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southeastasianists · 8 months ago

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Tan Ming Li is a certified death doula. Just as there are those who facilitate bringing new life into the world, there should be people facilitating more and better ways to talk about death and dying, she reasons.

In 2023, she started The Life Review, a social venture with the mission to normalise conversations about death, dying and bereavement. Events open to the public include Life Stories, a series of chat sessions with topics such as “Motherless daughters”, “Real men don’t cry” and “Pet loss and our enduring bonds”; as well as Death Over Dinner, in which people come together to have conversations guided by Tan about their personal experiences with loss while sharing a meal.

The last Death Over Dinner took place at South Indian restaurant Podi & Poriyal, where participants were served dishes containing ingredients with special life and death significance in South Indian culture such as black sesame seeds, which signify purification; and jackfruit, the wood of which is often used as funeral pyre logs during cremation.

“What better way for Asians to connect than through food?” said Tan, explaining that Death Over Dinner is actually a global movement that originated in the US, “but we tweaked it so that food was a much bigger component, building the conversations around the ingredients and dishes. In other countries, the concept is just for people to talk about death over the dinner table.”

Tan, who is in her 40s, believes that getting comfortable with talking openly and honestly about such topics is vitally important.

“A nationwide survey conducted last year (by the Singapore Management University) revealed that ‘only 53 per cent of Singaporeans are comfortable discussing their own death while barely a third (33.4 per cent) would do so with someone who is dying’,” she shared.

She feels there is also a tendency to over-medicalise conversations about death, focusing on treatments and doctors.

“As a society, death is not something that is commonly discussed and we tend to be ‘death-denying’. Healthcare and wellness are all about ‘preventing’ death. In fighting against death, we are unaccepting of this natural part of life. This makes it hard to be vulnerable about our emotions around it,” she said.

Even if you haven’t lost a loved one yourself, “When someone else experiences a loss, many of us don’t know how to address the topic and end up using platitudes like ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or worse, ‘Everything happens for a reason’,” she pointed out.

Ironically, avoiding the subject of death inadvertently gives it more power. “This power can then suppress our thoughts, beliefs and behaviour,” she opined.

NO STRANGER TO DEATH AND DENIAL

Tan speaks from personal experience. When she was 17, her mum died of cancer. “Dad said, ‘Don’t worry, she will recover.’ Her sudden passing left us in shock. I remember my dad brought me to the hospital canteen, broke the news to me and simply said, ‘We just have to accept it and move on’. I don’t think he ever recovered. As far as I recall, there were no conversations about it within the family.

“In the years that followed, I lost my dad, grandma, uncles and aunts… I was frozen in my grief response and it took a mental health crisis for me to start addressing these issues.”

Concurrently, Tan had always been interested in social work, from her university years when she volunteered to support children with special needs, to volunteering to teach yoga and breathing at various institutions including the Society for the Physically Disabled (SPD) and the Institute of Mental Health (IMH). She also lived in Thailand for several years, where she gave her time to a social enterprise helping indigenous craftsmen sell their goods.

Her career was in Advertising Research until she took a sabbatical and travelled to India in 2013. Following that period of time in which to think and reflect, she embarked on a new path, offering services such as mindfulness and movement.

“In the course of my work, I encountered clients who are terminally ill or grieving the loss of a loved one. Curious about how to better support them, I started researching the topic,” she recalled. “One day, I received an email from students working on a grief literacy event, inviting me to facilitate a somatic movement session for parents who had lost their child. Somatic movement involves exploring the body's sensations and movements to promote healing. During this session, many participants were able to release long held emotions within their bodies, even years after their loved one had passed.”

Motivated by the experience, she enrolled in the death doula course offered by the International End of Life Doula Association, an organisation in the US. Participants acquire skills revolving around how to support and comfort the dying and their loved ones.

“As I delved deeper into the subject, I realised that this was something that needed to go beyond supporting my clients one-to-one. The societal reluctance to discuss death openly leads to a lot of discomfort and unresolved emotions surrounding the topic, and I realised the need to scale and bring this out to the public,” she said.

So, “I decided to pursue a Masters of Science degree in Thanotology – even doctors go, ‘What’s that?’ – and start The Life Review as a platform for people to get comfortable discussing end-of-life matters through education and engagement.”

As far as she knows, she’s the only one in Singapore taking a Masters in Thanatology (“When the course started, the Programme Director said, ‘Now we are an international programme, thanks to Ming Li!’”) and one of just four people in Singapore who have completed death doula training.

“While trying to help people going through bereavement and grief, it struck me that I also had to look at my own experiences and work through all the emotions and experiences that I hadn’t known how to deal with – or even realised was necessary to,” she divulged.

“The way society operates, if we experience a loss, we are given three days of compassionate leave – and only for immediate family – and then we are expected to get back to ��normal’ as productive members of society. But what about losing a friend? A partner? A pet? Do you get over it in three days? Since the norm was to get on with life, that’s what I did. It was only later in life that I realised that it was affecting me in ways that I did not immediately connect back to my earlier experiences, such as in the way I interacted with people in relationships and friendships. I would not get too close in case they would disappear,” she shared.

And so, “The main reason I’m doing this now is because of what I have gone through in my own life. The programmes I’m planning are skewed towards caregivers for now, as I don’t want anyone to be in a situation that I was in.” She added, “It was a turning point for me to adopt cats, knowing that they will die before me, yet to accept this and love them.”

Her work has also turned into “my legacy project for my parents”.

“I have a purpose to fulfil now, to bring The Life Review into fruition, in the remaining years left of my life. And in a way, I’m already planning for my end, making sure that I don’t regret things that I could or should have done,” she said.

DINNER WITH A PURPOSE

At Death Over Dinner events, “The framing of conversations is intentionally designed to be inclusive and non-confrontational. Participants are encouraged to share their thoughts and experiences without feeling pressured to delve into deeply personal reflections or imagine their own funerals,” Tan said.

The dinner serves as a casual starting point for discussions about a normally taboo topic to unfold naturally, fostering a sense of comfort and familiarity around the topic of death, she continued. “The intention is not to impose rigid guidelines or restrictions but rather to offer gentle guidance and prompts to steer the dialogue in a constructive direction” while embracing cultural elements within our specific society.

It is also about equipping people with the knowhow and language to either walk alongside a person who is dying, or to support a caregiver.

There are sessions taking place every quarter, which are open for individual sign-ups. The next Death Over Dinner event is planned for Apr 25 at Podi & Poriyal, with a group size of 12 to 16 people. Tan is also open to private group bookings, and hopes to possibly work with other restaurants as well.

The topic of death is rarely broached when everyone is healthy, she mused. But, in the face of loss, which comes sooner or later to all of us, “People may struggle to find the right words to express their feelings or fears, fearing that broaching the topic could cause further distress or discomfort to the person who is ill. As a result, conversations about end-of-life wishes, funeral arrangements, or even acknowledging the possibility of death may be avoided altogether, creating a palpable tension and unease.

"Dealing with it openly and saying what needs to be said can help the ones left behind adjust to the loss after the person passes away.”

And, “In the case of someone who knows they are dying, people around them not wanting to talk about it can leave them feeling unheard. They may not be able to express their desires; there may be things left unsaid; there may be people tiptoeing around them and telling them, ‘You’re going to be fine’ when they know full well they won’t be.”

The question of how we can begin to approach the topic of death in a meaningful way begs another: How talking about death openly and frankly can help us to live our lives more fully and intentionally.

“Accepting the finite nature of life and finding peace with it can change our outlook on life. When we acknowledge that life inevitably starts and ends, we are able to define what happens in between that holds significance,” Tan said.

“How do we make what happens in the middle matter? How do we leave a legacy for ourselves and future generations? Do we want to spend our time sweating the small stuff and harbouring grudges, or instead, use it to create memories and foster deep relationships? Living intentionally prompts us to confront these questions and align our actions with our values.

“Ultimately, embracing the impermanence of life compels us to live authentically, love fiercely and leave a legacy of compassion and connection.”

To sign up for Death Over Dinner, visit https://thelifereview.org/death-over-dinner.

#Southeast Asia #Singapore #Tan Ming Li #Death

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lol-jackles · 1 year ago

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Branding wise, I always thought about J2 as good guys, hard working, someone to have a beer with. Fathers. Family men, even when they filmed apart from wives & kids. JP's activities and socials still make him the nice boy next door all grown up into a hunk. However, JA's recent choices seem to mess with this. Big Sky was still the same honest, good guy. Nuanced with a few shades of gray. OTOH The Boys and Gen V? Geez. Nasty. There is "stretching" your range and then there's shredding your image

Every actor has said at least once, “I hate all that branding and marketing stuff – I just want to ACT!'

But if the actor doesn't have brand that tells a clear, concise, and consistent message, then they're going to book less roles.

Actors ideally have a "sweet spot" in their acting range to convey the message of their brand. That sweet spot contains a whole bunch of different characters that gets seen by casting directors and producers. This way they can get more offers for interesting roles because producers are going, "I wonder what else he can do."

For example, Tom Hank's brand is a genuinely nice, down-to-earth guy. He leveraged this brand into a wide variety of heroic everyman roles that have increased his fame and garnered the trust and respect of his fans, and twice earned him an Oscar.

Bruce Willis was initially known as a romantic comedy guy, so he seemed mismatched for the action movie Die Hard. During the 80s the action heroes looked like Greek Gods and producers were so worried that audiences wouldn't buy Willis as an action hero that he wasn't in the initial movie posters. To make the movie work, they leaned into Willis' romantic comedy persona as an ordinary cop (hence the lack of Greek God body) who is trying to woo back his estranged wife and then struggled to rescue her when her office building is taken over by bank robbers disguised as terrorists. The movie was a massive success that spawned a franchise and Bruce was able to leverage his loyal everyman brand into variety of roles from comedy (Death Become Her) to action (The Last Boy Scout) to Sci Fi (The 5th Element) to drama (The 6th Sense and Motherless Brooklyn).

Jensen is going too broad so it gives out mixed messages. A branded message has to apply to everything in visual marketing i.e. headshots and social media seen by casting director and producers. They click and if they don't instantly understand your message and see a match, then they move on to the next actor. When I look at Jensen's social media, I don't know what he is broadcasting.

Ideally the broadcasting would tell a short story that is one sentence long, so that people can remember it and share it with others. For example, Angelina Jolie’s one-sentence story is, “I am an Oscar winning actress who is committed to philanthropy by providing resources and aid to refugees and immigrant children in war-torn countries.” And to make sure it sticks; she portrayed that character in one of her movies.

Always be consistent in what you decide you want others to see.

#branding #brand

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horizon-verizon · 6 months ago

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If anything TG and Sara Hess defense for Aegon II applies even more so to Viserys and Daemon. A product of their environment. They both grew up motherless (Viserys and Daemon were 7 and 3 respectively when Alyssa died) with no one in their lives telling them misogyny was wrong, and according to TG/Targs haters, their father groomed their mother. Viserys was wed to his 11-year-old cousin at the age of 15/16, by his grandfather, the king. Literally, the highest authority in his existence told him this was what he had to do. Daemon didn’t even consummate his marriage with his 1st wife because he didn’t love her.

Well...

Viserys was wed to his 11-year-old cousin at the age of 15/16, by his grandfather, the king. Literally, the highest authority in his existence told him this was what he had to do. Daemon didn’t even consummate his marriage with his 1st wife because he didn’t love her.

I'd keep it to this part instead of saying that these two didn't know what misogyny was...bc most men in Westeros do not think of misogyny as misogyny, so these two really shouldn't be hailed or made less accountable for whatever sexism they display. Motherlessness also shouldn't keep you/doesn't keep you unable to understand your own prejudices and biases. Women and mothers yes raise their kids on values or teach them how to regard others--as we see w/Alicent--but just as Aegon is accountable for his own awareness of others' needs or feelings, these two men are as well. Women aren't the default ones with the heaviest responsibility for their kids' moral upbringing; the offspring still can and have to develop their own moral compasses or even to just observe peoples reactions to any personal-sexual-boundary crossing action.

Plus, they had their father Baelon, who seemed the least woman-hating and most "respectful" example of a man...so yeah. IF Daemon or Viserys are the most sexist men of the time or at least cared nothing about the women on their lives, it's either Baelon wasn't 100% emotionally there to ingrain in his kids to at least be conscious of their advantage OR these two just decided--unconsciously and consciously, to act towards women as they did and live in their own privileges. Daemon still takes advantage of the fact that he can sleep with anyone other woman while married, even insult her home and house after all. Yeah it's understandable that he wants to be a part of his family's legacy building as most other noble men do, but it's not a good or totally justified thing. It's not uniquely evil, nor is it a good thing, basically. And Viserys continues to impregnate Aemma, leading to her death AND forces his daughters to marry to people they didn't want or when they (Helaena) was far too young despite what happens with Aemma.

But I think it is a complicated mix and pendulum of both, bc yeah Baelon was forever aggrieved of Alyssa's death, men are not typically child rearers and we don't have any details of how he spent time with his sons (no I do not think he was a deadbeat, I still think he put in time & attention more often than you typical Westerosi father but just not perfect or ideally present! Not always able to address the stuff his sons had difficulty understanding or feeling...ex, Viserys becomes too much of a people pleaser).

#asoiaf asks to me #sara hess #hotd critical #fandom critical #baelon targaryen #daemon targaryen #viserys i #fire and blood characters #the targaryens

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unreadpoppy · 5 months ago

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What's in a name - Siren

a character study fic

Read on AO3

A/N: I've had this idea for some time about Siren's name, and I waited until I finished the game (and had a better grasp at her character and the durge character as a whole) to write this. It ended up turning into more a 'exploration' of who she was/is and why she did what she did in the game. Also, it delves a bit into the durge's canon backstory, so beware of a brief mention of vivisection and necrophilia (there aren't details but it's still important to warn).

Word count: 2951

Calloused hands hold her own, as they walk through the park. After a long winter, spring has come, and the sun shines gently on her face. Her mother decided it was the perfect time for a picnic.

They lived in the poor part of the city, in a two-bedroom cottage. The walk to Bloomridge Park was long but when they got there, they found a perfect spot underneath a tree.

Her mother smiled, setting down a blanket, as the young girl walked around, following a small butterfly to a bush of flowers. She looked at it, enchanted by the different colors.

“Oh, look!” She heard her mother behind her. “Do you know what these are?” She crouched down next to the girl, who only shook her head. The woman took one of the flowers and showed it to her. “It’s a dahlia.”

“Dahlia?” The girl asked. “Like me?”

“Yes, my love, like you.” Her mother said, placing the flower behind the girl’s pointy ear.

“They’re pretty!” She exclaimed.

The woman smiled. “Just like you.” She gave the girl a kiss on the cheek. “It’s why I named you after them. They’re my favorite.”

They spend the rest of the day like that. Eating sweets, looking at the flowers and the animals and insects found in the park. They laugh, and play, chasing butterflies, and when they go back home, Dahlia is the happiest little girl in the world.

Years from now, that memory will feel like a dream, of a time before the Urge. But she knows the truth now. She knows what happens after.

A week after the picnic, a hunger will strike the girl. A hunger for blood, for violence - for murder. And in the wake of that hunger, her mother will find herself as one of Dahlia’s first victims, alongside her siblings.

As she sits there, in the pile of mangled corpses she had created, a voice echoes in her head.

‘Young master, precious fledgling, follow ever your heart. In time, your true family will find you.’

Dahlia looks at the kitchen knife in her hand and at her blood soaked dress. For now, the child is satisfied, but it will soon fade, and the need to kill will come back again, and again and again.

Motherless, she wondered and wondered, until she found herself in a brothel, and her killing spree continued. Night after night, men would come to her bed, lured by her song, only to meet their grisly end.

Of course, she did not stop there. Ever so often, she’d slip out of the dodgy building, and murder anyone unlucky enough to cross paths with her.

She couldn’t help it. The Urge to kill was an itch, a pain that was only alleviated by a bloody dagger. But it never stopped. She was always aching, forever hungry for a slaughter, and in her recklessness, she made a mistake.

Dahlia’s victims were usually the poorer members of Baldur’s Gate. People who would not be missed. But one night, when a patriar came to her room, she couldn’t help herself. The lord laid a single finger on her before her dagger slashed his neck, the blood spilling on her.

He was a man who would be missed. And when they found the culprit, Dahlia would never kill again.

No. It couldn’t happen. She couldn’t let it happen. But how would she get rid of the corpse without calling attention, especially when the room downstairs was filled with people. Unlike the others, he hadn’t gone down quietly. The walls of the brothel were thin and soon, her boss would come check in, and that would be her end.

Dahlia was only sixteen when the voice she heard as a child, after her first murder, materialized in front of her, like an angel in disguise.

“Ah, my lady, the time for your home coming has come at last.” The goblin-like creature said, excited. “I awaited long for this most blessedly bloody day.”

The young tiefling frowned, unsure of who the creature was. But his voice…his voice was familiar.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“Sceleritas Fel, my lady.” He tipped his hat and bowed his head. “Your Butler, forever at your service, for as long as you need me.”

“Butler?” She shook her head. How did a poor girl from a brothel have a mystical butler? “I do not understand. Why are you here?”

“I am here to help, young Master.” She opened her mouth again, but he raised a hand before she could say something “I understand you must have many questions, and they shall be answered in due time. But first” he looked to the cadaver next to her, a gleam in his eye “we must clean this mess.”

She nodded but then hesitated, when she heard the sound of the stairs creaking.

“We don’t have time.” She whispered to her butler. “The boss is coming, and there’s too many people downstairs to sneak out. What do I do?”

“Do not fret, my lady. Listen to your heart. What does it tell you to do?”

She closed her eyes, the pounding of her heart mixing with the sound of footsteps. She wanted to leave, to run, but with some many on the way, how could -

Dahlia’s thoughts seemed to stop, as the smell of blood once again filled her nostrils. Killing the patriar hadn’t been enough to satisfy her Urge, but a new opportunity was presenting itself.

She looked at the butler. “It tells me to kill him. To make a blood bath of all of those downstairs.”

“Good, good.” Sceleritas said, smiling. “But that small thing you call a dagger won’t help you.” He pointed towards the weapon embedded in the dead man’s chest. “Here, use this. A gift from your Father.”

The butler produced a blood red, asymmetrical, curved blade, with a golden handle. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and when she held it, she could feel the blade sing, begging for blood.

The blade didn’t wait long, as her boss soon opened the door, the orchestra of screams from Dahlia’s victims soon filling the silence of the night.

By the time she was done, Dahlia was soaked from head to toe in blood. Her pitch black hair now had the same shade of red as her dagger.

“Ah, young Master, what a beautiful display.” The butler said, guiding her outside. As the night’s air kissed Dahlia’s face, she looked down at her dagger. With the blood, she could see her reflection in it, and for a moment, she did not recognize herself. This bloodthirst killer, was that who she truly was? Who she always had been?

The sound of fire made her turn around, and she gasped as she saw the brothel burning.

“There, there, no evidence to be found now.” Sceleritas said, wiping his hands, pleased with himself. “Now, what would my lady like to do?”

Once again, she looked at her reflection in the bloodied dagger, and she knew then, that Dahlia had also died. Not in the brothel, but long ago, along the rest of her family.

She looked to Sceleritas. “I would like to meet my father.”

The Dark Urge was the name Bhaal, her Father, had chosen for her. That was the name that His followers called her, as she stalked the halls of the Temple.

In the years to come, she and her butler ended hundreds of lives. She finessed her methods, and the twisted creativity of her murders only pleased her Father. When not on the streets, hunting, the Dark Urge fills her time with other activities.

She takes some of her victims back to the Temple, drawing out their death for as long as she can, so that she might study them. It is not unusual to find her and the butler deep into someone’s entrails, while they beg for sweet mercy, for the agony to end and the Dark Urge revels in it.

She takes everything from them. Their lives, their voice, their bodies - sometimes she even takes her own pleasure from them. But mostly, she gives them pain. As much pain as she feels.

If she must feel the pain of the urge, so will her victims.

But killing is not the only thing that calms the Dark Urge. In her time, she has found that music is the only way to still her restless thoughts.

She chooses the violin as her instrument of choice. As the sound of the strings fill her ears, her mind quietens. There is nothing and no one but her and her music. And with it, the Dark Urge finds her own voice, singing along to the melancholic sound her violin makes.

It is in these moments of quiet solitude that she wonders if part of Dahlia still lives.

The partnership with the Banite proved fruitful, their assault on Mephistopheles vault being a success. Their plans are slowly becoming a reality.

He intrigues her. He treats her with the due deference that someone of her position is owed, but he also challenges her. When everyone else had either treated her as small,or as the Chosen of Bhaal, a being above their station, Enver Gortash treated her as an equal, as partners.

She entertained him, of course. One day, he and everyone else would all be dead, as her Father intended, but until then, the Dark Urge saw no problem in indulging.

She was in his stronghold, at a balcony, playing the violin, singing along with it. The moon hang in the sky, and she closed her eyes, feeling the breeze on her face.

She did not hear when he entered, only realizing his presence when he said “I did not know you could play.”

The Chosen of Bane stood a few meters away from her, a smirk on his face. She put her violin down as she spoke with him. “You’ll find that killing is just one of my many talents.”

His smirk grew. “Really? And pray tell, what are the others?”

It was her turn to smirk as she beckoned him to follow her, as they entered his close quarters.

That was not the first time they had fucked, but it had been different than the others. When the two lay together, it was hard and painful, and usually ended with the both of them aching, adorned with new scratches, marks and scars.

This time, however, something was different. Maybe they had both been in good moods, as their plans were coming to fruition. Maybe it was a special day that both had forgotten, but not their bodies. Or maybe, it was just what they were needing. Instead of the rough fucking they were used to doing, Gortash and the Dark Urge’s sex that night had been…tender. Caring. They caressed each other's bodies, and instead of scars, she littered her partner’s body with kisses, as he touched her in a way that made her melt.

If the two of them had been different people, she could almost say it was loving. But he was the Chosen of Bane and she was the Chosen of Bhaal, and the two were a plethora of things, but loving was not one of them. Maybe in another life….but not this one.

Still, once they were both satisfied, they laid in bed, holding the other close.

“Dark Urge, they call you.” Gortash scoffed. “The siren, I would say, is more fitting, with how you lured me with your song.”

She raised her head from his chest, supporting herself with her elbows as she looked at his face. “You should consider yourself lucky, little Banite.” She said. “You’re the only one who my urge doesn’t want to kill.” The Dark Urge moved closer to him, her breath in his face. “But call me that again, and that will soon change.”

He looked into her eyes. “Is that a threat?”

“No.” She whispered, a smirking appearing on her lips. “It’s a promise.”

He laughed, entangling his hand on her hair. “Then come, my siren, and take me.” He said, as he brought her close and kissed her.

Then come, my siren, and take me.

Then come, my siren.

My siren.

Siren.

The word echoed in her brain like a forgotten song. The voice, the voice of someone calling her siren, ringed in her ear for days, and she did not know what it meant.

But when the cleric asked her name, ‘Siren’ was what she responded.

Moonrise Towers.

The name alone gave her shudders and deep down, Siren had a feeling she would learn more about her past there.

Once inside, her suspicions had been confirmed. Upon looking at Ketheric, her mind began to clear. She had been to Moonrise before, long ago. She had stalked these halls before, not as some lowly True Soul, but as something else. Gods, who had she been?

Now, as led her party through the tower, eyes would turn to her, sparkling in recognition. Many remembered her ad with them, small pieces of information were gathered.

The skeleton dog wagged its tail when he recognized her. The cat Steelcalw hated her, claiming to have once been kicked by Siren. The gnolls called her a ‘lord’ and revered her. And the blasted Warden of the prison spoke how once she came there but never left.

‘Your name, your place was kept from us last time, but you were to be shown the utmost respect.’

It was when they arrived in Baldur’s Gate that part of her memories returned and the truth had been uncovered.

Siren was the Child of Murder, created by Bhaal himself. She, alongside the Chosen of Bane, Gortash, had developed the plot of the Absolute, and on the day that her tyranny was to begin, her blood-kin, Orin, attacked her. She left her for death, if it wasn’t for Kressa Bonedaughter’s cruel experiments that brought Siren back to half life.

Her desire for revenge grew ten times more. Everything had been stolen for her: her name, her power, her heritage. Orin would die, and Siren would…

Well, she was unsure of what she would do as Siren had no wish of becoming Bhaal’s chosen again.

In her time traveling with her companions, the Urge to kill had continued, and kill she did, the poor tieflings and the druids never standing a chance against her blade. But once again, Siren had faced the same problem. The ache she felt was only momentarily satisfied, and no matter how many enemies they slaughtered, she was never full.

That was until Siren noticed a strange development.

After the massacre of the grove, Withers said something that stayed with Siren. He said that “Thy wheel turns ever to the dark.”

She didn’t understand why that resonated within her but it had. His words spoke to a part of her that she believed long lost, and with it, it drove her into attempting to do good.

Siren began resisting her urge and instead of killing, she tried to help.

And in helping others, she found a comfort in her soul. Every ‘thank you’, every ‘you’re a kind soul’ dulled the ache of the Urge even more than the smell of blood had.

So as she thought of the next steps, she wondered: could she make a path for herself? One where she didn’t obey her Father’s orders, one where she would live?

It was in Bloomridge Park that she came to a conclusion.

Passing by a bush of flowers, the smell of it caught Siren’s attention. She stopped, and knelt beside it, plucking a flower in her hand.

“I see you also have a favorite.” Shadowheart said. “What are those?”

Siren looked at it, and closed her eyes, a memory sparking in her brain.

‘“It’s a dahlia.”

“Dahlia?” The girl asked. “Like me?”

“Yes, my love, like you.” Her mother said, placing the flower behind the girl’s pointy ear.

“They’re pretty!” She exclaimed.

The woman smiled. “Just like you.” She gave the girl a kiss on the cheek. “It’s why I named you after them. They’re my favorite.” ‘

Siren looked to Shadowheart. “They were my mother’s favorites. Dahlias.” She stood up. “Dahlia. It’s my name”

The cleric frowned. “I thought your name was Siren.”

“My mother…she named me Dahlia after her favorite flowers.” Siren shook her head. “I had forgotten about it.” She looked at the flower again, a flood of images from a long forgotten past returning to her at once. “I forgot so much…”

Shadowheart placed a hand on her shoulder in support. “But you also took back so much. And you’ll get even more after we defeat Orin.”

“Yes.” Siren whispered. “I know what I have to do now.”

Dahlia. The Dark Urge. Siren.

A child, a murderer and a savior. All three, so incredibly different and yet, they were all one and the same.

By denying her father, Siren had lost her life and in doing so, she gained a second chance. A chance to carve a different path for herself, one of which, instead of enslaving the world, she saved it.

She could never be the girl she once was, but she would also never be the bloodthirsty assassin again. She could now truly be who she wanted to be.

Siren.

And as a new dawn came, with her lover by her side, she awoke, not as a conqueror, but as the Savior of Baldur’s Gate.

For the first time in a long, long time, Siren smiled as she wondered what adventure she would get in next, now that she had a world of possibility and freedom at her feet.

The End.

#the dark urge #durge #oc: Siren #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #character fic #my writing

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xfulminare · 10 months ago

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( lannisport lannister a / matteo martari / cis man + he/him ) hear ye hear ye — king garlan tyrell welcomes ruling lord tybolt lannister of lannisport! his great majesty is glad that the thirty - seven year old noble appears to be observant while overlooking that it’s said they are also competitive, as long as they are glad to celebrate peace in the seven kingdoms. fortunately for them, garlan remains oblivious that they aren't happy with his reign and that their true allegiance lies with the westerlands + themselves.

Name: Tybolt Lannister Age: thirty-seven Orientation: demisexual, demiromantic Loyalties: House Lannister but overall it's to The Westerlands and ensuring security for the future. Religious affiliation: Faith of the Seven Appearance: dark haired and green eyes, high cheekbones are perhaps his most notable features. Tall at 6'1, though his more slender build can sometimes make him look taller. Gait: in general his steps are sure and smooth, the confidence he feels in himself echoed in his walk. There are times though when an old injury causes the slightest limp if he's been particularly active. Aesthetic: the scratching of a quill over parchment, the speed of his writing not spoiling the neatness of his letters; keen eyes that miss nothing; soft, knowing smiles curling onto lips in sweet satisfaction as a well laid plan comes to fruition.

Family: -

Father: Lorent Lannister Mother: Sybell Lannister nee tbd Siblings: a younger sister + younger brother (wcs!!) Extended family: house hightower ( in laws ) Marital status: married to Nerissa Lannister neé Hightower Children: Lorent Lannister & Leo Lannister

Personality: -

Traits: quick-witted, versatile, thorough, strategic, precise, generous, open-minded, meticulous, confident, knowledgable, just, hard-working, gracious. Values: while he tends to keep his true opinions somewhat close to his chest ( easier to not make enemies of people that way ) Tybolts's ideals are relatively high. He thinks that nobles have a duty to the smallfolk that are on their lands and by strengthening Houses they can provide better for all. His morals, however, are less restrictive as he will always be someone who believes that the bigger picture is far more important and that the ends can almost always justify the means. Fears: he fears failure but not because of how it would reflect on him but because his lofty goals mean that if he had truly failed then so has his House and perhaps many more. The more vain part of him might fear being forgotten but if he had a choice between being remembered and making the difference he wants to see, then he'd happily slip from memory. Moral Alignment: true neutral Temperament: choleric Zodiac: aries sun, capricorn moon, virgo rising Inspiration: odysseus (the iliad), danny ocean (ocean's eleven), henry vii (history), lorenzo de' medici (history) and a sprinkling of tyrion lannister too

Biography: -

tl;dr - as the heir he always felt a heavy responsibility to his house and the people that depended on them so his time was spent learning and honing his skills. Intelligent and observant, he's been able to make countless plans and deals to better his house. More recently he has been considering an advantageous betrothal to help give his house more influence and stability. Eyes are always open for his next ally, never betraying those who he has already sworn to but also not letting emotions blind him when it comes to alliances and connections.

The eldest of Lorent Lannister's boys he title of heir of Lannisport fell to him and along with it he took up the mantle of bringing more greatness to their name. As he grew older it seemed as though he would have little trouble in doing this, excelling at everything that was placed in front of him. His father had ensured that although his sons would grow up motherless for the most part they would have a wealth of resources at their fingertips which made it all too easy for Tybolt’s quick, eager mind to pick up whatever he turned his attention to next.

At nineteen the golden boy of the family went off to fight in the Greyjoy rebellion keen to add more glory to his house and prove that the Lannister of Lannisport had teeth and claws as sharp as those of Casterly Rock.

The injury that he had received to his side and it’s implications hardly seemed to matter when he had always considered his mind to be of far more value than whatever strength his body had.

Pride was taken in his city and how it continued to flourish as his father slowly loosened his grip on the reins so that he could take over. ( the city watch a particular jewel in his crown when some had told him his men were far better trained than those in King's Landing ) His desire to see Lannisport and its people remain strong meant that he was never shy of forming alliances and forming friendships to increase trade and stability.

Years passed with continuing to hone his skills, putting into practise those years of shadowing his father as well as branching out on his own when it came to politics and relations. But what he was almost unprepared for was the death of his father when he was thirty-one. Almost but not quite. Grief didn't cripple him when he knew the best way to honour his father was by continuing and expanding his legacy.

For all they were his 'cousins' the lions of the rock had never had his unwavering loyalty. The Westerlands itself lays claims to that and while he is happy to side with those who share his name as long as it suits his goals, nothing would stop him looking elsewhere if needed.

Headcanons: -

He has never been drawn to music when all of his attention in his youth was directed to other pursuits he deemed more useful. He spent his time focusing on history and politics, strategy and sparring - he had little time for the more art-like endeavours. Of course he knows how to pick only the best music for any feasts his family hold but his own attention to them is rather fleeting when he sees it as nothing more but another tool for charming those around him.

Ravens are something he sends frequently, constantly in touch with those that he deems important to his plans. That being said, for all his notes are sometimes written in haste his penmanship is just as meticulous as everything else he does. They are always more than legible and the hours that he had spent on his careful script in his youth are plainly evident to whoever receives a note from him.

Connections: -

Political alliances:

Friends:

#he could set the world on fire and convince you that it was rain || tybolt #conquest.intro

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strelles-universe · 2 years ago

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The Forest Clans - The Grand Spirits

The Souls have a vast amount of children - either elevated mortals, mortals they lay with in their hidden forms or sole spawned - and the clans worship them proudly. While there are more spirits than even ShadowClan can keep up with, the Grand Spirits are the most popular tales and represent some of the most important minor aspects of clan life.

It's generally accepted that these minor gods are more promiscuous than their parents and that most demigods of the clans and gifted cats in history are children of these spirits.

---

Haseni | Silverfoot - The Breeze

---

As a mortal, Silverfoot was a member of old WindClan with their lanky builds and long, winding tails. As his name implied, he was a very pretty tom with a silvery coat and deep black spots across his fur - he was the fastest runner to ever grace the moor. The legend goes that Silverfoot was approached by a series of cats who egged him into a race, wanting to see how fast he can go. The race was around the entirety of WindClan territory and when Silverfoot took off, he was so fast he outraced his own shadow - he flew across the moor like a bird in the thermals, springing over the smallest dips with barely a twinge of muscle.

When he reached the starting place panting the cat who’d challenged him laughed heartily and his formed shifted until Moonsoul himself stood before him.

“You are faster than even my fastest servants,” the god boomed joyously. “I have a deal for you dear Silverfoot - become my messenger. I will grant you the ability to run tirelessly across any terrain, the freedom to climb over trees and race across waves - and in return you ferry messages between me and my cohorts.”

SIlverfoot thought about the offer, “I will if I am allowed to remain with my family first.”

And so it was - when Silverfoot died, he became the wind the buffets the moor. It’s said that during the few times the air is still on the plain, that Silverfoot is visiting his family on the edges of StarClan.

Divine Parent: Moonsoul

Domains: Wind, Freedom, Messengers, Patron of WindClan

---

Huyewa | Whitespirit - The Dreamer

---

A leucistic fishing cat with glowing eye sockets. The motherless child of Riversoul, it’s said that Whitespirit was a ghostly figure in his dreams that he grew to love and care about; then one day when he opened his eyes, Huyewa was standing before him and called him father. With a chuckle, he accepted his accepted her as his daughter. Being born in the realm of dreams, Whitespirit is still capable of entering the dreams of mortals everywhere. Often she does so with the purpose of looking in on dreams with her father and changing them if she so pleases.

When angered or trying to give someone a warning, Huyewa is known to dredge up nightmares in the cat’s mind as fear would make them focus on all little details. It’s said that Huyewa is actually very good friends with Haanuki and so when someone is sick, their dreams become distorted and frightening in the prense of the two minor gods.

Divine Parent: Riversoul

Domains: Dreams, Nightmares, Hallucinations

---

Haanuki | Greenspirit - The Harbinger

---

Haanuki isn’t exactly a cat in the normal sense, not an organic being with organs inside of her. When the creatures of the world had begun to injure themselves, some of them begged to heal and help those who were harmed. Treesoul took pity upon them and scraped together a large pawful of earth and leaves - both poison and herbal - and with Riversoul’s help, molded it. She has a small puff of a tail, juniper berries growing around her throat and yew berries around the base of her tail. When the shaping was done, she seemed to be a cat with wings made of herbs and stalks in her head in the form of antenna to allow her to travel fast.

With that, Treesoul sent Haanuki off to teach and nurture the wanting tutors of the world. They were eager to work with her, listening with intense ears and following along with careful paws. For a while this was fine and Haanuki was content with her purpose. Then she came across the smog-hearted creatures that used their talents to heal and took advantage of those in pain - those who threatened wanderers with the safety of their loved ones with the herbs in their paws.

Furious she levied a curse upon them, a curse that has steadily begun to destroy their bodies and began jumping from cat to cat. Sickness was cursed upon the creatures of the world for the first time and Haanuki turned away from them, choosing not to teach them anything and not to save them.

Many seasons later, a cat now known as Moth Flight the First Prophet followed the green moth sent out by Haanuki. Moth Flight traveled into the Moontunnels following the moth as it led her through a series of scenarios created by Haanuki from her memories of the cruel cats she came to know. Moth Flight responded to each situation with mild panic but a heart overflowing with kindness and empathy. When she entered the mooncavern, standing upon the glittering stone was Haanuki deeply proud and pleased with what she’s seen.

The creatures of the world were ready for healers again.

She touched noses with Moth Flight and in that single instant, transferred all of the knowledge she had of healing, herbs and poisons to the molly. The information was so voluminous that her mind seemed to fracture and for the rest of her life, she was always faintly distracted by things other cats couldn’t see - for the cracking of her mind opened her spirit to the omens of the world. Moth Flight became the first prophet, always able to see and sense the presence of Haanuki’s Moth and so could all her kin from then on.

Divine Parent: Treesoul

Domains: Disease, Curses, Misfortune,

---

Siyeyim | Fleetfoot - The Planner

---

Siyeyim - more commonly known as Fleetfoot - was a proud and courageous warrior of Ancient RiverClan said to rival even the lions of Ancient ThunderClan in reckless bravery. A with a proper pelt of gold and the sleekest of pelts, she was the purest of RiverClan blood that you could get. The granddaughter of the Ancient leader Swiftstar, it was long expected that Siyeyim would do something great one day - and something great she certainly did.

It was during a Gathering that Goldenstar of Ancient ThunderClan confessed to the deaths of two apprentices and a young queen at the sharp hooves of Rage, the gigantic boar and one of the Great Beasts. Shadestar of ShadowClan and Flickerstar of WindClan both admitted to suffering casualties of their own from the great boar as he rampaged throughout their territories.

Fleetfoot was young and arrogant, laughing when that was said and proudly boasting that if it were a RiverClan problem, they would face the beast effortlessly, outsmarting and outspeeding it. Rightfully angry by such a flagrant dismissal of their grief of their clans; Goldenstar angrily challenged Fleetfoot to do just that. Fleetfoot was confident and self-assured, even when Shadestar and Flickerstar both agreed that she was barred the assistance her clanmates. It was only when she stood face to face with the napping Rage, father of all boars that she realizes she may have bitten off more than she could chew as the beast was easily larger than even the grandest of bucks that roamed the forest. Instead of her previous plan spawned of bravado and arrogance where she’d charge in and face the beast in direct combat, she wisely chose to outwit it instead.

She fooled the boar into fighting her in the thick brush of ThunderClan territory - for in the ancient days, there was bracken high as a cat was tall and not even the might of Rage would break free. It seemed like an endless assault when Fleetfoot clawed, bit and scratched at the thick, secure pelt of the vengefully squealing boar. Finally the boar died with an agitated wail and Fleetfoot had been prepared to stalk home, head held high with pleasure and success when she was rammed from behind amd flung all the way into Fourtrees.

Rage had a made by the name of Fury and she was so large, so terrifying, so menacing that she could’ve uprooted Fourtrees with a few angry changes into the massive trunks. Fleetfoot fled, suddenly understanding why the three clans couldn’t face the boar - with the RiverClan camp surrounded by water, Fury and Rage would never feel the need to chase them. Still she did not give up; she plotted and tricked and planned - her battle against Fury lasted three long days and three long nights of endless doging, swiping and baiting until she was on the edge of the gorge. Crossing the river , Fleetfoot watched with relief as the sharp hooves of the boar, not meant for smooth, slippery rocks lost their grip and sent her toppling into the river.

When Fleetfoot followed the river down to the slowing stream, she discovered Fury’s drowned body and took one of her tusks in triumph. She lugged both it and a tusk from Rage all the way back to Fourtrees where the leaders had gathered together at the whispers from Slysoul in their ears. She deposited the tusks in front of all five four leaders and bowed her head.

“I apologize for my arrogance,” she said, for Fleetfoot’s usually gorgeously cared for coat was now strewn with mud and lanced with scrapes and blood from the times she couldn’t dodge the tusks of her opponents. “Your dead deserved not the disrespect I showed them.”

“And you deserved not to be surprised,” Goldenstar murmured guiltily.

And then Goldenstar announced that he was granting RiverClan the river and all the fish that inhabited it, a stance echoed by both Shadestar and Flickerstar. Swiftstar proudly accepted their offerings pleased to see that his granddaughter had not only learned a bit of humility but has also displayed the true strength that all of RiverClan possessed to the other clans.

When she died, Fleetfoot looked shocked into the eyes of Slysoul herself who warmly welcomed her.

“Stay with your kin in the stars,” Slysoul said. “Or become a servant of mine and encourage the cats of the clans to always be as clever, determined and strategic as you were.”

“But I leave my kin?”

“Never for long little one - for RiverClan will immortalize your deeds and the Stars will welcome you.”

And so Fleetfoot accepted, venturing back into the land of the leaving as the burst of pride and assurance you feel whenever you’re defending your clan from a threat. The pride of a warrior on a night’s vigil - Siyeyim is by your side.

Divine Parent: Slysoul

Domains: Strategy, creativity, determination, pursuit, confidence

---

Sukahur | Redtalon - The Harvester

---

Suhakur is a brilliant russet tiger/hawk opinicus the soars through the air determinedly. When he was still mortal, he lived his life in fear; having been an apprentice during the age of the Scarlet Leader. During those times, the Scarlet Leader truly despised ShadowClan and the principals that they upheld and claimed linked them tighter to the Souls than any other clan. Redpaw watched as raid after raid of WindClan warriors assaulted their camp, chasing off prey and destroying vital herbs to force ShadowClan into a weakened state. Then they were too tired to fight back, Duststar had any cat he found wandering the moor slaughtered even if they claimed to be heading to StarClan.

It was long after Redpaw had earned his name as Redtalon that he was approached in the night by haggard looking WindClan warriors, He attacked but they fended him off easily in his weakened and starved state. He expected them to kill him but instead the lead warrior dropped a large rabbit beforehim.

“We’ve seen you fight,” said the warrior. “Like a crimson wave. We want your help.”

“I will not slaughter my clanmates,” Redtalon spat.

“We’re not asking you to - we’re asking you to kill our leader.”

Redralon had been shocked - like everyone he’d assumed that WindClan all supported and agreed with their leader’s actions. They certainly never seemed to have a shortage of warriors on the warpath. That, the small patrol explained is because Duststar kept all dissenters under lock and key, separating kits from their mothers to indoctrinate them in the story he was spinning and culling any that doubted him. The tactics he used to weaken and ruin ShadowClan were first tested on those who spoke against them, leaving the resistance weak and frail. This small trio of warriors were the only ones who escaped and at the cost of their kin’s lives, they sought out a warrior who could be made strong enough to fight.

Redtalon had been wary but eventually he accepted the deal.

For one full moon, the three warriors fed him well while Redtalon sharpened his claws. He felt immense guilt that as he got stronger, his clan got weaker but he understood why they couldn’t share the prey - the strength of one warrior would have to be enough. Nerves danced along his pelt but Redtalon had long stopped jumping at shadows - he embraced the prickling sensation in his toes at the thought of his final battle against Duststar and longed for the taste of the tyrant’s blood on his tongue.

Then one day the squad didn’t come back. One day turned to two and on the third, the leader staggered into their clearing dripping blood and mangled.

“Run,” they rasped. “He knows of you.”

And as the lead warrior died, Redtalon considers that he probably meant for him to leave. But instead, Redtalon had gotten outraged. Without even thinking he sprinted from ShadowClan territory, his paws carrying him across the marsh and then across the moor like he was winged. He saw the shadow of a hawk above him and knew at once that Slysoul was with him - he blended into the shadows, staying hidden as he ventured deeper and deeper into WindClan and abandoned stealth altogether when he reached the wall defending the camp.

With a roar of outrage, he sprung from the edge and landed in the clearing. The warriors of WindClan surged up and despite the waves of claws upon him, Redtalon never felt anything but pity for the those crazed cats who’d been fooled by the captivating words of their leader. Redtalon carved a sea of blood through the WindClan camp and his stalked towards Duststar who snarled and raced to meet him. Though Duststar has the lighter, leaner frame of a WindClan warrior, Redtalon only had one moon of decent food after several seasons of starvation. The battle was hard fought and seemed endless - in all his time as the Scarlet Leader, Duststar had only lost two lives since his ceremony.

Redtalon slashed blindly at the warriors who attacked him, desperate to defend their leader as Redtalon slowly bled out from the number of wounds. A shriek filled the air and the warriors were suddenly pulled off of him as three hawks descended upon the battlefield, targeting any warriors who got near him. Redtalon roared for he knew that these were the warriors who helped him - whose kin sacrificed themselves so that Redtalon may be given a chance. He sank his claws into Duststar’s throat even as the leader slashed his own. Redtalon ripped and Duststar finally fell, the Scarlet Leader’s brown pelt as crimson as his title.

Redtalon collapsed there and then, panting as blood soaked into his pelt unable to stand through his exhaustion. As he stared through half-lidded eyes, he saw the ghostly figures of his three helpers standing around Slysoul who was grinning down at him.

“You’ve done well for yourself Redtalon.”

“I did well for my clan,” he corrected tiredly. “Now no kit will grow up under this bloody reign.”

“Others will come,” said Slysoul dismisively. “Other cats that hunger for power and are willing to sink their claws into anyone to get it.”

“So was my life wasted then? What was the point of my death when other tyrants will rise?”

Slysoul grinned an eerie grin, “Would you like to stop them? Continue to ensure that no tyrant will remain in rule for long?”

Redtalon’s clws sank into the ground as his vision began to blacken, “Yes. Let no further Scarlet Leaders live long and prosperous.”

“So be it.”

And when Redtalon reawoke, he awoke as Suhakur the spirit of rebellion, anticipation, nerves, deadly focus and sacrifice. In his new form, he soars across the world collecting the souls of the deceased and delivering them to StarClan while he sends out his hawks to monitor the creatures of the world.

Divine Parent: Slysoul

Domains: Death, anticipation, nerves, rebellion, focus and sacrifice

---

Hanimu | Littlespirit - The Orphan

---

Little spirit was a small cheetah cub said to be from Ancient WindClan during one of the hardest dodahiim that the clans had ever seen and the brunt of it raked across the moor. A powerful, deadly wind filled their camp with snow that reached the chests of even their tallest warriors and the ground froze so hard that even the strongest of tunnelers couldn’t break through the permafrost. They struggled day in and day out seeking food. Littlekit saw his clanmates starving and refused to eat the food he was given, secretly feeding it to his den mates. He warmed the smallest kits while the warriors searched desperately for food and did his best to reassure the kits when the queens were busy

One day on the hardest snow, one of his siblings - Flakekit - went missing. Flakekit was deeply ill and constantly seeing visions from Haanuki - such visions confused him, leading him to wander out and away from the camp. While the clan mourned, unwilling to risk more lives in the intense blizzard, Littlekit snuck out on a quest to find his brother. He eventually found him, trembling in a hollow with a Reaper circling above him. Littlekit didn’t hesitate, carrying his brother through the snow, keeping his head high as his ears, tail and nose froze. When he made it back to camp, the clan was in uproar. Looking at his brother from his nest, he realized that he was too late and his brother’s breathing was slowing - when he spotted Suhakur creeping in, he begged for a chance only to be denied. Littlekit stood in front of his brother and instead offered a trade - his life and warmth to be given to his brother. Surprised by the bravery of the young kit, Suhakur consulted the Souls to reach a decision.

In the end it was Sweetsoul who put down her paw, awed by the loyalty and dedication shown by this small kit to his clan. She offered him a choice - die in place of his brother and ascend to the stars, or to die and become a spirit; looking out for other lost kits and those who need help. Littlekit accepted the offer of becoming a spirit, taking on the domains of orphans, lost children, young travelers, generosity and of course; sacrifice. Young kits who wander too far from camp often remark they saw a little brown kit with strange spots like WindClan and a white mantle down his back, his tail and nose coated in ice that led them back home.

Within ThunderClan, Littlespirit is viewed as a Soul rather than a spirit and is worshipped accordingly.

Divine Parent: Sweetsoul

Domains: Orphans, lost children, young travelers, generosity, sacrifice

---

Temekur | Silenttalon - The Merciful

---

The most unusual of the spirits, Temekur is another spirit who was brought to immortality for their actions. Unlike the other spirits however, Temekur was a mere ghost owl that lurked in the canopy of ThunderClan’s forest. Long-lived enough that many cats claim the owl had somehow obtained and stored the energy of the spirits to enhance its lifespan, this owl had the opportunity to watch the cats of the woods wander about freely. The owl of course was also witness to the first Great Famine of ThunderClan that happened during the reign of Owlstar.

The creature watched as the cats’ bellies grew thin, their ribs stick out and their kits die slowly. It watched in muted sort of fascination as one cat finally collapsed before its tree. The owl was aware enough to understand that this cat was a leader - understood that the presence of this cat could even bring more cats. It made a decision that set it apart from the mindless creatures of the world - it took off and hunted in the dead of night, capturing two decent sized rats outside of clan territory and dropped them before the body of Owlstar.

To say the ThunderClan leader was astonished was an understatement but he grabbed both mice and sprinted back to camp, unaware that the ghost owl followed him from above. This trip was what led the owl to the camp; led to it witnessing the companionship and prioritizing of the clan over a single cat’s life. No one is quite sure what did it, but the owl waited until dusk and drew the attention of a frightened patrol. It never swooped just fluttered over them - for two more nights the owl did this before Owlstar joined a night patrol. Remembering what this owl had done, he followed his instincts and when the owl flew off he followed.

The owl seemed pleased eventually flew ahead, circling a clearing very slowly. When Owlstar and his patrol emerged on the edge of the clearing, they encountered a deeply injured boar that appeared to be alone. They couldn’t believe their luck - they attacked the boar and brought it down. Following another hunch, he ripped a large mouthful of boar flesh free and tossed it as high as he could. The owl swooped, accepting the freed meet and flew onward.

From then on, Owlstar ordered hunting patrols to follow the owl and somehow, there was always prey available when the owl sought them out. ThunderClan always shared these catches with the owl making sure that the owl knew of the deep gratitude. The cats of ThunderClan even granted it a warrior name - the name Silenttalon, to honor its large part in their survival. Before long, ThunderClan had mostly recovered from the famine and the owl was on the last feathers of its life. As it lay dying in the leaf litter, one of its chicks chirping desperately; the owl watched as a ThunderClan catch clambered up to its nest and grabbed its chick. Instead of eating or killing it, the cat fed it.

The Owl died that day, but its heart was that of a warrior’s so when Bravesoul explained to her fellow Souls that she wanted to ascend it, there was no argument to have. Slysoul created a harvester-like form, leaving it its owl head and wings but offering it the Ancient Form of a ThunderClan cat as its body. Temekur collects the souls of those who died of starvation or dehydration, making sure to frequently visit its favored clan in ThunderClan and to check on its descendants. It’s said that all boreals in ThunderClan were talon picked by Temekur himself.

Divine Parent: Bravesoul and Slysoul

Domains: Sanity, wilderness, mercy, famine, surplus

---

Husakhmek | Amberspirit - The Fear Bringer

---

Husakhmek is less of a cat and more of a terrifying entity - born of the more horrifying and ignoble side of the warrior life, The Fear Bringer is said to have been born of the Scarlet Leader ‘s actions. When the moors of WindClan were filled with the splayed and mangled bodes of cats of all clans, the kingdoms shied away, and the canines fled from the sea of red that drowned all that roamed, Husakhmek crawled from the carnage. A lopsided face due to the left side of their skull being caved in, split like massive teeth had crushed it and blood leaking from the remaining golden socket is the first thing most think of when Husakhmek comes up. His body is covered in deep scars and drips of blood with overgrown claws that scrape the ground with every step. Husakhmek speaks with the voices of thousands - a raspy and pained throated sound borne of the spirits who perished to create them

Husakhmek is regarded with terror by the clans and is one of the few spirits deliberately referred to by their connection tongue name of Amberspirit for fear that speaking their name aloud would draw their attention. It’s said that if you forsake Bravesoul and shatter the code senselessly, then Husakhek will begin to lurk on your peripherals and stalk your dreams. The worst part of it all is that Husakhmek is very clever - made of the millions of corpses and the innocent blood spilled on the moor, he changes form to hide himself from those who’d be frightened away from him.

Amberspirit is known as the spirit of fear, trauma, despair, horror and slaughter. Though terrifying, it’s necessary to accept that Amberspirit is the lesser acknowledged side of warriorhood - that a cat left to stray could easily fall into his talons. Many cats believe that the Canyons were created by Husakhmek so that they can be surrounded by like-minded individuals - murderers, serial killers, abusers and the spillers of innocent blood. Some cats insist that if you commit deeds atrocious enough, Husakhmek would greet you upon your death and scar you with his sibling.

All of the clans have carved wooden dolls of Husakhmek that are cautiously given offerings and gifts to appease the spirit.

Divine Parent: Bravesoul

Domains: Fear, trauma, despair, horror, pain, slaughter, night terrors

#the grand spirits #strelles au #strelles worldbuilding #strelles universe #strelles gods and goddesses #erin hunter #erin hunter warriors #warrior cats #warrior cats au #fanfiction #fanfic #strelles the greenwood empire

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lapseinrecs · 16 days ago

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Salvage the Bones

By Jesmyn Ward

Hook: A hurricane is building over the Gulf of Mexico, threatening the coastal town of Bois Sauvage, Mississippi, and Esch's father is growing concerned. A hard drinker, largely absent, he doesn't show concern for much else. Esch and her three brothers are stocking food, but there isn't much to save. Lately, Esch can't keep down what food she gets; she's fourteen and pregnant. Her brother Skeetah is sneaking scraps for his prized pitbull's new litter, dying one by one in the dirt, while brothers Randall and Junior try to stake their claim in a family long on child's play and short on parenting. As the twelve days that comprise the novel's framework yield to the final day and Hurricane Katrina, the unforgettable family at the novel's heart—motherless children sacrificing for each other as they can, protecting and nurturing where love is scarce—pulls itself up to struggle for another day. A wrenching look at the lonesome, brutal, and restrictive realities of rural poverty, "Salvage the Bones" is muscled with poetry, revelatory, and real.

My thoughts: I read this in my senior year of high school, and its so good. The allusions to media, the visceral imagery, the relationships between the siblings: Ward's writing is just so good. I also think a lot about what she's said about her book and writing in general, about the Western literary canon is super interesting. This interview is really interesting if you've read the book or if you don't mind a few spoilers/references/allusions of what happens in the book. I will, however, take the liberty to share this one quote from that interview that I found particularly interesting/important:

"It infuriates me that the work of white American writers can be universal and lay claim to classic texts, while black and female authors are ghetto-ized as “other.” I wanted to align Esch with that classic text, with the universal figure of Medea, the antihero, to claim that tradition as part of my Western literary heritage. The stories I write are particular to my community and my people, which means the details are particular to our circumstances, but the larger story of the survivor, the savage, is essentially a universal, human one." - Jesmyn Ward

#bipoc author #book rec #salvage the bones #jesmyn ward #literature #not fics

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thequeendomhq · 25 days ago

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NAME. Emre Demir AGE & BIRTH DATE. 30 & February 28th, 2994 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cis Male & He/Him NATIONALITY. Lysaran SPECIES. Cambion FACTION. Warrior's Guild OCCUPATION. Gladiator FACE CLAIM. Burak Celik

biography

( tw death, blood, alcohol )

i. INFANCY

Bright, inquisitive, and dutiful. Emre was born under the watchful gaze of his father; Ayaz, a Guildmaster of the Warrior’s Guild in Ardentgate, Southreach. His mother, Ceren, was little more than a traveler passing through. A devil met at the crossroads made a deal and then chose to hang around for a spell. While Emre would never know who she’d come to the city for, her intentions landed on the Guildmaster long enough to give him a child. The truth of her infernal origins was evident in the way misfortune bloomed outside her doorstep, how nothing would grow where Ceren lived, and the monstrous form that her son took when Emre came raging into this world.

Ceren was a demon, exorcising her was the right thing to do. Ayaz would repeat that to Emre so many times in the years that followed that Emre became convinced that Ayaz truly believed it.

ii. CHILDHOOD

Motherless but never wanting for parenting, Emre grew up in the training yard of the Warrior’s Guild, in the kitchens scouring pans, on all fours scrubbing the floors, and in the Hall of Virtus making the statues of former Blademasters gleam like they were holding the sun itself. The splinters, broken knuckles, and raw skin were all meant to build character, that was what Ayaz said time after time. Emre listened, did as he was told, and believed he was ‘paying his dues.’

Their life wasn’t charmed, the Ayaz was a Blademaster but the bulk of his glory was already behind him as he made the regrettable mistake of accepting the title of Guildmaster. It allowed for a life of very little adventure and far more bureaucratic nonsense that saw the lines about his face crease deeper and deeper. The hairs at the top of his steadily flecked from deep chestnut to streaks of silver as he seemed to age a decade after only a single year. Where he could not go, Ayaz expected his son to someday take his place. To train, to be perfect, and to be the standard for what a member of the Warrior’s Guild, and someday Blademaster, ought to be.

iii. ADOLESCENCE

Emre drank in his father’s expectations and his criticisms, all the while watching as the Guildmaster pinched together the coins he could out of those seeking the aid of the noble guild. Warriors weren’t in the guild for money, it was about the honor and the privilege of doing the right thing - but the right thing didn’t buy fine foods or expensive ales, and the older he got the more envious he became of all the things Emre had grown up without. The chores didn’t end, the character building never stopped, and the criticism was never-ending- Emre grew tired of it, but he endured for the sake of the only family he’d ever known.

In that hall, he had mentors and friends, more than one took a shine to him, but one roguish figure mentioned offhandedly one day that Ayaz never took the big paying contracts. That requests for blood went unanswered, Emre wasn’t a killer, but he discovered how easy killing was. A quick turn of the blade, the push of a knife, or the throttle of a hefty rock did the job easily enough. When Ayaz found out that Emre had been taking contracts around Ardentgate as a glorified thug - shaking people down money for debts and intimidating neighborhoods at the behest of criminals seeking extortion - he kicked him out. There was no discussion or offering for absolution, it was as if Emre was his son one day and then a stranger the next.

It was easy to remember then how often Ayaz had told him that exorcizing Ceren was the best course of action, all that character building couldn’t fix what had been born broken.

iv. EARLY YEARS

Emre moved on quickly enough and found work using the only skillset his father had ever taught him. With a pair of swords in either hand and a wineskin at his waist, he worked for slum lords and as a highwayman, terrorizing the Lysaran and Astorian countrysides as he took on just about any job that needed his swords so long as the money was right. In time Emre got picked up by The Crimson Reavers, a mercenary band that did every dirty job that members of The Warrior’s Guild would not. They had a reputation for doing whatever it took to get the job done, and for doing whatever it took to produce the circumstances that necessitated their help.

Brutes. thugs, killing, and intimidation were Emre’s easiest kinds of currency. The death toll didn’t matter so much as the warm welcome that a fine ale brought, or the feeling of a full coin purse - or the deflation of it after a night in the brothel. Raids with The Reavers were glorious and Emre, being a simple man, raked in the coins just as the leader of their band raked in the contracts. Hated, feared, and reviled, these days of infamy were doomed to end eventually. But being young and stupid, Emre believed it was possible that this could last a lifetime.

Busted and imprisoned on a minor offense, he’d spend the night in prison and face the consequences on the day that followed, but fortunately for him, he shared a cell with a thief cunning enough to let them both escape. Unfortunately, Emre failed to learn his lesson and returned to The Reaver while his crimes continued to trail behind him.

v. TODAY

Word of what Emre had done bubbled infamously, his crimes and the crimes of The Reavers stacked on top of one another. The band of mercenaries were hunted and laid to rest, brought to heel by Ayaz and those who had united to put an end to their reign. There was too much blood on Emre’s hand to be forgiven, and even as he pleaded for his father’s forgiveness - to spare him and let him go - Ayaz condemned him to the ruling of the magistrates. The Tower decreed that Emre had two options, give his life to the arena, or give his life to the noose.

For a man who only cared for fighting, gold, and wine, the decision was obvious. Because, as his father would say, he couldn’t even atone for his crimes with dignity.

personality

+ fearless, resilient, loyal – reckless, unpredictable, overconfident

played by shane. est. he/him.

#the lost #cambion

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xastrainclinant · 6 months ago

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( lannisport lannister a / matteo martari / cis man + he/him ) hear ye hear ye — king garlan tyrell welcomes ruling lord tybolt lannister of lannisport! his great majesty is glad that the thirty - seven year old noble appears to be observant while overlooking that it’s said they are also competitive, as long as they are glad to celebrate peace in the seven kingdoms. fortunately for them, garlan remains oblivious that they aren’t happy with his reign and that their true allegiance lies with the westerlands + themselves.

Name: Tybolt Lannister Age: thirty-seven Orientation: demisexual, demiromantic Loyalties: House Lannister but overall it’s to The Westerlands and ensuring security for the future. Religious affiliation: Faith of the Seven Appearance: dark haired and green eyes, high cheekbones are perhaps his most notable features. Tall at 6'1, though his more slender build can sometimes make him look taller. Gait: in general his steps are sure and smooth, the confidence he feels in himself echoed in his walk. Aesthetic: the scratching of a quill over parchment, the speed of his writing not spoiling the neatness of his letters; keen eyes that miss nothing; soft, knowing smiles curling onto lips in sweet satisfaction as a well laid plan comes to fruition.

FAMILY: -

PERSONALITY: -

Traits: quick-witted, versatile, thorough, strategic, precise, generous, open-minded, meticulous, confident, knowledgable, just, hard-working, gracious. Values: while he tends to keep his true opinions somewhat close to his chest ( easier to not make enemies of people that way ) Tybolts’s ideals are relatively high. He thinks that nobles have a duty to the smallfolk that are on their lands and by strengthening Houses they can provide better for all. His morals, however, are less restrictive as he will always be someone who believes that the bigger picture is far more important and that the ends can almost always justify the means. Fears: he fears failure but not because of how it would reflect on him but because his lofty goals mean that if he had truly failed then so has his House and perhaps many more. The more vain part of him might fear being forgotten but if he had a choice between being remembered and making the difference he wants to see, then he’d happily slip from memory. Moral Alignment: true neutral Temperament: choleric Zodiac:aries sun, capricorn moon, virgo rising Inspiration: odysseus (the iliad), danny ocean (ocean’s eleven), henry vii (history), lorenzo de’ medici (history) and a sprinkling of tyrion lannister too

BIOGRAPHY: -

tl;dr - as the heir he always felt a heavy responsibility to his house and the people that depended on them so his time was spent learning and honing his skills. Intelligent and observant, he’s been able to make countless plans and deals to better his house. Eyes are always open for his next ally, never betraying those who he has already sworn to but also not letting emotions blind him when it comes to alliances and connections. He is keen to see the Westerlands profit and rise - after all they should be benefitting from their close relationship with the new royal family.

The eldest of Lorent Lannister’s boys he title of heir of Lannisport fell to him and along with it he took up the mantle of bringing more greatness to their name. As he grew older it seemed as though he would have little trouble in doing this, excelling at everything that was placed in front of him. His father had ensured that although his children would grow up motherless for the most part they would have a wealth of resources at their fingertips which made it all too easy for Tybolt’s quick, eager mind to pick up whatever he turned his attention to next.

He travelled for a few years but only to continue to make deals for his family, any friendships he made ones that he could consider an unwavering bond. There were acquaintances too, slowly building a network that could one day be called upon should the need arise.

Pride was taken in his city and how it continued to flourish as his father slowly loosened his grip on the reins so that he could take over. ( the city watch a particular jewel in his crown when some had told him his men were far better trained than those in King’s Landing ) His desire to see Lannisport and its people remain strong meant that he was never shy of forming alliances and forming friendships to increase trade and stability.

Years passed with continuing to hone his skills, putting into practise those years of shadowing his father as well as branching out on his own when it came to politics and relations. But what he was almost unprepared for was the death of his father when he was thirty-one. Almost but not quite. Grief didn’t cripple him when he knew the best way to honour his father was by continuing and expanding his legacy.

The responsibility felt for securing his house meant that he wasted little time in acquiring a betrothal for himself, turning to a long trust trade partner and taking a bride from one of his family's closest connections. Nerissa Hightower turned out to be something of a perfect fit and as they welcomed their two sons at reasonable intervals pride in his family grew.

Lannisport continued to flourish, its riches always shared among the people as much as he added to his house's coffers. Support was given to his small folk and constant opportunities for them to improve their craft and trade.

For all they were his ‘cousins’ the lions of the rock had never had his unwavering loyalty. The Westerlands itself lays claims to that and while he is happy to side with those who share his name as long as it suits his goals, nothing would stop him looking elsewhere if needed.

HEADCANONS: -

Lannisport library is among one of the finest in Westeros ( though he is rather biased when he makes such a claim ) its walls filled with tomes he had inherited from generations before him as well as carefully selected on his travels in his youth.

Connections: -

Political alliances: whether they simply share similar views or their houses can offer something to each other, Tybolt has collected a range of the dynamics over the years. If his word has been given he tends to keep it. Open to newer/older connections!

Trading alliances: with Lannisport being a large trading city it's important for him to make sure things still run smoothly

Friends: over the years he has fostered a number of dynamics that he feels stray more into the realm of friendship than just a simple alliance. The bonds will be valued deeply and his loyalty almost unwavering. (also a wc for a specific dynamic!!)

Potential allies: whether it comes off or not can be written out!!

Anything else you can think of xoxox

#believes his mind is the only weapon he'll need₊ ‧⊹˚✧ ˚⊹‧₊ tybolt ₊ ‧⊹˚✧ ˚⊹‧₊#conquest.intro

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raina16 · 1 month ago

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Long ramble ahead.

Where did Finwe ever show a dislike for Fingolfin? Finwe having a favorite does not equal favoritism(for Finwe it was Feanor and for Indis it was Fingolfin.) But you know what, Indis' children had two living parents, whereas Feanor only had one.

But Finwe in terms of examples, is never shown as I recall actually treating Feanor with FAVORITISM, prior to the exile to Formenos, and even that had a lot to do with outside forces almost forcing him to choose.(Between the Valar and their very clear favoritism towards only one side of his family to the extent they have disrespected Finwe's role as king and finding out that the inventor of evil himself has apparently targeted Feanor specifically).

Otherwise I think we have zero examples of Finwe doing anything special for Feanor or choosing his wellbeing over another child prior to that, and they were all very much grown adult people by the exile to Formenos.

In fact Finwe forces Feanor to remain motherless and to pretty much abandon any hope of ever seeing her again by remarrying. Finwe disrespects Feanor's mother by purposely mispronouncing her name. We hear of no special support Finwe gives to Feanor in anything actually. They love each other very much but by no means do they always share the same opinions. Their love is not dependent upon agreement.

Feanor left home pretty much as young as it was acceptable for an elf to do so. He also got married very young. He in fact left the field pretty clear for Indis and her children as he was building his own family and life. He could have stayed right there in the middle and made trouble but he left. You know who didn't leave home? Indis' favorite - Fingolfin. Unlike Feanor and Finarfin, he never felt so uncomfortable in his own home, even as a youth, he felt he had to leave.

We have no examples, as I recall, of Feanor asking his father for anything, demanding any favors or special treatment. He worked. He wasn't handed anything. He created a new alphabet while still a youth, he became a Lore Master. While still young he changed, or really added, careers and focused on smithing and over the years created wondrous things - invented glowing gems, invented lights, invented the Palantiri, even before the Silmarils.

Fingolfin didn't risk anything out of loyalty to his father. He didn't even want to go after Morgoth in Middle Earth, he tried to convince people out of it. It was only because he failed to do so and esp because his own son Fingon wanted to leave that he relented(plus if most of his people left he wouldn't be ruler of much of anything and clearly being in charge was important to him).

That's what puts to lie his comment trying to paint his motivations as purely revenge for his father, while trying to make Feanor's appear selfish. Even though his father's death was the main motivation for Feanor.

And that's without getting into the fact that I think Feanor's overall motivation was more positive precisely because of goal of regaining the Silmarils, the Silms were not just a source of pride for him, but a symbol of hope - hope of Noldorin freedom and self determination, they wouldn't need to be dependent upon the Valar's favoritism. So yes he wanted to avenge his father, but he had a goal for a life AFTER revenge. Yes I think he was emotionally a mess, he's literally described as having the equivalent of a nervous breakdown after he hears of his father's murder, he's unstable, but he wasn't without hope.

Fingolfin on the other hand, had no plans, because he didn't really know why he was there to begin with - nominally it was revenge but that a latecomer idea because what he really was, was pissed off at Feanor for leaving him in Aman. That's when he suddenly is so motivated to get to Middle Earth he drags his people across the Helcaraxe. He gets there and Feanor is dead so he can't have the big show down he was clearly hoping for. He didn't want to go to Middle Earth to begin with, he wasn't interested in being there, he didn't really want revenge for Finwe's murder against Morgoth that badly, he had the crown handed to him by the magnanimity of the rightful king Maedhros, who realized he'd get more done without a crown as he wouldn't have to deal with Fingolfin and his followers bitching about it, causing strife when they should all be focused on Morgoth. He never really had a goal. Feanor's death was caused by the madness of hope, of believing vengeance for his father and that future the Silmarils would bring was just behind those walls and thus within his reach, Fingolfin's was the madness of despair and believing there was no future and wanting it to finally end. But Fingolfin's death was no more glorious, he was just favored.

And Feanor disagreed with many people whom he did not poke swords into. In fact most of the time he just....disagreed. I don't think we're given any example pre-exile of Feanor ever doing anything to anyone who disagreed. He grumbled, but I don't recall hearing of him trying to silence them, or threatening them or in anyway getting in the way of them living their lives. Until Fingolfin literally tried to silence him and replace him.

In fact it seems like its the people who disagree with or dislike Feanor who seem to act spitefully, the ones who sa-sí to spite him, Galadriel who judges him for the same darkness she somehow manages to miss in herself and everyone else. Fingolfin who went to his father prior to a public debate precisely about the subject of Middle Earth to influence his father to censure Feanor for having and speaking an opinion, trying to silence the debate before it even starts. Feanor was not by any means the only one with this opinion, he was just the most prominent, it was natural he'd be the voice of that side. Fingolfin also tried to convince his father into favoring himself (and threw Finarfin in there too though Finarfin seems to have had little to do with it apparently but I guess he thought it made him sound better if he acted like he wasn't just doing this for himself) by trying to make it sound like Feanor was being a bad son by having a difference of opinion.

Fingolfin was literally attempting to usurp Feanor, not only as heir but in their father's heart, most of the times even just the political part does end up at sword point. And even that was ultimately just a warning, yes a scary one, yes one that if for appearances sake only would have been better off delivered without the sword, but still a warning. And then the Valar got involved in Elven affairs and once again made everything worse.

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cloudberry-sims · 2 years ago

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A Decade Through Time: The Alderberg Legacy: Year 1607

A death in the main household…

From the Beginning I Currently

It was the summer of 1607 when the Alderberg family decided to go to the local fishing pond for a meet up.

It was so that Hester , Ursula’s daughter , could meet her relatives and hopefully form strong familiar bonds with.

Hester and Lucy did take a shining to one and other immediately upon seeing each other and started to play.

Although Marion was a shy and quite girl , she felt less shy when she started to play her music. Magdalene & Ursula thought her musical talents was a marvel , making Ursula comment that William would have been so proud of her if he was still alive today , which made Marion blush slightly.

Priscilla was proud of her daughters skill , yet she felt something was very off as she grew more and more nauseous and had to return home again with James.

That very same night , she discovered she was expecting a baby once more. Although she had hoped James would be her last baby , she didn’t mind having 1 more child to raise.

At the Dagworth home , Hubert said goodnight to Tobias . admiring his first born son and heir. Yet , he felt something was missing, and he knew Mary would happily oblige.

Hubert needed a spare and to give Tobias a sibling to entertain himself with and to keep him company while growing up , and

Hubert probably thought that she wanted a second child too because she loved him , and wanting to please him, but Mary needed a second pawn if anything would happen to Tobias.

He won’t knew that , of course , ignorance is bliss after all.

High up in Outland , the Wolfeden sisters were running around the meadows outside their home , as now little Hannah was able to keep up with her big sisters.

Although the sisters were equally as lovely , Hannah had a radiance about her that could mimic nobility , with a soft heart like her mother and oldest sister , with a lovely voice of a angel. If her aunt Mary was a wicked queen or scheming witch , she would be the princess of the tale.

It was a warm , raining summers night, yet to Griffyn it felt like he was drowning in icy cold water.

Priscilla Alderberg, after many hours of difficult labor, passed away at 27 years old . She left her husband of 10 years a widower and her four living children motherless.

And the baby? It was another boy , that Griffyn could tell , yet he was so small, smaller than normal and healthy babies and barely let out a cry before dying. He was named Henry , after one of Griffyn’s younger brother’s whom didn’t make it past the swaddle and cradle.

On Priscilla & Henry’s funeral , Griffyn thought back to his mothers funeral , yet instead of him being a little boy losing his mother , he was a husband who lost his wife and child.

He had always viewed himself as a honest man , and he felt that Priscilla deserved a better ending then this.

She should have been able to live , to see her children grow up , to see them building their own families and their lives, to have a husband that loved her from the beginning.

Griffyn didn’t know what to do now, he just felt he needed to be alone. Although he loved his children , they were his world , their presence at home made the pain unbearably.

It is why he asked his aunt Anne if she could look after them for the time being. When his aunt asked why he told her that he needed to be alone for a bit.

When the day came to leave his children in the care of his aunt the children were somber.

Marion understood, or at least she tried with her father’s decision making them stay with their great-aunt, James and Lucy were also saddened and held into their older sister.

Caleb however felt a pain in his chest and had tears in his eyes , begging his father not to leave him there, which Griffyn softly removed from his cheeks , promising him that this would not be forever and he be back soon.

And what did Griffyn do whilst alone and grieving? He made plans for remodeled the entire house that once belonged to the Dawne family. He would change the walls and flooring, adding rooms that previously did not exist, create new furniture. It was a big project, one that might take months, perhaps even a year, but Griffyn was prepared for it, the question is why.

Why, you may ask? Priscilla had always wished for the house to be renovated, knowing how old and decrepit the house was and Griffyn had always planed on it, but life got distracting with commissions and family life. Even if the promise came 10 years too late, he hoped that by fulfilling a wish she had would honor her memory…

At the Dagworth family home, Mary had been quite busy.

Now that her Tobias aged up to a toddler, he would need the basic skills and training only a mother could provide. It was all a tactic for her, to make Tobias rely on her and only her, so that when the timing is right, he would do everything she told him to do unconditionally.

After all, he was her good little boy. Hopefully, by the end of the year she will have another pawn to use in her game.

It’s been 1.5 months since Priscilla’s death , and the summer leaves where starting to change from splendid greens to vibrant reds , oranges and yellows.

Griffyn had decided to take a break from the remodeling , to indulge in a old hobby he was forced to abandon after his father died, and to prepare for the winter season.

It daunted on him while he ate his supper that he was 30 years old , the same age as his mother before she past away. Thinking back to his parents brought back childhood memories , both good and bad ones. Mostly good ones.

He yearned for his children and hopes that once the house was finish , they be able to spend more time together.

At the village ,Philip Alderberg was puzzled over how fate liked to twist circumstances , hiding things in plain sight.

Philippa , the one he thought couldn’t possibly be his child , looked so much like his beloved twin sister ,Olive, that he could have mistaken her for a ghost from the past.

She was such a sweet girl , just like Olive was , that he even slipped and called her Olive , which made Emma worried.

From absolute hatred and distant to abnormal amount of affection and parental love in what felt like the span of a night… It was then Emma realized there was something clearly wrong with her husband, and she prays to the watcher for guidance and strength if the need arrives.

Meanwhile , Lambert Rookwood was teaching his daughters how to tend to the plants and herbs he planted.

He couldn’t stop but smell the chamomile flowers , feeling that everything was alright in the world. He had a wife and 3 little girls he adored above all else , a booming business and good health. Not every man could say they had that , some barely lived to be 30 and here Lambert was- 30 years old and happy as a man could be.

By the end of the year , Mary successfully gave birth to her second son- Amos Dagworth on a stormy night. Her husband Hubert helped her and the babe down stairs to sit in the drawing room.

Mary saw endless love in Huberts eyes as he admired her and their newborn. A love Elisabeth never , no matter how hard she tried would never be hers to have.

It made her feel satisfied that she stole everything from her former mistress - her beautiful clothes , her jewelry , her husband and now the children she might have had with Hubert if Mary was not around. It tasted sweet on her lips.

Yet one that same stormy night , a life was taken to soon.

Charles had been sick for a while ,with a deadly fever , and one night Garitt had the feeling it would be his sons last.

He took Charles to his room , where he told him stories about the watcher , about his mother , anything that came into his mind , hoping it will erase any fear he had of dying. Charles was barley 6 years old, and now Garitt only had 3 children left- Stephen , Annabel and Theodora.

Meanwhile , Jane Wolfeden celebrated her 13th birthday.

Growing up as the oldest of 3 girl in nearly complete isolation had made Jane quite the quirky individual.

She was good daughter , who easily find entertainment for her and her sisters in the most simple and mundane things. She could make up wacky and insane yet detailed stories with just her imagination alone.

Her sisters loved her and would follow her around like ducklings to their mother , which also made her anxious.

She was always scared something bad would happen to them ,and those fears would make her imagining things that wasn’t true, thankfully she had a supporting and understanding sisters who would do anything for her.

#decades challenge #Morbid's decades challenge #A decaded through time #ultimate decades challenge #The Alderberg family #ts3 legacy #ts3 #the sims 3 #the sims 3 legacy #tw death #tw infant death

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