#deity of remembrance

[honourablejester]

PF2e Homebrew Deity: The Rememberer

Alright. This started because of the Grave Robber background in PF2e, because I had this idea for a grave robber character who is fine with stealing wealth or even bodies, because the dead don’t need those anymore, but has a habit …

If something is obviously a keepsake, a memory of love or loss, they’ll take that and bring it to a shrine rather than selling it or destroying it. As their … their code, their gesture towards morality, but also their genuine personal belief about what’s important. They will steal every goddamn coin in your grave and sell your body for parts, because you’re dead and you don’t need them anymore, but they’ll carefully carry out your engraved ring or cheap wooden locket or braid of your child’s hair and put them somewhere holy, put them somewhere safe. The memory, the echo of love and loss, is the sacred part, everything else is just materials wasted on people who aren’t using them anymore.

And with that in mind … I wanted a deity to bring those keepsakes to. A specific shrine for a specific god for this grave robber to leave their sort-of-apologetic offerings in.

A deity for remembrance, for the preservation of memory, a deity who values names and cheap lockets and ancient love letters, and all the little minutiae of lost lives that those in the aftermath cling to. A deity … who will remember those who had none of that, nothing to leave and no one to leave it to, who will remember you, will promise to remember you, even if you die alone and unmourned. And maybe a deity who knows, quite exactly, what that feels like. Thus:

THE REMEMBERER

Neutral Deity of Remembrance

Realm: Labyrinth of Memory

Worshippers: Those in mourning, those who counsel the mourners, as well as some historians, archivists and occasionally archaeologists

Temples: Shrines of Memory, as well as some archives, libraries and museums

Symbol: Votive Candle

Once, the nameless deity known as The Rememberer was a mortal being, aeons ago, in the earliest days of creation. That mortal being died. Alone, forgotten, with no one to mourn and nothing to mark their passing. No sign remaining that they had ever walked the world. And that, more than anything else, was their grief, the desperate wound in their soul. So deep was that grief that it moved their soul even beyond death. First a spirit and then, slowly, a deity, emerged from that grief. Nameless, for their name had been forgotten, but not motiveless. They swore that no other would endure what they had endured. They would remember, and mourn, for all who passed beneath their aegis, until time ran dry and the world fell silent. This is their promise, and the promise of those who follow them. To remember your name. To help preserve your letters, or the braid of your hair, or the locket you made for someone you loved. To keep echoes of your passing, and help the world remember that once you existed. And, too, to help those who have lost you. To aid in mourning, in grief, in the knowledge of loss. All of these are the promise and preserve of the Rememberer.

Edicts: Preserve items of emotional significance, help others to grieve and mourn, mourn and remember those you encounter who die unremarked

Anathema: Destroy keepsakes or memorials, offer cruelty in response to grief

Follower Alignments: Any

DEVOTEE BENEFITS

Divine Ability: Intelligence or Wisdom

Divine Font: Heal

Divine Skill: Occultism

Favoured Weapon: Dagger

Domains: Knowledge, Repose, Sorrow, Vigil

Cleric Spells: 1st Object Reading, 2nd Empathic Link, 4th Morass of Ages

(For DnD 5e, I think the Knowledge and Peace domains will work. Possibly Twilight and/or Grave, but they’re a bit more of a stretch. This is memory, not death, and as much as I adore the Twilight domain, the abilities don’t really gel with the Rememberer)

[fernthewhimsical]

Ashkeeper

My personal pantheon started with a dream. I was standing in a field, looking towards a round white building. Huge with open arches, like the Colosseum (pic. 8). Inside everything was white marble. The floors and walls made from memorial plaques and tombstones. The only splashes of colour the flowers and candles that were left by some names. This was the Hall of Remembrance. The Hall was not filled with graves. The bodies were not there. These plaques and statues and stones were here for those left behind. A place to visit and remember. It was also not a place of mourning and sadness. Rather one of peace and a serene joy. People were walking around tending the markers, and people were talking to each other, and to the priests, sharing memories and stories of those lost.

This is where I first met the Ashkeeper.

They are the deity of death, who keeps the soul safe before they are ready to move on to whatever afterlife they choose. The Ashkeeper is also the deity of memories and remembrance. The things left behind in our world so people who have passed will not be forgotten.

They live in graveyards and cemeteries (pic. 1, 4, and 9), but also in the box of mementos and albums filled with photos (pic. 7). They live in the spontaneous shrines of flowers and candles which we come together to make after and accident or catastrophe (pic. 3). The in memoriam murals to make sure we never forget (pic. 5). They are with us as we celebrate our various days of Remembrance, to keep the memories alive.

Photo's used: [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X] [X]

[altruprism]

mother’s daughter is SUCH an inej song it actually fucks with my head a little bit

[tiredwitchplant]

It's Time for Samhain! (Oct 31- Nov 1)

What is Samhain? In the Celtic calendar, Samhain marks the end of summer and the harvest season, and the beginning of the dark, cold winter months. It falls opposite Beltane on May 1, which represents the beginning of spring and the life-filled growing season.

It’s believed that the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest on Samhain. Historically, people were worried that they would encounter ornery spirits if they ventured outside on Samhain night, so they dressed as ghosts or wore masks to disguise themselves. Folks would leave treats on their front porch or place an extra setting at the table to welcome any friendly spirits who stopped by. You can see how these Samhain rituals easily morphed into our modern-day version of trick-or-treating in costume.

Nighttime bonfires were another of the long-standing Samhain rituals - this one was thought to help combat the impending darkness of winter and the fearful chill that accompanied the idea of roaming spirits. Because the veil between living and dead is believed to be the thinnest on this night, Samhain is also a powerful night for divination and spellcasting by candlelight.

Usual Symbols of Samhain:

Ale or Mead

Pumpkins

Skulls

Besom or Broom

Beans

Cauldron

Bats

Keys

Squash

Pomegranate

Nuts

Apples and Cider

Bones

Herbs and Plants for Samhain:

Rosemary – Associated with remembrance and is needed during this season in taking time to honor the memories of our ancestors and other lost loved ones. Can be used in an incense blend and at ancestor altar

Fall Flowers – Includes flowers like marigolds and chrysanthemums. Are associated with protection and chrysanthemums come in handy with connecting to the spirit world

Apples (the fruit, branches and blossoms) – Is considered sacred to a lot of gods. A good apple harvest means that the gods have shown the community their favor. You can use apples in different rituals, especially divination

Pomegranates – Is associated with the realm of the underworld and helps with communication with the dead. It is also associated with fertility of the fall.

Squashes, Pumpkins and Gourds – Is associated with abundance and provides sustenance for your family when the fields become bare and covered in snow. Is linked to psychic awareness and development and protection.

Mugwort – Is associated with divination and dreaming. Using Mugwort baths or incenses in the rituals can focus on treating depression, especially with the seasons changing

Rowan Trees – The branches and berries are a way to keep evil spirits out of your house and are associated with good health. If you plant a tree near a grave, it will prevent the dead from rising.

Sage – Is associated with cleansing and grounding. Is a great incense to cleanse your home to bring in the new and out with the old

Hawthorn – Has been associated with the gateway between humans and the spirit world. Is also rumored to an area where you can see fairies.

Crystals for Samhain:

Amethyst – Aids in opening one’s third eye and is valuable to be able to see Samhain’s spirits around

Black Obsidian – Is great for grounding and protect from evil spirits. Can be used in scrying when speaking to deities and spirits of Samhain

Citrine – Is used to honor the sun. Aids in prosperity spells and carries joy

Black Tourmaline – Wards off unwanted spirits from your property and can be buried into the ground to protect from psychic attacks and spirit intrusion

Orange Calcite – Orange is a sacred color to Samhain. This stone is associated with one’s sacral chakra and can cleanse and align reproductive organs, sexuality and get creativity flowing

Bloodstone – Known to heal cardiovascular illness and disease. Can help with ancestry links and work

Spirit Quartz – Is great in helping communicate with the spirits of Samhain and releasing old and toxic habits

Lepidolite – Used to appease the fairies that roam during Samhain

Serpentine – Is associated with snakes and aids in remembering past lives. Loki seems to like this stone and may be great to use for him if you work with him during this season

Dragonstone – Dragons are guardians of the earth, spirits of place, and connect us to Mother Nature. Helps say goodbye to the old years and our old selves

Skull shaped Stones – Since skulls are symbols of Samhain, skull shaped stone can help with symbolism during this holiday. They represent the life-death-rebirth cycle, wisdom and our ancestors

Spells and Rituals:

A Samhain Tea (Apple and Hawthorn Berry)

1 apple, sliced

2 Tablespoon dried hawthorn berries (or 4 Tablespoons fresh)

1 cinnamon stick

A pinch of cloves

4 cups water

Honey, to taste (optional)

Combine all ingredients in a small stockpot.

Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 10 minutes.

Strain the plant material from the tea, then transfer the tea into two mugs.

Enjoy one for yourself, and leave the other on your table or front porch to nourish any wandering spirits who may pass while the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest.

A Pumpkin Spell for Prosperity

A pumpkin

Some paint

Go to the pumpkin patch (or local store) and select a pumpkin. Or let the pumpkin choose you.

Bring it home and paint prosperity symbols on it – money signs, runes for prosperity or harvest glyphs (whatever means prosperity to you).

Then place by your front door to invite prosperous vibes into your home this Samhain season.

Bonfire Release Purification Spell

Paper

Pen

Source of fire (bonfire, fireplace, candle flame)

Gather your materials and sit by the fire.

Take a few minutes to just listen to the fire crackling.

Gaze into the flames and connect with this powerful element.

Next begin to think about what habit or person you are releasing this Samhain. Think about why you’re purifying your life from this thing or person.

Then write the habit or person down on the piece of paper.

Fold it away from you 3 times.

Hold it in your hands and allow all of the negative thoughts and energies inside of you to “drain” out of you and into the paper.

Then throw it in the fire and say,

“After this Samhain, never again. Never again. I release _________ from my life by the power of the Samhain fire. So, mote it be.”

How to Make a Samhain Altar

Beautiful autumn leaves or flowers that you collect on a nature walk

A candle

A mugwort bundle

A string of rowan beads

A bowl of apples or a small pumpkin

A hawthorn wand or bowl of freshly picked hawthorn berries

A picture of your ancestors

To make an altar, first find a corner of your home or a table surface where you can arrange a few treasures. You don’t need a ton of space. You could use the top of a dresser, the corner of your desk, an unused side table, etc. 

After you’ve assembled your altar, spend some time sitting quietly in the space. Light the candle and/or mugwort wand, sip on a cup of Apple & Hawthorn Berry Tea and meditate on this energetically powerful day. 

I could find specific written instructions for a crystal grid but I found a video!

Crystal Grid for Samhain

Let's get ready for Samhain and have a great and safe time!

[zhongrin]

the art of breathing normally

— or, the ways you make him breathless so effortlessly

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, childe, diluc, al haitham, wanderer, kaveh, kaeya

◇ tags ◇ fluff, angst, comfort, spoiler/hint of al haitham's character story 5

◇ a/n ◇ yes the title is taken from that one chapter title in “for better or worse” webtoon hehe i love dillon and cedric so much they’re cute

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli finds it hard to breathe (in a good way) when you wrap yourself around him in one way or another. you can drape your arms around his waist, nuzzle yourself against his side, or even jump up to koala-hug him (although he will still scold you lightly as he drops everything in his arms in favor to support you - he just doesn’t want you to get hurt.)

but his favorite has to be when you lace your fingers between his own (preferably gloveless) ones, before tightly squeezing, a pressure not enough to hurt but strong enough to leave tingles upon his skin, making the geo markings along his arms pulse and blink in happiness.

he just loves to be reminded and reassured that you’re here. you’re right here in front of him and you are here to stay. you’re here for him with your tender love and warm smile. and you’ll always be here, etched permanently in his heart, the most unyielding stone eroded in remembrance of your beautiful soul.

it was a spontaneous decision on your part when you slip into bed with al haitham and offered to read his book for him out loud instead tonight. he ponders over it for a bit and decides to relent, wanting to know what is it that made you so hooked on hearing him read his books audibly on normal days. your voice fills his senses as he settles onto his pillow, and his lips tug on the corners as you stumble upon difficult terms you’ve never heard before. he decides to show you mercy by telling you the correct pronunciation, and you thank him before continuing, as cheerful as ever, unashamed of your lack of knowledge - it’s one of the things he adores about you, he thinks. this happens several times, and as he relaxes, your lover found his gaze magnetically straying towards you, examining your features as you read.

al haitham’s lungs seizes momentarily when your words falter as you sensed his stare, a patient smile full of such love and adoration blooming on your expression like the freshest bloom of the padisarahs in the garden. a memory lost to time resurfaces in his mind, and he feels himself reliving the hazy scene behind his closed eyelids. he can’t explain it but it feels familiar and nostalgic, yet it’s also foreign and different. when he feels your hand worriedly caressing the stray tear on his cheek, he could only smiles and thinks to himself -

ah. so this is what a peaceful life feels like.

childe’s breath stutters when you kiss his nose or his eyelids. there’s something so adorable and intimate about those two specific places. like a forgotten childhood memory and the intricate vulnerability of allowing himself to be cherished and loved, to know that you won’t ever harm him despite him having his guard down. surprisingly, ajax doesn’t need a lavish display of love despite his repetitively showy endeavors in telling the whole world that you’re his. he’s already content with your soft giggles and tender touches, hidden behind doors and under the blankets in the cold starless sky of snezhnayan winters.

as the trained warrior that he is, he can last a good few minutes underwater, yet one simple kiss from you effectively diminishes his lung capacity, making him gasp and gulp for air, like a fish out of water. he can run for miles and keep his regular breathing pattern, yet a single notion of your well-being put in harm’s way makes his chest constrict and his breath fall into disarray. you’re the bane of his existence and the deity of salvation in his life.

you steal his breath away and with it, a piece of his cracked heart.

as cliche and boring as it was, kaveh’s breath escapes from his lungs whenever you visibly express yourself near him. he’s an empath to the core and he absolutely adores receiving the waves of your emotions like he’s some sentient radio transceiver who’s so attuned to your channel.

you could smile and he would follow, his chest constricting with incomprehensible joy as he drinks the light of happiness like a withered plant that hasn't seen sunlight in days. he loves to listen to your cheerful voice, like your own devoted transcriber, ready to commit your words and etch them into his soft and overwhelmingly big heart.

you could cry and he would bawl with you while holding you close, his lungs seizing with thorny vines that wrap and threaten to crush them to mush with each pearl of tears falling down the puffiness of your eyes. somehow the sight hits him harder than when the realization of his father not coming back hit him, or that time his mother told him she was going to move to fontaine and remarry - oh, it’s so much worse, because he’s holding his entire world in his arms, and he resonates with your bleeding heart.

kaeya would never admit to it but you would notice that his breath hitches whenever you yank his shirt to kiss him. he can try to deny it all he wants, but he finds your assertiveness hot - there’s just something about having you reaffirming how much you can affect him.

it used to irk him, actually - no one should have so much power over him. his life is already crumbling enough as it is, why would he want someone to shake it all up and potentially make it all crash down? and yet, throughout your relationship, he sees you fix the cracks, changes the rusted nails out, and solidifies his foundation. you’re so patient, your touch firm and gentle, and with each fissure healed he finds himself laughing breathlessly… and he lets go of his inhibitions. you can steal his marred heart away, and take his breaths too while you’re at it.

diluc finds his breathing spectacularly failing when your finger brushes against his nape as you help him tie his hair into a high ponytail. he still does not understand why you prefer this hairstyle, but he understands fully that the lack of air in his voice when you worriedly ask if you’ve tugged on his hair too hard is, in actuality, caused by how he wishes he could spend the rest of his life with you. to be with you, just like this, tranquil mornings full of domesticity and love, a replica of the little bits of memories he remembers of his late parents when they thought he was still asleep.

he’s so in love with you, he burns brighter in your presence, and he doesn’t even care if it uses up all the oxygen in his lungs; for he is sure his love for you is an eternal flame not born from the borrowed power of the gods, but from the deepest part of his heart.

wanderer has no need for these two specific atoms chemically bound to form an oxygen molecule that these weak humans seem to need lest they keel over and asphyxiate. and yet he still feels something compressing itself into an ever-consuming black hole within his hollow chest whenever you touch his white wooden skin with the most tender of touches as if he was something to be cherished. as if he was worthy of your presence. as if he was human. as if you truly love him.

ridiculous, he hisses and slaps your hand away every single time. his throat clogs and his lips purse, his vocal chord failing to enunciate how foolish you are, and the feeling got worse when he sees you merely chuckle at his ‘prickliness’.

you touch him again with the same hands five minutes later, and he struggles to squash the urge to smile.

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @diebischesther | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ladylofspades | @sup-zfam | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @nachotrash | @algrimmammon | @sassy-cat-in-town

[justsomekpopstuff]

seventeen as greek mythology

A/N: this was an idea that I had ages ago and wanted to bring it to life. I didn't want to only do any of the basic Olympians either, so I really went IN on this. Feel free to disagree with how I place them, just don't be a jerk about it! Also, if any artists/edit makers want to use these placements as inspo for art and moodboards and stuff, please do! Just tag me in it so I can see it and give credit

current masterlist | fic recs

Seungcheol: Themis - goddess of divine law and order

Jeonghan: Prometheus - god of forethought and crafty counsel

Joshua: Metis - goddess of good counsel, advice, planning, cunning, craftiness, and wisdom

Jun: Horme - deity of impulse, effort, eagerness, and starting actions

Hoshi: Terpsichore - muse of dance and choral poetry

Wonwoo: Athena - goddess of reason, wisdom, intelligence, skill, peace, warfare, battle strategy, and handicrafts

Woozi: Euterpe - muse of musical poetry

DK: Helios - god of the sun and guardian of oaths

Mingyu: Hestia - goddess of the hearth, home, and domesticity

Minghao: Atraeus - god of dusk, stars, and planets, and the art of astrology

Seungkwan: Mnemosyne - goddess of memory and remembrance

Vernon: Pasithea - goddess of relaxing meditation and hallucinations

Dino: Morpheus - god of dreaming

[silverskye13]

Are saints allowed to serve their paladins, or is it mostly a one-way street? Are saints allowed to exist and act when unasked for?

Hmm. This turned a little rambling I apologise. Also I end up saying the word "domain" a lot, so in lieu of finding a good place to explain what I mean by domain, I'll just say it before the cut.

A Saint's "domain" is the thing about the universe they've learned to manipulate, using the faith of the people that believe in them. For large gods who maybe always started as concepts [Order of Remembrance for example], the domain is a broad concept like memory. If memory is involved, it will pull apart the universe to affect it. However, if it wanted to do some kind of miracle [calling a paladin to capture someone maybe, or healing a terrible wound], if doing so would have no effect on its domain, it could not affect change. Smaller saints might have more niche concepts attached to them. [Ie, I have a headcanon VintageBeef's hels is a Saint of Slaughter/Butchery, and is best followed by people who do hoglin hunts in hels. His following is small, and he channels his power for only This Specific Thing, and can affect nothing else.]

I think it depends a bit on the deity in question, and how much deification they get, whether their power is a physical two-way link. Something they use with the same proficiency they put into others.

Small Saints who have basically no followers, and have little to no idea what they stand for, or why, are basically Just Guys. They are Guys powered by someone else's faith, who have interesting powers that manifest on occasion, and they have a habit of collecting very dedicated friend groups. But they are still, at the end of the day, Just Guys. They can act when unasked for, they can help their priests and paladins literally, physically, or do the miracle they want to do themselves, because at that point, everything about them is small and personal, and human. If your neighborhood pastor could work a miracle under a set of memorized rules, and sometimes shook your hand and let you do it too, they would be a Small Saint.

[That's not to say a Small Saint isn't still powerful. They are people who can mess with the weave of the world. Anyone not prepared for that is going to get the shock of their life. Anyone who isn't a Saint who is channeling that, is going to suffer consequences. It's just that, a Small Saint could maybe channel through one person at a time, and they might not even know how they did it. *Coughing noises, glances at plot*]

Medium? Saints? Saints that have a following, that have too many people to have an individual relationship with, get a little more unfathomable and constrained. At some point, messing with the universe has repercussions for everyone. If the Hermits had a whole city of followers, they would default to this. The world looks different to them. They can see the edges, where infinity and coding lies. In hels, a Saint who reaches that point stops seeing people as people, and they themselves stop looking and feeling like people. They can affect several people at once. They can justify things like punishment, and creating a moral code for people to follow. Being able to balance between the universe and hels is more important. They could still intervene on someone's behalf, but it's no longer a personal decision, and now something measured in loyalty, faith, prayer. You are one person, and your Saint is changing the world for a dozen of you, but power has limits.

[I imagine Evil X is somewhere around here. He has creative mode. He knows he can break the world to his will. But he also still has a physical body, and can just walk across the room and move something. He's still a person, he's just a person who's taken on the Uncanny, and knows there are no true repercussions to his actions. He's not a kind Saint, if he can rightly be called one. I imagine he was very destructive when he discovered his power, and had to mellow out over time. His domain has to do with chaos, and breaking things for the sake of breaking them. He had to learn it's a power he can use, not a power he has to use.]

Big Saints [and gods], get eldritch. They don't really exist as people anymore. Maybe they went on pilgrimage one day and never returned, but an echo of them has manifested as something people can tap into now. Maybe they stayed a person as long as possible, but at some point so much faith elevated them into something Different, a change a simpler more human them would have feared, but they no longer remember that simpler person anymore. Instead they are the impulses and principles they ruled themselves and others by, and their only memories have narrowed into parables and legends that only show hints of the person they used to be. They can give their power to a select few people willingly, but they no longer go out of their way to intercede in their daily life. They have gifted a piece of themselves to someone, because that person can be trusted to use it well, but they won't mourn that person if they leave. One person is small in the eye of the universal.

To me, Helsknight's Saint of Blood and Steel is a large, old Saint, with a congregation that deals best with the impersonal. They are people looking to be swords in the hands of the divine, so their Saint treats them as such. If the Saint had no congregation, as a deity always looking for a sword, they would act on their own until they found someone willing, but they would always be looking for a sword.

I also feel like some of how personal and two-way the connection is, is dependent on the nature of the domain.

Tanguish, if he ever becomes a true Saint with a following, doesn't know what his domain is. All he knows is, Helsknight promised to protect him, and so when he needed help, he Called, and Helsknight Answered. It was terrifying. He pulled a thread of the universe and used it to change what should have happened. If Helsknight were suffering, as someone who is human, who can't even see the threads they're pulling, Tanguish would do everything he could to help, and if he stumbled into his domain along the way, he would use it for that purpose. The power he has, whatever it is, can be genuinely harmful when used, because helsmets were not made to feel the full force of the universe -- something that already seeks to devour them on principle. He is someone who just found out that sometimes, seemingly randomly, he touches a person and they're struck by lightning. Whether they willingly touched him, and whether he would willingly take the lightning strike in their place, isn't exactly the current issue.

The God of Memory, whatever gives the Blue Lady her paladin powers, probably feels small and personal despite coming from a large idea and probably never being human. Its domain is Remembrance, and that implies something that tries to be personal despite how Eldritch it is. When its power is channeled, it always harms the channeler grandly and dramatically [the Blue Lady saying a small prophesy and being blinded by ink is a very light repercussion. It doesn't know what humanity is. It doesn't know what a body is. Or eating or drinking, or that someone who needs crutches to walk can't just drop them and not hurt muscle and bone. It just knows its will is needed so it acts. It is learning. It doesn't want to lose its followers, because it wants to form long, lasting memories of them. But it will break a lot of people before it learns limits.]

Meanwhile, the Saint of Blood and Steel definitely started as a person. They have an origin point [the plot will get there someday], they even have a Known Ascension. But they are a Saint to things like Vengeance and Justice, distant concepts that are best when they're not personal, a swinging sword that Exacts A Price. Channeling them will damage because the nature of the power is damaging, but they temper that by only calling people for a cause worthy of dying for. If there is a chance jumping off a cliff will break your legs, they will first guarantee there's a reason to get to the bottom. The Saint of Blood and Steel knows who they are, and knows that every knight or paladin or priest to pass through their halls is, almost certainly, doomed. They might have tried to save a few, long ago when they were something closer to human, but now they know a universal truth: whether they succeed or fail in saving anyone, whoever served them will have done it willingly, and there will always be someone along to replace them. When a sword is broken, you do not mourn the sword. You pick up another. Though you may grow melancholy for something cared for, now lost.

No matter how large, or loved, or powerful a Saint is, the Universe will always be more so. It has to be. If every helsmet had to become a Saint to hold a fraction of the potential a Hermit has, and every Hermit has faith in the universe, in the fact that it exists, that it speaks to them when they fight the monsters in the world, that it loves them, the Universe will always be bigger than even the largest hels-born Saint could fathom.

[blasphemousclaw]

ok I’ve always thought it was weird that the Great Serpent was just a normal sized snake in Rykard’s opening art like imagine an ancient cult of volcano dwellers worshiping and sacrificing people to a serpent god thats just. a normal ass looking snake. nothing like the behemoth that is our God-Devouring Serpent. how lame would that be. but then I thought of an idea while I was trying to sleep and now I’m writing this

anyway we know that the serpent cult used to provide blood sacrifices to the serpent god:

“Curved sword fashioned in the image of an ancient serpent deity and tool of a forgotten religion practiced on Mt. Gelmir. Formerly used to offer up sacrifices, this sword restores HP upon slaying an enemy.” (Serpent God’s Curved Sword)

the religion of the Gelmir serpent cult is long forgotten, all that remains of them are their artifacts… the Great Serpent has likely not been venerated since the demise of the cult.

we also know that Rykard, as the serpent of blasphemy, is able to grow continuously because of his devouring of sacrifices:

“Rykard took the form of a giant serpent that he might devour, grow, and live eternally.” (Remembrance of the Blasphemous)

his hands also seem to be outgrowing his rings, the flesh bulging around the metal bands:

WHAT IF. the Great Serpent used to be a serpent of enormous size, like the size of the snake shed in the temple of Eiglay:

but since the demise of Mt. Gelmir’s serpent cult, and the subsequent demonization of serpents as “traitors to the Erdtree,” there was no one left to offer up sacrifices to the Serpent… so there was nothing to sustain its infinite growth, and it was greatly diminished in size and power. BUT now that Rykard has been devoured and merged with the Serpent’s being, he is provided plenty of sacrifices by Tanith to be able to grow eternally. This also gives the Serpent a reason to make a pact with Rykard, to attempt to regain its former power and finally fulfill its prophecy of devouring the world…

[trans-rite]

How to join the Transgender Ancestor Rite: an FAQ on our updated format

What is it?

an annual, non-denominational ritual honoring transgender individuals who have passed on

an act of solidarity with the lineage of transgender ancestors who have come before us and paved the way, as well as with the descendants who will come after us when we are gone

a chance to share tenderness and kindness with the restless spirits of transgender people who lost their lives to violence

an opportunity for living transgender folks, including those who have lost trans loved ones, to grieve, mourn, and pray

a labor of love from a multiracial group of trans spirit workers, each at various stages of study in ancestor veneration practices, who have been putting on this ritual since 2014

When is it?

the ritual should take place on or around the Trans Day of Remembrance on November 20th, preferably within a week

most of us do it at night but any time of day is fine

if you need to do it a little before or after the 20th, don't sweat it

Where is it?

wherever you are!

groups are welcome to host local events and inform us about them, but the ritual itself takes place in a location of your own choosing, usually at home

if you have access to a local TDOR event that could incorporate some or all of this ritual, you are welcome to bring it there

most of the organizers have historically been located in the northeastern US but you don’t have to be

Who is it for?

it honors everyone from this year’s Trans Day of Remembrance official list, as well as any other deaths of trans individuals from the year that participants wish to include

illness losses, violent deaths, suicides, and natural deaths are all eligible for inclusion

it includes, cumulatively, all transgender deaths from previous years as well, named on the TDOR lists and unnamed, throughout history

it honors and praises the trans ancestors, people who were alive both recently and longer ago, who feel themselves in connection with us, who have received the care and honor we offered through previous years’ rituals, who are bright and well and who can tend the line from the other side

participants can be trans or cisgender, of any or no denomination or faith

Does it cost money?

nope! this is an anticapitalist affair

you can buy incense and offerings if you like, but you don’t need to spend money to participate

Why are y’all doing this?

honestly this could take pages and pages about the importance of this work and of soothing the troubled dead and tending our ancestral line et cetera et cetera ad infinitum but the short version is

we gotta

our ancestors require it and we’re making sure they get it

Okay, how does it work?

during the ritual, you sit or stand at an altar, light a candle, put out a glass of fresh water, and read a prayer

you may also make any other offerings you feel called to do

if so moved, you read the names of the dead from this year's TDOR list and call on our bright and well ancestors to tend to these newly passed souls

all the people participating in all the different places in the world help create a rising raft of energy that is greater than the sum of its parts, delivering the restless dead among our line into the care of our bright and well ancestors, who, in turn, also care for us, the living

Prayers? I thought you said this was non-denominational.

prayers can involve divinity, or they can be kind and soothing words to say to the dead

you can look through our prayers tag to get ideas and inspiration, but feel free to find poems on your own and/or write something yourself as well 

you are welcome to include deity or not, as you prefer

the organizers of this ritual incorporate gods and spirits in our practices but you by no means need to

on the flip side, if you want your gods involved, feel free to do so in whatever respectful manner works for you

What do I need on my altar?

the basics are an altar cloth (white is traditional; a bandana works), a cup to be filled with water, and a new or dedicated candle (white is traditional here also but follow your instincts)

other great offerings include cut flowers, portions of your food and drink (though alcohol is not advised with restless spirits), tobacco, honey, pictures and/or names of the deceased, art, music, dancing, and any gender paraphernalia you think the ancestors might like

do not put pictures of living people on the altar

it can be as simple or ornate as you choose: the important parts are the candle, the cup, and the cloth

Isn’t it sketchy to be working with dead people?

a little bit

it is much less sketchy since our format change in 2022, at which point this ritual shifted from working directly with restless spirits (dicey) to interfacing with them only through our cadre of elevated bright and well ancestors who have already benefited from previous years' rituals

we advise that you cleanse or purify in whatever way you prefer, ideally before and after the working

if you’re in a Western (especially American Christian) culture that views death as The End and discussion of death as taboo, consider reading up on cultures where ancestor veneration is a normal part of everyday life (hint: it’s most of them)

Other questions? Send them in and we’ll answer them, and maybe add them to the list! If you post about the ritual, tag #troe2023 and we will check it out!

Thank you for joining us!

- Mod Alder and team

[ad-caelestia]

plutonian death magic [♇]

pluto, otherwise known as hades in greek mythology, is the ruler and guardian of the underworld.

ethically collect graveyard dirt and charge it with plutonian energy - may be used in spells that correspond with pluto’s energy, spirit work, or any act that includes honoring the dead

create a shrine or altar dedicated to a loved one who has passed on - add a symbolic representation of pluto for the protection of your loved one in the afterlife

create an amulet to represent an ancestor or loved one that has passed on and charge with plutonian energy - this can be worn for remembrance or to aid in contacting the spirit of this person

some ideas for this may include: the name of your loved one; a sigil that represents their name and your intention; some of their ashes (please don’t take ashes from a family urn without permission); graveyard dirt from the grave of your loved one (again, not without permission); herbs or crystals that correspond to spirit work and death magic (perhaps even your loved one’s favorite crystal or flower)

provide offerings to pluto for the continued protection of your loved ones in the afterlife

plant herbs and flowers that correspond with pluto

volunteer to work with hospice patients or to help clean up your local graveyard

provide food and beverages on your altar or sacred space

light a candle or incense of corresponding scent

leave corresponding crystals or herbs in an offering dish

leave offerings for your loved ones at their grave or on your altar

design a crystal grid using plutonian crystals to amplify corresponding spells or rituals

wear a crystal pendant that corresponds with pluto for the metaphorical death and rebirth of one’s self

use the death card in your tarot deck during spells and rituals that involve death magic

i typically do not work with any deities, but sometimes i feel it's appropriate to incorporate persephone as well.

⇢ i’d like to thank @death-witch-envy, who was a huge inspiration for this post and an inspiration for my interest in death witchcraft. ⇠

© 2024 𝚊𝚍-𝚌𝚊𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚊

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

Bronze Age Libation Vessel from Crete, c. 1600-1450 BCE: the body of this 3,600-year-old vessel was carved from a single block of rock crystal

The collar of this libation vessel is decorated with discs of gilded ivory, while the handle is formed by a length of bronze wire and fourteen beads made of rock crystal. The vessel itself is about 16.5cm tall (roughly 6.5 inches) when measured from the base up to the rim.

Libation vessels such as this were widely used to pour ritual offerings, such as wine (or other alcoholic substances), water, honey, olive oil, milk, or grain, usually in honor of a deity or in remembrance of the dead. These ritual vessels are also known as rhyta (or the singular rhyton). They were especially common among ancient cultures, but have also been used by many other peoples throughout history, and similar libation vessels are still used within certain religious/cultural traditions today.

This particular vessel was crafted and used by the Minoans -- a Bronze Age civilization that once flourished on the island of Crete. It was unearthed from the ruins of the Central Palace of Zakros.

According to The Heraklion Archaeological Museum:

This small libation vessel, a true masterpiece of Minoan art, is one of the most valuable ritual vessels of the Central Sanctuary of Zakros. The body and neck are made separately. The body of the rhyton is carved from a particularly large block of rock crystal. The vase was found shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces, which were restored with marvellous skill by the conservators of the Heraklion Archaeological Museum. The collar around the join between neck and body is decorated with gilded ivory discs. The tall, curved handle is formed of fourteen crystal beads threaded on bronze wire and was found almost intact during the excavation, with the beads still in place.

The skill of the Minoan craftsman is evident not only from the decorative details of the rhyton but also from the fact that he was able to create such a fine-walled vessel without cracking the particularly hard raw material. The aesthetic perfection of the rhyton is as impressive as the technical skill required to produce it. Its symbolic value as a ritual vessel is heightened by the precious ivory and the metals, all of which were imported to Crete from distant parts of the East Mediterranean.

Sources & More Info:

Heraklion Archaeological Museum: Rock Crystal Libation Vessel/Rhyton

World History Encyclopedia: Minoan Rock-Crystal Vase

Minoan Crete: Zakros

[bruciemilf]

What are your fav teen!Bruce headcanons? (Like, not de-aged, I mean just him being a teenager and making Alfred lose decades of lifespan every day)

Thank you!

OOO I'm glad you asked!! If I may be permitted to be an edge lord of preposterous proportions for a second--

I think teen Bruce would be a combination of Battinson, fanon Bruce, and old man Batman from Batman Beyond. He's there only in body. A ghost you can see.

the Waynes carved their name In Gotham's history books by being generous, and helpful, and oh so altruistic philanthropists. They build a pedestal of good deities and put themselves on top.

They wanted to fix the unfixable.

Bruce looks down at his blood covered fists and he knows, like a truth of the ages, he's nothing even close to that.

He's not a healer like his father. Or a fighter like his mother. Bruce, despite his best efforts, will only ever be himself.

What's a boy, if not a gun waiting to be loaded?

"You're not a weapon. You're just a kid. A good one, at that."

"Gotham doesn't need more good kids, Alfred," Bruce says. He stopped calling him "Papa" after turning 8. Still. He might not treat Alfred like a parent anymore, but he listens like a son.

"It doesn't need more apathetic rich boys, either."

Bruce takes that to heart. Or tries to. He has the tendency of learning everything too late.

Nevertheless, time doesn't wait on anyone. And before he knows it, he's a 17 year old wraith, moving through Gotham like poison water.

One time, Carmine Falcone, perhaps the only recluse more well known than Bruce, stops him at a town hall meeting Alfred made him go to.

Wayne Remembrance Day. Big Thanks.

"See, I don't really like comin' to these things. Makes me depressed. "

Bruce nods, flicking his cigarette up. " Me too."

Oz snatches it away from his mouth with a " give me that, Slick' and Bruce doesn't stop him. Alberto Falcone, just as mousy and lost as he was when they were kids, watch him like Bruce is Icarus falling from the sky.

He's taller than his father now. He can only imagine what that does to Falcone's ego.

" It ain't everyday I can say this about someone. But you really impress me, Slick. Carryin' on like a small fish. But boy, you got em fooled. I know another shark when I see one."

Bruce doesn't have anything to say to that.

" Maybe if you keep this up, you'll be the last Wayne standing."

He doesn't have much to say to that, either. He simply sends Alberto Falcone with a swift punch, and walks away.

Watching from the sidelines like a Colosseum spectator, little Tim Drake watches his grumpy neighbour storm away with a thunder in his step.

[fernthewhimsical]

Prayer to Ashka

Lord of Remembrance, you who is humble and wise Bring us the memories, of those passed on Their voices, their joys, so they will not be forgotten You who guards their remains, and guides their shining souls We welcome your warm embrace, and the end of our existence We welcome your warm embrace, as we remember those we lost Lord of Remembrance, I love and honour you

[usagiumiko3]

hey guys🌌💕 i’ve been diving into emily brontë’s "the night is darkening round me" and while reading I made some connections between some poems and the lnds characters. here are some of my picks that I think resonate the best.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» the prisoner «

in the dungeon-crypts, idly did i stray,

reckless of the lives wasting there away;

'draw the ponderous bars! open, warder stern!'

he dared not say me nay - the hingers harshly turn.

'our guests are darkly lodged,' i whisper'd, gazing through

the vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue;

(this was when glad spring laughed in awaking pride;)

'aye, darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide.

then, god forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue;

i scoffed, as chill chains on the damp flag-stones rung:

'confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear,

that we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?'

the captive raised her face, it was as soft and mild

as sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child;

it was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair,

pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there!

the captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow;

'i have been struck,' she said, 'and i am suffering now;

yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong,

and, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long.'

hoarse laughed the jailer grim: 'shall i be won to hear;

dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that i shall grant thy prayer?

or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans?

ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones.

'my master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind,

but hard as hardest flint, the soul that lurks behind;

and i am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see

than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me.'

about her lips there played a smile of almost scorn,

'my friend,' she gently said, 'you have not heard me mourn;

when you my kindred's lives, my lost life, can restore,

then may i weep and sue, - but never, friend, before!

(.....)

'oh, dreadful is the check - intense the agony -

when the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;

when the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again,

the soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.

'yet i would lose no sting, would wish no torture less,

the more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless;

and robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine,

if it but herald death, the vision is divine!'

she ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go -

we had no further power to work the captive woe:

her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given

a sentence, unapproved, and overruled by heaven.

» ‘no coward soul is mine’ «

no coward soul is mine

no trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere

i see heaven's glories shine

and faith shines equal arming me from fear

o god within my breast

almighty ever-present deity

life, that in me hast rest

as i undying life, have power in thee

vain are the thousand creeds

that move men's hearts, unutterably vain,

worthless as withered weeds

or idlest froth amid the boundless main

to waken doubt in one

holding so fast by thy infinity

so surely anchored on

the steadfast rock of immortality

with wide-embracing love

thy spirit animates eternal years

pervades and broods above,

changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears

though earth and moon were gone

and suns and universes ceased to be

and thou wert left alone

every existence would exist in thee

there is not room for death

nor atom that his might could render void

since thou art being and breath

and what thou art may never be destroyed

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» remembrance «

cold in the earth - and the deep snow piled above thee,

far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!

have i forgot, my only love, to love thee,

severed at last by time's all-severing wave?

now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover

over the mountains, on that northern shore,

resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover

thy noble heart for ever, ever more?

cold in the earth - and fifteen wild decembers,

from those brown hills, have melted into spring:

faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers

after such years of change and suffering!

sweet love of youth, forgive, if i forget thee,

while the world's tide is bearing me along;

other desires and other hopes beset me,

hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

no later light has lightened up my heaven,

no second morn has ever shone for me;

all my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,

all my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

but, when the days of golden dreams had perished,

and even despair was powerless to destroy;

then did i learn how existence could be cherished,

strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

then did i check the tears of useless passion -

weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;

sternly denied its burning wish to hasten

down to that tomb already more than mine.

and, even yet, i dare not let it languish,

dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;

once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,

how could i seek the empty world again?

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» stars «

ah! why, because the dazzling sun

restored our earth to joy,

have you departed, every one,

and left a desert sky?

all through the night, your glorious eyes

were gazing down in mine,

and with a full heart's thankful sighs,

i blessed that watch divine.

i was at peace, and drank your beams

as they were life to me;

and revelled in my changeful dreams,

like petrel on the sea.

thought followed thought, star followed star,

through boundless regions, on;

while one sweet influence, near and far,

thrilled through, and proved us one!

why did the morning dawn to break

so great, so pure, a spell;

and scorch with fire, the tranquil cheek,

where your cool radiance fell?

blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight,

his fierce beams struck my brow;

the soul of nature, sprang, elate,

but mine sank sad and low!

my lids closed down, yet through their veil,

i saw him, blazing, still,

and steep in gold the misty dale,

and flash upon the hill.

i turned me to the pillow, then,

to call back night, and see

your worlds of solemn light, again,

throb with my heart, and me!

it would not do - the pillow glowed,

and glowed both roof and floor;

and birds sang loudly in the wood,

and fresh winds shook the door;

the curtains waved, the wakened flies

were murmuring round my room,

imprisoned there, till i should rise,

and give them leave to roam.

oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night;

oh, night and stars return!

and hide me from the hostile light,

that does not warm, but burn;

that drains the blood of suffering men;

drinks tears, instead of dew;

let me sleep through his blinding reign,

and only wake with you!

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» anticipation «

how beautiful the earth is still,

to thee - how full of happiness!

how little fraught with real ill,

or unreal phantoms of distress!

how spring can bring thee glory, yet,

and summer win thee to forget

december's sullen time!

why dost thou hold the treasure fast,

of youth's delight, when youth is past,

and thou art near thy prime?

when those who were thy own compeers,

equals in fortune and in years,

have seen their morning melt in tears,

to clouded, smileless day;

blest, had they died untried and young,

before their hearts went wandering wrong,

poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,

a weak and helpless prey!

‘because, i hoped while they enjoyed,

and, by fulfilment, hope destroyed;

as children hope, with trustful breast,

i waited bliss - and cherished rest.

a thoughtful spirit taught me, soon,

that we must long till life be done;

that every phase of earthly joy

must always fade, and always cloy:

‘this i foresaw - and would not chase

the fleeting treacheries;

but, with firm foot and tranquil face,

held backward from that tempting race,

gazed o'er the sands the waves efface,

to the enduring seas -

there cast my anchor of desire

deep in unknown eternity;

nor ever let my spirit tire,

with looking for what is to be!

'it is hope's spell that glorifies,

like youth, to my maturer eyes,

all nature's million mysteries,

the fearful and the fair -

hope soothes me in the griefs i know;

she lulls my pain for others' woe,

and makes me strong to undergo

what i am born to bear.

'glad comforter! will i not brave,

unawed, the darkness of the grave?

nay, smile to hear death's billows rave -

sustained, my guide, by thee?

the more unjust seems present fate,

the more my spirit swells elate,

strong, in thy strength, to anticipate

rewarding destiny!'

» self-interrogation «

(….)

‘time stands before the door of death,

upbraiding bitterly;

and conscience, with exhaustless breath,

pours black reproach on me:

‘and though i've said that conscience lies,

and time should fate condemn;

still, sad repentance clouds my eyes,

and makes me yield to them!'

‘then art thou glad to seek repose?

art glad to leave the sea,

and anchor all thy weary woes

in calm eternity?

'nothing regrets to see thee go -

not one voice sobs "farewell",

and where thy heart has suffered so,

canst thou desire to dwell?'

‘alas! the countless links are strong

that bind us to our clay;

the loving spirit lingers long,

and would not pass away!

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» ‘the night is darkening round me’ «

the night is darkening round me

the wild winds coldly blow

but a tyrant spell has bound me

and i cannot cannot go

the giant trees are bending

their bare boughs weighed with snow and

the storm is fast descending

and yet i cannot go

clouds beyond clouds above me

wastes beyond wastes below

but nothing drear can move me

i will not cannot go

- - -

i'll come when thou art saddest

laid alone in the darkened room

when the mad day's mirth has vanished

and the smile of joy is banished

from evening's chilly gloom

i'll come when the heart's [real feeling

has entire unbiased sway

and my influence o'er thee stealing

grief deepening joy congealing

shall bear thy soul away

listen 'tis just the hour

the awful time for thee

dost thou not feel upon thy soul

a flood of strange sensations roll

forerunners of a sterner power

heralds of me

- - -

i would have touched the heavenly key

that spoke alike of bliss and thee

i would have woke the entrancing song

but its words died upon my tongue

and then i knew that hallowed strain

could never speak of joy again

and then i felt

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» death «

death! that struck when i was most confiding

in my certain faith of joy to be -

strike again, time's withered branch dividing

from the fresh root of eternity!

leaves, upon time's branch, were growing brightly,

full of sap, and full of silver dew;

birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;

daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.

sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;

guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;

but, within its parent's kindly bosom,

flowed for ever life's restoring tide.

little mourned i for the parted gladness,

for the vacant nest and silent song -

hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;

whispering, 'winter will not linger long!'

and, behold! with tenfold increase blessing,

spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;

wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing,

lavished glory on that second may!

high it rose - no winged grief could sweep it;

sin was scared to distance with its shine;

love, and its own life, had power to keep it

from all wrong - from every blight but thine!

cruel death! the young leaves droop and languish;

evening's gentle air may still restore -

no! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish -

time, for me, must never blossom more!

strike it down, that other boughs may flourish

where that perished sapling used to be;

thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish

that from which it sprung - eternity.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» faith and despondency «

‘the winter wind is loud and wild,

come close to me, my darling child;

forsake thy books, and mateless play;

and, while the night is gathering grey,

we'll talk its pensive hours away; -

‘iernë, round our sheltered hall

november's gusts unheeded call;

not one faint breath can enter here

enough to wave my daughter's hair,

and i am glad to watch the blaze

glance from her eyes, with mimic rays;

to feel her cheek so softly pressed,

in happy quiet on my breast.

‘but, yet, even this tranquillity

brings bitter, restless thoughts to me;

and, in the red fire's cheerful glow,

i think of deep glens, blocked with snow;

i dream of moor, and misty hill,

where evening closes dark and chill;

for, lone, among the mountains cold,

lie those that i have loved of old.

and my heart aches, in hopeless pain

exhausted with repinings vain,

that i shall greet them ne'er again!'

» honour's martyr «

the moon is full this winter night;

the stars are clear, though few;

and every window glistens bright,

with leaves of frozen dew.

the sweet moon through your lattice gleams

and lights your room like day;

and there you pass, in happy dreams,

the peaceful hours away!

while i, with effort hardly quelling

the anguish in my breast,

wander about the silent dwelling,

and cannot think of rest.

the old clock in the gloomy hall

ticks on, from hour to hour;

and every time its measured call

seems lingering slow and slower:

and oh, how slow that keen-eyed star

has tracked the chilly grey!

what, watching yet! how very far

the morning lies away!

without your chamber door i stand;

love, are you slumbering still?

my cold heart, underneath my hand,

has almost ceased to thrill.

bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs,

and drowns the turret bell,

whose sad note, undistinguished, dies

unheard, like my farewell!

tomorrow, scorn will blight my name,

and hate will trample me,

will load me with a coward's shame -

a traitor's perjury.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» the old stoic «

riches i hold in light esteem;

and love i laugh to scorn;

and lust of fame was but a dream

that vanished with the morn:

and if i pray, the only prayer

that moves my lips for me

is, 'leave the heart that now i bear,

and give me liberty!'

yes, as my swift days near their goal,

‘tis all that i implore;

in life and death, a chainless soul,

with courage to endure.

» self-interrogation «

(….)

‘and rest is sweet, when laurelled fame

will crown the soldier's crest;

but, a brave heart, with a tarnished name,

would rather fight than rest.'

'well, thou hast fought for many a year,

hast fought thy whole life through,

hast humbled falsehood, trampled fear;

what is there left to do?'

‘tis true, this arm has hotly striven,

has dared what few would dare;

much have i done, and freely given,

but little learnt to bear!’

[m1d-45]

judas

summary: who can be blamed for a world wide calamity? the executioner, the judge, or the jury?

word count: ~1.3k

-> warnings: mention of blood, implied death(you, but you revive after), um minor spoilers for inazuma and sumeru archon quest, as well as for kazuha lore

-> gn reader (you/yours) and unspecified traveller (no pronouns)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

to see a god is a feat most strive their whole lives toward. to bear witness to one so much holier than you, to view a deity far beyond your time. mortals pray to statues and shrines, each vying for the eye of the heavens, a select few showing off their rewards in the form of a gleaming vision.

but even those with a vision cannot see the stars. true gods- the true god is a memory beholden to only a few, to those that remember the times prior to the archon war. before the creator lifted to celestia, sequestered away far from the petty meddling of people.

they’re missed. they’re always missed. the gods have a hole their gnoses are too small to fill, a deep ache that beats with their hearts, yearning for the one they called ‘home.’ it’s not unlike the feeling one gets on a clear night, looking up to the stars, knowing the world’s so vast and you are so small, unsure whether to be afraid or comforted.

so they wish their god a well recovery? do they grieve the idea that they may die before that happens? do they grab a bottle from the shelf and bear headaches without hangovers, do they sit at a worn table and drink tea nobody else remembers, do they sleep endlessly, hoping to dream instead? what does one do, when so alone? what does one do, when the stars blanket the sky and they are struck with the remembrance of their finite lives?

mortals get up from their blankets. look away, go to bed, rise the next day with the only star they know being the one that warms the stones beneath their feet. but gods don’t tire easily, and the nights are known for stretching far longer than days.

the unlucky ones die.

the cursed are given a false prophet.

“if you remember me, then i don’t care if anyone else forgets.”

the greater lord was kind. too kind. beloved. unfairly so. how strange, she wondered, fading to dust, that she did not see her god greeting her. how odd, she thought, that the closest she had come to heaven was within the moments before her death.

it’s not her fault. it never was. the eyes that watched from celestia were hard with iron and not time, cruel with choice and not purpose. so many died, so many didn’t have to, so many fell under the foot of a fraud while their true colors hid behind a mask.

“do you remember me?”

“do you?”

it wasn’t your fault either. it never was. your chosen warrior, your first picked, saved from the grips of the one who had stolen your place. so many people, so many names, so many conversations held within proxy. the earth remembered, the people rejoiced, and yet it was only your golden companion that questioned the sea.

(the waves calmed. eons old bodies finally laid to rest. the abyss itself stilled for just a moment, just long enough to stop and watch you smile, and even now occasionally lent an ear to your pride.)

how unfair, that you once laughed together but now cry alone.

to lay eyes upon the divine is one thing. to view with one’s own eyes even a fraction of true power is enough to blind the commons, and even the most ancient dragon must bow its head. but to touch? to hold, to grasp, to feel universes thrumming beneath your fingers, the power of giants hovering barely an inch away?

“we named a constellation after you.”

you had said hello. a god, a being so far beyond mortal understanding, crouching to one knee and extending a hand to a child that had fallen. you could have walked by. perhaps on another day you might’ve. but you didn’t recognize the world as your home, and she didn’t recognize you as hers, fleeing to the guards the moment she saw something a little too bright in your eyes.

it wasn’t your fault. the ground is stained with blue and that child’s hand burns with the fire found in the core of a newborn sun, hot and new far too much for someone so young to handle. a samurai will never be able to look at his sword the same way again, but you shouldn’t blame yourself for that either. his hand holds the grip as his own shakes, red eyes struggling to take in what he sees.

the human mind reacts strangely when it sees something it doesn’t understand. it fizzles, stops, the wiring going dull as it realizes its neurons are far too small to comprehend the unusual stimuli. unfortunately, this response does not lend itself to survival, and the drive to live overshadows your cries for the same.

he doesn’t like the visit that part of town anymore. he can’t look at maple leaves without remembering how they stuck to the ground, weighed down by blood. he visits a familiar grave, tucked between two sharp cliffs, lingering far past the settling of lavender melon on the ground. he kneels there for a few hours too long, wondering of all the what ifs.

it’s not his fault either. it’s nobody’s. they were given a candlelight and were told it was a star, even as they watched the wax drip. he was doing his best, and it just so happened that in the blind grasp for a handhold, he’d pushed you away. he couldn’t see. it wasn’t his fault.

“don’t blame yourself, kazuha.”

“the tide does not stop rising when asked. neither does the guilt.”

it wasn’t his fault.

you try to remind yourself of this, at times. so does he. the two of you lie awake at inane hours of night, searching the sky for an answer.

what happened? what went wrong? was it me? was it anyone?

celestia looks down with eyes of fake steel, looking between you and the empty throne behind them. they’d finally caved, thrown the one they puppeted for the vishaps to dissect and the hillichurls to pull apart, but now worried. they’d certainly be punished if it was known they’d allowed this to happen… was it their fault, perhaps?

eyes sought out others, the council known as ‘heaven’ lost for what to do. their eyes joined yours, as yours joined kazuha’s, all tilted up and beginning to turn glassy.

the universe is so big, each star their own system, and it’s so hard to feel like any more than sand when it’s displayed so clearly. maybe it was kazuha’s fault, for not recognizing the light you shed as that of the sun. maybe it was celestia’s, for continuing to entertain an impossible fantasy. maybe it was the earth’s, for guiding you where it thought was safe, maybe maybe maybe. it doesn’t matter. did it ever? your heart burns with grief—love—as you go to bed, sheltered within a hilichurl camp. kazuha stays up too late, punishing himself with the fog of sleepiness that lasts a little too long the next day. celestia doesn’t feel guilt, for when did it ever, but the next day is unproductive, something strange taking place of the air there.

maybe it was nobody’s fault. maybe the world was disjointed, unfamiliar with your presence, stuttering for a moment as it collected itself once more. maybe in that moment of confusion, of flickering light and a burnt out flame, tragedy had struck like lightning. the universe was illuminated, bathed in the gleam of your power, able to see what it couldn’t in darkness.

it wouldn’t happen again, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. scars still ached when it rained, and the skies were weeping as it realized what had occurred in shadow.

[deenemaan]

Indeed, I am Allāh. There is no deity except Me, so worship Me and establish prayer for My remembrance.

Surah Taha Ayah 14

Reciter: Ahmed Khedr