#folly the barbarian

[loxosceleslolo]

Another First Step

or: my mind has been utterly consumed by an AU where it was Ansbach who met the Tarnished at the First Step (and one where the Tarnished bends the knee to Miquella at Enir-Ilim) so here's another one-shot. crossposted to AO3 as always, if you prefer to read there.

Folly stood before the imposing doors, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She took a deep breath, the musty air of the tomb filling her lungs one last time. A sliver of sunlight, golden and inviting, peeked through the gap beneath the ancient doors, a tantalizing promise of the world beyond.

Her mind raced, conjuring nightmarish visions based on her harrowing experiences since arriving in the Lands Between. She steeled herself for the grotesque – perhaps a monstrous abomination with too many limbs and not enough sanity. Or maybe a relentless warrior, blade already singing through the air before pleasantries could be exchanged. Most likely, she grimly mused, it would be both.

What else was there to do? She couldn’t molder in this damned tomb forever. She’d died three times since she arrived in the Lands Between and she would prefer to not spend an eternity dying of starvation and waking back up with hunger still gnawing at her insides. No, no. The only choice was to push through those doors and hope for the best. 

Gritting her teeth until her jaw ached, Folly summoned her courage and heaved against the unyielding doors. They groaned in protest, years of disuse evident in their reluctance to yield.

Suddenly, a flood of blinding sunlight assaulted her eyes, forcing her to throw up a hand in defense. The fresh air rushed in, crisp and sweet, filling her lungs like the first breath after nearly drowning. As her vision slowly adjusted, the world outside began to take shape.

The first thing she saw was a mesmerizing pool of golden light, swirling and pulsing with an otherworldly energy. It danced before her, hypnotic and alluring and unsettling in its ethereal beauty.

Then her gaze fell upon a figure, tall and imposing, draped in robes as black as a moonless night. They stood facing away, their attention fixed on the path ahead. A cascade of silver hair flowed down the figure’s back, shimmering like a veil of starlight. Folly couldn’t discern where the hair ended and the gleaming silver helm began, as if the two were one continuous, ethereal entity.

With practiced caution, Folly tightened her grip on her trusty axe, its familiar weight a comforting presence. She took a tentative step forward, her footfall barely a whisper on the ancient stones.

The figure turned at her approach, revealing more of that lustrous gray hair peeking out from beneath the helm. It gave the impression of a long, snowy beard, evoking images of sage elders and timeless wisdom.

To Folly’s surprise and mild relief, the figure made no move to draw a weapon or conjure a spell. This single act of restraint, in a land where violence was the common tongue, was enough to spark a flicker of trust in her wary heart. She ventured another step closer, the golden light pulsing at the edge of her vision.

“Tarnished, I presume?” The man’s voice was unexpectedly gentle, a stark contrast to his imposing presence. Yet it carried the unmistakable weight of age and authority, each word laden with hidden meaning. Golden eyes, bright and knowing, regarded her from behind the curious silver helm.

“So I’ve been told,” Folly replied, her own voice rough from disuse and the tomb’s dry air.

“Do you intend to seek the Elden Ring, young Tarnished?” The question hung in the air, heavy with implications Folly couldn’t begin to fathom.

“The what?” Folly cocked her head, confusion furrowing her brow. In all the chaos and confusion of her journey, no one had breathed a word about any ring, Elden or otherwise. “Boss told me I couldn’t stay with the company no more. Said I had to sail across the fog. So I did.”

“Why?” The old man’s question was gentle, but probing.

Folly shrugged, the weight of her ignorance settling uncomfortably on her shoulders. “Dunno. Best I can figure is that I got back up after I got a wound that shoulda killed me. And I kept seein’ this golden light—”

“No one explained?” A hint of surprise colored the old man’s tone.

“I mighta been drunk and seasick when the captain explained everything to me.” Folly admitted, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

The old man sighed, a sound filled with centuries of weariness. “Well. Maybe you not knowing is for the best. I noticed you aren’t accompanied by a Finger Maiden. You won’t be able to turn any of your Runes into strength without one.”

Folly rubbed her temple, frustration building like a storm behind her eyes. “Old man. I don’t understand anything you’re saying.”

A pregnant pause stretched between them, filled with unasked questions and unspoken truths. Finally, the old man stroked his beard, the gesture slow and thoughtful. “You said you can see a golden light.”

“It’s bloody annoying,” Folly grumbled, her words laced with exasperation. “I can’t get rid of it.”

“I believe,” the old man said, his tone measured and confident, like a scholar imparting ancient wisdom, “That you are seeing the guidance of Grace. This light, does it seem to arc in a specific direction from time to time?”

Folly nodded, a spark of recognition flickering in her eyes.

“Which way is it pointing now?”

With a groan that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, Folly focused her attention on the pool of golden light nearby. Her gaze followed its graceful arc across the sky, tracing an invisible path to some unseen destination. She raised her hand, pointing towards a looming structure in the distance. “Up there. Toward that big castle on the cliff over there.”

“Hmm.” The old man stroked his beard again, turning to follow Folly’s indication. “It seems that you are being guided toward Stormveil Castle, young Tarnished. Though I know not why—you’ve no name, no maiden, no seat at the Roundtable Hold…” His voice trailed off. “Surely Queen Marika would not have called you here just for you to die in a ditch.”

Folly winced as if struck, the name landing like a physical blow. “H-hold on, mate. Did you say Queen Marika?”

“I did, yes.” A hint of amusement colored his tone, though whether he smiled beneath that imposing false beard remained a mystery.

“You’re tellin’ me that the whole reason I keep dyin’ and standin’ back up is because God Herself picked me to get this Elden Ring? Me?” Disbelief dripped from every word, Folly’s voice rising with each syllable. “Mate, I’m a no-name sellsword from the Badlands. Is she out of proper champions or something?” Folly hadn’t believed in gods at all until this moment, yet now divine intervention seemed the only explanation for her stubborn refusal to stay dead.

“A tiny pebble, when dropped into a still pond, can make the greatest ripples,” the old man intoned, his words hanging in the air like a prophecy.

Folly’s head swam with the implications of all she had learned.“I need a drink,” she grumbled, her voice a mixture of exasperation and barely concealed fear.

“There’s a nomadic merchant in that old church just ahead. Maybe he’ll have something.” The old man’s tone was neutral, although Folly was sure she heard the tiniest hint of a smile in it.

“Thanks,” Folly replied, gratitude warring with wariness in her voice. She started toward the old church, then stopped again. A new thought occurred to her, borne of the lonely terror that had been her constant companion. “Are you gonna be camping here for a while? I might have more questions later and you’re the only person I’ve met who didn’t immediately swing a sword at my face.” The words came out in a rush, vulnerability bleeding through the cracks in her tough exterior.

“I may.” The old man’s response was cryptic, neither a promise nor a dismissal, leaving Folly to wonder if he too would vanish like smoke on the wind. “I don’t believe I caught your name, Tarnished.”

“It’s Folly.” She steeled herself for the barrage of questions that usually followed, only, the old man said nothing for a moment, his silence a balm to her weary soul. “Nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Folly. I am Sir Ansbach.” His words carried the weight of nobility, of battles fought and won, of wisdom hard-earned through countless trials.

“See you around, I hope.” Folly’s farewell carried the weight of her uncertainty, her fear, and the tiniest spark of hope.

[potatochipflavor]

It's been almost two weeks and I'm still not over my DM giving my AC monster artificier one rage a day. Sure, I can't cast spells DURING the rage, but there are so many spells that aren't concentration on the artificier spell list. *checks spell list and there's only one* yep so many! Forreal though Freedom of movement is a good spell to cast on a tank with 22 ac at level 5, more soon after. I think this class RAW has a 27 ac max, before any extra magic items given by the dm. What I REALLY want is to be able to wear two cloaks at the same time, of protection and displacement, because that would just be mean honestly. 27 ac AND disadvantage? With a +17 to hit (Fighting Tiamat she has the highest to hit bonus) that's STILL a 1/4 chance to hit.

But then giving me access to HALF damage for physical attacks? That DO manage to hit me? Fucking insane. And this is all from the complex backstory my character has lol

[axeknee]

All my Baldur's Gate 3 characters to start off were just recreations of characters I'd already made, but I've finally made some new ones! Starlet, Tiefling archery warlock entertainer (fame for weekly song offerings which vanish from the world) and Folly, Tiefling barbarian noble (parents made a devil pact for power in exchange for firstborn). What can I say? I love a good Tief.

[sforzesco]

Wait what is the misdirection element with Lucullus and Crassus ?

crassus is popularly associated with greed in part due to the parthia expedition/invasion, but following plutarch's narratives: it's actually lucullus who corrupts crassus with this trait, and implies a certain amount of blame for parthia/carrhae on lucullus

Now my own opinion is that the harm Lucullus did his country through his influence upon others, was greater than the good he did her himself. For his trophies in Armenia, standing on the borders of Parthia, and Tigranocerta, and Nisibis, and the vast wealth brought to Rome from these cities, and the display in his triumph of the captured diadem of Tigranes, incited Crassus to his attack upon Asia; he thought that the Barbarians were spoil and booty, and nothing else. It was not long, however, before he encountered the Parthian arrows, and proved that Lucullus had won his victories, not through the folly and cowardice of his enemies, but through his own daring and ability. This, however, is later history.

plutarch, lucullus

[writingnocturne]

On Forbidden Ground

This is my contribution to @zelinkcommunity's Zelink Week 2023! Day Two: Forbidden

Look below the break to read! Be sure to check out everyone else's work, as well! They did great!

{ For this week, I will be posting a little peek at art/writing for memories in Call of the Forgotten, a TotK rewrite I am working on (there will obviously be direct and indirect spoilers for TotK). These memories will be posted out of order and are subject to change. They follow the Ancient Hero and Princess during the time of the First Great Calamity. }

Memory ?? – On Forbidden Ground

( Word Count – 1,625 )

A young woman approaches the edge of a forest of ruin. She travels along the Dracozu River, even the ripples of the water carrying her reflection with trepidation. Higher cliffs hang not far above her head, looming over the thin slits of land she has to travel upon. It occurs to her that she would have benefited from bringing along a boat, but it's far too late to turn back now. She braved this accursed wood on a whim; chasing a hope for her people.

You are chosen, Impa had told her, As a child of Light and Time– one born from the bloodline of Hylia herself– you are perhaps the only one worthy of bearing the complete Triforce upon her hand. Awaken it, and perhaps this Calamity you foresee shall fall before it even begins.

This land– the land of Faron– has been one forbidden to set foot in since she was young. However, legend properly written down by the late Queen Sonia states that a magical spring within it is hidden beyond the walls of a temple; one built to resemble a spring of the earth in ancient myth. Although later taken over by an outcast clan of barbarians, the lands holding the site were once the home of King Rauru's own ancestors; and hers. It was a place of ceremony, dedicated to the guardian dragons they worshiped. She hopes, if anywhere, she will have the best luck starting from here. Passing through this place, seeing the old statues overturned and overwhelmed by overgrowth, carries a sort of bitterness; yet this bitterness is nothing she is not already familiar with. This shell of a place is the same as the life she once knew: an empty realm of memories one simply cannot grasp. The emptiness remains, but the resentment it brings alongside it is unmatched. Creatures that once lurked in the night followed the order of the demon responsible for this hollow state. She once hid from them, in fear that The Demon King would discover the heir of his mortal enemy and try to bring her to the same fate as her mother. At that time, she was young… She never could have accounted for the people that had no option to run.

The princess becomes distant from the world she travels amidst; something that has become the norm when her thoughts dwell in a time now lost. It leaves her unaware. This moment of staring off soon twists into folly as, by the time she snaps back into reality, her attention is caught by the sound of swift movement through the tall grass. The young woman is quick to turn her head back towards the source. In unison, a golden aura emits from her body and stops a weapon mid-air. It was mere inches from striking the back of her head… it surely would have knocked her unconscious. She squints, perplexed by the weapon's structure. Suspended before her is a bat with blades fastened into the wood. Resembling a weapon of which a monster would have carried during the Imprisoning War, the club has a peculiar green substance securing the individual parts. As if she has forgotten the obvious threat of whatever threw the weapon, she slowly brings a hand towards it to inspect what has been done to upgrade such a primitive weapon this way. It is almost… familiar. The instant she attempts to investigate where she recognizes the substance from, however, she feels a heavy force drive into her back.

Zelda is sent down to the earth, managing to catch herself just before she can collide with it at full-force. Instinct kicking in, she immediately turns herself to be sure her attacker cannot catch her off guard again whilst she tries to stand. This reveals their now-visible silhouette to be close; they are close enough to easily kick the princess's stomach and pin her down with their weight. She grunts as she finally is forced down. Zelda lifts her right hand to focus a surge of light energy towards the figure, but finds herself pausing at the sight of a paralleled action from her attacker. A green energy comes from their own aimed arm, streams of its power leaking out into the air around them. It now illuminates their form in the shade of the canopy. Although their flowing red hair strikes her as odd, it is their face that particularly stands out. Unlike any Hylian, they have an almost animalistic appearance. And upon their forehead: a tear-shaped stone emits the faintest light of its own.

Almost breathless, she mutters the baffling realization aloud, "You're…– You're a Zonai."

The Zonai's blue eyes widen slightly as they gaze upon her, their right hand leaving the surface of their left arm as the glow slowly dims. She keeps an eye on every movement they make, but they do not seem intent on attacking again. The figure brings their hand to their face, their fingers spread out across it, before… removing this face entirely. In a short flash of light, she finds the Zonai has disappeared. It has been reduced to a carved face in the hands of a new person: a shorter Hylian with a mass of long red hair falling to his sides. He shares the same blue eyes, which continue to stare at the princess for a moment or two in thought. Still alarmed, regardless, Zelda hurriedly scoots back from the figure before returning the gesture with locked eyes.

"You're… like me." His eyes trail to her left arm as he mumbles his words. Zelda looks down to it as well, recalling the clash both lines of her ancestors have over her appearance. It shows even in her ears, which are large and aligned with her hair. With this shared understanding out of the way, the young man suddenly offers a hand to her to help her up. This is certainly an unexpected shift, but the princess would rather accept it over the fight that was seconds away from breaking out. Although hesitant, she slowly places her hand in his own. Less than a second follows before he pulls her up into a stand, then finding he has to now look up to the girl instead. "...you aren't a monster, then."

"Did you… think I was?" Zelda tilts her head, her long ears angling downward slightly. The boy simply shrugs. Perhaps he did, but perhaps he just didn't take the time to properly look at her. It has been years since he's really seen a monster. "...The Imprisoning War has been over for… for over a decade. There haven't been monsters since. How long have you…–?" The boy simply turns around, suddenly beginning to lead her off. "Hey–! What are you doing?"

He glances back for a second, blankly staring again. The young man subtly points ahead of him, but realizes this is not a sufficient answer for the princess. It takes him a while before he eventually decides to give a verbal answer, "...You're going to the head of the river."

Zelda seems slightly surprised that he knows this, but she supposes he must have noticed her following the river. She nods. For him to have attacked her like that initially… Did he aim to protect it? If he is the only one left in these woods, he must have. Such a thought leaves the returning bitterness in her chest. She pities this boy, understanding quickly that both have been barred away– forbidden by fate to have the peaceful lives that they were owed as youth. Deciding they have this common ground, she speaks, "My name is Princess Zelda of Hyrule, daughter of King Rauru and Queen Sonia."

"..." The boy peers back, looking incredibly disturbed by the length of that title. It's clear he tries to brush it off, although he knows his own name is rather bland in comparison, "...Link."

"Link… That does sound familiar…" The princess thinks aloud, finding her gaze wandering back down to his arm. Within the mysterious Zonai form he took, his arms glistened with an eerily recognisable power. It looked similar to her own, but far more decorated. It… reminds her of someone.

As Link leads Zelda over ruin– unintentionally nearly tripping her a time or two– he pulls her along until they reach a split in the river. The Dracozu ends in a pond that jaggedly takes two routes, presenting itself like a set of open jaws. The girl's initial thought is that this is what Link meant by the "head," yet her mind easily changes upon seeing the Great Dragon Head statue casting a shadow upon them both.

"This must be it. The Spring of Courage." Taking a step towards it, the princess focuses on the statue visible within the dragon's mouth. It sits, overlooking the spring, as countless durians oddly float around it upon the water's surface. The statue of Hylia wears a mask of its own: one that imitates the dragon-like face of the figures outside. She decides not to question this fact, for now, simply entering the forsaken yet sacred ground. Link's footsteps are more than audible following behind, which is rather expected. "Link–" The girl turns her head back to the peculiar stranger, "Thank you." Zelda is about to say more, but her words come to a sudden halt. Although their encounter was certainly strange enough, she could have sworn that the eyes of his mask… moved. This is the final detail it takes for her to redirect the course of her words. The princess takes a deep breath, then makes her decision: "There is something I must do here, but… Link, once I am done, may I speak to you for a while longer?"

Thank you for reading! Check out the first concept doodles of them here! Obviously, this is all very incomplete; but most is planned out thoroughly! If you have questions, just ask!

Art Info: (Check my art blog @nocturnalfandomartist!)

Program: Ibis Paint X

Time Elapsed: 7 hours, 27 minutes

[unluckyshinyhunter]

be gay do crime

be bi make people die

be trans throw hands

be ace spray them with mace

be lesbian be barbarian

be aro eat their bone marrow

be poly make your enemies folly

be enby hurt them plenty

be pan hit them with a van

[dujour13]

Thanks for the tag @kaleido-scope-lady! 💕 This was highly appreciated for procrastination purposes.

Tag game: Give your KC’s first impression and final opinion of each of their companions!

Siavash's (not spoiler-free) hot takes:

First impressions

Seelah – A paladin with a party spirit. Now this is someone I can really get behind. (wink)

Camellia – Not even a smile? How about a little half-elf solidarity? ...Not that either? Give it time. I’ll find her angle. She can’t be as bad as she seems.

Lann – Weird combination, and not just the body parts. Pessimism and determination. Seems like a reliable guy and since that’s one thing I’m not, he’ll be good to have around. Also – perfect straight man for my routines.

Wenduag – Tough as Hell. I wish she didn’t beat Lann up about his idealism because that’s the one thing that might save him. I wonder if she has any idealism left to save herself.

Woljif – Dreamboat. I do look like the kinda guy that would work on, don’t I? He’s got my number already. …and he can have it.

Ember – Dreamer, this poor child. The things she says are so crazy they’re almost inspired.

Daeran – The folly of feudalism: exhibit one. Surprised nobody’s slapped him yet.

Nenio – Curious, for someone who knows so much trivia I don’t think she knows how funny she is.

Ulbrig – This towering barbarian calling me warchief is excellent for the bit

Galfrey – Exhibit two. No, that’s uncharitable. She’s had a lot on her plate, and for longer than most people could stomach. She needs to lighten up. Maybe I can show her running a crusade doesn’t have to be soul-crushing. It can be fun!

Sosiel – I think this kid is tougher than he seems, coming all the way here from Carpenden. I sure hope so, because I’d hate to see that freshness turn sour.

Regill – Who invited this guy?

Trever – This is what happens. Dreamer, don’t let it happen to me.

Arueshalae – This is one of those times when Desna tests you – gives your heart the choice of Cynosure or cynicism. I’m going to believe in her if it kills me.

Greybor – You know what, I’m just gonna prove him wrong. “Professional” doesn’t have to dress sober.

Aivu – Best. Friend. Forever.

Final opinion

Seelah – Biggest heart in the world. And after everything - party spirit intact. Dreamer I’m lucky I crossed paths with this woman. Wouldn’t have made it without her hugs. Well, also without her as body shield.

Camellia – How could I have been quite that blind? Only saw what I wanted to see. It’s hard to admit but I’m not sure there was anything that could have been done for her. For all his faults Horgus did try. Even setting her free to find her own way would have ended badly for her, because it wouldn’t have been freedom.

Lann – Love this guy. I’ll never forget that moment, seeing him look up at the starry sky and see possibility for the first time.

Wenduag – Ironic how trying to claw her way up is what brought her down. Probably because she never looked up far enough to see the stars.

Woljif – My love, forgive me if I ever doubted that your heart was stronger than your shadow.

Ember – What was it Lann said? A saint or insane, or maybe both? Both. She doesn’t believe mortals can save ourselves, so all we can do is be kind to each other. I have so much to learn from her.

Daeran – You know what I admire most? This man knows what he wants out of life – and fiercely, unapologetically pursues it. I count myself lucky that true friendship is one of those things because it turns out he's great fun and I'm surprised how fond of him I am now.

Nenio – I think she cited me in her entry on “Friendship.” By name. Sometimes I regret taking my pants off that one time. But actually no.

Ulbrig – I can really relate to having two more-or-less incompatible halves pulling opposite directions. I’m glad he let his guard down with me eventually because behind all the stubborn bluster the poor guy really felt lost, and commiserating with someone helped us both. Second only to Seelah for great hugs.

Galfrey – The best thing about her is her humanness. I wouldn’t like her nearly as much I do now if she hadn’t had indulged in a little spite. Just kinda wish it hadn’t been directed at me. No no, we're good. It's fine. Would you guess she can be surprisingly funny?

Sosiel – He did turn out to be tough. Strong enough to face terrible things, temper his idealism and still keep his heart. That portrait… (he starts to tear up) …if that’s how he sees me there’s no greater compliment.

Regill – The thing is, I trust him with my life. Because even if there’s a perfectly logical reason why he ought to kill me he’ll be three chess moves ahead with an even better reason not to. One thing I resent about the lawful types is the arrogance in thinking they’re following some universal order when it’s really just their heart all along. Yeah, you can tell him I said that.

Trever – When I visited the Vaenics in Carpenden after the war I saw him with his lathe, and as he worked there was such peace in his face and hands. Scarred as they are. He made me the most beautiful rosewood writing desk, a true work of art. There’s so much hope in that.

Arueshalae – One of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I have an idea what it’s like to try to keep your eyes fixed on an impossible star even with the claws of the Abyss pulling you under. Where we connect is that we both want to be better people, and to do that you sometimes have to look back and face what you’ve done wrong.

Greybor – Is he happier now? I like to think so. Being an assassin was easy for him. Being a father, not so much. He needed a new challenge.

Aivu – Best. Friend. Forever.

Tagging no pressure: @the-raging-tempest, @dragonologist-phd, @arendaes, @yunessa, @bite-the-bloody-hand

Everyone please take a free tag if you want one!

[sloanesmortuary]

Art heavily referenced Daphnis and Chloe by Elizabeth Jane Gardner! First time pairing up some writing I did with an illustration :'3 Apologies if there are mistakes...I don't usually share my writings...I get embarrassed...Also the story is a lil spoilery

comm info

Devotion

Greanthir always strived to please Gale. Loving the wizard was not an easy feat, yes, of course! That human had an omnipotent deity as an ex-lover! At times, the barbarian thought that he's not enough. He couldn't compare to the soft caress of a goddess Gale once indulged in. It also didn't help that Gale used to sing praises to her so awfully often, seeking her forgiveness to the point that he's keen to blow himself up to smithereens. That's absolutely outrageous, Greanthir thought. It's the same opinion as his other companions would have when Gale brought up the matter. Oh, how such devotion would make even the most intelligent of mortals turn into a goo with no way of thinking for themselves.

The tiefling never held a strong belief in a certain deity. He was completely aware that there is just no way and no end to pleasing a god. He kept telling Gale that he loves him as the man he is. For his wits, his looks, his heart, his laugh…for all of him and not simply because of his skill in harnessing the weave. Not just because he is useful and/or amusing to him. Gale, at some point believed him…but the sight of that crown sitting on the top of the Brain flipped a switch in his own brain. Afterwards, he strived for a better—no, perfect self.

Despite all that, the barbarian was a hypocrite. There is no end to worshiping a god, yes, but the wizard was his god. Oh, how he loved him. When Gale took him to the illusion of The Outer Planes and asked him…pleaded with him…to take the Crown of Karsus for themselves and ascend so that there will never be a need for a god ever again…Greanthir said yes. Yes, he loves Gale as he is, but no, he can never refuse the man who holds his scarred hands so gently…the man who stares so lovingly into his infernal eyes, soothing any flames that burn in them. Greanthir had tolerated his ramblings about the crown, he even hesitated, but in the end...he gave in to his lover. But he could not say it. It felt wrong to agree to this. "I'll accept a kiss," Gale said, so Greanthir kissed him. If there's anything to learn from this long, laborious journey, it is that there is nothing good to come out of usurping powers meant for a god. Maybe Gale was desperate. Tired of being used and thrown away. Similar to Astarion—or most if not all of their companions that is—but Greanthir had prevented Astarion from being like Cazador...why couldn't he turn down Gale's request? A request that if agreed to might only end with bards singing about Gale's Folly. Karsus's no more.

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

Torùn wasn't a prisoner - she could leave any time she wanted. Instead, she stayed out of spite, despite all the pleading the gods could muster. Tears were shed across the world of mortals for her, and advocates of her freedom wailed in her name on the day that marked her supposed imprisonment. Torùn would not budge.

She remained in her tower, cheeks sticky with ever-flowing tears, as she confronted her memories in her mind again and again. A childhood mischief, a little hand over a god's eye, and that had been enough for the Goddess of the Sun to rise in rage and push aside this god-born child.

"She's just a child," the other gods wailed, but the Sun's Goddess was fierce in her judgement. Dignity soured is dignity soiled. She flung Torùn into the tower, into the room with no windows and no doors, where she was to repent for the rest of her life.

Torùn said nothing in her defence. She stood alone, in the middle of the room for aeons. And then, when her feet could not hold her up any longer, she sat on the floor. Her thoughts bounded from the walls, attacking her like balls in a game of pool. Her eyes dreamed up vistas and visions, projected onto the walls, in search of a window.

Torùn remembered colour. She remembered shape, and size, and she remembered things that existed beyond the floor, the roof, the walls, and herself. Did 'herself' count? She spun around. She beat her immortal head on the walls. She screamed, whispered, and conversed with the spirits she had dreamed up, which would fill up the room like vapours forming a mist.

One day, the mortals succeeded in slaying the Sun's Goddess. This was not expected. This was not wanted. Nonetheless, the folly-infused race of humans killed the spark that they once worshipped, and plunged the world into a darkness that was only alleviated by an artificial sun.

This was no god, of course, but the machine sought its place among the gods nonetheless. A lesser Sun. A more tolerant Sun. It was no ruler, but it sought to free Torùn nonetheless. It looked down on the natural-born immortals, branding them a race of irresponsible barbarians, who would go along with the persecution of a little girl for a moment of mischief.

And so the room's walls fell wide. The roof was flung away, and the floor dropped beneath Torùn's feet. She was made free, but she stayed put. Despite the pleadings of both mortals and immortals, she stayed put. The prison was gone. The prisoner remained.

When the God of Polaris approached her, he offered her a chance to become a child again, to live the life that was robbed from her. Torùn refused.

"The Sun's Goddess would revel in the sight of my freedom, and I will not allow her that," she said.

And so the floor returned, nuzzling beneath her feet, and the ceiling returned, hanging over her respectfully, and each of the walls slid into place. Torùn sat, for aeons more.

[enkisstories]

The wrecking of the Steadfast

I just published Chapter 4, in which

…Finn must come to terms with his undiagnosed force sensitivity

Hux corrected the tugboat’s course to avoid collision with a large piece of scrap metal from the Steadfast that came tumbling their way. Then he took up the conversation again:

“Damn… Why didn’t Ren ever say something this useful! You’d think he’d be capable of doing the same things an untrained force sensitive can? But, no, all he ever contributed was swordplay to achieve victories a blaster wielding unit would have scored just a minute or so later. That, and keeping the maintenance crew busy.”

“Venturing a guess, I’ve heard tell that the Dark Side dishes out quick and easy power, but exerts a heavy price later. The more Ren lost himself in it, the more he might have lost an idea of the big picture, too, and forgot all the small ways to nudge things into the desired direction.”

“Makes sense.”

The way I’m paying the price for my folly now. Let’s face it, for all practical purposes I’ve become what I’ve been fighting: a rebel, the distinction between having joined the Resistance and acting as its ally being near meaningless in our situation. I really need to take care not to get too comfortable in this role.

…the rebels dismantle a Star Destroyer

Rose yanked a control panel off a console and gave it a little momentum. The panel soared towards the navigation station, where Hux had removed the remains of that one’s destroyed panel. He caught the replacement and slammed it into position with a little more force than was advisable, unable to correctly judge his strength or lack thereof in the vacuum of space. Losing no time, BB-8 plugged it in. When the computer lit up again, Hux pulled up a navigation software and maps of New Harvest. Unfamiliar with working in a zero G environment he lost his footing a few times, until BB-8 spat out a liquid cable, that he subsequently tied loosely around the human’s hip. “I can’t tell whether that was supposed to be help- or spiteful…” Beeping the equivalent of an impish giggle, BB-8 went to help Rose re-establish the connection between the navigation computer and the systems that received their instructions from it.

…Hux becomes housetrained

“Wait, are you saying that we are something like noble barbarians to you?” Rose uttered.

“With an innocent charm. Those last few days I felt… sheltered. But it cannot last. It’s cute, just not sustainable. The Resistance is doomed to fail same as the republics failed.”

“Then help us create an environment in which our way of life will be sustainable! Even if only to scoff at each of our ideas, prompting us to improve them just to shut you up!”

“That would be the day, wouldn’t it?”

“Armitage…”

“Let’s finish this mission. And stop being so damn paranoid about me killing you guys left and right already! It’s irritating!”

…and Poe struggles with the aftermath of his concussion.

“I take it as a tactician you rarely leave your bridge? This is going to be rough! I need a co-pilot, especially one who understands what each of the screens is trying to tell me.”

It wasn’t just that everything was arranged completely different, although still making sense, as there were only so many ways one could put the different panels and still be efficient. The damn First Order font, that was so similar, yet different, irritated Poe to no small degree. He had no muscle memory to apply to the Upsilon, and additionally would have to waste precious split seconds just deciphering the unfamiliar letters. No, he definitely needed a co-pilot now, and something primeval and ancient within Poe insisted that this co-pilot being Armitage was a huge bonus.

Five minutes later Hux once again knew what Poe had meant when he had said things would become turbulent. The world was spinning way too fast, with far too many opponents coming at them (or the same opponent appearing to be in several places at once). He held fast to the console and kept focusing on the numbers, for the first time in his life grateful to be the second row player only. Keeping track of all the information and relaying the most important bits to the actual pilot was the co-pilot’s main task, as expected, but equally important was to snarl “Breath!” regularly, whenever Poe started looking a bit too green around the nose. The last thing they needed now was him retching all over the cockpit.

“Too many… too fast…” Poe gasped, painfully aware that no enemy craft would be left by now, were he sitting in his trusty Freitek T-70.

Also: the first kiss!

“Yes. Pondering where to go from here, I think I’d like to extend this alliance until I can see Ren’s corpse with my own eyes. That, or sufficient proof of his passing.”

“Still that obsessed…”

Hux shrugged. Poe suspected that the General had practiced even this oh-so natural looking gesture in front of a mirror a lot.

“Clinging to that obsession is the easiest way to retain my sanity right now. My head is spinning, differently from yours, though. Nothing’s quite fitting into place anymore.”

“How so?”

“Ever since we joined forces, I felt liberated. As if an invisible whip in my back just wasn’t there anymore. The prospect of going back from that to my old life too soon is unpleasant.”

The good news is that you wouldn’t go back to your old life, but to prison, the moment you called the alliance off, Poe thought. Out loud he said: “We’ve gotten used to have you around”, then his eyes went wide. “Bucket!” he cried, followed by a gurgle.

“Well”, Hux commented while handing the bucket back without looking at it. “It was worth a try.”

One vomiting fit later, Poe raised his head.

“I once had a near-boyfriend”, he said, feeling silly for withholding the name, when the whole galaxy knew who that man had been. “But I was too indecisive, or maybe took things to be for granted too much, so nothing came from it and now he’s spoken for by another. I don’t want that to happen again. I… Uh… somebody hold that bucket for a spell? It kinda gets in the way of the message.”

And with these words, he slung his arms around the other man, looked up and kissed him. Given what Poe had spent his time with before, the contact could have been more pleasing. A lot more.

Why, Hux wondered. Why does this keep happening? I have the skills, the determination and the patience, but something in the universe must be against me. Every time I get what I want, it gets delivered in the worst fashion imaginable.

“One day, little rat, you’ll be the end of me. And I of you.”

Read it here: Chapter 1-4 or only Chapter 4

[real-live-human]

Trick or treat!!

trick! plutarch, kimon 11-12.4

[11.1] The allies continued paying tribute but failed to provide men and ships according to their assessment, and were already refusing to go on campaign and did not man ships or send men, on the grounds that there was no need for warfare and that they wanted to live quietly and farm, since the barbarians had been removed and were not causing trouble. The other Athenian Generals applied compulsion to make them do this, put those who failed on trial and by their punishments made Athenian rule grievous and hard to bear. [11.2] But when Kimon was General he went in the opposite direction, and did not apply force to any Greek; he accepted money from those who were not willing to campaign, and empty ships, and he let them be enticed by leisure and spend their time on their own affairs, turning themselves from warriors into money-makers and farmers not fit for war through luxury and folly. He put many Athenians on the ships in turn and made them labour on the campaigns, and in a short time used the money and pay from the allies to make the Athenians masters of those who paid. [11.3] As a result of their own shyness of warfare, the allies became accustomed to fearing and flattering the men who were maintained and trained, and were always sailing and handling arms; they failed to realise that they were turning themselves into subjects and slaves.

[121] No one did more to humble the Great King and abase his pride than Kimon. He did not let him go when he departed from Greece, but following hard on the Persians' heels and not letting them pause for breath, as it were, he ravaged and destroyed some of their territories and made others revolt and come over to the Greeks, so that he completely cleared Asia of Persian arms from Ionia to Pamphylia. [12.2] When he learned that the King's generals were lying in wait in Pamphylia with a large army and many ships, he set out from Knidos and the Triopion peninsula with 300 ships, with the intention of inducing such fear as to make the sea this side of the Khelidonian islands an area they would not sail into or trespass upon. These ships had been made by Themistokles to be very swift and manoeuvrable, and on that occasion Kimon made them broader, and gave them a gangway on the decks so that they would carry large numbers of hoplites and so be more effective at fighting the enemy. [12.3] He sailed to the city of Phaselis, whose inhabitants were Greek, but they did not receive the fleet or wish to revolt from the King, and so he began to ravage their territory and attack their walls. [12.4] The Khians, who were part of his fleet, and had long enjoyed friendly relations with Phaselis, induced Kimon to be more gentle and shot pamphlets attached to arrows over the walls with messages for the people of Phaselis. In the end this brought reconciliation on condition that Phaselis pay ten talents, join the League, and take part in the campaign against Persia.

[sunlessea]

< i think i’d miss you even if we never met. > kin me

interaction prompt ... / @reapcrbunny.

she's resplendent, and so confident! against itself, oft so intimidating and angry to the eyes of london : the masters of the bazaar are not missed in their absence, and more than that, are never craved. most would think her positively insane, and it is not entirely sure, quite frankly, whether or not it could count itself out of said populace. few flock at the sides of the masters, even the beautificous mr pages and its poetic tongue. never so eager to catch their attention are kine, when that oft means death or worse. the ones who do tend to be daft at best or have a death wish at worst, and so tiring is it to constantly shoo away unwanted affections from the barbarians of its others.

she speaks such romantic, honeyed sentiments that only her kind are capable of. never could another master make it trill so, bat-like ears perked at attention, smile 'pon its face. one would think pages the bashful sort, were it not such a deceptively dangerous and cruel creature underneath it's bright-eyed, fascinated, nymphlike counteanouse.

"such lovely romantissence, little star...! your kind and their words, are so very beautiful. we kindred are not so capable of such hauntingly intimate connections, and yet..." it circles her, just enough to reach her side. with gentle touch, its hands reach out to trail its fingertips along her arms starting from her shoulders, until they meet her palms : in doing so, it holds them up, guiding her forward as it walks behind her, hands in hands, albeit strangely. it, of course, does not expect this to last : she, after all, needs to speak, yet it is but a passing moment. "such words as yours are expressions of fancy, are they not? splendificent. you and your heart, are intriguing to me, so audacious where others would be killed for expressing such romantesque sayitudes in my presence. i believe, despite the folly of my kind, i would miss you too, ravitching warrior of stars."

[soullesssinews]

okay i'm bored and was going through the trying to translate everything too when i found this so here's my additions (in white italics, page numbers ofc might differ)

à moi. l’histoire d’une de mes folies (to me. the history of one of my follies or my turn. the tale of my madness or mine. the story of my madness) - page 7

- quod erat demonstrandum (it can be shown)

cubitum eamus? (will you sleep with me?) - page 33

consummatum est (it is done) - page ??

hoi polloi. barbaroi (the many/majority/the masses. barbarian (person who doesn’t speak greek)) - page 147

bei nacht und nebel (at night and in fog) - page ??

deprendi miserum est (it is wretched to be found out) - page 173

je me sens comme hélène keller, mon vieux (i feel like helen keller, old man) - page 175

khairei (hello) - page 183

bakchoi (initiates (bakchoi were the branches that elusinian initiates swung along the ground traveling the pilgrimage)) - page 183

cuniculus molestus (annoying rabbit) - page 190

dunque-dunqued (so-soed) - page 191

arrectis auribus (attentively/ears peeled) - page 193

dormir plutôt que vivre (sleep rather than live) - page 197

dans un sommeil aussi doux que la mort (in a sleep as sweet as death) - page 197

frisson (a thrill (of excitement or of fear)) - page 211

requiescat in pace (rest in peace) - page 220

n’est-ce pas (isn’t that so) - page 221

amor vincit omnia (love conquers all) - page 223

consummatum est (it is finished) - page 276

- raison d’être (reason for existence)

nihil sub sole novum (there is nothing new under the sun) - page 296

quel plaisir de vous revoir (what a great pleasure to see you again) - page 323

genis gratus, corpore glabellus, arte multiscius, et fortuna opulentus (smooth-cheeked, soft-skinned, well-educated and rich) - page 325

dénouement (outcome) - page 337

salve, amice (hello, friend) - page 429

valesne? (are you well?) - page 429

quid est rei? (what is the matter?) - page 429

benigne dicis (i thank you) - page 429

bureau de tabac (tobacco store) - page ??

Χαλεπά τά καλά (beauty is harsh) - page 544

mais, vrai, j’ai trop pleuré! (oh, truly, i have wept too much!) - page 548

les aubes sont navrantes (the dawns are heartbreaking) - page 548

hinc illae lacrimae (hence those tears) - page 555

sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat (such eyes, such hands, such looks) - page ??

The Secret History Translation Masterlist

i was going to put this on a spam account but then decided to put it on a public one. who knows, maybe someone will benefit from it! if i’ve made any mistakes, do let me know

à moi. l’histoire d’une de mes folies (to me. the history of one of my follies or my turn. the tale of my madness)

quod erat demonstrandum (it can be shown)

cubitum eamus? (will you sleep with me?)

consummatum est (it is done)

hoi polloi. barbaroi [the many/majority. barbarian (person who doesn’t speak greek)]

bei nacht und nebel (at night and in fog)

deprendi miserum est (it is wretched to be found out)

khairei (hello)

bakchoi (initiates)

cuniculus molestus (annoying rabbit)

arrectis auribus (attentively/ears peeled)

dormir plutôt que vivre (sleep rather than live)

dans un sommeil aussi doux que la mort (in a sleep as sweet as death)

requiescat in pace (rest in peace)

n’est-ce pas (isn’t that so)

amor vincit omnia (love conquers all)

raison d’être (reason for existence)

nihil sub sole novum (there is nothing new under the sun)

quel plaisir de vous revoir (what a great pleasure to see you again)

genis gratus, corpore glabellus, arte multiscius, et fortuna opulentus (smooth-cheeked, soft-skinned, well-educated and rich)

dénouement (outcome)

salve, amice (hello, friend)

valesne? (are you well?)

quid est rei? (what is the matter?)

benigne dicis (i thank you)

bureau de tabac (tobacco store)

Χαλεπά τά καλά (beauty is harsh)

mais, vrai, j’ai trop pleuré! (oh, truly, i have wept too much!)

les aubes sont navrantes (the dawns are heartbreaking)

hinc illae lacrimae (hence those tears)

sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat (such eyes, such hands, such looks)

[nicklloydnow]

“I am a democrat because I believe in the Fall of Man. I think most people are democrats for the opposite reason. A great deal of democratic enthusiasm descends from the ideas of people like Rousseau, who believed in democracy because they thought mankind so wise and good that everyone deserved a share in the government. The danger of defending democracy on those grounds is that they're not true. Whenever their weakness is exposed, the people who prefer tyranny make capital out of the exposure. I find that they're not true without looking further than myself. I don't deserve a share in governing a hen-roost, much less a nation. Nor do most people—all the people who believe advertisements, and think in catchwords and spread rumors. The real reason for democracy is just the reverse. Mankind is so fallen that no man can be trusted with unchecked power over his fellows. Aristotle said that some people were only fit to be slaves. I do not contradict him. But I reject slavery because I see no men fit to be masters.

This introduces a view of equality rather different from that in which we have been trained. I do not think that equality is one of those things (like wisdom or happiness) which are good simply in themselves and for their own sakes. I think it is in the same class as medicine, which is good because we are ill, or clothes which are good because we are no longer innocent. I don't think the old authority in kings, priests, husbands, or fathers, and the old obedience in subjects, laymen, wives, and sons, was in itself a degrading or evil thing at all. I think it was intrinsically as good and beautiful as the nakedness of Adam and Eve. It was rightly taken away because men became bad and abused it. To attempt to restore it now would be the same error as that of the Nudists. Legal and economic equality are absolutely necessary remedies for the Fall, and protection against cruelty.

But medicine is not good. There is no spiritual sustenance in flat equality. It is a dim recognition of this fact which makes much of our political propaganda sound so thin. We are trying to be enraptured by something which is merely the negative condition of the good life. That is why the imagination of people is so easily captured by appeals to the craving for inequality, whether in a romantic form of films about loyal courtiers or in the brutal form of Nazi ideology. The tempter always works on some real weakness in our own system of values—offers food to some need which we have starved.

When equality is treated not as a medicine or a safety-gadget, but as an ideal, we begin to breed that stunted and envious sort of mind which hates all superiority. That mind is the special disease of democracy, as cruelty and servility are the special diseases of privileged societies. It will kill us all if it grows unchecked. The man who cannot conceive a joyful and loyal obedience on the one hand, nor an unembarrassed and noble acceptance of that obedience on the other—the man who has never even wanted to kneel or to bow—is a prosaic barbarian. But it would be wicked folly to restore these old inequalities on the legal or external plane. Their proper place is elsewhere.

We must wear clothes since the Fall. Yes, but inside, under what Milton called "these troublesome disguises". We want the naked body, that is, the real body, to be alive. We want it, on proper occasions, to appear—in the marriage–chamber, in the public privacy of a men's bathing-place, and (of course) when any medical or other emergency demands. In the same way, under the necessary outer covering of legal equality, the whole hierarchical dance and harmony of our deep and joyously accepted spiritual inequalities should be alive. It is there, of course, in our life as Christians—there, as laymen, we can obey—all the more because the priest has no authority over us on the political level. It is there in our relation to parents and teachers—all the more because it is now a willed and wholly spiritual reverence. It should be there also in marriage.

This last point needs a little plain speaking. Men have so horribly abused their power over women in the past that to wives, of all people, equality is in danger of appearing as an ideal. But Mrs. Naomi Mitchison has laid her finger on the real point. Have as much equality as you please—the more the better—in our marriage laws, but at some level consent to inequality, nay, delight in inequality, is an erotic necessity. Mrs. Mitchison speaks of women so fostered on a defiant idea of equality that the mere sensation of the male embrace rouses an undercurrent of resentment. Marriages are thus shipwrecked. This is the tragi-comedy of the modem woman—taught by Freud to consider the act of love the most important thing in life, and then inhibited by feminism from that internal surrender which alone can make it a complete emotional success. Merely for the sake of her own erotic pleasure, to go no further, some degree of obedience and humility seems to be (normally) necessary on the woman's part.

The error here has been to assimilate all forms of affection to that special form we call friendship. It indeed does imply equality. But it is quite different from the various loves within the same household. Friends are not primarily absorbed in each other. It is when we are doing things together that friendship springs up—painting, sailing ships, praying, philosophizing, fighting shoulder to shoulder. Friends look in the same direction. Lovers look at each other—that is, in opposite directions. To transfer bodily all that belongs to one relationship into the other is blundering.

We Britons should rejoice that we have contrived to reach much legal democracy (we still need more of the economic) without losing our ceremonial Monarchy. For there, right in the midst of our lives, is that which satisfies the craving for inequality, and acts as a permanent reminder that medicine is not food. Hence a man's reaction to Monarchy is a kind of test. Monarchy can easily be "debunked", but watch the faces, mark well the accents of the debunkers. These are the men whose taproot in Eden has been cut—whom no rumor of the polyphony, the dance, can reach—men to whom pebbles laid in a row are more beautiful than an arch. Yet even if they desire mere equality they cannot reach it. Where men are forbidden to honor a king they honor millionaires, athletes, or film-stars instead—even famous prostitutes or gangsters. For spiritual nature, like bodily nature, will be served—deny it food and it will gobble poison.

That is why this whole question is of practical importance. Every intrusion of the spirit that says, "I'm as good as you" into our personal and spiritual life is to be resisted just as jealously as every intrusion of bureaucracy or privilege into our politics. Hierarchy within can alone preserve egalitarianism without. Romantic attacks on democracy will come again. We shall never be safe unless we already understand in our hearts all that the anti-democrats can say, and have provided for it better than they. Human nature will not permanently endure flat equality if it is extended from its proper political field into the more real, more concrete fields within. Let us wear equality; but let us undress every night.” - C. S. Lewis, ‘Equality’ (The Spectator, 27 August 1943)

[lingshanhermit]

Lingshan Hermit: The Folly of Foolishness

Murong Fu from Suzhou was a descendant of the nomadic Xianbei Hu people. His ancestors took advantage of the chaos during the Eastern Jin Dynasty to sneak into China and establish the Great Yan State, illegally occupying the northern territories. After their state collapsed, their descendants lived in Yanzipo in Suzhou, secretly plotting to restore their kingdom. Murong Fu was styled as Lord Murong and enjoyed great fame before taking the Dao, with people saying: "Qiao Feng in the north, Murong in the south." However, he was an unscrupulous man who stopped at nothing in his quest to restore his kingdom.

In the novel Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils, Murong Fu, accompanying Bao Butong and Wang Yuyan, accidentally stumbled upon the Panchen Convention and, upon learning the reason, wished to lend a hand to help fight against the Lingxiao Palace. The book stated his intent was to help, but in reality, he wanted to control the 36 Cave Lords and 72 Island Lords for his own purposes. Having such ulterior motives was villainous, which is why he ended up with nothing but empty efforts and toil, with the 36 Caves, 72 Islands, and even the Lingxiao Palace itself becoming mere illusions.

Later, seeking the position of Imperial Son-in-Law of the Western Xia for his quest for power, he was willing to abandon his childhood sweetheart Wang Yuyan and let her jump into a well without rescuing her. Yet the Western Xia Son-in-Law position was easily obtained by Zhu Zigui instead. Afterwards, when Xiao Feng was surrounded and in danger at the Shaolin Monastery, Murong Fu took the opportunity to attack, wanting to win over all the martial artists to serve him. But his schemes all failed.

After repeated failures, he went to the Mandang Manor in Suzhou and accepted Duan Zhengqing as his master, plotting to become King of Dali. To allay Duan's suspicions, he even killed his loyal follower Bao Butong, causing his subordinates like Feng Bodeng and Ye Qian to lose heart and leave him, leaving him with nothing and betrayed by all. His tireless machinations ultimately amounted to nothing more than being an emperor over a grave mound. Murong Fu stopped at nothing in pursuit of power and kingship - the story of his life exemplified the saying: "Those with schemes cannot obtain their desire, while those without desires obtain it without seeking."

I have said before: The kind and honest gain without seeking, while those obsessed with scheming end up with nothing. Even if they gain something, it is but a fleeting wisp, disappearing in the blink of an eye - simply making a bridal dress for others. They are left with only accumulated evil deeds to repay. Everything I have seen and experienced in my life confirms this truth. The ancients said: "Human calculations cannot surpass Heaven's calculations." No matter how extremely intelligent you are, your machinations will inevitably reach their limits. Instead of exhausting yourself with relentless scheming like Murong Fu and ending up tainted, it is better to be kind and guileless like Duan Yu and Zhu Zigui - by not scheming, contending or seeking, Heaven will naturally reward you. This is the correct path. However, this cannot be pursued deliberately either, for there are those who feign being guileless while harboring schemes far beyond the ordinary - thinking they can deceive the world, but eventually it is all an empty dream. The goodness of Duan Yu and Zhu Zigui stems from being nurtured by the teachings of the sages. Duan Yu read Buddhist and Confucian classics from a young age, coupled with karmic blessings from past lives. Zhu Zigui grew up at Shaolin, absorbing Buddhist teachings with each morning bell and evening drum. As for Murong Fu, though the book does not explicitly state it, the books he likely read were only about martial arts, scheming, and governing - the dregs rather than the essence of Chinese civilization. As a barbarian who entered China, he only took the dregs and discarded the essence, studying power and scheming instead of the righteous path - how could he not fail?

All the events in Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils originated from the plots laid by Murong Fu's father Murong Bo. There are many in this world who consider themselves intelligent but are just like them. Murong Bo was peerless in martial arts and intelligent, yet he did not walk the righteous path. Wanting to profit from provoking conflict between the Song and Liao, he falsely spread information to deceive Abbot Xuanji and others, causing them to ambush and kill Xiao Yuanshan's party outside Yanmen Pass. This led to Xiao Yuanshan's wife being killed tragically, leaving Xiao Yuanshan and Xiao Feng to a life of bitterness. It caused heroes to kill each other by mistake and live with guilt. He later incited conflict between Tibet and Dali, intending to take advantage of the chaos to start an uprising, but this too ended in vain. The Murongs schemed for a hundred years without a single success, only becoming a laughingstock. Tracing it to the root, it was because they failed to recognize and discarded the essence while taking only the dregs.

Written by Lingshan Hermit on April 18, 2024.

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灵山居士：愚痴之过

[wispythreads]

This is the most powerful I’ve felt in a Legend of Zelda game in a while. As we should all know by this point, I’m incredibly stubborn, and really wanted to find all the rest of the Twilight armor pieces as soon as I learned that the set was in Tears of the Kingdom, seeing as how Twilight Princess was my first and still is my favorite of the Zelda series. Bear in mind I’ve maybe played this game for about five or six days total, being busy with real life stuff that didn’t really leave room for playing it, and having to compete with all my other siblings that all usually want access to the one switch in the household.

I don't even have a complete row of hearts yet, and my stamina wheel is still the same as when you start the game. I haven't gone through any of the major story beats of the main divine-beast-esque questline. Only one set of my armor has been upgraded by a great fairy, to two stars, which is the usual basic Hylian outfit you can get from the start. And I refuse to really mess with any of the zonai tech unless it's absolutely required.

So, what do I do when I find out that the last piece of the armor set, Link's signature cap, is guarded not only by a Gleeok, a large boss-worthy monster that's been reintroduced to the series, but a King Gleeok, each of its three heads harnessing the power of the elements of ice, fire, and electricity, its thick hide covered in gloom? A devastating creature that is required to be defeated before the chest containing my sought treasure will relinquish its boon?

Well I throw myself at it, obviously.

Its not total folly for me to try, after all. While I lack in actual game progression, I have plenty of stuff.

I have the chest piece and legs of the barbarian armor.

I have enough ingredients to make food and elixirs that grant me a x3 bonus to my defense or attack, to restore hearts temporarily locked by gloom, and to not only fully restore my health, but grant a meager increase of temporary hearts as well.

I have fought and won against a stalnox, black bokoblins, moblins, horriblins and boss bokoblins, and obsidian froxs.

I've upgraded my weapon, bow, and shield stash a decent amount, and have several high damaging bows and high durability weapons with fast charge.

And I have so many Keese eyeballs.

It would've been better if I had more elemental keese eyeballs, as I had about 10 flame and ice ones and only 2 electric ones, but when you've got 53 normal ones and it only takes two hits to take a head out, I wouldn't worry too much on that front.

Did this take multiple tries? Sure. Did it suck when I almost had it dead but the sheer amount of chaos hurling around me during its second phase managed to catch me in its periphery and instantly one hit kill me? You bet.

But that final attempt only had me break one of each type of weapon, one of my two golden royal bows and one black lizalfos horn fused to a Knight's halberd, which had been saved from the decay claiming so many like it. That final attempt only results in me getting hit once, and that creature stalled from its second phase by shooting it down before it could reach that height impossible for the keese eyes to follow.

This is what a boss fight should be. This is on par with how I felt after finally defeating Ganon from my favorite game. This feeling of accomplishment and triumph is what should've been there after defeating the Ganon blight in Breath of the Wild, a fight that had been sorely lacking in providing any challenge at all.

My armor set is complete, covered in wolf hair though it may be.

Now all I gotta do is figure out how to farm stars, as getting enough topaz shouldn't be too difficult.