#first regiment armory

[preethecaribbean]

Dâaga was one of the leaders of the St. Joseph Mutiny that occurred on the night of June 17, 1837 among the First West India Regiment of the British Army in St. Joseph, Trinidad, which was a part of the British West Indies at that time.

“The soldiers, under Dâaga’s leadership, chanted Yoruba war chants and burned their garrisons to distract the white officers while they continued to the armory and seized weapons. Although these black rebels did face off against their white officers, no white soldiers were killed... Dâaga became a powerful symbol of black resistance in Trinidad.

Dâaga’s name was adopted by Makandal Dâaga (Geddes Granger), a leader of the 1970s Black Power movement in Trinidad, who adopted the name to honor the leaders of the 1837 rebellion. Earl Lovelace also utilized Dâaga as a character in his novel Salt (1996). The auditorium at the University of the West Indies, St. Augustine campus was renamed in Dâaga’s honor.” (Peoples of the Historical Slave Trade)

[violettduchess]

Hello Violet🥺💖 This is my first time requesting to you, so I hope this is the right way

May I ask for Cyran + rainy days + 🌧? Thank you very much🥺💕 (feel free to ignore if this has been requested!)

A/N: here you are lovely @thewitchofbooks 💜

Cyran x reader, a continuation from his Kiss fic (Italics are excerpts from this fic)

WC: 682

The rain continues to fall, water droplets sliding down the window pane like fallen teardrops, obscuring the view outside of Cyran’s window. He sits at the wooden desk, in the small room above the armory that serves as his office. His red hair is still damp, despite the vigorous rubbing he gave it, the soft towel still hanging around his broad, bare shoulders. The candle on his desk does its best to fight the gray gloom, soft orange-yellow light falling across the parchment where the names of all new recruits are listed in his own neat handwriting. He should be organizing them into regiments, assigning them to the more experienced officers. It’s a task that should take hours, one that should keep him focused. But the thunderstorm in his mind, the one filled with the bright lightning of your kisses, the thunder of your sighs, will not quiet. Eventually he lays his silver-feathered quill down, his head now in his hands.

And then you’re running back towards him and his long legs are swallowing the distance between you until you meet like a clap of thunder, falling into one another’s arms. 

He should have turned away, he should have torn his gaze away from the sight of you rushing towards him, surrender in your eyes. You are Belle, tasked with the important job of choosing the next ruler. You can afford no distractions. Especially not from the likes of him.

And yet he gave in, as unable to resist your pull as the ocean could the moon, and you fell into his arms like a star loosened from the sky, fit there so perfectly, felt so damn good.

A low groan escapes him as he reaches for the tumbler with its small volume of burnt amber liquid. The whiskey may be cheap but maybe...maybe it will get the job done. It burns as it goes down, but even if he were to walk through hellfire itself, he knows deep down nothing could burn away the memory of your kiss.

His kiss is devouring, determined to leave no part of you untasted. He steals your breath, swallows your gasps, drinks from your lips. Over and over he kisses you until your legs shake and your blood is a river of fire in your veins. Soon your mouth is not enough. He needs more. His lips scavenge your cheeks, your jawline, and then lower, following the line of your neck. Everywhere he kisses you burns and the raindrops that land there in his wake feel cold as ice. 

The rain is forlorn as it continues to tap against the window, whispering at him that he is a fool. A fool for losing himself in your lips, the taste of your hot, slick skin mingled with cold rain. A fool for loving the rough pull of your fingers in his crimson hair, the restless feel of your hands over the wet linen of his tunic, the grip of your hand on his muscled arms. 

A fool for leaving you there, dazed with the force of what just happened, your kiss-swollen lips parting as the word “Wait….” slipped past a throat tight with water-logged emotion. 

That croaked word, that whisper on the wind, has buried itself in his heart, the points of it digging in like barbed wire, tearing at him just a little more every time it replays itself in his mind. 

The tumbler is now empty. The rain endless. Cyran pushes himself away from his desk with a growl, knowing that any attempt to work will be a fruitless endeavor. Best to head back to his quarters where he knows a sleepless night is licking its chops, waiting for him.

He snatches up his sodden tunic, flings open the heavy wooden door with the strength of his frustration……

….only to find you there, cheeks damp with rain or tears or both, your hand raised, hovering in the air as if searching for the courage to actually knock.

His heart lurches in his chest…that foolish, hopeful creature with bloody wings.

Before he can move a muscle, before a word can even form, you have found your mettle.

“We need to talk.”

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

[maddyaddy]

This company of State Troops has been honored by the Knights of the Silver Swan, based in Carroburg, with chapter houses in Middenheim. This entitles the regiment to carry the Knights' various armorial devices on their colours. Such a honor fills the veterans with pride, encouraging them to fight harder and longer in the name of the order's honor. Notably, the banner prominently features the "swan-ship" of the order's late founder and first Grand Master, the old Grail Knight Lohen. His emigration to Carroburg in such a wondrous ship was met with great applause and awe. He subsequently became renowned as a defender of the poor urchins and widows, cracking the skulls of those who'd dare oppress them with his fists. Despite his troubles with the law and the grumblings of the burghers, Lohen attracted a coterie of like-minded young men, who he inducted into his burgeoning order. The rest, they say, is history. (Dol Amroth inspired, ofc)

[kharrneth]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑

Khornates, who are the most regimented of the armies of the gods, fall broadly into five Categories.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑𝐒

The vast majority of Khornates are warriors, simple as a consequences of worshipping the god of warriors. For some, it is an addition to other parts of their profession and for others it is the only thing they offer the Blood God: their bodies and blades. Vanishingly few followers of Khorne do not claim to warriors in some capacity.

𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

Hunting is a less aspect of the Blood God, as he is primarily known as a God of Warriors, War, and Battle. But before man made the first axe and wielded it against his fellow man, the most common reason blood was spilled was in the hunting of beasts. Khorne is called the Hunter of Souls and stalks the heavens with his wolves Garmr and Gormr. Hunters personify this aspect of him; they track and defeat worthy foes among beasts and mortals. Of the legions, they keep and breed Daemonic and Chaotic Hounds more commonly and with more finesse than others, strategically crossing Bloodlines. Hounds are not the only thing they breed; Khorne's Hunters are responsible for the creation of the Gorebeasts.

𝐃𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒

Duelists are those Champions of Khorne who specialize in the hunting and killing of other champions and lords, be they Southerners or fellow worshippers of Chaos. They do not trouble themselves with the masses and are interested only in the skulls of the elite warriors of a given host, namely the host leader. They are set apart from the typical warrior in that they retain a finesse and coherency about them.

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒

Ritualists are relatively rare in a Khornate Legion. The average Khorne worshipper is a battle-hungry, blood crazed berserker or else a brutal warrior looking for the next glorious fight and skill to the tithe to the King of Skulls. The Ritualists has other priorities and is tasked with all matters of spirit and ceremony. These are the cultists of Khorne who stalk southern cities just as much as the northern frostlands and wastelands. These are the men and women who are learned in the fell rites of the Blood God, who can call forth daemons from the Otherworld into reality itself for myriad foul purposes. Many are former wizards and sorcerers, sworn off magic forever, and choosing to commune with the Bloody God instead. They keep the written sagas and rituals of whatever tribe or clan they are aligned with.

More than any other type of Khornate, Ritualists are particularly at risks for Slaaneshi predations.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

In Khornate society, armour and weapons are sacred and the tools of the holy crucible of war. A mortal or daemon may win Khorne's favor in battle, but they may also win it through supreme craftsmanship. These are the Khornates who furnish the legions with plate, shields and weapons, who bind daemon souls into blades. These Warsmiths reside in Forge-Tempters and Armory-Lairs, which are sacred places to the legions of Khorne. Only the Chaos Dwarfs, children of the Forge-God Hashut, rival them for level of craft.

The Smiths do not only make weapons and armor: many legendary artefacts of Khorne are made at their talons. Considered secondarily holy by their fellows, Warsmiths too are at risk for Slaaneshi predations as it is in the nature of the Pleasure spawn to defile anything considered sacred, especially their enemies.

[bbs16]

#VANESSAGUILLENFOREVER

Vanessa Guillen was stationed at Fort Hood in Houston Texas; it was close to home. 

The last time she was seen was at 1:00 pm in April 2020 in the parking lot of her unit, The Regimental Engineer Squadron Headquarters, her car keys and her wallet were on the table where she worked. 

After 2 weeks after she disappeared, Fort Hood finally decided to search the base. 

The people who were involved were Vanessa , Aaron David Robison now Aaron was a soldier who was there when Vanessa was first got to the miliatay but no knows why. Aaron joined the army in October of 2017, he was born in llinois and he moved to Teaxs.

 The last person who was involved in Vanessas case was Cecily Anne Aguilar she is 24 years old as of today, See Cecily was never robinsons girlfriend she was married to another soldier who knows what was going through her  mind when she agreed to kill Vanesssa. 

Vanessa’s family noticed that Vanessa looked sad and she wouldnt eat anything,and before she went missing she But the weird thing was old her family she was being sexually harassed.  

When Vanessa first went to the army she said she loved it there but one day she called her sister and said I hate it here I want to go home. One day vanessa sister texted her and she wouldnt responed so she decided to do something about it so she called vanessa’s fiance and said have you talked to vanessa he told her that he was texting her but she told him that she to go back to work and that was the last text from so they both went to fort hood base and they asked what happened to Vanessa they said that havent seen her since 1:00 pm that that, So Mayra went back hom and she told her mom that she had to tell he something her mom said “what is'' Mayra said Vanessa she’s missing no knows where she is so for days the family was devastated. 

On June 30 2020  they found Vanessa's remains of her body  at the Leon River  so when they confronted Aaron he was at his so called girlfriend's  house and when  Agilar called Robinson who said “ Baby they found the pieces”. 

On April 22 2020 Robinson had bludgeoned Guillen to death with a hammer inside the armory and he cleaned all the blood and put guillen in a box then he buried her. 

On June 30 Robinson  escaped and there he saw the news about the remains, July 1st 2020 the Killeen police tried to call Robinson but he had a handgun and killed himself before he could be taken into custody.

On May 24 2022 the Texas Department of public safety released a report sayin that Robinson was the one who had killed Guillen, Saying Guillen saw Robinson’s lock screen which had a picture of Aguilar.

 Robinson told Aguilar that he didnt want to get in trouble by violating the Army’s fraternization rules but since Aguilar was still married to another soldier so he hit Guillen in the head with a hammer.

  Then they made a memorial in honor of Vanessa Guillen 

Vanessa’s justice 

The guillen family wanted justice because what kind of soldier gets killed at a military base so they got justice for vanessas life and the family was so happy but sad becuase there one and only Vanessa was gone. 

On January 26 2022 President Joe Biden signed off the order that established sexual harassment as a specific offense under the UCMJ.

As of today Vanessa Guillen is forever in our hearts 

#VANESSAGUILLENFOREVER

[ultraheydudemestuff]

Cleveland Grays Armory

1234 Bolivar Rd.

Cleveland, OH           

Grays Armory is a historic building in Cleveland, Ohio. It was built by the Cleveland Grays, a private military company which was founded in 1837. This is one of the oldest standing buildings in downtown Cleveland located at 1234 Bolivar Rd. The Cleveland Grays is a social organization devoted to the promotion of patriotism and the preservation of the military heritage of Greater Cleveland. It was founded as a volunteer private military company at a time when the common or constitutional militia languished due to uninterest and neglect by state politicians.

     The unit's original purpose was twofold: to provide assistance and support to the local law enforcement authorities of the time as well as to provide a first line of defense for the city in the event that the fighting in Canada's Rebellions of 1837 spilled over the border and into the United States resulting in a third war with the United Kingdom in less than a century. The unit's motto is Semper Paratus (from the Latin: "Always Ready").  The first organizational meeting was held on August 28, 1837, and on September 18, seventy-eight men joined the active company. At the time of its founding, the unit was called The Cleveland City Guards but within the next year the membership decided that their organization would be known by reference to the gray color of their uniforms. On November 29, 1838, the Grays made one of the first of their many parade appearances fully dressed in their distinctive gray uniforms and tall black bearskin caps. As the years passed, those who had earned the status of "Pioneer" for their membership of twenty-five or more years were entitled to add leather aprons to their uniforms and to carry axes when on parade.

     The Grays saw military service as a unit during the Civil War and the Spanish–American War. Reforms of the country's militia system which began with the Militia Act of 1903 and continued with subsequent legislation at the state and federal levels meant that the era of private military companies' official participation in national military affairs had come to an end and while the Grays, under the leadership of Ludwig S. Connelly, were able to enlist in the Ohio National Guard (ONG) for duty during the Mexican Punitive Expedition, they essentially did so as a group of private citizens enlisting en masse and not as a private military company. Their participation in World War I, which began immediately upon their ONG unit's release from duty on the Mexican border, was the last conflict in which the Grays saw active service even as a group of enlistees. Individual members have served in subsequent conflicts.

     The Grays made their home in several different places from the time of their founding until the completion of their own building on Bolivar Road. The Grays' first armory was located on the fourth floor of the Mechanics Block, newly erected in 1838 at the southeast corner of Ontario Street and Prospect Street. In 1870, they moved into a building which had once served as a fire station on Frankfort Street. By March 20, 1880, the Grays had moved into the new City Armory on Long Street and used that facility as its headquarters along with the 5th Regiment, Ohio National Guard until December 8, 1892, when fire destroyed the building and much of its contents including equipment and guns belonging to the Grays. Major Otto Schade and several of his men were able to save a few items without any cost to their health or their lives. The unit was able to recover very quickly and funds were soon amassed for the purpose of building a new armory. Until construction was completed in 1893, the company found a temporary home at the Gatling Gun Battery Armory on Sibley Street.

     On May 30, 1893, a three-ton Berea sandstone foundation block was put in place by Colonel John Frazee. The main portion of the building is four stories high, and the most notable feature is the five-story tower on the northeast corner of the building. The tower has '3 x 5' foundation blocks, the main entrance corners and the front window lintels are all of solid rough-hewn sandstone. The main entry arch rests on top of polished granite columns that rise from each cornerstone. Positioned above is a black iron drop-gate, and a gothic barrier between the front steps and the colossal oak doors. There were also pointed iron rods bolted to the scarlet brick walls that make up the window protectors on the first floor. The effect is a splendid mix of color and texture in materials. The overall design effectively conveys that this is an urban fortress.  The Cleveland Grays Armory has been long known for hosting the city's premier social events. Grays Armory earned repute as an exclusive venue right from the beginning during the celebrations for Cleveland's Centennial (1896). The Grays Armory events went way beyond the customary military balls and band concerts typical during that era. This building was originally built to house weapons and provides a drill hall for the militia; this edifice quickly evolved into a vital community center for the turn-of-the-century Clevelanders. 

     The Grays Armory Museum seeks to share its historical and cultural legacy with the public. Beyond stewardship of the building and conservation of artifacts, the museum strives to preserve the traditions and the rich heritage of those who serve their country and their community. The museum actively fulfills this objective by preserving, interpreting and presenting the military history of the United States. The museum regularly reaches out to Greater Cleveland by sponsoring open-house events intended to reach diverse audiences. Each Veterans Day, the museum presents a cultural and educational program honoring those who serve. In the past, programs that have included patriotic orchestra concerts and special touring exhibits. The Grays Armory can also be rented for special events such as private parties, weddings, receptions, and even proms.  In July, 1970, the 3 manual 17 rank pipe organ was installed. The organ originates from the Warner Theater in Erie, Pennsylvania. Three or four concerts per year are given on this organ, sponsored by the Western Reserve Theater Organ Society.  The building was added to the National Register of Historic Places on March 28, 1973.

[leanderkevin]

பேரரசி/ Pērarasi (The Empress) Featuring the சிவகங்கை சீமாட்டி herself, we have arrived at the next card in the Tarot series- The Empress. வேலு நாச்சியார் (Vēlu Nāchiyār) was the queen of the Sivagangai Seemai, and an extremely popular figure of Tamil culture and history. Born to King Chellamuthu Vijayaragunātha Sēthupathy and Queen Muthāthāl of Ramanāthapuram, she was trained in weapons and martial arts. She was also a scholar of many languages including French and Urdu- a skill that helped gain the allyship of Sultan Hyder Ali of Mysore who, despite initial reluctance granted her 5000 soldiers, training and weapons. When she was 16, she was married to the king of Sivagangai- Muthu Vaduganatha Periyavudaya Thevar, and had a daughter, Vellāchi. When her husband was killed in the Kalaiyar Koil War with the EIC in 1790, Vēlu Nāchiyār escaped to Dindigul with her daughter under the protection of the Marudhu Brothers; it was during this time that she was saved by Udaiyāl (refer Temperance Card). After eight years of planning with the help of powerful allies like the Marudhu Brothers, Hyder Ali, and her commander Kuyili's sacrifice- Vēlu Nāchiyār was set to fight the colonisers. The commander of the Udaiyāl regiment Kuyili's suicide attack at a EIC armory changed the course of the war in Vēlu Nāchiyār's favour. Kuyili is the first suicide-bomber in Indian history. After winning the war, she took back her kingdom and ruled it for ten years, later passing it on to her daughter Vellāchi. Vēlu Nāchiyār joins the ranks of Onakke Obbavvā, Rani Chennammā, and many others who have been criminally overlooked in Indian history, their legacy as female warrior-queens ignored. Last year Tamil Nadu's parade float for the Republic day parade was rejected, citing that the figures featured were not "famous", Queen Vēlu Nāchiyār was among them. I understand that India's past is just as complex as its present, which is why I implore that people research and educate themselves on their regional histories, through an objective, non-sensational lens. #leanderscribbles#tamil#tamilartist#tamilart#tamilculture#tamilhistory#tamilheritage#velunachiyar#tarot#asian#divination https://www.instagram.com/p/CojgSaNvZ6r/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[aaronhillsworld]

My baby girl, Aria ran her first track meet yesterday! I’m soOoO proud of her and I’m so glad I was there for another first experience in her life! #prouddadmoment (at Maryland National Guard 5th Regiment Armory) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cl31NDIu2Xe/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"HONORARY COLONEL OF IRISH RECEIVES COMMISSION," Toronto Globe. April 19, 1933. Page 9. ---- A brief but very impressive ceremony held last night in the Spadina Avenue Armories saw recognition in a formal way of very outstanding services rendered the Toronto Irish Regiment, when the Honorary Colonel of the unit, Colonel Harry McGee, was presented with his commission, suitably framed. Colonel McGee was associated with the first Honorary Colonel of the regiment, the late Sir John Eaton, in the equipping and clothing of the men who went overseas to bring fame and honor to the unit, a great many decorations being won by all ranks. Ever since the formation of the regiment Colonel McGee has evinced strong interest in it, which was renewed in stronger bonds when he accepted the post of Honorary Lieutenant-Colonel four years ago. At the first of this year his Majesty the King was pleased to confer upon Colonel McGee the appointment of Honorary Colonel of the regiment, and his commission was presented to him, last night at the regular Tuesday parade in the presence of a considerable number of friends, among them being Lieut.-Col. A. Coulter McLean: Thomas H. Bell, M.P.P.; David Spence, M.P.; Captain Porter, Captain Switzer, and Lieut.-Col. W. W. Soden-Irwin. The illustration above shows Colonel McGee (centre) receiving the framed commission from Licut.-Col. A. Coulter McLean (right), with Lieut.-Col. W. W. Soden-Irwin at the left, flanked by other officers and N.S.O.'s of the unit.

[archinform]

Lost Chicago Building 4 - First Regiment Armory

One expects to see knights on horseback issuing forth from the gaping arch of the gloomy, forbidding structure, its slanting dark-gray stone lower walls giving way to a deep brick-red upper portion, complete with corner turrets. It seems transplanted from some medieval legend, yet its looming appearance in late-19th-century Chicago’s near south side was carefully calculated.

In 1890, the wealthy and socially prestigious First Regiment of the Illinois National Guard erected its own castle-style armory on South Michigan Avenue. It housed a parade ground, office space for all 12 companies and regimental officers, locker rooms, a gym, a library, several small parlors, and a large weapons storage facility.[1]

Designed by the firm of Burnham and Root in 1890, the Armory is an impressive, though rather curious work from their oeuvre. According to contemporary accounts, the building was designed to serve as a true medieval-type fortification, with a heavily protected arched door, firing slits, and battlements. In addition, interior provisions were made for the training and accommodation of the regiment, as well as for its social functions. The ornamental stone and brick mass of the exterior could indeed withstand a siege, if only symbolically. The severe cubic form with battered masonry walls and a great central arch recall the earlier, more sophisticated designs of H. H. Richardson.[2]

What did such a curious, yet outwardly forbidding, structure mean for 19th-century urban America? Such buildings were part of a cultural tradition, not only of military but of urban history. It was only in the 20th century that a corps of reserve soldiers came under federal control, an important part of the country’s military system. Up to then, “state-controlled militias of citizen-soldiers were the nation’s primary resource for civil defense and response to civil unrest.”[3] In the decades leading up to the Civil War, such citizen militias had three primary functions:

First and foremost, it was a military body charged with ensuring both domestic and international peace; second, it was a civic entity whose responsibilities included appearing at both somber and festive public events; finally, it was an elite fraternal organization for members of New York’s middle and upper classes.[4]

 Office of Burnham & Root, Chicago, perspective drawing for the “First Infantry Armory.” Microfilm frame 153, Ryerson and Burnham Architecture Archive, Art Institute of Chicago.

“Design for First Regiment Armory, Chicago,” signed P.F. Newberry, Del. Inland Architect and News Record, Vol. 13 No. 7, June 1889, pl. 90 fol. p. 92.

Not apparent at first sight are the darker purposes of such militaristic structures: as expressions of rabidly anti-union, anti-rabble rouser, anti-socialist sentiments of such powerful men as Marshall Field, department store magnate and richest man in Chicago. The building's appearance, fortress-like and commanding, was a product of the fear of class warfare felt by the upper classes of Chicago society. Around 1890, “new specially designed and constructed armories came to mark the urban landscape with distinctive forms.”[5]

The Armory stood guard over the gilded aristocracy of nearby South Prairie Avenue, at that time the enclave of the very rich. Such late-19th-century armories, notes an AIA guide to Chicago, “were fortified like castles to preserve public order against possible workers' demonstrations and other civil unrest.”[6]

The heyday of armory building was between 1880 and 1910. The sponsors and builders of those armories expected that they would be used in preserving the peace and protecting private and public property. Because riots could happen quickly, they also felt that armories should be located near rapid transit, to facilitate a speedy assembly of the militia. Why did prominent citizens ask authorities to spend public funds on an essentially private military building? The answer is that there existed such a degree of labor strife and violence during that period, that society's elite felt a strong threat to its world, which was thought could collapse momentarily unless proper defensive measures were taken.[7]

  In Chicago, such outbreaks of labor or anti-industrial violence included the Haymarket Riot of 1886, followed by civil unrest during the depression of 1893, and the Pullman Strike in 1894. The gap between rich and poor grew ever wider during the Gilded Age; an increasingly industrial and socially-stratified society exposed the cracks in America’s economic and social systems, and led  groups of wealthy individuals to militarize urban areas against repeats of such violence.

In Chicago, Marshall Field, the department store magnate, underwrote a similar militarization. He donated land three blocks from his home on the city’s “Millionaire’s Row,” an address he shared with fellow grandees like George Pullman and Phillip Armour, for the construction of the First Regiment Armory: ���The two upper stories, on top of the massive masonry of the first floor, are crowned at the angles by great bastions, from which an enfilade fire may be directed against any side of the walls,” as a contemporary observer described it. Field and his associates then furnished the police with four twelve-pound cannons, a Gatling gun, 296 breech-loading rifles and 60,000 bullets.

In other words, in the late 19th century, when the Robber Barons wanted a militarized police force to defend their wealth and power from those left behind, they often had to reach into their own pockets to supply the guns and even carry a gun themselves as a militiaman.[8]

Fearing a potentially violent working class uprising, the residents of Prairie Avenue placed political pressure on politicians to construct an armory to protect Chicago’s most prominent businessmen. Daniel Burnham and John Root were commissioned to design the First Regiment Armory at 1552 S. Michigan Avenue.

Sanborn Fire Insurance Map, 1911. First Regiment Armory is at upper right.

Side view: Ryerson and Burnham Architecture Archive, Bldg. 51 Museum Archives

The above images are from microfilm of the original plans by the offices of Burnham & Root in the Ryerson and Burnham Architecture Archive.

Armory plans. Ryerson and Burnham Architecture Archive, Art Institute of Chicago; reproduced in Hoffman, The Architecture of John Wellborn Root, p. 141.

Interior: The Main Hall

Constructed 1889-91, the Burnham and Root-designed structure stood at the northwest corner of Michigan Avenue and Sixteenth Street until its destruction in 1967.

To the First Illinois Regiment Armory John Root imparted the Richardson (or, better, the Romanesque) feeling for great wall spaces and small penetrations. Massiveness and vigor are combined with romantic charm after the manner of a master. The building is wholly without ornament, obtaining its effect, as architecture should, by dignity of proportion and the complete solution of the problem.[9]

The Armory boasted thick stone walls, rounded turrets, and slots for firing rifles when defending military troops stationed inside. The structure stood about 75 feet high, roughly three stories, its sides measuring between 163 and 172 feet. A canted base of rusticated sandstone stressed the building’s solidity, while the upper walls of vitrified brown brick rose 35 feet above this base. The arched opening or sallyport (the only entrance into the ground floor) measured 40 feet wide and 10 feet deep, “scaled to accept sixteen men marching abreast.”[10]

The entrance opened onto a drill floor 150 by 168 feet. The roof featured skylights that provided natural light to the interior. A lengthy description [available in the HABS Report at this link] of the Armory appeared in “Design for First Regiment Armory, Chicago,” Inland Architect, vol. 13, June 1889, p.92. It noted:

A pleasant feature is to be the social life in the armory. The floor of the main hall is of hardwood, highly polished, and will be kept in excellent condition for dancing. With this in view the men will be required to wear rubber-soled shoes while drilling. The only feature requiring criticism is the hanging of the great main door. This weighs twelve thousand eight hundred pounds, and is balanced by a large weight, making the entire strain twenty-five thousand six hundred pounds, which is supported on five single pulleys, attached to a light beam, secured to the ceiling of the second floor.[11]

Root’s design found its source in the medieval architecture of France; it was compared to such structures as the 14th-century keep at Vincennes.

The sandstone masonry was magnificent, especially where the wall returned at the surrounds of the sallyport, a detail reminiscent of the granite angles at the base of the Rookery. In the brickwork, the first register of stilted window openings was beautifully ordered by the relieving arches above and rifle slots below.[12]

Andrew Rebori, architect and writer, described the building as “an individual version of Romanesque,” but in “the free and Romantic style which aims not primarily at elegance, but at an effect of massiveness and vigor, and which has for its first object to break in upon the spectator's apathy.”[13]

The new structure was destroyed by fire in 1893, and immediately replaced, presumably to the original plans. Contemporary photos show the building in what appeared to be in a state of ruin.[14]

 Construction (or reconstruction) in the mid-1890s, following a fire which gutted the building.

The anticipated threats to the citizens of Prairie Avenue and vicinity never materialized; the high society crowd instead attended lavish social events at the Armory. The venue hosted auto shows in the first decades of the 20th century, as well as the occasional dog show. It was used for training and assembly of soldiers destined to be shipped off to the Great War. Prairie Avenue itself had ceased to be popular by the late 1890s, hastened by the encroachment of industrial buildings and a “notorious vice district just to the west,” the Levee District, which  rose during the 1893 World’s Fair.[15] By the early 1900s the grand houses were being sold off for business space or converted to apartments. In the next few decades, many of the mansions would be demolished.

The Armory was used for multiple types of public events. Left: Auto Show 1906; right: Dog Show n.d.

First World War, 33rd Division 1st Infantry regiment leaving armory, Chicago. Image: https://www.pritzkermilitary.org/explore/museum/past-exhibits/lest-we-forget-doughboys-sammies-and-sailors-great-war/first-infantry-chicago-armory

1965. Richard Nickel photo

Later photos of the First Regiment Armory show a huge painted Chevrolet advertisement across its face, while on one corner a For Sale sign is displayed. Just prior to and during its 1967 demolition, the Armory’s interior and exterior were documented by Chicago architect John Vinci and photographer Richard Nickel.[16]

  Above three images:  color slide images taken by John Vinci in 1966. Source: Bldg. 51 Museum Archives https://www.urbanremainschicago.com/news-and-events/2019/03/05/a-rare-look-at-burnham-roots-first-regiment-armory-captured-through-color-photographs/

1967: demolition; Richard Nickel photo

1967: demolition; Richard Nickel photo

Notes:

[1] “Armories,” Encyclopedia of Chicago History. Accessed at:  http://www.encyclopedia.chicagohistory.org/pages/1736.html

[2] “Significance,” Historic American Buildings Survey, c. 1933, HABS IL-1069. Retrieved from: https://www.loc.gov/item/il0108/

[3] Shepard, Cassim, “The Armory and the City: Civic Spaces of the National Guard,” Urban Omnibus. Accessed at: https://urbanomnibus.net/2013/09/the-armory-and-the-city-civic-spaces-of-the-national-guard/

[4] Todd, Nancy L., New York’s Historic Armories. State University of New York Press, 2006, pp. 20-22. Cited in Shepard, Cassim, “The Armory and the City: Civic Spaces of the National Guard,” Urban Omnibus. Accessed at: https://urbanomnibus.net/2013/09/the-armory-and-the-city-civic-spaces-of-the-national-guard/

[5] Encyclopedia of Chicago. Accessed at: http://www.encyclopedia.chicagohistory.org/pages/1736.html

[6] AIA Guide to Chicago. University of Illinois Press, Cited in: https://www.waymarking.com/waymarks/WM8RNY_National_Guard_Armory_reliefs_Chicago_IL

[7] Mahon, John K., History of the Militia and the National Guard. New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1983, p. 264. Cited in: Nelson, Cristina R., “The Armory Movement,” A Tale of Two Armories: Preservation Politics in New York City. M.A. Thesis, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 1985, pp. 4-5. Accessed at: https://dspace.mit.edu/bitstream/handle/1721.1/76395/14066875-MIT.pdf?sequence=2

[8] Paul, Mark, “Assault Rifles and Ice Buckets,” The California Fix. http://www.thecaliforniafix.com/thecaliforniafix/2014/8/20/when-militarized-cop-were-charity

Marshall Field owned the land on which the Armory stood and held a 99-year lease on the property:

August 10, 1940 –The land beneath the First Regiment Armory at the northwest corner of Michigan Avenue and East Sixteenth Street is sold by the Estate of Marshall Field to the Standard Realty and Mortgage Company for an estimated $40,000. The sale is subject to a 99-year lease that Marshall Field made in 1890 with the First Infantry Armory Association at an annual ground rental of $4,000.  The first armory was built on the property in 1893, but it burned down less than a year after it opened.  It was replaced in 1894 at a cost of a half-million dollars, raised by popular subscription….

Connecting the Windy City.. http://www.connectingthewindycity.com/2018/08/august-10-1940-first-regiment-armory.html

[9] Moore, Charles, Daniel H. Burnham Architect and Planner of Cities. Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1921, Vol. 1, pp. 29-30.

[10] Hoffman, Donald, The Architecture of John Wellborn Root. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, p. 142.

[11] “The Armory of the First Regiment, I.N.G.M,” Industrial Chicago, Vol.2 (Chicago: The Goodspeed Publishing Company, 1891), pp.537-89. Quoted in HABS descriptive data, report ILL-1069, p.4. Accessed at: https://tile.loc.gov/storage-services/master/pnp/habshaer/il/il0100/il0108/data/il0108data.pdf

[12] Hoffman, Donald, The Architecture of John Wellborn Root. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, p. 142.

[13] Rebori, Andrew N., “The Work of Burnman & Root, D.H. Burnham, D.H. Burnham and Company, and Graham Burnham & Co.” Architectural Record, vol. 38 no. 7, July 1915, p. 41.

[14] Connecting the Windy City. http://www.connectingthewindycity.com/2018/08/august-10-1940-first-regiment-armory.html

The HABS Report ILL- 1069 confirms that a cornerstone on the building’s southeast corner carried this inscription: “FIRST INFANTRY ARMORY BUILT 1890 BURNED APRIL 25th 1893 REBUILT 1894.”

[15] “Levee District,” WTTW Chicago Time Machine. Accessed at: https://interactive.wttw.com/timemachine/18th-street-and-prairie-avenue

[16] Nordstrom, Eric, Urban Remains. https://www.urbanremainschicago.com/news-and-events/2019/03/05/a-rare-look-at-burnham-roots-first-regiment-armory-captured-through-color-photographs/

Chicago architect John Vinci was there in 1966 (alongside Richard Nickel) to document first hand some of these rarely seen second floor vistas. in color and never previously publicized, these slides show the ornament of the second floor soldiers' rooms, relatively untouched since they were last inhabited by tenants.

[detroitlib]

Close-up view of roundel, depicting Mercury wearing winged helmet and driving a car, during the 1909 Chicago Auto Show at the Coliseum and First Regiment Armory in Chicago, Illinois. Raised scrollwork decorates roundel. Stamped on back: "Spooner and Wells, 1931 Broadway, New York, duplicates any time, enlargements all sizes, tel. 3472-3473 Col., credit appreciated." Handwritten on back: "Shows--Chicago Auto Show, 1909."

Lazarnick Collection

Courtesy of the National Automotive History Collection, Detroit Public Library

[plague-of-insomnia]

Ch 180, Part 1: The Cave of Wonders

The new chapter is a whopping 25 pages, with the first 15 essentially taking us back to the cave to Sebastian and Bard’s picnic date, and giving us insight into how Sebastian explains his presence and how Bard will get to England.

The rest of the pages return us to the manor, where we pick up where we left off at the end of ch 179. (I’ll cover this in a separate post.)

Buckle up! This is a long post…! So hit the break if you wanna find out what happens in the first half of the new chapter!

(Looking for Part 2?)

The chapter starts off in the armory, where Bard was directed last chapter via Sebastian’s cryptic clues. While admiring the inventory, a knife catches his eye and makes him remember that rainy picnic in the cave.

Sebastian the dork, aka “I’m so good at humaning,” sets up the picnic and introduces himself with a “Hello, would you care for some tea?” As if they aren’t surrounded by bodies and Bard hasn’t been starving to death trapped in this cave for who knows how long now.

Understandably, Bard’s instinct is to attack, placing his knife at Seb’s throat and demanding to know who he is, as he’s convinced Sebastian must have been hired by the natives who have him surrounded just outside.

Instead, Sebastian explains that his master is a British Earl.

Ofc, now Bard is convinced he must be hallucinating from lack of food, because how else can he explain what a Brit is doing, complete with a picnic, deep in enemy territory?

Sebastian, “I am so clever and good at humaning,” replies: “死神だなんてとんでもない; 私はあくまで執事ですから”

Which translates literally as: “I’m not a death god (shinigami); I’m a demon of a butler.”

Or, more properly:

I’m not a reaper; I’m simply one hell of a butler.

Ofc, this confuses Bard even more. What the hell is a butler doing in a war zone?

Distrustful, Bard decides to kill Sebastian, but finds he’s too weak to make a cut in the other man’s neck due to starvation.

Unfazed, Sebastian glances over his shoulder in a very Ciel-like pose (who picked that up from whom, I wonder?, @collapsaar ) and recommends Bard sit down and eat (“I recommend a freshly baked scone.”) and he’ll explain his story in the meanwhile.

Bard realizes the food may be poisoned, glancing over at Terry’s body and perhaps realizing he’s dead no matter what so it’s worth the risk. And he digs in, in a frame we’ve now seen three times: first with Ciel (“Ciel Phantomhive is I,” then with Mey Rin, and now with Bard).

While he eats, Sebastian tells his moving tale of woe (Sebastian really always has to be extra af, doesn’t he?), explaining how his master has forbidden him from advertising for help in the newspapers, so he’s been forced to search for servants himself, quite literally.

Bard is confused. He admits he’s taken care of cattle before (ah so he was a rancher, not a farmer), but he’s never worked for a nobleman.

Sebastian very swarmily replies, “「貴族の世話」にも色々と種類がございますから”

Or, in English (brace yourself, shippers):

There are many ways to “take care of a nobleman.”

He says that he has heard tales of an immortal American solider and wanted to find him for himself. He apologizes for doing so rudely, without announcing himself in a letter first (the etiquette of the day, at least among the gentlefolk in England at this time), but he just had to see Bard in person.

Bard realizes Sebastian must be looking for a bodyguard for his master. Sebastian being Sebastian, he cryptically replies, “はい。傭兵業務以外にも���事が発生する場合もありますが…”

In English,

Yes. Although there may be other tasks aside from your mercenary work…

(No wonder Bard is so irritated about the whole chef thing once he arrives at the manor!)

Still suspicious, Bard muses to himself. How did a butler, with his posh Queen’s English and picnic lunch and absolutely spotless suit (not a speck of dirt on his tails, Bard observes) get all the way out here, through the web of hostile natives that had pinned Bard’s entire regiment down??

He gets a chill when Sebastian, with a smile, explains seriously that the only qualifications a Phantomhive servant needs is to be an excellent killer: “とびきり優秀な “人殺し”である事.”

Translated:

You must be an extremely excellent killer.

Immediately after, Sebastian announces he has to leave bc it’s late where they are in the Western US and he’s due to serve tea to his master in England soon.

You know, bc that’s a completely normal thing to say when they’re thousands of miles away from Britain in a time before cars and air travel. (Great job humaning once again, Sebastian! /s)

He hurriedly packs everything up, hands Bard a letter with the Phantomhive seal, and disappears into the rain, leaving Bard alone, staring at a ticket for a boat that will take him to England.

Bard sighs as he realizes Sebastian has left him alone in hostile territory, without arms or additional food, but he is resolute, “つまり… 敵地のど真ん中からは自力で脱出しろってことか腹が溜まっただけでもありがてぇ”

In English,

So, in other words, you want me to get out of enemy territory on my own. Good thing I’ve made up my mind and gathered my courage. [And have a full stomach.]

The word Yana uses here, 腹 (はら), aka hara, is one of her clever kanji choices with many meanings. One of these is “stomach,” which is cute since Bard has been starving and now is full thanks to Sebastian. But it also means to make up your mind or (to gather) your courage, both of which Bard has done by this point, as we can see in the difference between his reflection in the knife when this flashback-within-a-flashback starts and when it ends, as I commented in this post.

And with that, we’re back to the “present” where we left off last month, with Bard in the armory, which I’ll elaborate on in a second post.

~#~

Please do not repost any of this material without credit/claim it as your own. I spent money, time, and effort/spoons putting this translation and summary together and would appreciate being credited for my work via reblogs or mentions.

As always, I do my best to provide as accurate a translation/summary as I can, but I’m only human, and I do make mistakes. Apologies in advance if I do.

[hxwks-gf]

» 𝖘𝖆𝖋𝖊

𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖎 𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚝 

𝚠/𝚌: 𝟸.𝟷𝚔

The heavy winter rains wrought havoc on the old wood of the scout’s barracks. The storm had caught the regiment by surprise, the darkened clouds arriving to drown the sky in grey not long after Hange’s squad had deployed to the field. Pretty soon the street’s gutters were awash in murky rainwater, washing the cobblestones clean for the first time that season. Every few minutes, the sky would be illuminated by lightning, and soon after the thunder would rattle the window panes. 

Levi sat at his desk, surrounded by paperwork; reports that needed signing, applications for new gear that needed his approval, the list went on and on. He reached over and picked up his teacup as another round of thunder shook the barracks. He had always hated thunderstorms. 

Truthfully, he was drowning himself in his work because he needed something to distract him from the growing worry that plagued the pit of his stomach. But after a while, even his tea began to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Levi sighed heavily and pushed away from his desk, running his hands over his tired eyes. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t focus. His thoughts kept wandering to Hange’s squad, and how they had most likely been caught in the storm somewhere on the other side of the wall, somewhere he couldn’t reach them, somewhere he couldn’t protect them. 

Levi got up from his chair and moved to stand at the window. The glow from the candle on his desk illuminated the raindrops that raced themselves down the glass, and his own reflection beyond them. He looked like hell. 

He could just barely make out the black, looming structure in the distance that was Wall Rose. Somewhere out there, he knew you were stuck in this rain, probably cold and miserable. An unexpected pang of anguish hit him in his chest, and he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. Why did you go on this mission? Why didn’t you ask him to come with you? 

Levi turned away from the window and went back to his desk, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. Of course, he knew why you went. Hange had asked for your help specifically in testing some new technology for capturing Titans for research, and Levi knew you were more than up for the task. You had proved to be a valuable soldier; adept in the field as well as the classroom. You were smart. Tactical. Refined. Of course Hange would ask for your help, anyone would. 

But that didn’t stop him from worrying. 

He poured a fresh cup of tea and mindlessly stirred it as he looked over some of the documents in front of him. A few moments later, he found himself glancing up and staring at his unmade bed--the sheets twisted and tangled with the pillows. He imagined you laying there, sound asleep, maybe with an arm hooked around one of the pillows and the blankets tucked in around your shoulders. You��d be snoring softly while he worked nearby, and he would silently curse you for being such a loud sleeper. But...you’d be safe. 

Levi stared at his empty bed for a few minutes more before swallowing roughly and glaring at his paperwork again. He no longer desired his tea, and he no longer desired working. He leaned over and blew out the candle, dousing his bedroom in darkness. 

“....Hange’s squad is expected to make their return this afternoon,” Erwin was saying, but Levi wasn’t paying attention. He stood at the window in the commander’s office with his arms crossed and his eyebrows knit together. 

“Levi,” Erwin said. 

“What?” he snapped, not looking at him. 

“Did you hear me?” 

Levi glared at the rainclouds that still hadn’t left the sky. The rains hadn’t stopped, not once since last night. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to look away from the window and focus on Erwin. “Yes,” he said, “I heard you.” 

“You seem unusually cross this morning.” 

“I couldn’t sleep.” Levi turned back to the window. “Damn thunder kept me up all night.” 

“I see.” Erwin flipped through some paperwork on his desk, reaching for his quill. After a few minutes of silence, the commander looked up at the captain again. “See anything interesting outside?” 

Levi made a noise of disgust and kept his grey eyes focused on the front gates, waiting to see it lift up and reveal you coming back to him--safe and uninjured. However, he knew it would be hours until the squad returned, and he would have to find something else to do to pass the time. Levi brushed some invisible dust from his black shirt and turned to leave Erwin’s office. As Levi muttered something to explain his departure, he heard frantic footsteps approaching the door. A moment later, and another scout burst through with a fearful expression on his face. 

“Sir!” he said as he saluted both men. “Hange’s squad was spotted from the wall, with a captured Titan in tow.” 

Levi’s heart leapt into his throat. He didn’t wait to see what else the scout had to say; he shoved past him and immediately made his way toward the armory, ignoring Erwin’s protests behind him. Levi expertly hefted on his ODM gear, not bothering to grab his coat, and promptly left the scout’s barracks. He barely felt the freezing rain pelting his cheeks and soaking his hair as he launched himself up the wall, landing gracefully on the surface and looking out over the wet, rolling hills beyond. 

There, in the distance, he saw the enormous Titan being carted along the muddy road. Alongside it were the squad members on their horses, making sure the straps held it in place and it didn’t break free. Levi did his best to try and count how many riders there were, but it was impossible in the rain. He only hoped you were among them. 

“Captain!” one of the soldiers on the wall called to him. “Sir, it’s freezing out here! You really should be wearing a coat--” 

“Binoculars,” Levi growled. 

“Y-yes, sir,” the soldier stammered, and held out his pair to him. 

Levi snatched them up and raised them to his eyes, focusing on the approaching team of scouts. He inwardly groaned at the sight of the Titan, it was a wonder they captured it at all. He could see Hange riding nearby, shouting orders at the rest of the squad with that strange, excited expression they always got whenever Hange was near a Titan. “Insane,” Levi muttered, and moved from face to face until--

His breath caught in his throat. There you were. The hood of your green cloak was pulled up to protect you from the rain as you gracefully trotted atop your horse, but it looked like you were absolutely soaked to the bone. Despite being in the freezing weather, you had a flush to your cheeks as you and Hange exchanged a silent, excited conversation, no doubt about what sort of tests you’d run on the disgusting creature first. You were spending entirely too much time with Four Eyes. Levi felt the worry slowly start to ebb away in his stomach when he decided you were safe, and you were almost home. He watched you through the binoculars a few minutes longer, and felt the ice that encased his heart begin to melt when you smiled and laughed at something Hange said, despite the rain dripping down your wet hair and over your cheeks. How is it that someone could be so...happy? In a world like this? Levi didn’t know if that made you weak, or if it made you strong. He would decide later. 

Once you and the rest of Hange’s squad made it to the gates, Levi shoved the binoculars back into the soldier’s hands and launched himself off the wall, swinging and gliding through the rain before landing effortlessly onto the street and waited for the stone gate to be lifted. 

It felt like a lifetime had passed when it finally was high enough to allow the captured Titan through, along with the rest of the horses surrounding it. Levi stood there with his arms crossed, his dark hair flat against his head from the rain. 

“Levi!” Hange gleefully shouted, but he dutifully ignored it. His eyes searched the squad for you, until they finally landed on their prize. 

“Captain!” you greeted as you slid from your horse, and Levi noticed the violent shiver that rocked through your body. But you grinned as you approached him, flexing your stiff fingers. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” 

“Yes, it is,” he growled, glaring at you. “You were supposed to be back last night.” 

“Well, yeah,” you said, turning to pull your saddlebags from your horse. “But the storm came out of nowhere and we had to make camp. Worst night of my life.” 

Levi’s nostrils flared. “You couldn’t send a rider?” 

You frowned at him. “Is something wrong, captain?” 

“No,” Levi said, rolling his shoulders. The cold was starting to sneak into his muscles. He turned away from you. “There’s some reports I’ll have you fill out, once you’ve had your gear inspected and the horses are brushed down. Come by my office later.” 

“Yes, sir,” you replied, still holding that confused expression. 

Levi said nothing else and began making his way back to the barracks, frustrated at Hange’s carelessness and the freezing, stinging rain. Why didn’t he take his coat with him? 

Hours later, Levi was back in the warm safety of his bedroom, finishing up the reports from the night before with a fresh pot of tea nearby. A knock sounded at the door. 

“Come in,” he said, not looking up. 

“Sir,” he heard your voice reply. No doubt you were standing in a salute, waiting for his instruction. Such a devoted little soldier. Levi set his pen down and looked up at you, and nearly fell out of his chair. 

You had changed out of your wet cloak and uniform, and opted for a fresh, clean pair of pants and a soft looking shirt that exposed part of your shoulders. Your hair, still wet from the rain, was slowly drying around your face, framing those flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Levi exhaled through his nose and gestured to a few loose pieces of paper, to which you picked up and pen and began signing your name at the bottom of each one. He watched you intently as you did so, admiring the way your hair fell over your shoulder. A minute later and you stood back, pushing the papers towards him. 

“There you go,” you replied, smiling. “Anything else?” 

“No,” Levi found himself saying. “That’s all.” 

“This might sound strange to ask,” you said, shifting from one foot to the other, as if afraid to say the next few words. Levi waited for you to finish. “Do you mind if I sit down for a moment? It was a rough mission, and my muscles are sore.” 

Levi blinked, but gestured to his bed nearby. With a grateful sigh, you sat down on the edge and fell backwards with a whump. 

“I’m tired,” he heard you say softly. “And cold.” 

Levi didn’t know what to reply with. Isn’t this what he wanted? For you to be safe and warm in his bed? “I was...worried about you,” he said aloud, staring at your elegant signature on the paper in front of him and clenching his jaw. “I was waiting for you to come home, to me. I know you’re a strong soldier, but that didn’t stop me from…” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Look, what I’m trying to say is--” 

A gentle snore sounded from where you lay on his bed, and he realized you were asleep. Levi rolled his eyes and sighed. He set his pen down and walked over to his bed, staring down at your sleeping body halfway curled up underneath his blankets. He reached out and pulled them over the rest of you, carefully tucking them around your shoulders, his fingertips softly grazing the line of your jaw. 

Levi returned to his desk, picked up his teacup, and watched you sleep. The thunderstorm outside had subsided to a gentle pattering of raindrops on the window, and the flames that crackled in the fireplace nearby flooded the room with warmth. He watched the way your chest rose and fell with each breath you took, and listened to your quiet breathing and soft snores. As he picked up his pen to finish his reports, he had one thought in his mind: you were safe. 

That’s all he could ever ask for. 

[erwin-beloved]

🌼Gunpowder & Chamomile🌼

Levi x GNReader 

Fluff :)

Wordcount: 2.2K

"But most of all he savored the scent of gunpowder that faded away as he moved to taste the sweet chamomile on your breath." 

The splinters of the rough wood pulled at your shirt as you carried the heavy boxes from the storage room to the carts. The final box was the biggest as it carried the flare guns. You were slow getting to the cart as you peeked over the box careful not to step on any uneven stones. Also, it was pretty heavy. 

The box was suddenly lifted from your hands and your eyes met green ones. At first, they held a gentle look but it soon hardened when the eyes scanned the area around you.

“What are you doing loading the supply cart all by yourself.”

“I’m just finishing up, I sent my squad to dinner early.”

Mike carried the heavy box with ease and set it on the cart gently. When he pushed it in its place alongside the others, you placed the board back and secured everything. He stood by you as you finished.

“Thanks by the way. The last thing I need is to choke on smoke from a misfired flare.”

He gave a small laugh and accompanied you as you walked to the dining hall.

“Not a problem, I didn’t want you late to the table, you know how Levi is about timeliness.”

You felt a small pit in your stomach. All of the prominent leaders in the regiment were always busy, but the time etched out for everyone, no matter the rank. Was evening dinner. 

Being the squad leader for one of the supply teams, you were often a few minutes late from double and even triple-checking your cart to be thorough, much to your squad members’ dismay. And it was even more irritating to Levi since you were a part of the table he sat at for dinner. 

But you would always forget how upset he would get since you always felt like there was no real bite in his words towards you. His eyes would give away a bit too much when he spoke, so you knew he could never stay upset with you. And you may or may not have taken advantage of that.

The smell of the dining hall grew stronger as you both approached the doorway but Levi happened to turn the corner and blocked your path. 

“There you two are.” 

“Hey-”

He looked at you and pointed to the nearby door outside.

“Go brush yourself off before you eat.”

You felt your spirit fizzle a bit from the blunt statement but you knew he wasn't exactly known for being nice. You looked down and saw all of the wood chips and dust on your shirt. 

“o-oh, yeah”

Mike put his hand on your shoulder and squeezed lightly while giving you a reassuring nod.

“I’ll get your plate for you.”

You smiled and went outside while Mike joined Levi inside the hall. By the time you arrived at the table, most everyone had settled in.

Hange waved to you excitedly and pointed to the seat across the table which was for you. Hange was flailing around and Levi stood nearby, with a growing expression of irritation at the hands in front of his face. He set down your plate of food along with an empty teacup. He then walked around the table to take his seat once more. It seemed as if Levi decided to make tea for the table today. 

When you took your seat next to Mike, you gave him a questioning look while glancing at Levi to ask silently why he got your plate, but Mike just shrugged and continued to eat. With a vague answer, you peeked around him and greeted Erwin and Moblit who were at the end of the table. They only smiled and waved back as they both had their mouths full. 

Before you could say anything Hange started to grab your attention again.

“Leeevi ~, decided to make us your favorite tea tonight!”

Your eyes watched the teapot in front of you as Levi had stood up and was silently pouring the tea into your cup. A surprised look overtook your face and you glanced up at Levi who was glaring at Hange

“Oh really? You found some chamomile flowers?”

He huffed as he sat back down, gently poking a potato slice and then bringing it up to his lips. He avoided eye contact.

“Hange asked me to make it.”

You looked over at Hange who gave you a serious look while shaking their head in disagreement, mouthing ‘he found them and picked them’. But the expression turned to pain as they winced from a mysterious kick to the shin which was obviously from Levi. 

Erwin had been quiet but he let a small smile perk up at his lips as he looked over at you. 

“It’s a pleasant surprise to have chamomile tea, and I’m glad someone was thoughtful enough to make it for you and share it with us Y/n.” 

Your eyes met Erwin’s, who was staring directly at you but there was a mischievous spark in his eyes. He suddenly winked and then glanced towards the dark-haired man that sat next to him, who was sipping tea in an effort to act as if he weren't listening. A sly smile flashed across your face before you turned to Hange with an innocent smile.

“Well, thank you for remembering Hange, it’s very sweet of you. I didn't think anyone would remember something small like my favorite tea.”

Hange gave you a curious look but then caught on.

“Hah! You’re welcome! Anything for you beloved.”

You saw Levi’s jaw clench as he let out a very small cough but he hid his face in his cup.

Erwin smiled into his bite of food and went to talking with Mike and Moblit once more as if he hadn’t just instigated. 

Levi stiffly set his cup down but his expression relaxed once he saw you watching him.

“Would you pour me a little more Levi?”

~

Everyone seemed to be in a good mood so there were frequent laughs and smiles shared. Even Erwin and Levi gave out some smiles and laughs which were rare. They were all optimistic for the next day.

When most everyone had finished their plates Erwin was the first to dismiss himself waving to everyone goodnight, stating he still needed to get some last-minute paperwork done. Hange and Moblit followed as they went to finish what last bit of research they could for the day, leaving Mike, Levi, and you. It was a brief chat between you three in expectancy for the newbie’s training exercise the next day, but Mike soon moved to leave as well.

“Y/n you are headed to the showers soon right.”

You felt yourself deflate a bit as you laughed nervously.

“Gee, thanks for indirectly telling me I smell Mike.”

He laughed and nudged you with his elbow as he carried his plate.

“You just smell like gunpowder is all I’m saying, I don’t think it's good to sleep like that.”

“Yeah yeah, you just like to make fun of me. See you tomorrow morning.” You lazily waved your hand toward him as he walked off so you turned to gather your plates as well. Levi stood with you collecting the teaware. 

After placing your cup on your empty plate you stuck out your hand for him to place the extra teacup that he couldn't carry. You silently walked together to the dish room and washed the tea set side by side in comfortable silence. He lingered next to you for a moment as he reached for a teacup, noticing your scent.

It was a strong smell of gunpowder but he could still catch the normal soft scent you always had of lavender and oak, and now chamomile from the tea. 

“You really do smell like gunpowder.”

“Not you toooooo. I'm in the armory all day! What else do you guys expect?”

He let out a light chuckle and took the last teacup that you had finished washing to dry it. 

“You're doing grunt work when you’re supposed to be the squad leader giving out instructions.”

The teacups clinked as he stacked the final cup with the now clean set and handed you the towel to dry your hands. You couldn't say much as he was pretty much calling you out so he spoke again.

“I get it, but you should rely on your squad more so they can rely on you, it's a mutual relationship.” 

“Since when did you become an expert on relationships Mr. Antisocial?”

He gave you a brief glare and held the teacups before nodding to the teapot for you to carry, you followed him out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

“Since I started shitting bricks. Listen, take my advice as you will, but trust is a big part of being a leader.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll make sure to keep your words in mind.” 

The hallway was empty except for the two of you and you thoughtfully took in his words, planning to start implementing his advice tomorrow. You hadn’t noticed how closely Levi walked next to you until you felt his elbow brush against yours, and upon your observation, the contact was immediately followed by him distancing himself once more. It fell away from your mind as he unlocked his office door, letting you in as he followed.

The room was dark but you immediately stepped over to the large cabinet as you knew where to put the teaware. The glass door gently clicked open and you set the teapot inside before turning around to find Levi right behind you who was closer than you expected. You couldn't see much but his silhouette in the dark lighting.

A gasp came out of you and you grabbed your collar as you walked around him. 

“Jeez, don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry.”

He responded plainly and began to fiddle with the placement of everything in the cabinet while you looked around the dark office for a candle. When you finally lit up the room something immediately caught your eye. A small basket sat on a small end table behind his office chair and as you got closer you realized that the basket held a few bundles of dried chamomile. 

“You found quite a bit huh.”

He closed the cabinet door with a soft click as he turned to look at you. He let out an uninterested hum and then went for the exit. But you stopped him.

“Wait, Levi.”

When he stopped at the door he kept his back to you but he turned his head to listen.

“Thank you.”

He turned around and gave you his look of confusion which was just his brow furrowing for a moment.

“What for?”

“Just for everything. I don’t think I’ve said it enough to you.”

You walked up closer to him and put your free hand on his shoulder. He looked at you cautiously so you spoke softly. Although, there was a hint of amusement in your tone.

“And thank you for thinking of me, and making me my favorite tea.”

Following your statement, you smiled at him while raising your hand to gently place your thumb on his chin so he wouldn't turn too quickly. 

He could feel the warmth of the candle in your hand get closer to his chest as you placed a soft kiss on his cheek. There were so many sensations that swirled around him when he felt your touch. The comforting yellow flame, the feeling of your lips on him, and your soft exhale that felt like electricity on his skin as you began to move away. 

But most of all he savored the scent of gunpowder that faded away as he moved to taste the sweet chamomile on your breath. 

The sudden advancement from him caught you off guard but he was still gentle. There was no brashness to how he touched you. The desk was suddenly pressing into your back and you paused for a moment, so he stopped and watched your expression carefully. His dark lashes shadowed his eyes as he lifted his eyes to meet your gaze. You only looked back at him, unable to think of what to do next.

Before the moment finished he took the candle from you and set it to the side.

“Well”

He pressed himself closer to you, brushing your hair away from your face while he briefly observed the charming details of your face. When his grey eyes met yours there was a soft glimmer to them and his voice was deep and tender.

“It’s your turn.”

There was another brief pause as you took in all of these new expressions that were being shown on his face. Before you realized it you had reached up to touch his soft, dark locks that had fallen forward. And he began to smile, but it was his response to the smile that was already on your face. 

You brushed the edge of his lips with your thumb in endearance before bringing your lips to his. He had felt a blush spread across his face because of what you said before you kissed him once more. The words echoing in his mind.

“You're so handsome when you smile.”

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Watchers in the Shadows

Another plot important story, with the what I am terming the Shadowed Lords.  I have also found a solution to the very important question of “How to make sure the Inquisition just doesn’t murder everyone.”  I own none of these characters.  Enjoy.

“History requires two parties - the historian and their audience.  Without that, one is just talking to oneself.  So kindly stop screaming and you might learn something.” - Trazyn the Infinite, guiding human guests through the Prismatic Gallery

“It is our duty to protect those who are important to future events, those who might save the face of the galaxy, those chosen by prophecy - blah blah blah.  I’m just here to kill things.”  -Revenant

Aboard the Novus Galactica

The Watch Fortress was a miracle of human technology and ingenuity.  This particular one was mobile, a great boon for its occupants.  As soon as diplomats and Inquisitors were dispatched to these strange, newly found galaxies, it had been deemed by the High Lords of Terra that a permanent force of Throne Agents should be stationed in each.  Unfortunately for the Imperium of Man, and, perhaps fortunately for everyone else, they were currently only able to transfer a small amount of the resources they wanted to one singular galaxy.  At the moment.  The time would come when they would fully operate there, the agents of the Imperium hiding in every shadow, behind every crevice, always watching, always waiting.  The fight against the xeno, mutaint, and heretic never ended, after all, and these new galaxies provided ample examples of each.  

The newly anointed Lady Inquisitor Amberley Vail stood on the tiled stone floor of the Watch Fortress, looking out high cathedral windows into the black void of space.  Inquisitors were all technically equals, though in practice some were more equal than others.  Senior and powerful Inquisitors were given the honorary prefix Lord or Lady to denote that they were, in fact, just a little more equal than their peers.  Since she had been the first to discover, and make contact with these eight new galaxies, it would be her duty to oversee all investigations in them.  A great honor.  

At the time, though, Vail would just be investigating each one in turn until more Inquisitors could be spared.  Already she was given her choice in team, and her retinue was here, with more hand-picked agents to come.  And, of course, the operatives the High Lords and Ordo Xenos had seen fit to give her.  With the technology found in these new places, she could now contact the High Lords directly, if necessary, and they could monitor her progress.  As such, they had seen it fit to grant the Watch Fortress a cadre of Officio Assassinorum operatives, one from each Temple.  They were in cryo storage below, except the Vanus operative, currently hard at work gathering every scrap of data she could.  

Should she require pure power instead of singular agents, a Kill Team of the dreaded Deathwatch was on hand.  They were newly formed and called up, but each member was hand-chosen by the Inquisition, and, if rumors were to be believed, the Custodian Guard themselves.  Right now, they were settling into their new home, their weapons drills already ringing through the training spaces.  The Kill Team also served a second, more sinister purpose: if Vail was to go rogue for whatever reason, they had orders to hunt her down and destroy her.  She harbored no illusions of their ability, and, of course, had no intention of turning traitor.  Better had fallen than her, though, so she did appreciate the contingency.  

At the moment, more Marine heavy weaponry and armored vehicles were on the way, along with a regiment of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers.  More things to be added to the armory of the Imperium in this new galaxy.  

Vail paced, then went to her cognator, located next to the Vanus operative, still absorbed in her work.  She sat down, and began to type.  Secrets would be revealed, and the Inquisition would act upon them.

Unknown Location

The room was dark, as it always was, only illuminated by the blinding glory of a nearby star.  No one came here, no one knew of its existence except two organizations.  Two organizations that almost none knew of.  A massive man, power armored bulk hidden by a simple white robe, sword strapped on to his chest, stood side by side with another individual clad in black armor and greatcoat.  A tight fitting black helmet with glowing red lenses covered the second’s face, and as it spoke, the voice that emanated from within was corrupted and rendered untraceable.

“We must begin.  Our list is complete.”

“Unorthodox, yes, but it must be this way,” spoke the second, a reverberating deep base echoing from beneath he white hood.  “What of Inquisitor Vail?  Should she find… certain things, it would not bode well for our plans.” 

“I am handling it as we speak.  Drake shows promise.  It was good to act that quickly, but in the end, the Shadow Broker, the Mechanicus, the Inquisition, the Scoundrels, ONI, the ISB… none of them are good enough to face us.  Vail will hear no word of it.  Stability will be preserved.  Just as we must preserve the Scoundrels themselves.”

“Indeed.  It must be restated: they are key to future events.  I suggest we get moving.”  With a nod to each other, the two figures disappeared into the shadows.

Unknown Planet

The ground was icy and cold, some dead world in the middle of nowhere.  It didn’t even have a name, so remote it had never been discovered.  Of course, there were those who could find it, should they really wish to.  One such individual stood here, examining strange patterns in the snow.  Well-groomed black hair tumbled down to his shoulders, held in place by a circlet of gold.  Despite the bone-numbing cold, the man did not shiver, black and green tunic still in the frigid air.   A heavy crack of displaced air sounded behind him, and the black haired man turned around, smiling softly to himself. 

“Ah.  Can I help you?” he said in a polite and cultured voice.  The two figures, one massive and wearing a white robe, the other of medium height and wearing a black coat, stepped forward.  The black haired man stood, noting the weapons, the size, the strangeness of these newcomers.

“Loki of Asgard.  We have need of your skills,” responded a metallic and synthesized voice from the black coated silhouette’s mask.  This elicited a small, oh-so-sly smile from the black haired man.  

“Yes.  I’m sure a great many people do.  What’s in it for me?”

“Name your price,” came a deep, reverberating voice.  Loki thought quietly to himself, then spoke.

“Done,” replied the tall figure.  

“Now, what do you need me for?” asked Loki.

Hammond Robotics Lab-77431

A metallic abomination of red and grey stood above Dr. Marshall.  It was humanoid, but all metal; unnaturally tall and spindly.  He squirmed quietly, inching away from it on the cold surface of the laboratory floor.  Blood was splattered messily over the surface of computer banks and grey plastic workstations.  Marshall silently prayed that the guards were on their way.  He had just enough time to press the panic button as the… thing slaughtered the two guards and his three colleagues.  Now it stood over him, head tilted at an unnatural angle.  

“No one is coming to save you.  No one ever was.”  It’s voice was horrible, gravely, and grating.  Marshall whimpered.  It spoke again.  “You can beg for mercy.  It won’t help, but go on.”

“Please… please.  I don’t even know what you are!  Why would you want to kill me?”  The thing snarled and pinned Marshall to the wall with one metallic hand.  

“You made me a killing machine.  Who am I to argue with programming?”  The abomination’s synthetic eyes seemed to glow.  “Look into my eyes.  I want to remember this.”  

“No!  NO!  No-”  The begging cut out with a horrifying, gurgling scream as the thing ripped out his throat.  It gave a malicious laugh.  A new voice spoke.  

“Revenant.”  It was a statement.  “We have need of your services.”  Revenant turned around with a snarl, only to find himself face to face with three of the most odd individuals he’d ever seen.  A smooth faced, black haired man in a green and black surcoat, smirking at him.  A figure in a black coat and black armor, it’s face hidden behind a mask with glowing red lenses.  A giant, wearing a white robe, with a sword strapped to its back, its face hidden behind the robe’s cowl.  

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand?” sneered Revenant.  

“If you can, which I doubt,” replied the black haired man.  The figure in the coat held up a gauntleted hand.  

“We have need of your services,” it repeated.  “As payment, we can fix you or kill you.  Your choice.  But you must do as we say.”  Revenant seemed to consider the deal.  

“Done,” he replied eventually.  

“Good.  Now, there’s work to be done.”  

Star Wars Galaxy

Belsavis

Imperial Outpost Planet

The New Republic had, in its infinite wisdom, sent a team of commandos to capture a small Imperial outpost planet in the middle of smack-dab nowhere.  Sargent Underwilth was quite displeased by this, as had the entirety of the rest of her commando group, from Private Nikeer all the way up to the Captain.  It would be a long, boring, and completely useless mission, and for what purpose?  Grab a completely insignificant Imperial fort that could house a battalion and a group of shuttles at the absolute maximum?  Why?  Send soldiers to die for that?  She hated High Command for it.  Hate-d.  Past tense.  At the present moment, she was cursing the name of every single New Republic official she could remember, from the major who had briefed them to Princess Leia herself.  Saying things had gotten a bit out of hand would be the understatement of the millenia.  

“I need fire at 1-2-7-4!  Immediate effect, whatever you’ve got!” screamed the comms chatter.  The Imperial stormtroopers crouched next to her looked warily in the direction of the lieutenant whose scream was cut short over the comms.  Captain Pai, the commando leader, was dead.  Major Vekk, commander of the Imperial garrison, was now in charge of both the stormtrooper and commando contingent.  Underwilth had never thought she would be fighting side by side with stormtroopers.  They were terrible shots and propaganda-fueled idiots, holding on to the crumbling remnants of a tyrant.  Desperate times, though, called for desperate measures.  She nodded at her mixed group of Republic and Imperial soldiery, and, as one, they stepped over the ledge of the wall they were crouched behind.  A withering storm of blaster bolts rent the air, many going wide as their users panicked.  It was enough though.  

The bolts slammed into the metal abomination, many ricocheting harmlessly off its bones with high pitched pings!  Underwilth had no idea what these things were, or why they were here.  The commando team had landed, everything going well, and had infiltrated the fortress, only for an army of metal skeletons to show up.  They were spindly and humanoid in appearance, with elongated skulls and arms much thinner than a human.  Their odd appearance didn’t matter, though.  Horrible weapons had rotated, spitting sickly green beams of light at the now combined defenders.  Everything that was touched by those beams died.  Captain Pai was disintegrated where he stood.  Atomized without a sound.  

The defenders had fought back with everything in their arsenal.  Blasters didn’t work.  Grenades didn’t work.  Cryo bombs didn’t work.  Only massive, coordinated firepower would stop these undying invaders. 

Scorch marks appeared on the metal skeleton that Underwilth’s group drowned in fire.  More and more blaster bolts found their mark, staggering it.  Underwilth screamed at them to keep firing.  Eventually, slowly, it toppled into the dirt.  Underwilth’s group let out a great cheer.  It died in their throats when they saw what was happening.  The metal abomination, light faded from its eyes and limbs blown off, glowed with the same sickly green light as its eyes and weapons.  Limbs reattached themselves.  Blaster pockmarks faded.  Internal wiring affixed itself.  It stood, and glowing green eyes snapped on once more.  

Beneath the Surface of Belsavis

Trazyn the Infinite, Overlord of the Nihilakh Dynasty, Archoevist of Solomance, and Curator of the Prismatic Galleries walked through the underground tomb complex covered by the Imperial outpost.  He had come to... acquire the artifacts, weapons, and species in the tomb underneath.  Unfortunately, a group of the idiotic humans that inhabited this galaxy had decided to build a fortress right on top of it.  He didn’t even spend the processing power wondering about the humans.  Mere insects.  His soldiers were there to defend his archaeological expedition, and if the humans wanted to attack them, well, that was their problem.  

Trazyn was, quite frankly, disappointed over this particular galaxy.  It wasn’t that there weren’t ancient and important treasures to plunder: no, far from it.  The things he could find here almost rivaled his own galaxy.  Almost.  It wasn’t that.  

It was that the people of this place had absolutely zero appreciation for history.  It was utterly infuriating.  Trazyn was the historian.  The lives of entire species meant nothing to him.  He was as old as the stars themselves, able to see eons as they stretched out in front of him.  The reason he did any of this in the first place was to preserve history before time or battle erased it.  His entire planet was one massive museum, with exhibits stretching back some 60 billion years before the planet Earth even existed.  But these people?  They didn’t teach history.  Didn’t preserve history.  To borrow a human expression, didn’t give one singular, flying fuck about it.  His mind frowned in distaste over the crude word.  It was nevertheless true.  The inhabitants of this place had merely forgotten the Old Republic, the government that ruled the galaxy only thirty years ago.  The Jedi Knights were myths.  The Clone Wars were bedtime legends.  Trazyn ground his metal teeth in frustration.  Thirty years.  That was a microsecond.  That was about the time a standard Necron court case lasted.  Even the humans, short-lived insects that they were, should remember that long.  After all, they usually lived between sixty to a hundred, did they not?  Simply no respect for the past here.  

The other galaxies were not like this.  The humans of one galaxy even remembered events some two thousand years prior.  That galaxy was the one with the Makers.  A battle between gods and demons.  He had already been to a Maker lab, and taken the dark artifact from the homeworld of the Celzex.  Along with half the guard on duty at the time.  And the throne.  They wouldn’t miss it.  Probably.  

He was getting off track.  Despite the idiots of this place not knowing what it was, this place was magnificent.  The architecture, the stone, the instriptions and technology… oh, yes.  If Trazyn had still possessed a mortal body, he would be grinning like a buffoon now.  He wanted everything.  

The tomb had once belonged to the Rakata Infinite Empire.  He sneered at the name. 

“There can only be one Infinite, and only one Infinite Empire.  And you, my friends, are no longer among the living,” he told a statue.  The Empire had, at its apex, controlled a great deal of the galaxy and possessed technologies and ancient wonders not seen since.  An entire species, called the Esh-Ka, had been trapped here in status for nigh thirty millenia by the ancient Rakata.  Nothing compared to Trazyn, but he appreciated the gesture of the long dead civilization nonetheless.  Ancient Rakata warlords, soldiers, status, glyphs, tablets, weapons, enemies, technology… everything.  This was a prison world, and the Rakata built it to last.  Now, though… now it was Trazyn’s time to shine.  He took everything he could, the walls and massive scripts cut away by his personal bodyguard.  Everything went into tesseract labyrinths.  These were small black cubes, about the size of Trazyn’s fist.  They pulsed with darkness, ever wishing to suck things into their voids.  These cubes were gateways to pocket dimensions, and Trazyn had long used them to capture specimens from his museum.  

He hummed as he worked, nearly giddy with excitement.  If there had been any watchers, they would have found the sight of the ancient necron lord almost dancing with exhilaration to be quite funny.  As he loaded the last of the Rakata imprisoned within the tomb, there was a flash of green light behind him.  It’s coloration was similar to the eyes and weaponry of the necrons, yet only the discharge of his bodyguards’ gauss flayers could have made such a sight, and Trazyn knew for a fact none of them had.  He whirled around, only to be met with a very strange sight.  

Four individuals stood between him and his guards.  One was obviously a synthetic, tall and spindly with red and grey limbs.  This one glowered mechnicgly at Trazyn, but he laughed it off.  You didn’t know a good glower until you’ve stood on the wrong side of a Star God.  The second was human, smirking from behind shoulder length black hair and a black and green tunic.  The third waas masked, armored, and coated, and stood at simple attention, unbothered by the necrons that lowered their gauss flayers at its back.  The last, though…

“Lord Cypher,” said Trazyn with a bow.  The massive man in white noticeably stiffened.  “A pleasure to have you here.  Ah, yes.  I know who you are, of course.  Don’t be surprised.  You would make a fine addition to my collection,” he mused.  Trazyn looked up, noticeably more perky.  “Is that why you’re here?  Have you come to give yourself up?  Ready to be a part of history?”  The massive man, Cypher, glared at him.  

“We have need of your help, Lord Trazyn.  After you are…” he looked around, noticing the completely empty walls of the tomb, “Done here, we wish to speak with you.  Your… expertise is necessary.”  Trazyn grinned, the necrodermis teeth of his death mask coming together.  A necron grinning was a very bizarre sight.  

“Ah, you flatter me, Lord Cypher.  And from one who has bedeviled the Imperium for ten thousand years and fought the Deceiver himself, such flattery is most appreciated.  However,” Trazyn gestured around, “As you can see, my work consumes me.  I’m afraid history stops for no one.  Except you.”  He held out a tesseract labyrinth, his voice flowing with mischief.

“Wait!” replied Cypher.  “We have need of your help,” he repeated.  “If you do not join us, then events will transpire that will result in the eventual destruction of reality,” he stated calmly, as if he were simply talking about the weather.  “It might not happen now, or later, or even in a century, or millenia, but I know for certain it will happen.  Everything you hold dear, everything you have worked so hard for over these billions of years, will be gone.  If you help us, we will most likely succeed, and in payment we will offer to you the greatest treasures in the universe.”  Cypher held out a hand.  “So what say you, Trazyn the Infinite?  Are you ready to change history for once, instead of just cataloging it?”  Trazyn pondered a moment, his neural circuitries firing faster than any mortal could keep up.  Eventually, he took the hand.

“I accept.”

And there we are.  I hope you enjoyed it, and if you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, questions, or requests, feel free to contact me!  Wherever you are, have a great day!

[leanderkevin]

பேரரசி/ Pērarasi (The Empress) Featuring the சிவகங்கை சீமாட்டி herself, we have arrived at the next card in the Tarot series- The Empress. வேலு நாச்சியார் (Vēlu Nāchiyār) was the queen of the Sivagangai Seemai, and an extremely popular figure of Tamil culture and history. Born to King Chellamuthu Vijayaragunātha Sēthupathy and Queen Muthāthāl of Ramanāthapuram, she was trained in weapons and martial arts. She was also a scholar of many languages including French and Urdu- a skill that helped gain the allyship of Sultan Hyder Ali of Mysore who, despite initial reluctance granted her 5000 soldiers, training and weapons. When she was 16, she was married to the king of Sivagangai- Muthu Vaduganatha Periyavudaya Thevar, and had a daughter, Vellāchi. When her husband was killed in the Kalaiyar Koil War with the EIC in 1790, Vēlu Nāchiyār escaped to Dindigul with her daughter under the protection of the Marudhu Brothers; it was during this time that she was saved by Udaiyāl (refer Temperance Card). After eight years of planning with the help of powerful allies like the Marudhu Brothers, Hyder Ali, and her commander Kuyili's sacrifice- Vēlu Nāchiyār was set to fight the colonisers. The commander of the Udaiyāl regiment Kuyili's suicide attack at a EIC armory changed the course of the war in Vēlu Nāchiyār's favour. Kuyili is the first suicide-bomber in Indian history. After winning the war, she took back her kingdom and ruled it for ten years, later passing it on to her daughter Vellāchi. Vēlu Nāchiyār joins the ranks of Onakke Obbavvā, Rani Chennammā, and many others who have been criminally overlooked in Indian history, their legacy as female warrior-queens ignored. Last year Tamil Nadu's parade float for the Republic day parade was rejected, citing that the figures featured were not "famous", Queen Vēlu Nāchiyār was among them. I understand that India's past is just as complex as its present, which is why I implore that people research and educate themselves on their regional histories, through an objective, non-sensational lens. #leanderscribbles#tamil#tamilartist#tamilart#tamilculture#tamilhistory#tamilheritage#velunachiyar#india#asian#asianart https://www.instagram.com/p/CojaoK8vsf-/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=