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In the Name of the Great Life!

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Introduction

His pure white robes contrast with the muddied waters as the white-bearded baptiser, his staff propped against him, dunks the head of the baptised into the river. It could be a biblical scene. The river is the Jordan. This could be John the Baptist immersing [Josh], [His Firewater] about to descend in the form of a dove, the voice from above about to announce that, "Thou art my beloved Son, with thee I am well pleased."

Yet it is not [Josh] who is being baptised and it is not John who is doing the baptising. I am looking at a photograph, from around 2002. This river is 'Yardna' in the dialect of Aramaic that the baptiser speaks, literally 'Jordan'. But this is not the physical and geographical River Jordan that runs through the countries of Jordan and Israel. This river is in Iraq, and it is likely to be the Euphrates. But it could be a river in New Jersey, USA, or the River Nepean running through a public park in Sydney, Australia. Every clean-running river in the entire world could potentially be the Yardna -- the Jordan -- if it is used for this purpose. Neither is this baptism a milestone event in the life of a Christian, which admits him or her into the Church. These baptisms occur every week, And these people are not Christians, Jews or Muslims. They are the Mandeans.

Keepers of an ancient minority religious tradition, victims of sectarian violence and ethnic cleansing, these peace-loving people have been fleeing to Syria and to the West and may be found in small numbers in such unlikely locations as Sydney, New Jersey or Manchester. They are among the casualties of the Western intervention in Iraq and the recent activities of ISIS. Although they are eager to blend in with their local culture and are often happy to be perceived as Christians, their religion is very distinctive, with priests (known as tarmidas) holding dramatic river baptisms in white robes. They may also lay claim to being the last Gnostics. They are the only surviving remnant of the ancient Christian-related sects who taught gnosis, the direct knowledge of God, created their own gospels and myths, and were persecuted as heretical by the Church in the 2nd and 3rd centuries. The Mandeans place these weekly river baptisms at the center of their religious life, and the most important prophet, although not the founder of their religion, is claimed to be none other than John the Baptist (Yahia the Mandaic). For this reason they became known, inaccurately, as 'St. John's Christians' to the first Westerners who encountered them.

Could this really be true? Could an obscure Middle Eastern ethnic religion really stretch all the way back to the Gnostics and John the Baptist? Surely the Gnostics -- an umbrella term for a range of heterodox religious groups known to scholars as Sethians, Valentinians and the like -- died out in antiquity, marginalized and persecuted by the Church? The medieval Cathars, generally recognised as the very last group of successors to dualistic Gnostic Christianity, were eradicated in the series of bloodthirsty massacres known as the Albigensian Crusade. How could a little-know sect in Iraq and Iran be related to heretical Gnostic groups, who had thrived in Egypt, Syria, Italy and France?

And could they really lay historical claim to John the Baptist as their prophet? All Christians know that John's role was merely as the forerunner to the Christian revelation, a function that was fulfilled once he had baptised [Josh]. John himself was beheaded by Herod Antipas before [Josh] was crucified. Surely that was an end to his story? Are we now in the realms of alternative history? In some ways, yes. Much of alternative history involves a radical reconsideration of the origins of Christianity, the validity of its transmission through the centuries and the possibility of underground traditions. There is a strong feeling in the post-Christian West that mainstream Christianity is missing some element that it must have had at the beginning; that something has been left out of the story. Hence the proliferation of alternative research and popular books on the divine feminine within Christianity, the relationship of [Josh] and Mary Magdalene; the importance of apostles other than Peter and Paul; and the significance of vanquished or heterodox Christianities such as the Gnostics, the Cathars and the Knights Templar. These notions of lost Christianity, ignored disciples and underground continuities meet spectacularly in the conspiracy theory of the bloodline [Josh], best known in the English-speaking world via The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail and The Da Vinci Code.

Most of these theories, fascinating though they are , have problems. For one, they strike me as being a triumph of literalism. The hypotheses of these books are very much wedded to physical, material events. The focus is on the bloodlines and the babies and the marriages, secret societies and lost treasures; on the authenticity of relics, mysterious buildings and lost manuscripts. In mainstream Christianity, what has truly been submerged or, to use a more Gnostic metaphor, buried is its inner meaning -- the element of genuine spiritual experience or gnosis. The real underground transmission is the communication of gnosis, not of some hereditary descent that terminates in some dogy secret society. Of what use would it be to discover the secret heir of [Josh] if he turned out to be a paranoid, seedy, right-wing Frenchman?

I once sketched out a short story intended to parody the fascination with secret societies and alternative history. The protagonist would discover a society what had spread all over the world, to every continent. Its adepts placed great importance on lineage, which they received in an imitation ceremony that could only be conducted by those who were near the top of their hierarchy. They could track their initiation generation by generation, through decades and centuries, from each individual to his predecessor. As their history is traced back it began to converge on a few holy places, and one city in particular. As the centuries are peeled away the lineage stands firm, all the way back to the 2nsd century and -- who knows! -- even the 1st. It is the mother of all conspiracy theories, the epitome of the powerful organization that controls civilization behind the scenes The twist was to be that this was not some obscure sect or esoteric inner circle but he Roman Catholic Church. (Of course, there are indeed a number of conspiracies about the Catholic Church and the Vatican Library, which holds -- we would like to think -- copies of every lost gospel and autograph editions of [Josh's] own writings, all of which contain secrets that, should the Church allow them to be known, would destroy Christianity forever.)

But, for all their faults, alternative visions of Christianity are correct in their recognition that self-designated official Church bodies have no exclusive claim to the truth and authority, and that they have at various stages in the history persecuted and eliminated those who have had a greater spiritual veracity. In their questioning o the official origin stories of Christianity and the early development of the Church, and in their understanding that there are other ways to relate to the past than by academic history, these alternative visions are spot on.

The story of the Mandeans is true alternative history. They have represented and alternative to the giant imperial faiths of Christianity and Islam, although -- as well shall see in Chapter 1 -- they are not alone in this. They offer an alternative to the tale of the Church triumphant, which eliminated the nasty heresy of Gnosticism. They offer an alternative to the tragic history of the ancient Gnostics: the Mandeans are Gnostics who didn't die out. Previously I had been slightly sceptical of these claims about the Mandean religion. Much recent scholarship on Gnosticism has emphasised that it is not a coherent academic category, or that, in a more positive appraisal, the only people we should really call Gnostic are a single sect also known as the Sethians. However, in researching and writing this book I was struck by how Gnostic Mandean ideas are. Time and again as I sorted through material about them I could see, almost despite myself, how the overall worldview, major themes and even minute details of Gnosticism continually crop up in Mandeanism.

They force us to question the Christian view of John the Baptist as a mere forerunner of Christ. The extraordinary survival of the Mandeans is a tale that forces us to question the received view of [Josh].

An alternative transmission over a period of 2,000 years is possible. Yet this is not a book crammed with off-the-wall speculation. For the most part the subjects discussed here are the same as those discussed by academics. To a large extent my conclusions are the same, and like any other writer on historical subjects, it is to professional historians and academic s that I owe the groundwork and graft of translation, collation and analysis.

Some of the few scholars who have been involved in Mandean studies have been true friends to the Mandeans, offering material support and, most recently, help for refugees affected by the crises in Iraq and Syria. In the story of the Mandeans, alternative history and careful academic study converge. The Mandeans are a living alternative history of Gnosticism.

The book is not about the living experience of the modern Mandeans, but about their extraordinary history and the fascinating possibilities of their encounters with and their influence on the Knights Templar and the Harranians, and their origins as disciples of John the Baptist. Yet as I wrote the book, I always tried to bear in mind that the Mandeans are a real, living ethnic group and not some ancient disappeared race.

The mythology of the Mandeans is perhaps not quite as important as their ritual practices, yet the stories are the metaphysical foundation of the religion. These are not literary myths but part of the reality of devout Mandaeans. Scholar Jorunn Buckley described how Mamoon Aldulaimi, a Mandaean originally from Baghdad but living in New York working as an engineer, would call on the diverse figure Hibil Ziwa (Abel) for extra strength when it was needed. Once he called on both Hibil Ziwa and Manda d-Hayyi (the Mandaean saviour figure) to help move his car successfully on an icy driveway.

Although they are a living people and religion, their survival is not assured. It is increasingly difficult for them to maintain the strictures of their religion and the conditions through which the esoteric knowledge of the priests and educated lay people is passed on.

Yet the Mandaeans have through the centuries faced up to crisis after crisis with tenacity and have endured.

Assailed on one side y the chaos and violence of the Middle East and on the other by the homogenizing pressure of the West, the Mandaeans are in danger of virtual extinction, both as an ethnic group and a religion.

Thus this book begins with the current plight of the Mandaeans. My method is to wind back the clock, spooling back through the ages along the unravelled thread of their history. For the convenience of the narrative, I will have to dart back and forth occasionally, but essentially this is a reverse history, a life seen backwards, always looking towards the cradle and the womb. Although for the better part of their existence they have been confined to limited regions of Iraq and Iran, the Mandaeans have popped up in connection with the most unlikely aspects of history- Portuguese Jesuits (possibly) the Knights Templar, the city of Harras in which pagan religion survived for centuries after the coming of Muhammad, Islam itself, right back to 1-st century Palestine and beyond. The Mandaeans have maintained their religion, ethnicity and culture down the centuries. Yet so much of their history is conjectural. The Mandaean literature sketches out a story that is well defined, if obtusely told. Critical history can show that some aspects of the Mandaean story are very unlikely to have taken place. Other aspects, such as the descent of the angelic entity Habil Ziwas into 1-st century Judea, are outside of history. Often there is virtually no trace of the Mandaeans for decades or centuries, at least in any way that is accessible for Westerners, but then they come into focus again, their white robes immersed in the river, beside their cult huts (the manda), baptising in the living water of the eternal Jordan.

Chapter _1_

Strange Religion:

Minority Religions in the Middle East

When we think of the Middle East, particularly in the 21st century, we think of Islam. It is probably the countries of Iran and Iraq that first come to mind for the average Westerner. The name Iran brings forth images of Ayatollah Khomeini, of long-bearded clerics, of jihad and fatwa, Iraq summons up Saddam Hussein and the chaotic aftermath of the Western-imposed regime change.

Beyond Iraq and Iran, the Middle East has been home to more recent developments such as the frightening machinations of ISIS/ISIL/Islamic State, the Assad regime in Syria, the Turkish bombings of Kurdistan, and the never-ending horrors of Israel and Palestine. The common theme is Islam. The West is the known, democratic, consumerist, Christian or secular post-Christian society. The Middle East is Islam.

Islam is the Other.

Except this isn't true. Islam has been a dominant force in the Middle East, and continues to be so. But, aside from the many Christian minorities spread through the area, and Jews who historically had communities in many Middle Eastern countries but are now mainly gathered in Israel, it is home to many minority religions. It may come as a shock to those of us who perceive the West as tolerant, but Islam has historically been more accommodating to other religions than Christianity ever has.

The Quran specifically recommends toleration of three -- four if a single mention of Zoroastrians is included -- religious groups outside a single mention of Islam: the Christians, the Jews, and the mysterious Sabians. This last category has allowed a number of minority religious groups to survive, although not thrive, down the centuries in the Middle East. It was always considered better for these people to convert to Islam. Non-Muslims had a special tax imposed on them at times in various countries. Yet, unlike pre-modern Christianity, Islam always recognized that there are other valid religions. It is a heritage that modern Islamist groups would do well to remember.

The Mandaeans are one of the groups that have been recognized as Sabians, conferring a status as 'people of the book'. We will look at the Sabians again later in the book and investigate whether this means that the Mandaeans could have been specifically referred to in the Quran.

The Mandaeans are not the only unusual minority religious-ethnic group in the Middle east. To understand the story of the Mandaeans we need to appreciate the surprising persistence of these other religions. None of them quite has a claim that stretches back to the time of [Josh] as the Mandaeans do; none can claim to be the last surviving Gnostics. but each of them has a fascinating story. These minority groups, which may also be mixed up with the Mandaeans, were not widely known in the West until recently, and even now most people's knowledge of them comes from violence and the refugee crisis.

Yazidis

Probably the most widely known of these groups are the Yazidis. The activities of ISIS in 2014 resulted in the Yazidis -- also known as Yezidis or Ezidis -- receiving extensive international attention for the first time in their long existence. The plight of the Mandaeans had also received a certain amount of occasional attention, mainly in newspapers. Their displacement as refugees and the human rights abuses they endured faded into the background of the chaos and violence that dominated the aftermath of the second Iraq war.

The Yazidis are spread around several countries in their hundreds of thousands: Syria, Georgia, Kurdish Armenia, northwestern Iran and northern Iraq, where their most sacred shrine is in the Yazidi town of Lalish. There are now even scattered individuals and families in the West. Although the Yazidis may be perceived as an ethnicity, they are primarily a religious group. Many Yazidis are ethnically Kurdish (although some deny this) and most speak Kurmanji, the Kurdish language. They have odd taboos: not to eat lettuce or fish and not to wear blue clothing. This prohibition of the colour blue was also upheld by Mandaeans in the past, and has not been explained satisfactorily.

Possibly their most famous taboo is their inability to move outside of a circle that has been drawn around them. This inspired the title of Bertolt Brecht's play Caucasian Chalk Circle and from G.I. Gurdjieff's 1888 account from Alexandropol in Armenia:

In the middle of a circle drawn on the ground stood one of the little boys, sobbing and making strange movements, and the others were standing at a certain distance laughing at him. I was puzzled and asked what it was all about. I learned that the boy in the middle was a Yezidid [sic], that the circle had been drawn round him and that he could not get out of it until it was rubbed away. The child was indeed trying with all his might to leave this magic circle, but he struggled in vain. I ran up to him and quickly rubbed out part of the circle, and immediately he dashed out and ran away as fast as he could. This so dumbfounded me that I stood rooted to the spot for a long time as if bewitched, until my usual ability to think returned. Although I had already heard something about these Yezidis, I had never given them any thought; but this astonishing incident, which I had seen with my own eyes, now compelled me to think seriously about them. ... Many years after the incident just described, I made a special experimental verification of this phenomenon and found that, in fact, if a circle is drawn around a Yezidi, he cannot of his own volition escape from it. Within the circle he can move freely, and the larger the circle, the larger the space in which he can move, but get out of it he cannot. Some strange force, much more powerful than his normal strength, keeps him inside. I myself, although strong, could not pull a weak woman out of the circle; it needed yet another man as strong as I. If a Yezidi is forcibly dragged out of a circle, he immediately falls into the state called a catalepsy, from which he recovers the instant he is brought back inside. But if he is not brought back into the circle, he returns to a normal state, as we ascertained, only after ether thirteen or twenty-one hours.

Their sacred places are caves, or shrines with conical roofs. The four elements have an important role in their cosmology -- particularly fire, which is represented by the fires lit in their shrines. Melek Taus, the Peacock Angel, is the central divine figure of the Yazidis. He is also called Iblis or Azazael, which are names for the devil in Islam. Thus the Yazidis are called devil-worshippers. However, they are no Satanists: even to say the name Shaitan is absolutely forbidden, and so offensive to Yazidis' ears that they were until modern times, at least in principle, compelled to kill anyone who said the name. Like Lucifer, Melek Taus fell from grace but sebsequently redeemed himself by repenting for his sins to such an extent that he wept for 7,000 years, filling seven jars with his tears, which were then used to extinquish the fires of hell. Melek Taus thus became the entity who is worshipped by the Yazidis.

Sheikh Adi bin Musafir, a Sufi born around 1075, is credited as a reformer of Yazidism, although not as the founder. That may be a mysterious figure named Sultan Ezid or Yezid. Ezid has been identified with a number of figures, from God himself to Caliph Yezid, an early Sunni ruler from whom Yazidis in Shia-dominated areas have been keen to distance themselves. These explanations have the ring of after-the-fact rationalization about them.

To Western scholars, little seems certain about Yazidism. The supposed sacred texts of the Yazidis, which were translated from Kurdish and published early in the 20th century, appear to have been fakes invented to satisfy Western curiosity. That is, although they may represent Yazidi beliefs, they are not actually the sacred scriptures of the Yazidis.

It seems that, like the Mandaeans, Yazidis have often told outsiders what they want to hear.

Yazidi religion, in common with Mandaeanism and other long-lived minority Middle Eastern religions, has an esoteric inner circle priesthood and a laity who are not privy to the true mysteries of their faith.

The intervention of Sheikh Adi bin Musafir in Yazidi history is somewhat reminiscent of that of John the Baptist in Mandaenism. Just as John gives the Mandaeans a Christian connection, so the sheik gives the Yazidis a Muslim lineage. Further, the connection may be a real, historical one, although the Yazidis also preserve pre-Islamic beliefs and rituals with Kurdish, Mesopotamian and Zoroastrian features.

These aspects may stretch back thousands of years earlier than the association with Sufism.

The Yazidis are not usually classified as Gnostic, after the type of religion that emerged out of the Judaeo-Hellenistic world, although the distant transcendent God about whom little can be said and the similarity of Melek Taus to a hybrid Sophia and redeemed-redeemer figure suggest some affinity with Gnosticism. In the redemption of the devil and his conversion into a redeemer figure perhaps we find an example of the inverse exegesis that is familiar in Gnosticism.

Although the Yazidis and Mandaeans mostly lived in different areas of Iraq, they certainly encountered each other. In one extraordinary collision of religions, a Mandean told Lady Dower, the English scholar and friend of Mandaeans, that Melek Taus wrote the Jewish Torah. This must be an adaptation of the idea that the devil wrote the Torah, with the devil then being translated into Yazidi terms, although inaccurately.

Alawites

The most prominent of the region's minority religions are probably the Alawites. In common with the Mandaeans and Yazidis, the Alawites reserve full knowledge of their teachings for an inner circle and the laity are not privy to the esoteric teachings. They also have the distinction which has, alas, been a dubious one -- of having some real political power via the Syrian leader Bashir al-Assad, who is Alawite.

The Alawites are Muslim, albeit a particularly distinctive branch of that major religion. They are Shia Muslims, the branch of Islam to which around one-fifth of the world's Muslims belong. Their own position within the world of Shia Islam is a quirky one. Shia Islam owes its existence to the schism in Islam that occurred after the murder of Ali, the cousin of Muhammad who was the fourth caliph and the first Shia Imam. Shiites are followers of Ali's branch of Islam. Most Shiites specifically acknowledge 12 Shia Imams, leading to them being known as Twelvers. A minority of Shiites acknowledge only the first six of the Imams and then trace and alternative lineage of Imams; these Shiites are know as Seveners, or Ismalis, because of their belief that Jafar al-Sadiq was the seventh Imam (rather than Twelvers' Musa al-Kadhim.)

The Alawites believe in reincarnation, as do the Druze and the Yazidis, but not the Mandaeans. Like Christians, Alawites believe in a kind of trinity, but theirs has three divine beings who most recently incarnated as Ali, Muhammad and Salman the Persian. They also hold a form of communion using wine. Planetary observances have a vestigial role in Alawite religion. Their holy books are still largely secret and unseen by Westerners, but they are said to include a list of holy men that includes not only Muhammad and this successors along with the preceding Abrahamic prophets honoured by Islam (such as [Josh], Moses and so on), but also Greek pagan figures such as Plato and Alexander the Great.

Assad has attempted to paper over these differences with mainstream Islam and to suppress the esoteric elements of Alawite religion, persecuting some of his own people. Were it not for the efforts of Alawites over the centuries to claim membership of the wider Muslim community, they would now be in the position of other minority religions in the Middle East. The Alawites have supported Assad in the civil war in Syria, resulting in around one-third of young Alawite men being killed. The actions of Assad have resulted in their being little sympathy for Alawites in the West and they have not figured prominently in reporting of the Syrian refugee crisis.

Druze

Sometimes confused with the Alawites, the Druze also believe in reincarnation and can also claim to be a heterodox form of Islam. The Druze have extensive communities in Syria (more than half their total population) and Lebanon (around one-quarter). They also have populations in Israel and Jordan, and some New World diaspora communities. They speak Arabic, as do most modern Mandaeans, apart from those in Iran who speak modern Persian (Farsi). For those of us in the English-speaking world it is perhaps difficult to appreciate the overlapping, converging and diverging aspects of identity in the Middle East. Language, location and religion may each provide commonality with or distinction from others living in the same country, which may be bolstered or diminished by changing politics.

A Druze living in Israel can speak Arabic, the language of the Quran, in common with masses of people in other Middle Eastern countries, yet serve in the Israel Defense Forces unlike their fellow Arabic-speaking Muslim Palestinians. A Mandaean in Iraq could also share the language of the Arab majority, be unable to understand an Iranian Mandaean who lives in a country that has regularly and recently been at war with his own, consider himself primarily an Iraqi and yet would share a strong religious and ethnic background with an Iranian Mandaean.

The Druze also self-define as a Muslim sect, although like the Alwites their religion contains syncretistic features. They give prominence not to Moses but to Jethro, a Midianite priest and the father-in-law of Moses, who appears chiefly in Exodus 18. He is seen as a divine revealer, a prophet and an ancestor of the Druze. The distinctive features of Druzism are a cosmology influenced by Pythagorean and Neoplatonic philosophy, combined with a liberal interpretation of the obligations of Islam, which are particularly lax for the laity. A local specialty dish of the Lebanese mountain Druze is a small pig cooked in wine, which would be absolutely anathema for any orthodox Muslim. Immediately before the Arab Muslim invasion of Syria, the area had been a longstanding part of the Hellenistic world, hence the legacy of Greek philosophy.

The Druze follow the now-familiar model of a laity defined more by their membership of an ethnic group or social community than by their beliefs or even their practices. The one important compulsion for lay people is to marry within the Druze community. There is considerable pressure on Mandaeans to marry other Mandaeans too, and those who marry outside the community may even be considered apostate. Many young Mandaean adults in Australia and Canada use the Internet to help them to marry within their own religious community.

The Druze clergy have considerably more religious knowledge than the laymen and there are secret esoteric teachings. Purity and religious discipline is particularly accentuated in the priestly caste, who maintain Islamic food laws (no pork in red wine for them) and practice asceticism. In earlier centuries, the Druze had a reputation as fierce warriors and they fought on the side of the Muslims during the Crusades.

With a total international population of more than 1,5000,000, the Druze are a sizeable minority. When I asked the former British diplomat Gerard Russell, author of Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms, which of the many minority religions he had encountered had most impressed him, it was this one:

The Druze are such an intact community. If you go into the Druze area you're in an area of hundreds of thousand of people who live in a sort of exclusive enclave now. Nearly always did ,actually, but the Christians who lived there have mostly left. When you look at the Druze community, it still is cohesive. but you've really got the priests, as it were, bearing on their shoulders the whole weight of their religion. I don't think that can easily last when the communities are dispersed, when the sheikh doesn't any longer live down the road, but the sheikh lives 100 miles away in Los Angeles.

Zoroastrians

Zoroastrians are better documented in their history than any of the preceding groups, although the ultimate origin of their religion is as hazy as any other. Theirs is now a minority religion having once been a powerful state religion in Persia, or Iran, for centuries.

The native Iranian religion of extreme antiquity was reformed by Zarathustra (Zoroaster is the Greek version of his name), probably around 1000 BC. The historical details of his life are very uncertain and scholarly assessments of the dates of the reform have ranged from 1200 to 500 BC and he is at least a semi-legendary figure. What came after the reform was an organized state religion in which a single god was supreme and a dualism of good and evil was believed to exist, not one of the more Gnostic matter and spirit or light and darkness.

Zoroastrianism had a resurgence in the 3rd century AD. At this time it came into contact with the new Manichaean religion and effectively defeated it as a rival candidate for the state religion of the Sasanian Persians in the 3rd century AD. As we shall see later, the prophet Mani was killed on account of the political influence the Zoroastrian magi had with the Persian king. The Mandaeans were already in Iraq by the Sasanian period. Could the dualism of the Zoroastrians have influenced Mandaeism? Did the Manichaean religion have formative influence on Mandaeism, or could it be the other way around? What exactly is dualism, and is it compatible with monotheism?

Monotheism

Each of the religions described above may be described as monotheist, albeit with a great deal of variation in the understanding and meaning of this term. The Mandaean religion is monotheistic too. This is an important point, because in the Middle East this can be a matter of life and death. There is no polytheistic element in the Mandaean faith. There are many spiritual beings, but this is also true of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, each of which has a range of angels, archangels, demons, djinn and so on. Mandaean beliefs, as we shall see, may also be classified as dualist -- dualist systems may e considered a variety of monotheism. Zoroastrianism itself is classified as a form of monotheistic dualism.

My own interests have moved away considerably from monotheistic religion, which I find rather overrated.

Monotheism can't laugh at its gods, and neither do(es) the god(s) of monotheism laugh at anything. The kind of monotheism espoused by most Christians, Jews and Muslims has considerably difficulty with issues such as the existence of evil. When the creator of the world is identical with the transcendent God, the transcendent God has dirtied his hands, so to speak, with the sufferings, disaster and abominations of physical existence. Nor does monotheism allow for the equal validity of all the psychic powers that make up the human being: sexual love, romantic love, pleasure, curiosity, tolerance, transgression and other qualities are pressed down into sins and demonic impulses under the thumb of the one God. When the God who is the fount of all being dictates laws and scripture, and invests organization with authority, you can be sure that there will be trouble down the line.

Yet monotheism does have a strength, which is its conception of a single-correct goal for humanity. Polytheism acknowledges the diversity of human psychology and needs, and the diversity of nature in its gods. Yet without some transcendent or unifying principle pure polytheism may resemble humanity in its worst features: unintegrated, bickering, petty, defined by desire and conflict. Monotheism at its worst is the religious equivalent of the totalitarian state.

Thus my own interests are in more heterodox forms of religion and spirituality. The contents of this book reflect my focus. But I want to emphasize that the Mandaeans have very right to be acknowledged as a form of monotheism. It can be a matter of life and death for them.

Abrahamic Religion

It is common to refer to Judaism, Christianity and Islam not only as monotheistic but also as Abrahamic religions. Moses may be considered to be the founder of Jewish Law, even the founder of Judaism. He is also revered as a prophet in Islam. Moses is common to all three religions but is an essentially Jewish figure, responsible for the Exodus.

Abraham, however, reaches further back and may be considered the recipient of the first covenant with God.

Abraham had two sons, Ishmael by his wife Sarah's slave-girl Hagar, and Isaac by Sarah herself in her old age. Jews trace their descent through Isaac. Arabs trace themselves back to Ishmael and, as an Arab, Muhammad is therefore a descendant of Ishmael too. Spiritually, every Muslim -- whether Arab or not -- may be considered a descendant of Ishmael, and Hagar and Ishmael are traditionally buried in the Ka'aba at Mecca. The descent of Arabs from Ishmael is probably no more and no less literally true than that of Jews from Isaac.

Christianity became a separate religion from Judaism via its denial of an ethnic element -- being available to male and female, gentile and Jew, free or enslaved, Paul argued allegorically in Galatians 4: 24-31 that although Abraham's son by Sarah, Isaac, whom Abraham was willing to sacrifice to God until Isaac was spared at the last moment, was the ancestor of the Jews, allegorically he represented Christians, and hence the new covenant from God to the gentiles, whereas Ishmael, born of a foreign slave woman, and not a freeman, represented the current state of the Jews and Jerusalem. Although few Christians place importance on this allegorical descent from Ishmael, it is nevertheless a factor because Abraham represents a commitment to monotheism. Thus the three Abrahamic religions each claim a kind of legitimacy from the sons of Abraham and he is seen as the common denominator between them.

The Mandaean religion may arguably be counted as Abrahamic. Abraham is often not a popular figure in Mandaean legend, being considered the leader of the Jews, against whom there is often much hostility. Yet he does occur in at least one folktale told to Drower.

In tis story Bihram was a Mandaean of an important priestly family who discovered a sore on his foreskin and had to be circumcised. Perhaps we might consider the broader category of Adamic religion, religions who honour the figure of Adam (although Eve often does not fare so well.) Adam is the first man in Mandaeism as well as Islam, Judaism, Christianity, Yazidism and other religions.

It is a discernible pattern with the ancient religions of the Middle East that they are credited as having historical founders in early medieval times. However, they also have elements that are anomalous if they are purely heterodox Islamic sects, even compared to the more extreme varieties of Shiism. The Druze have the Pythagorean and Neoplatonic influences. The Alawites have reincarnation, some Christian aspects and elements of planetary worship. The Yazidis have aspects to their religion that connect them with ancient Persia. Far from being founded by a Sufi in the second millennium AD, the Yazidis may go back in one form or another for thousands of years. Many of these religions have rituals that could not come from Muslim sources but may instead represent the continuing hegemony of ancient pagan practices.

The situation with the Mandaeans is somewhat different. Mandaeism does not have a Muslim founder or even a Muslim reformer prophet. According to the received view, he was a 1st-century Jew who was the harbinger of Christianity and a prophet mentioned in the Quran. Yet perhaps elements of Mandaeism too precede even John.

Dualism: Two powers in the universe

Dualist religions posit or acknowledge two opposing powers in the universe. Light and dark, good and evil, spirit and matter are common ontological dichotomies. These are often lined up with each other, so that the spirit may come from the world of light, which is good, whereas the body may be made of matter from the world of darkness and be evil. The focus of the dualism and its implications may vary considerably, as may the mythical structure that supports it.

The somewhat haphazard and unstandardized nature of Mandaean myth means that we may be able to find most forms of dualism within its tales, from a fairly pure straight monotheism to the kind of absolute dualism positing that light and darkness have each existed since the beginning.

Yet in each variety of dualism, only one of the two powers may be considered equivalent to God. Dualist religions always see themselves on the side of God -- as light, of spirit, of good. Nobody chooses which side to take, although a religion's enemies may be seen as on the side of evil, just as apostates may be. The idea of a good power and an evil power being at war with each other, or competing to influence humanity, might not seem all that strange: what abut God and the devil in Christianity?

Is it true that there is a dualistic element in Mainstream Christianity, yet neither Christianity nor Islam nor Judaism are classed as dualistic religions. The reason is probably something to do with the proportion of power possessed by God or Satan. While the devil is seen as an influence on the development of the world and a significant risk for human beings, that influence is relatively minor, as was his original role before his fall. In mainstream Christianity the Earth is not the work of the devil, nor are human beings created by the devil, nor is there any question whether the devil has usurped God, nor that God is diminished by the devil, nor that the devil might be as ancient as God. In dualistic religions -- a category to which Zoroastrianism, Manichaeism, most forms of Gnosticism, Catharism, Bogomilism and Mandaeism all belong -- two powers are in opposition to each other and the arenas in which this contest is played out are the human soul and the world.

If there are two powers in the universe, certain questions come to mind. Are these two powers equal? Was the situation always like this, or has one of the forces seized power? To which power does the Earth owe its existence? Which of the powers created humanity? Is the Earth a good place? And so on.

Perhaps the most basic of these questions is whether the two powers have always existed. There are various logical possibilities available -- for instance, the two powers may be the children of an earlier single power; the original nature of the universe may have been Chaos, from which came the good power; there may have been may other powers or gods at an earlier phase but now there are only two -- but the most important distinction in practice is whether these two powers have each been there from the beginning, or if the evil power is a later development.

If the powers are co-eternal, the dualism is called absolute dualism. If there was originally only God as a single, unique power, and the devil power has fallen or broken away or usurped part of the universe, or is a result of the action of an angel, then this is known as a moderate or monarchical dualism.

In many forms of Gnosticism the creation of the material world is due to Sophia leaving the pleroma and giving birth to the demiurge. Thus the situation of humanity is of spirit imprisoned in matter. The god of matter is the demiurge; the god of spirit is the true God. Spirit and matter are in opposition, yet matter is not inherently real. The situation is a temporary one and eventually all of thew spirit trapped in matter will be liberated and the pleroma will be restored to its original fullness.

When many people encounter the Gnostic myth in one of its many versions their response is often to feel it is gloom or, to use some of the epithets popular in scholarship over the tears, pessimistic, world-denying or anti-cosmic. Yet, perhaps paradoxically, what might be perceived as a negative worldview does not necessarily have a negative effect on the participant. The Cathars of the medieval Languedoc saw the world as the work of the devil, the result of a fall from a purely spiritual heaven into a world of matter. The Perfect, the Cathar elite, abstained from alcohol, meat and sex, as did the earlier Manichaeans. Yet, by all accounts, they were much loved by the ordinary people of the area, including many Catholic lay people, and as a result people were willing to protect them from the Inquisition at great personal cost.

Similarly, the Gnosticism of the Mandaeans has not produced a community that is disgusted with the material world. Even allowing for a considerable amount of accommodation made over the centuries to the practical demands of living in the world, the Mandaeans have the reputation of being gentle people who have good family relations and enjoy traditional ways of life.

One of the questions brought up by an Gnostic myth is the role of nature. If we are told that the material world is a prison and the main purpose of human life is to have the spirit or soul escape from that prison, one of our first responses might be, what about nature? Isn't nature beautiful and bountiful? Isn't nature natural? We might object that nature is also cruel and unforgiving, or that eulogizing nature is essentially a romantic urban response, but there is something to it. Perhaps Gnosticism is the response of people who live in cities.

Yet Lady Drower was struck by the Mandaeans' love of nature (although some of the following comments may display a certain amount of Orientalism):

They possess a genuine love of nature . . . An Arab, although he admires beauty in a woman or a horse, sees personal comfort rather than actual loveliness in a natural scene: a tree to give him shade, running water at which he may drink, a garden in which he my entertain his friends. But the darawish of Mandean tales behold nature in a mystic light. They delight in nature as apart from man. The birds are praying to the Great Life, the stars and the sun chant His praises in harmonies which the pure can hear. This mysticism enters into the action of daily life. If I give a Mandaean a few flowers, he murmurs as he bends over them (from my experience) the beautiful formular 'Perfume of Life, joy of my Lord, Manda of Life!' ... The mortification, dirtiness, and self-deprivation of Christian asceticism in its medieval stage are unknown to these joyous mystics. All that the Spirit of Life sends is a good life, to be used with praise . . . Death does not exist, since the living and the dead constantly meet at the table of the ritual meal.

The dualism of the Mandaeans can be an absolute one. Light and dark each existed from the beginning in their separate kingdoms. But now they are mixed. How did the universe come to be this way, how will it end, and what is the ongoing process in which humans are involved? It is the role of Mandaean myth to explain these questions.

#to get a feeling #gates of summer #summer vibes #read books #real american values #shit's getting real #good lunk

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cinlat · 5 years ago

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Omg they look like they are having so much fun. One of the first stories we wrote of these two was Kadu teaching Jurr how to swim. I love the stripes on him and the markings on her. And the look Jurr is giving him Alaska volumes. Kadu is 100% trying to talk Jurr into surfing these waves and she's having none of it because someone might see. But she loves watching him have fun. Man, I love these two.

@kunoichi-ume and @cinlat‘s Jurr and Kadu, living it up in the waves! There’s no way I could get away from the surf when I was given this Jedi and his Trooper to work with. Another that’ll have more colours to come… I’m only a tiny bit behind, I can do this!

#dingoat's art #mermay #jedi consular: kadu jadon #ume oc: jurr jinn #i love them!#Kadu would enjoy being a merman so much #he's the Cathar who loves water

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arvadthecursed · 3 years ago

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my main gang is:

Chiara Acardi, UR - Azra Electromancer born on Fiora. Her mother was a Planeswalker who had a brief affair with a nobleman.

Slava Alkaev, RWB - Vampire knight from Dominaria. His spark ignited before he was fully turned, allowing him to planeswalk. His heart still beats, just very slowly, but he does require blood to survive.

Olympia "Ollie" Bellamy, BG - Human necromancer from Dominaria. She is a skilled surgeon, having been trained as one from the age of 12.

Ikal, GUR - Merfolk elemental wizard from Ixalan. His brother was killed by the Legion of Dusk, causing his spark to ignite. He can use fire, earth, and water.

Sigurd Burkhardt, GWU - human cleric from Innistrad. He sparked during the Battle of Thraben while trying to save his young niece (she survived, but he doesn't know that).

Arzyna Stromkirk, BR - human assassin from an unknown plane invaded by Phyrexia. She sparked at the age of 2-3, and ended up on Innistrad, where she was found and raised by the umbramancer Augustus Stromkirk. She later was recruited into an interplanar assassin's syndicate following her father's death at the hands of the Cathars.

They are all members of the Gatewatch, Arzyna albeit a bit unwillingly (she didn't think she deserves such an honor). I love them :)

#magic the gathering #fanwalkers #millie says

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letsunity · 3 years ago

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The Lucky Batch ☘️

Cold Lullabies

With the information that Raffle delivered, Kenlha wanted to hear their side of the story. However, she struggled to muster the gut to do so, knowing the pain they must feel.

Every day, Kenlha misses Morast, wishing that she’d never been their padawan. Maybe the Clawdite would still be alive if Kenlha was dumped with another master, someone like Kit Fisto or Ki-Adi Mundi, the latter being a sociopath. Mundi was better than Mace Windu, the prick.

She has an idea how they feel. Though instead of losing one, they’ve lost many. Not only their batchmates but prior mother-figure, Master Bastet.

Master Fisto, Master Koon and Master Kenobi believed that she was best for this squad, they trusted her to care for them. In order to do that, she needed to know as much as possible.

Not only that, but share as well. They’ll be fully open to each other, no secrets between them. That’ll build trust and maybe make them almost competent.

The twins, however, are crafty bastards.

Foxy would direct the conversation in one of his many attempts to flirt. Thumbs would egg him on while Ballast laughed.

Pepper, being the only medic, could say that he was busy with one of his idiot brothers. Given how often this lot gets injured, she can’t argue that he’s was a busy guy.

It was a waiting game. She’d have to ambush one of them, get them comfortable with her.

This togruta space witch is even craftier than these twins.

While trying to mentor Brisk and Luna, she’d wait.

Eventually, Kenlha’s time came, just not how she wanted it to.

On one of the missions, Pepper was hurt, the fool more focused on protecting Foxy. He got an infection from the wound, even contracting a virus. Foxy was adamant that they not go back to Kamino, leaving them to follow Pepper’s fevered orders.

It inspired her to start practicing medicine, only for her to realise how complicated it was.

With perseverance and a visit from a clone named Kix, Peps was on his way to getting back on his feet.

Since he couldn’t run away, Kenlha would take advantage of the only moment she had.

“Looking better by the day,” Kenlha complimented, sitting next to Pepper’s bed. “You’ll be giving out stickers any day, buddy.”

“Goose will be thrilled,” the medic continued, wondering how high it’s body count was now. “Ryder needs a new Nexu sticker. Then I can make the hot Cheetos dipped in mashed potatoes scratch and sniff for him.”

It was sweet to see the new Ryder bring such a gift to Pepper, he adored it.

“Is it alright if I ask you something?”

“You can always confide with me, Ken. Doctor patient confidentiality ensures your secrets are safe with me.”

He was a soft boi, a good brother to her and an excellent doctor. When she looked into those mismatched eyes and his soft smile, it was easy to forget what he’d endured. What both twins went through together.

“I’d like to know about before me and before Master Bastet. I’m a Jedi, I can sense your instinctive caution around me, even though you don’t show it. As your General, your sister, I want to be there for you as you are for me.”

Perhaps it was the fever, maybe it was exhaustion, but he gave somewhat of a summary of what transpired with Master Laverna. She could feel the trauma, especially regarding the force-choke.

He had to hold his neck, recalling the events as though he was re-living them again.

Raffle forgot to mention that the Jedi’s death was an accident, but in her opinion, he deserved it. While she’s biased, being their sister, she can’t stand people mistreating the clones.

Being so close with the twins, she’s disgusted by that dead Cathar.

“I... sometimes I don’t think Foxy should’ve gotten involved,” the medic sighed, like a weight was lifted from his chest.

Understandably, Kenlha was surprised, though she wouldn’t voice it. He was sharing with her, she can’t ruin this. She can understand him more, and by doing that, she can be a better sister.

“He had a padawan, a girl, possible 11 or so, named Teles. I cut off her leg, but didn’t cut high enough, and she died, likely septic shock. I held her hand as that light fell away. Nothing he could’ve done to me would compare to feeling her going limp and cold.”

He felt responsible for her. He did everything he could and she still died. It’s a pain that Kenlha empathised with more than she wished she did. Her eyes burned as salty water seeped through her ducts, dribbling down her yellow skin.

“I often feel that I killed my master, Morast Tane. They were strict, but they were better to me than anyone before. They tried to guide my energy onto something productive and constructive, kind of like a parent to me,” Kenlha started, recalling the events herself.

“It was on a hot planet called Nevarro, magma and volcanic ash littering the ground. While fighting an army of droids, some damned flyers shot from above, causing the ground to become unstable.

I didn’t think. I jumped into the air, slicing through those bastards. One that I bisected fell, crashing into that unstable ground and causing Master Morast to fall. I tried to pull them up, but they fell into the lava.

The only word they could muster was Run before the cries started. Being outmatched, outgunned, we had to leave. There wasn’t even anything to bury them,” Kenlha sighed, the sensation of something clawing at her throat adding to the tears. “I know the pain of being responsible, even when others tell you it wasn’t your fault.”

The medic absorbed her tale, allowing her a few moments to recollect herself. The togruta held his hand, supporting herself and him in the emotional moment.

There were days she wished it was her instead of Master Morast.

“Do you remember the Endeavour, that ship that crashed down, killing two-thousand troopers?” Pepper started, his voice trembling. “I... could’ve stopped that from happening.”

She waited, feeling his grip tighten around hers.

“At Geonosis, while Foxy, Mozzarella, Springer and Locke were fighting droids, I and a few others were sent back to look for surviving Jedi. Instead, I found someone with my face, only far younger.

I knew who he was, everybody did. The Maker’s chosen child, the payment for his involvement in making us. The one that he named Boba, raising as his own.

If I’d just taken him in or hell, even shot him, then all of those clones would still be alive. Master Windu and Master Skywalker wouldn’t have been hurt. Instead of that, I let him go, lying to my fellows that I didn’t find anybody.”

“While the Endeavour was a tragedy, I think you did the right thing. They were only a child, weren’t they? Even by Mandalorian standards, he was a kid, right?”

“Master Bastet said something similar. And she’s dead too. I tend to have bad luck regarding Jedi.”

He was afraid to get close to her in case she died. It’s an understandable fear, she was terrified of ever having a master again.

Kenlha was scared to even be a Master, worried that she’d never live up to Morast with her young girls. Brisk and Luna were outliers too, so she had an advantage there, but still.

There are days where she wondered if Morast would’ve been better for them.

“I won’t promise that I’m not gonna die. We all die eventually, many earlier than they should. What I will promise, Peps, is that I’ll be here for every day that it gets hard. During the days it feels like there can’t be a tomorrow, I’ll be right here to listen. All of us, even Goose.”

“Foxy’ll need an ear, too. He’s an idiot, but he’s my idiot.”

“He was adamant that we steer clear from Kamino. Would I be pushing it if I asked why?”

She watched those green and brown eyes ponder, thinking over her question. As with before, he chose to share.

“Foxy and I aren’t just twins. There’re loads of twins, Echo and Fives from the 501st for example. We, however, are literal twins. Our clump of cells split and we grew attached at the shoulder,” he explained, motioning to his tattooed shoulder. “The Kaminoans, having not seen it often, experimented on us to prevent it from happening again. Our earliest memories have made us dislike them, especially the one named Nala Se.”

It made sense and she could agree with it.

“Then to ensure that we don’t go, I think I’ll have to learn some doctor lessons from you. I’ll be your, um, what’s that dumb thing Jackal says?”

“P-to-the-wan?”

“Yep, I’ll be your medic padawan,” she smiled, earning one from him as well. It was a beautiful thing, given his experiences. “Have a sleep, pal. We’ll give you a few minutes of peace.”

“There’s tape in Boots’ room,” he chuckled. She smirked, knowing that it would be for Ballast. “It... was good talking with you, Ken.”

“You too, Doctor Bro.”

Kenlha will talk with Foxy as well. She’ll talk with all of her siblings, assuring them that she’s there for ‘em. Not just her clones but her padawans, too.

She wasn’t going to lie, it felt good talking to Peppy about her feelings as well.

Feelings aren’t accepted in the Jedi Order, so he made her feel valid. It was something she desperately needed from someone, and she was happy it was from Peps.

This is a good family she’s found.

Love you guys!

Tags: @lynnpaper @just-another-dreamerr @maygalodon @radbatch @oo-hazel-oo @foxlock @lusiawonder @catboy-tech @cosmicghostie @monako-jinn-stories @namesmox @generaltano @lavenderstaars @mango-peachjuice

I am evil, yis ��😈

PS - it’s 3:23am lol brain is working overtime!

#The Lucky Batch #Clone Force 37 #Chaos/Comfort

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miss-spooky-eyes · 4 years ago

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OC Inspirations: Devinahl & Indy

I was (delightfully) tagged by @vespertine-legacy a while ago and I’ve hesitated to do this because I knew I was going to talk WAY too much - but it was weighing on me, so I decided to open up about the sources from which I stole, that is, drew inspiration for Devinahl and Indirae.

What three fictional characters is your OC a combination of?

This doesn’t apply to every OC - not even mine - but its certainly true for a few : Many of our characters are, to an extent, inspired by characters we see in movies, books, games, TV shows, etc.

Does this apply to any of your OCs? Was it a conscious decision on your part or not? Is your OC a combination of three (or more) fictional characters?

If so - post some GIFs / pics and tell us about them! What does your OC draw from other characters?

Too much Devinahl & Indy chat after the cut.

DEVINAHL

The truth is that when I came to creating my Imperial Agent Devinahl, and in particular fleshing out her backstory in far, far too much detail, there were some sources that I went to extremely explicitly and deliberately. And chief among them was ...

1. Garak, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

That’s right. Garak from Deep Space Nine. Plain, simple Garak. Outcast. Exile. Spy. Addict. Perennial liar. Patriot. Terrorist. Would-be genocider. Very good tailor.

(If you haven’t seen DS9, then you need to. It’s like Star Trek, but if it was actually good? And Garak is a big part of what elevates it.)

Is it weird to compare my ancient video game Barbie/gorgeous sex bomb badass assassin and seductress to a cold-blooded space lizard who spends his days hemming pants? Possibly. But there are aspects of Garak’s character that, consciously and unconsciously, I made parts of Devinahl’s DNA.

Firstly, Garak is a patriot. He loves Cardassia so much that despite seeing its flaws with absolute clarity, despite having been exiled and reviled by it, he would die without question to serve it (of course, he’d much rather make someone else die). And while seeing that as a weakness, despite knowing that the Cardassia he has committed to serving is disappearing before his eyes, there is still a part of him that believes that that commitment - that neverending sacrifice - is noble. The only noble part of him. That’s central to Devinahl’s character (which is, in turn, the way I made sense of the IA storyline). That while hating and despising the Sith, she would nevertheless believe in the Empire - not so much believe that it is good (at best, I think she sees it as order and stability where the Republic is corruption and chaos) as believe that her commitment to it is the only redeeming thing available to her.

Secondly, the way that Garak will take his needs, vulnerabilities, sincere emotions and package them in ways which gets him what he has to have to keep going, without ever giving up full control? Particularly in the extraordinary episode The Wire, in which a dying Garak tells Dr Bashir a series of lies about himself in order to elicit Bashir’s forgiveness, because he needs to be sincerely forgiven but without ever telling the truth?

Out of all the stories you told me, which ones were true and which ones weren’t? My dear doctor, they’re all true. Even the lies?

That is everything I tried to do with Dev, particularly in my fic about her and SCORPIO, particularly when it comes to her and Arcann. To know what she needs, as Garak needs absolution from Bashir, and tell just enough truth - put herself into just vulnerable enough a position - to get it, but never without reserving something, holding something back, whether it’s the knowledge that she can maneouvre herself out of SCORPIO’s clutches at any time or her real name? That’s a fucking survivor.

Thirdly, the relationship between Devinahl and Sifter (the spymaster who finds her as a traumatised child and grooms her for Intelligence) and specifically, the deathbed scene I wrote in Riddle was directly inspired by Garak’s relationship with Enabran Tain and that death scene.

Yes, Devinahl was not Sifter’s actual daughter, but in every real sense she was formed by Sifter - and had Sifter had just one day with Dev like Tain had with Garak, Dev would have been lost. She would have turned herself into a carbon copy of Sifter, and she would have died. But the bittersweetness? The acknowledgement that the parental figure you love will never, not even now that they’re dying, love you as you want them to?

‘I should have killed your mother before you were born. You have always been a weakness I can't afford.’ ‘So you've told me. Many times. ...’ ‘Elim, remember that day…in the country. You must've been almost five.’ ‘How can I forget it? It was the only day.’

(The love and infinite sadness with which Andrew Robinson says that line, ‘It was the only day’? I’m crying just thinking about it. Anyway, it was everything I was thinking about and wanted to achieve in that scene.)

Oh ... and Devinahl’s ambiguous relationship with her implants? Well, Garak also has an implant in his head. And that’s all I’m saying about that.

2. Oryx from Oryx & Crake by Margaret Atwood

A novel character rather than from TV or movies, I hope that’s OK. And I know that there are ... very problematic elements to the way Atwood writes about Oryx, her family, her culture, her background. But she was one of the strongest elements that went into creating Devinahl and her backstory.

There were specific aspects of the story Oryx tells to Jimmie - particularly the parts about being told to scream and make a fuss if a man tries to take you away to a hotel room, and then being told not to make a fuss when a man tries to take you away to a hotel room - that became part of Dev’s story. But there was also a general attitude and way of looking at life I wanted to capture and incorporate. Oryx’s philosophy of value?

Of course (said Oryx), having a money value was no substitute for love. Every child should have love, every person should have it. . . . but love was undependable, it came and then it went, so it was good to have a money value, because then at least those who wanted to make a profit from you would make sure you were fed enough and not damaged too much. Also there were many who had neither love nor a money value, and having one of these things was better than having nothing.

I wanted to create a character who could look at life and suffering and abuse, even her own, and view it in that dispassionate way which horrifies someone from my middle-class Western background - and then I wanted to test that idea, to bring it up against SCORPIO and have SCORPIO try to break it down with torture, to see if it was just a cool facade/necessary illusion. I wimped out of really testing that belief, instead having Dev always know that she could get out of her situation/having her find a way to be loved without truly having to sacrifice her protective patterns ... but if I was a little braver and better, I’d have tested it to breaking point. How far can a character go who thinks like that while still remaining, on some level, compassionate/human/likeable?

3. Saffron (Firefly)

I could have gone Black Widow (definitely the inspiration for Dev’s aesthetic in terms of outfit etc). But the plain truth is that I thought more about Saffron while dreaming up Devinahl/writing her backstory than I did about Black Widow (yes, Widow turned her weakness into strength in a manipulative fashion all the time, but Garak did it better, and other than that she mainly looked after boys in a way that I did not want Dev to be limited to).

Firefly, for a show that had - what - 13 episodes? - exercises far too much of a hold on my imagination and Saffron, especially in the first episode in which she appeared, was such a tremendous character. The way that she found exactly the triggers to turn each member of the crew inside out? (And if she’d had more time, it absolutely would have worked on Wash and Inara, too - it only didn’t because she had to hurry.) Dev has that. I can’t write it, because I suck, but she has it.

Oh, and nobody will ever know Devinahl’s real name (apart from you, if you read my fic about her backstory) and she’d die before letting you know it. That’s straight from Saffron. As is, I suppose, the man who would accept her just as she is without needing to push to know her secrets, except it worked out a little better for Dev and Arcann than it did for Yolanda and Durran Haymer because Dev and Arcann will always have pegging.

INDIRAE

(This will be a lot shorter than the section on Devinahl, I promise.)

1. Steve Rogers, Captain America (and whatever else)

I have never been super into the MCU, but the key reference I used to find a way into Indy’s character, back when she was nothing more than a cool-looking Cathar Bounty Hunter, was Steve Rogers. (November can attest to this)

Indy’s physical size - she’s six foot if she’s an inch, and big - is key to her personality, but equally key is the idea that she would always experience that size as uncomfortable and slightly alien to her. Like Steve Rogers, she started out as the scrawny kid always getting beat up by everybody ... And when she got her strength (with a hefty assist from the toxic waste run-off into what was her family’s only source of water) and suddenly got TALL and STRONG? She did not like bullies - which was what led her to help Coda out of a jam at the spacesport and started them on their road.

(If there’s a better way to play the BH storyline than as a stone-cold mercenary with an utterly unwilling heart of gold ... then I don’t know about it.)

2. Xena, Xena Warrior Princess

I’ll be completely fucking straight with anybody about this (so to speak): I love Xena, I had an obsession with it as a teenager I’m still unpacking, and the show tends to feed into my characters in an ... odd way.

Indy is physically imposing like Xena, is the main thing; and her dynamic with Coda owes a lot to Xena’s with Gabrielle (although Coda is as big and tough as Indy, she is the fast talker/smooth operator to Indy’s laconic strongman). I wanted Indy to dominate action scenes the way that Xena does, be that kind of a force of nature; and watch her struggle to find ways to channel that charisma, to need Coda’s help to understand how to do it.

3. Dottie Henson, A League of Their Own

OK, first of all, I do not want to hear any kind of mockery. This is, unironically, one of my favourite films of all time.

Again, we come back to the core theme of a character struggling with her own greatness/potential. That’s what is the most fascinating through-line of A League of Their Own: Dottie, this unbelievable baseball player/physical presence (yes, she’s very tall, just like Indy) who is so terrified to admit that she wants anything more than her smalltown life and dreadful husband, even while the evidence of her talent and passion for the game is burning up these ... fields? Diamonds? I don’t know baseball apart from this film.

Indy certainly hides behind not wanting to be a bounty hunter. She doesn’t believe in any Mandalorian nonsense about romanticising what is an unglamorous job. She’s just doing it for credits and afterwards, once she’s secured her family’s future, she’s totally going to go home and settle down in some acceptable, domestic way. Being on the Mantis with Coda, it’s absolutely just a means to an end. She doesn’t want to be there, she doesn’t care about it, it’s not who she is, she doesn’t need it. This life, the adventure, the freedom, the fighting for survival, it’s certainly not what gets inside her and what lights her up, no, not at all.

Oh, and Dottie is also a reluctant leader. She doesn’t see why her talent should put her in the position of telling other people what to do - but then, on the other hand, she sees so clearly what they need to be doing, and when she says to do it, they listen. She doesn’t want to carry this team, but they’re only a team so long as she carries them.

(Don’t worry, Coda’s not going to let her lie to herself for too long.)

#swtor #excessively long answers to memes #oc: devinahl #oc: indirae

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elsa-agdardottir · 5 years ago

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Headcanon: medieval, religious conflict AU

Based on the religious conflict between the people who believed in Catharism (x) in the Languedoc region of Southern France and the Catholic Church in the early-13th century.

Anna was a daughter of Raymond Roger Trencavel, lord of the fortified town Carcassonne, and several other towns in the Languedoc region. The Threncavels were a Catholic family, but were protective of their subjects regardless of their religious beliefs. Therefore, the Catholics and the Cathars lived in harmony in their towns.

Elsa was a Cathar perfect (i.e. priestess), daughter of a well-respected Cathar perfect couple. She grew up with Anna in Carcassonne, and it was well-known in town that they were childhood sweethearts. When they were teens, they had a silversmith forged a pair of matching necklaces for them to represent their true love (TM).

When Elsa and Anna reached adulthood, the Cathars were deemed as heretics by the Catholic Church, which sent crusades to attack the Languedoc region. Hans and Duke of Weselton were among the crusaders. Hans aimed to destroy the Trencavel family in order to take over (part of) their lands and become a lord. Duke of Weselton joined the crusade because he hated everyone who was not a Catholic, and wanted to exploit the riches of the Trencavels.

In 1209, Carcassonne fell, with Anna’s dad died in prison. All the Cathars were expelled from town. Elsa escaped alone without telling Anna where she was heading. She didn’t want to be found by Anna as she was afraid that Anna would get into troubles by being close to her. On the other hand, Anna desperately tried to find and protect Elsa, whom the crusaders were attempting to hunt down. Since Anna was the daughter of Raymond Trencavel, Hans tempted Anna to marry him by claiming that he would protect her and the people she loved. His intention was to increase his bargain to become a lord in the region through the marriage. Weselton was skeptical of Anna’s religious belief due to her close relationship with Elsa, but Hans confirmed that Anna was a Catholic so that she wouldn’t be prosecuted. Anna had to navigate the dangerous waters to achieve her goal: to protect Elsa at all cost!

Modern day Carcassonne (ref: x)

#i know i know this is super nerdy #by the way the Catholic inquisition began with the Cathar prosecution #then was later extended to including Muslims and witches #so being a Cathar seems to be a good metaphor of being a witch or someone magical #the Cathars were martyrs #i have so much sympathy towards them #the Catholic Church especially the Dominican Order were totally stained with blood #headcanon #elsanna #carcassonne #medieval au #cathar au #my ramblings

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maggiesarchives · 4 years ago

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IS IT OC DAY YET?!?!?! BECAUSE I HAVE THOUGHTS(tm)

OKAY SO ANYONE WITH A RUDIMENTARY UNDERSTANDING OF STAR WARS KNOWS ABOUT MANDALORIANS RIGHT?

My Mando OC is from swtor and i love him. His name is Ke’ade and he was born on Tatooine to a Republic settlement, unfortunately after an invasion from the Empire left his home in ashes and he himself missing in the desert for several days he became a Bounty Hunter, running from one world to the next (there was an incident on Mek-Sha). now imagine this death-stick-smoking-sith-shit-talking-tiny-motherfucker meeting the-perfect-jedi-embodiment-of-peace-and-serenity — what happens then?? WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THEY FIND OUT HE’S FORCE SENSITIVE?!?!???! WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A FORCE SENSISTIVE MANDALORIAN?!?!?!? (Bounty Hunter)

drinking, drinking happens

Mar’keo is the perfect jedi, serene, calm, understanding and compassionate. unfortunately he is surrounded by seven other dumbasses ranging from chaotic neutral to chaotic slut. He develops what ultimately comes to a little bit of a drinking problem (during the Mek-Sha incident)- he can’t handle this gremlin boy he meets on Nar Shadaa???? He already has Nicky???? he’s like that dad that says he doesn’t want anymore kids and yet adopts the next child he sees. After the Alderaan Accident there’s a nice little rhyme that goes around the family: “what do you do with a drunk-ass Jedi what do you with a drunk-ass jedi what do you do with a drunk ass jedi earrrly in the mooooorning?” (Consular)

And Nicky, sweet, feral Nicky, this kid took down the EMPEROR the goddamn BIG BAD. He’s so done with everything. he’s batshit 25/8. diplomacy???? Lana handles that because there is NOT going to be another Alderaan Accident. He’s married to Theron Shan who (despite refusing to admit it) is just as feral and impulsive. Mar’keo and Nicky have known each other since they were BABIES- growing up in the Jedi Order together and literally the first two members of their weird dysfunctional family that would kill and die for each other. (Knight)

Don’t even get me started on Trii’va. She’s all of them combined in a beautiful blend of chaotic dumbass and pure big dick energy. Did i mention she’s married to He’katia??? Member of the Dark Council and right hand lady to Darth Marr??? No??? Well we shall come back to that. This chick is the loopiest smuggler on the hyper lanes, she taught Nicky how to ride a motorbike and give Mar’keo and Lana an extra 35 heart attacks a month. (smuggler)

He’katia is The Librarian Lesbian That Kills People For Fucking Up The Dewey Decimal System and is the Togruta embodiment of “Books are better than people” she loves the Empire and openly advocates for change amongst the Sith while proudly showing off her feral wife and having tea parties with Darth Marr while they bitch about Vowrawn and Saresh. (inquisitor)

KEL!!!! KEL’KATIS!!!! or as Mar’keo calls him “that slut” because let’s be real he is the SLUTTIEST Sith on the block and there is an ongoing rivalry between Nicky and Kelly to see who has the softest hair in the known galaxy and let me tell you it gets VIOLENT.

we don’t talk about the Water Shortage of ‘07

Karavia- because where did Trii’va learn her sass if not from her mom? Trii’va is adopted, Karavia (or auntie Kavvy as the rest call her) is Cathar and Trii’va is Twi’lek and she is THE most badass mom ever, literally, take no shit. She hates, hates the brass, and so when given free reign over Havoc Squad and her uptight-but-in-a-cute-way lieutenant she uses every chance to piss off as many entitled fucks as she can and well...... Monkey see monkey do right? (trooper)

and then, at last, we have Ahtoan. Tony. Top-Hat-McGee as Ke’ade lovingly dubbed him. The youngest member of Imperial Intellegence and the youngest saboteur to fuck that shit up. He is by far the youngest of all of them (not even hitting twenty at the beginning of the story) and was found by Nicky somewhere between the end of Ilum and the beginning of Makeb. The poor kid is tired, he just wants to go to sleep. He’s never had a real family and so when he meets these seven other fucked up weirdos he is SO happy- and then Mar’keo offers to help heal him, and so breaks down crying and just HUGS the man. (Agent)

It is at that point we reach the collective look of “We’ve only had Tony a day and a half but if anything happened to him we’d kill everyone in the galaxy and then ourselves”

suffer reading all that Darth Mags

lets. fucking. go.

Ke'ade

loving that Tragic Backstory™ and whenever someone says the words Bounty Hunter I always go 👀👀👀👀👀

HES TINY!!??!?!? HE IS SMOL???!!!!?!?!???! he is mine now I am stealing him. AND HES FORCE SENSITIVE??!!?!?!?!

in curious abt this perfect-je si-embodiment-of-peace-and-serenity and now the two would act around each other 👀👀👀👀

Mar'keo

Mar'keo and the Seven Dumbasses sjfsjfsjfsfhzhfsh p l e a s e its like this weird off brand snow white movie I watched at the beach with Hero 😂😂😂

okay so im assuming this is the Perfect Jedi Character you were talking abt?? ok good.

cant wait for chaos slut to make an appearance

aww, poor alcoholic bby, its ok I support him no matter what. also all this talk of mek-sha is scaring me.

NICKY I think I remember nicky jahshshha

I'm assuminf the gremlin is Ke'ade??? correct me if I'm wrong please :))

"that dad that says he doesn't want any more kids but then adopts the next child he sees" ahem do you mean Qui-Gon???? I think you mean Qui-Gon.

THE RHYME I'm in love

Nicky

NICKY !!!!! sweet feral nicky :') I love him already.

Hes just tired, he took down the big bad, let him rest.

done with everything??? batshit 25/8????? sounds like my kind of dude tbh

the alderaan accident 👀👀👀 im intrigued

we stan jedi besties-since-birth

FUCK YEAH JEDI KNIGHT BABEYYY

Trii'va

ma'am pls step on me

I live for chaotic dumbass ladies

honestly she just sounds so cool, 10/10 I love her

MARRIED TO MAULS RIGHT HAND LADY AYYYYY

did someone say badass wives who kick as a while looking hot as fuck? no??

He'katia

I have no words to express how much I love her

LIBRARY LESBIAN

I just zhshhagaggagsga

showing off her wide??? tea parties with maul?????? gimme.

Kel'katis

*bangs fist on table* CHAOS SLUT

I love the him. I want more. please tell me more abt the chaos slut.

lmaooo soft hair battle 😂😂😂 I love it

Karavia

AUNTIE KAVVY P L E A S E THATS SO CUTE

this woman. I just- jdhdhshjshshsh

I love her.

pissing off the entitled and then the gang copies her 😂😂😂 I love it

Ahtoan

TONY

TOPHAT MCGEE

I LOVE HIM

babie

never had a real family 😭😭😭 please let me hug him, that's so soft abt the healing hshsbzbahbzb

in conclusion, I love them all.

its OC day! ~ celebration info post

#JIM #I LOVE THEM #jim does it again #jim's ocs #star wars #ask #mags answers #mags' 200

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kyberled · 4 years ago

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@cosmicnexus said:

// i don't even know the whole story but i know based on the red x's on the picture those kids ain't alright and i am S A D but holy fuck jay this picture is amazing!!! the shading and the rendering!!!!

// AaaaaAAAA thank you Kato ;w; You’re always far too good to me and I love you <3<3<3

The basic story is this is Braig’s little ‘inner circle’ group of best friends. He met Hano (the Cathar) when he was three, and they’ve been best friends ever since; he met Naweh (the Tarasin) not long after, and she fit in with them perfectly; He met Booda (the Gungan) when he was four, Lohata (the Rodian) when he was five, and he sort of knew the Affgor twins, Garak and Shah-Ki (the Weequay) in passing, but he didn’t actually know them until their Gathering, when the seven of them - at age seven - went to find their kyber crystals. Ever since the Gathering, they’ve sort of been their own little clique, so they refer to their collective selves as ‘the Gathering group’. Not very creative, but it suits their purposes.

(Little fun fact: Braig’s the oldest of all of them! Technically they’re all born in the same year, but he was born first. The actual age order is Braig -> Lohata -> Hano -> Naweh -> Booda -> the Twins. The Twins don’t know which one of them was born first, and change their answer depending on their moods.)

(more details under a cut because I rambled)

Tarasins, such as Naweh, have skin that changes colour based on their emotions. They can learn to control the changes, and even use them to communicate when they get older. Normally, Naweh keeps herself a calm, neutral blue-purple-green, but she knows her friends don’t care, so right now, she’s a happy/excited pink-yellow-orange. Anyone who knows Tarasin skin colours would take one look at her and go ‘wow, she’s stoked to be there’.

One of Naweh’s favourite places to be was the nurseries. She always said if she hadn’t been chosen to pursue knighthood, she would’ve been happy working with the younglings (to the point where if she ever had the Group’s braincell and advised against something, they’d usually chorus a light-hearted ‘Yes, Crechemaster’). She loved kids. That’s why, aside from encouraging Hano to embrace his bastard status, she’s braiding Braig’s hair. She doesn’t have hair of her own, but some of the little ones do, and having it braided makes it easier for them to do their training. She’s practicing braids so she can help the kids better on her next shift. (That’s also why she has a bunch of hair ties around her wrist, in part. She also just wore them because most of her close friends - Braig, Hano, the twins - have long hair, so she comes prepared in case they lose one of their own ties.)

She gets a red X because she was in her beloved nurseries when Order 66 was declared. She died shielding the younglings, helping the staff smuggle them out. One of the last things she ever did was use the Force to shove some of the smaller ones into a ventilation duct in the hopes they might escape. She knew she wouldn’t. If you were to find her body after the Purge, you’d find her still covering some little ones who weren’t so lucky, a guardian to the last.

Of course we all know and love Braig. I don’t have too much to say about him here, since, again, we know him already. He’s napping because he’s warm and safe, the Force in the gardens and with his friends feels amazing, and he’s been getting his hair played with for the past five minutes. He’s also, as the group’s healer, on standby in case Booda’s prosthetics hurt her, but they all trust the Twins’ work enough that he feels safe dozing.

He survives Order 66, so no X - but his connection to the Living Force, combined with so many deaths all at once, leaves him with near-permanent metaphysical chronic pain. Sometimes, the literal air around him just feels painful to him. It sucks.

Hano is the tallest and strongest of the group. He evens out at 7′5, over 300 lbs. The Force gave him a bronze crystal when he was young and he did not disappoint. The necklace he wears is actually a trophy from the first hunt he went on, a rite of passage among Cathar. The trophy just lets other Cathar know he completed the hunt and can be welcomed as an adult into their society. Given that he was training as a tracker (Braig always called him ‘the greatest/most skilled tracker I’ve ever met’), his success was inevitable. As intimidating as he can be, he’s a gentle giant and a goofball at heart. He’ll tear it up on the battlefield, sure, but he’ll also use the fact he’s strong enough to lift a clone trooper in one arm to carry wounded men back to safety, to carry his friends around for fun, or to help the men, other Jedi, and the Temple staff with more strenuous physical labor. He also enjoys play-fighting, especially with Braig and Naweh, and the control he learned through the rigorous training of a Jedi means he can easily do so without hurting them. He’s always had a penchant for mischief, which is why he’s been telling dumb jokes and awful puns for the past little while.

(Bonus fun fact: I joked, years ago, that he’s large enough that when he goes out with his friends - especially Small Friend Braig - he gets mistaken as their master. When I posted a WIP of this in my discord server, my friend Reece assumed he was their dad, so. It looks like that’s not a joke and actually happens, and Braig was quietly sulking that he’s three months older for a while after. Hano continues to think it’s funny.)

He survived Order 66, barely. He was blinded and lost a leg in an explosion (hence the red scribbles). His master, Yokar Eedai, hid him among rubble, commed some of his non-Jedi friends to find the location, and then lead the clones away at the cost of his own life. Hano spent many years hiding in the Outer Rim in self-imposed exile. (He does eventually reunite with Braig, though. If you swing by Braig’s weapons shop, you can usually see him there, bandages tied over his eyes and metallic claws peeking out from under his left pantleg.)

Garak and Shah-Ki aren’t very talkative or physically affectionate. They show their love for their friends through inclusion and acts of service. When they were young, still forming their group, Braig always thought that they were ‘each others’ best friend, and could live without the rest of us’. While that may have once been true, they’ve bonded with the rest of the Group quite thoroughly. So Garak is brushing Hano’s hair for him (Hano usually wears it in braids) and Shah-Ki is fixing Booda’s prosthetics, though they’re both debating the best way to enhance the water-proofing without sacrificing mobility. The twins were training as Shadows, a rare variant of Jedi that specializes in stealth missions. They were also brilliant slicers and engineers, making them incredible secret agents. By the time they were senior padawans, they could make not only themselves invisible through the Force, but one or two others, as well. They would often use this talent to bring one of the others of their group to see what they had most recently found or made. The rest of the Group always joked that you never knew what it was going to be. It could be a store room in the Temple that had fallen out of use, it could be a Battle Droid they repurposed, or it could be the complete dossier of someone who wasn’t legally supposed to exist. Just whatever they thought was cool.

Their penchant for going unnoticed also meant that they heard, intentionally or otherwise, all sorts of gossip throughout the Temple. They’d usually share interesting tidbits at mealtimes with their friends, a practice Naweh had affectionately dubbed ‘Holocast T’.

While Weequay can grow hair, braids are significant to them culturally, representing how many times they’ve visited their home planet of Sriluur. Because of this, the twins opted to have silka bead padawan ‘braids’ instead.

They were finishing up a mission when Order 66 hit. While they were never as outwardly friendly as some others, they did trust their men, and as such didn’t think to hide themselves from those that became their executioners until it was too late. They died only moments apart, still reaching out to each other, but weren’t quite able to touch.

Lohata and Booda are dating! They like to pretend nobody knows. The entire Group knows, of course, but they pretend they don’t, for their sake.

Lohata is as close to a ‘mom friend’ as you can get when you don’t have a mom and haven’t been raised to know what having a mom is like. She usually has the braincell, and does her best to make sure the others can get out of any trouble they get into. That’s not to say that she doesn’t get into trouble a lot, too, she’s just usually the one who can bail them out when ‘blame it on Braig’ isn’t feasible. She’s also a bookworm, and usually has a datapad in her hand (she always appreciated that her friends would just let her read when they all hang out, jumping into and out of the conversation whenever she wanted without judgement. It was nice). She and Braig often exchange ‘pads from the archives (with Mistress Jocasta’s permission) if they found one they thought the other would like. She has a fairly dry sense of humor, which is why she’s in the middle of telling Hano that if he tells the one about the Womprat and the Quacta again, she’s defecting to the Separatists so she can hit him with a tree branch without getting in trouble. (Hano, being Assigned Disaster At Birth, is now figuring out how to reroute the conversation into a good segue for the one about the Womprat and the Quacta.)

Aside from reading, she loved flying and singing, and was quite good at both - though she wouldn’t admit to the second. When Booda was recovering from getting her prosthetics for the first time, Lohata used to sing to her to help her relax. She wasn’t quite as good at dancing ad Booda was, but, if they had a moment alone, she’d make the effort for her girlfriend.

Booda is much sunnier and more open than Lohata, but not as outgoing as Braig (hence why he’s usually their mastermind). She has a joy and genuine love for life, and, in the moment, is just happy to be home with all her friends, all safe and together and able to relax for once.

As a Gungan, she knows all too well how her species is regarded by the rest of the Galaxy. She’s trained herself to not speak Gungan Basic in an effort to appear more ‘civilized’ and ‘respectable’ as a Jedi, and to hopefully avoid the negative stereotypes. (She only ever speaks it to other Gungans, now, and tries to avoid doing so in public.) Like Naweh, she figured if she ever got tired of field work, she’d be happy in the Temple - though she wanted to work in the Archives, not the nursery. She was a cultures nerd, like Braig, and the two of them often edited each others’ cultural papers and assignments before handing them in.

Booda got her prosthetics after a mission went wrong, damaging both her arms beyond repair for the current Jedi on the scene. Her master, a Nautolan named Nid Arto, blamed himself for it, and had to speak to his own (former) master at length and meditate for a while to come to terms with it. He visited her for hours on end every day in the Temple’s medbay until she was cleared. She hadn’t yet turned 16, so she was still growing - this, as well as the frequent wear and tear of missions, meant that she had to get them replaced quite often. Oddly enough, this helped her come to terms with it more. At Nid’s suggestion, she started getting coloured casings for them, and that made it a bit more fun. The Group would often visit her after these procedures with washable markers and draw or write little notes and designs on, which made it even better. By the time of this little meeting of theirs, she’s grown used to them, and is quite pleased with these new pink casings (they’re her favourite colour).

She’s also the best dancer of the group, and usually teaches the others different dancing styles to help with diplomatic missions. Naweh, Braig, and Lohata are her usual students, as they’re the ones who do diplomacy more often (and she likes being able to dance with her girlfriend). Hano doesn’t do high society - it’s hard enough to get him to put on a shirt, he hates how it feels with fur - and the twins are shadows, not consulars or guardians. The three of them still show up for support and shenanigans, though. The twins are quite good at a Corellian waltz. Booda and Braig had a long-running joke about how he insisted dancing was just like sparring without hitting each other, dips were take-downs you stopped half way, et cetera, and she, through increasing giggles, would try to convince him to stop trying to punch foreign dignitaries to music.

When Order 66 happened, Booda, Nid, and Lohata had just finished up a mission to Naboo (Lohata’s master had been sick, so Nid invited her along for the ride). They’d finished up early, so Nid, who knows Lohata likes to fly and Booda likes being on Naboo, decided to let the girls get a bit of flight practice in (with Queen Jamilla’s permission) in friendly skies. The men turned on them, and Lohata’s ship crashed, knocking her out. It was the fire and injuries that eventually took her life. Booda tried to pull her out, but only succeeded in damaging her prosthetics before Nid pulled her away to get her running. The two of them hid in a lake. When the men dropped depth charges, Nid shielded Booda and died in the process. She hid under water and in under-water caverns with air pockets for days, peeking out to still see her master’s corpse floating there before someone eventually removed it. She would never really be able to leave the lakeshore again, barely being able to venture into town for food weeks later, and to get her arms fixed over a year after the Purge. She, too, eventually reconnects with Hano and Braig - while she never feels safe leaving her lake, they make sure to comm her fairly regularly, and visit in person when they can, and it’s the closest to feeling truly safe she’s been in decades.

#cosmicnexus #&& give the sun a head start; ooc #&& temple archives; headcanons #&& from creche to grave; the gathering group #&& brave new worlds; padawan #&& end of days; order 66 #tl;dr jay loves their kids #and as such makes them suffer

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kshitij1997 · 4 years ago

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Hi everyone! Hope you liked the previous chapter.

Someone sent me an anonymous message asking me whether every main character may have a story pulled from history to relate to. I would like to say that nearly every character would relate to someone or some event and I hope that you readers find the thematic relations to be resonant with the story.

Note: Of course, even though there was no saint Vida of Avignon in actual history, Pope Innocent the third's persecution of the cathars was a real, horrible, occurrence in 13th century France, not 14th century France, sorry for that error :P.

I'll let you decide how Europe would react to finding evidence of magic in the nineteenth century.

Anyways, onward with the story!

All Frozen and Tangled characters belong to disney. All I own is this retelling and the OCs.

Chapter 9 : An attack and the accident

Early December 1827, Northern Arendelle.

It was a chilly winter wind on a chilly winter evening that cut through the night skies and the sparse land just south of the mist like a red-hot knife cutting through butter, accompanied by a noise like nails on a glass pane. A trio were passing through, struck by poor timing and bad luck, leaving a faint trail of blood behind them. They were quite possibly the only survivors of a cruel ambush laid out for them. The trio were of the Iceni tribe, one of the most ancient tribes in Arendelle, tracing back their ancestry to ancient England. With the rise of the Romans, the Iceni mostly petered out, with a few emigrating to Arendelle. With the passage of time, the Iceni combined forces with the tribes across the country and became a force to be reckoned with as the Raiders who ravaged all of Europe, from the Northest part of Greenland right to the borders of the Caliphate in Spain. Sadly, those days were long gone, as the ideological split from the south cost the tribes the security and any prosperity they had. It was hard to believe that those formidable tribes, who once held all of Europe in terror, were now reduced to pockets of settlements across the northern wilderness, being forced to adapt to the new world.

Of all the raiders, only the southern Arendellians and the Northurldra truly retained the seafaring capability. The Iceni stuck to land. To compensate, the Iceni knew the land better than anyone else in the country and found new livelihoods in mapmaking, surveying, transporting goods across the land. The Iceni were also among the few who kept the voice going by anointing heralds regularly to be stationed at different parts of the country. In many ways, the Iceni were the unappreciated lifelines who kept the country afloat, for they were in every strata of society, from the miners to the businessmen, to even the king's staff and courts.

And some of them were ice harvesters and sellers, crucial for preservation in a time before one could refrigerate their supplies. It was to this trade that the trio belonged to. A man, a woman and their eight-year-old boy, in tow.

The man, who went by the name Guthrum, was limping in the three-foot snow that surrounded him. The man stood tall; six foot four on a good day. However, this wasn't a good day, as he had suffered a grievous injury to the gut and had to use the support of his wife, named Freyddjis, herself a six- footer. He had been bleeding through his stomach into his reindeer-wool coat and pants, the browns of the fabric turning first to burgundy, then to crimson from the blood.

They were almost through the shallow bed of snow when the little boy with them winced with pain. His leg had been sprained in the escape, and he had to jump into the water with his parents to escape the attack, so now the cold was getting to him as well.

'Ssh shh Kristoff, hold on, I'm sorry.' Freyddjis whispered as she readjusted her son's grasp on her back and torso and straightened her arm to further support her injured husband.

'Freyda…' Guthrum began to speak, in a voice weak with fatigue and injury.

'Breathe, my love, we're getting close to the settlement. Don't give up please.' Freyddjis pleaded to her husband, making every attempt to keep her husband awake and not fall unconscious.

'I was a fool; I should've known better than to guide them all to that cursed valley.' Guthrum hissed painfully as his wounds had begun troubling him again; the loss of blood had begun to make him delirious.

'Don't blame yourself, the decision lay with the leader and everyone else. We all knew the risks of travelling through the valley of death. We knew what could happen if the Northurldra were disturbed. We gambled, and we lost.' Freyddjis tried desperately to calm her husband down, trying her best to ignore the doom rising in her own belly and throat.

'Now what shall I tell Hardrada's widow? How she b-begged him not to go. She made me a request, not an oath, a plea to protect him, so that he m-may see h-his...i-infant come in the w-world . How shall I face her? How…...how w-will I….find the courage…to f-face her?' Guthrum spoke haltingly as his wakefulness began to falter and his throat went dry, even as tears fell from his disoriented eyes.

'Don't think about that, we'll face her together, I promise. Don't give up now, please.' Freyddjis tried in vain to subdue the lump in her throat that rendered her voice thin with emotion. 'We need to get under cover soon, they're still following us. I know it, I can feel them getting close.' She shifted her gait to prevent Kristoff from falling. The boy had been wide awake all this time, his wounds not so serious, but the cold was still a concern. The boy also felt dread; for he had never seen his parents so feeble before. The boy had known fear before, sure, however this was a new feeling. This horrible feeling, as if he was about to learn what loss was and there was no coming back from this event.

'Freyda, you're...you're one in a million, you k-know that? I-I made the guh..ggnnnn...the greatest decision of m-my life making y-you my wife. You- you did your best with m-me. Now go. L-leave me be, I'm done for.' The man spilled some blood from his mouth as he finished speaking, adding to the delirium and the cold, this was not encouraging at all.

'Shut up, you fool! You're not dying today, do you understand! We're close to the mountains of the stonepeople. It is an hour's trek left at most through the forest, we're halfway through it. I know you can hold on. I know it.' Freyddjis growled at her husband, ever as the mere possibility of the event brought tears to her eyes. In that moment, Kristoff was afraid of everything; what could happen in the next moment, what could happen tomorrow morning, would his father be all right, how would he and his mother get by, everything. It wasn't fair; he was so young, too young to ask such heavy questions. It seemed that he was learning a lot in a very short time. His father's voice broke his chain of thought.

'Freyda, I know you'd n-never leave me. I'll make the choice easier. Just k-know that I...I love you and little Kristoff. Forever.'

With that, Guthrum summoned his remaining strength, pulled out a well-concealed pistol and shot himself through the head, from temple to temple.

BOOM!

A thunderous, deafening noise. Then the man hit the floor, his face blackened and bloody from close impact. It was a terrible mess.

The tree upon which his body fell, became dyed with blood and grey matter. In the dead of night, illuminated only by a pale crescent moon, the tree with red leaves having five edges, and the alabaster bark of the great Snowpillar tree;

The great tree symbolic of death to the Iceni, painted red by fate and by the bravado man may feel in his final moments.

It was all a haze to Kristoff, who couldn't register anything around him in that moment. Somehow his vison became blurry, his ears fell numb, his limbs felt rigid. And yet, his eyes were transfixed on the lifeless body of the man who was until ten minutes ago, his father.

And yet he could say nothing, do nothing. Couldn't shout, couldn't kick, couldn't put his mind at ease at all. A dull voice persisted in his head; the painful screams and cries of his mother whose voice felt present and far away all at the same time.

In the distance towards their left, deep in the forest, a few lights lit up.

Friends? No. Foes. Definitely foes.

Well, Kristoff was the man now. He had to rouse his mother.

'Mum' he slid off his mother's back said, 'I see lights coming.'

Freyddjis came out of her grief with a shock. Foolish, very foolish to scream in the forest at night, especially for a deceased one. Her mind became unnaturally alert and active, thinking a thousand miles in a thousand directions per second. After a moment of quick reasoning, she handed him a knife and spoke softly 'Kristoff, my love, listen carefully. We'll have to part. Run. Run away from here. Away from me, as fast as you can. Your life depends on it. Don't look back, whatever happens. I'll come back for you soon. I love you.' With that, she embraced him fiercely and smothered him with tearful kisses.

A pang troubled his mind. What if...

'What if I get caught?'

Her answer came, chillier than winter's cold. 'Use the knife. Die fighting. They will not be kind to you.'

With that, she was gone, drawing the attention of the lights to her, disappearing into the thick darkness of the forest and the night.

Kristoff had never run so fast in his life, at least how fast his sprain would let him. Running blind through the forest, caring not for the frightful spirits whose myths he could listen to all day from his mother. The moon was being mean-spirited in lighting his way towards the mountains of the stone people, at times being blocked by the clouds, at times by the leaves. How the trees rustled around in unease, in disdain, as if teasing and mocking his attempt at escape. The hissing and growling in a language from the Snowpillars, in an ancient tongue he didn't understand.

Old, primal, mystical, terrifying.

He stopped dead in his tracks as the growling became more prominent, recognizable and severe, a knife drawn out in his trembling hand. Is this it? Will the spirits kill me?

His question was answered almost instantly as a pair of yellowish-green lights lit up at once from up ahead. Lights that were like eyes. Eyes of a beast. A beast looking to kill.

A mountain lion, probably disturbed in its attempt at finding food for himself by these fools making a ruckus. What the great beast may have lost in some wily stag, it could have found in this human kid. It was graceful in its movement as it climbed down from the tree and faced the kid, like a well-seasoned thief stealing a prize through sleight of hand. Every move deliberate, every stride and crawl graceful, every intention murky and dangerous.

Kristoff could only stand frozen in fear, even if the knife stood up in his hand, rudely challenging the predator. Please, please don't kill me.

The mountain lion growled and bared his deadly canines, as if insulted and slighted by the non-verbal cry for mercy. It was almost ready to pounce when-

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A succession of musket fire, followed by a painful scream cut short, sending ripples throughout the jungle. The mountain lion changed its stance completely, faced the direction of the source of the noise.

This abrupt distraction was enough for Kristoff to try and escape. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that he was at the edge of a steep valley. One false step and that was it.

He fell screaming, headlong into the valley. He tried to stall his descent somehow, but to no avail. With nothing else left to do, he closed his eyes, and braced himself for the impact.

It was by sheer accident that his fall was broken by the river blowing at the base of the valley. The river that shone like silver in the pale moonlight. He may have escaped the possibility of splattering himself from the fall, but the sheer tension from the surface of the water drew out a cry of anguish from him as he landed into the water. To make matters worse, the danger of drowning had multiplied manifold.

He tried grasping for the bank as the pace of the river quickened as it descended from the mountains. Even as water rushed into his lungs, he tried further and did his best to keep his head above the water. Finally, after several minutes, the river decided to relent and slowed down. Kristoff used all his remaining strength to swim and crawl towards the shore. With the solid ground of the riverbank firmly under him, he fell, exhausted.

Before he lost consciousness, the last thing he remembered seeing was a feminine figure, but somehow not a human. More like stone. Stone covered with moss and remarkably, flowers. In the middle of winter.

And then. Darkness.

A fortnight later; the eve of the winter solstice, Arendelle, 1827

'Wow, Elsa! You've outdone yourself!' Both Anna and Olva squealed delightfully in unison.

'Thank you, thank you! I didn't know I had it in me.' Answered Elsa, flush with excitement. The creation which the three sisters were talking about was a massive chandelier she had made of ice in the ball room. Elsa loved designing chandeliers. The geometry, the scope, the intricacies, the elegance, the weight, the beauty. How every piece is perfect in its alignment, how every facet angled to reflect the maximum amount of light possible. She had discovered her passion for it when she was seven; she had gone with her mother and sisters to Russia, to the courts of the Tsar. How his palace was gigantic, how his hall was huge, it could have easily housed a thousand people at a time. And the chandelier! She could observe it forever.

However, the exact replica she had tried to make was no less a marvel. She had worked on it for almost a year, making sketches, obsessing over it in her bed, late at night. To see every turn, twist and bend of the hanging piece of glory. Scribbling a line here and there, a short diagram between comprehension, some more figures in arithmetic. She had even got a scolding from Iduna once when she had absentmindedly written something on the tablecloth while eating supper.

Ah, but now, the whole thing was etched in her memory like carvings on granite. She remembered everything from memory. Building it was no effort surprisingly; she kept the figure with detail in her mind, conjured a glowing ball and shot it towards the ceiling of the ballroom.

It was beautiful, almost otherworldly in its appeal; for no chandelier in the world lit up to a blue of this shade. What made it even better was that the ballroom was not as big as the Tsar's court, which made the chandelier even more gigantic and beautiful.

'This is amazing!' Anna chirped. The five-year-old never grew tired of Elsa's abilities. Be it early morning, late afternoon, or the middle of the night, the redhead was always eager for the platinum blonde's magic.

'It's wonderful. How long did it take you to make it in your head?' Olva asked with the curiosity only she had; the dark-haired girl always took so much interest in her powers, like someone trying to uncover a mystery, completing a puzzle. In such thrilling moments, she always had a far-off glow in her eyes. She loved Elsa's power in her own ways, different from Anna's adoration. Olva had more excitement and respect.

'When did you learn all this, Elsie?' Olva asked with genuine admiration.

'Umm, between you two pulling my leg and getting me involved in all your hare-brained mischief and fun.' Elsa replied with a wink.

'Hardy hardy har. You know you love the trio.' Anna quipped with a grin as Elsa nodded with a smirk. Olva laughed, oh these two.

'I'm not done yet.' Elsa said with a mischievous smile.

'What, there's more?' Anna perked up.

'Yes, but first, the last one to get up from their bed has to bring us hot chocolate.'

'Hmmm, who could that be now?' Anna asked with an impish grin looking towards Olva.

The trio already knew who it was, but Olva begged to differ.

'Hey, it was who got to the ballroom last. I remember very well that I was the first one in, I made sure of that. I sprinted out of bed, got in before you two. Therefore, Anna should be getting the hot chocolate, not me.'

'No, it was who got up the latest, it always has been, why would we change it now?' Anna said.

'Yes, not our fault you were fast asleep.' Elsa added.

'So, I sprinted and nearly slipped on the staircase for nothing?'

'Yes, apparently.' Elsa replied with faux concern and hidden fun-poking in good humour

'Boo, the both of you, how do I win? Anna sleeps on time of an owl, and Elsa's too excited for her birthday. Not fair.'

'Come on, you know it will happen every time. Besides, you make the best cup of hot chocolate ever.' Elsa began.

Olva put on a haughty air 'Hmm, it is true.'

Elsa and Anna smiled to each other. See, it never fails.

'All right, I'll get it. But don't start anything without me!' With that, the dark-haired princess rushed to the kitchens.

A few minutes passed, and Anna began to fidget.

'What is taking her so long? We've been here for daaayyyyyyss' Anna was a natural at exaggeration.

'You know the kitchens are on the other side of the castle, right?' Elsa told her little sister.

'So? Can't she hurry up? I'm getting bored.' Anna replied.

'She'll be here in couple of minutes, don't worry.' Elsa assured her.

'Say, what if we ice the floor?' Anna asked with a grin.

'Oh no, Olva would not like that.' Elsa backed away

'Oh come on, she would just join in the fun, you know her.' Anna said.

'Guess I got talked into it, huh.' Elsa said with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk.

'Yes!' Anna could barely contain her excitement.

Elsa closed her eyes, twirled around and stamped her foot on the floor. On cue, a thin layer of ice blanketed the floors of the Ball room, with the little princesses going giddy over the patterns the ice formed. Anna began to skate along one of the patterns, only to fall flat on her face.

'See Anna, I told you to wait. There are many more ways to fall.' said Olva as she glided in, making a perfect loop, doubly impressive with her carrying a tray and a box as well.

'Here's your hot chocolate, you lunatics. Enjoy.' Olva laughed.

'Gimme gimme gimme!' Anna squealed as she got up.

It was worth the short wait. Olva created magic when she had sugar, milk and chocolate in her hands. It tasted like heaven.

'Mmhmm, when did you learn to make it so well?' Elsa asked with a contented sigh.

'You know, between you two pulling my leg and I being left behind to cover up for you.'

Touché.

'What's in the box, Olva?'

'Well, it is our birthday gift for you. Happy birthday Elsie' Olva and Anna beamed.

Elsa hugged her sisters together in an instant, with tears of joy in her eyes 'Thank you, thank you so much, both of you!'

Anna and Olva hugged her in return, while exchanging glances of victory. We're good at this.

Elsa opened the box and there it was; a wooden carving of an eight headed star, complete with carvings indicating facets and faces of crystals, along with three dolls made of cotton and felt, each signifying one of the sisters.

'Oh you two, you precious little kittens! Thank you so much! Ask me anything, I'll give it to you right now.' Elsa giggled.

'Hmm, we're missing something here. What do you think is missing here?' Olva began.

'Snow!' Anna finished.

'Of course, I'm feeling kind tonight. How much snow, my humble citizen?' Elsa moved with a show of royalty; something that came naturally to her as she was the heir apparent to Arendelle.

'Oh, your majesty, the whole room!' Anna joined in the fun, always up for a caper, a commoner at heart.

'My liege, I must say, we need to be able to leave safely and in one piece once we're done.' Olva joining in as well, ever the voice of reason.

'Well said, noble adviser. Shall three feet of snow be good?' Elsa addressed Olva, clearly enjoying herself.

'Ample, your majesty.' Olva finished. This was a special occasion, after all.

'Very well. Now let's get this bastard up in the air.' Elsa said, dropping the regal flair at once and shooting the glowing ball of snow in her hands towards the ceiling.

'Ooooooh naughty word!' Anna cooed.

'It's my birthday, who's gonna stop me?' Elsa said in mock defiance.

'Yes, tonight we shall cuss like gutterheads!' Olva heartily laughed as she looked upwards to the ceiling only to remark, 'Hey, is it snowing from the chandelier?'

'Damn right it is.' Elsa announced it in pride.

'You magnificent shhhhee wolf.' Olva called out.

'You worked hard to control yourself, didn't you?' Elsa asked.

'Yes, you ice-shitter.' Olva said

'Oooh, there's going to be trouble for that!' Elsa laughed.

'Yes, a fairy tale! To rescue her rowdy friend, the princess must calm the snow queen and survive her quests and save the day. Also, the floor is lava!' Anna yelled in excitement.

With that she began to jump on the snowy bed, already two feet thick. 'Wait, dear friend! What about Olaf?' Olva called.

'Olaf?' Oh yes, how could she forget?

The trio get down to business, building a snowman who always had the same name. they always argued about the design, but hilariously always ended up making the snowman the same crooked way they always did. Olaf, the snowy saint of friendship and family. With a love for warm hugs, of course.

With Olaf's blessing, the trio began their fairy tale, the snow queen giving the adventurer higher platforms of snow to jump from, to save her trapped friend. Anna going higher and higher towards the ceiling.

Wait, what are we doing?! She's gonna fall terribly from that place!

Olva suddenly realized with horror. 'Elsa, stop! Anna's gonna fall!' Olva screamed.

Elsa broke out of her birthday high to see where Anna was. From a pleasant dream to a terrible nightmare. 'Anna, wait, slow down! I can't keep up!' Elsa shouted.

Alas! The little redhead was too excited to listen. 'Catch me, o queen of ice and snow!' she yelled as she leapt from the chandelier.

In her haste to help her, Elsa slipped on her ice. It had never happened before. Even as she fell herself, she tried to save her baby sister 'Anna!'

Smack! Went the ice to Anna's head. She was stunned into unconsciousness as she landed head-first on the snow, three feet deep.

'Oh no!' Olva screamed again as she rushed beside Anna, right beneath the chandelier.

But it wasn't over, for Anna hadn't been the only one, or thing caught in the crossfire. The chandelier of ice cracked dangerously from the top and went into free-fall.

'Olva, get out of there!' Elsa yelled through her tears threatening to fall and crash any second.

Olva used all her might, trying to drag herself and Anna as quickly as she could. While Olva was ultimately successful in pulling Anna away, she herself was not so lucky. While she avoided the worst impact of the chandelier, she was knocked unconscious by the corners of the chandelier and her left side, from head to hand, was pierced by scores of tiny icicles, forming horrible scars and blood flowing from the tiny cuts.

Elsa was dazed in shock; what just happened? A minute ago, we were playing and now this?

She rushed to the side of her sisters. Anna had a streak of white running through her red hair and Olva's cheek and forehead scars had begun to redden. In her fear, the three-foot snow became a solid block of ice. Elsa could do little but hold her unconscious sisters close, scream for her parents and cry. Ultimately, Agnarr and Iduna had to smash the doors with an axe and pickaxe as the ice was too stubborn for them. They quickly seized up the situation, took in the icy carnage and made some tough decisions on the spot. Tough decisions, for which, only Grand Pabbie could help them.

Yes, the plot is in motion, after so long! I'm shit at writing, even though I improve steadily :P

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome.

Until next time 😊.

#frozen #frozen angst #frozen elsa #frozen fanfiction #frozen fandom #frozen fanfic #frozen anna #elsa and anna #OC:Olva[Sister to Elsa and Anna]#snow sisters #arendelle sisters #elsa of arendelle #kristoff #kristoff of arendelle #anna of arendelle

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dottiechan · 5 years ago

Text

Finders Keepers Pt. 2 (A SWTOR Imperial Agent story)

Part 1 / Part 2

Wordcount: 1882

Summary: Havoc learns of the survival of SIS agent Dorathine Garza, now classified rogue due to her treasonous acts against the Republic. Months of futile investigation lead Aric Jorgan to finally stumble upon a strange clue.

Warnings: death, mentions of drinking/alcohol

Aric stalks across the ship like a ghost, starting from the ramp and arriving in the armoury without saying a word. Not a single member of Havoc squad dares ask him how his rendezvous with the SIS went – even the usually chipper and socially unaware Forex can sense the tension Jorgan’s arrival has generated, so he lets Yuun run his usual diagnostic scans on him in silence. The last time the war bot did a patriotic speech about destroying the Republic’s enemies, their commander almost put a blaster bolt between the droid’s mechanical eyes. Had it not been for Elara’s and Yuun’s joined effort to hold him back, Aric is pretty sure he would have dropped the clanker then and there. Commander Jorgan knows that it’s not that simple. It’s not the fight of light versus dark. Good versus evil. It’s a fight between one half of the Galaxy and the other, with both good and bad on both sides. And when he’s not seeing red, he knows that Forex’s simplistic patriotic programming could never understand that.

But he can’t help it. Every time Dee’s involved, he loses it.

Even now, he’s not fully himself as he inspects their weaponry that he knows he’ll find in pristine condition. Aric would like to blame it all on having to spend – and thus argue – an entire day with SIS agent Jonas Balkar, but it’s not that simple. The topic was Dee. More specifically the accusations the Republic has been pinning on her for months, now crowned with a sizeable bounty and the authorisation of lethal force should she resist arrest. “Who in their right minds wouldn’t though?” he argued back to Balkar. “Especially if said person is innocent.”

There’s undoubtedly blood on her hands now. Fifty, sixty military personnel and civvies. It’s reason enough to demand her apprehension, Aric agrees with that. But Dee cannot be doing it willingly – she must have been tortured, beaten into submission, controlled by fear. There’s got to be a reason, because the soldier he helped advance, the young woman he shaped to become who she is cannot with good conscience commit war crimes so remorselessly. Aric taught her discipline, morals, enjoying the fruit of hard labour. He never concerned himself with the wild streak in the girl, because she continuously delivered what she promised. Then one intelligence op that went a little too well, and the blasted SIS swooped in to claim her like a shyrack grabbing prey. He cannot truly vouch for who she is now, but it doesn’t lessen his responsibility – he gave her the foundations of being a loyal soldier, a military asset. If she failed, she failed because his teachings didn’t take root in her. And that is something the Cathar refuses to face. That, and the fact that he would have given her all the stars in the Galaxy had she ever thought to ask. But she never did. She never asked him for a damned thing.

Admitting that he might not have known her as well as he thought is another recognition that causes pressure right behind his eyes, and he can feel two ways this strictly ordered R&R night can go for him – either he takes a speeder to the Coruscanti army base and wrecks as many training dummies as he can, or he knocks back the rest of the booze he secretly stashes in his footlocker underneath his cot in the commander’s quarters and passes out. What he wouldn’t give for an Imperial spymaster to sink his claws into now! Maybe then this constant buzzing in his mind would finally stop. It has to. He’s been stretched out too thin lately, chasing an enemy of the Republic that seemingly does not want to be found. And he’s wearing down Havoc in the process, he knows. Quiet Elara is more elusive than ever, always locked in her coffin-sized quarters listening to medical lectures and holojournals. Yuun busies himself with the ship, and the droid. Blast, even Forex is quiet now when he enters. Only Tanno Vik seems to be taking it well, but Jorgan never liked the man. Then again, he doesn’t really trust his judgement when it comes to people anymore.

The whirring static of the holotable draws him away from his thoughts and he abandons the blasters to investigate. It’s soon plain to him – despite being quite the layman when it comes to technological equipment – that someone is trying to slice into their comm channel. Aric wants to call for Elara, but by the time he remembers she’s left not ten minutes ago, it’s too late.

She’s luminescent, blue, static and fraying. Audio a little distorted. But it’s her.

“You really need to up the security of your ship, LT.”

“It’s captain now, actually.”

“I heard. It’s just difficult to let go of old habits.”

“And what should I call you?” he asks cautiously, arms crossed over his chest, pacing up and down like a caged nexu. “Dee? Agent? Traitor?”

“I didn’t call you to trade names.”

“Then why are we talking? Surely you’re not interested in my wellbeing all of a sudden?”

“You’d be surprised... But no. I’m calling because this has to stop. Because you need to stop coming after me like that. I had a clear shot at you on Kashyyyk, but since you and I go way back, I thought I’d give you a warning first.”

...

“Are you listening, Sergeant?”

“Yes, LT. Hanging on every word.”

It’s late at night, but she’s being loaned temporarily for an intel mission in a week and Aric wastes no time to prepare one of the finest troops he had the honour of training. Such raw talent and potential, paired with such an attitude – if only she could tone it down. But she’s young, and reckless, and not broken in properly yet. The years will do that job for him, Jorgan knows. They’ll teach her what words cannot.

“Good. Then name the key infiltration points of the listening outpost.”

She lists them effortlessly, though the slight hesitation in her voice here and there gives him cause to believe that she’s guessing more than telling. He’s had to learn how to weed out the untrustworthy, deceitful candidates in the army, so he knows what it sound like when someone lies to him.

“Educated guess, but it shows your lack of preparation.”

“Did I get them right though, sir?”

She’s smirking now, leaning back, hands moving to the back of her neck to support the weight of her head. If she wasn’t wearing 30 kg of Republic issue reinforced plastoid armour, she’d look like a senator’s daughter enjoying a round of Sabacc at the Star Cluster Casino on Nar Shaddaa.

“That... is beside the point. You can’t always rely on quick wit to save you.”

“That’s why I always bring a big gun and a few thermal detonators with me.”

“I’m hoping to still be around when you realise weapons aren’t everything. That being a soldier is much more than just aiming and pulling the trigger.”

“Oh, you’ll be around, LT. Just not sure I’ll be too.”

That smirk forms on her lips again, head lolling lazily to one side. Aric feels tightness in his chest – concern over her words, and quickened heartbeat due to corners of her mouth being tugged up into a smile that is enough to make him completely unbalanced. He says a silent prayer to the GAR for keeping Dee mostly on the right path. Stars know what this young woman would turn into if she didn’t have the moral guidance of the military life. She’d waste her potential on something lowly, his rational mind tells Aric. But there’s an even bigger, more suppressed fear in the back of his head – he’s afraid she’d turn into someone he couldn’t like anymore. Someone he couldn’t respect. Someone he couldn’t love.

“Nonsense. Your mother would court martial me if I ever let anything happen to you.”

He regrets the joke as soon as it’s out, because it wipes the smile right off her face. “Or she’d give you a medal. There’s a fifty-fifty chance, if you’re brave enough to take it. Now, where were we, sir? Not five minutes ago you were like a broken reg manual spouting your military wisdom on repeat, and now somehow we’re analysing my relationship with my mother.”

“Dee... If you ever needed someone to talk to... It couldn’t have been easy, growing up in her shadow...” Aric starts cautiously, pained voice trailing off. It’s his turn to hesitate, and hers to pick it up and scorn.

“I hear the Crater is still open at this time of the night. If you want to talk family, I’ll need an optimal level of alcohol first.”

Greedy. Exploitative. Unprofessional.

Jorgan scolds himself as he agrees before they walk across the now quiet Fort Garnik, saluting the troopers on guard duty as they head over the small, dirty watering hole in the camp.

But he just cannot feel bad about it when it all feels so good.

...

The cot feels smaller and colder than usual. This solitary life is no stranger to the man, but to hear her voice again after so long is enough to make his body inject itself with more adrenalin than what it could handle. He has already submitted his request for leave – it shouldn’t surprise the higher ups, especially General Garza, that he needs some time away after learning of the GAR approved, SIS issued bounty placed on Dee’s head. By his calculations, they will accept it effective immediately, leaving him just enough time to take a shuttle to Nar Shaddaa, shed his armour and slip into something less conspicuous before heading to the rendezvous point as agreed. She knows how to pick a good spot – it’s where they ended a massive organ harvesting ring back in the days. Now, it’s nothing more than an abandoned warehouse rusting away in the slums of the Hutt-controlled world. But to them, it’s the peak of what they could achieve if they worked together.

He wants to believe that they can restore that state. That whatever it is the Empire has on her to keep her obedient can be broken by him somehow.

Just as he’s about to shift and turn onto his other side on the mattress, his datapad blinks in the dark. He reaches out and turns it on, yellow eyes skimming through the formalities of Garza’s message to get to the bottom of it. As anticipated, he is granted a leave of four days starting tomorrow. Aric switches the lights on, stretches, and abandons the datapad on the bed in favour of getting dressed. He knows he would never be able to sleep in such an ecstatic state that he finds himself in now, so he prepares, stocks up his personal supplies. He then studies the holomap of the Nar Shaddaa district while chewing on a ration bar absentmindedly. Like a soldier prepping for a battle.

To anyone else, this might sound like a brewing confrontation. But no, not to Aric. To him, it’s an extraction mission. One where he’ll use words rather than guns in the heat of the battle. One that should have happened a long time ago.

#dottiechan writes #swtor #swtor imperial agent #oc:#dorathine garza #aric jorgan #swtor fanfiction #tw: death #tw: drinking #tw: alcohol #star wars

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ninjasmart · 5 years ago

Note

Spirits say that FD was burned by MM during inquisition in a previous life. Then PH married MM, though he swore he would love FD forever. FD survived. Worst of all is that FD had to live with an ugly face. (Grandma)

That's interesting. Someone else had predicted something similar.

However, I'd like to correct you on this because I have researched a lot. In the middle ages there were these people who were called Cathars ( others called them this way). They preached that you don't have to pay the church to be absolved of tour sins. You have to do good and not do evil instead. They did take a lot of traction / gained a lot of followers and this is where Pope Benedict XII's representative tried everyting so that the people in a small French city to give up on their neighbours, somewhere in 13th century. When the villagers didn't he said the fated words: "Burn them all, God will know its own" Andnhe burned the entire city- men, women, children.

This snowballed an inhumane pactice to murder anyone who is invonvenuent either to the church or to the powers that be in the village or county. The executioners turned the killing of innocent people into a spectacle. It's widely thought that women and some men were burned at the stake. No. This was done only when there was no body of water around and quite often there was.

The widespread practice was to put a choker around the neck of the supposed witch, tie her and tie a heavy stone around the woman and drown her. If she drowns - she's not a witch. God will take her in his fold. If she doesn't drown then she is a witch and she must be killed in another way. Classic jesuistic example of oppression

Now let me ask you something. Maybe you are new here and don't know yet how short fused I can be so I'll be polite and patient just.this.time.

If you have the avility to see past lives then you would have never ever made the mistake of saying that an alleged witch survived. The persecuters were making a public and humiliating display of the murders of innocents and these persecuters made sure that there are no survivors. It was in their job description. If you had ever seen through your past life vission even one staking or one drowning you would have never ever made the heartless assumoption that there were survivors or that the survivors would have been vain and caring about their ....face (the face was burnt last and long after the victim was already dead) and not caring about being alive.

So, how do we know you are legit? Seems to me that you are making stuff up and rehashing with your own twist old predictions. How do we know you're not a teen troll / MM minion sent out there to feel important by spreading outright lies? (last one rings true to me)

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shabre-legacy · 5 years ago

Text

Tika and the Siren

Flash grinned and slapped Garen on the back as the crew of the Lady Luck stood in the shipyard looking at the fully repaired Freighter sitting there. If they were examining the interior, they would have seen the mishmash of crude, but functional amateur installed pieces and professional repairs. The ship had been developed through both into a first rate smugglers ship. Not the prettiest out there, especially with the plating patches that the astromechs had just finished welding into place; but it was fast, comfortable and most importantly had many hidden cargo pods and storage spots. You could tuck a lot of stuff in there. Someone could search the ship thoroughly but unless they already knew where to look, they wouldn't find anything. Sirasa, the ships Cathar medic, had already drawn up a map of the hides on flimsi (that way it could be destroyed with no trace as soon as it was memorized). The only thing missing was a name; the space where it would be conspicuously empty.

Garen laughed as he crossed his arms and leaned back a bit, a big smile matching the rest of the crew. "We did good on this one. Kit's gonna love it."

"She's going to completely adore it." A cheerful voice said from behind the group.

A chorus of greetings followed are Garen half-turned, "Hey Boss, looks like ya got whatever it was you were combin' the market for."

Captain Cradu Jinot, a tall, broad-shouldered grey Cathar with warm eyes, slicked back hair, absolutely no cares at all for what anyone might think of his genuine, fangs and all, grins and a far warmer personality than one might expect from a smuggler, stood just behind the crew; cradling a small box and grinning up at the ship. "Look at this, all finished and repaired, she's a real beauty, boys. You did damned good."

Flash shrugged, a little sheepishly for someone who'd been working with Cradu as long as he had. "Aw, Boss, it ain't that much of a thing. We jus' wan'd the kid to have a good Life Day now that she's back home. That's all."

Sirasa shrugged "seemed like after everything, giving the kid as much freedom as we could was the best we could do for her." The group sobered for a moment remembering when Kael had rejoined their crew after her time away and the clues they'd gotten about what had happened. Many of them blamed themselves, letting the youngest member of their little family test her skills with another crew she didn't know with no backup. They'd been trying to show they trusted her as a competent adult and Cradu, who loved his Kit like she was his own, wanted to make sure she was ready for the rest of the galaxy when she was finally ready to leave for good and had thought that a temporary job with another crew was a good way to test herself. He was on medical downtime and the job had sounded easy. His Kit could run that and get some experience with people who only knew her as another adult on the crew and then come home to the Lady Luck. it had all crumbled around her and now they wanted to try and make sure she knew she still had a place and to take care of her even more than before, if that was possible.

Garen decided to try and lighten the mood again. It was Life Day after all, even if they hadn't started their celebrations yet. "The only thing she needs is a name. Korgran's got a droid ready. Thought we'd let Kit name her. Her ship, her name"

"Where is Korgran anyways."

Flash shrugged, "Last I heard boss, he was at the range with Kit, there most of our downtime lately

Cradu nodded, Korgran had a protective streak when it came to Kit, teaching her how to use more than just the two small pistols she carried, that was just his way.

There was a small chime on a comm. Garen pulled his out and scanned the message that had come in. "Hey boss, my friend came through, got that reservation at that cantina."

Nuri and Flash instantly grinned. They did love a good cantina and most of the back rooms had been reserved for weeks, Life Day was a popular celebration. Getting a room big enough for the whole crew to celebrate off ship was impressive. Captain Cradu grinned at them, "Well then, what are we waiting for. Work's done. Time to relax, people." He grabbed his comm and sent out a quick message to Korgran and Kit and another to the rest of the crew and they all headed off to the Cantina.

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Sirasa sat on the bar in the backroom and watched the celebration going on around her. The whole crew had finally shown up and their little party was in full swing. Even the new muscle was here. Their little core group of 6 plus the captain that had been together (with the exception of the Captain’s Kit) for over a decade and the other newer 7 crew members all simply celebrating living another year. Their usual outings were in the main part of a cantina, with people drifting in and out as they went about their own ways of celebrating a job well done, or a clever escape or trying to relax after a tough run or close brushes with death or whatever the job had carried. It wasn’t often that they had parties like this, so they took advantage of the time to just let loose, some of the crew had even brought in their family members or friends or lovers who were here. She’d have her work cut out for her in the morning dealing with all the hangovers, if she decided to help, since technically hangovers on shore leave were the individuals problem.

Loud laughter burst from the other side of the room and she glanced over smiling. Kael was laughing and dancing on one of the tables with Nuri, who’d finally gotten back from wherever she’d gone with a few new tattoos, just in time to join in the celebrations with everyone. Adding a welcome home party to the celebrations added another layer of delightful chaos. They’d had more than a few drinks so it wasn't the most graceful dancing, but they were having fun. It was good to see Kael finally relaxing enough to have some fun and a few drinks with the crew again. She’d been so cautious for a long time after she rejoined the crew, there’d been a time that they thought she’d never smile again, but time and care seemed to have brought back Kit back and it never failed to make their little family smile to see her enjoying herself

The night went about as well as they could expect it to with 14 drunk spacers packed into one room, as it got later, the crew and guests began drifting off to the rooms they were staying to continue the festivities with their guests privately or just to pass out. Eventually it was just Sirasa, Kael, Flash, Garen, Korgran, Nuri Shazeo, Mirialan charmer/muscle/slicer, Uikislita “Uiki”, the Twi'lek copilot, and Captain Cradu were left. Uiki had pulled Nuri aside to update her on their plan while the rest of the group had kept Kael distracted. Even the rest of the crew who’d helped with the surprise they had planned for Kael had left this part to this core group.

Sirasa and Flash had been talking for awhile when the captain caught their eye. He raised an eyebrow in question and after a quick glance at the rest of the crew and Kael making sure they were in good enough shape to head out, they shared a look and nodded at Cradu. He turned and nodded over to Garen who turned to Uiki, Korgran, Nuri, and Kael. “Hey, we should double check the ship, make sure everything’s locked down before we get too wasted.” They nodded and stumbled to their feet.

“Didn’t we lock up when we left earlier?” asked Kael, just drunk enough to not remember fully.

Flash called over across the room as everyone started moving towards the door, “Of course we did, but better to check again.”

“B't g's'cha uku tchhlla- wiachipa.” Nuri laughed, “yakuqal ik gikchhllu kh'wabo ganá ná síla p'tychuchhi sq'ki.” (just humor them star-blossom) (better to check twice today then look stupid tomorrow)

Getting moving and the water that Sirasa passed around to the group as they left the Cantina and took the shuttle taxis back to the Spaceport, helped them a bit so by the time they reached it, they were more or less sober. The crew had taken care to have the new ship put in a hanger near the Lady Luck, so Kael didn’t realize they weren’t headed toward the hanger bay. She thought they were until the group stopped and Korgran and Nuri gently took her arms. “What’s going on guys.” She asked worriedly.

Korgran squeezed her hand “Relax ad’ika , we got you a gift, but the others want to surprise you, so you’ll have to close your eyes. I won’t let you trip.” (little one, daughter, of any age)

Kael was still just tipsy enough and trusted this group enough that she relaxed and closed her eyes. "If you run me into a wall or something, I’m going to be so mad.” That got a laugh from the rest of the group as they turned and Korgran and Nuri carefully guided her as they moved over to a different hanger. Kael could hear the door open and felt the echo of a hanger bay as they entered and moved towards the middle.

Flash walked into the Hanger carefully watching Korgran and Nuri navigate the hanger without Kael tripping over anything. The Captain had gotten that little box he’d come back from the market with again and there was some kind of gift bag that he was carrying as well. As they got near the droids waiting to add the final touches to the ship, they stopped and everyone crowded around so they could see Kaels reaction to what they believed to be the best gift ever.

Korgran stepped back beside Cradu and Nuri moved to hold Kaels shoulder turning her to face the ship. “Alright, Kit, open your eyes.”

Kael opened her eyes and took in the sight. The freighter, fully repaired, polished, ready for flight. Garen grinned as he watched her jaw drop. “That’s...That’s my ship...but...she’s…”

“We decided to get her finished for you. You’ve been working on her for awhile and we thought we’d get you to the stars a little faster.”

Tears started falling down Kaels cheeks as she covered her mouth in awe, she just stared at the ship. She’d thought it was wonderful when it was still junk, seeing it repaired, repainted, it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life.

Uiki leaned forward, “ash ohk vahs dei ayy- n'olan, ash huhsi laboo a goh” (she's all yours star-blossom, she just needs a name)

Kael was openly crying now. They seemed to be happy tears, but Flash didn’t want to risk them being sad tears. He stepped closer to embrace her as Uiki and Nuri hugged her from the side. Sirasha leaned on Garen and Korgran stood with his arm around Cradu as they watched, Kit was clearly a bit overwhelmed by their gift. “It’s Life Day, Kit, you deserve something good, you’re family.” Sirasa stated gently. “You gonna give your new bird a name.”

“Take your time and make it a good one, Kit, she’ll be with you a good long time.” Garen murmured with a smile. He could see the shock fading from her face as a smile burst through the tears.

“I will in a minute, get over here all of you.” She choked out pulling away from Flash a bit and turning to open her arms. Garen chuckled a bit as the group moved in for a big group hug. She held onto them for a couple minutes. Enjoying a few minutes where she could be in a hanger and feel loved and safe surrounded by her family. Eventually they all separated, and Kael stepped away from the group and walked over to the starship. She stared up at it in awe and placed a hand gently on the hull. She couldn’t believe that the beauty she’d seen in the junkyard was repaired, she’d look even more beautiful when she took to the stars. And her family had done this for her, they’d noticed her efforts, found her ship, brought it here and had it finished just so they could surprise her with it.

“Storm Siren” she murmured quietly. “á khoe Ichhiá Tuchola” (she's Storm Siren)

“Didn’t quite catch that Kit, wanna speak up a bit.” Flash called with a laugh in his voice.

She spun around, letting herself twirl just a little bit and added a skip to her step as she moved a bit closer. “Ichhiá Tuchola Storm Siren, I’m going to call her Storm Siren. she’s been singing to me for years now. Seems like it fits.” She shot a smile at the group as Korgran gave the droid that she hadn’t noticed a signal.

“cea ohk talcank.” Uiki told Kael as the droid moved and began painting. (That's perfect)

“talnu isochhu guochiñ rapra silu p'u khoe litá dih Tchhlla- wiachipa” Nuri whispered with a squeeze. (sounds like a ship you were born for star-blossom). She loved this crew. Nuri, Uiki and Sirasa were the big sisters she’d always wanted and Nuri impossibly made moments like this even better than they already were. Somehow reminding her that she was part of something bigger than even this crew without taking away from the moment at all. Kael couldn’t look away as the Aurebesh lettering appeared in neat clean lines of fresh paint on the ship. The Storm Siren. her starship! Hers! Best! Family! Ever!

Sarisa handed her a datapad and a folded piece of flimsi, drawing her attention back to the people around her. “Everything you need for her is on the datapad and the flimsi has all her hides and how to open them.”

Nuri looked at her with just the biggest smile. “p'u khoe litá ik p'ik ki tchhlla, ku khoe p'á tq'chha. Lu q'omal ik aliyana p'u gieá ní t'e p'á gie ceupa.” (you were born to roam the stars, it is your destiny. We wanted to help you get there under your own guidance.)

“Thank you, all of you, I just...She’s wonderful. Thank you so much...I can’t even…” She was practically bouncing, ready to run in and look around. She wasn’t going to fly her until she was a bit more sober, she wanted to be sure to remember every second of their first flight together with perfect clarity, but she wanted to see everything. Before she could head in though, Cradu stopped her.

“I know you want to see everything kit. But you got one more gift, this one is from me and Korgran.”

Korgran shrugged “Mostly you, riduur” (husband), He gave her a grin, “I mostly just kept you distracted while Cradu handled everything.”

Cradu elbowed him “None of that, your idea, you’re part of the gift giving too.” The group was chuckling at their banter. When they were working, they were complete professionals, but downtime is downtime and they’d been together for a damn long time.

Kael did bounce now, “More presents?!!” She was practically beaming. Cradu had gone a while without seeing that smile, and it didn’t show up as much as he’d like anymore. He handed over the little box he’d been carefully holding. “Here you are kit.” Kael opened the box and her eyes opened wide in surprise. Cradu made sure to take a holoimage of that moment.

“Oh, aren't you just the most precious thing.” She cooed, gently reaching in and pulling out an incredibly tiny Manka Lynx cub. The cub blinked and stared up at her face as Kael carefully held her. “You’re just so tiny and adorable.” She looked over at him and Korgran and just seemed at a loss for words.

“She was orphaned young, runt of the litter, she’ll need some extra care, but she’s so young that you’re the first face she’s seen, she’ll imprint on you. She’s yours for life now.” He explained. “She’s just little now, but eventually she’ll be strong enough to back you up wherever you go.”

“Loyal backup never hurts ad’ika. (little one, daughter).A bonded Manka, that’ll do ya well or protect your ship while you sleep or go out. Figured you’re all grown now, sooner or later you were going to strike out on your own. Ought to have a reliable ship and someone watching your back. Now, you can come back safe whenever you want anytime you leave.”

Korgran was rarely so sentimental, usually only around those he considered family like Cradu or Kael, sometimes though, the rest of their little core group got to see his sentimental side as well. The little Manka cub had rolled over in Kael’s hands and was batting at the long tips of her bangs that dropped low enough to tease. Kael seemed entranced with the tiny thing, her gaze darting between the cub and the ship like she couldn't decide which was more important for her to see first. The rest of the crew was just leaning back and watching the girl they all liked to think they helped raise coo over two gifts that were the best that her little family could get for her.

Cradu placed a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. “We’re gonna head out to the shuttles, got plenty to drink so take your time. We’ll head back to the rooms when you’re done looking around. You should get a good night's rest before taking her out.” Cradu hung back for just a moment longer than the others. he brushed Kael's hair from her face. "You've got your ship now you can get back into the stars. The ground is no place for you, Kit, your feet were never meant for it. You're star-born and I can't wait to see the path you carve in them." He leaned down to kiss her forehead before walking out after the rest of his crew, giving his Kit some time to get acquainted with her ship.

Kael insisted on one more group hug before they all headed out laughing and joking. The Zabrak split from the group and leaned against the wall right outside the hanger and nodded over to Cradu while he headed out to the shuttle pad. They had an understanding. He’d have his time with his husband later, for now, Korgran would keep people from bothering their adopted daughter. They would make sure that Kael stayed safe for whatever time she’d be close enough for them to do so.

Kael cuddled the little Manka cub to her chest and stared up at the ship. The droid had finished and she could barely stop staring at the freshly painted Aurebesh lettering clearly spelling out Storm Siren. Anyone who saw the ship would know who it belonged to. She glanced down at the bag at her feet. Korgran had taken the datapad and other things she’d been holding and tucked them into the bag with the supplies for the cub.

She glanced down at the tiny thing again. She seemed to have worn herself out playing with Kaels hair. “I’m gonna call you Tika.” She whispered, her voice echoing in the emptiness of the hanger in the middle of the night. She picked up the bag and half in awe walked up to the ship and after pulling out the datapad and checking, she reached up and entered the code to lower the ramp stepped up and unlocked the door and for the first time walked into a ship all her own

notes: trying out a new method for translations, let me know if it works. Languages, Korgran is Mando’a, Uiki is Ryl, and Kael and Nuri are both Mirialan

#Life day #life day fanfic #my writing #leikael shabre #my ocs #fanfics #tika

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