#having one in the royal chambers (which she comments on in low chaos) and one on the wale

[icedjuiceboxes]

Just realized if Emily lived in modern times she'd be a vaper :(

[0erasurehero0]

The Reaper of Ashmore: Chapter two

Hey, it’s been a while! Finally I have updated The Reaper of Ashmore (TROA)! I’m excited for what you think!

@rayonfrozenwings @dragonbound135 @a-court-of-ink-and-paper @i-put-the-sass-in-assassin @repressed-feels-syndrome @the-bookish-soul

I tagged those who were in the comments and those who asked to be tagged. If you want to be tagged for further updates just say so. I’m sorry if I missed anyone.

                                                 Chapter Two:

                                                 Wake Up Call

 Groaning, Ash slipped from the black, silk sheets and stepped into the bathing chamber. A large, claw foot tub leaned against the far wall; the sink stood on the right along with the toilet. On the left wall was a rack that held towels, bath products, and clothes. A door on the left led to the walk-in closet.

        She turned the faucet and began running a hot bath--it was to relax her muscles, which seemed to twist together when she got drunk. These days, it feels as if her muscles are twisted every other day.

        Reaching behind her, Ash plucked the bottle of bath salts off from the ground and poured some into the bath. The water was so hot that steam billowed all around her. She sighed; this was going to be wonderful.

        Slipping off the robe that hung closely to her hips, Ash carefully stepped into the bath, hissing at the warmth that greeted her.

        She stayed in the water until it was cold, or to the point where her toes were so pruned she looked like she had aged a hundred years.

        Stepping out of the tub, she got dressed quickly--dark red undershirt, brown leathers on her chest, shoulders, knees, wrists, and elbows, brown, knee-high boots, and a pair of black pants. These were the clothes she wore most around the kingdom. She had a nicer pair of leathers, full body on, that she wore when traveling.

        Or when she felt particularly good-looking that day.

        Ash ran her hair through a towel, it would dry quickly considering it was so short, and stood in front of the mirror.

        Her skin was as pale as snow, her dark, brown short hair (styled as an undercut) hung slightly in her face. She quickly fixed it so that most of the hair was slicked back, except for one short piece that was flipped and hung in her face. But it wouldn’t affect her activities.

She found herself as being...pretty. Pretty boyish, that is. It wasn’t her fault. She knew a lot of women in her family that were the same way. It was just something in her genes.

        But she couldn’t deny the fact that she liked it this way. Her looks attracted the attention both of that of men and women, giving her an advantage in the dating world.

        As if she’d date at all. No one wants the commander--they want the royal.

        The clock on the wall dinged, indicating that it was time for the classes to begin. Ash turned to leave, but stopped short when she realized she was forgetting something. She snatched up the sunglasses from the bathroom counter and swiftly made her escape.

                                              ******************

        The halls were eerily quiet at this time in the morning. No one was awake except for the students, who were kept in a separate wing in the palace.

        She stopped by the kitchen and grabbed one of the pastries that her favorite cook left for her--a middle-aged woman with olive skin and dark, greying hair. Her eyes were a forest green that always seemed to be alight with joy.

        “Thanks Madame Renee!” I slipped out of the kitchen, but listened for Renee’s reply.

        “That child--always in a hurry.”

        Laughing, Ash jogged down the hall.  

        Swiftly making her way down the winding corridor that encompassed many rooms that held sleeping royals and royal advisors, Ash went over today’s agenda:

        First, eat breakfast.

        She stared down at the half-eaten pastry in her hand and smiled a closed lipped smile. Check.

        Second, find out whether the shop has obtained any more steel or not. Preferably the kind that can be stained with color for pleasing-my-eyes-type-of-purposes.

        “Ah, so we’ve already begun the day with a tedious task. Wonderful,” she said to herself.

        Ash came to a stop at two tall, mahogany double doors. They were intricately designed with patterns of the tails of snakes, dragons, sea serpents, the marks of sharp-clawed beasts, flowers, vines, what seemed to be a child-like drawing of wind, and words written in the ancient language. All this was carved into the mouth of a sharp fanged wolf. The top of the mouth started at the top of the doors, widening all the way to the bottom of the doors.

        Ash smiled to herself. According to knowledge of only her, her brother, and her mother, Ash had helped design that door. With the help of her Vallasar, Zenaida, they two of them spent a month of brainstorming, sketching, then carving into the two large slabs of mahogany. It was one of her favorite things she had ever created, especially since she did it with Zenny.

        Ash gave a little knock as a warning that she was about to enter and pushed open the doors.

        She stepped into chaos.

        People milled about the room, using their outside voices, giving her a headache. They jumped person to person, pointing something out on a piece of paper or object that they held. She saw a group of blondes bent over some papers, maps, and figurines on a table in front of the far wall. A wall completely open to the outside world. Magic kept things from getting in and from getting out.

        Oh, and glass, of course.

        Ash frowned and strode over to the table full of blondes in the back of the room. She considered what all the hubbub could possibly be about, but nothing rang a bell. The only thing she could determine it being was that they called for a meeting that she simply just wasn’t invited to.

        What a bunch of cowards, she thought to herself. Too scared to come and talk to me when I’ve woken up with a hangover. I’m not that bad.

        If she were honest with herself, Ash quite enjoyed the fact that they feared her. It gave her a sort of leverage.

        She stopped in front of the group of people and leaned against a pillar that lined the steps leading up to the dais where the table stood. No one turned. No one even seemed to notice her.

        Rubbing her hands together, Ash cleared her throat.

        Again, no one turned.

        Clapping her hands together once and clearing her throat with obvious annoyance, Ash was finally able to gain the attention of the blondes.

        They turned in unison.

        The royals. The king, queen, prince, and princesses.  King Rynses was a…burly man. He was covered in hair, heavy set and still slightly muscular around the arms from sword training, and riddled with power. It seemed to pool off him in waves of green.

        Power had a visible color to her while others never could see it.

        Her step mother, the queen, stood tall in all her green glory. She was a perfect match for the king, Ash had noticed a long while ago. The older woman, around in her fifties, wore an emerald gown etched in silver and gold around the bodice, sleeves, and hem of the dress. She smiled wickedly when she realized who it was that interrupted their meeting.

        Her father huffed.

        “I was wondering where you were! I sent Willham to go get you up, but I guess he forgot.” The king swung is head over to Ash’s little, half-brother. The fourteen-year-old smiled apologetically.

        Her father turned back around, a warm smile coating his face. He always seemed to smile so wide that his eyes would automatically close. She loved it.

        “Ash, my dear, we’ve noticed a few problems have begun to arise in Ether. We’re not sure what it is that’s causing the issues but…we know what the issue is.” The king rubbed his face, a heavy, tired sigh rising from him.

        “And? What’s the problem?” I pushed off from the pillar and crossed my arms. I could feel my heart beginning to beat to rhythm of excitement.

        “Things aren’t dying,” he whispered.

        Ash’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to gasp. Her eyes widened with disbelief.

        As if! I would have known. I would have felt it!

        “That can’t possibly be! What are the statistics…what are the numbers? How many are past their death date?”

        Out of nervous habit, I began tapping my foot against the linoleum. The clicking of my shoe rang out against the room and it gained the attention of a few onlookers. My heart began racing to the beat of fear, confusion, and fury.

        Only one creature can stop death.

        A death god.

        And one seems to be messing with the fabric of life.

        That son of a bitch, Ash thought. And an idiot at that. A death god knows better than to stop death. Especially without permission from the mother goddesses.Or from their own mother. Even a mother can change an all powerful god’s mind.

        “Ash, I need you to round up a team of Reapers and head into Ether to deal out death slips.” Ash, I need you to round up a team of Reapers and finish the job. Kill those who did not die.

        She hadn’t been sent on a mission in a while. What about her vacation…she was supposed to leave tomorrow for…well, she forgot where she was supposed to be going but it didn’t matter. It was a break from this place.

        “And on the matter of your vacation…after you’ve done your job, you and your students may stay in Ether for two more weeks to do as you please.”

        It was still a vacation and she’d take it. Ash gave her a father a smile and bowed before running out of the room.

        Her father yelled out, stopping her for a second. “Ash?”

        “Yes, your majesty?”

        “Appoint a second, third, and fourth in command. I’ve noticed the trouble you get into. It might be best to have backups…just in case.”

        Ash lifted her chin. “The probability of me dying is a low one.”

        King Rynses raised his head in turn. “But it is a probable one.”

        And with that, Ash ran out of the room and made her way toward her classroom. Class would be taken outside later today.

        The room teemed with tired souls and some of those few that were always hyper. Ash made her way toward her desk and set down a cup of coffee.

        She had a feeling she would need two more cups before the end of today’s lesson.

        “Good morning! How is everyone today?” Always greet the class with a smile and go-lucky expression. The first lesson on how to get your students to somewhat like you.

        A series of groans and grunts filled the room. Ash’s smile faltered as she realized this was going to be slightly difficult if no one wanted to cooperate. With a sigh, she walked to chalk board near the right wall and began writing down today’s objective.

        Defeat level twenty angel. Raise a level forty demon. I placed the chalk back into its spot and read over what I wrote. They were ahead in their demon studies. I had always preferred demonology over angelology. Demons were, after all, her specialty.

        Someone from the top row whistled. “Is there some special thing or exam going on that we should know about? Because raising a level forty demon is way ahead in our lessons.”

        There could be a slight chance, Ash thought to herself, that I forgot to mention that they stopped on raising a level twenty-five demon. They go by fives, except that the first demon is a level one.

        Ash squared her shoulders and swung around to face her students. She gave them a toothy grin, her capped fangs glinting in the light. Too many sweets as a child.

        “Well, you see, we’ve come face to face with a real issue. I need all of you trained. Fully trained.”

        Someone scoffed. “The new year practically began yesterday, and you want us trained fully by the end of this day? How in the realms are you gonna accomplish that?”

        “First, Seraphine, use proper grammar. It’s ‘going to’ not ‘gonna’. And you shouldn’t underestimate me. You’d be surprised by what your mentor can accomplish in one day.”

        The room was silent, the only sounds being that of pen tapping and feet shuffling. Ash huffed.

        “A lot! I can do a lot in one day!”

        I was pretty sure this day was going to last a lot longer than I had anticipated. I was just hoping that the students would understand, would listen.

        “Wait, does that mean we’re going to be fighting really soon?”

        Ash glanced up toward the top row of seats. A young man, around the age of twenty-three, her age, was seated far into his seat. It was as if he was trying to hide.

        “Ah, that. Well, I’m not so sure. But by the end of the day I will be taking three of you with me to Ether to attend a mission with me. Those three will be named my second, third, and fourth in commands. Today’s lesson is a competition.”

        I swiftly made my way towards the chalk board and drew out my plan for the lesson.

        “There will be ten teams of three. I will give each team a paper with six objectives written down that you must complete in the span of an hour. The objectives are pretty easy to understand; three of them are to defeat a certain level angel and three are to raise and control a certain level demon. The levels will be a surprise. Use the techniques you’ve learned these past few months; all of them will help you. I will not make you do anything I know you can’t do. If you lose control of a demon or angel, I will be there to assist you. I will hover over each team for ten minutes apiece. One team will have my help in the beginning and the other at the end.

        I will select who will be on each team. I will select who I help first and in what order I want to help them. I won’t stand there for ten minutes for each team, I’ll spread the time out. Maybe I’ll help you for five minutes in the beginning and then five minutes at the end. Or I’ll help you for two minutes here, four minutes there, and another four minutes some other time. This class is dismissed.”

        Everyone packed their things and began to leave, but before they could go I stopped them.

        “I’ll have some syllabuses ready later when we begin. For now, dress in your reaper gear and eat something. Rest your bodies. Try to stay relaxed as this is not for a grade. Really, just think about is a competition.”

        Again, they turned and opened the door, but I had remembered one last thing and stopped them once more.

        They groaned and turned to face me.

        “And remember—if you do win and go with me to Ether…you can die. You do not gain your indestructible abilities until after graduation. Please, remember that. But do not slow your team down because of this. If your team wins and you do not want to go, I will replace you with someone on the second-place team. Now, you may leave.”

[rosheendubh]

Randomness free-write/

The Land of Gods and Monsters The Golden Gem in the Golden Jewel... --AllSoul's Celebration, Old Samhain 1788 --Random blathering to be used (way) later, in this connection between late 2nd C Roman Britain, Artorius Castus, the 'Grail' (in the version, St Germaine' warped concept of immortality, an early voltaic cell, and the construction of living automata to induct the world to A New Order, and Revolution, inspired by a Taliesin line 'The Golden Gem in the Golden Jewel', Thomas Jefferson and his Scottish lady physician lover in PreRev Paris, and the earliest mention of Frankenstein's monster, who was in fact not a monster, but in Nogaret's version of 1790, a gifted automaton...years before MaryShelley brought the Monster into its horrific allegory of human nature being its own worst enemy... ~~ This scene, in fact, is set rather, around the Winter Solstice of 1787... -By this point, Paul Serit's remodeled corpse (never completely dead after his hanging), revived in conflagration to whence Caroline and Thomas have been kidnapped, in a meeting of The Order, in the ruse to win back her notebook from hands of St Germaine, but it's the pendant he needs, and she barters in exchange for Thomas's life, by the time the police have arrived under de Crosne's command, the creature, in the throes of molting cocoon/chamber of birth waters, and ionic salts conducting electricity, enraged and terrified, strikes out with a strength equal to a bear's, disfigured, shambling monstrosity of flesh, with the placement of features but a nightmare of human deformity, scarring, pallid white, bruised yellow, muscles writhing like grubs or rodents crawling under its skin, mucoid slime plastering black lank hair to its scalp, and teeth, black/blood gushing meconium/jelly like fecal material out in fetid vomit as it empties lungs to fill them with air, eyes a feral blaze of colorless opacity, seeing or sightless, Caroline can't decipher in the chaos of its thrashing out, as it hurls men left and right, oriented to StGermaine, who gazes cold/indifferent, his supposed triumph in the creation of organic mechanization, but an imperfect model, howling wretched. Thomas, and de Crosne about to fire on the creature, as it suddenly turns on StGermaine, hoisting him up by the neck, bullets piercing from whence blood flows, drops StGermaine, (comment of "Cursed to wander, infernal beast, through this world to wreck terror and grief"), hearing its pain, Caroline imposes herself, stands in the way of the gunfire, ignoring the men's admonitions to move, choking and shaking with her own aversion, she approaches the living corpse, for she knows no other way to think of it, and sees something in those moments, drawing away the torchlight, only with a candle flare that she places on the floor, overcoming the curdle in her gut at the foul stench of rotten meat and excrement surrounding the creature, it's falls to its hands and knees but still thrashing like a wounded/cornered animal, it convulses on spasms of its throat, contortion of jaw and mouth, and she realized it/he is trying to speak--"Father. Hurt..." At StGermaine's rejection, curse of the creature, Caroline's voice rings sharp, the first time she's been able to overcome the memory of her torture, and the terror that's always frozen her, anger at his hubris for the subversion of laws of nature in the creation of such an abomination, and his absconding the responsibility of his own design now that it's formed. "Survival and cruelty and hate will compose its first lesson then in this world of men." "Of all your acts of sadism, this--"she hears the muskets cock behind her, and she stays them, Thomas calling out to her, warning her away as the corpse growls like a beast, seems to coil about to lurch into attack onto its dragging/lumbering feet, and Caroline kneels next to the thing, glistening in blood and mucoid membrane, a man sized infant, fully formed, her heart bleeding in sorrow, her voice carries through the silent hall, sweet in her pity, and firm in her passion to protect, for she recognizes, like featureless/blank smoothness of the skin, the ataxic motions of its struggle to recall walking, breathing, sensing, think, speech all in its first moments, trapped in the memory of a dying body and the tortures inflicted upon it over the months of its creator cutting, stitching, implanting, and vivisecting through its throes and screams, like a man after a stroke/cataplexy, what had been Paul Serit, and no longer, but a chimera of organic parts and inorganic substance. "You poor thing, to have death stolen from you, and have these moments be your awakening to hell. My sorrow that it was I who brought you to this state. You are here now though, living or not wholly, who knows, but your first act must be to decide if you can forgive me for this curse you've been thrust into, and your second choice must be to decide if you will let me help you...help you learn how to be human again." It hears her, stills, does not flinch at her hand hand light on its thick-roped arm, its face working in an anguish of a man's last moments of pain, before death leaves the muscles slack. "Death. Die," it struggles out from its twisted lips, black as a corpse's. The color fled from her cheeks, stark as god's angel, there's a merciless determination driving her, her eyes burning, as her arms encompass its hunched form, as she shows no repugnance, ignoring the slime and stench smudging her skin, her clothes. "No, Life. Living. There's not a one of us who's been without this suffering in some form," her soft voice, echoing through the ruined chamber/sepulcher. "It ought to die, Caroline." Her head snaps up, her voice lashing St Germaine. "How dare you! You, who brought this thing into existence, only to cast to the whims of men who would see it as a monster." she leaps to feet, stalking the distance, her rage drawing her straight, meeting Germaine's measuring leer upon her, something of an admiration, melancholy shading his words. "How like your grandmother." Color flows high, drains leaving her cold at his words, the same he'd spoken when she had been victim to his sick torture that she's only now, beginning to realize were experiments of his twisted genius. "Amazon and Angel." Jefferson flinches where he stands next to de Crosne, raising his pistol. "Get away from her!" "She approached me, Mr Jefferson. Rest assured I'd not dare harm her. In this land of gods and monsters we've created, she is perhaps the one being that will rescue us from our worst demons. That beast is nothing if not a reminder of that truth." Scorn rips through her. "You're the monster, Germaine. The one who deserves to die." His reptilian gaze moves over her, unimpressed. "Perhaps. Perhaps it will even be you who is the mistress of my demise" A shudder moves over her, but her jaw tightens, willfully holding his gaze until hers shifts to the huddled, trembling pile of sinew and flesh, lying upon the ground like a deserted carcass, groaning in its misery. "I won't need to be," she says softly. "I think your conscience will prove enough of its own poison." His lids slant, a hiss of disdain between his sharpened teeth, disrupted by de Crosne announcing his arrest before the royal authority. His laughter sounds genuinely amused, regretful at once. "I don't think so, Inspector. Not today, anyway." He makes a grab for Caroline, who leaps back from his reach. Thomas's pistol fires, the shot whistling by her cheek, tearing through the empty drapes of cloak fluttering to the floor where he'd been standing. "There!" She grabs the torch from its mount, She points, directing the men to aim at the tunnel, de Crosne raising his musket, taking aim in the same moment he issues orders for his men to pursue St Germaine, sprinting to the adjacent corridor, snatching a lantern from a hook, and smashing its frame into the puddle of spilled oil, which blazes to life in high, leaping flames that sweep around the chamber. Men scream as they catch alight, their comrades trying to beat the flames out on their forms as de Crosne swears furiously, loping off with a look passing between him and Jefferson. "You get her out of here. I'll go after him," the two other officers not ansorbed in saving their friends, shadowing de Crosne as they disappear down the corridor where Germaine fled. Thomas catches her arm, as she hustles/races toward the creature, raging in a terrorized fit, lurching about like a wounded thing at the shadows alive across the stone walls, shying from the heat of devouring fire. "Help me with him!" He hauls her close so she glares up at him, trying to free her arm from his grip. "Are you mad? He's right! Let it die!" Before she can reply, Thomas is wrenched back from her, his eyes widening in surprise, voice strangled off, and she falls backwards, off her feet from the force, the corpse's grotesque silhouette gigantic against fire and heat, like a demon on Hades, and Thomas clutches at his throat, his pistol clattering to the ground, and he gulps for air past the crush of his windpipe, hearing him wheeze as he's hoisted off the ground. "Stop it!" Her command cutting through the smoke and flames, as she thrusts a fallen firebrand/tallow staff into the creature's face. The creature howls, shying back. That answers her speculation anyway, if its eyes are as yet, untried/unaccustomed to bright light, as a babe's new spilled from its mother's womb. "Caroline," she hears Thomas's strangled plea, alarm in his eyes, and, characteristic, perplexity at this circumstance, as he tries to not thrash, agitating the abomination more. Grasping the living corpse's arm, bulging with raw power, Caroline's speaks low, but firm. "Put him down. If you wish for my help, then the first law you must obey is to never dare harm those I love." The creature looks down at her, and she lowers the burning brand, thinking she sees his struggle to understand, his decision a contortion stretching the muscles of its face like a living swarm of ants crawls under his skin. Thomas is dropped ignominiously to the ground, hand rubbing at his crushed throat, coughing. "Help me with him," she insists again. Thomas crawls to his feet, eyeing the creature warily, massaging his neck where the skin carries the reddish blemish of a powerful handprint. The monster growls like a mad dog, it's gigantic form Shuddering with every step as it lurches each foot, swung in front of the other, toward Caroline, arms ropy and sway about him in involuntary sweeps, gestures, like a seizing patient or gnarled/jointed tree branches blown in a blistering wind, the cracked fissure of its mouth. unclothed, she can see in St Germaine's perversity he's preserved the thing anatomically from its original body. The thing gapes, his jaw grinding teeth in a beastial convulsion of its throat, muscles and senses not coordinated in motion. He stills in its tortured stride, teetering forward, arms reaching out. Terror catches her breathe, and she steps back instinctively, thinking it means to strangle her in its confusion, looming a full foot over Thomas as it falls to its knees in a twisted, convulsed descent... Tbc--I'm experiencing split chronology disorder right now, and the only cure may be a TARDIS. I WILL complete this by age 90... -damn you, 'PennyDreadful', for inspiring such a beautiful Frankenstein's Monster. But, I think I've devised how he's now incorporated into this thread...Golems in RomanBritain and LivingAutomata in PreRev France--the question and the truth of who is, indeed, the Man, or the Beast, in the Land of Gods and Monsters... I mean MaryShelley drew her inspiration from Nogaret, after all, and the story of Frankenstein's Monster started, first, circa 1790, as a story of an Automoton who was example of all that was innovative and hopeful of the human spirit, only growing darker as the FrenchRevolution itself grew more divisive and bloody, and eventually lost the sense of itself, dissolving to inertia from pure human exhaustion, which allowed Napoleon to impose his authoritarianism into the NewOrder of Europe... Meanwhile, in my thread, St Germaine's monster has escaped Paris on the eve of the Bastille's destruction, and the violence ripping through the streets, to wander the world, lost, eventually finding some sort of place in Napoleon's army through the 1790s/1800s, learning to adapt his form, mind, faculties into a semblance of his human creators, studying them, as in Shelley's take, and eventually crossing path's with Caroline's daughter, as she's studying medicine in Italy. And he recalls, it was Caroline who first looked upon him, in those horrid moments of his awakening, so many years before in PreRev France, an accidental invention of a warped man's design, abandoned by that same man, and she did not react react in fear or revulsion, but compassion, and spoke to that thing, his soul, that her daughter now evokes in the waning years of Napoleon's Europe... Caroline and Germaine's monster meet in 1790s Paris, where he delivers the news of Beaulieu's death to her, as she cares for Paine. She sees he's changed, his facial structure not so thick ridged, his limbs less ape-like in his lumbering, a man who seems taller than the average with features that harken to an exotic primitiveness, the stock bred in the mountains and far northern climes, heavy featured and would seem slow of form as wit, but only to the ignorant, who were never fostered on the tales of creatures who were intimates of earth and stone, and formed star and sky into works of art with their metal craft. He's named himself after one of Arthur's men by this time, from Culwch and Olwen/The Porter at the Gate, who carry out the feats from the Age of Giants, and Caroline laughs, delighted even in her grief, watching as Fiona charms him with her child keen insight, stating he looks like one of her mother's patients with the accelerated bone growth/extra long limbs (Marfan's or acromegaly). "I will go to Egypt with the army next spring. They say it is the oldest of all civilizations. Perhaps there I will find some answers as to my existence. That I'm a mummy animated by vital essences..." And, bc Blake has a connection to Thomas Paine, StGermaine's creation becomes a source of Blake's Primordial Emanations, as seen in'The Daughters of Albion, and 'Jerusalem' where he bridges the connection between the original Artorius and their own era...