#attuned!hector

[the-antiapocalyptic-man]

headverse update with a bunch of Lantern stuff and a little bonus Mystik U/Dark Universe/Hellblazers stuff

so uh, spoilers for GLTAS and YJ:Phantoms, but I really, really love Razer, and he’s really only got the one storyline, so I’m bringing that in mostly intact since the broad strokes actually fit pretty well with the broad strokes of the headverse’s War of Light. I think Razer and other Lanterns using two simultaneous rings might go by “Mosaic Lanterns” in this canon to tie them in with John’s leader role after Oa is abandoned by the Guardians. Razer is of course a Red-Blue Lantern (Guy’s Red-Green, a “Christmas Lantern” though pretty much everyone he meets during this period has no idea what Christmas is.)

As for the rest, I want to do the original New Guardians eventually, but these are the New Guardians as hosts to the various Lantern Entities that power each Corp as manifestations of their core emotion. Aya’s also pretty much a straight port from GLTAS, with the addition of my headcanon which I think the show was headed towards before it got cancelled that she’s actually Ion itself, rendered amnesiac or otherwise disconnected from her true nature as an entity by whatever the Scarred Guardian did to transform her into an A.I. My only major additions are her leading the New Guardians (as much as she can, they’re a rowdy bunch) and having a fully Ion form and a hybrid Ion-Aya form that looks like a mermaid because, idk, I think it’s cute, who doesn’t like robot mermaids? I should draw Lori Lemaris

Everyone else is pretty quick to go through: Sinestro isn’t pictured here, but he and later [redacted] are incredibly attuned to Parallax, wielding the full power of their entity with little or no loss of base personality.

Kim Jeong-Ho or James Kim is a Korean-Canadian man whose daughter Lizzie was murdered by William Hayes, the supervillain known as Harm and an acolyte of the Church of Blood. While Rankorr received the blessing of Atros in the form of a Red Ring, Kim’s “baptism” is a point of contention with the Brothers of Blood, and despite all drawing from the same source of power, Kim fucking hates those guys.

Nicole Morrison is an Ethiopian-American transwoman, raised in Livonia, Michigan, bonded to Adara while being held captive by Winston Woods, a serial killer who target young trans women of color. She and Blanca are quite close, often partnering up on missions, bringing out the best of hope and willpower. Nicole also allows Aya to more easily access her full powers as Ion.

Abraham Pointe is an incel and a host of The Predator, half of the Star Sapphire’s Violet Entity. He spent two years stalking Lisa, a casino worker he’d never actually talked to, his possession by Predator causing a massive incident as he destroyed a portion of the casino and attached hotel trying to find and profess his love to her. Being talked down by Carol Ferris and Jill Pearlman, two of Earth’s Star Sapphires, Abe broke from The Predator’s influence and apologized to Lisa. He wanted to be exorcised of the entity entirely, but the Predator seemed to need him. It wanted to find someone...the Violet Light’s other entity, The Lovebird, itself living in a mysterious host deep in Thanagarian space, Khea Taram-Ka...Chay-Ara’s estranged mother.

Ophidian, greedy as ever, has a couple hosts over the years: Hector Hammond was the first, with his entity hiding out as “brain tumor” that was supposedly giving him psychic powers and driving him to attack Green Lanterns, specifically Hal Jordan. Years down the line, after Hector’s many encounters with Larfleeze, both of them were disappointed to find Ophidian drawn to another candidate entirely: Alexander Luthor Jr.

The Proselyte is Tahmaseb Shirazi, living in Corto Maltese under the named “Shane Thompson” and working as medic despite having several medical degrees. Encountering a Starro drone trapped alive in a jar, years after the nascent Justice League fought its progenitor in the same area, Shane freed Jarro. This act of compassion caused the Proselyte to latch onto them, their entire personality being subsumed in the needs of the entity. Jean Loring appeared and teleported Shane away, as this Entity was necessary to the Tribe’s survival in the days to come...

and then up in the corner a few quick sketches: Tim Hunter, Misty Kilgore, and Lucius Reynolds, the future leaders of Earth’s Homo Magi.

[willieshaw]

THE CHARIOT . THE HANGED MAN . THE SUN

THE THREE ADOPTED SONS OF J. WILLIAM SHAW

Their story is full of unknowns, but Chariot & Hanged Man washed up together with their mother, and Sun was born on the island shortly thereafter. The eldest, Chariot is attuned to earth, Hanged Man was water and the youngest, Sun, fire. Chariot and Will never saw eye-to-eye, whilst Hanged Man ‘Hector’ tolerated him, but Sun ‘Fire Lad’ adored his gramps. Sun grew up on South Beach and for better or worse, Will had an influence on him. After their mother passed away in an incident Will moved into their house (which now belongs to Madi), to look after Sun properly. Will & Sun were together during the beast attack but got separated from each-other. 

The fates of the brothers are unknown...

Note: None of the brothers have names save for the middle brother ‘Hector’ as he’s the only one who is 100% confirmed dead. Not that Will knows he’s for sure dead yet. The other two brothers, Chariot & Sun, I’m leaving them as open-ended possibilities for the future.

[dangermousie]

Ep 2

1. Marcos and Paola continue to be the best!

2. With every bit, how off this school is becomes somehow clearer. While Maria was justified to go off on Roque, she was not justified trying to choke him and yet this is the school where the cleaning lady tries to choke a paying student in public and everyone is oh nbd.

3. It has been years since I watched until the end but I have a vague memory that this is eventually Roque’s actual end - he hangs himself. So his prank on Maria in ep 2 is !!!! in retrospect.

4. Aha! This is the first time we see an actual good quality in Ivan other than careless good nature now and then - he will stand up for his friends. When Hector finds out it was Roque who did the prank and plans to expel him, Ivan speaks up and says it was him. Granted, he does it in the belief he won’t be expelled because his father is one of the school owners, but still that is commendable - he is the one who encouraged Roque to do the prank and now he’s protecting him. You are not a total loss, kid.

5. AAAA!!! Sorry! I don’t ship Caro x Ivan at all but this little bit made me scream for a reason.

The gang is trying to figure out the disappearance of Alphonso (who is the first of many teachers and students who will end up vvvv dead) and Caro is worried - for the old man, for what it means and then there is thunder on top and they just decided it’s murder and she reaches the peak of freakout and Ivan quietly and wordlessly and instinctively reaches out to kiss her shoulder in comfort. Not as a big gesture or expecting any reaction (she gives none) but just because he is attuned to her. And I remembered later seasons where no matter what is going on, what crazy crime or insanity is going on or they are looking into, he is comforting or caressing Julia in the background, always keeping an eye on her, and I love that this is such a basic character feature for him - this tactile need to give comfort (and it’s shown so early on) and it really must be innate (and from Maria) because it’s clear he got none of that from Noiret and that he’s not even doing it consciously or because he thought about it. And the funny thing is, I don’t think Caro thinks about it much one way or another (even before deciding she fancies Marcos, Ivan is way more invested in their relationship than she is), but as a much older lady, I am going to say this is so rare and she should have enjoyed it at the time.

6. Gotta say, it’s amazing more of them didn’t die sooner. They think a murderer is lurking in the woods so they get a small kid to show them where she thinks he is. Teens do often think they are invincible but this is a whole other level.

7. Ahhh, the proper start of Fermin x Maria. I love that as wounded by life as she is, she has such a good judgment of people but also can appreciate goodness. But also her desperation - when she offers sex for help to locate her unknown child and he turns it down - that is when she notices him, really notices him.

And I love that Fermin is both kind AND efficient. He locates the info on Maria’s lost son very quickly.

8. And this is the start, however awkward, of Marcos and Ivan engaging in many truly dangerous endeavors together. I wonder if the show had a lot of slashers at the time, hmmm...

9. This bit! This bit! The way Ivan goes from cocky and pleased to terrified and crumbled when Hector tells him his father is here to pick him up for expulsion. The way he goes: “my father?” in sheer panic. Ugh.

10. This scene! It was expected since it’s a rewatch (the first time I saw it, unspoiled, I literally gasped) but when Noiret is told his son is expelled and with no pause or even asking why, he decks him hard enough to knock him down (and Ivan is no scrawny weakling, so that was some force!) - you know what I realized on this watch? He does it in front of Hector and with open door through which a bunch of people see it too, and that is giving him no pause. Hell, he doesn’t even go “oops, perhaps I shouldn’t have” afterwards so it’s not that he couldn’t control his temper - no, it’s his utter certainty that he doesn’t even need to hide this in front of strangers or people he has business relationships with. That this is fine and right and matter of course. And if he’s fine with that in public, what he must be doing to Ivan in private. (Well, we do find out eventually. God, I forgot how awful Noiret was.) It’s the same when Hector, who stops him, asks him if he loves his son and Noiret can’t even bother to lie and say yes. Just --- and poor Maria, who just found out the identity of her taken child, has to watch him be abused by the man who bought him. I do so love Hector saying he’s changed his mind and is not expelling Ivan. As he says, “this kid is a catastrophe but if you meet his father, everything becomes clear.” Indeed. Oh, and when Jacinta added that nobody deserved such a father - oh boy, you guys don’t know half of it.

11. This insane show got me to love the friendship of two little kids. Their writers were so good!

12. I have forgotten how much Ivan used to parade around half-dressed. He was about one angsty shower away from an angsty kdrama lead.

13. Once again, don’t ship them but that was sweet. My fave part was Maria peeking tho.

14. And Caro x Marcos start! I liked them both (him more than her) but she’d have been much happier transferring schools.

[sceptilemasterr]

Defenders of the Flame (TE Rewrite) Act 3, Scene 2 - Back in Session

Title: Defenders of the Flame (A CIU Screenplay)

Main Pairings: Shreya x F!MC, Beckett x F!Atlas

Other Pairings: N/A

Genre: Full Rewrite (The Elementalists, Book 1)

Rating: PG-13 for violence, blood, swearing, alcohol, and sexuality

Summary: Classes resume for Fiora's second semester at Penderghast.

Previous Scene: Identity Crisis

Masterlist: Link

INT. PENDERGHAST CAMPUS - VARIOUS LOCATIONS

MONTAGE

In Tubigan Hall’s Auditorium 3, the students file in for their first class of the new semester; Fiora and Shreya are holding hands. A middle-aged man with long dark hair stands at the front of the room. This is DR. VARTOKIS, another Penderghast professor.

SHREYA (to Fiora): You know? I almost missed attending classes.

Fiora giggles.

FIORA: Emphasis on the “almost,” right?

ZEPH: I just realized... Fiora, you are gonna breeze through this class!

The group takes their seats, with Shreya and Fiora sitting together. Shreya smiles and wraps an arm around Fiora as they sit.

FIORA (quizzically): Why’s that?

ZEPH: ...Do you even know what class this is?

FIORA (embarrassed): Uh... no. I’ve been kinda distracted lately.

Zeph smiles and winks suggestively at Shreya, who laughs.

ZEPH: Oh, I bet! Anyway, this is--

Dr. Vartokis chooses that moment to address the class, his voice amplified. He speaks with a very cheerful, casual tone.

DR. VARTOKIS: Hello there, everyone! Welcome to your first class of this semester: Attuneless History, Society, and Culture! ...Or you can just call it “AHSC” for short if you want. I won’t judge ya!

A few students laugh as Fiora mouths a silent “oh” of understanding at Zeph. Zeph nods, and starts to say something, but Beckett shushes them.

DR. VARTOKIS: Okay, okay, I know many of you are probably wondering what the point of this class is. After all, if you’re gonna spend your career here in the Stoicheal Realm, why bother with my class? The truth is, whether your future leads you to a life among Tuneless or not, our two societies are inextricably linked.

BECKETT (muttering): Fascinating point. I had not considered this...

Beckett hurriedly writes something down in his notebook.

DR. VARTOKIS: Not to mention, there’s a lot we can learn from the Tuneless! We must never forget that we came from their realm, not the other way around. After all, it wasn’t so many centuries ago that our societies lived and worked side-by-side! In fact...

Dr. Vartokis continues talking as Shreya gives Fiora a knowing smile and leans her head on her shoulder. Zeph, meanwhile, is (for once) paying attention to the professor, nearly as attentively as Beckett.

DR. VARTOKIS: --as such. I’ll ask a few simple questions to get us started. First: who can tell me the name of Penderghast’s Archikeal reflection?

Several students--including Fiora and Shreya--raise their hands. Dr. Vartokis points to a student near the front of the hall, a Metal-Att named HECTOR RILENN.

HECTOR: It’s “Hart”-something, isn’t it? “Hartschild?” ...Maybe?

Dr. Vartokis shakes his head.

DR. VARTOKIS: Close, but not quite. You there!

He points to Shreya, who answers eagerly:

SHREYA: Hartfeld University!

DR. VARTOKIS: Correct! Now, who can tell me...

As he moves on to the next question, Shreya smiles at Fiora.

SHREYA (whispering): I’d never have known that one without you!

Shreya gives Fiora’s hand a quick squeeze. Fiora blushes and turns her attention back to the professor...

* * *

Fiora and her classmates file into one of the greenhouses for Natural Studies. Several of the other students are speaking to each other with confusion evident in their voices. Dracarys and Rys flutter above their owners’ heads with excitement, while Beckett’s (still) unnamed Grogue lets out a lazy croak from its position in his lap. Zeph laughs.

ZEPH: Looks like you’ve got some extra time, Beckett! Gonna name him yet?

BECKETT (irritated): Why on Earth do you think my answer would be any different than before?

Zeph leans in closer and smiles conspiratorially.

ZEPH (slyly): You know... Atlas told me what she’d name her Companion, if she ever got one. I asked her if she ever considered just not naming it at all, and she laughed in my face--

BECKETT (shocked): What?! You never mentioned this to me before!

ZEPH (shrugs): You never asked. So, what’s the verdict?

Beckett sighs, clearly considering Zeph’s words.

BECKETT (to himself): ...Hmm. It will have to be a name that is tasteful and refined...

Zeph gives Shreya and Fiora a side glance and a thumbs-up. Shreya giggles as Dr. Kontos enters the greenhouse.

DR. KONTOS: Greetings, and welcome back to Natural Studies! I am pleased to report that all of you passed the class, and did wonderfully on your finals!

A few cheers go up from the room, but most of the students just continue staring quizzically at Dr. Kontos.

DR. KONTOS: Yes, yes, let us address the dryxmar in the room first. According to standard Penderghast curriculum, my course ordinarily would be replaced with “Sourcism and Philosophy” for this semester. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, Dr. Swan is otherwise occupied and unable to teach her usual class. Thus, Dean Goeffe has granted me permission to continue Natural Studies into your next semester!

As the students start muttering amongst themselves, Fiora leans in toward Shreya.

FIORA (whispering): Dr. Swan’s still gone? That... doesn’t seem good.

SHREYA (whispering): Perhaps Atlas is starting to rub off on you. We know why Dr. Swan is absent! She’s off on a mission for the Defenders, remember?

FIORA (whispering): Maybe, but still... it’s been weeks...

SHREYA (whispering): You just need to relax a little and focus on other things for a change. Like the Amorelia Day Gala! It may be a bit far off yet, but there’s no time like the present!

FIORA (whispering): “No time” for what?

SHREYA (whispering): Why, for asking whomever you intend to ask to the dance, of course! Surely you plan to ask, right?

FIORA (whispering): I dunno. I’ve got so much else going on right--

DR. KONTOS: Ahem. Miss Luxen, Miss Mistry, care to rejoin the class?

Fiora and Shreya blush heavily when they notice Dr. Kontos and the other students all staring at them. Fiora bows her head in apology and focuses on Dr. Kontos as Shreya looks at Fiora, frustration clearly evident on her face...

* * *

Inside the Defenders of the Flame meeting chamber, Lucia and Arvan lead Fiora, Shreya, and the third-year inductees in practicing their Stoicheal Gathers. Although Shreya manages to perform a Gather after only two tries, Fiora still struggles with her own. Lucia approaches her while the others are practicing.

LUCIA: Hey. Looks like you’re having some trouble.

Fiora stops and looks at Lucia, then nods.

FIORA: It’s the whole “foundation point” thing. I suck at it.

LUCIA: Having trouble figuring it out, then?

FIORA: Yeah.

LUCIA: There’s not a lot I can help you with on that front. The foundation is something that comes from within. Who is Fiora? What makes you... well, you?

FIORA: I don’t know. I’m not as talented or confident as Shreya...

Lucia follows her gaze to where Shreya is performing yet another perfect Stoicheal Gather, to the delight and cheers of the third-year inductees. Fiora sighs.

FIORA (to herself): I doubt I’ll ever be.

* * *

Fiora and Shreya walk hand-in-hand down a street in Pennelia, the bright sunlight reflecting off of the snow all around them. Shreya is regaling Fiora with a story.

SHREYA (speaking rapidly): --but it wasn’t as though I meant to Evaporate the entire hot tub! I was just getting so angry, and the water was plenty hot to begin with. It’s an honest mistake to make, you know. At any rate, I still ended up winning “Best Dressed” for the evening, so it wasn’t for nothing.

FIORA: Wow. That’s-- (laughs) Attuned parties really are something.

SHREYA: Oh, they really are! That’s one reason why I’m so looking forward to the Gala. Let me tell you, I’ve already got the perfect dress picked out! Now all that’s left is... well... you know, if someone were to ask me...

FIORA (curiously): Ask you what?

Shreya sighs in frustration and shakes her head.

SHREYA (annoyed): Seriously? It’s--ugh, never mind.

She immediately brightens and points to a shop in the distance.

SHREYA: Oh! Montraire Bakery! We simply must stop in for a bite!

She drags Fiora toward the bakery, but as she does so, Shreya’s face displays a brief flash of disappointment...

* * *

In her usual lecture hall, Dr. Religast is in the midst of a lecture on Stoicheal Awakenings. Beckett, as usual, is taking detailed notes on the professor’s every word, while Zeph is busying himself by attempting a Roped Current with his hands beneath his desk. All that he manages is a weak trickle of water, which Shreya neatly Evaporates before anyone can notice.

DR. RELIGAST: --of triggering an Awakening. The first, and by far the most common: children growing up in Attuned households will often Awaken on their own, simply by exposure to adult Attuned...

Fiora leans over Shreya’s shoulder to see that Shreya is flipping through a small pamphlet decorated with moving pictures of models showing off various dresses.

FIORA (whispering): What’s that?

SHREYA (whispering): Just the latest Mistry Inc. catalogue. It’s mostly dresses during this season, of course. For the many upcoming dances and, ahem... galas!

FIORA (whispering): Oh. Wow! Are you gonna buy anything?

SHREYA (whispering): No, no... I told you, I’ve already bought my dress. It’s just fun looking through these sorts of things!

FIORA (whispering): Right. Sounds like it!

SHREYA (whispering): Now all I need is a date.

FIORA (whispering): Yeah...

Fiora shrugs, turning back to focus on what Dr. Religast is saying.

DR. RELIGAST: --is exposed to a highly concentrated source of stoicheal energy to become Awakened on their own, without any Attuned being present. Although such occurrences are rare, they almost always cause significant upheavals in Tuneless culture when...

Dr. Religast’s voice fades into the background as Shreya lets out a growl of frustration.

* * *

Fiora sits on the couch in their room’s common area as Shreya fiddles with something near the entrance. Apparently satisfied, she steps back to admire her handiwork and does a brief twirl.

SHREYA: And... that should do it! One entryway, freely open for the next six hours!

Fiora laughs.

FIORA: Nice job, Shreya! I didn’t even know we could do that.

SHREYA (winks): Just a little something my sister taught me.

The door to Fiora’s room swings open, and Atlas enters.

FIORA: Speaking of sisters... hey, Atlas.

ATLAS: You’re sure opening the door’s a good idea? What if Raife decides to send something after us while we’re wide open?

SHREYA: He already managed that even with the door closed. I doubt it would make much difference.

Atlas huffs and crosses her arms, glaring at the newly-unlocked doorway.

ATLAS: Okay, but if the next thing to come through that door looks at all suspicious, I’m hitting it with--

She is interrupted by Griffin stepping through the doorway. Griffin quickly raises his arms in surrender as he enters.

GRIFFIN: Whoa, Atlas, it’s me! Please don’t hit me with anything.

Atlas relaxes a fraction.

SHREYA: Griffin! So glad you could make it! (to Fiora) Looks like the entry really is open, you see?

GRIFFIN: Wait, you didn’t check to make sure?

SHREYA (laughs): Relax! Clearly it all worked out, non?

Zeph steps through a moment later, with Beckett close behind.

ZEPH: Alright! The Pend Pals are all here. Let’s get this study session started!

They all gather around the center table, pulling out their various study materials and setting them out. Beckett raises an eyebrow at Zeph.

BECKETT: Not that I am complaining, mind you, but... it’s unusual to see you so enthused about studying.

ZEPH: What? I’m allowed to be excited about it if I want!

FIORA: So, uh... what should we start on first?

BECKETT: Shall we begin with Dr. Vartokis’s “Equivalencies” assignment? It seems by far the most difficult--

SHREYA: Oh, we finished that one ages ago. Fiora’s been making those types of comparisons to absolutely everything in the Stoicheal Realm for months now, so it was easy.

FIORA: I’ll help you guys if you want!

Zeph eagerly pushes his worksheet in Fiora’s direction, while Beckett looks from Zeph to Fiora to Shreya and back in shocked confusion.

BECKETT (muttering): ...Have I fallen into some strange alternate universe?

ATLAS: Wow. Looks like Fiora and Shreya are doing better than you in a class for once. Gotta say, your reactions are hilarious to watch.

BECKETT: Oh? Why don’t you attempt the assignment, then?

ATLAS: Why should I? I don’t even go to class. Besides, watching you struggle with schoolwork for a change is way more entertaining.

BECKETT (sighs): You are impossibly vexing...

* * *

Icicles hang from the trees overhead as Zeph stands in a forested part of the quad, clad only in shorts and a t-shirt. He holds a hand out in front of his face, palm outward and glowing with water stoichi, as he struggles to concentrate on something.

ZEPH: Urgh... come on!

A few small spurts of water emerge from his palm and fall to the ground. He grunts in frustration and takes a step backward before preparing to try again.

ATLAS (O.S.): Zeph? That you?

Zeph lets his arm fall to his side and turns to see Atlas, similarly underdressed for the weather in a short-sleeved shirt and thin pants, approaching through the snow. She frowns at him.

ATLAS: I know training when I see it. What are you working on?

ZEPH: Oh! Atlas! ...Actually, you might be able to help. I’m trying to do your Roped Current, but...

He attempts the technique once again, demonstrating a similar result to the first time. Atlas frowns.

ATLAS: You’re really worried about the Wave’s Crest, huh?

ZEPH: Yeah. With Fiora, Shreya, and Beckett all being inducted already, I’m worried I won’t get in at all. My family would kill me if I didn’t get in!

ATLAS (completely serious): Wait, really?! Sources, Zeph, you should get out of--

Zeph breaks down into laughter.

ZEPH: Atlas, I didn’t mean literally! You take things so seriously it’s hilarious. But still, they’d be pretty upset. I’d be the first Hernandez child in eight generations not to be inducted.

Atlas thinks for a moment, then nods.

ATLAS: Alright. I’ll help you out.

ZEPH: Wait, you will? Really?

ATLAS: Sure. For one thing, you’re never gonna accomplish much tryin’ to run before you can walk. Roped Current is damn near impossible to pull off without training up to Energy-Att level first. Or... (shrugs) ...being a natural-born Energy-Att like me, I guess.

ZEPH (dejectedly): Oh.

ATLAS: Don’t worry about it. If this Wave’s Crest thing is so important to you... why don’t we work to get in together? There’s plenty of other techniques I can teach you in the meantime. Stuff that only requires Water Attunement to pull off.

ZEPH: Wow, that’d be perfect! You’re awesome, Atlas, thanks!

In his excitement, he turns and moves to give Atlas a hug, but she goes for a handshake at the same time. They end up awkwardly pressing their palms together and shaking them up and down.

ZEPH (laughs): Alright, not sure what that was... but when do you wanna start training?

ATLAS: Now is fine.

ZEPH: Oh. Uh... wow. You really don’t mess around!

ATLAS: Are we gonna train or what?

As Atlas steps forward and gets into a combat stance, readying herself, Zeph catches her eye and smirks.

ZEPH: ...Alright, I think I get what Beckett sees in you now. You and him would be--blrgrlblubrlgrlgb!

Midway through his sentence, Atlas snaps her fingers, which are glowing with water stoichi. His voice abruptly shifts until it sounds like he’s trying to talk underwater.

ATLAS: Lesson 1. “Water Muffle.” Useful in many situations, and its effect... you can see for yourself.

ZEPH: Gluburgl blurrgrg ubulrgl...

Atlas waves her hand lazily, and the technique ends.

ATLAS: Any more talk about Beckett, and I use it again. Is that clear?

ZEPH: Uh... yeah.

ATLAS: Good. Now then. The first step to Water Muffle is...

_______________________

Notes: Dr. Vartokis was mentioned earlier, but here's his first actual appearance! Yes, he's yet another OC professor. The class he teaches seems to be one Zeph's particularly excited about! (His class is essentially the Penderghast equivalent of Muggle Studies, for the Harry Potter fans in my audience.)

Timeline: We're well into Endless Winter (ES book 2) by now!

_______________________

Next: "That Distance Between Us"

CIU Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @endlesshero1122 @bbaba-yagaa @acidsugar0 @shaylan211 @griselda1121 @acanthisorbis @marmolady @choicesbabie

DotF/Elementalists Tag List:

[prvtocol]

@bellytochin​ asked: [ MUTUAL  FRIEND ] :  for  our  muses  to  meet  through  a  mutual  friend | ✧ — ⋆   𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 . [ accepting ]

          A single arm is crossed loosely about her narrow waist, the other’s elbow using it as a rest as the backs of fingers of that hand flutter across her chin. A brief perusal of the mini bar’s abundance set against the minimalist decor of the private meeting room on the 22nd floor of Konpeki Plaza. No compulsion to pour a drink takes her, rather she stays attuned to her guest when he arrives with her security detail acting as escort. Pensive pose remains as she turns on high heel point, chin lifting as crystalline blue cybereyes survey the length of the exceedingly tall gentleman — a fixer recommended by a most trusted associate. 

        Before greeting, Landry readjusts her posture, returning it to its habitual pin straight form. Arms unfold and hands come to gently clasp at her front. ❛ Ah, you must be Hector. ❜ A pleasant smile of crimson lips polishes an already presentable facade — a politeness further honed in the timbers of her posh British accent. ❛ I have heard good things — and more importantly, about your willingness to work with corpos. ❜ There’s also that rockerboy fixer alliteratively named Dino Dinovic who sits on the back burner if this falls through, however. 

          ❛ Could I offer you something to drink? ❜

[halfbreedhawkins]

i: Magic: Wandmaking & Conduits

The Hawkins have been surrounded by wands, magical cores and magical conduits their whole lives, since before memory. Penny learned how to whittle down a stick before reading, has wielding many wands in her lifetime, and has grown up with her fingers testing balance, weight and grain. Her grandmother used to sit with her at the woodworking table, a delicate steel knife in hand as she formed a wand from a simple tree limb, or fashioned a wooden bracelet. Grandmother Andromeda was a master wandmaker, a woman who had been making wands since she was a child, and in turn taught the whole clan, keeping the tradition of Hawkins wandmakers alive. 

Grandmother Andromeda always said “Know the tool, wield the weapon” and Penny took those words to heart. She and several other of her cousins are the ones who whittle down the wood, hallow them out, pick them from limb by limb of provided trees and branches. Not all wood is wand wood, everyone learns what makes them sing, learning the feeling of the shape within the wood, and helping create it. They are the ones that lay out the hallowed wands and the cores and carefully pick which goes. Each Hawkins, with the help of a Master Wandmaker, oversees the making of their own wand. Penny crafted her own wood, and picked her own core, and watched her Grandmother fashion it for her, thus the wand is more powerful, more attuned to the user. It makes your magic more powerful, easier to control, makes wordless magic simpler. But it’s not all that they make.

The Hawkins may be wandmakers, but they also make magical conduits. Bracelets with magical cores specifically picked for defensive or offensive spell work. Necklaces laced with the blood of a being to rebound curses or ward away hexes. Rings that promote healing charms, making them easier to use. The possibilities of each conduit specialization is endless, because magic itself is endless, a wellspring everchanging that cannot be put into a simple box. The Hawkins have made staffs, wands, rods, knives, swords and even once a baseball bat in more recent memory. These conduits are powerful, they help focus the magic, a wand or rod is considers and ‘all purpose’ conduit, born from the use of swords and offensive weapons. Much of the knowledge surrounding other magical conduits has been suppressed, even lost, but the Hawkins have always retained their knowledge, passed down through the generations, learned at the knee and formed at their hands. 

These conduits help different wizards do different things, people with different types of magic that may not be suited to a ‘one-size-fits-all’. Penny herself not only makes wands, but making wandless rings and bracelets made of wood and metal, to help focus the magic and have a spellcaster use their hands more, especially for folk who use more elemental magic. Helle is very good at glassblowing (Atalanta jokes its her loud mouth) and makes orbs and glass bowls for Seers, or even toppers for staffs or rods. Hector is good at making long staffs for elderly wizards, while Atalanta is excellent with what they call ‘twigs’ shorter than 6 inch wands made for delicate charm work suitable for an artist. Every Hawkins has learned a specific skillset for conduit making, and when they are faced with a specific request they pool their knowledge to create something new.

The hub of the Hawkins work is deep in their territory, outfitted with a large woodworking station, a forge for glassblowing and metal working, with storage fridges made to store different wand cores. Unlike Ollivanders, they use more than the Big Three; Chimera hides and Jackalope horns, Cockatrice feathers, Ashwinder scales, Sea Serpent spines, Chupacabra fangs, Augurey feathers or even a Hippocampus fin and many more. The Hawkins believe that each magical creature imparts it’s own kind of power, if you are looking for offensive, aggressive magic then use a Chimera hide or a Chupacabra fang. If you seek artistic magic then an Augrurey’s feather or a Hippocampus fin would be better suited for your conduit. Each core is matched with a wood, or metal (other than silver which the Hawkins have banned from their territory) and formed. The Hawkins that does the creation gives the conduit form, provides it structure while the conduit spins itself together. Alongside these many different types of magical cores, they have wood from all over the world, trading for it with other werewolf clans or other friendly Being groups. It’s not unusual for a Clan member to take off to a trip around the world, gathering different supplies for wands and cores, even sometimes picking up new kinds of tricks for conduits.

It’s an incredibly precise, as well as imprecise art, it takes many decades to master making conduits and wands. Which is why the Hawkins work in teams with a Master overseer, Penny admits she isn’t a master wandmaker, yet, the closest would be Hector but even he has much to learn. But the Hawkins pride themselves on their work, and give fair, honest prices for those who know where to look.

[cassandra-watch]

Post episode:

Then I was reading the reddit discussion thread for this episode and this commentary on names was kinda interesting, not sure I agree with the read on Hector but Cassandra who goes unheeded despite being right (and she suffers for it) was a neat catch

Also from that thread, something I didn’t notice but now am wondering about. Is it because Adira struck Rapunzel in the back instead of touching the skin of her arm itself? But the effect went through clothing anyway. Maybe Adira’s just more attuned to the moon drop idk but I’m filing this away.

Slight spoilers under the cut:

The light blue fire was weird though because the colors associated with the spell’s effect are otherwise green and black. I’m not supposed to know about Cassandra’s future hair color yet (so don’t comment further) but the shared light blue color is... curious

Oh and the light blue of the spear too of course. So... weird.

[asoulofatlantis]

when cedric was used by cayenne for vermillion apocalypse did that cause him to fully become the awakener and make it impossible for someone else to take testarossa . I mean I remember at the end of cs3 cedric said something about attuning to testarossa which made it sound like it was possible for someone else to be the awakener I was thinkingabout how in the possibility that osborne was shot instead of eugent eugent made the decision to become testarossa awakener instead. ( what if eugent was used for vermillion apocalypse say cayenne viewed cedric as weak and easy to manipulate and became the awakener what would have happened ( or maybe eugent realized what cayenne was planning when he was taking cedric and offered himself instead what would change)

oh and in the scenario where osborne was shot instead of eugent what if eugent was there with black alberich would he have been able to give the nod to alberich to blow up oliverts ship.

When Rean gets his hands on Valimar it seems like that the awakener is chosen and thats it. But later in CS4 we find out that its not so simple. It is hinted that Randys father could have become an awakener instead of Fies father, that Alberich had the choice between them. With Rufus, it seemed he himself chose to be the Awakener of his diving Knight simply by his willpower to get his hands on the final knight. And Cedric as well mentioned that he yearned for TestaRossas power after he once felt it.

I assume that certain conditions have to be meet, but that these conditions can be met by multiple people.

Valimar was previously Dreichels Diving Knight, so it seemed likely that a Reise Arnor or at least someone with Royal Blood should have been chose for Valimar. Instead, it was the boy who was the son of the person who was born with Dreichels reborn soul. And it is mentioned multiple times that Rean shares a lot with the original Dreichels (if you catch the drift, it was even hinted that he too was a man the Ladies loved, among other more... likable traits that he shared with Rean, like the fact that he never wanted to be a leader and only took the position because it was necessary for peace) and given how there are similarities between previous awakeners and the ones we had in Cold Steel, it is likely that the conditions that need to be met are certain characteristics, for some reason. Zector for example was previously owned by a Jeager too. So its possible that the requirements for Zector are character-traits that only strong jeagers have. Which would explain, why Randys father could have also fit the bill.

Now TestaRossas previous owner was a Reise Arnor and one that was strong and fighting for his people, someone who wanted to get Heimdall back and defeat the black dragon beast. Doesn't sound much like Cedric, now does it? However, TestaRossa did accept him. Cayenne believed it do to the Arnor bloodline, as the previous owner was obviously an Arnor, however we see with Valimar that the bloodline doesn't necessarily matter, nor is it likely that the Jeager who previously piloted Vector was blood related to both Rutger and Randys father. However, we do know that TestaRossa was under a curse do to the blood of the dragon, meaning that is was obviously corrupted. Just like Cedric was eventually. However, Cedric in CS3 and CS4 is strong willed and fights for what he wants, which isn't unlike Hector, the previous pilot of TestaRossa and those character traits have always been there, Cedric had just been to weak to live up to them at were CS2 plays. Cedric obviously (as Shirley pointed out so wonderfully in the fight against new class7) lacks the strength to use the full potential of the Knight, but he still seems to meet the requirements.

However, that said, it doesn't mean that Eugent could just have walked up to TestaRossa and definitely would have been able to be an awakener. He doesn't fit Hectors description. Eugent let bad things happen, left saving them all in Osbornes hands, allowed his sons and countless other people to suffer without doing much against it himself. He might be an Arnor but he lacks the strong will to fight for what he wants and believes in. If the assumption that certain conditions have to be met and that those conditions are certain character traits is correct and if it is true that Cedrics hidden character-traits were the true key to be TestaRossas awakener then Eugent would not have been able to sacrifice himself - nor would he have done it, as he is a weakling in his own right, who decided to leave things to Osborne and the black Records, meaning that taking Cedrics place would have intervened with what the black records have foretold and Eugent would not have done that.

And as he is weak, he would not have been able to give the nod for Oliverts death, even tho it might have been part of what needed to be done for the curse to be defeated. I think the man was glad, that he could hide in his hospital-bed all this time, while shit was going down outside and his children and wife and subjects were suffering. (Seriously, this man is no awakener-potential, no matter how you look at it.)

Also... Cedric wanted to be TestaRossas awakener, he would not have allowed his father to take that away from him, even if he would have been capable.

[potassium-pilot]

Element

Chapter 1 (read Chapter 2 here)

The Twelveswood has always been blessed with verdant lands thanks to the oversight of the elementals. By working with them, the Shroud has ever made itself into a prosperous home for all who live within its forests. To grow up there is to know them so well, you trust in the elementals to guide you where you need to go.

As a child, it’s guided me on more than one occasion.

I must have been no more than ten summers old when it happened, but there was a dry period in the land. It lasted for around a month, worrying my fathers, Hector and Oliver, greatly as they were concerned their research would derail. They delved into every book they had, every tool they utilized, used every measurement they took, but little luck was had. It was a dry spell, and unfortunately, they knew naught why.

My fathers celebrated my curiosity, and did what they could to show me how to solve my problems rather than solve them for me. That in mind, they were never very successful at keeping me away from their own, no matter how hard they tried. When I heard the forests were in danger, my little heart panicked at the thought. I didn’t want to leave home. I didn’t want to find somewhere else to live. From what I heard, Thanalan was a desert, lacking in what my fathers needed to study the elementals and Coerthas was not only less attuned to elementals, but it’s main city was closed to outsiders. Where would we go?

I set out on what I consider my first adventure: bring rain to Gridania. An easy task, I know. According to Hector, I apparently wanted to give them a heart attack, because I never told them I left.

Camp Tranquil was surrounded by swamp, which meant quite a bit of water, so that was my first stop. Water sprites flew around the Upper Path, so I would entreat them, ask them why there was no rain. Yes, my naivety knew no bounds. My fathers knew then as I know now that elementals know nothing of the languages of man, but I was determined to bring rain to the forest of the Black Shroud.

An hour of walking from near Quarrymill to the Upper Paths led me to the very sprites I was looking for, but the first one I encountered seemed…off. Normally, the sprites would float around peacefully, minding their own business, bur this one seemed to struggle at that, to the point where it landed on the ground. A healthy water sprite was able to keep it’s water afloat with ease, but this one seemed near ready to give it up.

My fathers focused quite a bit of research into these elemental sprites. It was hard for me not to care for them.

I picked up the crystal it centered itself around, and ran back. My quest to end the dry spell would simply have to wait. There was an injured water sprite that needed my help. Unfortunately, the elementals had a problem with tampering with the energies of the forest. That water sprite belonged there. To the forest, it’s fate was all but sealed, and I was trying to break away from fate itself. Strange that I should so follow it to become the Warrior of Light and Darkness in spite of my seeming distaste for it.

Their first attempt to block my path made brambles grow directly in front of me, towering higher than I could imagine when I was still so small. In fear, I tried to make a break for Camp Tranquil, but the elementals were ahead of me, and more brambles appeared before my very eyes. My path was blocked, my fathers nowhere to be found, and my friend, the water sprite, was doomed to fade away.

I stood petrified in the forest as I held the crystal of my dying sprite companion in my hand. It drooped more and more, the glow of the water slowly fading. I refused to let go. Looking back on it now, I know that had I simply released it, the brambles would clear, and I would be able to return home. At that point however, it seemed wrong. I took a close look at my droopy friend, searching for something, anything that could show me what was wrong.

And there it was; a small gap on it’s surface.

At this point, I was old enough that my fathers could show me how to conjure simple charm work. One that Oliver and I were working on at that point was a simple restoration spell, capable of mending certain objects. I began to wonder, would that spell work with something like a crystal? It was unclear, and at any rate, I barely had a grasp on the concept.

It was either I try, or leave it to die anyway. I chose try.

The crack was releasing it’s aether gradually like a hole in a dam. For me to fix it, I needed something to plug the hole. I found a small piece of glass on the ground, most likely caused by a litterer who may not have lived to toss it’s garbage anymore. I gently picked it up and placed it within the crack, hoping that would suffice. Then it was time to channel my aether, and with all the focus and energy that I could muster, I slowly began to close the gaps.

It wasn’t perfect. Small cracks remained on the surface, but aether stopped spilling out of it’s broken body. For a beginner, and a child at that, my efforts produced an admirable result. The path towards the swamp opened, allowing me to bring my little patient to the waters surrounding it. I gently rested it’s crystal into the ground and stepped back. Color restored itself, the water reanimated, and in that moment, I witnessed a sprite reborn.

I breathed a sigh of relief as my path back to my house reopened. I bowed to my little friend and walked away, leaving it to it’s own devices, but it seemed to have me in mind. I was happy for it’s company. It could prove my tale to my fathers once I found my way to them.

“Dia!”

I recognized Hector’s voice calling out to me. I perked up, and as I stood in the open swamp, I saw that they stood in the shades of the trees ahead. Quickly, I dashed towards them, my sprite friend in tow, and readied as he held open his arms ready for his loving embrace.

I write this in my journal because this moment appeared in my dreams last night. Unfortunately, that was right when I woke up.

*******

Now I’m in the Rising Stones, sitting on my bed, writing this experience down. Not after any day, but after jumping across time and space with the souls of my fellow Scions in my hands, so far from that tiny moment in the Lower Paths. It’s been only a day since that happened- I can still feel Elidibus’ bruises on my ribs.

My fathers died in the Calamity as a result of Bahamut’s destruction upon the lands. Another example of Hydaelyn’s decision-making skills costing me those I held dear, I was in my house- which left the Calamity unscathed- while they were doing field research. They were close to a breakthrough, one that I couldn’t come close to, no matter how hard I studied.

But that was then. This is now, and now I should feel victorious. I should feel like the happiest woman alive. I saved us all, right? I killed Emet-Selch and Elidibus. I brought everyone back to the Source, even G’raha Tia, our most unexpected Scion. The Garleans have brought themselves to a standstill, and now the Alliance may finally return home and we may be able to find some semblance of peace.

I wish my fathers were here to see it.

I wish my fathers were with me at all.

Gods damn that dream to the seventh hell. I couldn’t remember their faces. I tried so hard to think of them, but all that remained were silhouettes. It couldn’t have been that long, so long that I could forget what they looked like, right? When did I lose that image? When did I become so godsdamn high and mighty that I could forget the men who gave everything to raise me?

Hells is wrong is me?

[suninagarajan]

A MAN OF SCIENCE

As it is sometime since the learned gentlemen of the academies had rejected the heresy of Phlogiston in favor of Monsieur Lavoiser’s more rational gospel, so it is that the good people of Old Town, Aberdeen, despite spending their lives amongst the vales, mountains, glens and lochs of God’s ancient geological miracle, had, for the last ten and seven years attuned their excellent minds to the process of natural philosophy.

For it was during this time that an admiral fellow, of the ancient granite city born and bred armed with diploma and speculum administered to their complaints and ailments, from ague’s to headaches to chilblains, via all manner of digestive conditions. 

And as it is a well known adage that physicians, especially ones who will leave the warmth and comfort and libatious natures of hearth and home, in the sleet and the snow and the rain, to see to a patient suffering more from phantoms than from symptoms, who don’t kill their patients and charge reasonable rates besides, are uncommonly rare, a few eccentricities in one's own can be forgiven. 

Amature alchemists though he may be, and founding member of the not yet prestigious Aberdeen Scientific society, the natural philosopher, after explaining to his good lady wife that objects made of delicate glass whose bodies have been blown into all manner of bellies, though pretty when holding posies of violets and snow peas from the garden, might better be deployed as objects of wonder - set his mind to the knowing of compounds by way of the new learning from Hamburg.

Once he had understood that the temperatures required were as likely to explode the glass than to temper it, and by way of trial and error had discovered the path of distillation from natural to chemical, as set out in the remarkable papers from Germany. It had not taken him long to master the crystallization process with the business largely being a matter of moving elements in a everchanging kaleidoscope of alternative natures from solid to liquid to condensed essence, via a series of expanding and lessening flames so as to transmute the nature of the element from one to another. Whereby a combination of properties via a combination of elements in any of their natural states might produce health giving substances that could be transported and administered.

Helen, his ever devoted wife, having finally relented through good natured matrimonial hectoring, to his commandeering the second best downstairs parlour, his only headache had been the number of glass respectacles, tubes, bottles and vials required for the fruitful fulfillment of his hopeful endeavours. Then, old master McGreogry, treasurer of the esteemed society, via business on the continent, had discovered in Holland a maker of scientific devices who would ship the necessary machines to the society, second class. 

In no time then the amature man of science soon became known, throughout Old Town and beyond, less for administering compounds to eye, stomach and nerve complaints with extraordinary results, than arranging candle lit displays of awe and chemistry for the benefit of friends, neighbours and meetings of the soon to be illustrious society. 

________________________________________________________________

It was after the Major-General had taken the liberty to reprimand the rectors of both seats of learning, in writing, going as far as to suggest that himself and the Deputy Director (whom he did not name) knew more about modern chemistry than all the fellows of England, his black humor matching his frock coat, that Major Woodehouse, when seeing a tart of his in the East End who often had bounty on her person that could be bought for a price, the maiden being reduced to accept treasure for coin, happened upon a solution to the disharmony that has so troubled the Foresters matrimonial home. 

It was in that Alwich alehouse, when astute Major Woodehouse overheard two merchant seamen of the dutch variety, soaked in their wanderings,  musing on the strange cargo in the load, that must be “handled with care”, marked “Vials”, that affable, ambitious Monty’s mind snapped into action like a well used switchblade. Making so good as to stand those same seaman a pint or six of rum,  as if Monty were their oldest friend, the good gentleman in their cheer, as expected in due course, let slip the name of the cargo owner and true to his nature, Major Woodehouse of the Honorable Company, who had no knowledge of Mrs Forester’s predicaments, proved useful to a chap in a tight spot.

For Forester was not wrong, the sorcerer he sought was not in fact in England but some 900 miles from civilization in the frozen north of Scotland. A doctor Macaulay Fraizer Cambell,  medical practioner and keen amateur?  man of science, who as well as administering to the ailments and complaints of the residents of Rosehill, Queens Cross and Hazelhead in Old Town, Aberdeen, was also an experimenter of the new chemistry. 

None of this was known to Monty Woodehouse, as he bumped and froze his way up the Great North Road from Edinburgh to Aberdeen in a hired coach with young Lieutenant Hareford, who had snored his way from breakfast despite the privations of Scottish highways, to make the good doctors acquaintance and if possible, press upon him the King’s shilling.

________________________________________________________________

Since he had replaced the rivet in her spectacles on the occasion of their first meeting, Betsy Ross, the upstairs maid, had always held Dr Cambell in the highest regard. So it was then that every Sunday, after Rev MacLeod had reminded the parionsers at St Columba’s of their duty to God and each other, that Besty would hurry back to Park Hill House the estimable home and practice of the good doctor and his family to stoke the fires and fetch clean water for the tea, ensuring that every comfort be available to the master and his family on their return.

Poor Betsy, therefore was amidst these occupations, as Major Woodehouse and Lieutenant Hareford blazing like incongruous flames in their cardinal reds and regimentals greys, their high black chimney hats proud as peacocks and black as sin, their crisp white britches as innocent a novice in a nunnery, disturbed her ministrations when they made their appearance at the good doctor’s home that cold February morning of 1816, as the clear sharp light from God’s own honest sky burned their arrival into her blue humble God fearing eyes. 

She had not noticed the carriage as it pulled up to the gate or the youthful athletic form of the Major’s, who, although not quite of middle age, was perhaps experiencing a diminishing of his boyish bloom, and the taller leaner more guileless figure of his younger sandy-haired companion, both hardened from barracks living and life on campaign, as they unfolded their grey woolen regiment capes from around their two sinewy, well proportioned figures, the one prepossessing in manner the other fetching in visage, with some difficulty from the wind and the cold and the cobbles, as they descended from the hired carriage, instructing the driver to wait. 

Not knowing whether the officers in crimson, who presented their card when she open the front door, wondering as she was, why Mr Parker the butler would knock like a gentleman as she hurried down the hall, was friend or frenchman, she managed with some wrestling of her silent courage to inform the foreign gentlemen whose business was surely not to the doctors good, that that same gentleman would soon be returning from church with the mistress and his family, as she motioned towards the front parlour where visitors were received.

If she had considered for a moment the day, she would have remembered that Mr Parker preferred his half day holiday after church so as to take his leisure in the Green Man among his friends of the back stairs.  Alas, Besty, unused to the task of receiving, forgot almost all of her own name at the shock of the occasion.  She did not however, fail in her regard or duty to her master whom she believed was in great danger of the gentleman, sure to be carted off to Newgate like a common criminal or debtor, and kept a sly watch on the pair whose motivations she distrusted along with their accents as they warmed themselves by her newly laid fire.

Excepting that which the master chose to read aloud to the household from the Edinburgh journals, poor Betsy had very little intelligence of red coats, and none of the honorable company, who since the irish duke’s triumph peppered london society like gods on the vine, strawberries of such sweet addiction they were hailed as heroes wherever they went.  

As long as where they went wasn’t northern Scotland, land of Wallace. 

Besty, however, is the exception, for Major Woodehouse, thought not expected to inherit the Dukedom was by no means an unappealing prospect for the matrons of the drawing rooms and ballrooms of Mayfair, as they paraded their merchandise in silks and feathers for inspection.

Major Woodehouse, by no means a tall man, was said by most to be “towering”, a reference more to presence than to scale, he was tolerably handsome when at home in Braycourt, his family estate in Warwickshire, where he preferred his hunting jacket to his registmentals.  But in London when in barracks in Aldgate or in the drawing rooms of the ton, or the ballrooms of society, his well portioned face was proof enough of his aristocratic line, and many a lady of good breeding and quality forgot she was a lady and had often thought of him as “engaging” in his looks and very “likeable” in his manners. 

He had arrived in the land of the Hindu as a Company First Lieutenant five days after his 25th birthday, and after seven years in that alien land had secured both his prospects and his fortune. By trading in spices and skills and tea, he had through luck, gumption and cunning, his company pay notwithstanding, lived in that exotic land quite prosperously, having settled on a plantation in Bengki, his talents then duly nourished bloomed like roses in the Indian sun. 

Though still a bachelor it was his duty to His King and His Duke and the defeat of the bonaparte that had kept him from finding a wife and placed him in much demand in all the best homes. As a darling of the drawing room and a favourite of the shooting weekend, his reception in the finest homes was assured,  his scarlets and blacks acting like Gabriel’s wings where invitations were concerned. He graced fashionable society like a dancer on the stage and managed to enjoy his pleasures and passions while skilfully avoiding any unlucky accidents or engagements with ladies of his acquaintance, maintaining the unsullied reputation of gentleman.  

He was now a well positioned man of not yet five and thirty,  in possession of good-looks inherited from a dark eyed beauty who, as dutchess, was delivered of his mother and a somber-haired grandfather who was a cousin of the scottish king. His family's wealth and motto was a reference to the chestnut trees and sheep that peppered their land like an occupying army, and by which his family had laid down the broadsword and put about building a green and pleasant land. 

Having invested a good deal of his fortune in the company and the rest in plantations in Jamaica,  he had taken to a life in service to the duke, and when that excellent commander had requested his presence on the peninsula he had put off the coat of a merchant and once again put on his regimentals. 

It was Flanders of course, that had turned this man of action and adventure, whose general agreeableness was both a delight to young and old and a ladder to prosperity, into the Major of that name, and with it entry into all the better establishments of both town and country.  Where it mattered, it was generally understood that Major Woodehouse was a man with excellent prospects and better connections, his stock soaring and his cheque book solid. Though he had not yet turned his attention to the shopping of brides, it was not for lack of inventory.

So it was that when the good doctor accompanied by his wife and two sons returned to a home of warmth and company, brave Betsy stepped to her mistress and whispered with the courage of a christian martyr,  “mam, thir’s twa rid-coated gentlemen, ‘s come tae arrest th’ master ‘n’ carry him aff..”

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Mrs Helen Cambell, though perhaps no daughter of Troy, her beauty more apparent in her stoicism and patience that in her aspect, was perfectly suited to the employment of respectable Doctor’s wife, having begun life as the daughter of Doctor Finlay of Old Town, and having transmuted her natural state from daughter to wife some 23 years ago.  

Though theirs was not a marriage of high passions as idealised in the latest novels, both partners considered themselves content with companionship, comfort and kindness. Their affectionate and loving ability to get along, was valued second only in pride and comfort to the health, character and prospects of their two young sons.

It was not without some considerable justification that Mrs Helen Cambell comforted herself in the knowledge that goodness was its own reward. She had, she had long believed, been blessed in both her children and her marriage. Though both boys followed their father in their passions, being themselves if not yet men, then youths, of science, and their mother in their aspect, were equally fair and true of feature and solid and descent of nature.  

She allowed herself solace in the knowledge that she had provided a home of regularity and christian propriety to which, praise the Lord, their social standing among friends and acquaintances remained undiminished by the doctors irregular habits. As the good matron stood in the hallway of her family home in the respectable quarter of Aberdeen Old Town, surrounded by loving family and attentive servants and allowed herself to be unbuttoned of her modest but respectable dark blue woolen coat. Her dignified form resplendent in the daylight of that holy day, not yet noon, was covered by a blue, candy-striped, sensible, Sunday cotton dress, whose cotton-pickers, unbeknownst to the good lady, were Phahsoi royalty, over a high necked muslin shift and lace and blue ribboned bonnet.   

Her missal still clutched in her gloved hand, she was somewhat taken aback then by the housemaids ominous predictions, and had need to praise her God and exclaim aloud “oh, heavens preserve us!” Before Major Woodehouse’s, quick interventions and amiable manner soon put the matter to rights. Betsy though not quite satisfied contented, at her mistress's request, to inform cook there would be two extra for lunch and to set to the bake house for a meat pie, the mistress fearing there would be none remaining for the family’s cold supper.

It did not require the presence of the two gentlemen from London and conquering heroes to boot, far less the introduction, on fine silken paper,  from Major General Forester of the United Company of Merchants of England trading to the East Indies. Known in the periodicals as the Honorable East India Company, whose name stood for fame and glory throughout christendom, to soften the good doctors bewilderment and arouse his curiosity - the sight of the young English gentleman warming themselves by the fire in his parlour arousing awe and wonder in that good man’s mind. 

In truth the Company need not have troubled to flatter the Doctor in the introduction proffered by Major Woodehouse that his acclaim and that of his illustrious society had reached their ears whilst they at the same time made bold to offer him, despite their short acquaintance and the peculiar circumstances of its necessity,  a curious and singular appointment whereby the good doctor and eminent man of learning, should the rumors of his brilliance prove to be true, may have a unique occasion to serve the Company, at what, he was assured, would be a very agreeable remuneration and a most handsome reward.

All it would have in fact taken, and indeed to the good doctors credit, did take, was the interest in his work that Major Woodehouse, who knew how to barter with an indian Nawab, a french quartermaster, a dutch explorer, and many an east end tart, displayed with such artless charm and genuine enthusiasm as to only have originated in, as the good doctor declared with delightful relief, a fellow explorer.  When that excellent fellow protested his amazement that the eminent doctor would offer such a humble student as himself a tour of his venerable laboratory, he did so with none of the studied airs of the polished actor, as only one of natural temperament could, and followed the doctor with studious concern around the twists and turns of his magical glass universe as the he explained his alchemical wizardry like a sorcerer teaching spells. 

So it was that Helen Cambell and her sons had cause to make the acquaintance of young Lieutenant Summersby, whose boyish charms and homesick demeanor which could not fail to soften the hardest heart, easily breached the meagre defences of Mrs Cambell’s sweet natured breast.  Having plied him with cups of warm sweet tea, scones, barn cakes, and pickled herring sandwiches with a maternal generosity familiar to her sons,  he at last made at liberty to inform that dear lady of her striking resemblance, in his blushing and soft-spoken opinion, to his own dear mother, who was at that moment at her Sunday prayers at their tenant farm in Shropshire. 

Lieutenant Mathew Summersby, of six and twenty years, was a lad of true spirit, whose family had farmed the eden of the Shropshire countryside for generations. His father having taken to gout, passed to God’s heavenly realm some ten years hence, young Mathew as head of the household, had joined the company, eager in his new found responsibility to secure his defenceless, virgin sisters their marriage portion and save that poor forlorn widow and queen of his heart from destitution in the workhouse.    

The true hearted young Lieutenant, ensuring the respectability of his mother and sisters, heeded the Company’s recruitment edict at the age of 18, and having been assured the gaining of a fortune for young men of an adventurous nature and anticipation of a prosperous future by the recruitment sargent, he dutifully signed his name and donned the young officers uniform his father’s status had afforded him.  No sooner had he accepted his majesty’s shilling but he found himself baking in the iberian sunshine in pursuit of la boney, the mad dog of corsica.  

All of this and more he recounted to dear Mrs Campbell who's affable manners and motherly concern bade him describe his journey starting at the story of his birth, and concluding with his subsequent arrival in her comfortable parlour in Old Town, pressing him to pay particular attention to details of his mother and sisters as prompted by her eager questions on their health and comfort.

It was not surprising that the good lady took such an interest in the sweet tempered young man so far from home, for his age and character reminded her so much of her own boys Macaulay and Alexander that her maternal heart ached, him being of not dissimilar age and in want of a mothers care. 

Nor was it surprising that those two good-natured brothers, having made the Lieutenant's most recent acquaintance dissentect him with a plethora of questions having assumed that the young Lieutenant had personal knowledge of Le General, whilst good heartedly teasing their mother, in such fraternal and cordial tones as to disarm his reserve and encourage his frankness, that he made free to entertain and amuse them with tales of Vimeiro, Madrid and Salamanca to their obviously delight.

And so in a charming domestic tableau sat the dear homesick Lieutenant,  Doctor Cambell’s good lady and their boys not yet twenty, as if old friends reunited. They would have made, had they been observed by anyone other than Besty,  a delightful and warmily cordial scene, in accordance with the gentile and unexpected company. Honest Betsy however, who like most highlanders, never forgot their bravehearted menfolk, that had chased the red coated devils back to their English hell, reserved her judgement and kept her council. She forbear to warm to tender eyed officer as he made her his most courteous smile, in compliments to the cooking, she did not protest overly loudly when her mistress insisted the same youth and his commander stay with the family to overnight their journey instead of the nearest tavern - some 10 miles hence.  And with a towering effort of spirit she merely rolled her eyes and complained with her silence when her mistress and the family made as familiar together as geese in the courtyard with the gentlemen over their evening repast. 

Even as that same meal was sent for and consumed, having afforded the mistress the occasion to exercise chritian charity in the donation of the pie procured earlier for the servants dinner. And though the addition of the pie to the servants of Park Hill House’s table was most welcomed as it warmed Betsy’s belly and intoxicated her taste buds, with her brows crossed under her linen cap, she nursed her wrath to keep it warm. 

When young Lieutenant Summersby returned two months later, after much frenzied and pre paid! correspondence between the Doctor and Sir Howard, Deputy Director of the Honorable East Indies Trading Company, to accompany the Doctor and his son down south to the hallowed chamber of the Company it was not at Betsy's request, but rather at that honorable gentleman’s and in service of the Company.  Nevertheless, Lieutenant Summersby came as a friend and supporter of the family on his return to Park Hill House.  His parting was just as sorrowful from that now colder home.    

[artisticvicu]

Altruistic Endeavors | Inktober 2020 - Day 17: Storm

His head snapped around, startled by the new voice, but the only other beings in the room were Tolnoran and Dlmor. He looked to Tolnoran only to find a curious look on the man's face. "Did you hear that?"

Tolnoran frowned. "Your Dlmor talking?"

"In his defense, this is the first time he's actually been able to hear me." He looked down at Dlmor as the creature rested its chin on his thigh. "I've had to use Transference to talk with him."

Tolnoran frowned at that, looking to Artemis. "You weren't able to hear them?"

He shook his head no. "First time I ever interacted with Dlmor was after it defended me against some other shadow."

"Kret," Dlmor supplied.

"Do all Kret do damage by screaming?"

Tolnoran laughed. "That's one way to put it. They do a sort of psychic attack but I haven’t heard of any doing more than giving someone a severe headache for a few hours.”

“So my experience was strange?”

“In many ways.” Dlmor bared its teeth in a silent snarl. “The damage you had sustained had been unusual for a Kret assault so either you had sustained damage prior to the Kret or something is terribly wrong.”

He ran his hand over Dlmor’s head. “We’ll deal with it when we need to. I’m just glad I can hear and see things of the Second Plane clearly now.”

“You weren’t able to?” Tolnoran asked, curious.

He shook his head no. “Most anything from the Second Plane was either invisible or some strange shadow, inky form and any sound was like a painful screech against my brain. Even the…whatever you had called it - the memory sharing thing-”

“Transference.”

“Even that hurt. But I had been under the impression it had been from the damage that Kret had done.”

Tolnoran pushed his foot against the base of the bed in order to tip the chair back onto two legs. “Strange. And this was any creature from the Second Plane?”

“As far as I could tell.”

Tolnoran settled the chair back onto all four legs, head turning towards the door. “Ysle.”

He frowned, parroting, “Ye-aisle?” as a creature he had never seen before pushed open the door.

“Almost. Condense the front vowel sound. Combined the ‘y’ and ‘i’ sound” The creature walked right up to Tolnoran and nuzzled the hand the man put out. “Isn’t that right, Ysle.” There was a low rumble of a purr from the creature as Tolnoran rubbed its snout. The man grinned at him. “You can see them, yeah?”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “If you mean I see a creature that looks like it’s an oversized komodo dragon stretched a bit thin with dusty gray and black scales with red and yellow peeking out from underneath and golden eyes, then yes.”

“This is a Kret, though Ysle has richer coloring than most you’ll see later.” Ysle climbed up onto Tolnoran’s shoulders. The creature was easily as long as the man was tall and yet Tolnoran didn’t even seem to notice as the creature settled on his shoulders, chin resting on top of his head. “Most will be more earth colors to help blend in with either rock or sand, depending on the region they’re from. North ones will stand out against the sands. Their coloring will be different shades of gray.”

“Do they talk?”

Tolnoran scratched at Ysle’s neck. “No, not like we do. The only ones that do speak are Dlmor, though Belvren and Jaun can be taught to some degrees of success; Jaun are more likely to learn how to speak in fluid sentences while Belvren seem to stick with a string of words that may or may not make sense together.”

“Talking that difficult to learn?”

“More of switching from a mostly image and emotion based communication to one of words is challenging,” Dlmor spoke up. “Jaun are able to pick it up easier because they use noises to communicate instead of Transference. Belvren can understand and mimic words but they’re more like parrots or other birds that can learn human speech.”

“So what makes Dlmor different?”

“My kind are a step above Jaun in the sense that we’ve had language long before we interacted with humans. We speak through Transference - humans like to call it telepathy but it’s a bit more complex than that. For us, it’s more than the Transference they associate with Belvren, Kret, and the like. Our Transference allows us to create thought into words that a being of language will understand. Most Transference will not work on those of language because of the lack of exposure to the type of Transference those of the Second Plane use.”

“But I understood your Transference?” he questioned, confused.

Tolnoran shifted in his seat. “Those attuned to the Second Plane will be able to understand some Transference. We’re more adapt to understanding the emotion and image thought than others.”

Dlmor’s eyes narrowed and Artemis got the impression that wasn’t quite right. Dlmor caught his staring and he knew it would tell him later. His frown deepened. There had been no pain, no distinction between Dlmor’s thought and his own, and he found himself growing concerned at the concept. Dlmor sent him reassurance and calm, soothing his growing worry. He would learn how to discern the difference now that he was lacking pain.

He buried his hand into the longer fur at the back of Dlmor’s neck. As long as it didn’t use Transference overly much until he did, he would be fine.

He changed the subject. “So what kind of prepping will I need? I haven’t really fought with Dlmor beyond the misunderstanding that was Elias’s arrival.”

Tolnoran laughed. “He told me about that. He feels bad that he had to do that to you and your companions but there had been something else in those woods that had wanted you first.”

“What kind of something else?”

Tolnoran shook his head as Ysle hopped down. “No idea. He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.” The man stood up. “He did tell me he had sent some of ours to go make sure your companions were safe, if that helps.”

The worry didn’t ease as his distrust about the whole thing weighed heavily in his chest. Reassurance and the sense that Tolnoran was telling the truth drifted over him as Dlmor stood up. He let his hand fall into his lap. “A bit.” He turned his gaze back to Tolnoran. “And the prepping?”

“Well, first we’ve got to get you out of that bed and dressed.” Tolnoran’s gaze drifted to the dresser briefly. “Not sure if they stashed anything in here for you - hopefully there’s at least patient garb - but the armory will have gear for you. I’m going to let you get up at your own pace and your Dlmor be your main support as I dig through the dresser.”

He wasn’t sure how Dlmor could help him till said creature hopped down from the bed and easily shifted into a bipedal version of their four legged form. Dlmor stretched its height and enlarged its hands as he pushed the blankets off.

“You do realize he hasn’t been discharged by a healer yet, right?” Dlmor pointed out as those large hands wrapped around his torso as he situated himself on the edge of the bed. Familiarity ghosted its way through his body as the memories of the previous times Dlmor had done this came floating through. He ran his hands over Dlmor’s arms, noticing finally that the pinpricks of sparkling color were individual strands of fur; each strand among the dark, almost black blue strands seemed to behave like prisms. The strands appeared to be a brilliant silver against the darker strands but the light would play off of them causing other colors to flicker off of them. They were thinner than the dark strands and only the tips seemed to glow. Even running his hands over Dlmor’s arms coaxed a cacophony of colors from those silver strands even as silver stayed the predominant color.

A low growl from Dlmor brought his attention back to the room and he realized he had missed something.

Dlmor’s hands were still around his torso but he was on his feet now. Tolnoran was standing beside him, half turned towards the door with a bundle of fabric in the hand closest to him. Ysle was standing between the three of them and the door, crouched and sideways as a warning to those at the door.

Standing in the doorway was a small cluster of people and creatures. One of the creatures looked to be similar to Ysle but the shape was far slimmer and was very clearly furred with long ears and a thin tail. The other two creatures were some creature he didn’t recognize, though one looked to be made out of rock or earth and the other some crystal.

Dlmor answered his unasked questions: the one that looked like Ysle was a Jaun and a dangerous one at that, the other two were Belvren and loyal to their humans to a fault. Along with the creature information came Dlmor’s annoyance and information of those standing in the doorway.

Of the three people, the only woman - Cecile Drev, Head of Communications - had the Jaun - Vulren - but the Jaun was more loyal to the man standing center. The man on the right - Albert Conner, Head of Defense - had a Belvren - Coal - that was made of coal. The man standing center - Hector Fox, Leader of Ilmor Outpost - had a large Belvren - Sharp - that appeared to be made of diamond but was actually made of a crystal that imitated the look of diamond. This last bit of information was filled with a pleased satisfaction coming from Dlmor, of which was followed by the information that it wasn’t something easily discernible and Dlmor was very confident that none of those before them were aware of that fact.

Or, if they were, they were very good at pretending.

“Unusual to see you assisting the healers, Balthazar ,” Albert Conner spoke, sounding mildly amused. “Not enough work out on the field for you?”

“No, Sir,” Tolnoran spoke evenly. “Simply doing as Captain Vex has requested. Will be out on the field shortly.”

“And what was this request, Lieutenant,” Hector Fox requested, though it sounded more like an order to Artemis.

It must have to Tolnoran, too, because the man’s grip on the bundle of fabric tightened. “I am to get this young man cleared by the healers. My understanding is Captain Vex had other plans for him that I was not privy to and would take him from me when he was done with other duties.”

Hector Fox’s gaze landed on Artemis. It was surprisingly hard not to bristle under the man’s gaze. “And what is your name, son?”

He hesitated, unsure what he was supposed to say, but that hesitation faded as Dlmor gave him the push to be truthful. “Artemis Lorncroft, sir.”

“Welcome to Ilmor Outpost, Artemis. I look forward to your contributions here.” Hector Fox looked back at Tolnoran. “Captain Vex is currently speaking with part of the Council. I will inform him you have gone where when the meeting concludes?”

“Armory, Sir. I’m waiting on orders to either help with the Crell situation or to cut off the incoming Kret.”

Hector Fox’s gaze flickered down to Ysle. “I will put a word in to have you sent north. Best fight fire with fire.”

“Captain Corax was dealing with the Crell,” Hector Fox directed at Albert Conner.

“Still is. He had a few scouts come back from the north with word of a cluster of Kret but he doesn’t believe it is anything to be concerned about. Captain Vex does, as do I and Cass. Even if Captain Corax’s thoughts of it being not a big deal, I would much rather take care of it now before it becomes one.”

“Lieutenant Colonel Cass is behind you on that decision?” Hector Fox clarified.

Albert Conner nodded. “She suggested putting Captain Vex in charge of it and it would seem he’s taking that decision very seriously if he’s taking the time to convince the Council that it’s worth it.”

Hector Fox’s expression betrayed disbelief and curiosity as the man turned away from the door. “Well, he’ll have an easier time once we give them the latest from Communications.” Hector Fox looked back at Tolnoran. “There’s a storm coming in from the north. Either the Kret are behind it or it’s a coincidence.”

Tolnoran nodded. “I’ll make sure we’re prepared for what may come at us, Sir.”

“See that you do. I don’t want to waste the personnel on a wild goose chase.”

“Of course, Sir.”

[wandchoosesthewizard]

[ it's misterpercivalgraves! ] "this is a battle, a war. and the casualties could be your hearts and souls."

Dead Poets Society || Still Accepting || @misterpercivalgraves

In front of the Director of Magic Security and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stood the full complement of MACUSA’s Aurors - all but three of them had had the advantage of meeting the man before - the others, not necessarily friends, but drawn to each other out of a sense of familiarity had not. The stood slightly to the left of the group, his right, and listened carefully. They had transferred from Britain and had been under the strictest instructions from Justus Pilliwickle not to show him up… 

Tim could not speak for the others - as a smattering of applause broke out for Percival’s address - but she fully intended to perform to the best of her abilities. His speech was certainly… A change. Hector Fawley - the Minister for Magic hardly gave any credence to the threat of Grindlewald - shipping out as many of his Aurors to other countries as he could. This task was made easy by the demand of other countries - but resisted by Justus who was more attuned to the threat. Justus has spoken frequently about the dangers of war but his emphasis had often been on the loss of life… Not integrity. 

It was certainly something… Something to consider. Obviously, there had been training done, preparation, very dull meetings that somehow stripped all meaning away from it… But to take a life - that had not yet happened. And the emphasis on it was a direct reminder of the fact. 

[julystorms]

HEKTOR

send me a character & i’ll tell you the top 3 to 5 concepts i keep in mind while writing them. [meme]

It’s been an age since I wrote this punk but let’s see!

BRASH TRASH LORD. Seriously though, this kid acts without thinking and speaks without thinking. He’s definitely one of those ‘lmao question it later’ kinds of people. Also, sitting around waiting to take action makes him antsy af.

Have you ever tried to smash your emotions with a frying pan? I’m pretty sure he does this every morning as part of his exercise routine. This is where nature vs. nurture gets interesting but I think it’s mostly a nurture thing (his history and position/title considered). Unfortunately for Hector he tends to still act on emotions a lot.

He needs to feel needed. I feel like this is a more personal interpretation of his character and not one I can readily explain to people since it’s been there for years, now, but he comes across to me as the type of person who feels he belongs and is worth something if he can do things for other people/be of use to other people. See also: how upset he is when Farina doesn’t trust him. Despite his blustery personality he likes to be liked and lives to be useful/needed. (That’s not to say he doesn’t find fun in other things but IMO this is a core personality trait.)

Surprisingly attuned to the emotional needs of others. You’d think he was a giant oaf and okay, that’s fair (he is), but while he’s sometimes really clumsy in expressing himself (see his A support with Lyn), other times he’s really, really aware of what people need from him. Here we go back to the above point: he communicates so much better with people who need something from him. Lyn doesn’t need him and she never will, hence his awkward admission that goes over her head (which he ought to have known would happen but didn’t). Meanwhile he learns how to communicate with Pegasus Knight “Trustno1″ Farina and is very gentle and understanding in his supports with Serra. He might be a thoughtless lump of flesh sometimes, but in specific circumstances he goes out of his way to better understand and adjust himself to communicate with people like Serra (whom he finds somewhat annoying) and Farina (the hired help whose opinion shouldn’t matter but does).

Hard worker. I wasn’t gonna add another point on here but I think people mistake Hector’s poor marks in math in the canon as a sign of him being lazy. I always felt that he might have had a learning disability or ADHD (or something) because when it’s something that matters to him he applies himself hard. See also: how he jumps to responsibility when Uther dies. Hector’s young and sometimes kind of dumb about things, but there’s no way he’s lazy.

[tomb-of-ash]

We continue to publish exclusive Angel of Darkness documents from Murti Schofield, the writer of the game. This one reveals more details about Morgau Vasiley, one of the planned characters from the game.

MORGAU notes & summary

 VISUAL and STYLE REFERENCES:

–     Pris in Blade Runner

–     River Tam from Firefly

–     Demented Harajuku-Goth masques

–     Chiana in Farscape TV series (Gigi Edgley)

–     Charlize Theron as Imperator Furiosa – Mad Max

–     Lisbeth Salander from Girl withTattoo novels

–     Nikita (original French outing)

–     Geena Davis as Charly Baltimore from Long Kiss Goodnight

–     Hit Girl from Kick Ass

–     Harley Quinn - Batman

–     Modesty Blaise

–     Borg Queen from Star Trek, First Contact

–     Helena Bonham Carter in Fight Club

–     Scavengers TV series 1994, Anna Galvin bodice, cuirass

–     Tank Girl

–     Martha Washington Goes to War (comic Dave Gibbons & Frank Miller)

 SPEAR FIGHTING STYLE REFERENCES:

–     Prince Nuada spear weapon style in Hellboy II (Luke Goss)

–     Hit Girl in Kick Ass

–     300 Spartans

–     Achilles & Hector in TROY

PHYSICAL CONDITION:

–     Beneath the protective Cuirass Morgau’s torso is semi transparent. Her internal organs are partially visible, a side effect of the alchymical vivisection she underwent under Eckhardt.

–     Essentially her body is at war with itself.

–     She is totally dependant on specialised elixirs and essences that maintain her incredibly enhanced life force.

–     Though thin limbed and of a pallid white complexion her body is incredibly strong, in part due to the carbonite threading woven throughout her entire skeletal structure.

–     She is fast, strong and quick to heal.

–     Her arms are thin with semi-translucent skin showing blue veins.

–     Morgau’s spine is welded to rows of wiring, bone & silver rods, an ugly arrangement which leaves the heads of rivets & tiny plates exposed along her spinal column.

–     Her eyes are opaque milky blue until the irregular psychic abilities kick in when they become translucent.

–     Periodically Morgau’s body displays an alarming tendency to erupt into grotesque semi-crystalline, metallic extrusions. [reference  the growths on Bouchard’s badly injured man in Paris]. Only the Cuirass helps keep this in check.

–     She is not strictly speaking a cyborg, in fact her reliance-relationship to her Cuirass is more that of a mutual parasitic dependency.

–     Her need to ‘replenish’ is almost vampyric. Almost.

–     The truth is that she has not been entirely human for a while [see notes on Eckhardt’s Nephuman Meta Progeny and Warrior Sentinels.]

 ABILITIES POWERS and WEAPONS:

–     In combat Morgau displays a terrifying stillness, the ‘awful tranquillity of the wolverine focused on its prey.’

–     Partial and erratic psychic ability – triggered under stress. Unreliable and often barely under control.

–     Some of her more esoteric abilities are inbred as a natural descendant of a Lux Veritatis bloodline. Others have been brought to the fore as a result of the awful treatments she has undergone at the hands of the Black Alchymist.

–     The Culcrys, like the Chirugai, is part-forged from ferrilium, or sky iron, extracted from meteorites. [translation: SpearAxe or Halberd],

–     The Culcrys is one of the Iren Waepn armaments which include the Irenscild, the Iren Folm and even the Chirugai series. [NB there are a limited number of other Chirugai apart from Aiyessu which is attuned to Kurtis Trent.]

–     Knife missile or Excision Blade – basically a Baetyl stone that can be controlled by telekinesis. It is an arrow-head shaped artefact. Ferilium.

–     Morgau was trained from an early age in languages, ciphers, ancient & occult lore, ancient texts & symbols and psychic control of attenuated materials (usually Sky Iron). Codes, ciphers and numeric sequence series especially, fascinate her.

–     [see additional list of possible powers available or unlocked at a later stage in Morgau’s evolution i.e. in further Games.]

 THE CUIRASS or ALCHYMIC BODICE or CORSELET-PROSTHESIS:

–     Eckhardt’s body is held together by a metallo-ceramic mesh cuirass - the waistcoat we glimpse beneath his flare coat. This Cuirass needs constant replenishing in order to maintain his physical continuation.

–     Morgau is also dependant on a cuirass or corselet-prosthesis to maintain both her life and the notoriously unstable physical powers she possesses. Eckhardt’s cuirass and hers differ but operate on similar Alchymic principles.

–     Forged of meta-link alloy, largely a mercury-brass amalgam.

–     Eckhardt, as the Monstrum, must harvest alchemically pure bio-elements to repair and renew his physical state. Morgau has been constructed to be dependant on specialised elixirs & essences of Alchymical derivation.

–     The Cuirass is a form of armour but this is not its main function. The vital bio-essences are administered via the Cuirass through a network of tubing built into the armour casing.

–     Morgau can only have access to these essential elixirs via her Cabal controllers. [though this situation changes in Game III or in the Kurtis spin off game when she experiences a radical transformation and allies herself to Kurtis in order to reform & recruit for the newly nascent Lux Veritatis.]

–     The Cuirass is highly flexible, more like a mail-link series of plates and tubing than a solid object.

–     It is constructed of prima materia metals, mercury amalgams and carbonite threading.

INFLUENCES ON MORGAU’S LIFE:

–     Morgau’s endless rage at the brutality & injustices of her incredibly perilous life is masked beneath a deceptively placid manner and frail appearance. [See note of the dangerous ‘stillness’ and tranquillity of her combat demeanour.]

–     Her upbringing, as an LV descendant on-the-run has engendered a finely honed paranoid attitude to everything in life.

–     From an early age she has proven to be of a mercurial temperament, rebellious and wilful. This trait appeared to become accentuated by her unstable upbringing and the effects of a serum given her by her father.

–     The misjudged administering of the flawed Vitalis Eterna serum by her father Mathias has had damaging effects on her mental stability

–     The effects of the vivisections & Nephuman adaptations performed on her by Eckhardt has turned her into something not entirely human and her rage at life and all who oppose her is a terrible force contributing to her general instability and unreliability. She is a danger to all around her, slave-owners, foes and allies alike…although she would never acknowledge anyone as an ally.

OTHER ITEMS – ODDS & ENDS - SCRAPS:

–     Morgau was slaved to work under Boaz for a while in the Cabal before being loaned out to Gunderson.  She learned all she could about the Gothic vivisectionist and had her marked out for an especially detailed vengeance. This was thwarted of course when Boaz was fed to one of Muller’s mutant podosaurs – The Pod.

–     Karel considers Morgau to be a Shadow version of Lara, a strategically valuable and biddable living weapon.

–     Morgau’s Siglum or Arcanum is an esoteric symbol, a highly personalised glyph of power; an arcane signature. It is also an identity anchor for an unstable individual struggling to maintain a sense of who she is.

–     Morgau once attempted to use the Chirugai, when she was working close to Konstantin Heissturm, but although she was able to awaken it the LV artefact did not respond to her control. She was not sufficiently attuned to its harmonic operation. She was lucky it didn’t kill her, as it was set to eviscerate anyone attempting to misuse it. Her Lux Veritatis lineage and training was all that protected her from a savage mutilation. On this occasion she barely escaped with little more than a sever scarring.

–     The search for the Mayan Genome Sequencer is something of a personal quest for Morgau. She has been told it could be a way to unravel the dreadful genetic damage done to her by Eckhardt. If it exists it might be a way for her to reclaim something of her misplaced human nature and normalcy… if it exists!

–     Morgau has her own network of ‘Irregulars’ built up when she was working as a free lance in her early independent days. They are all outcasts, exiles, freak heads, rogue personalities, wild cards, outsiders, unemployables and pariahs …named Crypsis, [other various names are listed elsewhere]. Typical T-Shirt = “From Chaos, more Chaos”.

POSSIBLE POWERS for consideration:

–     Mind spear/needle

–     Telekinesis

–     Ectoplasm control

–     Time Judder/stutter

–     Paralysing shriek

–     Uber-mentat…Morgau has abnormally acute instincts when it comes to codes & patterning. She is able to discern disparate connections, meta-links and sequencing veiled from other, less astute minds. She worked as a security advisor for several illegitimate corporations at one stage.

IDENTITIES (some):

–     Morgau Nanuaat Madura Vasiley

–     Annessa Chimoya

–     Claire Issoux

–     Maude Holtzmün

–     Lilith – a name imposed on her by Eckhardt - but she never submits to this offensive designation. Capitulation is not in her nature.

NOTES on the CHIRUGAI and OTHER FERRILIUM WEAPONRY: 

No one has yet seen the full Chirugai weapon displayed or been able to master the full range of its diverse capabilities, not even the current Heissturm custodian. 

Apart from its controlled flight and multiple blades the weapon’s potential capabilities can be enhanced by the addition of quartz-like attachments slotted into key parts of the weapon. These small slotted rods, or Catriches, unlock further weapon capabilities, in keeping with the user’s level of psychic skill. 

In Game II or III Kurtis discovers a cache of LV Catriches which change the configuration of the Chirugai and transform it into an even more deadly weapon. 

When in the possession of Konstantin Heissturm the Chirugai was stored in a specially constructed weapons cask or Vasculum. This was only when not in use. The Vasculum is distinct from the side-satchel Kurtis sometimes uses when carrying the weapon discretely i.e. in public. 

Possible Scene:

in which the Chirugai is discovered held captive by three ponderous chains. It thrashes and tears at its restraints as soon as any adept, LV or Cabal, approaches.

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Millennial coverage challenges are largely about cost, awareness

As Americans born between 1980 and 1997 are coming of age, Millennials are putting their own spin on adulthood: they’re getting married later, putting off having kids, not buying houses , eating avocados, and lately – foregoing health insurance.

A report released in May by the Transamerica Center for Health Studies – Millennials: Digital Natives Disrupting Healthcare – has found that the largest generation in the country had the highest rate of uninsured individuals (16%). What’s more, that rate has risen since 2016, and has outpaced the uninsured rate of Gen Xers (12%), and Baby Boomers (8%).

Why Millennials aren’t buying it

“Some of the stuff makes sense knowing what we know about Millennials economically: they’re not as stable, don’t have as many resources, and many don’t have access to employer coverage,” said Hector De La Torre, Executive Director of TCHS. A key finding in the survey, he said, is that almost 60 percent of Millennials said cost was the main factor deterring them from having health insurance.

Compounding that issue is the recent elimination of the ACA‘s individual mandate. “By getting rid of the tax penalty more people are going to feel OK to go without coverage,” said De La Torre, who expressed concerns about the health implications of skipping insurance for an out-of-pocket approach.

“The funding for public education around the exchanges, and healthcare in general, has been diminished the last couple of years in Washington and we’ve seen an impact,” said De La Torre. These reductions to public access and awareness have included a shortened enrollment window, cuts to enrollment marketing campaigns, and slashed budgets for public outreach ambassadors. Those slashed budgets impact ACA’s Navigators, whose job is to assist potential enrollees in determining whether they qualify for premium subsidies or Medicaid expansion programs.

That impact of decreased education showed up in the survey as additional reasons Millennials pegged for going uninsured. These included:

Not knowing how to apply (16%),

Not having time during open enrollment (11%),

The perceived difficulty of navigating the health insurance exchanges (9%)

Not feeling informed enough about their options to make a choice (8%), and opting out altogether

Missing coverage opportunities

“They may have options they’re just not taking advantage of … being low-income, or unemployed or underemployed. Chances are, they qualify for Medicaid – and many people don’t know that,” said De La Torre. “Many (Millennials] don’t know that if they’re under 26 and their parents have health coverage … they can go under their parent’s policy.”

Although only the youngest Millennials will qualify for coverage under the ACA provision which allows children to remain on their parent’s plans, it remains a widely popular addition to American’s health coverage continuum.

“Maintaining coverage under your parent’s policy until you’re under 26 is very important for Millennials. It’s their safety net in many cases,” said De La Torre. “For the younger cohort of Millennials (roughly 22-26 years old), losing their coverage by aging out will leave them with few options for health coverage.”

Half have pre-existing conditions

Even though 80 percent of Millennials rated their current health as “excellent or good,” over half (52%) of those surveyed reported pre-existing chronic conditions, numbers surprisingly similar to the older Generation X and Boomer populations.

“That’s problematic to me that,” said De La Torre, who worries a lack of regular health coverage could only exacerbate those chronic conditions and lead to new ones emerging from undiagnosed and untreated conditions.

“For those that do not find an acceptable alternative to health coverage, those medical and mental conditions may become chronic and be more difficult to treat and manage – and more costly.”

A wake-up call for elected officials?

For legislators, state and federal agencies – and even private insurers – the data in this survey is a clear signal that the nation’s largest generation poses both a huge challenge – but also huge potential to grow the ranks of the insured.

“The uninsured are the hardest to get to engage on health insurance,” says De La Torre “They don’t know the big picture for how we provide healthcare. We need to have the most options possible and the most education and information out to the public as possible. The more options, the better, and the more education about those options the better.”

Overcoming that challenge, De La Torre says, will require the political will on a national level to restore recently scaled back public awareness programs for ACA health coverage options.

“Government, the nonprofit sector, providers all need to collaborate and promote health coverage and personal healthcare – using all communication channels and personal contacts (doctors, nurses, health promoters, and others).”

Millennials are watching their elected officials

Although the awareness of health coverage options needs to improve among Millennials, their awareness of government healthcare policy is astoundingly high.

The survey found Millennials were the generation most aware of healthcare policy in Washington (30%), and the most concerned (57%) about any potential changes.

“Usually younger folks of any generation tend to be less engaged,” observed De La Torre. “The fact they were the group that was the most attuned and had the highest percentage of concern about policy changes in DC – that was surprising to me.”

Almost a third (29%) of Millennials cited the fear of losing coverage for a pre-existing condition as their biggest health policy concern, although this was less than Gen X (36%) and Boomers (49%). Millennials were also most concerned about reductions in Medicaid (28%), and removing the employer mandate for health coverage (26%).

As the nation’s largest generation, Millennials, (combined with every generation after the Boomers), now make up the majority of eligible voters. Current and aspiring politicians may want to take heed of the potential game-changing impact this voting block could have on politics, particularly on the future of healthcare policy.

“Overall, healthcare was extremely/very important to 80 percent of voters in Gallup’s Midterm Election Benchmark poll, 2 percent higher than the economy (the next most important issue). There is no indication that this concern is abating,” concluded De La Torre.

Jesse Migneault is a journalist and editor whose work has focused on business, government and healthcare – including public and private-payer health insurance. His articles have appeared in HealthPayerIntelligence, the Hartford Courant, Portsmouth Herald, Seacoastonline.com, Foster’s Daily Democrat, and York County Coast Star.

In addition, his work has been cited by health industry stakeholders such as the Eugene S. Farley Health Policy Center, Association of Healthcare Journalists, American Academy of Actuaries, Kaiser Permanente, blueEHR, San Diego Law Review, Medicare Agent News, healthjournalism.org, and Concierge Medicine among others.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8246807 https://www.healthinsurance.org/blog/2019/07/09/millennial-coverage-challenges-are-largely-about-cost-awareness/

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Harvey Finkle: Photographer Seeks Justice For The Other

Harvey Finkle hanging new exhibition of photographs at Shivtei Yeshuron. | Photo: Joseph G Brin

People and causes. Veteran social documentary photographer, Harvey Finkle, focuses his intensely caring lens on the unheralded–their humanity, their struggles and their advocates. Philadelphia has yielded rich visual subjects for Finkle ranging from local immigrants to labor organizers and individual, marginal communities.

The photographer has amassed thousands of potent images in his studio and has generated numerous publications. Increasingly, he endeavors to broadcast to a wider audience. He just hung a show of his photographs of South Philadelphia Jews at Shivtei Yeshuron (aka “The Little Shul”)  at 2015 4th Street near Snyder Avenue in time for the Jewish High Holidays. He also has work on the walls at El Compadre, a Mexican restaurant on 9th Street where the chef is an acquaintance. A photography book on the New Sanctuary Movement is also in the works.

Over 25 years, Finkle has immersed himself in diverse cultures and subscultures with a persistence and commitment that runs deep. Finkle’s work spotlights the universal impact of social, political, and cultural forces in this country and across the globe. He seeks out and wades into those swift currents, camera firmly in hand, to record eloquent testimony against a retreat from civic engagement and responsibility, covering the gamut from labor and public housing activism, death penalty abolition, education, child poverty, immigrants, the deaf community, and the homeless.

Self-taught, Finkle discovered Abstract Expressionist painters but, in terms of photography, had “no interest in that Steiglitz shit, I just wanted to shoot a fuckin’ camera.” When he saw strikingly spare, black and white photographs by Harry Callahan, he says, “I fell in love with his work. It was understandable abstraction.”

Nate Pepper in 2000 at Congregation Adath Shalom at Marshall and Ritner Streets. The synagogue is now a Cambodian Buddhist temple. The image is featured in Finkle’s new exhibition of Jewish communities in South Philadelphia. | Photo: Harvey Finkel

Always politically attuned, Finkle’s first career was as a social worker doing casework for the PA Department of Public Assistance. Seeing abuse and the inertia of stubbornly unsolved cases moved him into “a broader conception of why people are in the situation they’re in. Social issues are systemic, they all touch each other.” The camera became Finkle’s way of raising greater public consciousness. He wanted his photographs to have a positive impact on people’s lives by gaining an insider’s understanding of complex problems.  Social agencies hire him, promoting their causes by widely disseminating his resulting images. “I want my work to be used that way.”

“I hope to be invisible. My cameras are quiet, small, and black,” says Finkle, who shoulders both film and digital cameras these days. He sometimes will pre-set his camera speed and other settings for purely intuitive shooting. Jazz musical improvisation inspires him as well. He once saw John Coltrane, famed Philadelphia saxophonist, lead his fellow musicians to soar with spontaneous invention.  Translating jazz into photography, Finkle says, “The moment you see and feel is when you take off.”

One connective tissue in all of his work and exhibition catalogs are the reverberations from his long study of immigration. Finkle, whose own family immigrated from Russia and Poland to the United States in the 1890s, knows that the cycle never ends. Waves of Italians, Irish and Jews landed at Philadelphia’s docks beginning in the early 20th century. “They all come for the same reasons. To be safe. To practice their religion. To make a buck. To educate their kids. The Irish were cast out by the British, the Italians were discriminated against [here] for being swarthy and the Jews… because they were Jewish,” says Finkle with a half smile. They have been supplanted by Cambodians, Nepalese, Mexicans and others in our time.

Finkle’s Philadelphia Mosaic: New Immigrants in America monograph illuminated nine distinct immigrant populations in black and white photographs interspersed with poignant quotes he collected on his visits with them. “Black and white is my art form,” Finkle says.

Mexican dancer at 4th Street and Washington Avenue in Philadelphia from the book Transitions. | Photo: Harvey Finkle

In a country where everyone, save the Native American, is an immigrant, racism, discrimination, and denial of opportunity are sometimes dredged up by those who have successfully worked their way into the fabric of American society and don’t want to look back. Finkle’s photographs, experiences, and social connections to new immigrants render globalism in very personal terms. He has broken bread with many of his subjects. After interviewing them he would laboriously transcribe their words until he found a court stenographer who could do the job more efficiently. It speaks to his ethnographic approach to photography. The warmth of his direct, unpretentious personality facilitates his connections with people and is reflected in the power of his rich and detailed chronicle of human migration.

A photographer’s exotic travels are not without risk. Finkle was once wandering through a North African outdoor market in Paris and spotted a couple of men conversing casually. Their profiles against a luminous white wall would make a stunning shot that he knew he could capture. The men paid him no mind. Suddenly, he was surrounded by a hectoring crowd. Someone tried to snatch his camera lens and Finkle knew he had to quickly surrender his film to escape unharmed. Decades later, he smiles at the beautiful shot that got away, still clear, fully developed, and fixed in silver in his sharp visual memory.

Finkle recalls a memorable train trip from Karachi, Pakistan, to Lahore. 15 to 18 hours clacking across a combustible, 110 degree foreign landscape in a stifling, packed compartment with a handful of other people who treated him as their guest, rocking along in a metal cabin, sharing bedding and food. “Here, try it,” one man said, naturally grabbing food from a friend’s plate to give to Finkle. Hospitality and generosity are endemic to the Pakistani Muslim culture, Finkle says admiringly. With his empathetic, photographic eye, he invokes the ancient and biblical admonishment, saying aloud, “Welcome the Stranger.”

About the author

Joseph G. Brin is an architect, photographer and writer based in Philadelphia. He has covered Philadelphia architecture, design and culture for Metropolis Magazine. His residential architecture website can be seen HERE. His photography website can be seen HERE Brin is currently shooting a film, "SHIVTEI: Enduring Spirit -- A Family of Stories" (project made possible with training and equipment from WHYY Education)

Source: https://hiddencityphila.org/2018/09/harvey-finkle-photographer-seeks-justice-for-the-other/