#fair basilica

[littjara-mirrorlake]

Daily Life in the Phyrexian Spheres (Dross to Seedcore)

Previous: Facade to Furnace, Maze to Bays

The Dross Pits, much like its previous incarnation in the Mephidross of Mirrodin's surface, is a sphere rife with intrigue, double-crossing, and back-alley deals. The social structure is feudal, with lords ruling over masses of serfs and slaves, and thanes make up the top of the social pyramid. Dark, towering citadels of flesh and bone rise out of the necrogen mists, which bathe the entire layer in an eerie green glow. Large swathes of territory are controlled by thanes, lords, and magical creatures such as blight dragons and archfiends.

This sphere is densely populated, with the vast majority of its inhabitants making up the servant classes that live and die under feudal lords. Compleated Mirrans begin at the very bottom and most have little hope of ever ascending past this station, as the Steel Thanes' obsession with Phyrexian purity leads to heavy discrimination against those who are not Phyrexian-born. This obsession extends to a scrutiny of every Phyrexian's pedigree--the further removed a person is from their last non-core-born ancestor, the purer their bloodline is considered, leading to a higher chance of social advancement. As such, first-generation core-born Phyrexians (born to compleated Mirrans) are only barely considered truly Phyrexian and share their parents' meager social standing. As Phyrexians are immortal and have no need for heirs, faction members produce scions to serve their own advancement, not to eventually succeed them. Of course, said scions are rarely happy with this arrangement, seeking to usurp their parents and seize their assets instead.

Magically and technologically, the inhabitants of the Dross Pits largely focus on emulating Yawgmoth-era techniques gleaned from scrying the glistening oil. Due to the heavy emphasis on ichor magic and intrigue, glistening oil from individuals of interest--and the intelligence it contains--is an invaluable commodity in the Dross Pits. Bloodsuckers like necrosquitoes and pistid swarms are often employed to this end, fueling an illicit trade of stolen bodily fluids.

Much like the Furnace, the Dross Pits do not have an overarching system of governance or standard of law, and political allegiances vary widely. Pockets of the Dross Pits are strongholds of the Phyrexian rebellion, though they are severely handicapped by the loyalist spheres blocking them both above and below. Every thane has at least nominally allied with either Elesh Norn or the rebellion, though they are ultimately beholden only to themselves and care little for the ideals of either side.

The Fair Basilica is the innermost inhabited sphere and the de facto capital of New Phyrexia, where Elesh Norn rules from her palace and the majority of the Phyrexian military is housed. In the heart of Norn's empire, every aspect of daily life is carefully regimented and monitored; people are marched in orderly rows down alabaster bridges, flanked constantly by armed enforcers and their swarms of patrol mites. Flights of angels keep constant watch in the skies. Staggering acts of brutality are committed against any who display signs of deviance, and commoners are all too used to keeping their heads down and trying not to watch as their peers' oil is scrubbed from the streets.

Every resident of the Fair Basilica is expected to devote a significant portion of their time to worship, and the rest to assigned duties like patrolling or working the flesh-vats. Those who need to sleep do so on strict schedules under the watchful eyes of supervisors. Newts are raised by the state, rigorously educated on the Orthodoxy's religious tenets, and often apprentice under cenobites, which continues after their compleation; Mirran aspirants commonly join them.

Though it relies heavily on other spheres for commodities like raw material and technology, the Fair Basilica is at least self-sufficient in growing its own porcelain metal, which spreads in a fungus-like manner on recently dead flesh. It is mass-produced in giant growth vats, alongside Basilica inhabitants' germ offspring and seedpod centurions for the invasion (often bodies without minds, hollow for puppeting via ichor magic).

Rebellion is most difficult in the Basilica due to its oppressive environment and authorities' vested interest in controlling the flow of information--and oil--into and out of the sphere. The news fed to residents is tightly curated, requiring workarounds to even hear of the rebellion's presence at all. That said, dissident spies have managed to infiltrate even the innermost of the loyalist spheres.

The Mycosynth Gardens form a natural barrier between the populated Phyrexian spheres and the Seedcore, and passage through them is controlled exclusively by Elesh Norn herself. The Gardens themselves are uninhabited by sapient Phyrexians, though fauna like inkmoths and skitterlings roam the silent lattices, and the mycosynth itself is known to create lures or other, more cryptic structures that mimic passersby.

The Seedcore, the innermost layer of New Phyrexia, is the domain of Elesh Norn alone, where she keeps the World Tree sapling Realmbreaker imprisoned and firmly subjugated under layers of mind-altering magic. Very rarely, Norn holds the most confidential of her audiences here with her inner circle or other crucial allies. The sphere is heavily warded against incoming divination, telepathy, and any other possible interference with Norn's plans, but here lays Norn's crucial oversight: there are no such protections against communication going out, allowing Realmbreaker's telepathic distress call to pass through into the Multiverse.

And that's it for overviews of the nine Phyrexian spheres, from the perspective of a far more average commoner Phyrexian than we're used to hearing about. There's always more to be said about each of them, of course, and I hope this helps get people started thinking about their own expansions, headcanon, or additions!

[phyrexianphamily]

Do you guys ever think about Elspeth?

Elesh Norn during a celebration at the Fair Basilica, following her encounter with Ashiok

[almostlookedhuman]

[somewhere-south-of-neutral]

Porcelain Throne:

the concept of a throne of porcelain is really quite a poetic one. a gilded throne can have an iron core, and a wooden throne can be borne across a battlefield, but for a throne made of porcelain—although it may be a thing of beauty and a show of wealth, particularly in europe, to commission and import something so intricate from so far away—it can only be heavy and fragile, and, if it chips even once, it can never be made whole again. it’s beautiful if you think about it. unfortunately the phrase “porcelain throne” refers exclusively to the toilet

[jokeroutsubs]

[📝ENG TRANSLATION] 🎈Bojan Birthday special 🍰 Bojan Cvjetićanin: A Successful Procastinator

Original article written by Robert Rebolj for Slovenske novice, published 22.08.2020. Photos by Žan Pevec and Tomaž Rupnik.

English translation by @kurooscoffee, review by IG 10_anja, proofread by @flowerlotus8.

🎧 Audio version available here.

Full article below the cut! 👇

A Successful Procrastinator.

2020 was supposed to be the year for the young Ljubljana's Bežigrad band, which has announced their breakthrough into stardom through dedication and songs like 'Gola' and 'Vem, da greš'.

Ph: Personal archive.

Bojan is currently one of the most popular musicians, loved by both girls and boys alike.

"Last year, we made a plan that was supposed to withstand anything, even a bullet. On the 1st of April, we would have released the album, presented it at two events in Ljubljana's Cvetličarna, and then we would have a summer full of concerts. Unfortunately, everything fell through. If we can't support the album with concerts, it doesn't make sense to release it for now," the 21-year-old singer and songwriter, whose future is expected to be dazzling, described the unexpected turn of events.

Ph: Tomaž Rupnik. The five Joker Out members from Ljubljana have been making waves with great music for some time now.

How are you coping with the disruption of these events that are important to you?

Bojan: At first, we found the whole situation funny; we thought everything would normalise within two months. Back then, I was quite inactive and uncreative, and with each passing month, my mood became even more gloomy. Realisation that this could drag on for a long time has a significant impact on your psyche. And while there’s a widespread belief among the people that this is now a period of new creativity, I’ve created very little myself. I was grieving more than anything else!

We’re hearing a lot of criticism about the immature behavior of young people—partying, ignoring experts' warnings. But there are also those who are very responsible. Which of those are you?

My perspective is that young people here are actually quite responsible. I think they are aware of the warnings and don’t socialise recklessly. Recently, I went out for the first time in five months. In front of Kino Šiška, around 50 people had gathered. It was very calm. People socialised within their groups and kept their distance.

Ph: Žan Pevec. "My parents taught me that no amount of money can replace a clear conscience and fair earnings," he says.

I’d say we don’t have a problem with ultra-parties here. What seems more problematic to me is that the restrictions on cultural events are extremely strict and, without any legal basis, prevent a huge number of people from working and making a living. Meanwhile, at Brezje¹, a few thousand people gathered without any sanctions; most of them belong to the critical age group, and on top of that, they didn’t follow safety measures. It seems to me that a lot of blame is being shifted onto young people, but in reality, those who were the most active in breaking the rules during the pandemic were about 15 years older than us.

¹Brezje is a settlement in the Upper Carniola region of Slovenia, best known for its basilica which is the largest pilgrimage church in Slovenia.

What are the strongest values you’ve taken from home?

My parents taught me to always be honest, no matter what I do, because no amount of money can replace a clear conscience and fair earnings. In our family, we’re also very compassionate and respectful toward all people. Both of them supported me greatly in my creative endeavors and gave me everything I wanted, as long as I was fair to them and fulfilled my responsibilities.

And you did fulfill them? You weren't a rebel?

And I did, yes. I wasn’t a rebel—maybe I had a few moments in secondary school, but that’s probably pretty normal.

Were you a nerd?

A terrible procrastinator (laughs). Every year, at the start of the school year, I promised myself it would be different this time. Before school began, I’d buy new notebooks, pens, a pencil case, and all the supplies, tidy up my desk, make and hang up schedules. It would last maybe three days, and then I was even worst than the previous year—a disaster! (laughs) Only now at university—I'm studying sociology—am I a little more diligent, but I’m still quite a procrastinator.

Which was your favourite subject, and which caused you the most trouble?

The worst was definitely maths, but that’s entirely my fault because, from elementary school to the end of high school, I probably did a total of ten homework assignments. Awful! Of course, you can’t learn maths that way. During periods when I focused on it, I didn’t have any problems. I also really liked my maths teacher! My favourite subjects were sociology and history, and over time, I became happy that we learned Latin as well. I won’t single out physical education—we always played football there, which was fantastic.

So football is your favourite sport?

I’m a fan of extreme sports, especially the acrobatic version of wakeboarding (the most adrenaline-filled version of surfing, editor’s note). I also love fast cars. I used to train judo but had to quit because of severe migraines, and then I started playing football. So yes, it’s probably my favourite sport now.

Do you follow Cristiano Ronaldo's discipline as a counterbalance to the temptations of rock 'n' roll?

In that respect, I’m more like Diego Maradona! (laughs)

Let me guess—when it comes to music, you’re less of a procrastinator?

Not at all! (laughs) I’m not musically educated, which I also deeply regret. As a child, I never showed any interest in music, so, naturally, my parents didn’t enroll me in music school. It was only later that I started taking private guitar lessons, and at the age of 12, I learned everything I know to this day.

"On stage, I stop caring about everything. I feel invincible, like no one can touch me."

Unfortunately, when it comes to learning instruments, I’m the same kind of procrastinator I was in high school. As for writing music and lyrics, I only create when I feel a strange inspiration that I have to write it down. It’s very hard for me to just sit down and start writing. I deeply regret this. If we look at the history, The Beatles’ John Lennon and Paul McCartney reportedly had regular creative meetings, and not one of them ended without a song being written. This means they wrote thousands of songs in their lives, whereas literally everything I write eventually gets released.

From today’s perspective, what would you teach your own children?

I’d like to have kids as young as possible...

Really?!

Really. I’ve even picked out the names already! (laughs)

Please, share them with us!

(Laughs) Oh no, I can’t reveal them yet—someone might steal them! I’ll tell you, but you can’t write them down! (laughs) Anyway, continuing on, I’d definitely teach them everything my parents taught me. I believe those are very good values and solid foundations on which a person can then grow in the right direction. I also think education and the ability to think abstractly are very important. My parents strongly encouraged this in both me and my sister. And although it might seem like I resisted them a bit in the educational part, I’m endlessly grateful to them today for all their encouragement.

What do you value most about your parents?

With my father, definitely his humility. With my mother, it’s how well she listens and how compassionate she is.

You seem very confident, but are you truly confident deep down as well?

I am, I’ve never had any problems with this, and when I work, I know what I’m doing. I also feel like I’m good at sensing and reading people, and I know how to respond to them. I’m open to those who are open to me, but others don’t interest me. I guess it all stems from respect.

How are you with girls?

Also very respectful. It’s true that I’m quite flirtatious, so I like confident girls who might even outflirt me in this regard. I really like that. I’ve only had one somewhat serious girlfriend, but I always try not to be rough, rude, or impolite, although I’m sure there were times when I was. But my main guiding principle is to be a good person. I don’t support violence; it should be stopped at all costs.

At first glance, confidence and modesty don’t seem to go hand in hand…

But that’s exactly it. My father is incredible in this regard, I admire him greatly. He’s an extremely intelligent and successful man, a doctor, a surgeon. He’s achieved so much in life and has provided my sister and I with almost everything. Then I feel embarrassed when I catch myself getting excited about material things and wanting everything, even though I haven’t achieved anything in life yet and can’t afford those things.

"I want to have kids as young as possible. I even have their names picked out!"

My father, who could afford a lot and truly deserves it, doesn’t have that need or desire. Such things mean nothing to him. He always brings me back to reality, as I feel bad about myself at these realisations, like a completely spoiled brat.

Successful people are usually very hardworking, and with work comes absence. And no material thing can replace the absence of parents. How was it for you?

My father worked from early morning, when I also went to school, and he’d come home late in the afternoon, just as I was returning from sports activities after school. My mother, also a doctor—a pediatrician—had a well-organised work schedule. So, we were able to spend our free time together. My father always made time to attend my matches, and later, neither he nor my mother missed any significant concerts. My parents always made plenty of time for my sister and I. I have absolutely no complaints in this regard.

I know firsthand that you’re very popular among both girls and the gay community. Are you aware of this?

I knew about the girls, but I didn’t know I was confirmed to be popular in the gay community. However, I’ve recently met quite a few gay people, and they told me that I am. I admit that I really like this. I’m a big supporter of people being free to be who they are. And if everyone can connect with my lyrics, which are usually written as love songs for women, I feel like I’ve achieved a lot. In general, the gay people I’ve met have been incredibly kind and cool. And they’re amazing partygoers, so I definitely enjoy their company!

On stage, you have such a nonchalant presence…

In life, I’m not nonchalant, but on stage, I always switch to a different version of myself. I stop caring about everything, I feel invincible, and nobody can touch me. In this aspect, I strongly identify with Liam Gallagher’s persona from the band Oasis.

In this sense of immortality, many musicians have lost their compass later in life, along with their voices, and even their hearing. What about you, are you being careful?

I’m very concerned about my voice. At least three or four days before a concert, I avoid partying and staying up late because I’m terrified of losing my voice on stage. As for hearing, I hope I won’t have any issues since we always use noise-canceling earplugs during rehearsals, and at concerts, I wear special headphones to control the volume of the sound reaching me. While some old rockers might call us soft, I don’t care—I definitely don’t want to be deaf and voiceless at 60. Right now, my band and I are ready to do whatever it takes to make it big and turn this into our full-time job. You know, after all, we have to work a bit too! (laughs)

By co-hosting this year’s EMA Fresh alongside Maja Pinterič on national television, you also tried your hand at hosting. If you could evaluate yourself: are you satisfied, do you think you have a talent for hosting?

My first real hosting gig was in ninth grade at a school anniversary event. Objectively speaking, I did very well, and that’s when my mum openly said for the first time that I was truly born for the stage. Before that, she didn’t take me seriously when I mentioned wanting to work in show business.

"My view is that young people here are actually quite responsible."

Later, I hosted almost all events in secondary school, got some bigger opportunities later, attended a drama club, and so on. Honestly, I think there’s a host in me too, but it’s clear that I still have a lot of work to do if I want to become really good. Regarding EMA Fresh, I think I did my job well. If I had prepared better, I could have done very well. Unfortunately, the procrastinator in me won again.

[useless-catalanfacts]

If you visit the Sagrada Família basilica in Barcelona (Catalonia), you might be intrigued by these squares with numbers. Like every detail in the building, it has a symbolic meaning.

These are a very particular kind of magic squares. A "magic square" is a series of numbers on a square grid, placed so that any row, column, or diagonal line always adds up to the same number. Well, to be fair, there is one more rule for the normal magic squares which this one doesn't follow: the squares cannot repeat numbers and must use all numbers from 1 to the number of squares possible (for example, a square of 3x3 would have numbers from 1 to 9, a square of 4x4 would have them from 1 to 16, etc). When this rule is followed, the number that results from the addition will always be the same (in a square of 3x3, the sum of 1+2+3+4+5+6+7+8+9 = 45, and each row, column and diagonal line sums 45/3 = 15; in a 4 x 4 magic square, where the sum of all the numbers from 1 to 16 is 136, the magic constant is 136/4 = 34). For mathematical reasons, the resulting number cannot be chosen, it will always be the same one if we follow those rules.

And here is why this one doesn't follow that rule, and it's on purpose. It doesn’t have all the numbers from 1 to 16 (it is missing the 12 and 16) and some numbers are repeated. And why did they do that? Here's the important bit: the result of the sum isn’t 34 (as would always be in a 4x4 magic square), but 33.

The sculptor who created the Sagrada Família's Passion façade (the artist Josep Maria Subirachs, following architect Antoni Gaudí's vision) took a different spin for these squares. Magic squares have been used as talismans in many cultures for millennia, since ancient cultures including 3rd millennium BC China, Ancient India, Ancient Egypt, Arab, and Greek cultures, among others. For the Sagrada Família (a Christian temple), Subirachs used to hide a number of great significance in Christian symbolism.

Painting Melencolia I by Albrecht Dürer (1514) and a detail from it.

Subirachs adapted a magic square from this engraving by Dürer and changed it so that it would add up to 33: the age that Jesus Christ is traditionally believed to have been when he was executed. A number based on the repetition of another of the most important numbers in Christianity: 3, symbolizing the holy trinity.

The square in the Sagrada Família manages to add 33 by repeating some numbers and skipping others. But it also goes further than adding up 33 in every row, column, and diagonal line. The same number can also be obtained with many other combinations. Here are some of them:

Plus, in the magic square at the Sagrada Família, there is also a sort of hidden subliminal signature: adding up the numbers that repeat and looking at their correspondence in the Roman alphabet, we get the initials INRI (Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum = "Jesus of Nazareth King of the Jews" in Latin), which was written on the sign at the top of the cross where Jesus was crucified.

This way, mathematics, art history and religious symbolism all come together in this little symbol.

Photos from Alamy, Martin Leicht, Sagrada Família blog. Text adapted from Sagrada Família blog. All the graphs with the numbers are from that same article.

[raakdos-battlemap]

Phyrexia encounter #004 Path to the Norn's Palace

The Fair Basilica, a white-aligned sphere built in the image of Elesh Norn, decorated with statues and monuments to her. It contains Norn's throne room, though she now resides in the plane's second layer and designates the unification of the plane to Atraxa in her stead. Though no light from the plane's suns can reach this layer, its structures generate their light; the layer's walls, composed of ossified Phyrexian corpses of those Norn deemed perfect, glow white, while crimson capillaries etched into its marble-esque floor glow blood-red.

More variations of this map:

[little-bloodied-angel]

In the very eloquent words of Mera Trishos Lee: SIR YOUR FUCKING FACE??

See this little eye twitch right there? The slight flex of the jaw? That's the exact representation of me when I'm about to fuck some shit up, 100%

That's also how I knew this fucker would own my ass forever, just fyi.

[fanged-fanfics]

Vittorino (8:11) x reader..angst…WHEN…..

I luv ur fics so much keep it up 😭😭❤️❤️

☆ "Rabbits, they called us" — Vittorino x GN Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Angst/Hurt No Comfort || they/them pronouns for reader || Warnings for descriptions of injury, religious/medical trauma, and PTSD/self-harm (all mild/implied)

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

You had only wanted to help. You'd been there for years by Vittorino's side, seeing the best and worst of him. You didn't exactly remember when he became so quick to snap and irritable, but little flickers of memory occasionally caught you. Doctors in seafoam scrubs, a younger and more approachable Vittorino disappearing for a few moments only to come back with blood dripping from his head and a new wrap of bandages. It was hard to retain many memories, the Basilica was as dizzying and confusing as it was large. Sometimes you could barely make your way around the place.

But something you did retain clearly was the mention of rabbits. Vittorino had brought them up quite a few times, enough for you to somewhat associate him with the animals. In an attempt to brighten his mood, you decided today to bring one into the Basilica. You'd proudly held the small lagamorph up to the pale priest, but the reaction you got was wildly different than what you had expected. Vittorino had yelped as if hit with an electric shock, backing up to the farthest wall and yelling in a frenzied panic over it. You'd quickly and gently put the rabbit back in its carrier compartment for safety before attempting an approach.

Vittorino still had himself backed against a wall, mumbling nearly incoherently under his breath. One of his hands was clutched onto the 'wing' part of the left side of his hair, tugging hard. The other was gripping a rosary a little too tightly, the cross part was digging directly into his palm and the base of his fingers. "Vittorino?" You called gently, but he didn't even glance near you. You couldn't fully understand what he was muttering, his breaths shook his words and made them warble in a way you'd never heard. The most you could gather was it was Italian.

"Vittorino, hey," You began again, taking a step closer. He jumped violently at registering noise, whirling around with rage immediately replacing his fear, frozen panic morphing to blinding red hurt. "What were you THINKING?!" He yelled at you, causing you to step back "Hey- it's alright, Vittorino, I put him up. See?". You held up your empty hands to show him "I'm so sorry, I didn't think that-"

"Of course you didn't" Vittorino cut you off, an aggressive scoff punctuating his words "You obviously didn't. Not something you do often, hm? I don't know why I expected anything else". You felt your own irritation rising at that, and you replied back immediately "Excuse me? I made a small mistake because I wanted to help you! I couldn't have known it would be like this". "You might have, if you ever listened to me" Vittorino snarled "Just once, think about someone other than you". "I was, I was trying to do something for you!" You shot back.

"By sending me to an early death?! Congratulations! How amazing that I have you here, truly a joy" Vittorino shot back sarcastically. You almost gave another retort, but your throat caught. Using the opportunity, you forced yourself to relieve a rough sigh. "...Okay, I messed up. I- I'm sorry I missed something, I really am. But it's not fair for you to start talking to me like this"

"Do you want to know what's really 'not fair'?" Vittorino asked lowly, his tone coming across as a dangerous rumble. "What's not fair is being caged and prodded like some pest, or shoved aside like roadkill. You want to see 'unfair', hm? You wouldn't survive having to claw and fight for even enough air to breathe in your own rectory". As he went on, his hands around his scarf got tighter. You couldn't tell if he was shaking from fear or rage, and his harsh tugging was closing the fabric around his own neck. He was still ranting, even when his own actions were close to cutting off his air "You see how many demons they can bleed out of you and get you to stop scratching each other, then we can talk about what's 'just' or 'fair'!"

"Vittorino- Vitto, stop" You said, hesitantly trying to stop his hands "Vittorino!". He pulled his hands away from his scarf, freeing his own airway. Even with the care you showed, he was still giving you a searing glare. "Get out, before I call the police for trespassing" Vittorino said in a low growl. "Wait, come on- look, I'm really sorry!" You called out, but he didn't listen. He'd already turned on his heel, beginning to retreat into one of the many hallways. "Vittorino! Vittorino!! Come on, I- I'm really-" you shouted out, but you found yourself choking up all over again. He didn't even wait before storming down the halls as fast as he possibly could.

You took a few deeps breaths to steady yourself, trying not to let tears fill your eyes or bile gather in your throat. You stepped back towards the entrance, seeing how the animal you'd brought was calmly gnawing on the celery in his container. You sighed, petting the top of the carrier. "It's not your fault" you said gently, almost a whisper. You knew realistically the animal wasn't harmed. Vittorino hadn't even touched him, and he was safe where he sat. Maybe you just needed those words to be said, to believe them for even a moment, and hear the reassurance.

You noticed your vision blurring, and you quickly wiped your eyes dry. You lifted the carrier, gently heading for the doors, saying, "Let's get you home, little one" to the critter within it. As your shoes made noise on the floor, you let your thoughts wander with the echoes. A mix of regret, guilt, and anger still filled your chest in a sickening weight. You reached the doorknob, opening up the large entrance and pushing it open. Maybe there'd be time to meet up with him again someday, but at the moment, Vittorino was the last person you wanted to think about.

As you walked down the street, Vittorino sat in his rectory. His whole body shook, and he was heaving deep, slow breaths. He looked down at the hand clutching his rosary, slowly opening it. Red stained the cross and his gloves, skin having punctured under his grip. He growled a frustrated sigh, throwing the beads on the ground before stomping to the bed. He sat down with a heavy weight, pulling a hidden box out from under his bed. He began working at the latch, opening it up to reveal bandages inside.

He tried to pick up the roll, but his quivering hands kept having them slip through his fingers. He grumbled as he tried to pick it up, each time the fabric fell and evaded his grip. He made a shout of frustration, throwing the box full force away from him. It clashed and clattered on the floor, the contents inside scattering across the surface. His breathing was back to uneven, jaw clenched painfully tight. At the sight of a miniature scalpel, he shuddered with sudden intense nausea. He had to force himself to look away, staring at his own pillows instead. Though his vision was impaired by a burning ache in his eyes, wetness overcoming his sight.

He didn't bother brushing it away. His rectory was the one place he felt it was safe to be like this. A pained, strangled noise left his lips as his hands clenched tightly. He'd never managed to keep company for very long these days, and this was a stark reminder as to why. His superiors had been right, he was a danger. Too much for anyone to handle, God's worst mistake. He eased the growing disgust and anger in his system by gnawing the side of his gloved hand. Ever since what those doctors did, he couldn't feel the contact anyways. Or anything in his hands for that matter. Not since-

He squeezed his eyes shut to try and block out the thought, jaw clamping tighter as his already bleeding hand started tugging at his scarf. No more, no more, please no more. He forced himself to breathe deeply, moving his hand out of his mouth as his cheeks became stained with tears and remorse. He didn't mean to, it was an accident. Why did he have to- especially to you, of all people?! He mumbled under his breath, prayers long since engraved into his memory spilling out before he could control it.

He'd have to find time to see you, to explain or maybe make amends. But the thought of your hurt expression at his words made the tears fall faster, and his teeth grit tighter. He had to fix this... he had no idea how he would, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing anyone else. Especially you

[incomingalbatross]

I was raised in St Louis and never went inside the Basilica bc it was "too catholic" 😭😭 so I def need to go back and visit sometime

to be fair it IS very Catholic. :P I also think it is absolutely stunning, though (it's very often listed as one of the most beautiful churches in America) and I've never gotten over it. Do visit if you get a good chance!

[blood-and-breath]

got this original 60s labrys pendant at an antique fair outside a basilica yesterday <3

[littjara-mirrorlake]

What is the white material of the fair basilica, and is it the same as the material of Norn’s head piece and the bodies of white aligned Phyrexians?

As far as I know it's also Orthodoxy porcelain, yes! There are also actual people built into the walls in some places.

A fun fact about that is that in addition to developing naturally on core-born Orthodoxy Phyrexians, it grows in a fungus-like manner on dying and dead flesh (from the Planeswalker's Guide to the Machine Orthodoxy).

Therefore, it would follow to me that the Orthodoxy actually doesn't need the Furnace to create and shape its biometal, since they can grow it themselves.

I believe I also heard/read somewhere that as of ONE, the Orthodoxy has also taken to incorporating tooth enamel into their creations, but I can't find a source for that offhand so take it with a grain of salt. It would make a lot of sense, though. It's a very hard organic substance, and a lot of the white Phyrexians in ONE are seen with tooth motifs, as well as the buildings themselves.

[rubynymphyy]

Pokeddexy Day 28: Cutest Pokemon~

Considered Tinkaton but she ended up as Steel so here are... two members of the blue division of the postal service! It's not. QUITE fair to call the blue division the nepotism division but boy howdy are there a lot of-

ANYWAY here are nepo babies Summer and Holy. They're approximately... 30th cousins? Holy's well known for his actual work ethic despite the fact that he got parachuted by his family almost directly into managerial work and the not-so-hidden secret that one of the higher ups desperately wants to be his sugar daddy. so he got landed with managing teen delinquent Summer, who is absolutely not thrilled to be voluntold to work at the family business.

Postal service main office is the Basilica in the old part of town; most of the blue division management is located there, while red management is spread across the city because they need to fly the flag and have more firepower available locally at any time. Is the postal service blessed or are the toge-bloodlines blessed..? They’re so intertwined at this point it’s impossible to say. 

Red division’s work is probably... that kind of 'red' or 'black' if you feel me [i also don’t know anything more specific]. While some postal workers act entirely on the blue side of the business, promotion to managerial status requires that you at least be able to defend yourself. for obvious reasons nepo babies are not generally sent into the red division, but there are some toge-families that believe in the school of hard knocks.

The jacket is regulation for management! So are Summer's boots + bag- he's supposed to wear black gloves with it, but he thinks punching with anything but your bare fists is for wimps. one day maybe he'll learn. He absolutely tossed his uniform hat off a bridge the first day he started. I have another Togetic who actually works for the red division but I can’t spend all my energy on postal workers when there are still three more days of Pokeddexy!

I made up all of this background today so nobody quote me on this if i change my mind again tomorrow. I thought I was just going to do small doodles in this style and then something more detailed but. that is not going to happen

[head-post]

Pilgrims pass through Holy Door of Vatican

Pilgrims lined up to pass through the Holy Door at the entrance to St Peter’s Basilica, commencing the 2025 Holy Year celebrations, according to The Irish Examiner.

Passing through the Holy Door is one of the ways the faithful can receive indulgences or forgiveness of sins during a Jubilee. The quarter-century tradition dates back to the 1300s. On Christmas Eve, Pope Francis knocked on the Door and was the first to pass through it, inaugurating the 2025 Jubilee, which he dedicated to hope.

This year Hanukkah, Judaism’s eight-day Festival of Lights, begins on Christmas Day, which has happened only four times since 1900. The coincidence of calendars has inspired some religious leaders to hold interfaith gatherings such as a Chicanukah party in Houston, Texas. The last time Hanukkah commenced on Christmas Day was in 2005.

Pilgrims were subjected to security checks before entering amid new security concerns following a fatal attack on a Christmas fair in Germany. German celebrations were marred by a car accident at a Christmas fair in Magdeburg on Friday, leaving five people dead and 200 injured.

President Frank-Walter Steinmeier rewrote his recorded Christmas speech, stating that “there is grief, pain, horror and incomprehension over what took place in Magdeburg.” Steinmeier also called on Germans to “stand together,” stating that “hate and violence must not have the last word.”

Read more HERE

[wind-to-your-sails]

The Domini of New Phyrexia: An Elaborate Headcanon of my Own Design

The wounding of a world-soul is not an easy thing. It is a dark and awful deed, and cannot be done the same way that one might wipe away a continent. To scar the soul of a world is to change its very nature, to rewrite laws so fundamental that they are scarcely thought of as laws. In the past, such monstrosity was considered the realm of gods alone; Amonkhet, Lorwyn and Zendikar stand as testament to the consequences of such a deed, and the weakest of those who dealt the scars was still a planeswalker of the ancient tradition.

But now, we know better. We have beheld Phyrexia, and the march of the Domini. The worlds of which I have spoken, they bore their wounds and retained much of what they had been. But Phyrexia did not simply wound their world-soul, they broke it.

Their hideous works reforged the world, tearing the domains apart and sequestering them to separate spheres of existence while they erased all knowledge of the rituals that had kept the land hale and hearty. And then, as if to prove that the arrogance of Norn did not know limits, they covered the ruin of the old world with a hideous porcelain shell that blocked out all light of the world-shaping five suns of Mirrodin.

And so the world-soul of Phyrexia emerged, split into five parts and scattered across five spheres. These are the Domini, the mutilated voices of a vivisected planet.

Mondrak is the Dominus of Glory and resides within the Fair Basilica, the Seventh Sphere of Phyrexia. Born with seven mouths and no ears, Mondrak wails an unceasing hymn in praise of the majesty and supremacy of the Machine Orthodoxy. It is said that to hear her song is to understand Phyrexia, and perhaps even worse, to believe in it. The truth of this superstition is difficult to verify, as the volume and tone of Mondrak’s voice induces paralysis and disorientation even at distances where the words cannot be recognized.

Called the Breathless Choir by her fellow zealots, Mondrak is seen as a pinnacle of inspiration and living proof of the infallibility of Norn’s teachings. Despite her voice often proving destructive to the nearby architecture, Mondrak is frequently surrounded by aspirants eager to receive the gospel of the Argent Etchings. As for the Mother of Machines herself, Elesh Norn regards Mondrak as a curious setpiece and a useful resource, a rallying standard that can bring even the mites out in force.

Tekuthal is the Dominus of Inquiry and can be found in the Surgical Bay, the Fifth Sphere of Phyrexia. Having emerged from the oceans of quicksilver with countless eyes and no mouth, Tekuthal poses an endless series of silent and inscrutable questions of the Progress Engine. He communicates with and mimics those around him by shaping the quicksilver into facsimiles, and should they displease him (which they frequently do) he will accentuate the imitation with exaggerated features. Once left alone, these caricatures frequently disintegrate along fault lines that are invariably found to be present in the beings they were mocking.

The Gitaxians derisively refer to Tekuthal as the Prince of Mockery, ridiculing him for his behaviour because his design is beyond reproach. Observation suggests that Tekuthal’s presence invites scrutiny among the ‘scientists’ who are already obsessed with eliminating imperfections, as the idea that there is something to mock suggests that there is something to fix. Jin-Gitaxias has meanwhile drawn inspiration from Tekuthal’s many eyes to create his new surveillance system, and regards the Dominus as a rival who would be much more interesting as a partner.

Drivnod is the Dominus of Carnage and haunts the Dross Pits, the Sixth Sphere of Phyrexia. Born with no flesh of his own and a single eye of baleful fire, Drivnod ravages and flays any servant of the Steel Thanes that wanders too far from the pack. The towering monolith of destruction and slaughter garbs himself in great tapestries woven from his victims, and seems to delight in every scream he creates. Strangely enough, Drivnod appears to be repulsed by worship, shirking away from the adulation he receives in the more populated areas of the Pits.

As in all other things, the Steel Thanes are divided on how to deal with Drivnod. While some are content to leave him to his own devices, others like Azax-Azog and Geth see an opportunity in the Dominus, a potent weapon that could stamp out all opposition to their reign. The rank and file of the Dross Pits are far more united in their perspective, worshipping Drivnod as an idealized manifestation of the proverb that strength is the only power worthy of praise. Some even whisper that he is the Second Coming of Yawgmoth, the true Father of Machines... though none dare say it where a Thane might hear them.

Solphim is the Dominus of Mayhem and dwells in the Autonomous Furnace, the Third Sphere of Phyrexia. Born in a molten body clad in a gown of spears, Solphim is a beast of rabid freedom that embodies the ideals of the Quiet Furnace so completely that she rejects all responsibility for her actions. As though making a parody of the Furnace’s enemies, Solphim inscribes the deep canyons of her territory with draconian and contradictory laws and seems to decide which are worth enforcing on nothing but a whim. The only consistency in her behaviour is a swift and merciless vengeance against any who trespass against the Great Work, most commonly the sycophants of Atraxa.

Declared the Great Mother of Chaos by adherents of the Quiet Furnace, Solphim is openly venerated as a goddess. Her own apparent disregard for this adulation hardly matters, as Dominus worship exists most principally as a rejection of the Argent Etchings and the growing idea of the Flesh Singularity. Urabrask alone regards Solphim as an equal, a deft hand at defence and hopefully an ally in the war to come.

Zopandrel is the Dominus of Hunger and inhabits the Hunter Maze, the Fourth Sphere of Phyrexia. Born with piercing claws at her sides and spitting infectious spores from her face, Zopandrel is an anomaly among the Vicious Swarm in that she hunts with a pack. Unlike the sea of aspiring apex predators that infest the Maze, Zopandrel radiates power outward into her fellow beasts and girds them for battle as not even the magic of Glissa Sunslayer can do. As if to promote this warped idea of community, Zopandrel’s spores impart degenerative phyresis at a staggering rate that can reduce even the most fortified soldier to a ravenous beast in hours.

The denizens of the Vicious Swarm call Zopandrel the Maw of Progress, a slant against Jin-Gitaxias’ failed efforts to present a compleated Ezuri as his answer to Glissa Sunslayer. To these consummate predators, the Dominus’ ability to avoid falling into either their role or that of prey is an intriguing gesture at an infinitely more complex ecosystem. Vorinclex sees in Zopandrel a worthy general that can join him on the front lines, with a strength nearly equal to his own.

[edwardian-girl-next-door]

Feast Days: St. Bartholomew

Saint Bartholomew, workshop of Simone Martini (c.1317-1319)

Happy St. Bartholomew's Day!

Today marks the feast day of St. Bartholomew the Apostle -- that's right, one of the OG followers of Jesus! Although he has a pretty miniscule role in Biblical narratives, he is one of the twelve apostles, and so has a heavy load when it comes to patronage. He is the patron saint of butchers, Florentine salt and cheese merchants, house painters, book binders, leather workers, neurological diseases, skin diseases, dermatology, shoemakers, glove makers, farmers, curriers, tanners, trappers, and twitching.

A fair warning: this one isnt' so cheerful. Bart's demise, like many of the saints, is pretty gnarly, and it does have something to do with all this skin/leather stuff going on in his patronage. This day is also associated with an infamous example of religious violence, Catholic vs. Protestant. Read on at your own peril.

His Life

Not a lot is known about Bartholomew's life within Biblical canon. He is believed to be same person as the apostle Nathaniel, who appears in John 1:45-51 and 21:2. He is also mentioned in the Book of Acts.

Much of the tradition around Bartholomew details his trips to spread Christianity. This man sure got around! Two ancient texts cite a trip to India, specifically the Bombay region, where he left a copy of the Gospel of Matthew. However, many scholars doubt that this actually happened, and say that he actually went to Ethiopia or modern-day Yemen. Still other traditions hold that he was a missionary in Mesopotamia, northeastern Iran, and/or central Turkey.

Arguably his most eventful missions trip was to the Armenia/Azerbaijan area in the 1st century CE. Along with his fellow apostle Jude (also called Thaddeus), he is credited with bringing Christianity to the region; and as such, both are venerated as the patron saints of the Apostolic Church of Armenia. His luck ran out here, however, and he was martyred in the region in horrific fashion. Legend holds that he converted the king of Albania, Polymius, to Christianity. Polymius's brother was not a fan of this, and fearing a Roman backlash, and ordered Bartholomew's torture and execution. There are three main stories about his manner of death. The most popular says that he was executed in Albonopolis in Armenia by being flayed (skinned) alive and beheaded. The second account says he was crucified upside-down, and the third that he was beaten unconscious and thrown into the sea to drown. The first legend captures the imagination much more vividly, and as such Bartholomew is most frequently depicted holding his skin -- sometimes he has grown a new skin, other times he is still a skin-less meat man. Many times the old skin still has his face. Woof.

Bartholomew has also come to be associated with the field of medicine, for two main reasons. Firstly, artists past and present have taken advantage of Bartholomew's flayed state to execute detailed anatomical studies of the human body. Secondly, a portion of his relics are stored at the basilica of San Bartolomeo all'Isola in Rome. This was the old site of a temple to Asclepius, which was an important Roman medical site (Asclepius is the Greek god of medicine). Thus, over time, Bartholomew and medicine came to be connected.

The St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre

A depiction by Huguenot painter François Dubois, who was possibly an eyewitness (c.1572-1584)

This series mainly focuses on saints' days in the UK, but one does not simply discuss St. Bartholomew's Day without discussing the massacre. This outbreak of bloodletting was part of the decades-long French Wars of Religion, which was fought on and off between Catholics and Huguenots (French Calvinist Protestants). As religion held such an essential role in society and in the machinations of power, the 'type' of Christianity embraced by the state was literally and frequently a matter of life and death. With autocratic governments, unity of church and state, and much less effective means of communication and law enforcement, it was only too easy for hate and violence to take over, and for those in power to turn a blind eye or even participate. There are many contemporary examples we can look to as parallels to this event, and I think with the same conditions, it could happen a lot more often.

The massacre took place in Paris on the night of August 23rd-24th, 1572. Although the causes for the riots are complex and deep-rooted, the main inciting factor was the marriage of Henry III of Navarre, a Catholic, to Margaret of Valois, a Huguenot. They were married on August 18th, and many rich and famous Huguenots gathered in largely-Catholic Paris to attend the wedding. Tensions erupted in scenes of horrific violence, with Catholic mobs attacking, trapping, and hunting down Huguenots in the streets. The violence lasted for several weeks, spreading out through the provinces and other urban areas. Sir Francis Walsingham, Elizabeth I's ambassador to France at the time, was in Paris during the violence and barely managed to escape with his life. Modern estimates cite the casualties from anywhere between 5,000 and 30,000 people. Although the Catholic reaction to the slaughter ranged from outward glee to sickened horror, Protestant countries obviously panicked, and the massacre was used as anti-Catholic propaganda for centuries, 'justifying' Protestant reprisals against uninvolved Catholics. It was yet another terrible event in the brutal European Wars of Religion.

St. Bartholomew's Day and its Traditions

On to more cheerful things!

This day is also called Bartlemas or Bartelmytide.

Emma, the wife of King Canute, supposedly brought one of Bartholomew's arms to England in the 11th century, and it was venerated in Canterbury Cathedral for many years. Most of the information on this is in the past tense, so I assume it is no longer there.

Depiction of Bartholomew Fair, Rowlandson et. al., c.1808

August and the time around St. Bartholomew's Day is the traditional time for markets and fairs. One of the most famous was Bartholomew Fair in West Smithfield, London. A massive spectacle, it served as a place for serious trade, becoming the main cloth trading event in the country; but it also offered entertainment like dances, tournaments, musicians, international curiosities, food vendors, conjurers, wild animals, circus acts, and an all-around good time. It began in 1133 by a charter from Henry I, and originally lasted three days, but during the 1600s it could go for two full weeks! With the change in the calendar in 1753, the fair was moved to September 3rd, and in 1791 they decided four days was quite enough time. It was ended in 1855 for causing public disturbance and the criminal activity it attracted. A less rowdy street fair is still held in Crewkerne, Somerset, at the beginning of September. It dates back to Saxon times and is even recorded in the Doomesday Book of 1086!

There is also some delightful weather wisdom about St. Bartholomew's Day. One rhyme says, "If St. Bartholomew's be fair and clear / Then a prosperous autumn comes that year". Another is connected to St. Swithin's Day (July 15th), and claims "All the tears St. Swithin can cry / St Bartelmy's mantle wipes them dry". Traditional wisdom holds that rain on St. Swithin's Day means rain for the next 40 days, or until August 24th.

Many areas have their own unique ways of celebrating the holiday, such as blessing mead or baking special bread. It's nice to know that a holiday associated with such terrible things can be made into a nice occasion!

If You're Still Interested

There are a few famous depictions of the saint, including Michelangelo's rendering in "The Last Judgement". However, the whole flayed skin thing makes it pretty gruesome, and I didn't want to spring that on y'all without warning. If you'd like to see it, feel free to Google!

History Today's article that details some specific exhibitions from Bartholomew's Fair, including ventriloquists and a pig that could tell time!

Sources

Please forgive the excess of Wikipedia! It's hard to find info on the internet about this holiday, and Wikipedia has been the most forthcoming. It really can be helpful sometimes.

Wikipedia (Bartholomew the Apostle)

Wikipedia (Bartholomew Fair)

Wikipedia (St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre)

My AP European History class (woot)

aclerkofoxford

The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady by Edith Holden

The Encyclopedia of Saints by Rosemary Ellen Guiley