#born from chaos‚ walking the world to bring order. → modern gods

[rulesearth]

tag drop.

[cheshiresartblog]

Demon/Angel Thing

Alright. Due to popular demand I’ll start with this one.  Also, straight up, I literally do refer to it as “the demon/angel thing” cause I don’t come up with titles until the end.  Also I started this entire thing when I was 14 years old. I’m 24. So this is my longest running world I guess. I have a lot of worlds I’ve made over the years. I will admit my dirty little secret here, but what jump started this for me was watching Black Butler for the first time as a kid. Got me interested in the whole demons and angels thing. That’s where the similarities end, though. 

Also, I will not be going really deep into the plot simply because Spoilers since I def wanna make something out of this. 

Stuff below the cut cause it’s  l o n g 

The World

Basically, there are three interconnected realms; Earth, the Heavens and Hell. Also, the Heavens and Hell are not related to the afterlife. That’s a whole other can of worms here that ya’ll already got a bit of a taste of with my BNHA Reapers Au a while back. But yeah. They’re three interconnected realms. The Heavens was made by the God of Order and Hell the Goddess of Chaos. Earth was made by the missing Goddess of Life. Angels are being of Order and Demons are beings of Chaos and Humans fall in between the two. Also I’ve been at a loss for names for the Deities here but I do have two for sure. The Goddess of Life was named Gaia and the Goddess of Chaos was named Lilith. 

Basically Heaven and Hell had always been at odd with each other and Earth was a common battle ground. The earliest I can go with the timeline that’s relevant would be what I call the Princes Era. 

Prince Era (World Statuses) 

Earth: Humanity is young, they are mostly just coming out of their hunter-gatherer stage of things. The planet is mainly used as a battle ground for the warring Angels and Demons, inspiring myths of old to come. Magic is wild and free in this time on the planet. When Lucifer fell it disrupted the ley lines of the planet resulting in a steady decline of the magical on earth for years to come.

Hell: Hell is in chaos itself. While dealing with the war with the Angels they are dealing with heavy infighting between the demon variations and Lilith being unable to completely control her creations. After much thought Lilith decided to choose seven(eight) demons with blood from the seven ruling families to become the first seven Princes of Hell and unite Hell into one unified force to defend themselves properly from the greater threat that are the Angels. 

The first seven(eight) Princes are the following: 

Baphomet of the Superbia family, the Prince of Pride and the next chosen King of Hell whenever Lilith decides to step down. 

Beelzebub of the Grykësi family, the Prince of Gluttony. 

Leviathan (Identical twins Via and Anthel) of the Invidia family, the twin Princes of Envy who both share the identity of Leviathan in the public.

Asmodeus of the Libidine family, the Prince of Lust.

Mammon of the Avaritia family, the Prince of Greed. 

Sathanas of the Ira family, the Prince of Wrath. 

Belphegor of the Tristitia family, the Prince of Sloth.

Notes 1: Prince is just a title here. Sathanas and Beelzebub are women Notes 2: The Princes were all granted the ability to use Hell Fire by Lilith personally after she assessed deemed them all worthy in one way or another. 

Heavens: A world ruled by the God of Order through the chosen King. At the time it’s extremely militaristic. Working under the King and God of Order are the four Archangels; Michael, Lucifer, Gabriel and Raphael. Though, under the surface there’s a rebellion brewing. (I will be honest, I always focused a bit more on the Hell as a world when thinking about this Era.) 

Notes: What sets the Archangels apart here from regular angels besides rank is that they were blessed with the ability to harness the power of Holy Fire, which is something more explained story wise. Just know it would kill the average angel if they tried to use it.

Modern Era

The Modern Era is marked by the a huge event. The destruction of Hell. In their ever going war, 100 years before present time, an attack by the Angels lead to Hell being rendered unstable, which resulted almost half of the population being killed and the other half escaping to Earth. Some kind of peace treaty was made and it allowed the Demons to stay on Earth but with conditions. Also, with this event the Angels too more charge on Earth than they were before and humanity was now pulled fully into the know about Angels and Demons existing. 

This also established something very important to the story itself. The Zones. Most high population areas were split into Human Zones and Demons Zones, with a few cities gaining a third Zone due to the humans refusing to move and/or being sypathetic to the demons. This is the Neutral Zone. Aka, a home for society’s misfits. The main setting of the story is one of these three zoned cities. Right now it’s called Half-Light City but that name is subject to change most likely lol. 

The Zones 

The Human Zone is fairly well maintained for the most part. It has it’s occasional bad section, but those are closer to the Neutral Zone’s border fence. All and all it is the most upkept part of the city and is home to Humans, Angels and Half-Angels. It is heavily guarded and you need an ID to get in from the Neutral Zone, along with the requirement of being human. Demons and Half Demons are not allowed unless summoned. The Human Zone is protected by the Hunters, a group that is somewhat a cross between the police and the military. This section of the city is run by a chosen Council which answers to the Angelic Council of the Heavens. The occupants seem rather ignorant to the going ons of the other parts of the city and seem to go on with life without a second thought. Most of them at least.

The Demons Zone has a surprisingly decent upkeep, but then again they usually have to do it themselves because the money given to them by the city is not that much. The zone is mostly populated with full Demons, with the occasional Half-Demon or Demon with a Human partner scattered about. The fence between them and the Neutral Zone is actually quite open and in a state of disrepair, though Demon Zone residents and Neutral Zone residents alike guard it, it is usually quite easier to pass between these two Zones than it is for either of them to pass into the Neutral Zone. The Demon Zone was formerly run by a Demon Council made of Noble family survivors or descendants but was recently overthrown by a shady organization that needs a new name so bad. I’m so embarrassed of the old name I will not mention it but I will say I abused Google Translate as a teen so bad.

The Neutral Zone is basically the slums with a few nicer parts of town. It's a dreary and gray place at first glance honestly, but underneath that is a sense of unity between its people. Humans, Demons, Half-Breeds of both sorts and Fallen mix fairly well. The Neutral Zone is home to swindlers, mercenaries and all sorts of illegal activity giving it and it’s residents a negative reputation in the Human Zone. The Zone is co-lead by the two leaders of the two biggest Mercenary groups in the zone; the Triad and the Freelancers.

A more detailed description of the Heavens and Hell 

Heavens 

The Heavens are a set of floating islands that float around each other similar to a solar system might. The middle Island is The Capital City, and the roads are literally paved with gold and as well as some buildings being made of gold as well. It’s where the wealthy and powerful often live and is the center of their government. It is the largest single island whereas each other section of the Heavens is more of a string of islands.

The closer a set of islands are to the Capital the more privileged and wealthy the citizens are, and the higher the rank. There are a total of six rings of islands around the Capital. The outermost two hold the most farmland, forests, orchards, etc. Those two rings are the most populated and are where the lesser angels live.

Most Lesser Angels will never see Earth unless they join the military or join missionary work.

There are two islands floating above the Capital. One is the prison and trial area of soon to be Fallen Angels, and the other larger one is for military training. They never move from their fixed positions above the Capital.

While there are trains and such, most Angels get around via walking or flying, though flying is more common.

Angels higher up either dress like royalty or business men/women. Depends on the family. Lower class Angels dress in things like tunics and kinda, you know, greek-type of shit unless their employer gives them a more modern uniform. 

Angels use portals that appear like a glowing mass of light to get around Earth.   Hell

Hell is a Realm that exists solely in an underground location. It is said that the surface is way too hot to even walk upon, let alone live. There are Seven Circles of Hell and each Circle is responsible for a different area of their government, with Pride being the most powerful of them all.

The First Circle is the closest to the Surface and the most resistant to the heat found there. That would be the Wrath Circle. Physically they are the most capable of the variations of Demons and their Noble Family is the one in charge of the Military.

The Second Circle is Lust. Lust demons are the ones in charge of the Magical Regulations in Hell. That being said, they have the most Mages born to them, and some of the most powerful Magic users. They also are in charge of any and all Seers born in Hell.

The Third Circle is Greed. Greed demons are the ones in charge of the economics of Hell.They honestly have the most boring job, but it brings in the most money. They simply don’t mind because hey, the like to hoard riches anyways. They are said to have the biggest hand in the slave trade in Hell though.

The Fourth Circle is Envy. Envy demons are the ones in charge of the Judicial branch of Hell, handling criminals, legal matters, and prisoners. The latest raining families of Envy Demon Nobles have been well known for being cold and unbiased.

The Fifth Circle is Sloth. Sloth demons are the ones in charge of the Health care in Hell to put it simply. Someone has to be in charge of it. It also helps that Sloth demons have the largest amount of natural Healers born in their variation.

The Sixth Circle is Gluttony. Gluttony demons are surprisingly the second in charge after the Pride demons. The Noble Family of the Gluttony Circle has a deep history with the Pride royal family. Other than being the second in command the Gluttony demons are the ones in charge of Education and History keeping.

The Seventh and most powerful Circle is Pride. The Pride demons are the ones that run things, they are in charge of all the other Noble Families, and contain the Royal Family and the current ruling King or Queen of Hell. They have the final say in everything, but normally let most of the Noble Families run their domain as they see fit to.

Demons have technology based around magic, so magic teleporters, communication orbs, shit like that, is pretty common place.

The Slave trade is common and highly accepted by older demons though the newer generations are beginning to be against it. The slave trade in Hell often consists of captured humans, half demons, Fallen and rarely half angels and extremely rarely angels.

They have a potion that can make a Demon appear like a human for 24 hours meant for spies but a lot of teenagers use it to sneak to earth to party.  

Jewelry is huge in their culture. Like, seriously, so much jewelry.

A lot of Circles are mixed with the type of demons that live there but they usually have a slightly higher population of the type of demon the ring is named after.

I will probably make a separate post going more into detail about the species of angels and demons themselves. Demons, btw, consists of 7 different races of demons separated by sin type. They all have different traits. 

Magic Stuff I guess

Angel Magics (From common to rarest)- Healing, Aura Sight, Defensive and Protective, Weaponry Enchantment, Runic, Elemental, Precognition, Holy Fire (this one is literally the rarest thing for an angel to have).

Demon Magics (From common to rarest)- Illusions, Elemental, Contract Magic, Enchantment, Energy Draining/Aura Draining, Binding Magics, Witchery (Jinxes, charms, etc), Healing Magic, Possession, Shadow Magics, Shapeshifting (Rare for non Gluttony Demons only), Hellfire (Super Rare, actually marks the next Heir of a Ring of Hell to have it.), Precognition.

Human Magics (All human Magics are considered rare)- Witchery (Gained naturally or through demonic contract), Healing, Aura Sight, Runic, Elemental, Precognition.

Everyone can brew things such as potions.

Demons have more magic energy than Humans or Angels tbh and mages are way more common with them, though Healers are more common with Angels, and less common with demons.

Technology is advanced and exists and is built to work alongside magic.

Weaponry such as swords are still used though with Angels and Demons.

--

Alright folks. This is basically a world info dump. I will do a species info dump like I said once I got some decent pictures or I’ll do it in relevant chunks. 

[arcticdementor]

Hindsight may very well be 20/20, but with that caveat out of the way, some events truly come across as historical in their importance even as they play out in realtime. We might not know what the results will be, but we can feel that something quite big is happening. Watching the fall of the Berlin wall was one such moment in recent history, and watching the twin towers fall was another one.

The retreat from Afghanistan should not have made the list, or least not the top of it. Yet, it has clearly already made its way there, being widely seen as something truly momentous by most if not all the people observing it. The reason it shouldn’t have had those same connotations as the fall of the Berlin wall is because it was not only planned in advance and decided upon by the 45th president, not the 46th, but because almost everyone at this point wished for the war to just end. But it is how it has ended that has really thrown back the curtain and shown the world the rot festering beneath. The Soviet Union was dying in 1989, when it completed its withdrawal from Afghanistan. It still managed to do so in an orderly fashion, with a symbolic column of russian APCs crossing the bridge over to Uzbekistan. The leader of the war effort, one Colonel-General Gromov, symbolically rode in the very last BTR, and then proclaimed to the gathered journalists that there wasn’t a single russian soldier behind his back.

The American withdrawal, by contrast, is a grotesque spectacle, laid bare to the eyes of the world in realtime thanks to the wonders of modern technology. The Soviet attempt at braving the graveyard of empires could, if one was charitably inclined, at least be construed as some form of tragedy (”we tried to help, but in the end, we accomplished nothing”), and the russians did their best to make the entire thing appear somewhat dignified and solemn. Thirty years later, the scene is closer to a black form of comedy. The American consulate was evacuated by helicopter, about one month after president Biden referred to just such an evacuation from Saigon as an example of how Afghanistan and Vietnam were not comparable. The entire government collapsed within a matter of hours, not months. Throngs of people gathered around the airports, desperate to escape; American authorities had no more guidance to offer american citizens stuck in Afghanistan than to ”shelter in place” and then presumably ask the Taliban for a visa once regular flight traffic resumes. Desperate people even clung to the airframes of departing cargo planes before falling to their deaths, like a grim re-enactment of frozen and starving german soldiers trying to escape by clinging to the last planes leaving Stalingrad.

…

There may be a deeper aspect to this than a lot of people might perceive at present. On the level of pure geopolitics, the utterly embarrassing debacle of America’s withdrawal from Afghanistan can only serve to make China more bold in any future confrontation over Taiwan. The American eagle is faltering, and its rivals will not sit idly by for long. But this is probably the lesser of the big consequences of Afghanistan. There is another, much more significant implication of the collapse of the American project here, one with much more acute bearing on the immediate future of American society itself. To understand why, it’s useful to reflect on a certain political and historical point made by Carl Schmitt in his by now nearly hundred year old essay, whose english name is often rendered as The Crisis of Parliamentary Democracy. The essay is well worth a read in full today, and the reader might be surprised (or maybe not) at how relevant many of the descriptions of the ongoing political crisis in 1923 may seem to us today, nearly a hundred years later. The most relevant passage, however, deserves to be quoted in full:

”In the history of political ideas, there are epochs of great energy and times becalmed, times of motionless status quo. Thus the epoch of monarchy is at an end when a sense of the principle of kingship, of honor, has been lost, if bourgeois kings appear who seek to prove their usefulness and utility instead of their devotion and honor. The external apparatus of monarchical institutions can remain standing very much longer after that. But in spite of it monarchy’s hour has tolled. The convictions inherent in this and no other institution then appear antiquated; practical justifications for it will not be lacking, but it is only an empirical question whether men or organizations come forward who can prove themselves just as useful or even more so than these kings and through this simple fact brush aside monarchy.”

What Schmitt is saying here is very important, and it might very well end up being the true cost of the Afghanistan debacle. Every ruling class throughout history advances various claims about its own legitimacy, without which a stable political order is impossible. Legitimating claims can take many different forms and may change over time, but once they become exhausted or lose their credibility, that is pretty much it.

…

What Schmitt is saying is that when the legitimating claim for a particular form of elite is used up, when people no longer believe in the concepts or claims that underpin a particular system or claim to rule, the extinction of that particular elite becomes a foregone conclusion. Once Napoleon came along, it became increasingly impossible to actually believe (or at least effect a suspension of disbelief) that kings were born to rule and had a right to rule. As such, the only argument kings were left with in order to be tolerated by their own subjects became practical in nature: look at how useful this king is, look at how well his administration runs, look at how much stuff you’re getting out of letting him sit on the throne. But once you are merely left with practical arguments of that kind, as Schmitt rightly points out, your replacement becomes a question of simple empiricism. The moment someone more useful is found – like, say, a president – out you go, never to return. The replacement of Louis XVI with a republic was a world-shattering event. The fall of his nephew, Louis Philippe I, in favor of another republic, was a mere formality by comparison. By the time of his fall, not even Louis Philippe himself believed in kings being some sort of semi-divine beings. Certainly almost none of his subjects did.

…

Moreover, on a more practical level, the war in Afghanistan became another sort of crucible. In very real terms, Afghanistan turned into a testbed for every single innovation in technocratic PMC governance, and each innovation was sold as the next big thing that would make previous, profane understandings of politics obsolete. In Afghanistan ”big data” and the utilization of ever expanding sets of technical and statistical metrics was allowed to topple old stodgy ideas of dead white thinkers such as Sun Tzu or Machiavelli, as ”modern” or ”scientific” approaches to war could have little to learn from the primitive insights of a pre-rational order. In Afghanistan, military sociology in the form of Human Terrain Teams and other innovative creations were unleashed to bring order to chaos. Here, the full force of the entire NGO world, the brightest minds of that international government-in-waiting without a people to be beholden to, were given a playground with nearly infinite resources at their disposal. There was so much money sloshing around at the fingertips of these educated technocrats that it became nearly impossible to spend it all fast enough; they simply took all of those countless billions of dollars straight from the hands of ordinary americans, because they believed they had a right to do so.

…

Put plainly: managers, through the power of managerialism, were once believed to be able to mobilize science and reason and progress to accomplish what everyone else could not, and so only they could secure a just and functional society for their subjects, just as only the rightful kings of yore could count on Providence and God to do the same thing. At their core, both of these claims are truly metaphysical, because all claims to legitimate rulership are metaphysical. It is when that metaphysical power of persuasion is lost that kings or socialists become ”bourgeois”, in Schmitt’s terms. They have to desperately turn toward providing proof, because the genuine belief is gone. But once a spouse starts demanding that the other spouse constantly prove that he or she hasn’t been cheating, the marriage is already over, and the divorce is merely a matter of time, if you’ll pardon the metaphor.

I suspect we are currently witnessing the catastrophic end of this metaphysical power of legitimacy that has shielded the managerial ruling class for decades. Anyone even briefly familiar with the historical record knows just how much of a Pandora’s box such a loss of legitimacy represents. The signs have obviously been multiplying over many years, but it is only now that the picture is becoming clear to everyone. When Michael Gove said ”I think the people in this country have had enough of experts” in a debate about the merits of Brexit, he probably traced the contours of something much bigger than anyone really knew at the time. Back then, the acute phase of the delegitimization of the managerial class was only just beginning. Now, with Afghanistan, it is impossible to miss.

It is not just that the elite class is incompetent – even kings could be incompetent without undermining belief in monarchy as a system – it is that they are so grossly, spectacularly incompetent that they walk around among us as living rebuttals of meritocracy itself. It is that their application of managerial logic to whatever field they get their grubby mitts on – from homelessness in California to industrial policy to running a war – makes that thing ten times more expensive and a hundred times more dysfunctional. To make the situation worse, the current elites seem almost serene in their willful destruction of the very fields they rely on for legitimacy. When the ”experts” go out of their way to write public letters about how covid supposedly only infects people who hold demonstrations in support of ”structural white supremacy”, while saying that Black Lives Matter demonstrations pose no risk of spreading the virus further, this amounts to the farmer gleefully salting his own fields to make sure nothing can grow there in the future. How can anyone expect the putative peasants of our social order to ”trust the science”, when the elites themselves are going out of their way, against all reason and the tenets of basic self-preservation, to make such a belief completely impossible even for those who really, genuinely, still want to believe?

…

I find it very likely that most future historians will put the date of the real beginning of the collapse of the current political and geopolitical order right here, right now, at the US withdrawal from Afghanistan. Just as with any other big historical process, however, many others will point out that the seeds of the collapse were sown much farther back, and that a case can be made for several other dates, or perhaps no specific date at all. This is how we modern people look at the fall of the french ancien regime, after all. Still, it is quite obvious that the epoch of the liberal technocrat is now over. The bell has well and truly tolled for mankind’s belief in their ability to do anything else than enrich themselves and ruin things for everyone else.

How long it will take for their institutions to disappear, or before they end up toppled by popular discontent and revolution, no one can know. But at this point, I think most people on some level now understand that it really is only a matter of time.

[theowlandthekey]

Embracing Hel

Embracing Hel

Three roots standon three ways under Yggdrasil’s ash: Hel under one abides, under the second the Hrimthursar, under the third mankind. -Poetic Edda, Grímnismál, Stanza 31

Who is Hel? In the vastness of Norse mythology, she is rarely given much due. She does not go on adventures for glory and fame as many of the other gods do. She does not seem to bother overmuch about the future of the world like Odin, nor does she stir up trouble like her father, Loki. She’s content in her dominion of the death, Niflheim, and seems well placed out of the troubles of men and gods. So much so that it often feels she is neglected when compared to the rest of the pantheon.

Hel is featured as a character only once in the Prose Edda, when the god Hermoor rides to Hel on behalf of Frigg and offers her a ransom for the return of the god Baldr. Hel agrees, stating: “If all things in the world, alive or dead, weep for him, then he will be allowed to return to the Æsir. If anyone speaks against him or refuses to cry, then he will remain with Hel.” Baldr was well loved and so it was thought this would be easy to accomplish. But when the jotunn Þökk refuses to weep, Baldr is consigned to remain in Niflheim in service of Hel.

In nearly all other mythos, Hel is mentioned only in passing, referenced rather than focused on. Every other god gets a myth where they are the protagonist of their own story. So why is Hel overlooked? Because of the fear she inspires at the prospect of a life lived without note or valor? Because her appearance was considered so repulsive that, while acknowledged as a goddess, she was put as far away from Asgard as physically possible so as to avoid offending the others with the sight of her?

As much as I love Norse paganism and link myself to it, I find plenty of people who speak with Odin and Frigg, Loki and Thor. Never once have I met someone who says with a smile that they speak to Hel. That’s fair. How many people do you know talk to Hades or Osiris or Mictlantecuhtli on a regular basis, even among the gothiest of pagans? Why even bring this up at all? Last December (2019), I was doing a Krampus Walk with a bunch of women from the International Wenches Guild. (That’s a whole other story.) At the end of the walk we gathered up in a local alternative religion shop to warm up and grab a few things for the pre-Yule rush. Up on the shelf, something naughty my attention. It was something I'd never seen before in all my years of goblin-like hoarding of witchy stuff. A statue of Hel looked back at me, sitting on a throne with a knife in one hand and a bowl in the other. By her side was a wolf, and her skull seemed to be grinning at me with interest. I went back to that statue three times, telling myself I didn't have the money to be spending on things right now. But when I picked her up to examine her, I knew I wasn't walking out of the store without this statue. I brought her home, placed her on my altar, put a few coins in her bowl, and there she stayed.

And then Covid-19 hit.

I've never been one to rely on religion in times of trouble. It's never done much for me one way or the other. I've long held the belief that witchcraft involves handling your own shit before calling on anything else to help out. But this? This is one of those things that is well beyond the control of most humans to handle alone. It's emotionally exhausting, mentally taxing, and physically dangerous. We're all doing the best we can, wearing masks, sanitizing, washing, distancing, doing all we can to prevent things getting worse despite the best efforts of the world to remind us that we are inevitably only human and the risks are infinite. It's humbling to say the least. So, it's in this time of stress and disorientation that I find myself drawn to Hel.

Family Ties

“The following night the goddess of death appeared to him in a dream standing at his side, and declared that in three days’ time she would clasp him in her arms. It was no idle vision, for after three days the acute pain of his injury brought his end.”

-Gesta Danorum, Saxo Grammaticus (12th century)

Hel's name means 'to hide/to conceal', giving it a cruel humor. She was, after all, respectfully banished from Asgard due to her physical appearance, or perhaps because Odin foresaw her part in future events. She is described as being half blue and half flesh colored, though the depiction has altered over the years to mean half flesh and half corpse. Hel is said to be gloomy, dour, and even fierce looking, which suggests a woman with little time for nonsense within her realm. Despite all this, she is said to have a vast hall called Éljúðnir and many servants as befits her station. Everything that surrounds her seems to speak to the fears of the people who believed in her. She has a bowl called 'Hunger,' a knife called 'Famine,' curtains called 'Misfortune,' and a bed named 'Disease'.

On the plus side, she does have a dog named Garmr, said to be the 'goodest of boys'.

The best of trees | must Yggdrasil be, Skíðblaðnir best of boats; Of all the gods | is Óðinn the greatest, And Sleipnir the best of steeds; Bifröst of bridges, | Bragi of skalds, Hábrók of hawks, | and Garm of hounds.

-Poetic Edda, Grímnismál

Her father, Loki, is well known for his mischief and chaos. But her mother, Angrboda, remains largely overlooked beyond being acknowledged as the mother of Loki's three 'darling' offpsring. Angrboda, being a jotunn, is not well looked upon as the Aesir seemed to find themselves constantly at odds with the jötnar. The Aesir and the Vanir form the two principal tribes of gods within the Norse pantheon, the forces which held the world together and brought forth order in which life could thrive. While the Jotunn were more elemental, primordial beings who were born from chaos and presented challenges to the structured order of the world.

It's important to note that Hel is not the only goddess who fits within the overlap of Norse mythos complex Venn diagram between the Aesir, Vanir, and Jotunn. Loki himself is Jotunn as is Skaði, while Freyr and Frejya are Vanir. However, Hel's connection to Angrboda as her mother and Loki as her father seem to be enough to condemn her in the eyes of the ruling Aesir, as well as make her a subject of fearful respect.

Her brother, Jormungandr, is the infamous Midgard Serpent. The middle child of the brood, Jormungandr was tossed from Asgard by Odinn into the ocean where he was said to grow so large he encircled the earth and bit his own tail. If you're familiar with gnosticism (or Full Metal Alchemist) you would recognize the ouroboros symbolism inherent in the mythos as connecting Jormungandr to the cycle of life, death and rebirth, another primordial concept. At Ragnarok, the serpent will be said to release its own tail and fight Thor, both of them doomed from inception. Thus, the old world will end, and a new cycle will begin.

Fenrir, Hel's younger brother, is likewise doom driven, foretold to devour Odinn at the end of the world only to be killed in turn by Odinn's son Víðarr. The theme of the bound monster, I believe, is connected to the concept of man trying and failing to forestall his own fate. Another primordial concept of change as an inevitability.

And yet there is Hel. Out of all her family she seems to stand alone as the most consistent of her bloodline. The black sheep in a family of black sheep. No sagas recounting her heroic adventures, no epics building to the rise and fall of greatness. Only a goddess fulfilling her function to take in those who died of sickness or old age. It is not known for certain whether she survives or dies during the events of Ragnarok, only that Loki will have 'all Hel's people with him' during the final confrontation.

Symbolism

Throughout my research into Hel's mythos, it's clear she was viewed with begrudging respect by her own people. As a goddess, one couldn't afford to be less than deferential when dealing with her (assuming of course that they dealt with her at all). But how they felt about her can be discerned from the associations given to her through her items and surroundings. I began to collect a series of symbols associated with her. Each one tells us something about how she was perceived among the Norse people, and gives us some interesting modern-day interpretations when applied.

50/50 – In all the descriptions of Hel, she is said to be half flesh and half either discolored or corpse-like. Like most cthonic deities, she has a liminal quality to her, being representative of a transitional state of being. Balancing neatly between life and death, Hel is a crossroads deity, guarding over the boundary lines (though not traditionally associated as such). She has the ability to release those sheltered under her threshold, although she demands a price as is her right. This also puts her squarely in the category of a liminal being, one whose mere existence challenges the social classifications of the time. Liminal beings are often described as both immensely powerful and dangerous, depending upon the situation and perception of society. They are undeniably eerie, and yet inspire awe for the way in which they transcend limitations of the self.

Hel's Hall – Éljúðnir is the hall of Hel, located within Niflheim and aptly named as her realm is said to be barren and cold. It's said to be a mansion, and it would have to be considering that she is responsible for sheltering everyone who didn't die gloriously in battle. Her hall then becomes a symbol of her status, a recognition of her as a goddess with her own realm and duties. With hospitality being such an important social factor to the Norse people, I find myself hard pressed to believe Hel is needlessly cruel to her guests. Like any mead hall, it is a center for social activity as well as her residence, if a somewhat foreboding one.

Hunger, Famine, Misfortune, Disease – It seems Hel is often deemed responsible for all of the troubles that plague humanity. A rather dire proposition, but isn't it better for someone to oversee these things rather than letting them run amok? Given her connection to the primordial forces of chaos, it seems fitting that Hel, the stable one in her family, is relied upon to control the disorder that society faces from time to time. The objects deemed as a part of her entourage are significant to her personality. Even in the modern times, these troubles are never far from humanity’s mind, with much of the world facing them on a daily basis. *A bowl (Hunger) is often symbolic of receptiveness, or of fertility, neither of which seem to fit Hel herself. For many the bowl represents a scrying tool, portending to the future. It's not unusual for cthonic deities to be connected to omens and portends. So, it may well be that the 'Hunger' her bowl represents has less to do with wanting food and more to do with our hunger to know our own fates. An empty bowl representing the unknown fate of humanity as a whole may present as a bit nihilistic, but it does seem to fit. *The knife (Famine) as a tool which represents the ability to defend or attack. A knife can help fix a meal or it can protect a family. In this case, 'Famine' represents not only the absence of plenty, but the seeming inability to provide for one another, thus weakening everyone as a result. Famine is not just about food, it's about the failure to provide. For a society that was heavily reliant upon all of its people to survive day to day, this would have been a terrifying concept.

*The curtains (Misfortune) are used to draw over the windows and shut out the light. This is what 'Misfortune' does. It clouds reason and empathy and makes it difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Curtains can also be symbolic of one’s desire to hide from the world, to shelter themselves or to keep others from finding out something they find shameful. It may feel safe, as if we are only protecting ourselves. But Hel's curtains are, I believe, named Misfortune for the sake of choosing whether or not we draw them closed or open them up.

*The bed (Disease) is often used as a symbol of intimacy or rest. A bed named Disease could also easily be a colorful metaphor for STIs, though in this case I believe it was meant to represent the fear of dying in ones bed of old age or disease, thus missing out on Valhalla. For Hel to have a bed named Disease suggests an unexpected nurturing aspect to the goddess, as the sickbed is often where we find ourselves the recipient of the most care from others.

In this way, I believe Hel's tools exist as a reminder to society that these things will always exist, and that in order to combat them, people must constantly struggle against them to better survive together.

Garmr – Another in the long list of ferocious subterranean hounds associated with cthonic deities, Garmr was said to be her guard dog, standing bloodstained by her side. He is her faithful protector, as well as the guardian to the underworld. The hound is often a symbol of loyalty and ferocity, but in this aspect I believe it relates more to the black dog associations with death and ill omens. Again, I've yet to see anything relating to Hel being a seeress or an oracle of any sort, but there always seems to be some connection between death gods and omens of the future.

Hel in Practice

Change is uncomfortable. Humans have always preferred stability, even if it's inequitable, because we'd rather function in practice than succeed in theory. Hel is a paragon of balance within chaos, affording the opportunity to change and progress through the inherent suffering of life as it is. And yes, I'm aware of how nihilistic that comes off. But here within the instability of our current world, I find a kind of comfort in that rational. Change is eternal. Tomorrow is an unknown. Control what you can and stay by the people you care about. Keep moving. You are not dead yet.

Rune: Hagalaz “Hail”

- The rune of Hagalaz is practically unanimous with misery. Which makes it's appearance less than desirable during a reading or when found in the day to day. That being said, some degree of unfortunate occurrence is unavoidable in life. It is unalterable. However I find it's distinction kind of like finding a crack in a dam. You now know there is a problem. Maybe you can't 'fix' the problem, but you can stem the damage and keep the outcome from being worse than it absolutely has to be. Hagalaz is about weathering the storm and coming out the other side of it knowing the work that must be done.

Realm: Niflheim

- Niflheim is one of the nine realms of Norse Mythology. A world of coldness, fog, and the primordial darkness. Ymir was born here. Hvergelmir, the source from which many rivers flow, begins here. Níðhöggr the dragon/serpent dwells here, gnawing at the roots of the World tree Yggdrasil. So it would seem Niflheim is a a place of beginnings, endings, and ultimately change. According to the mythology this is where those who died too old, too young, or on the sickbed end up. And yet for all it's forbidding geography and weather, Hel is said to be put in charge of caring for those who arrive. Hall: Éljúðnir

- If Hel is meant to care for those who did not die in the glory of battle. Many times we see this as crowds of dead souls wandering endlessly in the freezing mists. But when I think of Hel's hall of Éljúðnir, I think of a place which is a respite from the cold. It is said to be sprayed with snowstorms, meaning that it stands against the raging storms of the realm, providing shelter to those who dwell within. What if her hall stands alongside Valhalla and Fólkvangr? What if she is the world-weary and cunning inn-keeper who offers bread and mead to those brave enough to find their way to her doors?

Appearance: Dour and fierce looking in expression. Half flesh and half dead.

Tools:  knife (Famine) bowl (hunger) curtains (Misfortune) bed (Disease)

Color: black white grey/silver blue dark purple

Animals: wolves/hounds serpents ravens worms

Plants: yew/ash wormwood rosemary mistletoe mustard seed blackthorn

Offerings: tobacco garlic figs mushrooms rye bread black cherries dark chocolate mead coffee, black espresso

[hauntedebayfinds]

Haunted Dragon Spirit Of Protection And Prosperity - $65.00

Haunted dragon spirit ring of protection and prosperity.

And once there lived dragons.. you can find ancient and reliable reference of dragons from all over the world., there was a time they lived amongst humans in physical form. Though, they became domesticated too loyal and dependent upon humans, and as humans usually do, we took advantage and began to use them in battle to fight against one another.

The gods did not look at these actions kindly. In scientific time our god intervened often, to protect their creation. When they felt dragons was causing humans too much harm they banished them to another realm to live in only spirit form.

Dragons are a mildly easy sport to work with, much more so than djinn though more difficult than fae. They once lived almost humans and were domesticated by us so there is already a familiarity there.

They are fiercely loyal and protective. When you hear a reference to there are no bad pit bulls just bad owners. It could reference spirit dragons also, they will bite in order to protect you. They also, bring prosperity by setting up and guiding you to opportunity. Allowing you to view things in a different perspective. Always on the lookout to enhance your life in order for you to stay on the course of your chosen destiny and reach your ultimate goals.

You’ll feel this warmth and self worth in the prescience of a dragon spirit, you’ll have a friend that walks beside you so you’ll never feel alone which intimately grants you a self confidence, you’ve never had before.

Take control of your own destiny. The time has come. And I will be with you every step of the way with personal guidance. You’ll can reach me by phone, message or video chat to walk you through your purchase

To many time I’ve seen those who are desperate for understanding of how these items work in helping them gain a better existence in this world . Though, once they take the leap into purchasing that vessel are left on their own to figure out how to use them properly. And when they fail they either continue to buy more vessels unsuccessfully or give up on the spiritual realm permanently. Intuition brought you here today to seek answers. Let’s explore the reasons behind you seeking spiritual guidance and what potential you may unlock.

My guarantee. because I know how intimidating working with these spirits and creatures can be. I stand by my craft and make it my mission to work with each individual in harnessing their powers in order to reach their ultimate destiny. You can reach me by phone, text, email or video chat to ensure that you succeed in reaching your goals, along with access to a mass majority of literature along with my own writing of long hidden secrets of the universe.

Now let me introduce myself, I have myself the name “serenity”when I became high priestess to my coven. As we are allowed to do so, as a symbolic to rebirth or dedication to our spiritual journey.

I know Most metaphysical dealers like to say they were born into the most powerful witch coven of all time or in a cave in Egypt . My story is not as romanticized or fictitious.

I was born into a wonderful middle class family in the suburbs. Though I was born with elevated intuition and a stronger connection to spirituality and also a heightened awareness of my surroundings and could sense things before they happen. I felt a general connection to the spiritual realm. Which was frightening as a child when they came in the form of night terrors or visions.

I also had a understanding of herbal and alternative medicine.I often refused modern conventional medicine as a child instead seeking out folk remedies and such.

I was often visited by spirits as a child both human and metaphysical, each with their own lesson to teach me.

As a young child, I sought to be normal so I ran from these things, though by time I was eighteen I Could no longer hide, it was my path so I began to follow it slowly. So I sought out knowledge from others like me, I entered into a coven than metaphysical school, I honed my craft, and when I took control it no longer frightened me like it once had when I was a child.

What makes me so special to be granted all these gifts? One thing RH- blood type.

Rh negative blood negative for the Rhesus Monkey factor. We did not evolve in the same manner as positive blood individuals. Only 15% of humans have a negative blood type so it’s very rare, I am one of these people.

The gods of the universe created life in planets for one purpose to conduct negative energy ti work against the gods positive energy. Scientist speak about the Big Bang theory like it was one event. In reality that is what the universe was like for eons. The gods moods and emotions caused complete chaos and destruction that they had to come up with a plan before everything was destroyed.

They failed and had to start over many times until they desired to make an intelligent life form in their image. So evolution made man they gave off quite a bit of negative energy but still not enough to hold everything in place. So the god breed with primitive beings and created a new hybrid of human. This human has Rh negative (alien) blood.

You have to have Rh negative blood to conjure these spirits. Ask your metaphysical dealers their blood type. They will only respond and could be gifted by an Rh negative period. Not every person with rh negative blood will have these powers, you have to have live seven reincarnated lives on earth and not resist as I did as a child, if I continued to resist into adulthood I would have lost my opportunity In this lifetime.

I live very comfortably, I travel often in search of other spiritual and mystical lessons and teachers I haven’t used my powers to become a multimillionaire. I live in the states where this is a thing called IRS, and as I said I have a normal family who keep me grounded. My ultimate goal was to open my own metaphysical learning center all around the world to share my knowledge and gifts. I was against selling metaphysical vessels on the internet such powerful items I. The wrong hands could lead to disaster, so I focused my attention more toward education though ehh the confusion and terror that came with this virus brought me to the internet where I can reach many people as once. I’ll try my hand at being both dealer and educator. Offering the vessel and the guidance to use it for your full advantage

[weirdletter]

London Lovecraft Festival: A Teatrichal Celebration of the Works and Mythos of H.P. Lovecraft. February 3-9, 2019 at The Old Red Lion Theatre, 418 St. John Street, London, UK. Info: oldredliontheatre.co.uk; londonlovecraft.com.

Taking place over seven nights, the festival will have original and gently-loved productions presented to London audiences deep in the depths of darkest pub theatredom. With world premieres as well as tried and true creations, both Lovecraft novices and deeper initiates should find their palates tickled and their brains disturbed.

6:00pm Sunday, February 3rd Pickman’s Model Meet Richard Upton Pickman, an artist shunned by the establishment because of his horrifying paintings. But what kind of company has Pickman been keeping? And who — or what — pays a visit to his studio on one terrifying evening? The story is perfect material for Nunkie Theatre — one-man performances by Robert Lloyd Parry, who is best known for his adaptations of the work of PD James. He’s an amazing actor, with a real talent for bringing a story to life and sending a shiver down your spine. Although this is a rehearsed reading, the fright factor should be very high as the original story is one of Lovecraft’s best and Parry is an expert at filling intimate spaces with lurking horror.

7:30pm Sunday 3rd Night of 1000 Tentacles Clocktopus Cabaret presents: Night of 1000 Tentacles! On their second expedition,  Captain Bang Bang and her trustworthy first mate, Stormina Teacup, set out for eldritch realms. Join them and a host of London burlesque and cabaret favorites, including Dolly Trolly with a brand new Lovecraft themed act, and necromantic sorcerer – er, magician – Chris Benkin with his sleight of tentacle, for an outstanding steampunk/transdimensional night of wonders. You will gasp, you will gibber, you will wonder … where did they hide those eyeballs?

9:15 PM Sunday 3rd Cool Air Dr. Muñoz has spent their life battling the forces of death. When Miskatonic University student Natalie Peaslee comes looking for help for her heart, she has no idea how far Muñoz will go to win that fight. As summer rages, they’ll both need to keep a cool head to make it out of Arkham alive. This staged reading directed by Emma Muir Smith marks the European debut of Ron Sandahl’s stage adaptation, originally presented at Seattle’s Open Circle Theatre in 2005.

7:00pm Monday 4th Lovecraft Shivers Do you like stories that make the hairs stand up at the back of your neck? Sam Enthoven’s Shivers nights have been giving aficionados that sensation of spiders down the spine for more than a year now. Sam picks and adapts the finest frightening literature and finds great performers to read it. The twist with Shivers is that these tales are then paired with live sounds from his uniquely uncanny instrument, the theremin, and some of the best up-and-coming artists from London’s experimental music scene. The result is a kind of cinema for the ears and imagination, with storytelling and sound combining to draw you irresistibly in, to reach cold fingers into your mind, to give you Shivers. The stories of H.P. Lovecraft have, naturally, featured at previous Shivers nights. We’ve performed From Beyond in the chapel of Abney Park Cemetery and Dagon in the hold of Spanish galleon The Golden Hinde. The opportunity, however, to put together a new all-Lovecraft Shivers for the festival that celebrates Horror’s dark prince himself is, like his legacy, irresistible. We look forward to scaring you.

7:00pm Monday 4th Albertina West: Reanimator Schoolmates Albertina West and Carla Milburn are scientists in  pursuit of knowledge – about reanimating the dead. But when the formula only seems to work on the freshest of bodies, it’s a small step to take from robbing graves to murder. And for some reason, the awakened dead don’t seem very happy about it… In this work commissioned especially for the London Lovecraft Festival, TL Wiswell extends her suite of genderswitched Lovecraft tales to this perennial favorite. Come and see a play Borne and Walk (but not come back for revenge).

7:00pm Tuesday 5th and Wednesday 6th Providence “Life is a hideous thing.” Prepare to be amazed, terrified, and driven insane! Great Cthulhu may be sleeping beneath the sea, but in Providence, Rhode Island, Lovecraft can’t get a wink. Join the morose and miserable Howard Phillips Lovecraft, author of ‘The Call of Cthulhu’, ‘Shadow Over Innsmouth’ and other incredibly weird tales, as he contemplates the many mistakes that make up his life. His father went mad when he was four. He suffered a mental breakdown when he was eighteen. He lived with his overprotective mother until he was thirty. He loathed seafood, loved coffee and hated immigrants. Indeed he despised anyone who wasn’t an 18th century English Gentleman.  But he hated himself most of all. Lovecraft’s losses were fortunately our gains as his enigmatic, tortured mind gave birth to a body of work we now consider as the foundations of the modern horror genre. Using physical comedy, live music and all the classic horror tropes you can rattle a chain at, Dominic Allen (Belt-Up, A Common Man) and Simon Maeder (Superbolt Theatre) explore a wretched life and ask a haunting question: can any love be salvaged from one so filled with hate? Winner of Vaults Festival ‘Pick of the Week’ award.

9:00pm Tuesday 5th and Wednesday 6th The Lurking Fear and other stories Nestled in amongst the Catskills, sits Tempest Mountain. Far from a vacation destination. This mountain is shrouded in death and destruction. At the heart of all the horror, sitting empty and imposing atop the mountain, is the legendary House of Martense. No-one from the town below, that lies quivering in the shadow of the Martense mansion, ever dares venture up there. Especially when there’s a storm brewing. That is until an inquisitive young journalist, with a self-confessed ‘Love of the grotesque and horrible’, finds herself alone, following the trail of what the locals will only call “The Lurking Fear”. Broken Word Productions Presents The Lurking Fear and Other Stories, an adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Lurking Fear”, as well as an introduction to some of his shorter stories. With the aid of puppetry and storytelling, follow our Hero as she faces one of Lovecraft’s deadliest monsters. This is Broken Word’s second theatre production, following it’s 4 star debut with Train Journey at the Camden Fringe earlier this year. They are excited to be taking, somewhat of a darker turn in presenting the World Premiere of (in their opinion) not one, but two of Lovecraft’s finest horrors.

9:00pm Thursday 7th The Witching Hour Montague Rhodes James returns with another selection of unsettling tales of antiquarian terror! Brave the horrors lying in wait within “An Episode of Cathedral History”! Witness the spectral malevolent seeking revenge in “A Warning to the Curious”! One-man show and follow-up to our successful touring production of “Old Haunts”. Jonathan Goodwin plays M.R. James in a show scripted by himself, and directed by Gary Archer.

7:00pm Thursday 7th Lovecraft After Dark Allow the cosmic horror of Howard Philip Lovecraft to envelop your senses and blast your imagination! At any moment, the terrors of the Ancient Ones may be unleashed upon the world. The Elder Gods scrutinise our every deed, awaiting their opportunity to reclaim what was once theirs. Madness will be a blessing to those mere mortals who witness the crawling chaos soon to be released upon mankind! Jonathan Goodwin plays Cornelius Pike in Lovecraft After Dark. The show is scripted by Goodwin, and co-directed by Goodwin and Gary Archer.

7:00pm Friday 8th & Saturday 9th 3:00pm Saturday 9th Late Night with Cthuhlu It’s been a few hundred years since the Great Old Ones awoke from their ancient slumber and enslaved humanity. Yet somehow, against all the odds, life has gone back to normal…ish. Thankfully, the people of London now have something to look forward to at the end of a long day of suffering and toiling. A being known only as THE PRODUCER has ordered the city’s best Television Station (or maybe the city’s *only* television station) be reopened, and for the broadcast of a new state-approved talk show “Late Night With Cthulhu” to stretch its tendrils onto the airwaves. Join your hosts Arabella Fenneck Reid and Sebastian Baxter Thompson for the newest instalment of your new favourite (and mandatory) evening of post-apocalyptic light entertainment. Late Night With Cthulhu is a heart-shuddering romp through a world after the return of the Great Ones. So come along and tune in for an evening of all stars, guest stars, and things beyond the stars! If you’re lucky, you might just go insane…” Trigger warnings: Strobe Lights, Loud Noises, Creeping Dread.

5:00pm Saturday 9th Writing Lovecraft A rehearsed reading of the winning play written for the London Lovecraft Festival.

9:00pm Friday 8th and Saturday 9th The Colour Out of Space With their signature live-Foley treatment, Shedload bring the already potent storytelling of Lovecraft to life through a carefully structured mix of live readings by highly-trained and experienced actors, and sound effects, performed by our very own Foley experts. For this, we rely on a whole ‘shed’s’ worth of sound makers, including every day items such as gardening tools, coal scuttles and salad spinners, as well as more niche instruments such as the ‘sea hoops’, grapefruit (and other choice fruit & veg items), and our prized possession: the Waterphone; an instrument that will no doubt be familiar to every horror film fan. So picture the scene – a dimly-lit stage, with a set comprising Arkham’s town sign and boundaries; a lone narrator, centre stage, using to great effect Lovecraft’s faithfully-adapted writing to describe the horror of the disintegrating farm animals before him – but hang on! – not only are you picturing this, you’re hearing it too: A pig barks out its last rattling breath as its skull collapses – its rotting flesh spills out onto the ground… – voice actor, red pepper, grapefruit, and a hammer – The RØDE mic does the rest. Chilling screams from the attic, complete with nails scratching on wooden floorboard, and the palpable wail of the strange celestial matter plaguing the farm… namely, The Colour out of Space.

12:00pm through 10:00pm, Sunday 3rd through Saturday 9th Patient 4620 Gretel Sauerbrot: a once famous artist, admitted to the Raventhorne Institution and then never heard from again. You are invited to the Royal Museum of Contemporary Art, and through a series of audio guides you explore and uncover clues to Gretel’s past. This unique theatre show is a blend of immersive theatre, auditory storytelling, and art installation; resulting in a rich and sensory experience that won’t be easily forgotten. To experience the show at its fullest, audiences should bring a Smartphone or WiFi enabled device, along with a headset. In the event you cannot provide your own device and/or headset, you will be loaned items on entering the show.

[kingdomofthelogos]

The Two Paths

Adventure of Holiness No.1

The Two Paths

Christians have historically held to a teaching that there are two modes of existing on this earth: the path of life and the path of death. Those that are separated from God through the fallen state of sin are on the path of death, but those that have found Christ are on the path of life. The consequences of these two modes of being are deep, and the church must be instrumental in reconciling people to Christ and the true life found in Christ.

These two ways are part of the opening of an ancient Christian document known as the “Didache,”or alternately titled as “The Lord’s Teachings Through the 12 Apostles.” The Didache is an ancient document that was the early Church’s first handbook with instructions concerning order, ethics, and practices for Christians.  It is not a part of our canon of Scriptures, but it is still a powerful text that is extremely useful and shapes our modern theology.  The opening statement in Didache 1:1 reads as follows: “there are two ways, one of life and one of death, and there is a great difference between the two ways.”

The grace of God is ever present in the world. It is calling people to walk the path of light. This way of life is an adventure of holiness that calls all of us to leave behind the corrupting bend towards sin that leads to death. The way of death is the default state of life in fallen creation, it invites people to reject holy transformation and look anywhere but towards God for fulfillment.

The Gospel of Saint Matthew is an excellent source to see the juxtaposition, or comparison, between these two paths. In the opening chapters of Matthew’s Gospel, we can see an example of a family that is accepting the grace of God to go on the adventure of holiness that takes them on the way of life. In contrast, we can see an example of someone who has rejected the way of life and chose to live on the path of death instead. Joseph and Mary embark on the way of life, and King Herod is set on the way of death.

As one reads through Matthew 1:18-2:16, one is able to see how Mary and Joseph are accepting the grace of God to walk the way of life. In there case, life is transformed for them on many levels. Not only are they tasked with being the earthly parents to the Messiah, who is begotten by God, but also they have little understanding of how this adventure will pan out. Nonetheless, they pursue the way of life.  

On the other hand, Herod the Great lives a seriously contrasting life. His life is on the way of death, and his example reminds us of the potency of sin. The way of death disorders life, and it is not a mere personal shortcoming. Sin brings chaos, suffering and death to those near the way of death. Even bystanders are affected by sinful decisions. As you read through the Scriptures pay attention to these two ways.

Matthew 1:18-2:16

18 Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. 19 Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. 20 But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21 She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” 22 All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: 

23 “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” 24 When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, 25 but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

1 In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2 asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.” 3 When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; 4 and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5 They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: 

6 ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,

    are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;

for from you shall come a ruler

    who is to shepherd my people Israel.’” 

7 Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8 Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” 9 When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10 When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11 On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12 And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road. 

13 Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” 14 Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, 15 and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.” 

16 When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. (NRSV)

Upon reading Matthew 1:18 to 2:16, it becomes clear that there are two modes of existence that one can espouse on this earth: the way of life and the way of death. These are the paths emphasized by the Didache, and understanding the trajectory of these paths has been fundamental to Christian thinking all throughout our history.

In the Gospel according to Saint Matthew, we find vivid examples of these two modes of existence: the way of life and the way of death. Mary and Joseph follow the call of God and go on a holy quest in their lives, while Herod chose to be an instrument of death to all who stand in his way.

Jesus' earthly parents embody the way of life. Mary and Joseph are two humble Jewish commoners who have been visited by God with a great message revealing that Mary, as a virgin, will give birth to the Messiah. She and Joseph will have the honorable responsibility of raising God’s anointed.  This is an enormous task, and they are not equipped to raise such a magnificent child in a place of royalty. However, having a royal palace for this divine child is not a requirement set before them. They are not instructed to raise the child in a palace, for this King will be different than any king that the world has ever known. They are simply instructed to be an upstanding family that fears God as they raise the child. 

Mary and Joseph are simply commanded to be a righteous family, and in this we are reminded of the great adventure of family that God calls His people to embrace. The Christ is to be raised in a normal Jewish custom, and He does not demand the extravagant commodities of worldly royalty. The way of life is humble. Mary and Joseph recognize that they are not the power or authority setting the path for this life. He does not need to be brought up with great people of wealth, power, or authority. Instead, He needs to be raised by a humble Jewish family that fears God.

 Great responsibility is given to those on the way of life.  As one answers the call to the pursuit of holiness and the way of life, it requires a total commitment of life that often makes one a target of the world. Mary and Joseph found that Herod would make a target of any child in his way, and thus the family had to flee.

Herod embodies the other mode of existence: the way of death. Herod is corrupted by sin. He does not know how to value life properly, and he does not know what things he should love.  It is appropriate to understand that God calls people to serve in positions over others, so let us not think that it is inherently sinful to have a position of authority and responsibility. Yet, when that authority and responsibility is abused or neglected then it becomes a divergence from the path of life collapsing down to that of death. Herod finds himself ruthlessly addicted to the way of death due to the nature of his twisted soul. His soul is misshapen and is so sharply bent towards sin and wickedness that he is a tyrant even to his own family. Furthermore, history tells us that Herod was incredibly tyrannical to all around him, and he sparred no one of his wrath.  

Early in the Old Testament, we find the instruction that people in authority of others should fear God, be righteous and uphold the laws of God, and hate dishonest gain. Herod wants others to fear him, he wants his unpredictable and self-driven word to be absolute law, and he is more than happy to accept dishonest gain if it benefits him. 

Herod’s improper pursuit of power and authority has taken him down the pathway of death. His demand for the life of royalty turned into destruction for him and those around him. This Herod wore the title of the "King of Judea," the King of the Jews. This is odd because he was not really a king; but rather he was given his position by Rome. The fact that he sought out the title of "King of Judea" shows just how much his life is bent towards the self-gratifying nature of the way of death. In the years leading up to his reign, Herod led an assault against his uncle, who was governor over Judea. Herod went to Rome and appealed to the authorities that he could be made governor with the title of a king. This was very unusual by Roman standards, but Herod was permitted. For years Jerusalem was turned into a bloodbath of death and chaos while Herod claimed power. Death was everywhere as Herod sought power.

Moving forwards in time to Herod’s later years, we can find in the Gospel of Matthew, that Herod is still an instrument of death as he murders the innocent children. The way of death is destructive, and it brings chaos and tragedy to all of those around it.

In conclusion, there is an obvious contrast between the way of life and the way of death.  Joseph and Mary are humbled by the responsibility given to them. The new life that will come from the works of Jesus is beyond what the world expected of the Messiah. Furthermore, the grace of God that is found on this way of life is active even in the early stages of the Gospel. 

The church is to be an institution of true life. This is life as God intended when he breathed the first breath of life into our most ancient ancestors. The Church is not called to be stagnant, but rather it is to be an institution that brings people into the true life modeled and purchased for us through the perfect love of Christ Jesus. To enter in the true life of the church, is to enter into the body of saints who have had their lives reordered by the sanctifying power of the Holy Spirit.  The way of death disorders life, but the way of life humbles people before a God of order. As believers, let us forever pray that we can be instruments leading people to the way of life and away from the way of death.

[tearsofwinter]

DnD Kirkwall Crew

@dovabunny challenged me to do an AU of the entire kirkwall crew, so I chose Dnd! It’s a bit based off a prompt I wrote: “ Fenris, Anders, and the rest of the gang play DnD. Their characters get into a duel because they are dead set on killing each other off. Many missed rolls later, their characters end up married with kids.”

Varric: 

Modern: A successful author, of course. I’m thinking he would be the type of person that wants to write 10 multiple endings and have it printed, and watch his fans go crazy while they argue which is the canon ending. He also writes his own fanfiction of his own series. 

DnD Role: Who better than Varric to be the GM? Master story teller. He enjoys putting all his friends through harrowing experiences and keeping them on their toes on whether they will or won’t survive. But Varric is also tenderhearted. He actually can’t kill off any of his friends, so they always make it to the end. NPCs though, they always die. 

Hawke:

Modern: A fitness trainer/body builder. Hawke is proud of her body and tries to show it off every chance she gets. She isn’t exactly a health nut, but she’s all on the latest trends on how to make herself buff in a safe manner. She’s cheerful and always cracking a joke. Most people peg her as an extrovert, but I’m thinking her being this way is compensation for something in the past? When she was younger, she was scrawny. Her family was poor. They lived off food stamp. Leandra had to get a job at a sweatshop in order to help with the family income. To battle with the helplessness Hawke felt as a child, she physically made her body stronger. 

DnD Role: Gold Dragonborn Warrior. “ Born of dragons, as their name proclaims, the dragonborn walk proudly through a world that greets them with fearful incomprehension. Shaped by draconic gods or the dragons themselves, dragonborn originally hatched from dragon eggs as a unique race, combining the best attributes of dragons and humanoids. Some dragonborn are faithful servants to true dragons, others form the ranks of soldiers in great wars, and still others find themselves adrift, with no clear calling in life.” Hawke didn’t care about the trait or abilities, or anything else. She saw dragon, she took it. 

Rest under the cut

Bethany

Modern: College student. Is studying education and child care. Beth wants to work with children. Carver often teases her, saying she lacks the temperament. He keeps bringing up the story when they were little and he got her so mad, that she pushed him out of the treehouse. He still has a scar on his head to prove it. He likes to call her Ms. Crunchem from Matilda. In response, Bethany goes to where Carver works, and chats up Merrill, telling her all the embarrassing stories of Carver’s childhood.

DnD Role: Like Carver, Bethany only plays on occasion. She actually can’t make it every Satuday, as she works at a volunteer group. When she does play, she plays the wandering Orc, a reoccurring boss the crew has to beat. “Orcs live a life that has no place for weakness, and every warrior must be strong enough to take what is needed by force.” Bethany may look sweet and humble, but she’s a beast at the game. She takes great joy almost killing off everyone with her awesome rolls. The gang has repeatedly ask Hawke to stop bringing her lol.

Carver:

Modern: Also college student. He has a part time job at an aromatherapy shop. He tries to use the money he earns to help with the family, but Hawke never allows him to pay for the bills, and instead tells him to use it for school. Carver can’t wait to be older, graduate, and find a well paying job so Hawke can stop shouldering all of the responsibility.

DnD Role: N/A. Carver refuses to play DnD. He thinks it’s a silly game, but somehow he always gets suckered into playing when Hawke manages to drag him over to game night. Since Carver’s appearance is rare, he tends to play the NPCs that Varric eventually kills off lol. The gang love ribbing on Carver.

In alphabetical order:

Anders

Modern: An ex-doctor. Used to work for the Red Cross. When he came back to Kirkwall, he worked at the hospital for a while, but when a surgery got botched due to the negligence of the head surgeon, they needed a fall guy. Anders unfairly got his license revoked. Now Anders works at a Big Cat sanctuary as a volunteer, and on his spare time, he goes to protests. 

DnD Role: A priest Tabaxi. “Hailing from a strange and distant land, wandering tabaxi are catlike humanoids driven by curiosity to collect interesting artifacts, gather tales and stories, and lay eyes on all the world’s wonders.” Fenris and Anders met because of Hawke and Varric. Hawke sometimes works at the sanctuary and invited Anders and Justice to game night. Fenris is a friend she made after a murder case Fenris helped solve and cleared her name. At first, neither Anders or Fenris were really into the game, until Fenris made an off handed comment about mages. After that, Anders kept trying to sabotage and kill Fenris’ character off. Since then, every single DnD night, Varric has to do one game for the Hawke and co, and a separate game for Anders and Fenris, who’s busying dueling each other. 

Aveline

Modern: Police officer. Slowly, she’s working her way up the ranks in order to become a detective. As much as she enjoys patrolling Kirkwall, she wants conduct investigations and solve criminal cases. Donnic has been asking her if she wouldn’t prefer working as a prosecutor instead. 

DnD Role:  Warrior Aasimar. “Aasimar are placed in the world to serve as guardians of law and good. Their patrons expect them to strike at evil, lead by example, and further the cause of justice.” Everyone was quite shocked when Aveline picked this role. Most of them assumed she would’ve picked human. But when Aveline read this role, she knew it was the perfect fit for her. Isabela rolled her eyes and said of course, manly hand chose the most justicey of justicey roles. 

Fenris

Modern: Works as a translator and a museum curator. In his spare time, Fenris writes. It’s how he met Varric. Both of them work for the same publishing company. Hawke was involved in an odd case where a word written in old Tevene was scratch into the wooden floor of the victim. Varric dragged Fenris in so he could translate it. They broke a few rules, but anything for writing material! What’s the most interesting detail is that Fenris is the author of Anders’ most favorite series. It’s a children’s book about cats, and it actually isn’t selling to well. But hearing Anders gush about it, kind of makes Fenris feel warm inside. All the money he makes from the books, he donates to the Big Cat Sanctuary Anders and Justice runs.

DnD Role: Goliath. “Strong and reclusive, every day brings a new challenge to a goliath.” Anders makes fun of Fenris for choosing this role. He says it must be because Fenris is trying to compensate for something. To which Fenris replied, “Why don’t you come and find out?” and then proceeded to try and roll for an instant KO on Anders’ character. However, he rolled a 1. Instead of smacking Anders’ character with a club, Fenris’ character ends up seducing Anders’ lol. 

Isabela

Modern: Sex therapist. It wasn’t her first choice of job. When Izzy got kicked out of her home at a young age, she worked as a thief, then later joined a gang. However, when a gang war broke out, and she almost died during a shooting, Izzy left that life behind. Her current job is because she was able to blackmail a former lover. He helped her forge some papers. The Ph.D hanging on her wall? Fake. However, her advice is always sound. Maybe it’s because of the hard life she had, but Izzy is always able to see the truth of the matter, and say what needs to be said. Her patients always values her blunt wisdom.

DND Role: Chaotic Good Human Rogue. “Humans are the most adaptable and ambitious people among the common races. Whatever drives them, humans are the innovators, the achievers, and the pioneers of the worlds.” It was a toss up between the human or Triton race ( Long-established guardians of the deep ocean floor, in recent years the noble tritons have become increasingly active in the world above), but the triton just seemed so stuffy, so she went with the regular ol’ human. Having Izzy play is always unpredictable. While she’s good the first 30 minutes and make smart decisions, after her 4th can of beer, she’s chaos unleashed. She is especially fond of teasing Aveline and Carver. 

Justice

Modern: The founder of Big Cat Sanctuary. Was knighted by the Queen of Ferelden. Like, he’s a legit knight. No one knows his complete backstory, it’s as if he appeared out of thin air one day. All they know is that his background is heavily guarded by the government. 

DND Role: Does not play. He keeps telling Anders he has no time to join their frivolous games. So since Justice won’t drive to Varric’s, sometimes Anders has the gang come to THEIR apartment for game night. Even though Justice refuses to play, he keeps coming in and out of his room to watch how the game progresses. He makes sure everyone has something to drink, and that there’s plenty of snacks going around. He’s a bit of a mother hen. 

Merrill

Modern: The owner of an aromatherapy/herablist shop. Everything is organic and hand crafted by Merrill. Diffusers, essential oils, bath bombs, homeopathic medicine, vitamins, plants etc can be found here. Hawke walked by this shop everyday to and fro from work, and the shop always smelled so nice that she finally decided to visit. Who knew that the shop also provided tea and yummy biscuits? It became her favorite place to go during lunch break. It’s thanks to Hawke that Carver got introduced to the job. It’s a bit funny. The shop barely ever has any customers, but not only does it manage to stay afloat, but also pays Carver very well. Carver wants to ask where Merrill gets the money, but he’s also afraid of the answer. What if she already has a lover and Merrill is actually a sugar baby? Carver will be devastated! ((Merrill actually runs an underground business of buying and selling artifacts. She’s taking back what belongs to her people, things that Orlais and Tevinter wrongly stole. Her shop is actually just a front)). 

DnD Role: Elf mage. Merrill cannot imagine being anything else. She’s proud of her heritage. She is a bit absent minded while playing the game though, and often forgets the rules. At first Varric and Isabela looked out for Merrill, and tried to help her get the hang of the game, but then one night they noticed when Merrill “rolled” the dice, she distracted everyone by accidentally kicking the table. By the time everyone righted everything, Merrill’s dice went from a 3 to an 18. Sneaky, sneaky. 

Sebastian

Modern: A foreign prince currently studying abroad. He ran into Bethany and Hawke during one of their volunteer sessions. Both of the sisters can’t get enough of his accent, so invited him to hang out with them. Rumor at the school is that he’s an exiled prince that got banned from court because of his frivolous and wanton attitude. Other rumors is, is that he saw the “Kirkwall Girls Gone Wild” TV ad, and wanted a piece of that action. Some hopefuls hope that they can snag the prince and become princess. They’ll be said to find out, Sebastian’s true goal at coming to Kirkwall was to study to become a clergyman. 

DnD Role: Human warrior. As a child, Sebastian never got a chance to play DnD, so when Hawke dragged him to play, he was quite overwhelmed by all the races, classes, and rules. So he chose the most simple and easiest one to understand. Seb is quite a newb though, and for some reason, Varric seems to dislike him. While the rest of the crew seem to always scrape by unscathed, Seb’s character is always down to 1 HP. 

This took me 2 hours to write. I hope you’re happy @dovabunny LOL

[pomegranate-salad]

Seeds of thought : Wicdiv 1923 special

A belated happy new year to you all ! And for my first SOT of the year, I couldn’t have hoped for a better subject. There were a lot of different directions I could have taken this analysis in given how rich the material was, so I ended up going for what I thought would be the most challenging to explore. Get ready folks : we’re going to get philosophical for this one. Thoughts and opinion under the cut, not spoiler-free.

TOMORROW BELONGS…

 As we reach the third instalment of the “pantheons of the past” specials, common themes and threads are starting to appear more clearly. Each special has taken us to very different eras and revolved around different stakes, each hiding a deeper reflexion on Art and artists : the value of creators for society in the 455AD special, their immortality versus their legacy in the 1831 one. But in none of them is that reflexion disconnected from the era in which it takes place ; moreover, there is always a relation between the two, as the debate on Art walks along the changing times. More specifically, each special takes us at a turning point in History, both in and of itself and in what it means to be an artist. The 455AD special took us not only to the end of the Roman Empire and the beginning of the hegemony of Christianity, but also at the end of Roman culture and its disdain for artists. Art would soon find a new breath either in the Byzantine Empire or in Christian art. 1831 sits at the end of the first Industrial Revolution and the beginning of nationalisms in Europe as well as the last years of the Romantics movement. As I’ve remarked before, despite Ananke’s claims that the pantheon’s role is to “inspire” and stave off the “great darkness”, more often than not the gods belong to the dying side of artists from which the new dominant form of Art is trying to emerge. This pattern of last breaths, of breaking points within the specials, really calls into question how much the gods can really affect the upcoming times and stir History in a different direction. As supposed representatives of the “spirit of the era”, the inner turmoil of the pantheon rather seems to reflect the boiling of the world around, pushing and pulling from it along the complex links that unite History and Art and the evolution of the two.

 This theme is addressed more directly than ever in the 1923 special, which takes us to the Interwar period in a pantheon divided between proponents of the “high Arts” of the past and torchbearers of the “low Arts” born from technical discoveries. Here, the correspondence between the Historical context and the artistic evolutions incarnated by the pantheon is almost textual : we are “in between wars” the same way the gods sit “between” Art of the past and future, as poetry and literature will never reach the levels of popularity cinema and music will attain again. But I think one important thing to consider when analysing this issue is how much this perspective derives from our modern point of view : the upcoming future of cinema is as bright to us as the certainty of a Second World War. To the gods themselves, none of these two futures is yet written in stone, or even written at all. One thing that is lost to us as children of the future is how much a period of uncertainty and shift in culture the Roaring Twenties were – as it often is with eras on the heel of massive destruction. At the times, it truly felt like the future was anybody’s game, with new countries, new political structures for international relations, new cultural mediums and scenes. Except for the Cassandras of the era who probably saw in the Versailles treaty the seed of an approaching new conflict, nothing in 1923 must have had the fragrance of ineluctability. Or, for that matter, necessity. Indeed, if we read Ananke as the incarnation of the necessity she posits herself to be, the fact that every single member of the pantheon is still alive toward the end of the two years can very well be read as a testament to the uncertainty and changeability of the era, in which every form of art and artist has its place because the world has not yet determined what the future of art ought to be.

 And so, it is not surprising that Ananke should use the inner tensions of the pantheon to lead it to destroy itself instead of acting mostly on her own as she does in the 2010s. Because the “spirit of the era” belongs to all of them, then some of them might very well be incited to seize it for themselves and stir it in their preferred direction. One form of Art threatened by another trying to orientate History for their own needs.

 Now here’s an interesting question : has Art ever guided History ? It is commonly accepted that art accompanies the times and that societal change can often retrospectively be spotted within the works of contemporaneous artists. But to what extent can Art really pretend to shape the future ? The word Ananke frequently uses to describe the gods, “inspiration” seems to imply some kind of influence ; after all, “inspiration” come from the Latin “in-spiro”, literally “breathe within” – the same way Art would breathe into society the spirit of the future. However, this seems to get less true the further back you go in time : if a piece of art cannot be diffused further than a few royal court, or even a monastery, what kind of immediate influence can it hope to have on its own ? The first recording of an artistic movement marking a turning point in History would probably have to be Renaissance era, and even then, it found its sources in a scientific, philosophical and religious movement rather than a purely artistic one, and one that mainly touched the elite.

However, the 1923 pantheon might be different. After World War II, film critic and member of the Frankfurt School Siegfried Kracauer went back to the expressionist cinema of Weimar Germany and wondered if the seeds of fascism could be detected in these apparently apolitical pieces from definitely not-fascist filmmakers. He found out a pattern of dilemma between chaos and tyranny, with figures like Dr Caligari, Dr Mabuse, count Orlok, and of course, Fredersen and Rotwang from Metropolis. Films in which authority seems the only refuge against the invisible menace lurking in the shadows. In From Caligari to Hitler, he postulated that film, as a mass media, took a lot of people to make and was seen by a large number of people. As such, it couldn’t help but reflect the fears and desires of the masses, and be the cradle in which those same masses envisioned solutions to their problems. These reflexions gave birth to the cultivation theory formulated by Gerbner and Gross in 1976, according to which the media we consummate shape our worldview precisely because the masses are the source of the content of mass media. In their time, it was television.

 But in 1923, at the dawn of the cinematic age, this may be the first time that the masses shape Art, and that in turn, Art shapes the masses. This is precisely what Baal and Set rebel against : “the masses are the quicksand of the soul” as the public is becoming the prism and the bottleneck of Art. Their solution is a mathematically obvious one : suppress the masses, so they cannot influence Art. As paradoxical as it can be, their plan to use Art to guide History aims at severing the link between the two. Which is also why their plan is a mortiferous one : they are supposed inspirations who wish to deprive the world of their light. Toasting each other’s brilliance is all they care about as they don’t view Art as inspirational but as internal : Art is self-sufficient, as it can progress on its own without exterior output.

 In that regard it’s interesting to examine which gods join them in their pursuit. Skuld and Urdr represent the bad side of progressivism, the temptation of an ordered future which so often materialized in eugenic beliefs. “Woden” incarnates the pull of totalitarianism, a propagandist masquerading under the greasepaint of an art movement he didn’t create but of which he is co-opting the aesthetic. The Norns are manipulated by Baal and Set the same way progressivists were manipulated by the elite to maintain themselves in power under the guise of change, and the contempt of the elite for the masses was used by totalitarianisms to bring both under their thumb. Each of them aims to warp the zeitgeist in a different direction, yet they gather around the idea of manipulating their role as “inspiration” to influence society. The role they envision for the artist is defined by their vision of History : the Norns want Art to guide society, Baal and Set want Art to be cut from society, and Woden wants Art to serve society.

 Now compare that to the “new gods” : their role seems much less determined by what they want than by what society wants. The cinema gods all seem both dedicated to and constricted by their need to perform : Minerva “struggles to get into character”, Susanoo fills up the role of the comic relief despite not being happy himself, but in order to make other people happy and, as the Morrigan hints it, because such role needs to be filled one way or the other. Amaterasu, if she doesn’t seem as affected by performance as her counterparts, is the only god in the special to perform, better yet, to do so repeatedly, to the point of getting tired. The vocabulary of working is frequently used to describe her performance : she may like performing, but it still requires work, experimenting, polishing, physical input. Their main concern is their public ; their role as artists, until their final sacrifice, doesn’t extend further than what society expects of them. None of them concerns themself much with “Art for the sake of Art”, or even with making a lasting imprint on this world – even their sacrifice isn’t about stirring it in their wanted direction but simply saving it from supposed total destruction. They may be artists, but their Art is neither about them nor about itself, nor is it a mean to a nobler end ; it exists only in relation to its audience.

 The confrontation between new and old gods is not just about what society should look like, but what use should an artist make of their art, both as an artist and as a part of society. Meaning the gods don’t just differ in their art, but in the relation they entertain with it. Another member of the Frankfurt school, Walter Benjamin, expanded on Kracauer’s theory to consider the side of the artist : because art is now shaped by the masses and subject to mass production, a piece of Art has grown closer to a product, meaning it loses its intense relationship with its creator as the sole reflection of their individuality. Now Art was never disconnected from society in a way that would allow it to be a pure reflexion of the artist’s soul – this past only lives in Baal and Set’s fantasies. But the new scope of mass production and consumption means that the connexion between artist and art has become more tenuous than ever before, and the only way to truly ignore the public’s desire would be to retire from the world. But on the other end, it allows artists to be more than ever part of society, as their creations do not need to occupy their entire life. The 1923 special sees Amaterasu’s performances be appreciated by several gods who all show diverse degrees of fascination. Even in the main series where gods are openly “fans” of each other, only Laura has ever shown that level of entrancement with another god’s performance. In neither of the other specials have we seen the gods enjoying each other’s power. But in 1923, every god has something to say about the other’s Art, even openly employing this term, while the other specials and the main series were always careful to not pierce too much the veil of the metaphor. The gods of 1923 are as much producers as they are consumers of art themselves, both artist and audience.

 In many regards, 1923 hits the sweet spot between the 1831 pantheon, which showed isolated gods only concerned with their art, and 455AD Lucifer, who rejected his power as an artist to don another role out of concern for his city.

This special shows the gods torn between existing as individuals and acting as inspiration, which incidentally might be why so many seem fused with the creations of their real-life counterparts. Should the gods exist primarily through their art or as individuals in the society they’re a part of ? This questioning is even voiced out loud in the special, as Neptune points out that “a god should be many things, but a man most of all”. If we follow the metaphor, “an artist should be many things, but a man most of all”. An artist cannot afford to stop being a man and a member of society. But they cannot free themselves of this duality either : they have to “inspire” while living this inspiration. Give as much as they receive. If they choose to stop being either man or an inspiration – well, we saw the results. The gods are all walking the line between losing their connexion to humanity while reaching deeper for the sake of Art, and being dissolved within the mass and at the mercy of the times. As it becomes clearer that Ananke’s purpose is much more complicated than simply letting History carry on, the gods dilemma regarding what to do with their power threatens every day to become irrelevant ; has they ever any power over History at all ? Every single pantheon has seen its era die with them and onto a new phase of Art and History. This could indicate that the pantheon means nothing, or on the contrary that their sacrifice at the hand of necessity is all about burying the past to give birth to the future – the same way Ananke seems to reincarnate within a young god in an unclear manner.

But all in all, isn’t that the fate of every artist ? If truly Art can fashion History, then once it is done doing so, it belongs in the past – unable to carry over in a world that it helped shape, and therefore cannot influence anymore. Only the artist can cross through, and maybe live in the world they inspired, within their own dream, their own spirit of the era, always nested within their creations, and so, never truly theirs.

  WHAT I THOUGHT OF THE SPECIAL

 Why do we love murder mysteries ? It’s a question I asked myself repeatedly while reading this special, and one I have to try and answer in order to explain why I didn’t like this one so much.

Before we get into that, I have to explain my metrics : I do understand that this special could be seen as much more than a murder mystery ; after all the “mystery” part only takes about half of the special – which is a problem in and of itself, but we’ll get into that later. However, this special is conceived and written using the codes and structures of the murder mystery, which is why when I say I don’t think it’s a very good one, this impacts my opinion of the special as a whole. It would be unfair to judge the 455AD special because it fails at being a war story, as the “war” part is but a device to a larger story ; it is not unfair to judge the 1923 special by how it fares at being a murder mystery, because this is what it was built to be and what it presents itself as.

 So why do we love murder mysteries ? Now I think much smarter people than I must have weighted on that, but personally, I think their appeal comes from their most basic form : a puzzle. What is a puzzle ? It’s a perfectly self-contained form of entertainment. Its solution is within itself, not yet visible, but surely there ; there is no need to involve yourself in it further than to crack it, and once you have, it is done. A murder mystery functions the same way : from the very beginning, its setting, its characters, their history, are all part of one large puzzle waiting to be cracked, and reading further means slowly piecing it together and revealing its intricacies. But no piece is ever added, every element of the story is there from the start and each of them remains until having been completely explored. It requires just the right level of commitment from the reader, and can be done with once the book is closed.

So to me, 3 characteristics of a good murder mystery can be identified : a self-contained solution, a worthwhile progression and a fulfilling resolution.

 With that posed, let’s now look at the 1923 special so I can try to explain why I didn’t find it satisfying, starting with the most debatable point : I don’t think this special is playing fair with us. There’s an inherent problem to it which is that some of what’s happening must be left unanswered in order not to spoil the main series. But that means that a good part of the story comes straight out of a magician’s hat, starting with the killing of Dionysus via the light system and onto the lighthouse-spirit-capturing-device-that-doesn’t-actually-work-yet-does-something-yet-unexplained. It was tolerable when it was about a machine in the main series since we knew an explanation would come later, but here it means we are supposed to get satisfied with what we get until we maybe get more in the main series. It is deeply unsatisfying to see a huge plotpoint come out of nowhere in that fashion : as nothing before it was introduced even hinted at it. And none of it really is never treated as part of a mystery : the way Dionysus was killed is explained in the page right after, meaning this intriguing way to kill is immediately spoiled and never matters again. So as a result of all this, I stopped early being involved with the mystery, trying to solve it along and trace out what could be going on and simply waited for what the special would dump on my plate next. This is what I mean when I say the solution isn’t self-contained : it doesn’t emerge naturally from its initial setting, it simply adds up more elements and then tells you this was what was going on all along.

 The second thing that bothered me was the progression of the story. This is, after all, the most enjoyable part of a murder mystery ; otherwise, everyone would simply read the first and last chapters.  We read to watch characters, their motivations and shared history unfold, while we learn more about the murder itself. As I said, the murder in the special may be beautifully drawn, but there is no mystery to them, bare the murderer. And it really pains me to say that, as I think character work is the best and most original part of wicdiv as a whole, but the characters in the 1923 special is really where it fails for me. Most of the characters are a little better than two-dimensional (I mean, can you name more than two character traits for either Baal or Amon-Ra ?) and worst of all, there is no evolution from the initial setting. I don’t mean character development, as it would be unfair to demand it from a single special, but simply the reveal of anything about the characters that wasn’t made clear from the start. Baal and Set’s elitism, the love triangle, Woden’s beliefs, Minerva and Ananke’s game, every single one of these was established in full in the first pages and never received more nuance or consideration. Yes, more stuff happened in relation to them, but would your description of them be different at the beginning or at the end of the comic ? Lucifer dies on page 12, while Amon-Ra lives until the end of the comic, yet I know no more about Amon-Ra than I know about Lucifer. I’d say the best-established device in the comic is the betrayal of two-thirds of the Norns, and even then, we’re talking about characters we barely know.

And that’s also a problem when it comes to the mystery part. There are three categories of baddies in the special : Baal and Set, Woden, and Ananke and Minerva. Or, to sum it up, every single character that we were told was unsympathetic from the start. We were on the lookout for Ananke and Minerva’s action from the start due to the main series, and the other bad guys turn out to be My other suit is even more racist, 100% authentic vintage Nazi, and Really bad place Tahani. Surprise surprise.

 And all of it plays to explain why I found the resolution so unrewarding. In terms of structure, there’s a reason why at the end of an Agatha Christie the murderer calmly stays in a room while a little Belgian guy explains their crime to everybody and then doesn’t even try to run away : it’s because once the mystery is resolved, pursuing the story would be boring. Why would we care what happens next since everything that was introduced has found a satisfactory explanation ? And the special is no different, which is why it’s such a problem that the murder are explained halfway through the issue. Not only does this explanation rely on one of the most basic tools of the murder mystery writer arsenal – several murderers giving each other alibis – and implicating the most obvious characters imaginable, it leads to a whole second part whose point I struggle to find. It’s clear that the goal was to make it a triple-unfolding mystery, with Woden using his co-conspirators and Ananke having laid out the whole thing, but it doesn’t work because of what we know from the main series : we know Woden tend to be slippery, which is why I was instantly suspicious of his “death”, we know that Ananke and Minerva are playing a long game, and perhaps more importantly, we know how the whole thing end from the first issue of wicdiv. There is no stake to the lacklustre fight toward the end of the comic because we already know who wins it, somehow what happens next and who is behind the whole thing. There is no “subsequent” part of the mystery at play here : once the murderers are revealed halfway, then the special pretty much laid out all its cards, except the ones we’d really be interested in but are left for the main series to unveil. We simultaneously know too much and not enough about each character from the start, and nothing about that changes from beginning to end.

 So this is why, to me, this special fails at telling the type of story it wants to tell : it uses the codes of a genre but doesn’t deliver a satisfying genre story. As for the rest of what the comic does in terms of formal device, i.e. the dual novel/comic/illustration structure, I’d describe it as incredibly frustrating. I’ve read a lot the word “experimental” thrown around in reviews of this special, but mostly what it tells me is that anything that remotely differs from your typical comic book is apparently experimental. Neither the prose nor the comic are used in a particularly novel way, bare the fact that they are both used here. And to me, this dual format is not put to very good use here. For starters, I fail to see the reasoning being doing one part in prose and the other in comic : at the beginning, comic comes at the end of a chapter with a few establishing panels and then a full page illustration of the murder. But as we get closer to the end, the comic parts start to appear for no apparent reason, and disturbs the rhythm of the whole piece. Why is the unveiling of the conspiracy in comic but the scene between Ananke and Woden is not ? Mostly, what part are relegated to prose seem to be the part that the author want to leave in the dark as much as possible ; but that’s another way that this special made me just wait out the next change, since I didn’t know if I’d get prose or comic on the page turn.

But really, what frustrates me most about the format is its wasted potential. The whole point – and metatextuality – of alternating between prose and drawing means that several forms of representation and interaction with the reader are available, but the opportunity to see them complete and play out each other is not seized. One example that was particularly egregious to me was Dionysus’ body experiments. They first appear in written form, and are first described as “difficult to explain”. But clearly it’s not so difficult to explain, given that an illustration of it is later given to us. Having both prose and comic should be the opportunity to describe what cannot be represented, and represent what cannot be described. Instead, prose and comic seem to seize the same material and simply deal with it in their preferred form. There’s no reward to having to alternate between prose and comic if the exact same story could very well be told entirely in one or the other format and not lose anything.

As for the prose and comics on their own, it’s not that either of them is bad, but I don’t find them particularly breathtaking either. Gillen’s prose loses a lot of its singularity from the comic format, especially in the non-dialogue parts. I think the problems of the dual format come in part from Gillen always thinking as a comic writer, even in his prose, meaning that when he writes he always has in mind how such a scene could be represented, which prevents his pure prose from ever straying far from the comic parts. As for the comic, the full page illustrations are always beautiful and I’m a sucker for a sepia palette. The parts where the panel mimic a filmstrip and use cue cards from silent films are the most novel thing this special does and I wish it had done more of it. Still, fight scenes and dynamic characters might not be Aud Koch’s strong point, meaning their choices to have most comic pages toward the end robs us of one part of her talent.

 Really, what it all comes down to is : I’m disappointed. With the story, with the format and with the execution. With a premise as insanely perfect as “Ananke only has a few days to kill twelve – or eleven – gods on an island” there had had to be a way to tell a better story. With the beautiful art of Aud Koch, Gillen’s playful writing style and a meditation on multiple forms of art, the formal part should have knocked it out of the park. Instead, it just… is. Yes, what I said in the intro is still true : this is a rich issue, with much to discuss and many threads to pull. But the whole reason I’ve adopted this format for my SOTs is because I firmly believe something can be rich and profound while not necessarily being great on its own. I do think this special is better than the 1831 one where they were kind of figuring out the quirks of them, but in terms of story, character work, emotional involvement, the 455AD special is still my favourite one. Hey, they can’t all be winners for everybody. It’s just a shame that this one wasn’t for me.

[earthandseaprovideformyhearth]

The Gods Today: Loki

Next installment of reflections on the Norse Gods in the modern world inspired by @tricksterinthehedges

The easiest rule to remember when looking for Loki is that if there are children or those ostracized he’s not far behind. The hardest rule to remember when looking for Loki is that he refuses to be boxed into predictable patterns that aren’t his own making.

Loki can be found living on the streets with those abandoned, shunned, and forgotten. They’ve been lost to the world and are beginning to lose themselves. They’re all on the streets for an array of reasons, but it all comes down to being viewed as inhuman to others. They are LGBTQ+ kids kicked out of their home and disowned by family. They are the mentally and physically disabled - some born and others created from wars - that the world has determine do not offer a valuable place in society. They have been left to rot.

He scavenges alongside them, bracing the fierce uncaring of the world. He sits on street corners in the high heat of summer, fighting sunstroke and heat exhaustion. He curls up under bridges and in alleys during the low chill of winter, fighting frostbite and gnawing hunger. Sometimes he fills a truck full of food, water, clothes, and toiletries. He’s stuffed the necessities in hiking backpacks that he hands out to everyone he sees. He returns the spit and hatred sent their way. He protests for them. He fights in the government, demanding funding for shelters, demanding respect, demanding that they be seen as the victims of the society around them assigning a low value to their existence and NOT their intrinsic worth.

For young men of color, he walks the streets with them. Keeping their mind sharp and tongue quick. They shouldn’t need it, but they do. He’s seen one too many cops charge forward bull-headed, believing the man in front of him is a savage beast that poses a threat. Fire licks his skin as he once again has to help a child resort to smooth talking and keeping to the shadows to simply survive in his neighborhood from those meant to protect him.

Lawyers like to think he’s on their side. But in truth, he likes working against them. Tripping them up, throwing curveballs, testing their wit, humbling their god-complex. He knows manipulation of truth; it is his craft. But something rubs him the wrong way about humans using it to obstruct rather than elucidate. Though, he has seen Legally Blonde, and he thinks that if more were like Elle Woods and Emmett he would happily be their patron.

Loki’s a favored substitute teacher. The classroom rules that enforce organization are scrapped. Chaos reigns. More than a few teachers passing in the hall have expressed worry and skepticism about his efficiency and efficacy. He laughs and waves a hand. “Kids learn in chaos and experience.” It’s how they make sense of the world. It’s how they learn to survive, to create, to thrive. All required assignments are always done in record time, and then more is accomplished. Perhaps they spent the day dissecting the field mouse someone found a recess, but they made more connections to the inner workings of the world than they had before. Students walk away with wild tales of what they learned - in truth most of them are new ways to prank siblings, parents, and other such pesky figures of authority. Some seemingly throwaway comment he made in passing returns to them 15 years later in life and helps them make sense of the swirling storm of adulthood and the world. More than a couple of his young students have gone on to become teachers in their own right who respect the chaos and creation of the learning experience.

He’s the bane of college students’ existence, though. He exists as the one professor you want to strangle because he refuses to give you a straight answer. He pokes. He prods. He flips the question back on you. He argues any side with ease. He is fond of being deemed “The Devil’s Advocate” because it means he’s got you engaged and thinking. His students struggle to get his approval. They struggle to see his way. But that’s the thing. He doesn’t have one way to see something. He sees through, around, above, and under. He pushes you to do the same.

At the end of the day, he knows all destruction and upheavel he’s accomplished has to be done. It’s the natural order and makes way for creation. He is the raging forest and brush fires from both natural and man-made causes. Everyone happily gives him blame and credit for those, but they fail to still find him in the smoldering ashes rejuvenating the soil, letting the new generation take root in fertile soil. They fail to still find him in the raging social action that sweeps through local government to ensure protections and preventions against such devastation happening again. They see seem him in the natural disasters and fall-out, but fail to see him helping with the construction of the foundations for a new city with higher dreams as they work to overcome and build on this pain. They fail to see him in the innovation that follows.

He spends time with his daughter in children’s hospitals, watching them fight for life against their body’s self-destruction. He sees his children in them. He sees the pain and anguish and strength in the face death. He works to bring laughter and joy, however momentary it is. He doesn’t leave until he’s visited every child and brought a smile to each face.

He spends time in the prisons and jails. He volunteers to teach classes. He keeps addicts honest. Sometimes he becomes a probation officer and the odd counselor. More than once he’s gotten in trouble for questionable methods, but he gets results. He forces people to address the darkest parts of themselves. They embrace or run away. They give in or strive against. Whichever they chose, he doesn’t necessarily care either way. He just cares that they know and acknowledge it. Things still fall apart in the darkness. It’s best to shine a light on them and be aware of where the breaks and holes are. Frequently, it’s those on the outside of the bars who need this lesson more.

He wanders with those lost in the wilds, those who hiked too far or whose car broke down. He keeps them vigilant and aware of the threats surrounding them. He inspires their resourcefulness. This is new terrain. This is wild terrain. Civility won’t bring survival. He encourages the animalistic instincts to come out.

He helps people fight for what they want.

He helps acceptance of selfishness. Sometimes it’s what you need to survive. Sometimes you need it to live. Sometimes it’s just fun.

The only constant he has is with one-to-one relationships. He never presents or acts just the same to two people. But he’ll stay true to who he is to you. He’s fluid, but always who he is. The moon goes through phases but is still the moon. Elements change states of matter but still remain as their element, such as water to ice to vapor. No one has managed to catch his core self, but it settles in the center of his bones and thrums in his veins. Many have ideas. Many have found commonalities. Many believe they do, but they are too quick to judge and pick and choose and force the pieces. Sometimes you may catch a glimpse flicker in his eye; an ember of the doused fire inside.

Angrboda accepts his core, but has never quite understood it. She’s been known to turn a blind eye to the extent of his creative powers. Sigyn loves and understands his changing nature and his part of bringing rebirth through death, but every now and then a haze crosses his eyes, the corner of his lips crinkles, and a new dynamic she has never witness comes through. She has found that to understand she must know that he’ll never be stagnant.

But, when the world sleeps and monsters prowl, he takes time to be still. He watches the stars turn in the sky around him. He listens to the wind curl and embrace the world; it stops to say hi and play with his hair for a moment, offering a caress before it carries on. He feels the earth thrum underneath his soles and thinks on the future he is fated to live. He’s never cared for predictability, and if they think it will end the way they say, they clearly have never met him. He vows as the night fades to mingle with day that he will take charge of himself. That’s what he centers around.

[globalworship]

[Holy] Innocent’s Song + art

On this 4th Day of Christmas we remember the Holy Innocents slaughtered by the power-hungry and fearful Herod.

It’s the basis of this modern song, with lyrics like a fever dream of an all-too-real massacre of children.

This recording is from a fabulous album of a cappella Christmas songs (sacred and secular) from the UK choral tradition. Most of the songs are sung in a pub style by a sextet, but this short song is a solo.

Lyrics by Charles Stanley Causley, poet, teacher and broadcaster, born in 1917 in Cornwall. He served in the UK Royal Navy in World War II. https://archiveshub.jisc.ac.uk/search/archives/d0bd5fde-dc37-3455-84f7-2cad43c748bc

More on the history of the song below.

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Who’s that knocking on the window, Who’s that standing at the door, What are all those presents Lying on the kitchen floor?

Who is the smiling stranger With hair as white as gin, What is he doing with the children And who could have let him in?

Why has he rubies on his fingers, A cold, cold crown on his head, Why, when he caws his carol, Does the salty snow run red?

Why does he ferry my fireside As a spider on a thread, His fingers made of fuses And his tongue of gingerbread?

Why does the world before him Melt in a million suns, Why do his yellow, yearning eyes Burn like saffron buns?

Watch where he comes walking Out of the Christmas flame, Dancing, double‑talking:

Herod is his name.

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We are all horrified that the Savior’s glorious birth resulted in the brutal deaths of baby boys in Bethlehem. (For the record, there were likely no more than 20, given the population of Bethlehem at the time.) (R.T. France, The Gospel of Matthew, page 85)

As if the report of this event isn’t horrific enough, Matthew forces us to linger on it by quoting Jeremiah 31:15 and asserting that the killing of the Bethlehem babies fulfilled Jeremiah’s prophecy about the weeping and great mourning in Ramah. This turns out to be a brilliant strategy. By quoting Jeremiah 31:15, Matthew invites us to go back to Jeremiah 31:16–17 to hear the rest of the story: God will act to rescue and restore his people from the terrible situation. Matthew wants us to understand that the hope promised to the mothers who wept for their children taken to Babylon is the hope promised to the mothers in Bethlehem who lost their children—and to all who face horrendous evil and injustice.

https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/6-ways-not-to-preach-the-birth-of-jesus/

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This painting is called Scène du massacre des Innocents (“Scene of the massacre of the Innocents”), and it was painted by the largely overlooked Parisian painter, Léon Cogniet in 1824. Today it hangs in the Musée des Beaux-Arts, Rennes.If it’s not the greatest of Christmas paintings, it must be one of the most haunting and affecting. A terrified mother cowers in a darkened corner, muffling the cries of her small infant, while around her the chaos and horror of Herod’s slaughter of the children of Bethlehem rages....

At the birth of Jesus, the heavenly host of angels had promised peace on earth and goodwill to all. But in Herod’s slaughter of the infant boys of Bethlehem, we see not peace, but evil being unleashed.

At Christmas we celebrate our belief that the king of the universe has come into the world, to wage peace and justice, to bring love and kindness to all. But we want to forget that the birth of Christ also released a malignant force, the unbridled power of empire, the jealous strength of a threatened monarch, meted out upon the most vulnerable of all people.

http://mikefrost.net/greatest-christmas-painting-time/

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“We remember today, O God, the slaughter of the holy innocents of Bethlehem by King Herod. Receive, we pray, into the arms of your mercy all innocent victims; and by your great might frustrate the designs of evil tyrants and establish your rule of justice, love, and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

— Book of Common Prayer

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A Reflection from Fr. Kenneth Tanner:

Some people have a hard time connecting to the way Christmas is practiced because it’s all tinsel and light and merriment. But the real Christmas is also dangerous and dark, full of complex human drama and the vilest evil. When on the first Christmas divine humility and powerlessness and poverty are revealed as the foundation of all that exists, this revelation of God in the flesh threatens all human notions of power, all human leadership that rests on exertions of might. The Incarnation is warfare without carnal weapons. It is waged with love. God takes the form of a baby because divine helplessness is greater than any other force in the universe. Love never fails. Real Christmas was and remains political. It is not all peace and joy and candy canes. The conception and birth of Jesus—this helpless, now silent infant who in the beginning was the Word by whom the Father spoke all things into existence, the one who even in swaddling clothes holds all things, even—somehow—the wood of the manger, together—set a challenge to all other rulers and kingdoms, visible and invisible. All temporal rulers instinctively know they are bested by an eternal kingdom of others-directed, self-sacrificial love that does not seek its own, that does not keep a record of wrongs, that is not jealous, that seeks to serve rather than to be served. Love is stronger—somehow—than death. Herod knew the jig was up, that the age of self-seeking rulers was now exposed and that the game was over. Herod turned to murder to try to reimpose the old order, as have so many visible and invisible powers down the centuries since the Incarnation, since God took up permanent residence as a member of the human race in Jesus Christ. I appreciate the way this artist captures the horror real infants and real mothers faced in the aftermath of the real Christmas, the infamous slaughter of male Hebrew children in and around Bethlehem that we remember I. our worship on the fourth day of Christmas. Fleeting worldly powers desperate to hold on to a false power that is being defeated by divine humility lash out. They always do, for violence is their defeated way of maintaining strength. What they did not know is that in (eventually) killing Jesus Christ they reversed the permanence not only of their rule but of all their violent actions. These poor Hebrew children and all who suffer violence have in Jesus Christ a glorious way now to endure beyond suffering and death, to shine forever in the kingdom of their Father, while the kingdoms of this world and their violence await permanent, shameful expiration. A blessed Fourth Day of this great feast of the Incarnation to you and yours. Remember the Innocents. We have inherited a kingdom; we await a world without end.

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A modern icon of the Holy Innocents by Laurie Gudim https://www.episcopalcafe.com/feast-day-of-the-holy-innocents/ http://everydaymysteries.com/

[rulesearth]

🐍 // @w-whitefang

❛ usually, ❜ the god started as he closed the door behind him, ❛ this is when people say that it's not what it looks like. however --- i'd never insult you like this. so yes, this is indeed arden’s quiver. ❜

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 67 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

A Moment of Truth

Skyhold loomed over the mountains, a dark welcome against the twilight sky. It would be another day, at least, before they were really home, but just the sight of the fortress standing proud over the plateau, the sound of the bustling city in the distance, was enough to ease the tension Rory had been carrying for the last three weeks.

Their journey from the Ferelden coast had been a good deal slower than she would have liked. She was sure they could have made it back here in ten days or less, but everyone had been insistent on not traveling any further each day than was absolutely necessary. Everyone had been hovering over her - every time she looked a little pale, or hinted that she might need to avail herself of a handy bush, they'd stopped for a rest that often lasted an hour or more. Dorian had reveled in the easy-going journey, as had Vivienne. Sera had ended up going on ahead, too antsy for the slow going enforced because of everyone else's concern for the healer who kept losing the argument for one more mile. Cassandra, Bull, and Cole had appointed themselves protection for the little gig and its passenger; Cullen had refused to allow anyone else to drive but him. So Rory had spent three weeks getting steadily bigger, aching for home. Now it was just out of reach ... but she had other things on her mind.

Bull had drawn her off to one side, his expression pensive.

"Look, little red," he said, seemingly almost uncomfortable as he glanced toward the camp being set up behind them. "I heard what the kid said in that temple. He's not often wrong. So what does it mean?"

She didn't need a mirror to know that her face had become a mask of horror. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have; she wanted the Ben-Hassrath agent to go on pretending that she was absolutely harmless and exactly what she appeared to be, but it seemed as though he couldn't. That need to know was shining through. He must have been struggling with this all the way here, she realized. This is his last chance to ask away from Leliana's little birds and their nosy ears.

"Uh, I ..." She swallowed, tipping her own wary glance back toward the camp. "I don't know how to explain it," she said quietly. "I promise you, Bull, I am no threat. I'm not a spy, I'm not a mage, I'm just me. I'm what you see, but ... there are things about me that even I don't know. I really don't know how to tell you what Cole meant, and -" She hesitated, a frown painting her expression firm for a moment. "And it isn't something you can tell the Qun."

His concerned expression formed into a deeper frown of his own. "Can't promise I won't tell them, little red," he reminded her, reluctance coloring his words. "The triumvirate ... none of them trust me so much these days. I'm not giving them what they want, and they know it."

She bit her lip, glancing nervously back at the camp setting up. At least no one would worry about her if she was with the Iron Bull, but ... how was he going to react to this? He could see the thoughts flickering through her mind, laying a large hand on her arm.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't change you," he pointed out quietly. "I believe you when you say you're no threat, little red. But I need to know. Your tells, the kid's riddles ... it's a distraction I can't have right now."

"I haven't told anyone about this," she murmured, hoping like hell none of Leliana's little birds was near enough to hear her speak. "Not even Cullen. Bull, I don't even know where to start."

The Qunari mercenary considered her for a moment, then raised his head. "Hey, Cullen," he called. "Just taking the healer to the stream. Perimeter's secure."

There was a pause, and Cullen answered. "Bring her back in one piece, Bull."

Just one sentence, but everyone heard the unspoken threat. If Rory had even a hair out of place when she came back, Cullen would be having words with the Iron Bull. That definitely wasn't something anyone wanted to be witness to. Bull nodded solemnly, offering Rory his arm like a gentleman. Already shaking with the effort of putting her strangeness into words, she took the offered arm with both hands, letting the big Qunari lead her away from the camp. Away from other ears.

They were still within sight of the camp when they reached the stream, the area free from cover and shadows beneath the rising moon. They must have made an interesting sight to those who kept looking over to them - the pregnant healer sat on the smooth roundness of a swept boulder, the enormous horned mercenary crouching easily beside her. But at least no one would hear what she had to say.

"All right, little red," Bull said softly, his voice inviting her to let go of all those worries in one go. "Talk to me."

So she did. She told him about Earth, about the fact that she wasn't aware of who she was in this world or why her mind was here in a body that might not be her own. She told him about the advanced technologies she had grown up with; the games that meant she knew enough about Thedas to pass muster. She told him how little she knew of the person this world believed her to be.

She didn't know why she suddenly needed to share the reasons behind her strangeness, or why it was Bull she trusted with the information, of all people. But she needed to tell someone. Weeks of being a prisoner had brought home once and for all that this was not a game; that there was no guarantee she was coming out of this alive. For the first time, she really truly believed everything around her was really happening, and she was terrified. She couldn't tell Cullen; he knew her too well not to know that there was more she wasn't telling. More than that, he would dig and dig for what she didn't dare share, and the moment he had it all ... she didn't know what he would do. It would break him. Yet Bull, who had more reason to be suspicious than most, who knew she must not be telling him everything, did not even blink.

"That isn't all of it, is it?" he asked gently.

She shook her head, raising a shaking hand to wipe her face. When did I start crying? "I-I can't tell you all of it, Bull," she told him unhappily. "I wish I could, but ... it's hard enough to believe this much. I don't dare share any more."

And what was it she hadn't shared? Of all the unbelievable facts, the one thing she hadn't told him was the foreknowledge her strangeness gave her. That, of everything she had to hide, was the one thing she knew she couldn't be forgiven for. All those lives lost at the Conclave, at Haven, in the chaos spread across the world; they would all believe she could have prevented it. They would all hate her for holding it so close to her chest as around them their friends and allies died.

"I don't even know who I am," she added in frustration. "Granthis knows me; hell, even Cullen has known me longer than I remember knowing him. All I remember starts at the avalanche outside Haven, just a few months before the Conclave."

The Iron Bull offered her a gentle smile. "You want to know you, little red?" he asked, inching just a little closer, despite the detached story she had just told him. "Your name is Aurelia Dupuis; parents, Marcus and Judith; younger brother, Lorcan. Born in Val Chevin on Guardian 18th, 15 Dragon. Pretty unremarkable kid, devout family. Brother died in 28 Dragon, you disappeared in 29 Dragon. Parents tore Orlais apart trying to find you. Then some kid called Rory and her friend, Ria, showed up in Denerim couple of years later, handing out healing skills in exchange for food and shelter. Been all over Ferelden, but I heard you were recruited into the Inquisition in Amaranthine by Cullen himself, about a month and a half before the avalanche you woke up in."

She groaned softly, rubbing her fingers hard over her forehead. "Even you know more about me than I do."

"Don't think you need all the detail to be the person you are, little red," he pointed out. "You're doing just fine without."

"But Cullen -"

"Had his eye on you from the start," Bull informed her, the corner of his mouth threatening to pull into a smile. "One of the things I was sent to you guys to investigate. Cullen would thrive under the Qun, but you're his weak point. They break you, they lose him." He leaned back a little. "Told you once I'd kick the ass off anything that came after you. That still holds, little red."

Rory stared at him, torn between gratitude and horror. Cullen has known me longer than I've known him? Why doesn't he ever mention it? Does he think I have amnesia or something? "So ... what happens now?" she asked warily.

Bull nodded slowly, a pensive frown on his usually open face. "I should tell my superiors," he commented, forestalling her immediate protest with a gentle touch of his big hand over her own. "But there's nothing they can do with this information. They'd want you brought back to Par Vollen, and that is something I will not do. Inquisition needs you. Cullen needs you." He sighed heavily. "And I don't want your breaking on my conscience."

"You really think they'd break me for ... this?" she asked in an uncertain tone. Whatever this is. Gods, how the hell would they even begin to understand something not even I can explain properly?

He nodded. "The viddathlok would want to convert you, but your mind wouldn't bend," he predicted. "The quamek would probably kill you. No, I won't give you up to them." He snarled to himself, rubbing a hand along his horn in frustration. "I'm walking a line these days, little red. Order's going to come soon, and I don't know if I'll follow it."

Rory hesitated. She knew what that order would be; she knew the outcome of either decision he could make. One hand reached out to touch his bare shoulder. "Do what you need to do," she suggested. "But you have friends here, Bull, real friends who would rather die at your side than see you fall. Their own choice, rather than a duty that has to be performed. I don't know how the Qunari stand up when compared with our loyal lack of order."

Bull sighed heavily once more, patting the hand she'd laid on his shoulder. "I don't want to make that choice, red," he growled softly. "That isn't the life I was born to live."

"Sometimes the right decision isn't the easiest to see," Rory mused, raising her head to look up at the sky, the two moons rising above them. Well, you told him. So why doesn't it feel like you did something right? "Sometimes the only thing you can do is ask someone you trust to decide for you."

The look he gave her was sharp, but on this, at least, she felt on solid ground. Let Kaaras decide for you, she willed him to hear the unspoken advice. He won't let you lose yourself to the Qun. As much as they've given you, the Chargers give you more. There was an addition from the inner fangirl - If you let the Chargers die, I will go off you and never play your romance ever, ever again. And despite herself, Rory felt her lips twitch toward a smile. Bull's eye narrowed, but he smiled with her, squeezing her hand gently.

"Might be something in that," he conceded thoughtfully. "Try and take it yourself once in a while. You're terrible at making decisions about your own safety."

She snorted with laughter, shaking her head at him. "If I let everyone else make the decisions for me, I would never go anywhere," she pointed out as he helped her to her feet.

"Red, every time you've gone somewhere, you've gotten beat up or kidnapped," the big Qunari pointed out easily. "Stop making those decisions."

"I ..." Her mouth shut. He was right. She deflated. "Fine, I'll talk to people about going places before I do it," she offered. "Happy with that?"

Bull laughed. "Very," he assured her. But as they turned back to the camp, he laid a warm hand on her back, lowering his voice. "Just ... don't go back where you came from. World won't be the same without the little red we know."

It was a pensive Rory he delivered back to Cullen, who flicked a curious glance between the pair of them before drawing her down and handing her a bowl of soup to eat. He didn't press to know what had been said, or try to pry into something that had clearly given her a great deal to think about. But she didn't think he missed the fact that the way the Iron Bull looked at her had changed. Surely sharing secrets was supposed to make you feel better? But she didn't feel better. She'd shared one of her deepest secrets, and instead of feeling freed by it, she felt more isolated. It was awful. And there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it.

One more thing I'm going to have to learn to live with.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                                Kim Hyojong, who is known by no other name;                                                        a 23 year old son of Set.                                                       He is a bartender at Minx.

FC NAME/GROUP: Kim Hyojong // Pentagon CHARACTER NAME: n/a AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 23 // june 1, 1993 PLACE OF BIRTH: vienna, austria OCCUPATION: bartender @ minx HEIGHT: 174 cm WEIGHT: 60 kg DEFINING FEATURES: pitch black & emotionless eyes, dark under eye circles

PERSONALITY: hello, welcome to the worst person you’ll ever meet, following closely behind his own father. kim hyojong is a lovely young man with a penchant for…dark habits.

detached, cold, emotionless ━ except when he isn’t. silver tongued with equally velvet fingers, the son of chaos has a talent of playing the role of any character to get his victims anyone to bend to his will. mask after mask, he slips them on and off with ease. if you manage to look past the seductive smirk and wandering hands, and find the flicker of pure void…well, sweetheart, you won’t be alive for very long.

just enough to see him tower over you with the only flicker of true joy in those pitch black eyes as he watches you writhe on the floor in terror and pain until you pass out from shock. it’s as if he feeds on the fear. makes him stronger.

he feels no remorse, and doesn’t care to think about it. why should he? everyone is below him. worthless. trash. just play toys for him. hyojong wants everything in the world, and he will do anything to get that. to him, he’s a god. he plays with mortal lives as if they’re nothing, as if the people around only have one purpose: to serve him.

hyojong’s done terrible things; torture, murders of varying styles and i wouldn’t put it past him to force himself on one or two people. a short and very general list of things that he is quite proud of.

personal relationships are nonexistent in his world, simply a waste of his time. anything resemblance of one is either a ploy to get what he wants, or ━ yeah, no, that’s it.

he thinks he is a god. he is a god. he is the one true god. all other gods are weaklings that he could crush in a matter of seconds.

this is a lie. hyojong is spiraling down into insanity that worsens with every second that he uses his powers. he’s dying, and he doesn’t realize it. the son of set is an immature, foolish child that parades behind a facade of confidence and the cool venom of a snake. if a single thing doesn’t go his way, hyojong will throw terrible fits that are not unlike a two year old. he’s exceptionally physically weak, and it’s easy to scare him off.

a wilting and rotten rose hidden in the mottled husk of a snake.

HISTORY: (tw: murder, animal abuse, torture, mentions of rape)

I. a mother weeps as she holds her child for the first time. it is a sob of a despair, drops of bitter salt at the sight of the creature in her arms. it stares at its creator silently.

his name is hyojong, and he is a curse. the ever present reminder of a stroke of black ink across her past.

he does not release a cry, nor does he reach out for his sobbing mother. the infant simply stares.

he knows of his purpose.  

II. the son of chaos is three years old when he makes his first kill. it’s a small, sad pathetic thing that hangs lifeless in his hands. a kitten, he thinks. the incessant sounds it made had irked him to no end, and hyojong found a solution. he does not understand why his mother is screaming. he wishes she would shut up.

III. gabriel schmidt is his name; the man that manage to charm and seduce his way into the bed of hyojong’s mother. in some way, hyojong can understand why his mother is so willing to drop her panties for the first man that gives her any attention. it’s been ten years since the last time she got fucked. ten years since he’s been born.

he hates him.

he hates everything about him.

how dare he insert himself into hyojong’s life? without his permission.

hyojong would have preferred if the man got his dick wet once and walked away without a regret. the loud sobbing of his mother would be a grating sound, but the bitter scent of despair and sadness would be intoxicating. instead, all he could smell was the sickly sweet syrup of love.

the pile of dead animals in the backyard grows larger each week.

IV. he sees the way his mother stares at him.

MISTAKE MISTAKE MISTAKE

hyojong stares back with eyes that speak of chaos and darkness and death. he smiles.

EVIL EVIL EVIL

his mother does not look him in the eye.

V. mina schmidt is her name; the squealing red-faced thing that apparently shares blood with him. hyojong looks at it with disgust, sneering down at the wriggling baby. he doesn’t know why his mother looks at it with such adoration; she’s never looked at him that way.

the next day he writes out his sister’s name on the side of the house in the blood of mutilated birds. love thy family.

hyojong laughs at the screams that erupt from his mother and her husband as they discover the bloody message on their home; he savors the fear that seeps from their souls. the boy finds that it is the most delicious thing he has ever tasted.

he decides that he wants more.

VI. the sight of the girl curled on the floor before him is the greatest he’s ever had the pleasure to lay his eyes on. tears are streaming down her face, expression twisted in agony as she screams out. she’s begging him for mercy, and hyojong simply smiles at her.

lifeless, pitch black eyes suddenly come to life.

he would be lying if the waves of pure terror rolling off the girl didn’t turn him on. the tightness in his pants give it away as he watches her claw at his feet, offering up anything to make him stop. it’s pathetic, how people are willing to give away their dignity in order to save their own skin. besides, hyojong knows that he wouldn’t be able to stop; the swirls of chaos around him have already latched on to the girl and they’ve tasted the first blood. it’s too late.

it’s oh so easy to slip into the depths of her mind and bring out the deepest fears and sins to light. claws prod and poke at her thoughts, suffocating her until all she can breathe, see, and hear is fear.

hyojong twists and squeezes her mind to his will, melting it into putty until finally his grip on her lets go. she’s laying in a puddle of her own piss and tears. he cocks his head to the side, lips curling into a smirk.

❝ do you fear me now? ❞

she vomits and passes out.

and hyojong ━ a realization dawns upon him. he has the power to do what he wants; to terrorize and raze the earth. take and take and take until everything is his, because who can stop him? he is god.

thus begins the fall.

VII. hyojong is eighteen now.

his body count: 12

those were only the ones who weren’t strong enough to make it through the enlightenment. that’s what the son of chaos calls it ━ diving deep into mortal ears and twisting and turning and feeding on their terror until the only thing they wish for is death, and the only person who can give them that sweet mercy is him. until he becomes both their savior and greatest fear.

❝ do you fear me now? ❞

THE ENLIGHTENMENT.

A GOD.

OBEY.

VIII. his family is next. hyojong can barely scrounge up any love for them; it’s a disgusting concept: love.

it’s all too simple.

gabriel, with his mind so easy to mold and play with. he whispers to the man in his sleep, sleek claws sinking into the brain of a pathetic mortal.

KILL KILL KILL

hyojong goes deeper.

MURDER MURDER MURDER

and everything snaps.

IX. BREAKING NEWS ; MAN MURDERS WIFE AND DAUGHTER IN RAGE

this is channel ten with breaking news. police reports have confirmed that forty three year old gabriel schmidt went into a flying rage and brutally stabbed his wife and eight year old daughter twenty times each. afterwards, he took his own life.

we have updates that there was a single survivor.

his stepson, hyojong kim.

X. it has been five years. he’s fucked and killed his way to the top, manipulating everyone around him until he’s filthy rich and swimming in luxury. chaos has unfurled from deep within, taking root as a deep and vile disease. the son of chaos has long been rotting from the inside out, doing as he pleases as a modern god.

he’s traveled the world, leaving a wake of sin and utter wickedness ━ and he can’t get enough.

hyojong has just been reaching the peak of boredom, until he finds a particularly interesting new victim friend. in a state of panic and desperation, the boy quickly calls himself a son of aphrodite. hyojong pauses in curiosity; a demigod? he’s heard of the myths, but tossed them as frivolous fairy tales.

another prod of the sniveling boy’s brain confirms the truth; a whole island full of….immortals and half-immortals alike. for the first time in a very long time, hyojong finds himself excited. fresh meat.

and perhaps a way to get himself truly enlightened.

LOOK TO YOUR KINGDOMS

I AM COMING FOR THEM ALL

PANTHEON: egyptian CHILD OF: set POWERS:

chaos manipulation : the power to manipulate the chaotic forces of the universe

001. chaos inducement: cause chaos in any scale, from minor disorder, confusion and/or disobedience, up to causing massive storms, destruction, loss of laws and order to cause mass panic, etc.

002. chaos empowerment: become stronger, faster, more durable, etc. by/from chaos

emotion manipulation: the power to manipulate emotions

001. fear: manipulate the fear of people, animals and other creatures, whether by increasing, causing or otherwise channeling fear

002. anxiety: manipulate the anxiety of people, animals and other creatures, whether by increasing, causing or otherwise channeling anxiety

003. insanity: manipulate the insanity of people, animals and other creatures, whether by increasing, causing or otherwise channeling insanity

mental manipulation : the power to manipulate thoughts, mindsets, and upper brain functions of others.

001. this ability is highly limited, and only applies to his before mentioned abilities. he is able to slip into the minds of others to see their deepest fears to manipulate them to his will; though if a mental barrier is too strong, he will not be able to invade the mind. if that is the case, hyojong is able to cause and manipulate fear, but isn’t able to see what exactly his victim’s fear is.

002. by slipping into their mind, he is able to whisper certain encouragements amongst other things to toy with his playthings

STRENGTHS: + eloquent and charming + highly manipulative, he’s able to smoothly exploit and control almost anyone + quite the actor, hyojong can put on any mask to play whatever game he wants to achieve the end whatever the means

WEAKNESSES: - falling into a spiral of insanity that will soon make him lose his grip on reality - terribly power hungry, which may be his downfall - an immature child that throws fits whenever things don’t go his way

[doomedandstoned]

THREE EYES LEFT Expose ‘The Cult of Astaroth’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

Review by Billy Goate

I suspect THREE EYES LEFT is not a household name among many doomers, save for the more cosmopolitan of aficionados. They're part of an explosion of the slow 'n' slow that has dominated Italy in the last decade (documented in our compilation Italy Strikes Back), which itself has a rich history of epic and gothic doom.

If this is indeed your first encounter with Three Eyes Left, you might assume the album before us is a first and that this is one of many recent bands vying for attention in the ever-crowded landscape of doom metal adherents. Truth is, this is the fourth album that Three Eyes Left have bestowed upon us since their demo in 2006 and subsequent long-play, Silentium Aurum Est, in 2008. Indeed, Three Eyes Left have an enduring fascination for the occult that has followed them throughout their discography, from the aforementioned debut to La danse macabre in 2013 and Asmodeus in 2015 (he being the reputed king of demons). Now the band from Bologna turn their attention to another unexplored realm of forbidden knowledge in 'The Cult of Astaroth' (2017 - Argonauta Records).

Maic (vocals, guitar), Ste (drums), or Andrea (bass) are now over a decade strong as a band and they couldn’t sound more refined. Everything about The Cult of Astaroth is well-crafted and tightly executed, with refined technique, effective vocalizations, and pristinely recorded riffmaking.

To set the stage for this, the band's most ambitious effort yet, we're given this chillingly cryptic forward:

Three dancing eyes chasing the night idol, a sound bending at the magical sphinxes of times ready to explode in millions of vivid and dying butterflies. A needle's storm enveloping more distant minds’ sleep to fecundate the first handmaid’s ancient womb. A psychic and interrupted rock, a multitude of words weaved together with a string made of stones and gems. Three Eyes Left is the dance before the word and the word before colour, and now waits for the harvest refulgence to gather and offer the livid germ of its roots.

Dance incestuous sons! At the sickle light, find the chosen ones! Show them what they will receive in gift. A mass of mothers and sisters, of eyes consecrated to the black light of oblivion, the Danse Macabre of ethereal mastodons and solar flares. A music box made of tendon and blood from which rolls the inception of silence, the virgin that offers herself for another smile, the planet that fears a light that isn’t its own.

From the stones' gardens up to the never born dreams, through the Third Stone and the solitude of mud, beyond the discriminating mind’s hell: this is the sludgey, psychedelic domain of Three Eyes Left, now more than ever.

The Cult of Astaroth by Three Eyes Left releases Friday, September 15th on Argonauta Records. You can pre-order the CD here. Today, Doomed & Stoned is treating you to the album's world premiere. Give ear....

The name Astaroth seemed vaguely familiar to me. It took me more than a moment to put my finger on it. This triggered childhood memories, stories of an "Asherah pole." Could there be a connection between Astaroth and Asherah, the name I'd heard so often in Bible studies and sermons from my father's pulpit growing up? The coincidence was too rich to evade my inquiry. Asherah, so the Biblical story goes, was a neighboring Canaanite deity, the mother counterpart to father deity El. El was the big "G" god that Abrahamic religions adopted and was later known to the ancient Israelites by the sacred, unpronounceable name of Yahweh, a fearsome male deity infamous for his jealous demand of complete and total devotion.

Despite the exclusivity of their covenant with Yahweh, there seemed to be some strange hold, some irresistible pull, that kept people going back to Asherah time and again. After the infamous incident with the Golden Calf, Moses had commanded the Israelites to cut down the Asherah poles which, while never described explicitly, must have been some kind of totem or elaborately decorated tree to the goddess Asherah. In the Scriptures, there is a narrative where ancient Israelites were constantly leaving their national deity in favor of this foreign one. What was the crazy allure that kept turning them back again and again, despite the prophets’ stern warnings and even the unpleasant prospect of capital punishment? Whoever Asherah was and whatever meant to people was enough for them abandon as fierce a deity as Yahweh without a second thought. It had always left me puzzled as a Bible student, yet no one at church seemed all that curious to dig for an answer, so I left it as one of the "unsolved mysteries of the Bible."

It took this very album by Three Eyes Left to renew my interest in finding the missing pieces to my puzzle. As it turns out, Asherah is the Hebrew word for Astaroth from the Greek Astarte -- all basically transliterations of the same word that connects you back to (are you ready for this?) the ancient Mesopotamian deity Ishtar -- the mother of all mankind, born in the cradle of civilization. The cult of Ishtar has long been known to historians and the later rivalry between Yahweh and Asherah could have been the beginnings of our modern day war between God and The Devil. Astaroth, in particular, was written depicted, along with a bevy of fellow "demons," in the Dictionnaire Infernal of 1963.

Now, I'm not more than an armchair historian, but I cannot deny the fascination that brings me to this new record by Three Eyes Left, who have chosen the Cult of Astaroth as the concept for an entire album. Let's walk through it, shall we?

Quaint acoustic picking opens "Sons Of Aries," as though worshippers was climbing the steppes to join the mountaintop throng. The sacred moments of early morning solemnity. “After everything we've seen, there isn't much that rattles either of us anymore,” a woman reflects. “But this one, this one still haunts me.” A quote, of course, from Lorraine Warren in The Conjuring II. The vignette about a slaughtered family has been repurposed here, I suppose, because of its appropriately dire parallel to the sacrifices of The Cult of Astaroth. Or perhaps it is simply to set the mood for this epic number, which reaches past the ten minute mark. The gentle opening has by now given way to a dark, slow doom riff, which in turn scares up a dark storm of drum, bass, and guitar, orated by a singer describing the frightful scene before us. This will be familiar territory to any Electric Wizard fan, but I dare say it ratchets everything up a notch or two higher. Chords clash with great intensity, like vast tidal waves in an ethereal sea of sound dashing against one Great Rock, on top of which is an ancient altar to Astaroth. There are moments when the guitars sing beautifully amidst this stormy chaos and angsty vocals decry the atrocities that lie ahead of us, committed impulsively to this strange deity for reasons we are yet to uncover.

"You Suffer....I, The Evil Dead" opens with a child's music box playing "This Old Man." This is followed by the groovy grind of southern sludge and dark, caustic growls. Maic's vocal range here is impressive, insofar as he can waffle between dirty and clean vocals effortlessly and, I must note, quite effectively. We feel we're at a tug of war now; perhaps playing the part of the sacrificial devotee bound and gagged who is being tossed around amongst the worshippers in some arcane ritual around a blazing center inferno before the final appeasement. Musically, this is a song any friend of Weedeater, Sourvein, and Bongzilla would be at home with, though I dare say it carries far more emotional weight than those of similar vein. I love Maic's guitar leads throughout, reminding me of the great Paul Chain, who I imagine coundn't help but have been an influence on this crew. Maic has an instinct for just how long to play out a riff, complete with rubato phrasing and deliciously tortured effects.

The third track samples some kind of odd, scraping sound -- as though something were being dragged along the rocks. "Spiritic Signals Through The Beyond" is the song's title. It begins with a downtuned dirge, a frenetic circle of worshippers crying out to the goddess for some sign, any sign. Maic's vocals approach chillingly epic levels here, in the sacred tradition of Candlemass. I have to say they are once again one of the most compelling things about each and every song we've heard so far. A Sleep-like drum and bass section gives a contemplative close to the track, as we fade out of one scene and prepare for entry into another.

"Chants into the Grave" is pure fire, a solid headbanger for sure. One imagines the prophetess of this cult crying a lungful of devoted praise to Astaroth, whilst simultaneously providing stern exhortation to those worshippers dancing 'round the altar of fuzz and fury. At this juncture, I should note that not one song feels disconnected from the other. Each feels like it is connected to the one before it and is building, ever building, towards some climactic atrocity.

Enter "The Satanist." The center track on this album introduces us to the shadowy instigator of this chaos. Fret and wah lead into a charging drum beat and grinding savagery, as one imagines the punishing hate of Cain's rock making contact with Abel's temple. Whether this is the band's intention or not, an atmosphere of violence surrounds the record's bruising fifth number. "I hope they are watching...they'll see," says a voice in the backdrop, a sample this time from Hitchcock's Psycho (1960). “They’re probably watching me. Well, let them. Let them see what kind of a person I am."

By now, if you've been listening along with me, you're probably thinking the headbanging doom just couldn't get any better. But Three Eyes Left are unrelenting. Just like the storied cultic rituals of ancient times, The Cult of Astaroth continues in its frenzy, building and building in aggression as storm clouds gather, thunder booms and echoes across the horizon, and the earth quakes with a thirst for blood. Thus is the ambience of "Demon Cult."

Now more than half-way through our journey, we're introduced to another important clue pertaining to The Cult of Astaroth: "De Umbrarum Regni." This is reference, no doubt, to the Delomelanicon, a book also known as The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, tied to The Club Dumas which Spanish author Arturo Pérez-Reverte wrote about. The mysterious tome was a centerpiece of that wonderful 1999 film, 'The Ninth Gate' by Roman Polanski. Incidentally, there are nine tracks to this album. Coincidence? As the story goes, just three copies of Delomelanicon were extant, with woodcuts purportedly engraved by The Devil himself. Those precious few who read from its pages could, the legend said, summon demonic forces to obey them at will.

"Funeral Of An Exorcist" may refer to one of those brave souls who attempted to expose the activities of the cult or retrieve the devilish book that gave Astaroth's disciples such unimaginable powers. Apparently, he got in over his head. This is his story, or more accurately, his obituary.

"...And Then God Will Die..." is the big closer, exposing the final aim of this ancient conspiracy of shadows. The question remains: will the machinations of Astaroth's cult be successful? With this final blasphemy, Three Eyes Left brings their fourth album comes to a close, ending with faint screeches that hint of more to come.

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[creativeashproductions]

Innocent [Part 7]

Summary: Blake Ainsley’s always had a rule that she wouldn’t getting into a relationship with someone outside of SHIELD, the problem came in the form of a tall brunette hunter trying to be normal. Blake and Sam believe each other to be too innocent for the world they both know, one that involved chaos, death, blood and pain. Will they ever know about each others ‘real life’?    

Characters: Blake Ainsley/OC x Sam Winchester, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff

Words: 3277

Warnings: Swearing, blood, a little fluff, and a little angst.

Part One  Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

Masterlist

Prompt List

ASK US A QUESTION LIST

They parked in the woods a good distance away. They were about to leave Sam out of possible harms way when he grasped onto Blake arm with determination. He was a light sleeper so it wasn’t unexpected. “We here?”

“The file came from these coordinates.” Nat informed him as he climbed out the truck to his full six foot four height. He towered over Steve and that reminded him of the days he was tiny.

“So did I.” Steve mumbled as they walked around the camp as Nat raised her device in the air looking for anything, “This camp is where I was trained.”

“Changed much?” Sam rolled his eyes not believing this deserted training camp was where this man came from. How could Blake blindly put her faith in this guy.

“A little.” Steve said his eyes trained on one area as if something was there that the rest of them couldn’t see. What they didn’t hear was a familiar voice calling out to Steve’s former self who had stopped to watch the present man. The voice called Rogers back to the group and into formation.

“You okay?” Blake softly asked the older man.

“Brings some back emotions. It is stupid that I actually miss the days when I was barely 100 pounds soaking wet?”

“Not really. You went into the line of duty to help your country in the days we were at our worst. You didn’t get to see the win through.”

“This is a dead end. Zero heat signature, zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off.” Nat sighed barely noticing as Steve was staring at the building in front of them.

“What’s wrong Steve?” Blake questioned softly as Sam looked around.

“Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards from the barracks. This building is in the wrong place.”

Blake watched as Steve grasped the lock in his hand before gripping his shield and slamming it down. The lock dropped to the ground before opening the door for everyone. He placed his hand on Sam’s chest as the females went inside.

“You sure you want to step into mess we have on our hands?” Steve asked, “You still go back to California and forget this all happened.”

“I’m sure. You don’t know the life I had growing up, and I would never give up on that woman in there. I love her.”

“Okay.” Steve sighed letting Sam walk past. Glancing around he pulled the store shut before catching up with everyone.

Blake flicked the lights on allowing them to see what they had walked into, specifically they noticed that they had stepped into an old SHIELD office. They all stood in shock at what was around them.

“This is SHIELD.” Nat said looking all around.

“Maybe where it all started.” Steve said as they continued into a room holding old photographs of Howard Stark, Peggy, and Colonel Chester Phillips. Blake had read up on the history of SHIELD when she officially joined.

“There’s Stark’s father. You can tell they shared the same personality.” Blake whispered thinking of the brainiac in charging of supplying money for the Avengers needs.

“Howard.” Steve muttered.

“Who’s the girl?” Sam asked noticing the sadness on Steve’s face.

There’s no reply as Steve continued walking farther into the room where a bookshelf was resting on a wall. Taking up a lot of the room.

“If you already working in a secret office… “ Steve trailed off as Sam helped him move the bookshelf away revealing a pair of silver elevator doors.

“Then why do you need to hide the elevator?” Blake finished rather surprised at the revelation. It was slightly a tight fit riding down to the further into the earth. The doors opened to show an even larger room with a large amount of old computers.

“This can’t be the data point, this technology is ancient.” Nat says looking around the room in shock. “Nat. We’re in the right place. There’s a flash drive port, this definitely not originally here.” Blake said in shock also. Sam glanced around in wonder.

“Well let’s see what happens.” Nat genuinely smiles at her female…friend. She could consider Blake a friend. She quickly places the flash drive into the port activating the computers in the room.

“Initiate system?” The robotic voice of the computer said. “Y-E-S, spells yes.”

Sharing a look with the people in the room with her, as Nat carefully typed yes. Everyone but Steve watched in amazement of being with something so old. Steve was more comfortable with these computers opposed to the modern day ones.

“Shall we play a game?” Nat chuckles darkly before turning to Steve, “It’s from a movie that…”

“Yeah, I saw it.” Steve muttered rolling his eyes.

“I made him watch it with Thor and I.” Blake chuckled remembering the unimpressed and frightened appearance of both the men that night. She always found it amazing that they were big men that fought real life bad people and a little movie scared them.

“Good job.” Nat said appreciative.

“Rogers, Steven. Born, 1918. Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna. Born 1984. Ainsley, Blake James. Born 1982. Winchester, Samuel. Born 1983.” A heavy accented voice says coming from the computer. There on the screen is a green figure with glasses, it was like a prehistoric version of FaceTime or Skyping.

“What the hell…” Sam trailed off freaking out internally. This was something he had never though possible especially with such old technology.

“It’s some kind of recording.” Natasha says.

“How the hell does it know Sam?!” Blake exclaimed shocked. He had nothing to do with SHIELD or HYDRA. He didn’t even have social media for god sake and he never explained why.

“I am not a recording Fräulein. I amy not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I am…” The computer trails off. A black and white photo is brought up of a man Blake can’t put her finger on.

“Do you know this thing?” Blake whispers over to Steve. Sam goes to pat his pocket looking for his phone only to discover it missing.

“Shit. Guys can you do what you have to do? I lost my phone. It has my families number on it and some important information about law schools.” Sam questioned wincing at the possibility of losing everything.

“Uh. Yeah, we’ll be out as soon as possible. Go to the truck I guess.” Blake said. Sam swiftly kissed her on the cheek before returning to the elevator.

“Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He’s been dead for years.” Steve muttered not taking his eyes off the screen. The familiarity of the name came back to Blake with ease, it was something that Steve had only mentioned in passing after a couple times they had found.

“First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In 1972 I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body, my mind however, that was worth saving on two thousand feet of data banks. You are standing in my brain.” Zola replied only showing the slightly emotion when correct his nationality.

“That’s just beyond creepy.” Blake shivered.

“How did you get here?”

“Invited.” “It was Operation Paperclip after World War II. SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic values.” Natasha began.

“Swiss. Don’t want him putting up some unfriendly photos on Facebook…oh wait you can’t with his junk!” Blake cackled feeling Steve shove his elbow into her ribs.

“They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own.” Zola stated, “I am no mere computer program Fräulein, I am a genius without a physical body.”

“Still creepy you freak.”

“HYDRA died with the Red Skull.” Steve hissed giving Blake another glare.

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” Zola continued. 
 “Prove it.”

“Accessing archive.” Zola said as old footage popped up showing Red Skull before Blake started to wonder if Sam was waiting at the truck as asked, “HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize, was that if you try to take that freedom they resist. The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, SHIELD was founded and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside SHIELD. For seventy years HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war. And when history did no cooperate, history was changed.”

Blake’s eyes widened in horror as the information, the mere genius of how HYRDA had been hiding so well over the years. She shared a mixture of horror, shock and disgust with Nat and Steve before she turned back to Zola.

“That’s an absolutely stunning way to hide. Nobody would have thought to even think about that.” Blake whispered.

“That’s impossible, SHIELD would have stopped you.” Nat said pissed off and unwillingly to believe the garbage she was hearing.

“Accident will happen.” Zola says creating shivers on Blake’s arms.

Suddenly on the computer screen is footage of Howard and Maria Stark’s car accident that was apparently a set up. The real cause of death was murder by HYDRA. Next is footage about the death of Director Fury. Blake’s hand raised to her mouth barely able to comprehend the depth of betrayal of working for HYDRA even when she didn’t have clue.

“HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA’s new world order will arise. We won, Captain. Your death amounts to the same as your life; a zero sum.” Zola provides more information but Steve can’t take it any longer so he breaks the computer, “As I was saying…What’s on this drive? Project Insight requires insight. So I wrote an algorithm.”

“What kind.” Blake harshly says pushing herself in front Nat and Steve, “What does this shitty thing do?”

“Blake.” Nat whispers putting her hand back on her arm.

“The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.” Zola’s voice if possible takes on a type of evil. At the sound of slight grinding they spin around to see the doors to their only way out are closing and they wouldn’t be able to make it in time by running. Without hesitation Steve throws his shield trying to jam it in the doors but it ricochets off into the wall and back into Steve’s hand. “Guys. We’ve got a bogey. Short range ballistic with thirty seconds tops.” Nat says looking down at her phone. “Who the fuck fired it?” Blake exclaimed.

“SHIELD.”

“I’m afraid I have been stalling, Captain. Admit it, it’s better this way. We are both out of time.” Zola finished his little spiel.

He hadn’t even finished his sentence when Steve’s sees a small opening from his frantic searching. He yanks the grate off and throwing it out of the way to throw Blake, Nat and himself in with the hope it would be enough to save their lives. Pulling themselves into a tight little ball the shield barely covers them all. It’s a fiery hell as he pulls himself out to scope out danger before scooping Nat into his arms.

Five Minutes Earlier

Sam is antsy waiting by the truck for the group to join him, he had been waiting for nearly five minutes. There was no sign of them and it was making his skin crawl. All he could think about was how that thing had known everyone’s names and birthdates. How he knew Sam’s birthdate.

Better yet apparently Steve Rogers, wait no Captain fucking America, is actually from a different era. How the hell was he still so young looking? Jesus did he find the fountain of youth because with hunting monsters he wouldn’t be surprised. Actually he didn’t know why he was surprised that it was possible. It could be witchcraft but there wasn’t anyway…plus he seemed too righteous and pure to bother with that stuff. Not to mention that the group definitely didn’t know about the hunting life.

“Come on guys.” Sam sighed leaning back onto the truck.

They should have gotten all the information they had and should have been out here already given how easy they seemed to be able to both hide in plain sight and hack. Not even his family were that good at hacking and that was saying something. Sam did most of the hacking when his Dad tried to keep him out of the hunting fray.

He had just leaned his head against the truck when he saw something going straight for the building Blake and her friends were in. He dropped to his knees in anguish as he watched the building explode and go into flames. He couldn’t help the sobs leaving his body because there was no way anyone could survive that.

“NO!” Sam screamed sobbing. He couldn’t get himself together because he didn’t know what he could even do now.

Everywhere he turned he saw red high flames and he wondered why he had bothered leaving them. He shouldn’t have left them. He should have known it was going to happen because what ever goes right in his life? He didn’t know how long he cried on the cold ground not caring about anything at that moment.

“Can you help me?”

“H-how?” Sam gasped looking up to see Steve standing there with Blake thrown over his shoulder and Nat in his arms, both unconscious.

“We don’t have time! Open the doors.” Steve demanded causing Sam to scrambled into the back seat.

Blake and Nat were carefully placed in the back seat with Sam holding Blake in his arms. He kept kissing her head muttering thanks to whoever decided to cause a miracle.

“What happened?” “Zola was stalling. We didn’t know what was happening until he let us know that we were going to be dead. Nat caught information that a bogey was headed straight towards us with not even a minute.” Steve said as he peeled out of the area, “The reason we’re not dead is because of my shield.”

“How?”

“It’s made of a metal called Vibranium. It was given to me by Howard Stark and it’s been with me ever since. The material is extremely strong and nearly unbreakable. It’s a special and highly wanted metal that only comes from on area in the world.”

“How are you even alive and look this old?” “Seventy years ago I lost my best friend when he fall out of a train to his death. A short while later we learnt that Red Skull was going to bomb countless cities. The problem was that those bombs were actually aircrafts. In the end right before my life ended in that era I was trying to turn one of the planes around but it was going too fast. I called HYDRA headquarters where my team was. The plane was going towards New York and instead of letting millions of people die I crashed it. I crashed it into the Arctic ocean with my last words being with the love of my life.” Steve said not wanting to really get into the matter anymore. He could already feel the tears building up in his eyes.

“You should definitely be dead.”

“I very much should be.” Steve agreed

It was mere minutes after the truck had left from the hiding place when the STRIKE team showed up to roam the area. As per usual the head of the team Rumlow was searching more than the others, he wanted them dead. In his opinion he was better than them and he would find them easily and he would kill them. Even that damn tag along that was apart of Viper’s personal life.

“You find anything. A piece of clothing or a goddamn fingernail I want to be the first to know. If I find out one of you took mere minutes to tell me I will have your head on a stick. Blake Widow, Viper and Cap are dangerous to the live of HYDRA.” Rumlow growled.

“Of course Sir.” One of the agents said before leaving to check another part of the area.

“Rumlow!” One of his men called.

“What is it?” Rumlow asked as he joined three of his members looking into a small area just large enough for three people. There was a footprint that was a match to Captain’s shoe size.

“If they survived this would be the place as long as the shield was above.”

“They survived. It’s Captain America.” Rumlow growled not liking it, “They will have injuries, get camera feeds to look for four people with injuries.”

“Of course.”

Rumlow got back on his feet as he surveyed the area for anything that wasn’t upturned. Looking over he noticed there was tracks specifically from a vehicle. His eyes narrowed figuring out that the Captain had stolen a truck.

There was only one person that would have the greatest chance of finding these people and it was time to put him to test against a part of his now very forgotten past.

“Call in the Asset.”

Alexander Pierce was on his way to his kitchen to get a drink giving thought on how he would continue on bringing in Captain America and his followers. He had to make it perfect so he wouldn’t be suspected because he had to have his announcement as part of HYDRA timed right. He had opened his fridge and turned to put the milk on the counter when he noticed a very familiar figure sitting at his table, a gun within reach on the table. He slowly closed the fridge without turning away.

“I’m going to go, Mr. Pierce. Do you need anything before I leave?” Renata, his housekeeper, asked as she placed her bag on her shoulder. She was in the other room.

“N. Uh…it’s fine, Renata, you can go home.” Pierce said not taking his eyes off his guest. “Okay, night-night.”

“Good night. Want some milk?” Pierce asked the man sitting in the dark. The Asset had come to him and not on visiting terms. Alexander walked over to a cupboard to pull out a glass. Unsurprisingly he didn’t receive an answer, “The timetable has moved. Our window is limited. Three targets, level six.”

Pierce poured himself a glass of milk not moving until he took a sip of his drink. Walked over to the table he said down in front of the man many called the Winter Soldier. The Asset, as HYDRA had always called him said silent and motionless as the man he was most in contact with continued to talk.

“They already cost me Zola.” Pierce nearly spat, “I want confide death in ten hours.”

The noise of someone coming into the kitchen unannounced causing the Asset and Pierce to look behind them. Standing there was his housekeeper Renata not noticing the secret meeting going on.

“Sorry, Mr. Pierce, I…I forgot my phone.” She trails off finally noticing the Asset with the atmosphere dangerous and unapologetic.

“Oh, Renata. I wish you would have knocked.” Pierce said almost saddened by the event that had to happen with her now. Picking up the gun with ease and familiarity he aims it towards her. Quickly he shoots her once causing a scream before he does it once more as she falls down.

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