight for more than a few hours, often paging you unnecessarily just to make you think of him.

He doubted you ever would if he didn’t.

‘’I am not…my parents are flying in tomorrow…it’s a small get together at my place with a few colleagues. I figured since you didn’t have anything planned…you could join us?’’

Your apprehensive feet clicked across the hardwood with anticipation, the weightlessness behind your request holding the air in a trance.

‘’You’re my personal assistant, not event manager. You do not handle my private affairs so don’t think for a second that I care about your stupid Christmas dinner or the family I saved from crumbling.’’

It wasn’t what he had intended to say. Rather, his mind had flourished a thought he needed to keep locked away. He wanted to tell you that he’d love to join your family, share potato salad and amusing anecdotes across the table... All the while pressing his hand into your thigh- a subtle promise of sinful satisfaction later that night. But he wouldn’t dare to voice his feelings. You didn’t need to get involved with his shit, the scars that graced his back or the life full of gluttony and gambles he had chosen to lead. It was compulsion, to remind you every second of every day that the apartment which he bestowed upon you just 3 floors below his office- was a gracious boon, a gift given to improve your petty life. You had to be reminded of your father and how had been released from Jail after almost overdosing on the crack he had envisioned to peddle. Jeon Jungkook had to remind you of how ugly your tear stained face looked as you begged on your knees- begged for him to save your family.

There was simply no other way.

If you weren’t reminded, you’d crawl your way into his heart and sit there- encasing it completely.

He was just a damned moth to your flame.

‘’I know…and I am trying…I am trying to repay you. Please. Come over. I won’t waste your time.’’ You said. The words articulated with a purpose, were laced with meaningful sorrow but you couldn’t help the small smile that graced your lips.

He hadn’t declined.

Jungkook noticed how your full lips turned upwards, noticed how you had bent your head downwards, trying to hide your amusement. He knew he hadn’t said no, he knew inside the pits of his soul that was going to attend. Your reaction publicised his private notions completely.

It wasn’t hard to hate you.

Rather, it was the easiest thing in the world. His life had been built upon layers of lies, fear, judgement and mistrust. You tore everything apart with one look. He despised the hold you had over him, envied your purity and tried his best to tarnish it with his own two hands. Even if it meant burning your entire persona to ashes. He was well aware of the impact his audacious remarks on your large heart, knew just how much you wished to throw your small fists at his chest in rebuttal- he could see it in your eyes. But he knew you’d never break.

‘’Get out. I don’t have time for you.’’

Fuck.

Why couldn’t he just say no?

Probably because the thought of abjuration had never once crossed his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~

11 pm saw him standing at your door, a bouquet of Lilly’s in his hand. The flowers had almost wilted away. What the hell was he doing? Why was he even here? There was no noise from behind the oakwood and why would there be?

Your offer had been for dinner, not a midnight snack.

He wasn’t going to come, prove you wrong and act smug about the ordeal. However he had shown up, at 7 pm, flowers fresh and suit prim. Ready to tap onto the door and shimmy himself into you…your apartment. But his confidence dropped as he heard your laughter, it was beautiful, natural and something he had never experienced before.

Jeon Jungkook had never made you laugh, but had every thought of hearing you scream.

It wouldn’t have mattered to him if you were any other woman, but the lack of knowledge frightened him, made him think there would be another man who would have the pleasure of witnessing both sounds.

Every. Single. Day.

His heart beat erratically, edging him into a state of worry and insanity. What the fuck was wrong with him? It would be a complete lie if he said he hadn’t just stood in front of your door for 3 hours, praying he didn’t hear sounds of men. The silence at 11 pm provided comfort and he walked away, only after dropping the Lilly’s inside the vase at your desk.

You had been pleasantly surprised the next day, and you knew exactly who they were from. The flowers- drained from their pretty colour -were beautiful nonetheless and you couldn’t help but run your hands over their soft petals.

They were perfect- just like him.

~~~~~~~~~~

‘’See that guy over there…he’s checking you out hon.’’ Lisa, the American-Chinese intern, stirred her tea at an exceedingly sluggish pace. Her eyes were glued onto the 27 year old accountant who stood in the corner of the room, photocopying his work and humming to himself. She’d been a temporary employee at Euphoria Inc. for a bare 3 weeks but had done well to pair 4 couples with her self-praised matchmaking skills.

3 of said relationships had broken up within 24 hours. And thus, It was only natural that her impeccable track record attracted many an employee to her small cubicle, ready for her to set them up with dates and one night stands.

It seemed that you were her next target.

You sighed and turned to look at Jamie. He was tall, considerably well-built and had this collegiate boyish charm to his appeal, his long-slightly raven locks sat faultlessly over his glasses.

The image was so immaculate it made you uncomfortable.

However in your opinion, the man on the 77th floor was nothing short of perfection. His ruffled hair didn’t need to be waxed and placed as it were; it fell naturally and it made you want to run your hands through it. His rugged and damaged personality sheltered his otherwise kind heart and you saw right through the vile facade. You didn’t hope for him to change. Didn’t hope for him to suddenly become a goofy cheeky soul; the kind who would sit and chat with his workers.

You loved the man as he was. A little broken but a hell of a lot confident.

‘’Lisa…I don’t really want to date him…’’ You mumbled, eagerly emptying coffee beans into the machine.

She laughed at your reply and peeled her eyes away from the man. ‘’Who said anything about dating love? I just said he was checking you out.’’

It was hard not to grimace at her words but as crude as they were you had to smile politely. Offices were run on brutal honesty and cut throat depositions. There was no room for pleasantries or hospitality and any that appeared were a courteous formality. You hurried in your steps and brewed the concoction with ease. It was 8 am and he required his morning fix, even though he never actually asked you to prepare it. You had just finished placing his black on the tray and had turned around to deliver it when a firm body crashed into yours, spilling the brew all over your clothes and the floor. The heat burned through your blouse and scorched your skin, it had been hard to not curse at the pain but you dealt through it, eyes shut tight in response.

‘’Oh my gosh! I am so sorry!’’ said the voice. It was a man, sharply handsome, his cheekbones were protruding and you were sure his skin glowed. It didn’t take long to recognise him.

Kim Taehyung.

He had been a prospective fiancé, from a year ago.

From a time when you had no viable job, no future and the money the Kim Family offered in exchange for your hand in matrimony, had been a welcome surprise to your household. They were staunchly against same sex marriages and Park Jimin had been banned from their home with immediate effect. The marijuana had inflected your otherwise gentle father and he had agreed in seconds to the proposal, not once considering your opinion. You had declined Taehyung in private, and he had hugged you in thanks. The man was humble and docile in more ways than one, and his heart had been taken years ago- by none other, than his childhood piano teacher. There was no way Taehyung would’ve agreed.

‘’Tae!’’ You screamed, surprised yet elated at the discovery.

‘’Hey there fiancé. Glad to know you remember me…but really, why do we always meet in the worst of situations.’’ He walked over to the counter as he spoke, grabbing up as many napkins as he could find. His gentle hands took to patting at your chest, handing you the tissues while doing so and it didn’t take long for to dry up your blouse.

‘’I thought you’d be more respectful than that. Letting your fiancé walk into my building and displaying yourself open for the man. Tch Tch…I guess a lowlife is always a low life no matter what her circumstance.’’ Jeon Jungkook stood against the door, leaning onto it with a posture that screamed indifference. But in all reality, Jungkook was seething.

The small Glock tucked into his suit was ready to fire and destroy Kim Taehyung and maybe even leave a flesh wound inside Jamie the accountant.

However in that minute, his primal desire had been to destroy you. How dare you hide the news of your engagement? How dare you wear that damned pastel pink blouse to work, and let another man touch you so unabashedly? How dare you smile when you saw your betrothed? He hated you for everything.

And he hated himself for falling for you.

‘’And who the hell is this Joker?’’ Taehyung turned around to look at Jeon, the tissues in his hand soiled from the spillage. He had been invited to the corporation by Min Yoongi, a dear friend who had promised him help with TaeMin Designs, an upcoming entrepreneurial, founded by his beautiful husband. It didn’t occur to him that he’d meet you, but he was pleased that he had.

You were wonderful.

If it hadn’t been for your confidence, he would have never proposed to Jimin, never left his awful family and never been as happy as he was now. He owed you his life and his prosperity.

‘’Tae…he’s my boss. I’ll talk to you later. Please. I’ll call you hmm?’’ you tried your best to nip the fight in the bud. Taehyung was cool headed but an agitated version of the man could lead to the emergence of fists and blood. You were lucky he understood your pleas, and he grunted towards Jungkook while exiting the room, the daggers leaving his eyes were filled with venom and anger.

‘’I’d like you to pay attention to your job. Not to every single man out there. Why don’t you just do as you’re told? I don’t care what you do and who you do it with when you’re out of here.’’ Jungkook straightened himself against the wall and pocketed his hands. He told himself he enjoyed watching your eyes brim, told himself that his anger was justified. But god knows how much he wanted to cradle you and whisper apologies until you were forced to believe them.

‘’Let’s keep your sluttish acts away from the office hmm?’’

It was a harsh blow, enough to cause the first tear to slip from their confines. Why did he have to behave like that?

Why did you have to love him regardless of the way he did?

~~~~~~~

‘’How long is it going to take you leave? It’s pretty simple. Take the bag to KM Constructions, drop it there and leave. What’s so hard? '' Jungkook’s anger had sky rocketed ever since the incidence in the cafeteria and he didn’t even understand why he was asking you to be a bag drop. Never once in a career spanning 6 years had he ever made a woman a part of a deal. But it seemed that you were an exception with everything.

‘’I am just leaving Sir.’’ You said, buttoning up the grey pea coat.

He noticed how inappropriately dressed you were, how feminine and vulnerable. He knew how lecherous men could be, knew it wasn’t safe. But annoyance clouded his senses and he threw the thoughts away. It was simple enough, no interactions. You’d be fine.

If only he knew.

Part 2

Part 3

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vaultsofthefirstage · 7 years ago

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Deep Abyss’s Scream (Black Jade Direlance *****)

She had never once lived a happy life. She had never enjoyed her life. She had never been one to wish for more either. Until her ship went down and she heard the voice of the Silver Prince in her ear. When The Maiden of Deep Shadows opened her eyes, she was still underwater, standing on a deposit of Black Jade that she hauled to the surface with her before she arrived on an island filled with shadowlands through which she entered the Underworld to begin her work.

With her Deathlord’s guidance, she drew out the power of the Jade - the fury of the ocean, of the sea, of the Elemental Pole of Water. It was his words that gave shape to the weapon's might, that the newly reborn Abyssal forged a wonder as his hands guided her own. Her first time facing a Dragonblooded, an ironic fight as the Child of Daana'd brought her own mastery of the element to bear. But as she overcame her foe, the realization of her weapon’s destructive power struck a chord of fear inside her. As the waters of the sea turned red, The Maiden of Deep Shadows sailed away from Skullstone, looking for an escape from her existence.

Forged in the Underworld, the massive Jade spear is adorned with skull motifs inlaid with Soulsteel up and down the length, while its bladed edge is a sinister looking barb that would pierce through armor as easily as flesh. Across the weapon are 3 sockets for hearthstones. When submerged, water roils around the spear's tip, as if trying to escape the pain while inevitably drawn to it.

Attunement: 5m Type: Heavy (+1 ACC, +14 DMG, +0 DEF, OVW 5) Tags: Lethal, Melee, Piercing, Reaching, Two-Handed Hearthstone slots: 3 Era: Time of Tumult

Evocations of Deep Abyss's Scream When attuning to Deep Abyss's Scream, the Exalt awakens Abyss Geyser at no cost. An Exalt resonant with Deep Abyss's Scream who pays an additional 3 motes when attuning to Deep Abyss's Scream unleashes the full devastating might of the spear, gaining an additional initiative on any Withering damage roll that includes at least one 10 and applies double 10s to Decisive damage rolls.

Abyss Geyser

4m; Mins: Essence 1

Type: Simple

Keywords: Decisive-Only, Dissonant

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite: None

With her spear tip to the ground, the echoing scream brings forth the water deep below the surface. Geysers burst from the ground, tearing it apart in a bursting stream that rushes toward her opponent. She makes an attack out to Medium Range, which if it hits and deals at least one level of damage, knocks her opponent prone. If the weapon holds at least one water-aspected hearthstone, this water remains as large puddles across the area for the remainder of the scene.

Special Activation Rules: This evocation only functions on the ground floor of a building or the ground itself. Theoretically, there must be water below the ground and areas experiencing extreme droughts prevent the use of this evocation. While on the deck of a ship, she may choose to cause the geyser to explode from below, but this likely spells disaster without other charms.

Dissonant: Wielders dissonant with Jade may only send the geyser out to Short range.

Flood Gates Breach

Cost: 4m, 2i; Mins: Essence 2

Type: Simple

Keywords: Decisive-Only

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite: Abyss Geyser

Water swirls at her feet, gathering behind the Exalt like a wave. In a moment, it rushes forward, carrying her on the water with her spear intent to kill. The Exalt dashes forward a single rangeband, gliding across water and ignoring difficult terrain, before making a decisive attack. The wave strikes a moment after her blow, knocking her opponent back one rangeband unless they succeed on a (Strength+Athletics) roll with a difficulty equal to the successes on the decisive damage roll. She may perform this, even if she has already taken her movement action for the round.

Special Activation Rules: This evocation requires at least some body of water nearby, including the remains of the prerequisite if socketed with a water-aspect hearthstone. It can only be used once per opponent per scene, but it can be reset for a specific opponent by crashing them.

Ocean Burial

Cost: 6m, 1wp; Mins: Essence 2

Type: Supplemental

Keywords: Decisive-Only, Resonant

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite: Abyss Geyser

The Exalt leaps into the air, and water follows behind her, before crashing down with the might of Deep Abyss’s Scream, like an ocean falling from the sky. The Exalt may leap forward a single rangeband, before slamming down into the ground with destructive force followed by a deluge of water. After he decisive damage roll, the wielder of the Direlance can reroll (Essence) failed dice on her damage roll. Against a prone opponent, her damage roll benefits from double 10s.

Resonant: The attack and damage roll benefit from double 9s against a prone opponent instead.

Mountain Felling Corrosion

Cost: 1m, 1wp; Mins: Essence 2

Type: Supplemental

Keywords: Stackable, Withering-Only, Dissonant

Duration: One Scene

Prerequisite: Flood Gates Breach, Ocean Burial

Like a mountain wears down as the sea crashes into it, each strike wears down her opponent’s defenses. This evocation supplements a withering attack, ignoring a single point of soak. Each time the Exalt uses this evocation in a scene, he increases how much soak is ignored. Each activation after the first in the same scene ignores the Willpower cost. Any time she resets to base initiative, the amount of soak ignored resets to lower of (Essence or current stacks of this evocation).

Dissonant: This evocation can only be stacked up to (Essence+1) times in a scene.

Well of Black Depths

Cost: 10m, 1wp; Mins: Essence 3

Type: Simple

Keywords: Perilous, Dissonant

Duration: One Scene

Prerequisite: Mountain Felling Corrosion

With a wave of her direlance, seas churn, plants wither, rivers flood, and disasters abound. This evocation conjures deadly water across the ground from the nearest sources, draining plants dry, pulling riverbeds up onto the shore, and calling hellish rain to cover an area out to Medium range. Polluted through the curses of the Underworld, this water takes on a searing brine, that pulls water from those caught inside of it. Anyone wearing less than Heavy Armor (or waterproof footwear) feels the immediate pains of their body dehydrating. A character knocked prone in the scene is immediately re-exposed, as is any character struck by Flood Gates Breach or Ocean Burial. Otherwise, the liquid functions as a poison, with the following stats (3i / round, Duration of 3+Essence rounds, -1 penalty). A character crashed by the water immediately begins to suffer dehydration, taking a -3 penalty to their defenses and actions, that can only be recovered by leaving the body of toxic water and drinking pure water. The wielder of Deep Abyss’s Scream and up to one character per water-aspected hearthstone socketed in the direlance do not suffer the water’s effects. Trivial characters die in a matter of rounds of exposure.

This salt water brine remains, although at the end of the scene, ceases to be supernaturally dehydrating, though may still leave the ground salted and ruin plants. The water can only be purified by a Purity Gem hearthstone after the end of the scene this evocation was activated in.

This evocation can only be used once per scene and cannot be reset by the Dawn caste anima banner.

Dissonant: This evocation can only be used while the Exalt has 10+ initiative and resets the Exalt to base initiative after use.

Searing Sea Rain

Cost - (+1wp, 4i); Mins: Essence 3

Type: Permanent

Keywords: Decisive-Only, Perilous

Duration: Permanent

Prerequisite: Well of Black Depths, Rising Sun Slash (Exalted p.347)

At the pinnacle of the Exalt’s strike, it is not a glaring sun beam for the wielder of Deep Abyss’s Scream, but rather than storm cloud on the horizon. When her decisive attack benefits from Rising Sun Slash (on a roll containing at least one 7, 8, 9, and 10), the Exalt may pay an additional 1 willpower and 4 initiative to create an immediate one time hazard of acidic water, spraying out to strike everyone within short range of her. This deals (Essence) dice of damage to her target and anyone out to short range who fails a difficulty 4 (Dexterity+Athletics) check.

Birthing Mother Hydra

Cost: 8m (+4m); Mins: Essence 3

Type: Reflexive

Keywords: Perilous, Dissonant, Resonant

Duration: One scene

Prerequisite: Well of Black Depths

As the sea claims victims, the fear of the depths grows deeper, and from that deepening abyss, monsters of nightmare are born. Whenever the Exalt activates this evocation’s prerequisite, a small pool of the water forms into a jelly-like Chrysalis. Each time initiative is lost to the brine, it is stored in the chrysalis, to a maximum of 10 initiative. At any point, the Exalt may activate this evocation to birth from the chrysalis a snake like monster. It has as much initiative as was stored in the Chrysalis and can only make decisive attacks. Each time initiative is lost to this evocation’s prerequisite, the creature gains that initiative to a maximum of 10. If the creature is reduced to 0 initiative, makes a successful decisive attack, or leaves , it dissolves into water. The spawn has no health levels, instead attacks deal initiative damage to it, inflicting one additional level for every 4 dice of damage rolled. The Exalt may spend 4m to spawn another in the same scene, but may only have one creature at a time.

Chrysalis Spawn

Attack (Exalt’s Awareness+Melee+Essence). Damage (Lower of initiative or the Exalt’s initiative + trigger exposure to Well of Black Depth’s poison) Combat Movement: (10+Essence) dice Evasion: (1+Exalt’s Awareness) Parry: (1+Exalt’s Melee) Soak: (12+Essence) Hardness: (6+Essence)

Dissonant: Wielders dissonant with Jade cannot master this evocation.

Resonant: The maximum initiative of the Chrysalis and its spawn is increased to (10+Essence).

Horrors Lurk Beneath

Cost: 10m, 1wp; Mins: Essence 4

Type: Reflexive

Keywords: Perilous

Duration: One scene

Prerequisite: Birthing Mother Hydra

Below the surface, in the darkest depths, there are always more terrors below. This evocation can be activated in place of its prerequisite, causing the Chrysalis to spawn up to (Essence) creatures. The initiative stored in the Chrysalis must be divided evenly, to a minimum of three, and then gains an additional initiative. For example, a Chrysalis with 10 initiative can be turned into 3 creatures with 3, 3, and 4 initiative (which then becomes 4, 4, and 5). Each time initiative is drained from the Well of Black Depth’s poison, it goes into the Chrysalis, allowing the Exalt to spend 4m to spawn another creature reflexively when she chooses. She may only have up to (Essence) creatures at once, but she may choose to fuse two or more together to have their initiatives combines (up to the maximum of their normal initiative pools in this evocation’s prerequisite).

One Hundred Severed Heads Become 10,000 Jaws

Cost: 15m; Mins: Essence 5

Type: Simple

Keywords: Perilous, Resonant

Duration: One scene

Prerequisite: Horrors Lurk Beneath

Special Activation Rules: Only wielders resonant with Jade or the Abyssal exalted may unlock this evocation.

Stabbing her spear into the Crysalis formed by Birthing Mother Hydra or Horrors Lurk Beneath, the Exalt calls any spawned creatures back to her as water rushes around her body, raising her upwards in a tentacled multi-headed mass that she floats inside of. In order to activate this evocation, the Exalt must have 15+ initiative. In this form, she gains the following benefits:

For the purpose of feats of strength, she counts as having a strength of 6 and rolls 12 dice towards those actions.

Her soak becomes (13+1 for every spawn consumed by this charm), her hardness becomes (10+1 for every spawn consumed by this charm) and she gains an additional health track that must be overcome before she can be harmed.

She has three -0 levels, (Essence) -1 health levels, and (Essence+3) -2 and -4 health levels. If all of these health levels are filled, the evocation ends immediately.

The Exalt gains Legendary Size in her Hydra form. Smaller enemies can not inflict onslaught penalties without magic, nor can they crash her without a post-soak damage pool of 10+ dice. Decisive damage against her Hydra form’s health levels cannot exceed the attacker’s (Strength+3) without magic. Smaller creatures cannot grapple, knock back, or otherwise move her in her Hydra form. As a creature of Legendary Size, she ignores these benefits when she fights Warstriders, Tyrant Lizards, etc.

In addition to her normal action for the round (which must be something that an enormous hydra made of searing briny water can take), she may take a devastating action each round. The devastating action may be used to reﬂexively make an attack against either an enemy battle group or all trivial opponents within range of the pilot’s weapon.

Instead of making an attack, the Exalt may have up to (Essence) heads strike at different targets. She rolls her (Dexterity+Melee) with (Essence) non-charm dice added opposed by her target’s (Dexterity+Athletics) roll. Failure indicates immediate re-exposure to Well of Black Depth’s poison.

At the end of the scene or when this charm ends from damage, the Exalt hits the ground, body severely dehydrated, filling her health boxes to the -4 with lethal damage. This charm may only be used once per story unless reset by completing a defining or legendary social goal through water-based mass destruction.

#Artifact #Jade #Black Jade #Exalted #Exalted rpg #Exalted 3e

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lovehaswonangelnumbers · 5 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/the-white-of-novembers-1111-gateway/

The White of November's 11:11 Gateway!!

The White of November’s 11:11 Gateway!!

By Lisa Gawlas

This has been a truly wild ride these last few months. No doubt, we are not about to slow down any time soon. (I really wish it would though lol.) I have not put out any sharings 1, because there was nothing new for me to share and 2, I have been babysitting my grandson while my daughter recovers from surgery and her husband works day-shift. I am out of the house by 4:50 am on most days.

My voice came back just in time for November to start. And what a weird November it is already. The first day of November all I could see in what I call “previews” (imagery before the call happens) is what looks like a spotlight shining down on the earth and flooding it with light. The light is so bright I cannot see thru it. This was consistent for every person on my schedule. The next day, we got an addition within the preview… a left arm (physical reach for life) with a wristwatch on it. The numbers of the watch were blobby and blurry, there were no minute or hour hands. The only thing I can understand about this consistent imagery is… we tend to look at the clock, at the time, the time it takes (for anything) and now, time is becoming less and less relevant in our reach for life. What we want or need.

Yesterday in the previews (no one has had an actual reading yet) it really became interesting because each person added a different element to the preview (unlike the previous 2 days.)

My first lad’s preview was an opening of a curtain, very much like the opening of a play. The curtains themselves were extremely white and what was thru them was another layer of (a softer) white light. Nothing I could see thru tho.

My next lady offered a silhouette pacing back and forth behind the softer white light. So my guess is that the softer while the light is a secondary curtain to the first one. Like a set of shears behind the brighter ones.

I am now wondering if the pacing is us… waiting, wondering and yet, the time is blurred, irrelevant to our desires, for now, information lol. And trust me, I want to know NOW!! lol

My third lady offered something incredible… the only thing of color besides white and silhouette. It was a ring/crown of brilliantly colored flowers. Flowers reminiscent of Hawaiian leis. I could feel the thickness of their petals. This ring of flowers was about the side around as a Frisbee (going to scale of my vision of course) and hung in the center of the stage a couple of feet above where this image of pacing was.

I kept feeling the energy of the crowning of the virgin mary (why I have no idea lol..) Maybe it is the purity of the light and the brilliance (flower colors) of what is to come of the whiteness. Of course, we are heading into and through the most significant 11:11 gateway ever.

Well, my day has already started with readings and I am only getting the finger wag… meaning, not seeing anything. I have a deep inner feeling each day closer to 11:11 the frequency of light is getting more and more intense. Which alone feels exciting, but not when looking directly into it.

Sadly, with the chaos of my days driving to my daughters, not having a voice, babysitting and days not getting home until after 7 pm, I have been really really negligent in my emails and many other things. The times I am at home I tend to take very long (and needed) naps. And just so no one worries, my daughter is fine, she got new boobs put in and cannot lift anything until a week or so from now, including her 26-pound chunky monkey lol. So I did not block off the moon periods or even 11:11, and those days are all booked up. I would strongly advise rescheduling coming into and on the 11:11 (I have a feeling beyond that will be ok) or stay there and we can try and see what we can see.

A few days before m voice came back, I was sitting on the couch and tilted my head to the left and it felt like I dunked my head underwater and my right ear filled up. The next day, the same thing happened with my left ear, Both are still pressurized, with my right ear being super intense and both ringing like crazy. It will be 2 weeks Thursday this “ear thing” has been consistent. My doc gave me antibiotics which helped everything except the ears.

I actually broke down and begged my team to help me understand what is happening. They gave me a dream just before November started. I was painting someone’s ceiling white. In this dream, all I could think about is how great it would be if my son painted my ceilings before I move (I move out by the end of this month.)

We are all working to purify the ceilings of life, raising the frequency for ALL. When work is being done, it is not a time to understand but allow. This is what all the previews in November are reminding us of… allow. Time is irrelevant (unless you have bills to pay lol.) and life is getting a new coat of paint at the highest level for all of us.

On my car ride from daycare to home this morning, I was equally reminded of how incredibly intelligent and communicative our cellular body is and will do all it can to push us where we need to go.

I got insurance on the 1st of Oct and had not yet contacted an ENT to explore my chronic, persistent voice loss. Well, with my ears in the condition they are now in, I called yesterday. The first thing they asked me is if I had an MRI done on my throat and head at all. Nope. My appointment is for Nov 20th!!

I am also being asked to remind all of us to stop thinking we are doing something wrong, or out of alignment, or not working on issues. Sometimes the light itself is so intense, the body reacts the only way it can as it undergoes change.

WE ARE UNDERGOING CHANGE!!!

On that note… I love you all so much and for those of you willing to endure my rescheduling, thank you from the deepest part of my heart and soul.

Oh, and we have decided to change the day and time of our Nations class so we do not have to cancel it. Right now we are looking at Wednesdays at 3 pm and will be confirmed tonight when we meet. So the Nations Tuesday night classes live on (only on another day and time lol.)

Big big big ((((HUGZ)))) filled with light, love and pure excitement to and thru ALL!!

Lisa Gawlas

~~~~~~~~~

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ruleandruinrpg · 8 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS, EMILY!

You have been accepted for the role of NEYSA RAI. Admin Bree: Stunning, every word. Emily, you wowed me from start to finish—there’s really no other way to put it. It’s not often that an applicant seems to understand a character even more intimately than the person who created that character, but this is one of those rare instances; I may have written her story, but you brought it to life. This application was absolutely beautiful from start to finish, and I feel honored to see what you do with our heartrender with a heart of gold. You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Emily

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her

AGE: Twenty-one

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT. On a scale from 1-10, I’d put my activity at a fair 6/7. I will be looking for a job/working (hopefully) which will occupy quite a bit of my time, but when I’m not working I’ll probably be online since I moved back home and it’s dull as hell and there really isn’t anything to do other than replies! Also – just to let you know that I’m away from the 19th-25th so I won’t be on at all then!

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: You can find samples of my writing here, here and here.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Neysa Pollux Rai

NEYSA: The name Neysa is a Greek baby name. In Greek the meaning of the name Neysa is: Pure. Pure, like the first flurry of mountain snows. Pure, like sunlight as winter turns to spring. Pure, like the hearts and minds of her people, the Suli who had been wild in the best way possible. Pure, a meaning that time has tarnished, that she drifts from with every soul claimed by her hands, in every moment that she becomes a temporary God, given the power to snatch life away. ‘Pure’, she whispers, staring down at bodies with twisted hearts, ‘that is a cruel joke. It belongs to a girl from a lifetime ago’. It’s a strange thing, to associate your name, the one true constant in life, with a stream of memories, with a family who fade day by day, with who you could have been rather than who you are. But Neysa, for all she clings to her name and the connection with the past it provides, fears that all the purity inside of her was drained the day she was captured by slavers and that in turn, her name became little more than an empty shell. Yet, despite that, her name is incredibly important to the way she conceives herself. Neysa is a reminder of the girl without chains, the girl who ran wild and who knew what happiness meant. Neysa connects her to the parents and people lost to time, drifting in an unknown place on the continent. Neysa was something earned – something she won in conquering her own personal war. Stripped away after she was sold as a slave, crudely referred to as bloodletter instead, Neysa did not claim full ownership of her name until well out to sea, shouting it loudly into the wind. She had thought her shackles were gone then - and she was wrong - but at least the Second Army allowed her to keep her name. And yet, hope prevails. It is both her biggest fear and her biggest dream that one day her name will mean what it once did – tender, carefree, pure.

POLLUX: Roman form of Greek Πολυδευκης (Polydeukes) meaning “very sweet”, from Greek πολυς (polys) “much” and δευκης (deukes) “sweet”. In mythology he was the twin brother of Castor and a son of Zeus. The constellation Gemini, which represents the two brothers, contains a star by this name. Given their close connection with nature, the stars and the moon, it is natural among the Suli people, to bequeath a child with a name that draws from those fundamental elements. Although not a formalised or legal name, Pollux has always been a term of endearment among Neysa’s band of people, whispered in the moments before she fell asleep, or the first time she learned to trace the stars with the tip of her finger. Pollux marks Neysa as one of a pair, bestowing upon her an eternal and unbreakable connection to her brother. An unconventional choice – given its traditional use as a male name and its origins under a pair of twin brothers in the legend – the pieces fell into place the moment Neysa’s parents unexpectedly gave birth to two children, coddling both close in their arms under the summer sky, with nothing but the stars and the moon watching them. It was then that their father found Gemini, the twinned constellation and knew it was right to bless his children with two of its stars – Castor and Pollux.

Note: Obviously I don’t want to god-mod anything on behalf of the Aarvas applicant/player, but when I was considering potential middle-names, it was the idea of twin-meaning middle names that stuck out most to me and it was this pair of twins who fit Aarvas and Neysa the best. Therefore, I felt compelled to include it within my application. Hope that’s okay!

RAI: The lone remaining tie to her parents and the life they had shared – whittled down from thousands, eroded by time – her surname is the only thing that tethers her to the memory of them, of who they were, the lessons they imparted and the gifts that they gave them. It is through that name – and through the blood that runs through their children’s veins – that they remain in the present, instead of becoming a neglected ghost that only comes out to haunt. For as long as all four share that name, they continue to be bound to one and other, albeit faintly. It isn’t much. But to someone who has lived with nearly nothing at all, it is the true embodiment of hope. She can remember being four years old, learning to read on her mother’s knee, watching her trace those three letters in the dirt. ‘This is who we are. This is who we always will be’. At five, veins illuminated with traces of impossibility and magic, the term Grisha imposed upon her, she had run to her mother, afraid this meant they weren’t a Rai anymore. ‘I saw what happened in the other village – they took the children away – and their names didn’t matter. I want mine to matter’. Cupping her cheeks, her mother had smiled. ‘I will never let them have you. We will always be together. And we will always be a family’. Now, the memory feels bittersweet, darkened by irony. And whilst their parents failed to protect them forever (now, they protect one and other, Neysa clinging to her brother as the last soul who truly knows her) they do remain a family. A dreamer might wish for all four to come back together, but staring at her reflection in the mirror, Neysa wonders if her parents would even recognise their children. Perhaps it is better to be a family – but one that lives worlds apart. After all, her parent’s hearts are the only ones she refuses to break.

REBE: Although not a given name, it was once as common as Neysa, whispered by her people as she closed her eyes to sleep, tossed across the campfire as they cooked, a mark of respect as they stowed away their precious jewels, protecting them from the forces that sought to steal them away. Unique to her and her people, Neysa has nearly forgotten the name now, for it is nothing but a memory. And those, as we know, are unreliable.No one has called her Rebe for quite some time. Not in reality, anyway. But the world inside of her head that comes to life each night? That’s a different matter. In both nightmares and dreams, she hears the word repeated over and over, sometimes by teary Aunts and Uncles (among the Suli, they were all one extended family) who beg her to return to them, other times by the same people, whose faces become twisted with anger as they deny her the privilege of such a name. ‘Rebe? Saint? Blessed miracle? How were we so wrong? All you are is a monster.’ Those nights, as she wakes up covered in sweat, she believes them, disgusted with who she has become. The girl who earned the title of Rebe, who wore it as a badge of pride, would scarcely recognise the woman she has grown up to be – recoiling in fear of the deeds she doesn’t bother to protest anymore. Sometimes, she wonders, had they never been captured by slavers, had they found their way back home…would she still hold a claim to that title? Or like all good and precious things, would time have eroded it?

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?

Ah, Neysa – my sorrowful swallow, my fallen dreamer, my heartrender with a golden soul. It’s impossible not to adore her, to feel for her and to want to explore her. With roleplays, my biggest struggle is usually indecisiveness. There are hundreds of compelling characters, each with their distinct tale to tell, split across the personality spectrum. But with RAR, I found it remarkably easy to settle upon my first choice – because she just spoke to me immediately. Usually, I try and wait right up until the last biography is released, not wanting to be drawn into an application only to abandon it halfway through. But as soon as Neysa was released – somewhere near the beginning – I knew that was it, that I had found the one. I began her application immediately and never looked back.

Having engulfed the trilogy as soon as this roleplay was announced (I think I read all three books over three days, abandoning my essays to do so), I knew I definitely wanted to portray a Grisha. Nothing against humans – but I found the dynamics within the orders, the possibility of writing out abilities and the politics of their position the most compelling stories. In the books, it wasn’t the characters I loved so much as the world they operated within – and my favourite thing about RAR is the characters you’ve inserted into the environment. So, I won’t lie, when looking at teasers and biographies, I mainly focused on the Grisha. Being Grisha is so fundamental to Neysa, to her experiences, to how she experiences the world – and to how she sees the world. Her abilities have defined who she is thus far – they are the reason she was stolen away from her parents, the reason she was sold into slavery, the reason why she has become a soldier. And, more specifically, Neysa’s status as a heartrender is central to everything she is. It is her ability to manipulate tissue and flesh that spurs the world to make a weapon out of her, the reason why she is forced to murder – and why she has always been so afraid. You can’t understand Neysa without understanding that. And so, given that her abilities are so vital to Neysa, they take a place at the forefront of her story, plot progression and development. Given that’s what excited me so much about this roleplay in the first place, it’s a compelling factor as to why I was so drawn towards her.

The second – and main – factor that drew me in was her story. It’s a tale of being free and being bound, of fighting for freedom, of the difference between living and being alive. There is a definitive sadness and tragedy to Neysa that is apparent throughout her biography, echoed throughout every piece of her life. Like an angel, she has tumbled from the heavens, haunted by those she has left behind. Primary among this is herself – or at least, the girl she once was, so full of hope and happiness. That girl slips away day by day – and it becomes harder to clutch onto the mere memory of her. I really want to explore every nook and cranny of this – how she copes with past and present, how she struggles with her status in the Second Army and the nature they seek to impose upon her. They seek to make a soldier out of a pacifist, a monster out of a saint. In the grey, you will find Neysa. At the core of her is an identity crisis. There’s a gap between who she used to be and who she is becoming. It’s the difference between Grisha and human, good and evil, power and personality, girl and weapon. All of these struggles are bound up inside of her – for she is the living embodiment of them all. Currently undergoing something of an identity crisis, Neysa is torn in two polarising directions, fearful of becoming one over the other, of losing who she is in a bid to survive. Survival is certainly a key theme radiating throughout Neysa’s biography. She is Ravka’s phoenix – rising from the ashes. She may not look the way her childhood self imagined she might – but breathing is the most important thing. She can worry about appearances later, when the war is over – should she survive it without murdering herself in the process. An incredibly strong and resilient character – who has managed to resist the overpowering urge to give in. It’s this, pulsing like a heart, that makes me fall in love with her.

Overall, it’s Neysa herself – her story, her potential, her direction – rather than her dynamics or position in the roleplay that has drawn me towards her. I’ve fallen head over heels for her as a character – and I hope I’m lucky enough to develop and take her further within the roleplay.

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

BREAK THE CHAINS: Essentially, everything below can be grouped under this larger heading and under what I believe is Neysa’s larger arc. Central to her story is her struggles with freedom, servitude and being bound – both literally and metaphorically. Despite escaping slavery, she continues to be chained up, hitched to the army and the King’s wishes, forced to commit atrocities in their name. This, in turn, is changing her, restricting her and denying her from the life she deserves to live, separating her from the life she envisioned for herself and the person she used to – and wants – to be. Over the course of this roleplay, I would like to see Neysa break out from that shell, to find a way to reconcile her reality with her hopes and work within the system. Essentially, I want to see this girl happy. I think it will take a long time to get there – and will involve some fundamental changes and interesting dynamics, but ultimately, that is my end goal with her.

MAN-MADE MONSTER: Fundamental to understanding Neysa is answering one question – Am I a girl or am I a weapon? Years ago, that answer would have been an easy one – a girl, who feared becoming a weapon. Now, when Neysa stares at her reflection, she sees traces of the very thing she once feared, hands that have turned into guns, fingers into knives. Each day, she loses more of who she used to – and who she wants to be – and with every fallen soul, every kill at her hands, she finds herself becoming more who she doesn’t want to be. Even now, she doesn’t want to be that person. She is strong enough not to fall off the edge completely, tough enough to keep her humanity and wits about her. She refuses to give in to what war wants her to be – and it drains her. But this question goes far beyond simply how she acts of perceives the world – it cuts across who she is. Neysa’s identity is constructed by this question, of being a girl or a monster. Currently unable to reconcile the pair, she fights to keep the two apart, believing them to be separate, polarising, identities. This plot arc essentially questions that assumption. It is possible to both be a monster and a girl – and Neysa is hurting herself by refusing to let the two reconcile, tearing herself apart to retain a semblance of the past. She doesn’t realise that it is impossible for her to be free in the same way once again – and that no matter what happens – her experiences have changed her beyond belief. But more than that, she shouldn’t look back – but forward. In helping to reconcile these two halves, I’d love to test the bounds of Neysa. I’d love her to commit an atrocity she doesn’t feel she can come back from, to see her – much like Valerian – turn towards the darkness as a coping mechanism. However, for me, this would be temporary – and in the end, I’d love for Neysa to find a way back to herself, to string together who she wants to be and who she has been forced to become. I feel that until she does, until she realises it is possible to save yourself from abandoning your heart for steel, she can’t be at peace. She needs to fall so that she can rise.

BATTLE-WEARY WOMAN: Given that the fear of becoming a weapon is such a central part to Neysa and her struggles with her identity, both as a Grisha and a person, war is bound to be a central part to her story too. For it is in war when she is forced to snatch lives, where she watches bodies fall to the ground, hatred of the evil she must look like reflected in their eyes. In order to fully explore Neysa, it is necessary to see her outside of the Little Palace, to see her march into battle, obey the orders of her commanders and pretend as if using her power doesn’t strengthen her (or cause a rush of adrenaline to throb through her body). Here, I would definitely like to explore how Neysa interacts on a battle-field, whether she secretly enjoys it, how she feels directly after a battle and explore her relationships with her fellow soldiers – all of whom will have different attitudes towards war. Neysa would like to claim to be a peacemaker, to run far far away from battle and all its crimes, but that’s impossible. War has become her constant – and in a sense, she is wrong to deny it. As long as she exists, she will be at war – for nothing and no one will release her from her servitude. She has to learn to balance the demands of war and of her ability with her conceptions of who she is, to find a way to be happy and find freedom within these constraints. Having always been a little wary of her ability (oh how she would have loved to be anything but a murderer) I would really like to see her finally come to terms with it, to embrace it as part of who she is. In this transformation, she has to address one key question – is it possible to be a murderer and someone who isn’t a monster? I would argue yes – but at the moment, Neysa would say no.

THE OTHER HALF: Neysa came into the world as half of a pair and by god – they will be leaving together too. Circumstances, whether it be their close-knit community at childhood or their forced enslavement and then recruitment into the second army, have kept them close, strengthening the bonds between them. For a long time, they have been the only one she can depend upon, the one she would die to protect, the one she would tear her own heart out to save. Now, however, with their life in the Little Palace and separate roles in the army, their lives are beginning to converge. They are no longer alone – and she’s afraid it’s going to rip them apart at the seams. Despite the love they have for each other, she’s beginning to wonder if she cannot understand Aarvas – and is deathly afraid that one day, he will be a puzzle she cannot unravel. His turn towards religion as a coping mechanism – and its imposition upon her – is something that is causing immense conflict between the pair, threatening to become a sticking point. Neysa denounces it – they embrace it – and for the life of her, she cannot understand why – which is where so much turmoil comes from. At this point, it appears their futures might be diverging – and she cannot, will not, cope with that. As well as the growing turmoil between the pair, I’d love to see Neysa’s protective instincts called upon. Her brother is the only one she will willingly kill for. Her brother is the only one she can ever truly fight for – and despite being the younger one, it is she who is most vocal about defending them. But how do you defend your brother from himself? As well as that, I think it would be really interesting for them to try and find their people/parents – and see how that changes/shifts the dynamics and where they perceive their futures.

LIGHT IN THE DARK: Given the lives she and Aarvas have led, Neysa has met relatively few Grisha compared to those taken from their families and inducted into the lifestyle at an early age. But the Grisha she has met have all been the same – a little twisted, consumed by sorrows or anger, hardly recognisable as a person at all. But Stasya forces her to question those assumptions. Stasya shows her than an alternate path is possible – that you can remain a harbinger of peace and kindness, all the while being a soldier. Stasya shows Neysa a path that she herself would like to tread – and I believe that their relationship will be fundamental to helping Neysa find a peace in herself, as well as giving her the companionship and support that she craves and needs. The moment they met was like a fresh breath of air for Neysa, or the first rays of sun after a long winter has passed. It brought her back to life. Having felt so isolated and alone after joining the second army, a new face among strangers, an oddity among those who have grown up together and a flower among thorns, Stasya was a welcome solace – someone who was brought into Neysa’s life for a purpose. And Neysa knows this. Amongst the violence and chaos, Stasya is a welcome respite, an anchor of sorts, someone she can run to when the day has been too hard or she feels too dark to be sane. They peer into each other’s souls – and don’t run from what they find. Between these two, I’d like to deepen and explore the dynamic between the pair, to watch it transform with time. I truly believe that Stasya is exactly the sort of person that Neysa needs in her life, perhaps the only one who can see her honestly and refuse to run away. They slot together perfectly, both similar and different in many complex ways. But, at the end of the day, their souls are made of the same materials – and that is what counts. I truly believe that Stasya has the potential to become someone truly special within Neysa’s life – possibly permanently – and that their connection will help bring peace to Neysa – and maybe even happiness.

EVER-CREEPING SHADOWS: He is her cautionary tale, a flashing warning, a sign that tells her to run in the opposite direction – and to run fast. He represents the darkest aspects of war, what happens when a battle goes and turns a man into a monster. Looking at him, she can see the parallels between the pair – for they have both fought and they have both lost. They began in the same place – but she will be damned if they end up side by side. It is parallel, the effect that he has on her, strengthening her resolve not to become like him, whilst tempting her to do something she doesn’t want to do exactly at the same time. He appears to want to make her like him, to go beyond redemption, to see the darkness as a single comfort, like an old friend. From the beginning, he has been cutting and cruel, exposing her weaknesses and digging in wherever he might find one. So far, she’s managed to evade his desires, to shake him off and bat him away, but he’s growing ever more persistent – and she feels herself beginning to be tempted, to just give him the destruction that he craves. There is a voice, whispering at the back of her mind, that just says – do it. For me, the dynamic between Valerian and Neysa is one of the most compelling ones – and definitely one I’m excited to explore. I just think that the connection between the pair of them is so rich – because they truly represent two sides of the same coin, two people who look more alike than Neysa would ever want them to. And yet, despite that, she isn’t his saviour – wise enough not to drown along with him. What that does is place their relationship in between kindred souls and enemies. Where Stasya is connected to one part of her (the hopeful girl with the smile like a breeze), Valerian is connected to the other part (the weapon, all molten steel). I also think it would be interesting to see what would happen if Neysa did lose control, if she squeezed her fists a little hard, if she made him bleed. I truly think an event like that would send her over the edge a little, force her to question everything – including their likeness.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: Having seen first-hand in Diverona how character deaths tie into overarching plots and play a significant role in stakes and development of the roleplay and other characters, I’d definitely say yes. However, if possible, I’d like to be given some warning about what’s going to happen and when it’ll happen to give me some time to wrap up threads/prepare and probably apply for a different character! In terms of potential circumstances around Neysa’s death, I would definitely say that Aarvas could play a large factor. Simply put, he is the only person in this world that she would lay down her life for – not necessarily a self-sacrificing person otherwise. But he is the exception – and that could be such an interesting dynamic to watch play out. Otherwise, I could definitely see war/battle playing a large potential factor in her death. There’s such a tragedy to Neysa, what she’s endured and who she has become as a consequence – and having her die would truly cement that arc.

IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S):

Memory is a fickle mistress, a cunning witch to which homage must be paid. But where she was once kind, she is now cruel, taking pleasure in torturing her host. She dangles freedom in front Neysa’s eyes, a bitter aftertaste of how sweet it once felt. Remembering pales in comparison to experiencing – but beggars can’t be choosers – and Neysa will always pick ghosts over demons. One will break your heart, the other will break your soul. Perhaps the most unfortunate must suffer through both, leaving behind only a hollow, empty, being, a shell where life once bloomed. No. Her rebellion is a piercing protest echoing throughout her skull, strong in the face of adversity and tragedy in equal halves. She did not break her chains to find herself bound by ropes, she did not sail across the true sea to find she had left her true self a million lifetimes away, long ago. They need your permission to make you a monster. There is a choice to be had. Even now, she can detect the sharp irony behind her words. For there are no decisions to be made. Not since she was a little girl, dancing barefoot in the grass, ducking behind wagon wheels anxiously folding herself into invisibility, has she been blessed with such luxuries. They tore that from her the moment she and her twin were gagged and bound. Now, she’s been playing catch up ever since.

Brown eyes open and the world begins to flood in. On her left, lies the First Army infantry, guns raised, eyes bloodthirsty. To her right, the Grisha, greedily licking their lips, anxious to begin the advance. She belongs to neither side. She forsook her humanity, the last of it, the moment bones cracked and hearts bled at the mere twitch of her hand. But she can’t truly claim to be one of her own either – with their acceptance of war and vengeance. The middle-path is the one lesser trodden – and she walks it alone. But there’s an end in sight – left or right? Inhaling heavily, she ignores the ash heavy in the air, erasing flickering fire and overwhelming destruction and the laughter of Valerian from her mind. Instead, she turns her eyes skyward. Even among the grey, there are patches of blue and a sun, as cold as it may appear. Her eyes trace the outlines of forests, trees she might have once climbed, racing Aarvas to the top. Catch me if you can! She would have shouted, the vast canopy beckoning her into its clutches. High above the world, the band across her chest would have loosened. No soldiers can find me here. There is no one to take me away. I am safe. A child’s mind will believe such things, even in the face of impending doom. But it was easy – it was all so easy when you sleep coiled with your brother, shielded by your parents, protected by your entire people, seen as someone to be revered. Once, she had been worshipped. Now, the girl who had been taught to roam and run and smile was lost. Somewhere out there lies the life she left behind – cold fresh glacial rivers, meadows with golden flowers, clear skies where the stars shine. Somewhere, there are her people, pulling wagons as their age-old tradition demands. Her father will read dreams and her mother will dance. Perhaps, by now, her people have found someone else to call Rebe. For surely, she is not deserving. Normality continues, even when she is a world away. Somewhere, there is peace to be found.

But it sure as hell isn’t here.

The battle beckons – and somehow, she finds herself among its ranks. The girl tucked up inside the wagon (who lies inside of her, somewhere, hiding) blinks in shock and horror, begging her to leave – to run. The girl who became the woman, who buried her past deep inside of her chest, knows better than that. She knows her only choice is to face up, to twist when they tell her to and try and forget the faces screaming in horror. Later, they will plague her dreams. But at least she will still be alive. Ready to live another day. The horn sounds and creatures find themselves ready to pounce. Instinct forces her to raise her hands, to narrow her focus, ready to march towards chaos. When did my body betray my mind? But even Ares himself cannot stop her heart. To her far-right, Neysa meets her brother’s eyes, familiar, home etched across them. Even in chaos, even in despair – she has always been able to find a light inside of them, a whisper that says you are not alone. Be safe. She urges, a thought that needs no verbal manifest. They have marched into war time and time before, at each other’s side – and apart. Some conflicts don’t have two distinct sides. Some are just us against the world. Once, the only wars she had ever fought were upon their behalf – a fist raised in protection, a sharp voice ready to tear a figure to shreds. ‘Leave them alone’. Anger is ugly, but for them, she would become Medusa herself. They will find each other after the battle, soothe each other’s aches. Aarvas will press their lips to a cross – and she will pretend not to wince. Fight, the way we always have – and one day, we might be free. Do not fall, death cannot claim us, not today.

After all, she is beginning to become death.

The cry goes up – and forward they march, their enemy, the Shu, in their sights. The cage her family desperately (with all their wit and cunning) tried to protect her from bursts open. But this bird cannot fly free. Instead, she is anchored towards the earth, forced to march forward. The songbird is becoming a raven – and she is powerless to stop the transformation. A soldier, an enemy marked by his colours, comes towards her, sword raised. He can see his condemnation in his eyes, the vulgar hatred in which he charges. He despises me. Perhaps he is right to. They call Grisha abominations, a demon plague upon the earth. Given what she is about to do, she can hardly deny that charge. I do not do this willingly. But would that even matter? And, more importantly, is it even true? For as much as every atom of her body screams that this is wrong, immoral and a betrayal, there is another that collides, that whispers how strong she will feel and that perhaps, in the end, this was inevitable anyway. Neysa is the figure trapped in the space in-between, tearing herself to shreds. A black cuffed kefta (appropriate, she always thought, for their sentencing) arm raises and her fist closes. He hesitates in his stride, choking. Inside, his heart begins to crumble, its circulation cut off. In a minute he will be dead, a light snuffed out in this world. We shall see each other again – in the dead of night, when you return to remind me of my sins. She does not wish this fate upon him – but swings the sword anyway. When does a survivor become traitor? She wonders, searching for answers deep within herself. (She’s afraid of what the shadows might whisper back). It is perhaps a question she does not want answered. She hesitates, wondering if she should speak, but brushes the notion aside. There would be too many words, not enough time.

He lies motionless at her feet, the life snuffed out from inside of him. But she can’t hesitate for long, nor can she force herself to remember every intimate detail as a penance for her sins. For every soldier that charges forward, there is another to take his place. The line is long – and it is a fate without ending. “Screw you bloodletter.” A voice to her right carries the hiss of an otkazat’sya, his eyes filled with a mixture of hatred and fear. You should be afraid, she thinks, hanging her head in a sort of grief. I, too, am afraid of what I might become. What I have become. But the name sparks something else inside of her – a dark sadness twisting at her own heart. That was what the masters called her, the moment they stripped her of Neysa, her identity as the spirited free child who could run as fast as the wind. They replaced it instead with a commodity, a weapon to be bought and traded, a lethal gun taken intimately into their homes. It was a name she thought she had left behind, long ago, as a ship cut through the waves and she entangled her arms with that of her twins, praying that they were finally safe. You are nothing but a possession – the slavers had whispered. She never believed them. But here and now, facing down a green-boy still wet behind the ears, she begins to. Her fists clench and she chokes the air from his lungs. He drops to his knees – and then collapses, nothing more than a memory in someone’s mind.

In his steel, discarded in mud, she catches her reflection. A face, dirtied by combat, twisted in anger and sorrow. It wears the mask of a girl, but underneath, something ugly begins to emerge. She’s afraid that one day, it will be in reverse – and that the monster will replace the girl. Looking down, she begins to wonder, am I even human anymore? Was I ever human in the first place? Or are the lines so finely cut? She can feel her bones cracking, changing, morphing into monstrosities. Where she once had wings, a falcon to roam the skies, she now has the claws of a wolf – good for only one thing. The hunted has become the hunter – and given time, even prey can become the very thing that was stalking it long into the night. “I didn’t want this.” Neysa whispers, her words heard only by the wind. But it doesn’t matter. It never mattered. Destiny has a tendency to cut you to shreds, then watch as you are forced to rebuild the pieces. Nothing ever looks the same. But she never expected it to look this brutal. It’s a betrayal. And truly, is there one any stronger than stabbing oneself in the back?

There is no time to ponder. There is no time to think. There is only what you can and what you must do. Unnervingly steady, she steps across his fallen body into the heat of battle. The girl inside shrinks – and the monster flexes itself muscles. Once, she would have asked who they were. Now, she’s wiser than that. It’s me. It is I. We are one and the same, sharing this body. But there isn’t room for us both.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

THE ORDER OF THE LIVING AND THE DEAD: Corporalki, heartrender, healer – these were all foreign words to Neysa’s ears as she matured. To her, there was only the power that flowed from her fingertips, which defied definition and classification. There was only what she could achieve – stealing a man’s vitality, twisting an enemies organs, patching up a wound – and only what she was afraid to do, which, namely, was all of it. Kept hidden, made ignorant by her lack of education away from the Little Palace, Neysa never learnt the divisions within the corpoalki, or that once upon a time, she might have chosen mender over murderer – to heal instead of slay. It was her first captor who sold her as a bloodletter, for a firearmsold better (she would only learn the official name from a fellow grisha captive later, who filled in the missing blanks that word of mouth had failed to provide). It was he who sentenced Neysa to a lifetime of savage murder. From that moment on, her natural inclination towards manipulation of internal organs for purposes of conflict was amplified – and she ceased to be, or even have the potential to be, anything else. In the years that have followed, with her fingertips growing ever more stained, her heart weary at the cost of war, she’s developed an envious attitude towards the healers, those with gifts that mirror her own, but are called up to repair the atrocities of war, not create more chaos. She perceives them to be the lucky ones, those spared from darkness. Neysa longs to trace her footsteps back, to fight for the right to rebuild the human body instead of destroy it. It’s not healthy, to dwell on what could have been – but she can’t help herself all the same.

THE WAKING DEAD: It is at the height of the witching hour that Neysa pays the price for her sins. Weary limbs, savaged by war might call for the bliss of sleep, but even the furthest crevices of her mind knows that rest has its own toll to pay. For it is when she is at her most vulnerable, when her guard is down, that the demons rooted in her soul come out to torment her. Black orbs become her victims, death carved out across their faces. This is your fault – they scream, unforgiving in their terror. And then, a little softer – why did you do this to me? If she’s lucky, she will wake up then – covered in a layer of cold sweat, fingers reaching for the comfort of an individual who is two rooms away. Most of the time, she isn’t so fortunate. Most of the time, she’s swarmed, nails scratching at her skin, torn in a thousand directions, pulled apart – stitch by stitch. They gag and bind her – hands secured in chains. You deserve this, they hiss, dragging her to the man she once calledMaster. Monsters must have their cages. She screams for forgiveness, she begs for their mercy – but there is none to be had. It is only then, on the cusp of desperation, that she wakes up – heart panicked, breaking from her chest. Night by night, her torment continues, Neysa too ashamed, too proud and too scared to ask for aid. Deep down, she wonders if these nightmares are her penance for all her sins, the agony she must bear in repayment for her deeds. Perhaps they are – and perhaps she should endure them. With time have come coping mechanisms. Now, Neysa sleeps closest to the door, pads out into seclusion most nights, only to sneak in before dawn roll-call.

WATER-DANCER: You wouldn’t think it, to lay your eyes upon the girl with imposed stiffness, more mechanics than flesh, whose smile seems too heavy to fly, but once, Neysa was a dancer. She didn’t dance in the same way that human courtiers might, with stiff backs and strict choreography, with pink ruffled tutus and point slippers. No, when Neysa danced, she took nature as her partner – the elements of earth flowing through her bones. Being a member of the Suli meant induction into the life of a carnival, of entertainment instead of agriculture, a talent rather than a trade. Some turned to innocent tricks, others to tea leaves that could trace the future. Her father walked among dreams, making meaning from their chaos – and inducted his daughter in the same traditions. But even whilst under his tuition, from the moment she could walk, Neysa found herself pulled towards the example of her mother – in learning to dance. Afraid of the power that pulsed beneath the surface, she strayed away from the supernatural – towards simplistic beauty. If there was a choice to be made between conscription in the second army or light-padded footsteps for an eternity, then there was truly no choice to be made. Dancing was the only time she ever felt truly free, in tandem with her mother, in a union with the steady drum beats. After her capture, she stopped dancing. Her captors did not deserve that pleasure. And truly, how could you dance if you were not free? It would have felt false. It would have been a lie. And Neysa had been raised to be honest. Even now, although her hands are technically unchained and her footsteps are free, she cannot bring herself to embrace that part of her life, those memories that continue to haunt her, or the ghost of her mother at her side. One day, perhaps, she will dance again – but that day is not today.

TIGHTENED CHAINS: There is perhaps no greater tragedy than losing oneself. It’s an affliction that Neysa knows well – but one that predates her induction into the Second Army. She can trace its origins – all the way back to the day she and Aarvas were captured, two children quickly forced to see the world as adults do – and to adjust accordingly. To go from freedom to servitude, happiness to sorrow, hope to loss – it’s a trial that weighs heavily upon anyone’s shoulders, let alone those so young. From the very beginning, the first time Neysa felt the spark of power and knew she was different, she has been afraid of what she was – and slavery taught her that her judgement was justified. The things they made her do were unspeakable, the tales of her treatment dying on her lips each time she tries to express them, a grief that cannot be spoken. Sold to the leader of a local gang, his eyes wide with greed, she was forced to wear the mask of a demon. Under her master, her abilities were exploited to their fullest potential – becoming little more than a living gun in the name of greed. But the worst of it came the day her master’s son – her future owner - lay still on the ground – and she, in combination with a squaller in their service, was forced to resurrect him, to give back life to her oppressor. Out of all the memories – out of insults and jeers, out of spit thrown in her direction, out of years of oppression - that is the one that haunts her most, in knowing that even death wouldn’t be enough to free her. And whilst she always obeyed their orders, it was never enough to stop the crack of a whip on her back – or worse, Aarvas’s – ribbons of red streaking their skin. She had arrived in Ketterdam with her head held high, determined to embody iron, but when she left, she felt little more than porcelain. Having seen the worst of the world, how as a Grisha, home was rarely found, she did what she swore she would never do – and enrolled in the service of the Second Army, believing that it couldn’t be any worse than what she had already endured, that perhaps a small slice of freedom could be found. She was wrong. Years might have passed, but Neysa still feels like the small girl surrendered like cattle at an auction, something to be owned. Her hands might be unbound, but there is little freedom to be found – and the scars of slavery do not fade so easily. It’s a bitter pill to swallow – but this is not medicine that was designed to heal.

BLASPHEMOUS SAINT: There was once a young girl who turned her cheek towards the stars and whispered their prayers. That same girl had believed that you could find the saints in the stars and that as they twinkled, they were watching down on you. She had implored upon the saints to protect her family, to shield a pair of twins from being found and that the song she sang would never bring the downfall of another. Keep us safe, that is all I ask. Saint-like in herself, Neysa had believed reverently in her words, acutely aware of the religious society she had been born within. That girl had her devotion shattered the moment she was stolen away, when she became something to be owned. Hope, however, is a tricky bastard. In the early days of her captivity, Neysa had continued to invoke the power of the saints, to beg them for an escape, a way for freedom. The saints had abandoned that girl – and thus, in return, she abandoned religion. By the time the girl became a woman grown, Neysa had learnt that Saints were little more than folk stories – both works of fiction. She would never place her faith in them again. Thus, whilst one half turned away from religion, swore herself off it and declared it to be false, the other half turned towards it, embracing the benevolent power of the saints as an anchor. Neysa can only shake her head at Aarvas and their sheer blindness. She tried placing her faith in saints once before – and was rewarded with only one gift. That she herself had to be the pinnacle of change. That only she could save herself. And that there was no point praying – for no one was listening.

UNREFINED POTENTIAL: For many, power is a subjective thing, defying definition. And yet, the one thing that everyone can agree upon, is that it radiates and courses through Neysa’s veins. Despite a lack of formal education and instruction, despite Neysa only having the vaguest idea of what thissness and thatness was, there was something untapped inside of her – potential waiting to be drawn out. It is for that reason that the Second Army sent her straight to the small palace, instead of keeping her among the ranks, down on the frontline. They wanted her stronger, well-formed, lethal. And, despite their obvious intentions, Neysa has never been more grateful for anything in her life, seeking the temporary respite and peace that Os Atla would provide. Away from the stench and mark of death, Neysa hopes to find an understanding – happily delving into books and language classes, fingers tracing the knowledge that always escaped her within its pages. Fluent in Suli and Kerch, she’s added Shu and Fjerdan to her list, finding a temporary respite in those classes, where it’s easy to simply imagine yourself at an ordinary school. The one thing she despises about the Little Palace’s education doctrine is that it is moulding her into a soldier. Strategy is at the forefront of everything they do – and in that aspect, war is never far away. They intend to shape her beyond her mould, to tear her away from the child she once was. More than anything else, she dreads the combat classes. Her abilities already mark her as a weapon, but now they intend to force her to fight with her fists too. A peacemaker at the corner of her soul, she was not born for combat. Her heart is never in her performance – and she often finds herself as the weakest of the pack, a shadow compared to those bloodthirsty Grisha who wish for nothing more than the pounding of flesh. And yet, each day she returns, hoping that she will revile the prospect the same way she did before – praying that they will never impose permanent change upon her psyche.

EXTRAS:

Mockblog: X

Personality Analysis: X

ANYTHING ELSE? My favourite book is The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. Also, I just wanted to add that Neysa is my first choice and Katya is my second!

#accepted: neysa #raraccepted

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araitsume · 6 years ago

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The Desire of Ages, pp. 214-225: Chapter (22) Imprisonment and Death of John

This chapter is based on Matthew 11:1-11; Matthew 14:1-11; Mark 6:17-28; Luke 7:19-28.

John the Baptist had been first in heralding Christ's kingdom, and he was first also in suffering. From the free air of the wilderness and the vast throngs that had hung upon his words, he was now shut in by the walls of a dungeon cell. He had become a prisoner in the fortress of Herod Antipas. In the territory east of Jordan, which was under the dominion of Antipas, much of John's ministry had been spent. Herod himself had listened to the preaching of the Baptist. The dissolute king had trembled under the call to repentance. “Herod feared John, knowing that he was a just man and an holy; ... and when he heard him, he did many things, and heard him gladly.” John dealt with him faithfully, denouncing his iniquitous alliance with Herodias, his brother's wife. For a time Herod feebly sought to break the chain of lust that bound him; but Herodias fastened him the more firmly in her toils, and found revenge upon the Baptist by inducing Herod to cast him into prison.

The life of John had been one of active labor, and the gloom and inaction of his prison life weighed heavily upon him. As week after week passed, bringing no change, despondency and doubt crept over him. His disciples did not forsake him. They were allowed access to the prison, and they brought him tidings of the works of Jesus, and told how the people were flocking to Him. But they questioned why, if this new teacher was the Messiah, He did nothing to effect John's release. How could He permit His faithful herald to be deprived of liberty and perhaps of life?

These questions were not without effect. Doubts which otherwise would never have arisen were suggested to John. Satan rejoiced to hear the words of these disciples, and to see how they bruised the soul of the Lord's messenger. Oh, how often those who think themselves the friends of a good man, and who are eager to show their fidelity to him, prove to be his most dangerous enemies! How often, instead of strengthening his faith, their words depress and dishearten!

Like the Saviour's disciples, John the Baptist did not understand the nature of Christ's kingdom. He expected Jesus to take the throne of David; and as time passed, and the Saviour made no claim to kingly authority, John became perplexed and troubled. He had declared to the people that in order for the way to be prepared before the Lord, the prophecy of Isaiah must be fulfilled; the mountains and hills must be brought low, the crooked made straight, and the rough places plain. He had looked for the high places of human pride and power to be cast down. He had pointed to the Messiah as the One whose fan was in His hand, and who would thoroughly purge His floor, who would gather the wheat into His garner, and burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire. Like the prophet Elijah, in whose spirit and power he had come to Israel, he looked for the Lord to reveal Himself as a God that answereth by fire.

In his mission the Baptist had stood as a fearless reprover of iniquity, both in high places and in low. He had dared to face King Herod with the plain rebuke of sin. He had not counted his life dear unto himself, that he might fulfill his appointed work. And now from his dungeon he watched for the Lion of the tribe of Judah to cast down the pride of the oppressor, and to deliver the poor and him that cried. But Jesus seemed to content Himself with gathering disciples about Him, and healing and teaching the people. He was eating at the tables of the publicans, while every day the Roman yoke rested more heavily upon Israel, while King Herod and his vile paramour worked their will, and the cries of the poor and suffering went up to heaven.

To the desert prophet all this seemed a mystery beyond his fathoming. There were hours when the whisperings of demons tortured his spirit, and the shadow of a terrible fear crept over him. Could it be that the long-hoped-for Deliverer had not yet appeared? Then what meant the message that he himself had been impelled to bear? John had been bitterly disappointed in the result of his mission. He had expected that the message from God would have the same effect as when the law was read in the days of Josiah and of Ezra (2 Chronicles 34; Nehemiah 8, 9); that there would follow a deep-seated work of repentance and returning unto the Lord. For the success of this mission his whole life had been sacrificed. Had it been in vain?

John was troubled to see that through love for him, his own disciples were cherishing unbelief in regard to Jesus. Had his work for them been fruitless? Had he been unfaithful in his mission, that he was now cut off from labor? If the promised Deliverer had appeared, and John had been found true to his calling, would not Jesus now overthrow the oppressor's power, and set free His herald?

But the Baptist did not surrender his faith in Christ. The memory of the voice from heaven and the descending dove, the spotless purity of Jesus, the power of the Holy Spirit that had rested upon John as he came into the Saviour's presence, and the testimony of the prophetic scriptures,—all witnessed that Jesus of Nazareth was the Promised One.

John would not discuss his doubts and anxieties with his companions. He determined to send a message of inquiry to Jesus. This he entrusted to two of his disciples, hoping that an interview with the Saviour would confirm their faith, and bring assurance to their brethren. And he longed for some word from Christ spoken directly for himself.

The disciples came to Jesus with their message, “Art Thou He that should come, or do we look for another?”

How short the time since the Baptist had pointed to Jesus, and proclaimed, “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.” “He it is, who coming after me is preferred before me.” John 1:29, 27. And now the question, “Art Thou He that should come?” It was keenly bitter and disappointing to human nature. If John, the faithful forerunner, failed to discern Christ's mission, what could be expected from the self-seeking multitude?

The Saviour did not at once answer the disciples’ question. As they stood wondering at His silence, the sick and afflicted were coming to Him to be healed. The blind were groping their way through the crowd; diseased ones of all classes, some urging their own way, some borne by their friends, were eagerly pressing into the presence of Jesus. The voice of the mighty Healer penetrated the deaf ear. A word, a touch of His hand, opened the blind eyes to behold the light of day, the scenes of nature, the faces of friends, and the face of the Deliverer. Jesus rebuked disease and banished fever. His voice reached the ears of the dying, and they arose in health and vigor. Paralyzed demoniacs obeyed His word, their madness left them, and they worshiped Him. While He healed their diseases, He taught the people. The poor peasants and laborers, who were shunned by the rabbis as unclean, gathered close about Him, and He spoke to them the words of eternal life.

Thus the day wore away, the disciples of John seeing and hearing all. At last Jesus called them to Him, and bade them go and tell John what they had witnessed, adding, “Blessed is he, whosoever shall find none occasion of stumbling in Me.” Luke 7:23, R. V. The evidence of His divinity was seen in its adaptation to the needs of suffering humanity. His glory was shown in His condescension to our low estate.

The disciples bore the message, and it was enough. John recalled the prophecy concerning the Messiah, “The Lord hath anointed Me to preach good tidings unto the meek; He hath sent Me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.” Isaiah 61:1, 2. The works of Christ not only declared Him to be the Messiah, but showed in what manner His kingdom was to be established. To John was opened the same truth that had come to Elijah in the desert, when “a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: and after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire:” and after the fire, God spoke to the prophet by “a still small voice.” 1 Kings 19:11, 12. So Jesus was to do His work, not with the clash of arms and the overturning of thrones and kingdoms, but through speaking to the hearts of men by a life of mercy and self-sacrifice.

The principle of the Baptist's own life of self-abnegation was the principle of the Messiah's kingdom. John well knew how foreign all this was to the principles and hopes of the leaders in Israel. That which was to him convincing evidence of Christ's divinity would be no evidence to them. They were looking for a Messiah who had not been promised. John saw that the Saviour's mission could win from them only hatred and condemnation. He, the forerunner, was but drinking of the cup which Christ Himself must drain to its dregs.

The Saviour's words, “Blessed is he, whosoever shall find none occasion of stumbling in Me,” were a gentle reproof to John. It was not lost upon him. Understanding more clearly now the nature of Christ's mission, he yielded himself to God for life or for death, as should best serve the interests of the cause he loved.

After the messengers had departed, Jesus spoke to the people concerning John. The Saviour's heart went out in sympathy to the faithful witness now buried in Herod's dungeon. He would not leave the people to conclude that God had forsaken John, or that his faith had failed in the day of trial. “What went ye out into the wilderness to see?” He said. “A reed shaken with the wind?”

The tall reeds that grew beside the Jordan, bending before every breeze, were fitting representatives of the rabbis who had stood as critics and judges of the Baptist's mission. They were swayed this way and that by the winds of popular opinion. They would not humble themselves to receive the heart-searching message of the Baptist, yet for fear of the people they dared not openly oppose his work. But God's messenger was of no such craven spirit. The multitudes who were gathered about Christ had been witnesses to the work of John. They had heard his fearless rebuke of sin. To the self-righteous Pharisees, the priestly Sadducees, King Herod and his court, princes and soldiers, publicans and peasants, John had spoken with equal plainness. He was no trembling reed, swayed by the winds of human praise or prejudice. In the prison he was the same in his loyalty to God and his zeal for righteousness as when he preached God's message in the wilderness. In his faithfulness to principle he was as firm as a rock.

Jesus continued, “But what went ye out for to see? A man clothed in soft raiment? Behold, they which are gorgeously appareled, and live delicately, are in kings’ courts.” John had been called to reprove the sins and excesses of his time, and his plain dress and self-denying life were in harmony with the character of his mission. Rich apparel and the luxuries of this life are not the portion of God's servants, but of those who live “in kings’ courts,” the rulers of this world, to whom pertain its power and its riches. Jesus wished to direct attention to the contrast between the clothing of John, and that worn by the priests and rulers. These officials arrayed themselves in rich robes and costly ornaments. They loved display, and hoped to dazzle the people, and thus command greater consideration. They were more anxious to gain the admiration of men than to obtain the purity of heart which would win the approval of God. Thus they revealed that their allegiance was not given to God, but to the kingdom of this world.

“But what,” said Jesus, “went ye out for to see? A prophet? yea, I say unto you, and more than a prophet. For this is he, of whom it is written,—

“Behold, I send My messenger before Thy face, Which shall prepare Thy way before Thee.

“Verily I say unto you, Among them that are born of women there hath not risen a greater than John the Baptist.” In the announcement to Zacharias before the birth of John, the angel had declared, “He shall be great in the sight of the Lord.” Luke 1:15. In the estimation of Heaven, what is it that constitutes greatness? Not that which the world accounts greatness; not wealth, or rank, or noble descent, or intellectual gifts, in themselves considered. If intellectual greatness, apart from any higher consideration, is worthy of honor, then our homage is due to Satan, whose intellectual power no man has ever equaled. But when perverted to self-serving, the greater the gift, the greater curse it becomes. It is moral worth that God values. Love and purity are the attributes He prizes most. John was great in the sight of the Lord, when, before the messengers from the Sanhedrin, before the people, and before his own disciples, he refrained from seeking honor for himself, but pointed all to Jesus as the Promised One. His unselfish joy in the ministry of Christ presents the highest type of nobility ever revealed in man.

The witness borne of him after his death, by those who had heard his testimony to Jesus, was, “John did no miracle: but all things that John spake of this Man were true.” John 10:41. It was not given to John to call down fire from heaven, or to raise the dead, as Elijah did, nor to wield Moses’ rod of power in the name of God. He was sent to herald the Saviour's advent, and to call upon the people to prepare for His coming. So faithfully did he fulfill his mission, that as the people recalled what he had taught them of Jesus, they could say, “All things that John spake of this Man were true.” Such witness to Christ every disciple of the Master is called upon to bear.

As the Messiah's herald, John was “much more than a prophet.” For while prophets had seen from afar Christ's advent, to John it was given to behold Him, to hear the testimony from heaven to His Messiahship, and to present Him to Israel as the Sent of God. Yet Jesus said, “He that is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”

The prophet John was the connecting link between the two dispensations. As God's representative he stood forth to show the relation of the law and the prophets to the Christian dispensation. He was the lesser light, which was to be followed by a greater. The mind of John was illuminated by the Holy Spirit, that he might shed light upon his people; but no other light ever has shone or ever will shine so clearly upon fallen man as that which emanated from the teaching and example of Jesus. Christ and His mission had been but dimly understood as typified in the shadowy sacrifices. Even John had not fully comprehended the future, immortal life through the Saviour.

Aside from the joy that John found in his mission, his life had been one of sorrow. His voice had been seldom heard except in the wilderness. His was a lonely lot. And he was not permitted to see the result of his own labors. It was not his privilege to be with Christ and witness the manifestation of divine power attending the greater light. It was not for him to see the blind restored to sight, the sick healed, and the dead raised to life. He did not behold the light that shone through every word of Christ, shedding glory upon the promises of prophecy. The least disciple who saw Christ's mighty works and heard His words was in this sense more highly privileged than John the Baptist, and therefore is said to have been greater than he.

Through the vast throngs that had listened to John's preaching, his fame had spread throughout the land. A deep interest was felt as to the result of his imprisonment. Yet his blameless life, and the strong public sentiment in his favor, led to the belief that no violent measures would be taken against him.

Herod believed John to be a prophet of God, and he fully intended to set him at liberty. But he delayed his purpose from fear of Herodias.

Herodias knew that by direct measures she could never win Herod's consent to the death of John, and she resolved to accomplish her purpose by stratagem. On the king's birthday an entertainment was to be given to the officers of state and the nobles of the court. There would be feasting and drunkenness. Herod would thus be thrown off his guard, and might then be influenced according to her will.

When the great day arrived, and the king with his lords was feasting and drinking, Herodias sent her daughter into the banqueting hall to dance for the entertainment of the guests. Salome was in the first flush of womanhood, and her voluptuous beauty captivated the senses of the lordly revelers. It was not customary for the ladies of the court to appear at these festivities, and a flattering compliment was paid to Herod when this daughter of Israel's priests and princes danced for the amusement of his guests.

The king was dazed with wine. Passion held sway, and reason was dethroned. He saw only the hall of pleasure, with its reveling guests, the banquet table, the sparkling wine and the flashing lights, and the young girl dancing before him. In the recklessness of the moment, he desired to make some display that would exalt him before the great men of his realm. With an oath he promised to give the daughter of Herodias whatever she might ask, even to the half of his kingdom.

Salome hastened to her mother, to know what she should ask. The answer was ready,—the head of John the Baptist. Salome knew not of the thirst for revenge in her mother's heart, and she shrank from presenting the request; but the determination of Herodias prevailed. The girl returned with the terrible petition, “I will that thou forthwith give me in a charger the head of John the Baptist.” Mark 6:25, R. V.

Herod was astonished and confounded. The riotous mirth ceased, and an ominous silence settled down upon the scene of revelry. The king was horror-stricken at the thought of taking the life of John. Yet his word was pledged, and he was unwilling to appear fickle or rash. The oath had been made in honor of his guests, and if one of them had offered a word against the fulfillment of his promise, he would gladly have spared the prophet. He gave them opportunity to speak in the prisoner's behalf. They had traveled long distances in order to hear the preaching of John, and they knew him to be a man without crime, and a servant of God. But though shocked at the girl's demand, they were too besotted to interpose a remonstrance. No voice was raised to save the life of Heaven's messenger. These men occupied high positions of trust in the nation, and upon them rested grave responsibilities; yet they had given themselves up to feasting and drunkenness until the senses were benumbed. Their heads were turned with the giddy scene of music and dancing, and conscience lay dormant. By their silence they pronounced the sentence of death upon the prophet of God to satisfy the revenge of an abandoned woman.

Herod waited in vain to be released from his oath; then he reluctantly commanded the execution of the prophet. Soon the head of John was brought in before the king and his guests. Forever sealed were those lips that had faithfully warned Herod to turn from his life of sin. Never more would that voice be heard calling men to repentance. The revels of one night had cost the life of one of the greatest of the prophets.

Oh, how often has the life of the innocent been sacrificed through the intemperance of those who should have been guardians of justice! He who puts the intoxicating cup to his lips makes himself responsible for all the injustice he may commit under its besotting power. By benumbing his senses he makes it impossible for him to judge calmly or to have a clear perception of right and wrong. He opens the way for Satan to work through him in oppressing and destroying the innocent. “Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.” Proverbs 20:1. Thus it is that “judgment is turned away backward, ... and he that departeth from evil maketh himself a prey.” Isaiah 59:14, 15. Those who have jurisdiction over the lives of their fellow men should be held guilty of a crime when they yield to intemperance. All who execute the laws should be lawkeepers. They should be men of self-control. They need to have full command of their physical, mental, and moral powers, that they may possess vigor of intellect, and a high sense of justice.

The head of John the Baptist was carried to Herodias, who received it with fiendish satisfaction. She exulted in her revenge, and flattered herself that Herod's conscience would no longer be troubled. But no happiness resulted to her from her sin. Her name became notorious and abhorred, while Herod was more tormented by remorse than he had been by the warnings of the prophet. The influence of John's teachings was not silenced; it was to extend to every generation till the close of time.

Herod's sin was ever before him. He was constantly seeking to find relief from the accusings of a guilty conscience. His confidence in John was unshaken. As he recalled his life of self-denial, his solemn, earnest appeals, his sound judgment in counsel, and then remembered how he had come to his death, Herod could find no rest. Engaged in the affairs of the state, receiving honors from men, he bore a smiling face and dignified mien, while he concealed an anxious heart, ever oppressed with the fear that a curse was upon him.

Herod had been deeply impressed by the words of John, that nothing can be hidden from God. He was convinced that God was present in every place, that He had witnessed the revelry of the banqueting room, that He had heard the command to behead John, and had seen the exultation of Herodias, and the insult she offered to the severed head of her reprover. And many things that Herod had heard from the lips of the prophet now spoke to his conscience more distinctly than had the preaching in the wilderness.

When Herod heard of the works of Christ, he was exceedingly troubled. He thought that God had raised John from the dead, and sent him forth with still greater power to condemn sin. He was in constant fear that John would avenge his death by passing condemnation upon him and his house. Herod was reaping that which God had declared to be the result of a course of sin,—“a trembling heart, and failing of eyes, and sorrow of mind: and thy life shall hang in doubt before thee; and thou shalt fear day and night, and shalt have none assurance of thy life: in the morning thou shalt say, Would God it were even! and at even thou shalt say, Would God it were morning! for the fear of thine heart wherewith thou shalt fear, and for the sight of thine eyes which thou shalt see.” Deuteronomy 28:65-67. The sinner's own thoughts are his accusers; and there can be no torture keener than the stings of a guilty conscience, which give him no rest day nor night.

To many minds a deep mystery surrounds the fate of John the Baptist. They question why he should have been left to languish and die in prison. The mystery of this dark providence our human vision cannot penetrate; but it can never shake our confidence in God when we remember that John was but a sharer in the sufferings of Christ. All who follow Christ will wear the crown of sacrifice. They will surely be misunderstood by selfish men, and will be made a mark for the fierce assaults of Satan. It is this principle of self-sacrifice that his kingdom is established to destroy, and he will war against it wherever manifested.

The childhood, youth, and manhood of John had been characterized by firmness and moral power. When his voice was heard in the wilderness saying, “Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make His paths straight” (Matthew 3:3), Satan feared for the safety of his kingdom. The sinfulness of sin was revealed in such a manner that men trembled. Satan's power over many who had been under his control was broken. He had been unwearied in his efforts to draw away the Baptist from a life of unreserved surrender to God; but he had failed. And he had failed to overcome Jesus. In the temptation in the wilderness, Satan had been defeated, and his rage was great. Now he determined to bring sorrow upon Christ by striking John. The One whom he could not entice to sin he would cause to suffer.

Jesus did not interpose to deliver His servant. He knew that John would bear the test. Gladly would the Saviour have come to John, to brighten the dungeon gloom with His own presence. But He was not to place Himself in the hands of enemies and imperil His own mission. Gladly would He have delivered His faithful servant. But for the sake of thousands who in after years must pass from prison to death, John was to drink the cup of martyrdom. As the followers of Jesus should languish in lonely cells, or perish by the sword, the rack, or the fagot, apparently forsaken by God and man, what a stay to their hearts would be the thought that John the Baptist, to whose faithfulness Christ Himself had borne witness, had passed through a similar experience!

Satan was permitted to cut short the earthly life of God's messenger; but that life which “is hid with Christ in God,” the destroyer could not reach. Colossians 3:3. He exulted that he had brought sorrow upon Christ, but he had failed of conquering John. Death itself only placed him forever beyond the power of temptation. In this warfare, Satan was revealing his own character. Before the witnessing universe he made manifest his enmity toward God and man.

Though no miraculous deliverance was granted John, he was not forsaken. He had always the companionship of heavenly angels, who opened to him the prophecies concerning Christ, and the precious promises of Scripture. These were his stay, as they were to be the stay of God's people through the coming ages. To John the Baptist, as to those that came after him, was given the assurance, “Lo, I am with you all the days, even unto the end.” Matthew 28:20, R. V., margin.

God never leads His children otherwise than they would choose to be led, if they could see the end from the beginning, and discern the glory of the purpose which they are fulfilling as co-workers with Him. Not Enoch, who was translated to heaven, not Elijah, who ascended in a chariot of fire, was greater or more honored than John the Baptist, who perished alone in the dungeon. “Unto you it is given in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on Him, but also to suffer for His sake.” Philippians 1:29. And of all the gifts that Heaven can bestow upon men, fellowship with Christ in His sufferings is the most weighty trust and the highest honor.

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