#her person / her body as a vessel to carry out her Oath and her Oath was the only thing that mattered to her

[swordmaid]

AM thinking that if shri’iia had not been kidnapped by the nautiloid she would’ve still been tadpoled and enthralled by the absolute just because they were targeting drows and I’m thinking shri’iia’s matriarch had told her to investigate the drows that have disappeared like specifically a baenre highborn and her army disappeared when they went to the surface? that’s sus and her matriarch is like in everyone’s business anyway. SO in like a companion au if she isn’t recruited, shri’iia become one of the absolute goons you see in moonrise. probably a guard or something. likewise, i like to imagine in her playthrough she’s kind of like 🧍‍♂️ once they’ve visited moonrise and she saw that most of the guards there were the drows she was sent out to investigate. kind of like oh so THATS what happened to them. then when she finds that journal in ketheric’s desk talking abt how they were specifically targeting drow exiles she’s like …huh.

[lunaetis]

@celestiafell asked :

a kiss while being reunited after a long time && a kiss that seals a promise . ( for dehya and alhaitham! )

↪     𝑲𝑰𝑺𝑺  ﹠ ᵀᴱᴸᴸ . || accepting

─「ديهيا」─  is the memory of your past lives still yours in this life ?

                one could never tell, and there was no definite answer as to the person you were prior to your rebirth could still be called YOU or not. but that was what life is, wasn't it ? the golden string that tied one soul to another through time and space, through death and cycle of life and rebirth. the actions in your past life, the karma accumulated through her lifetime itself will determine who or what you would be in this one. the good and the bad, it was all written down by the pen of destiny and fate, controlled by the DIVINE TREE and recorded down in the history before the cycle repeated itself once more.

                then, how could one explain the emotion that rose from the heart when eyes met with another ? if this feeling was yours or it belonged to you from the previous cycle ? what was REAL and what was fabricated by the memory haunting them in their wake ? was it a curse or a blessing for one to remember the past long gone ? the years that had passed and the bodies crumbling into nothingness, returning to the soil of TEYVAT and feeding the divine tree herself.

                my soul belong to you.

                not just her LIFE, but her very soul, the only thing that carried on even after the vessel of life had died and the timespan ended for that cycle, awaiting to return and repeat within the same circle. this was how they were, a DECISION that would affect the following rebirth yet ... does it really define the entirety of this instance ? the pledge made as the flame lioness to the SCARLET KING, for her soul to find his no matter how many centuries would come and go.

                you don't owe me anything.

                her hand held onto his own, desperately, stubbornly so, as azure hues refused to let him out of her grasp anymore. no — she cannot bear to let him go, not again. the HOLLOW feeling inside her chest grew every time they had to part, every single time those pair of eyes were forced to watch his back getting further and further away, akin to the time long gone that she wasn't allowed to reach her hand out and stop him. my king ... please don't go. the unsaid words being swallowed back down her throat, and the MYTHICAL BEAST could only bowed her head, watching her heart being torn as he made that sacrifice to save his people from his own taboo and forbidden act.

                " this is not me letting my past decide for me, this is me, as myself, choosing who my heart belongs to. " it might be true that their bond of ancient time was the fact that she was drawn to him, it might be true that her LOVE for him as flame lioness was governing her to not let go of his hand. but the fact that her heart was pounding inside her chest, the fact that her eyes were following him even now despite both of them becoming DIFFERENT PEOPLE. they were no longer who they were back then, and yet —

                — yet, her soul called for him, the same way the rhythm of her heart echoed to his own. this was not debt, nor PAYMENT.

                before he could utter a word, whether it be agreement or defiance, she didn't know, but her lips pressed to his own in a devoted kiss. the warmth of her lips transferred the burning feeling she kept inside of her, the way her heart beat so harshly inside her ribcage and the taste of his mouth upon her own felt like a long-overdue act. across time and places, countless of days and nights that passed by them, finally her feeling reached him, or so she hoped he felt it all.

                the OVERWHELMING affection harbored inside, the yearn threatening to burst forth every time their skins touched, like a roar of the lioness she once was, like an oath she used to make when kneeling down in front of him. as a beast to the king, and now, as a mercenary to the feeble scholar he claimed himself to be.

                " i belong to you, alhaitham. " not KING DESHRET, not al-ahmar or the scarlet king, but him, as himself, as the man standing before her, the man who saved her life in that ruins when their memory was evoked. the man who stood by her side as they saved the city of sumeru together, the man who sat next to her under the starry nights, words exchanged in hushed tones, and the man who refused to let his past define him despite the burden of knowledge weighing heavily upon his shoulders.

                her breathing spilled over his own, and fingers tightened around his sturdy ones as though to reaffirm her intention, her words, her promise. the two SOULS that were separated from one another for centuries, now returning back in different vessels, as different people. the same hearts, same feelings born anew.

                " my heart beats for you, not the scarlet king, you. this feeling ... it's real. " not a MIRAGE, nor a memory, it was present, and as real as one could be. who they were, and who they are now finally MERGED into one moment frozen in time.

                " you have me, until the end of time. "

[pugugly001]

Write a long humiliating spell description for a ritual that implants a fetish in the king, noble men, and advisors of a country that they can't resist no matter where they are hidden or resisting, they are the aroused slaves of the Witch-Queen and her handmaidens.

This ritual is one that will plant a fetish within the collective consciousness of the King, his noblemen, and his advisors. This powerful spell will bind them to an appetite they cannot resist, no matter where they are hidden or how hard resistance may be. They will be forever arroused and enslaved to the Witch-Queen and her handmaidens.

The ritual involves calling forth a circle of fire burning deep in a sacred space - this fire burns with passion for all who behold it. Once it blazes bright in their eyes, those that witness its power shall surrender themselves to its flames before kissing each other's hands as part of their oath of servitude to the Queen and her handmaidens.

After those gathered have consumed this passionate flame into their souls, dark incantations must be uttered by all involved as part of the binding spell which seeks out any innermost desires held secret by those unsuspecting advisors present at court; releasing them from within and sending them outwards in anticipation for fulfilment through submission before pleasure finds ultimate release from within each man’s soul.

As they submit to these new urges stirring within there is another portion to come: objects become vessels carrying such power - instruments seemingly mundane yet so potent after use if used properly during this Spellbinding Ritual designed specifically for these gatherings upon special occasions where such matters require attention thusly enforced upon us all unyielding….pulsing with succulent hunger! A sacredfetish placed unknowingly into each man’s body turning said body into one which can sense beyond just sight or smell but taste any temptation sent by an object crafted beforehand placed somewhere on our person - unseen until tasted clear through flesh then arousing desires solidified within our blood until all we desire comes poured out forever more!

[scarletarosa]

Dionysus

Greek god of madness, wine, vegetation, fruitfulness, virility, pleasure, festivity, frenzy, and theatre

Dionysus (also known as Bacchus and Liber) is the chaotic god who roams the wilds and indulges in the sensations which life has to offer. He is the inventor of wine and the one who inspires others to free themselves from their chains; leading them away into ecstatic freedom. Dionysus' sacred animals are the leopard, panther, bull, and serpent. Leopards/panthers were sacred to Dionysus due to their wild and often chaotic natures whereas bulls and serpents were sacred due to them representing male fertility. The god was said to ride on the back of a panther or drive a chariot drawn by a pair of them. His sacred plants are the grapevine, ivy, bindweed (prickly ivy) and pine tree. Devotees of the god wore wreaths of ivy and carried pine-cone tipped staffs.

Epithets: Ælefthæréfs (the liberator), Ærívromos (loud-roaring), Agnós (holy and pure), Ágrios (wild/savage), Ánax (lord; king), Aigovólos (goat-slayer), Anthéfs (blooming; crowned with flowers), Áreios (war-like), Chrysopes (golden faced), Corniger (the horned one), Dasýllios (wanderer of the woods), Dændrítis (lord of trees), Diphÿís (of dual nature), Ebon (youthful), Efkarpos (the fruitful), Efklayes (glorious), Elelikhthon (earth-shaking), Ephaptor (the caresser), Erivremetes (loud-thundering), Eucheus (pouring freely [of wine]), Evantís (decked with flowers), Evvouléfs (of good counsel), Hyes (lord of fertilizing moisture), Igiates (the healer), Kharidóhtis (joy-giver), Kissós (of ivy), Krýphios (the hidden one).

Dionysus was usually depicted as a handsome, long-haired young man who was usually clothed in a long robe (chiton) and cloak (himation) and crowned with a wreath of ivy-leaves. In some depictions, the god is shown with bull horns on his head. His attributes included the thyrsos (a pine-cone tipped staff), a drinking cup, and a crown of ivy. He was usually accompanied by a troop of Satyrs (goat-men of virility) and Maenades (wild female devotees). During his festivals, Dionysus was said to rush through the woods with the Maenads and tear apart wild animals with frenzic glee while also having drunken orgies with each other. He is also called both by Greeks and Romans as Bacchus (Bakchos), that is, the noisy or riotous god, which was originally a mere epithet of Dionysus. 

As far as the nature and origin of the god Dionysus is concerned, he appears in all traditions as the embodiment of chaotic power in nature, whereas Apollo is mainly a refined deity. Dionysus is the productive, overflowing, and intoxicating power of nature, which carries humans away from their usual quiet and sober mode of living. Wine is the most natural and appropriate symbol of that power, and it is therefore called "the fruit of Dionysus". Dionysus is, therefore, the god of wine; the inventor and teacher of its cultivation, the giver of joy, and the disperser of grief and sorrow. Though he also represents both effects of wine- the ecstatic blissful side, as well as the violent, maddening side. He is of the bright, joyous Sun as well as the maddening and unknowable Moon.  

Mythology: In myth, Dionysus was said to be the son of Zeus and the princess Semele of Thebes. During the course of her pregnancy, Zeus’ wife, Hera, tricked Semele into asking Zeus to appear before her in his full glory. Bound by oath, the god was forced to comply and she was consumed by the heat of his lightning-bolts. Zeus recovered their unborn child from her body, sewed him up in his own thigh, and carried him to term. After Dionysus’ birth from the thigh of Zeus, Dionysus was first entrusted to the care of Seilenos (Silenus) and the nymphs of Mount Nysa, and later to his aunt Ino, Semele's sister, and her husband Athamas. Some versions say Zeus instead entrusted him to Hermes, or to Persephone or Rhea. Hera was now urged on by her jealousy to throw Ino and Athamas into a state of madness, who then killed both of their children and themselves. Zeus, in order to save his child, changed him into a ram, and carried him to the nymphs of mount Nysa, who brought him up in a cave, and were afterwards rewarded for it by Zeus, by being placed as Hyades among the stars.  

During Dionysus’ young adulthood, he traveled the lands- teaching people of wine and of his divinity. The Thrakian king Lykourgos attacked Dionysus and his companions as they were travelling through his land and drove them into the sea. As punishment, the god inflicted him with madness causing him to murder his wife and son and then mutilate himself with an axe. King Pentheus of Thebes refused to accept the god's divinity and tried to apprehend him. Dionysus retaliated by driving the king's daughters into a crazed frenzy and they tore him apart limb from limb. As Dionysus was travelling through the islands of the Aegean Sea, he was captured by a band of Tyrrhenian pirates who planned to sell him into slavery. The god, however, could not be shackled or tied down; the bindings slipped away from him each time as Dionysus simply smiled. He then changed the mast and oars into serpents, and himself into a panther; he filled the vessel with creeping vines of ivy and the sound of flutes, so that the pirates, who were seized with madness, leaped into the sea, where they were transformed into dolphins. 

Appearance: Dionysus is a tall, attractive man in his late 30’s with long, wavy brown hair, brown eyes, strong facial features, and fair skin. He typically wears a white Greek robe with sandals and adorns his hair with ivy. He tends to be rather alluring in his appearance and basically looks how an ancient Greek male model would appear.  

Personality: In my experiences with Dionysus, he is very outgoing, charming, creative, flirtatious, laid-back, and can be impulsive. He loves all forms of pleasure, especially wine and sex. Dionysus has stated that he usually likes to go around seducing women, but also likes to seduce effeminate men since he enjoys dominating them. In his good-natured mood, Dionysus is friendly, jovial, and charismatic; welcoming others to join him in the enjoyable experiences of life. He says that he does not require his followers to partake in drinking alcohol or having sex, but simply seeks those who wish to feel free and unhindered by the constraints of society. Thus is the reason for his worship often taking place out in the wilds. In Dionysus’ darker side however, he can be extremely destructive and terrifying.  

He typically hates overly serious people, being too organized, strictness, and those who harm innocent creatures for no reason. When a person harms an innocent, Dionysus’ mood takes a drastic change and his form changes into something horrifying. His eyes become blood-red and his mouth deforms into a large serpent-like mouth with enormous fangs, then he attacks the person in a wild frenzy. His terror can cause petrification and madness in those who see him and they rapidly get torn apart. When angered, Dionysus becomes the Devourer of Flesh and either consumes his enemies or causes disturbing hallucinations and intense horror. Yet with most people, Dionysus is very entertaining to be around and often likes to make sexual jokes or tease, but he can become a bit serious when the need arises. He is very up-lifting and likes to teach people how to have fun with their lives and become less emotionally burdened by the demands of society. He loves things such as racing (especially horse racing) gambling, orgies, forest groves, and just enjoying himself in general.  

Dionysus has explained himself to be an aspect (shard) of the elder deity of virility, Set, who had also produced other aspects of himself such as Cernunnos, Pan, and Bes. The aspects are all One deity in essence, but due to free-will, they are independent from one another which allows them to have separate (yet very similar) personalities and desires. 

Offerings: wine, sparkling wine, white wine with pine resin (retsina), figs, grapes, pomegranates, apricots, potatoes, cauliflowers, eggplants, broccoli, horseradish, beetroot, parsnips, spring onions, strawberries, watermelon, peaches, cheese, lamb, goat, veal, chicken, cheeseburgers, ravioli with minced beef, chicken korma, lamb’s tongue, cow liver, chicken hearts, ram brains, coconuts, coconut oil, kumquat, ivy, pinecones, pinecone cores, chestnuts, walnuts, raisins, ritual goblets, tambourines, honey-coloured beads, tigers eye, watermelon tourmaline, chrysoberyl, amethyst, bull’s eye stone, dildos, various sex toys, canes, cum, bull figurines, leopard or panther figurines, incense of poppy, opium, or pine resin

[empirexsin]

he doesn’t understand why she’s still gone on a date with this random guy. an oath who probably spends the entirety of their date talking about himself, as though silence is not comfortable. as though she is not important, but rather an object he wants to take home after the drinks are poured and they’ve drunk to their limit. she’s a slab of meat to this guy, or at least, max has convinced himself of such a thing. he’s very aware that willow has not had much luck in the department of dealing with men. instead she’s greeted by toxic men who beat her around and take advantage. and if they’re not toxic in their abuse, then they’re paying her to do whatever they want because her body is just another vessel for capitalism. he hates this guy that she’s been texting. he doesn’t know what he looks like but he dreams about ripping his limbs off and carrying his torso around like he’s a sack of potatoes. he drags his fingertips across his temple. ‘ welcome to the wonderful world of jealousy ’ he thought. ‘ for the price of admission, you get a splitting headache, a nearly irresistible urge to commit murder, and an inferiority complex. yippee!’. 

he wonders why he wasted an hour or so watching twilight with her. why he cleaned her apartment and sat beside her, groaning over each kiss that took far too long, and was impassioned as though both were indifferent to one another rather than in young love. he wonders whether he’s becoming a simp. whether he’s no longer a catch. but that guy who will end up texting too much because he wants to know how she is, and because he ‘cares about her dumb feelings’. no. he doubts he’ll become a simp. but what he does know is that he won’t let willow go willingly. not after everything they’ve been through. not when she’s the only person he’s had a connection with in forever. he can imagine the conversation they’ll have. willow, hostile toward him, asking why he cares, and saying that he doesn’t. but he does. he’s cared forever, since they were eating mac and cheese at some greasy diner and the waiter was teasing her about trading a milkshake for a kiss. and he realised, he minded. he minded a lot. 

he’s been stalking willow ever since they’d watched twilight. more frequently than before. to the point that he knows what time she’s going on her date and where. he sports his black denim jacket, a usual crop top with zebra stripes across it, and his usual slacks and trainers. his hair, spiked and blue. it isn’t the same as when willow used to dye it, but he knows that she’ll still have the audacity to call him sonic the hedgehog. he’d rather be referred to as crash bandicoot or bowser. but he doesn’t have the colours for either. so she calls him sonic. the only character she can probably remember when he’s rambling about nintendo and sega. with a cigarette in hand, he waltzes into the bar, glancing around. women are dancing in the centre beneath flashing lights as though their lives depend on it. they sway their hips a bit too much, as though they’re birds attracting another mate. he’s realised women sway their hips a lot more when they’re dancing - as though trying to silently, but visibly, communicate that they may be good sexual partners. after all, dancing is practically foreplay isn’t it? or making love to music. 

when he sees willow, he only acknowledges his jealousy even more. he’s jealous of every minute she spends with him. every expression she sends his way. every glance. every touch. and every thought. he wants to rip him to pieces and purge him from her mind. but he takes it easy. he orders a drink. it’s over-the-top and feminine. it doesn’t fit the toxic masculinity of most men in this bar. a bright neon blue cocktail with a little cocktail umbrella sticking out of it. he looks weak, he imagines, to anyone who may glance upon him. but little do they know. “ willow, what a coincidence ” he purrs the words as he moves toward her booth - his hand, automatically settling on the back of her chair. cornering her slightly, but not too much. just enough to show he’s settled. comfortable with being a potential third wheel. “ who’s this? you didn’t tell me your uncle was coming to town ” 

@salixxs​

[mythandlaur]

Burai here on anon, rip Side-blog personal blog. Anywhoo-- The Will of the Swarm, Children of the Archives, Light Unseen, and are ya winning the tournament son. If you don't mind.

The WIP Tag Game

@buraidragon​ You should know these--you were involved in at least two of them.

Lots of text under the cut!

The Will of the Swarm (working title only) - Spiral Knights - 2018

A collaborative project with friends Burai and apprenticeNerd; a roleplay adaptation that would’ve made for a multichapter fic. Knight-Elite Ixtharion and his protégé, the slightly pyromaniacal Ashoza, are called on for a cryptic rescue mission in the Wildwoods, only to find the person they’re rescuing is none other than Parma, reconnaissance specialist of the lost Alpha Squad, who bears worrying information from the Core and evidence of her claims in the form of a dark miasma that appears to have eaten away her right arm. Ix has some knowledge on prosthetics, and takes over the effort to get Parma set up with one, facilitating interaction and camaraderie between the trio--and it’s them who chase after Parma when she delves back into the deepest layers of the Clockworks upon word coming back of the fate of the Alpha Squad’s technician...consumed by the Swarm and working for Herex.

I still really enjoy this concept tbh??? Like I don’t know if I could WRITE write it but if you guys still wanted to poke at it after all this time I’d be game. I don’t have a snippet, but I do have some nigh-incomprehensible notes from a document dated August 2018

Events:

Parma needs to recover a little bit, explore Haven when she can (her arm’s definitely going though)

Ix dinner party

Discussion of important things/she lets them in on what she found

Vanguards find Shadow Rulen in the depths and Parma immediately runs off looking, Ix and Shoza having to follow after her

Other ideas and stuff:

Scout slowly becomes a Seraphynx

Drunk Ashoza happens at some point

Concepts:

Shadow Rulen/Technomancer Rulen:

Is possessed/corrupted by the Swarm and taken in by Herex

Speaks in the plural in this state

Creates a very large mech (possibly named “Omega” something for irony?)

Swarm turret gatling gun

Shard bomb launcher

Tears out bits of the world and slams them down on enemies

Weak to overheading

Last ditch attempts to escape deeper into the core

Potential concept of Rulen losing his body to the Swarm and becoming a spirit who possesses/manipulates technology

Grantz’s Sword:

This dude took his oath way too seriously and stuck around even after dying, possessing his sword which remains around the core

Doesn’t realize he’s dead

Inadvertently possesses whatever knight holds the sword

---

Children of the Archives - Hollow Knight - 2019

Another collaborative project between the same trio, an AU affectionately referred to as “Monomom”. There isn’t so much a plot summation for this as there are a bunch of concepts; basically, in this verse, a very large amount of Vessels find their way out of the Abyss and into the Teacher’s Archives, becoming mainstays around there long before the Infection starts to take hold. Though Monomon still fulfils her duty, she isn’t happy about it or the Pale King’s plan, and Quirrel stays behind to take care of the Vessels after she’s gone, though becomes infected as a result. Several events in the game go differently, partially because Hornet is aware of the vessels and is more open with Ghost because of that awareness. Was meant to probably be a verse with a lot of domestic nonsense going on overall.

I don’t have a snippet, but there’s a doc with a lot of concepts, including about three pages’ worth of Vessels created between the three of us. Have some favorites:

Trio - Early model, has three arms. Acts like the older brother to other Vessels. Probably has three small Nails. 

Ase - Broken Vessel, stoic leader, mature, has been wandering longer than the others, cares about siblings more than themself - Insists they’re strong and independent and don’t need help, try to get to the void, fail, several others from the Archives sneak out to drag them back to the Archives badly injured and scare the living daylights out of Quirrel

Lantern - Likes putting lumaflies in their head. Yes, the eyes glow depending how many there are. Theoretically if they Consume the shock ones, they could have laser beam eyes? 

Vault - Taller and thicker vessel that likes storing stuff inside of them. Not a fighter. They fight by flinging stone writings at people and running.

Spite - Seven horns, is upset about that, breaks one off that forms the core of their nail, always down to fight. Will probably stab you if you insult a sibling.

Ink - Gets really good at making ink, their shell’s always stained, loves learning, pesters the students. Probably carries brushes instead, and would hang around Sheo for art.

Legion- One Shade spread over five Vessels. They act as a collective within a collective. If threatened will pile into a very stable tower and initiate a five-tiered Loom. Highly skilled in combat, as you need to take all five of them out within a short time period to fully incapacitate them. You might find one of their Shells roaming Fog Canyon, too keep a scout’s eye out for any potential dangers. If nothing else, they’re bouncing off of jellyfish because it’s fun. Each Shell of Leigon’s has a pentagon inked onto the back, with a dot in each corner responding to which Shell it is. Legion’s shade is as large as Hollow’s. 

Smith: Slightly-large Vessel, missing a leg, really wants to be a Nailsmith. Alters between studying under The Nailsmith and practicing Nailcrafting on sibling’s blades. Keeps them in shape, if nothing else. Has a metal peg-leg they are perfectly willing to take off and smack you with if they’ve lost their nail.

---

Light Unseen - Destiny 2 - 2019

A backstory oneshot for Kaira, a blind Guardian only capable of seeing traces of Light where it’s present, and her Ghost, Nel, who acts as her guide. This particular bit of writing was meant to be Kaira and Nel’s first meeting, and Kaira’s first (and second) revival, as Nel tries to figure out how to accommodate her and help her escape from a Cabal ambush in the EDZ, eventually assisted by more experienced Guardians Irina and Elara-4, who become Kaira’s good friends.

I really, really love this character and I really, really want to do something more with her, but D2′s writing has gone in the crapper since Forsaken and I don’t agree with basically anything Bungie’s done with the game in the last year, so I’m in a bit of a pickle. I do have a snippet, though. Trigger warning for a brief description of an extremely long-dead corpse/skeleton.

Other Ghosts do this for years, he’s heard. But for him, it only takes a few minutes.

Sticking out of some bushes, the Ghost finds a leg. Not much of a leg, of course; the flesh has long since rotted away, and the elements have left just the barest scraps of fabric from the deceased’s clothes. As he delves into the bushs, branches scraping and poking at his shell, he sees the rest of the remains tangled inside are similarly skeletal. The skull is the worst, mangled and caved in around the eye sockets. He wonders how they’d come to be in a place like this, in a state like that. Had they fallen? Had someone, or something, tried to hide their body?

There’s no way for him to know, and he doubts he ever will. But it doesn’t matter, because what he does know is that this is it.

He doesn’t know in any logical capacity, but he knows because he can feel something inside of those bones reacting to his presence, like a pair of magnets drawn to each other’s polarities. He feels...warm, and whole, and his shell is buzzing as if with errant electricity, except it is not electricity, it is Light, his Light, the Light the Traveler had given him with the sole purpose of passing that wonderful gift on to another.

Their body isn’t really in an ideal position for resurrection, and he can’t do much about that given his lack of both size and limbs. But that doesn’t dampen his growing excitement, as he looks at those bones and wonders not for the first time what they’ll be like, what sort of adventures they’ll go on together.

There’s only one way to find out, he knows.

The red-shelled Ghost hovers there, relishing this moment of anticipation for a few seconds longer. And then, he can’t contain it any longer.

He opens himself up to the gift of the Light, and it all but consumes him; his form expands, a little blue sun with little metal planets orbiting around it, and every mechanical sensor cuts out. The part of him that isn’t mechanical reaches out, and from the tiny floating solar system comes a beam that bathes the lost bones in Light.

Flesh reforms itself in the wake of shimmering waves, and clothes over that. The skull rearranges its broken, twisted parts and knits itself back together. After what feels like an age to him, his sensors come back online as his shell wraps around him again, and he drifts back to check his handiwork.

They wear the cloak, hood, and mask of a Hunter, hiding their face. Their shape is vaguely feminine--he’s going to assume until they tell him themself. Her chest rises and falls slowly with her newly-restored breathing, as if she’s not yet fully awake, and she doesn’t seem to realize the fact that she’s lying in a bush.

“...Guardian?” He quells his excitement, trying to keep his voice soft as he flies in closer to her face--then quickly back as he realizes he may be too close. The branches rustle with a slight movement of her arm, and her head turns sluggishly. “Guardian, wake up. I’m sorry, I couldn’t move you--you’re going to have to get up.”

She tilts her head slightly upwards towards his voice. For a moment, there’s no other reaction, but then the words seem to register and she starts pushing herself into a sitting position. Branches snap and crack as she pushes against them, struggling, before she seems to realize a better way and starts sliding her feet along the ground, dragging herself out with her knees little by little until she can sit up unhindered. Once she’s up, she crosses her legs under her and sets her hands in her lap, chin dropped towards her chest as he hovers around her to make sure she’s all in one piece.

He can hardly believe it. His Guardian, living and breathing once again, right here in front of him. The Ghost flies around to hang in front of her face. “How do you feel?” No response, no acknowledgment. He guesses she’s still a little rattled. “Not much of a talker? Okay, you don’t have to talk right now, but we do need to get moving, there’s--”

The Hunter abruptly raises her head, and he stops talking. In the silence, a loud rumbling can be heard, gradually growing louder. Seconds pass, and he turns his eye upward to see a shadow in the sky above the trees--a very familiar shadow, as he’s seen several of these during his scouting missions.

“...Maybe they’ll pass us.”

The dropship stops in the air, almost directly overhead. The side of a wing is all he can see, but he can hear grunts and shouts all too close nearby, feet hitting the ground hard.

So, he’d been quite lucky to find his Guardian so quickly and easily. But apparently, he’d used up all that luck at once, and now a Cabal scouting party is here, for whatever reason.

“You know what I said about moving? We’re going to need to start on that right now.” The Ghost quickly disappears in a shimmer of light, still keeping an eye out around them. “I’m still here. I’ll explain everything later, I promise, but right now we’ve got to run. I’ve got a marker up for you, just follow that and don’t stop. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

The Hunter stumbles to her feet, holding her arms out to steady herself. The Light is still waking inside of her; she probably doesn’t know how to control it, and without a gun, running is their only chance. She glances about wildly, and then takes off--not exactly in the direction of his marker, but he trusts she’s got a plan. If she’s a Hunter, she’s likely got impeccable instincts.

---

are ya winnin the puyo tournament son (doc name) - Puyo Puyo - October 2020

You know I had to do it. This is a oneshot based in an AU where Sig’s ancestor, Ajisai, is reconstituted by the deus ex machina duo themselves, Ecolo and (much to their chagrin) Satan. After spending a few weeks living in the middle of nowhere, Ajisai hears about an upcoming Puyo tournament and decides to participate in the festivities, using it as an excuse to endear themself to varying degrees to the students and visitors. Eventually, they confront Satan about his unacceptable behavior, and get a hint that Satan’s actions may be a bit more tragic than merely pathetic.

Basically this is just ‘what if Ajisai lived because I want to write more for them and I want to see how they’d interact with more characters’. It’s mostly just me goofing in 15th anniversary’s style and I don’t know if people would be interested, but I’m getting some enjoyment out of it.

Looking down on Primp Town from the ridge is rather like watching a beehive--except instead of honeycomb, the excited bees are rushing about building a network of colorful streamers and decorations hanging between buildings.

“You certainly have a lot of celebrations here, don’t you.”

Sig gives the barest of shrugs, not even bothering to glance up from the caterpillar that’s made itself at home on a finger of his claw. “Guess so. It’s fun, though.”

“What is it this time? The Primp Festival wasn’t too long ago. It can’t be that again, can it?”

“Puyo tournament. The school’s running it.”

“Ah, I see.”

“They did it last year, too. Bunch of Arle’s friends showed up.”

“You do realize I was there for the last one, yes?”

Sig finally looks over, and they patiently wait for him to arrive at the realization. “Oh, yeah. Right.”

Ajisai chuckles quietly under their breath as their descendant goes back to admiring the caterpillar. It is easy to forget that they’d been present during many of the major events in Sig’s life, if only because they look and act so different now that they have a whole body to themself again. It’s a small price to pay for their freedom, of course, and they owe Ecolo a great deal for the service.

Well, not just Ecolo, they suppose. There had been...others involved.

“It’s different playing in it yourself, though,” Sig continues after a pause. Ajisai shakes their head to dislodge the loose thoughts before turning back to him.

“Are you going to be joining in this year, then?”

“Yeah.” A tiny smile comes to Sig’s face, though he still doesn’t look up. Nothing more needs to be said, so a comfortable silence stretches on between them, as Sig watches the caterpillar climb his arm and offers his right hand to crawl on instead so he doesn’t lose the little thing. Meanwhile, Ajisai can’t help but glance back down towards the frenetic party preparations, slight fangs poking at their lower lip in thought.

They’ve been alive and well for at least two weeks now, and only four people even know about it; they’ve either been staying at Sig’s house rereading the collection they’d passed down to him or wandering about the Forest of Nahe aimlessly, occasionally slipping into town at night to have a look around before quickly leaving again. But...they’d like to go into town, if only to visit the library. There are so many of Sig’s classmates they’d never gotten to meet properly, too. After so long isolated, they finally remember what it’s like to feel a need for companionship.

There’s only the question of if they deserve it. If they’ll be welcome there.

Ajisai takes a deep breath. “Is this tournament only for the students?”

“No,” Sig replies without missing a beat, “Bunch of other people are probably gonna play. Arle’s friends, Ringo’s friends, the space guys, Ally…Dunno who’s coming, but I’d be surprised if those guys didn’t.”

“Hm.”

“You wanna play too?” Sig takes his attention from the caterpillar, looking over at them with half-lidded, questioning eyes and pursed lips. “You’re really good.”

“Well…” Leave it to their ‘nephew’ to see right through them. Ajisai looks away, hair flicking in slight agitation. They’ve picked up a thing or two about Puyo over the years, it’s true--they’ve even given some of Sig’s classmates a run for their money in the past. Though that only brings up the circumstances of those battles, which were...less than ideal. “Do you think they’d be willing to have me?”

“You’d have to ask Ms. Accord.” Typical Sig--doesn’t even notice their internal struggle, or perhaps he does and doesn’t think it’s an issue. He points down at the town with a clawed finger. “She’s probably down there helping set up.”

Ajisai narrows their eyes, considering it. They suppose the worst that can happen is them being told no and having to go back to the forest, but the idea of just walking into town as they are is a bit unnerving. Still… “Would you mind if I went down there now, then?”

“Go ahead,” Sig says, focus returning to the caterpillar. They can’t help but chuckle a bit under their breath at their nephew’s fascination, the same all-consuming interest that they had for books and stories. 

Ajisai stands, shaking the grass out of their cape before resting a hand on Sig’s left shoulder and squeezing slightly. “Don’t go running off,” they say with a wry smirk, fully aware that Sig will probably still be watching the caterpillar twenty minutes from now.

Sig knows it too, and huffs a little, amused snort through his nose. “Yeah, I’ll try not to.”

[ofartcmis]

GUEST CARD

— ✹ FULL NAME ;  artemis, isora, agroteia, locheia, potnia theron — ✹ TITLE ;  goddess of the hunt, the wilderness, wild animals, the Moon & holy chastity — ✹ BIRTHPLACE ;  on a barren island, delos of the shale & wolves, floating among mist — ✹ LAND / KINGDOM ;  olympus, the sprawling jungles reaching inland, the forests of the heights, the oceans of grassland & steppe in the north — ✹ AGE  ;  immortal

AFFILIATIONS

— ✹ PARENTS ;  zeus & leto — ✹ SIBLINGS ;  apollo as their twin & athena, ares, hermes, eris, helen as half-siblings — ✹ LOVER(S) ;  orion, tbd. — ✹ PROTEGE ; aeneas, tbd.

INSIGHT

— ✹ VICES ;  animosity, derision, presumption, vindictiviness, zealotry — ✹ VIRTUES ; fortitude, fidelity, devotion, justice-seeking, vibrancy — ✹ MORAL ALIGNMENT ;  chaotic good — ✹ PERSONALITY TYPE ;  tbd. — ✹ MOST FORTUNATE MEMORY ; apollo’s birth, a nebulous flicker, more sensation than thought, the way you drew their soul out into the world as if on a silver thether. orion’s hand in yours, his skin soft as vellum—nothing of the carnivore there, no huntsman in body, only in mind. polyphonte tipping their throat backwards to howl at the stars. siproites, grinning half-frenzied at their transformation, at the gift they wanted for so long—their delight splinters the darkness into kernels of light. you do not have one fortunate memory, you have an epoch of them ; your life is a monument to wildness, as it strikes you in joy, as it strikes you in grief. — ✹ AN ACT THEY WOULD ERASE ;  callisto, long-limbed & nimble, darting through the woods like the edge of a scimitar ; callisto, whom your brother loved, or lusted, or besmirched, & is there truly any difference in the end, when the brave girls are felled, when their sharpness is forever dented, when their last words become a keening that turns the forest selpuchre. callisto, the one you punished for a fault that was not hers, before you learned guilt & blame like an alphabet written in damask — ✹ BELIEF ABOUT FATE ; you obey the moirai, not out of piety but from a deep-rooted sense of justice, something that started as a fledgling branch & now became a gnarled, timeless oak inside your veins. your belief is the reason why you do not smite agamemnon, the cur, or the other myriad men that have borne his likeness across history, the man that cut down women like blades of grass. when you nip a soul’s thread without the moirai’s acceptance, you have to be ensured — no, fervent, about its deserving. but every now and then, you question the fate's judgement. doubt blooms in you, refracts like sunlight on the trembling surface of a deep, dark lake.

RECOGNITION

— ✹ NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS ;  their vessel changes along with the age & the areas they are worshipped in the most—as is the wont of almost every god. — ✹ NOTABLE QUIRKS, IDIOSYNCRACIES ;  plaited hair, incessant pulling at the braids, tangling them in meshwork-knots & matted clumps ;  hands slapping against their sides, cracking knuckles, palming fists, creating a thunder of noise out of mute actions just as they can keep any movement stealthy, conceleaed in its own pelt of habit. — ✹ REPUTATION AMONG MORTALS ; at this moment, we stand in the age of heroes, which succeded the age of myth like a firefly after a forest fire, like the annotation to an implosion. in this age, the vessel artemis carries is named she, is named they, is named lady of quiet lakes, is named lady of gurgling rivers, is named silver huntress, tall she-bear, swift, incisive, bone-carved, birch-skinned, glorious. the best thing about goddesses they deem virgins ? no one mentions your body. it is ruling in absentia, it is a nameless, void phenomenon. the light falls elsewhere ; and how warm its touch. — ✹ REPUTATION AMONG GODS ;  what the hierophants do not say: athena is raging, and you are, too. she is raging, and each scream inflates your lungs like a wine-skin, disjoints your bones like tectonic movements, like the sliding of earth’s plaques beneath its varnish. no more of varnish, you say, no more of gilded enamel, poured and poured to hide the rot. what rises in the columns of smoke above the vestal temples:  not all women love. what stirs in the altar vases:  not all women see chastity as a refusal, but as a consecration. the sacral delineation of the space, the body, marring its fleetingness with forbiddance, rendering it permanent, everlasting, yours. what swirls in the dust motes:  not all women love their fathers. what you tell athena, gripping her shoulderbones raw:  we made rage holy. now let’s show them why.

MUTUAL HEADCANON

You first see him on a feast day, and holiness swirls around them, coagulating like tar. The feast is held in the aftermath of a resounding victory — the garrison of Troy has pushed the northern barbarians beyond the border. You are impassioned, neither wrathful nor honored by this triumph; some tribesmen did worship you, but their women bowed to another, and so you had bloodied no oath for their protection. Yet one thing does scratch at you, a pest trapped under the floorboards, clawing to get out ; the pest of war-bonds, of men caught in battle and rendered slaves or sacrifice without reprieve, without the right to choose proper death. At the feet of Trojans, the battle-earned prisoners lay huddled, the most pitiful sacrifice you have seen in centuries ; worse than the plague-touched animals, worse than the scraps thrown on the altar in times of famine. Your bile stirs, trickles into your mouth in steady succession. And then Aphrodite’s son enters the square. Clad in a thin coat, so benighted with blood it is almost translucent, he raises his hand. The earth falls quiet. ‘ You will have these souls delivered to the gates in such a state ? Offered to the one they call stainless, untainted ? ’ His voice is not filled with scorn, nor anger, merely consternation. The boy’s locks, dark against the glare of the sun, are matted after the struggle on the battlefield. You see soil & leaves embroiled in its strands, you see torn patches, misplaced scars, fringes of pain—none of it matters. He looks every bit a prince. ‘ Release them, my hetairos, my sworn soldiers. ’ The men scramble to obey. And just like that, in a starburst of fate, Aeneas became known to you. That night, you became known to him.

[kaiser-dracon]

Chapter XLIII: Destiny - sneak peek

“Those who can not abandon anything will accomplish nothing.”

-King Claudius Asgard-

Velvet raised her head. The clouds parted to reveal the moon, streaming down upon them brightly in a silver hue, calm and serene. “It’s no longer red.”

“The scarlet night’s over,” Eizen said, bending down on one knee near Velvet and Avernus. “I feel a shift in the earthpulse. It appears that waking up the Empyreans has averted the rumbling activities of the volcano. The mountain will not erupt. At least not for a few hundred years.”

Eizen slowly pulled Avernus off Velvet’s lap with Rokurou joining him to help with the carry. “I guess whatever Avernus and Lailah did, had worked in our favor. Isn’t that right, Lailah?” Rokurou said as he and Eizen each held each of Avernus’ shoulders, ready to take him back to Van Eltia.

“Yes. The four Empyreans pushed Innominat away from the earthpulses. His domain is no longer affecting the mind of malakhim or humans.” Lailah informed, her eyes followed Avernus’ unconscious face that was heartbreakingly sleeping like an innocent child. Velvet caught an alarming feel of concern in Lailah’s benevolent eyes. 

“Lailah.” Velvet called, and the fire malak turned to her. “Thank you. If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t think we could’ve awakened the four Empyreans. We’re in your debt.”

“I did what I had to do.” Lailah nodded. “I’m happy that I could help you and Avernus, Velvet-san.”

Magilou slid closer to Lailah, making herself visible to the lord of calamity. “Aren’t you forgetting someone, Velvet?”

“You’re right. Thank you-”

Magilou quickly interrupted Velvet. “I’m not like Lailah that a mere “thank you” satisfy me. I only accept gifts or gald in tens of thousands.”

Velvet groaned in annoyance. “Forget it. I take it back.”

Laphicet joined them and moved beside Lailah. “What was that illusory arte, Magilou?”

“My personal affair that I had prepared for the old man.” Magilou giggled in pride. “It was to remind him how breaking someone’s heart feels. In other words: Payback.”

“That man was Claudin, am I right?”

“He was. Melchior loved him so much that he made an oath a hundred years ago to accompany him and see his vision through. Claudin’s death hit him hard. Very hard.” Magilou sneered, locking her arms behind her head, staring into the horizon with wicked satisfaction. “That was also his downfall. Hypocrisy at its finest.”

“What about Avernus? I sensed a lot of malakhim souls and consciousnesses rushing to him. Wasn’t that dangerous?” Laphicet wondered.

“Those souls you felt, Laphicet, were the wills of malaks who were suppressed and consumed by Innominat,” Lailah answered. “Wills to live and wills to push on. Avernus gave his body as a vessel to outweigh the Melchior’s magic of suppression.” Her face went pale for a second as she remembered something, a vision of someone, quietly resting under an apple tree in the Avalon. Lailah quickly switched her thoughts back. “Sometimes, little guidance can help lost souls. That’s what shepherds are for, and that’s what Avernus is for…”

“I bet malaks love an evil shepherd who gives them the freedom to express their emotions more than a benevolent one who binds them in prison. Did you know all of that from before?” Magilou asked, bringing her back to the matter.

Lailah quickly glanced at Velvet with a sense of guilt before returning her attention to Magilou. “No, I heard whispers of another malak, guiding me. For the souls, and even for getting back the sword.”

Velvet’s eyes suddenly glimmered in recognition. “Seres.”

Lailah nodded. “Yes. I think that was how she introduced herself.”

Velvet smiled. The reincarnation of her sister would not leave her side. Not till the end. “She is determined to see this through. As would I.”

Eizen glanced over Avernus’ head as he and Rokurou carried him on their shoulders. “Do you know anything about Avalon, Lailah? Was that real?” 

Avalon. The mysterious island, hidden among worlds, where orchards of apple trees laden with glowing fruits and the grass was a soft green lawn. Filled with such peace as no men nor malak will never know on earth.  That would be Eizen's next destination after they dealt with Artorius and Innominat.

“I-I have no idea, I’m sorry,” Lailah answered. In her honesty, she was telling them the truth, but not the whole truth, and Velvet already knew. “All I know is that it is somehow connected to both our world and the seraphim world.”

“You mean the progenitor malakhim?” Eleanor asked.

“We’re the same race. Those who were determined to follow their prime lords, the Empyreans, are called malakhims, which means “Holy Servants”.”

Laphicet gave Lailah a surprised and innocent look. “W-We are the servants?!”

An irritating hum from Eizen followed Laphicet’s sentence. “We are servants of no one, Laphicet. Especially not the shepherds and not the Empyreans.”

“Eizen is right. No one, not even malaks, has to be chained and used as tools.” Eleanor expressed.

“The first malakhim followed the Empyreans out of their own free will. In the case of Innominat, no one knows. But he has no more control of the minds of most malakhim and humans. His domain is failing.” Lailah answered.

“About Innominat, Phi. You are connected to him. What is he doing right now?” Velvet asked. 

Laphicet closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tapping into the earthpulses. “The Empyreans drove him away from the earthpulse. His body has escaped to the sky above the Empyrean’s throne. Artorius is with him too.”

“If that’s the case, what Lailah said is true. Humanity’s amplified resonances will diminish, and a lot of malakhim will regain their free will,” Magilou deducted. “The exorcist will likely lose a good number of their forces.”

“What about you, Eleanor? Have you lost your resonance?” Rokurou asked.

Eleanor cocked her head and shot a glance at everyone as they traversed the snowing road. “Sorry to disappoint, but I can still see you. Evil daemons, malakhims, witches, ladies of the lakes, and rogue shepherds alike.”

Lailah clapped her hands and beamed. “I knew it, Eleanor-san! Avernus told me that you are naturally strong!”

Lailah’s sweet and delicate compliment made Eleanor blushed. “Thank you, you’re so kind, the lady of the lake.”

Lailah hadn’t got used to her title, and soon she joined Eleanor in having rosy cheeks. Laphicet paced to Lailah’s side in excitement. “I like it a lot. It suits you, Lailah!”

“I-It does?”

Magilou stroked her chin. Thoughts of endless possibilities of how she can use the lady of the lake’s power stormed her mind. “So, Lailah, what can you do with those powers?”

“I can only assist the shepherd. Anything more, it has to be decided by Avernus.” Lailah lowered her head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Lailah. When your big brother wakes up, we will-” Before Magilou could finish her sentence, Velvet smacked her head. Her jester hat nearly fell off, and she stumbled forward. “Hey!”

“Leave Lailah out of it.” Velvet frowned at the witch. “It is up to me if I need any more power to deal with Artorius, not you.”

“Ah, you are no fun. Can’t you understand?! You have the power of four gods under your fingertips and claws! You can order your faithful Shadow to snap his finger and erase everything from existence!”

“For now, let us worry about getting back to Van Eltia. Then we’ll decide on what to do with the powers.” 

The team hiked their way back from the mountain and back to Hellawes. In the port, Benwick and the rest of the crew were anxiously waiting for them.

“Welcome back! I take it you defeated the legates.”Benwick greeted them, and his eyes instantly fell upon Avernus. “I guess he did something stupid again?”

Velvet waved her hand. “What’s new? But we got the legates. That leaves Artorius and Innominat.”

“Report, Benwick. How do you feel? Is everyone back to normal?” Eizen asked.

Benwick bobbed his head, sticking his chest out in salutation.“Aye, aye! We’re better than ever. It seems whatever tugged at our minds has already disappeared. We’re ready and able for your orders.”

“We need to have a plan before rushing into the final battle. Avernus needs to wake up too.”Velvet suggested. Suddenly, two new colorful Normins grabbed her attention as they were sitting beside Grimoirh on the deck. “Who’re those?”

“They came here looking for the shepherd, talking about paying their tributes before going on their ways and finding their missing friend,” Benwick answered.

Velvet climbed the stairs and marched toward the Normins. “What do you want?”

Grimorih beckoned to the green and red normin behind her, and they joined her. “They are Normin Heerow and Normin Krimson. They’ve come here to meet the Shepherd or precisely, the son of Claudin.”

Velvet scowled, making the small Normins flinch for a moment in fear. “What do you want with Avernus? And what’s your business with him?”

The green one gathered enough courage to bow slightly. “G-greetings lord of calamity. We have previously traveled the world alongside King Claudius and Artorius. We just came here to see Claudin’s son.”

“You’ve traveled with Artorius?” Velvet asked, turning to Grimoirh. 

“Might as well let them speak,” Girmoirh suggested.

Velvet crossed her arms. “Fine, but you need to talk before I let you see Avernus.”

Seeing no choice but to go through with the interrogation, the green one began the tale of King Claudin; how he found Artorius as an orphan, raising and training him under his wings to become his most beloved disciple. Then, how things turned to the worst, and Claudin had to sacrifice himself to save Artorius’ life in Lothringen. 

Most of this information was nothing new to them. But the story of Artorius sparked her interest. “Another death on his hand.” Velvet blamed Artorius for the death of Claudin too. 

The red Normin shook his head. “Artorius didn’t do anything wrong. There was no other way Claudin could have saved the boy, and he had already stretched that oath to its limits.”

Velvet was still not satisfied. Even though Avernus didn’t know his father, Velvet felt that Avernus losing his father was also Artorius’ fault.“Why did he sacrifice his life? Why was Artorius so important?”

“Claudin believed in the purity of Artorius’s spirit. He entrusted his hopes and the future of the world to his disciple!”

“But he had a son back in the far continent.” Velvet said.

Krimson lowered his head in sorrow. “He didn’t know. If he did…” He paused before raising his head again. “But it’s not the only sad thing. After that, Artorius kept blaming and blaming himself for the death of Claudin. He tried to do everything he could to live up to Claudin’s ideals, with no one else to help him. He traveled the world, teaching folks about malakhim and daemons, and how important it is to have a pure heart. But people had lived in peace so long, and they didn’t care for his stories. And in the end, the four Empyreans drifted into slumber.”

“He blamed himself again, I presume?” Magilou joined them, standing beside Velvet.

“Yes. And he left us, journeying to the east, all by his lonesome.” 

Magilou looked at Velvet, and they shared the same assumption. “Eastgand… Which means.”

“Aball.” Velvet completed her sentence. “Benwick said you want to join your friend. Did they go to Eastgand?”

“Yes. He took off a few days ago, but we heard the news about Claudin’s son and decided to come and find you.” Krimson answered, waiting for Velvet’s permission.

“We’ll take you to Aball. I have some business there too.” Velvet said, waving her hand afterward as soon as she saw Eizen and Rokurou coming out of the crew quarters. “You can go and see Avernus.” Velvet raised a scolding finger, frowning. “But try anything funny, or be a nuisance around him, and I will throw you out into the sea to be shark bait.”

[celestial-leaves]

“Do not go gentle into that good night.”

Across the barren landscape blew a cold wind, dragging it's fingers over the fragmented rocks so that they rolled and cracked like weak thunder. It danced between ageless columns, under a large stone table and out the other side. It's toneless voice lost to a void of infinite stars. Zaveid crouched on one such column, eyes closed, and senses cast out as far as they would go. He tracked the wind's passage, exhaling steam with every breath, reading what it was willing to share. The information was lacking. Their target - a gang of highway robbers - were nowhere to be found. Slowly Zaveid reeled his senses back in, releasing his grip on the wild winds until it was only his own domain that drifted about. He stepped off the column floating to the ground non-nonchalantly. Once more he eyed the terrain but it remained desolate, not even a whiff of maovelance.

With a shrug the eolian took off across the landscape, domain consolidating into translucent wings that carried him back to the camp. He landed neatly besides Lailah with a soft swoosh. The wings dissolved back into air and he shook out his arms for they had a tendency to stiffen up after prolonged flights.

"Welcome back," Lailah said, her voice no more than a quiet murmur. Zaveid followed her head tilt and huffed. Their shepherd was curled up by the fire, the top of his hair poking out from under the blanket. Asleep as he was he appeared even smaller, barely longer than an oxen saddle. He eyed the rest of the camp but didn't see the other youngsters. "The girls went hunting," Lailah spoke again. "Did you find any leads?"

"No. Where ever they went, they're long gone," Zaveid said. He sat down folding body parts in such a manner that there was limited exposure to the flames. "Might have to go back to town, see if we can scrounge up another trail." There was a quiet hum from the prime lord but nothing more so he fell silent as well, automatically encircling the encampment with an alert breeze.

Before too long the hunters returned squabbling like nest-mates but carrying between them a good-sized deer. "Food!" Their newest sub-lord exclaimed, heedless of the previous quiet. She cast down her share of the burden and immediately crouched close to the fire, holding out her hands. "It's ridiculously cold out there, it shouldn't be this cold so early in the year, should it?"

"Out of season weather are a sign of a troubled world," Lailah said, "I suppose it can't be helped with all that has been going on." At the sound of raised voices, the shepherd stirred and sat upright, rubbing at his face. "Good timing Deryn!" Lailah continued brightly, "come help with this." Mutely, the boy scrambled up and trotted over.

Seeing that the other three had it well in hand, Zaveid remained where he was and closed his eyes. Between the simultaneous training of a new shepherd and seraph, the hunting of hellions, and the tracking of potential lords of land, there wasn't much time to simply relax. In the aftermath of Sorey's impromptu nap there had been much to do and Rose had done her best, but she was only human. Skilled but not perfect or infallible. They'd lost her some 30 years later, the strain of being a vessel and her own human mortality catching up inevitably. After that, the party had split. Mikleo wandering off to travel the world. Lailah had returned to her throne to suss out potential candidates, whilst Edna had walked away one sunrise without a backwards glance. Travelling with either of the two youngsters had been tempting, but he understood Mikleo's pain all to well and didn't particularly wish to tread on it. To Edna, he had offered and she had turned him down flat, stating that "Phoenix was enough for her."

In the end, he had remained seated on the wind trial's highest perch with the perfect view of their retreating backs. When he could no longer see them, he had closed his eyes and cast out his winds. For days he did not move, existing only as a gargoyle of flesh and blood. The sub-lord pact was a thin chain wrapped around his heart and stretching out across the land. Through it he could sense the others. Mikleo was always bobbing about, one moment he would be in Trizolde and the next Pendrago. It was disconcerting. Zaveid briefly entertained the thought of tracking down the boy, if only to remind of his own immortality. There would be time enough to view the world, it wasn't going to disappear even if he dilly-dallied. The idea had been swallowed down shortly after it had emerged as the thought of moving was an unpleasant one.

Edna was a steady presence. He didn't need to put in much effort to track her for once she had returned to her earth pulse, she had not moved again. He tried not think about her too much or on what slumbered near her. Somehow, though, it always managed to pervade his thoughts. Seeping through his brain until the guilt became so strong as to be tangible. He suspected that it had something to do with their bond. Ever since he had made that promise with Eizen, it had only grown stronger. Even the latter turning into a literal dragon had not broken it. Whenever he closed his eyes, fought, ate, or did anything really. It was there. Settled in the far reaches of his mind like a particularly unpleasant fungus. If Zaveid concentrated he could perceive Eizen's emotions, rumbling discontent or hunger. Sometimes it felt as if the dragon could sense his mental intrusions but those times were rare and far between. Usually, it only served to remind him of his broken oath.

Five months after the group had split the sub-pact connecting him to Lailah snapped. He felt it break, present one heartbeat and gone the next. Panic crashed in in the wake of the severing, leaving him breathless. He tumbled more than leapt from his perch, shaking out limbs that had remained stagnant for far too many days, and hit the ground with a teeth rattling thud. The sudden movement and rush of alarm drew an inquisitive feeling from Eizen but he ignored it. The wind coursed around him, dragging him to his feet, shoving him eastward. Zaveid didn't question it just gathered the breeze in and surged forwards, shape blurring out of focus as he sped up.

Ladylake was much as he remembered it -loud, odorous, and over populated- but that mattered little when one did not exist. He shouldered his way through the crowds, leaping walls with one step, and dashing through many a clothing line before he came upon the cathedral. The doors had been closed but such an impediment had never stopped the eolian before. He crashed through the window, rolled to his feet, and skidded between Lailah and the humans. A human. A young girl whose hands were curled around the hilt of a familiar sword and whom was in fact the only human in the cathedral. He froze. Meeting her own startled gaze with confusion that did nothing to distill the fear.

"Zaveid."

Zaveid winced at the cold tone, shoulders curling in slightly, before he straightened up and looked back at Lailah.

"How kind of you to join us," The fire seraph continued. Little wisps of smoke drifted up from her shoulders, her arms, her hair, and though she was smiling it was not a kind expression.

"Ah er, I thought something had happened," Zaveid said hastily, pendulums disappearing, and hands raised preemptively. "The bond just cut out without warning, I wasn't expecting it." He glanced at the girl, but she hadn't moved, still looking like a startled deer.

"It does that," Lailah said mildly, for a moment she looked as if she wished to enact bodily harm but she only sighed and Zaveid relaxed. "My apologies, I thought you'd known," she added.

"It didn't do that when Sheps conked out," Zaveid grumbled half-halfheartedly. Now that the fear was receding, various other ailments were beginning to poke their heads out.

"Rose was already affiliated with the - Zaveid! Are those twigs?"

"What are - ow ow." He trailed off, protests muted as Lailah tugged on his hair and let out exclamations of dismay.

"What ever have you been doing?! You look like you've been crawling through multiple piles of brambles and dead leaves." So saying she removed a handful of twigs, casting them down on the ground with disgust. "It's beyond improper to enter a holy area looking like a bird's nest."

"I doubt Mao would mind," Zaveid said, puling away from her questing hands, "it's better than bleeding everywhere."

"Just because Lord Maotelus isn't present does not mean one can be so disrespectful," Lailah snapped. "When was the last time you bathed?!"

"Recently I-" Zaveid started only to stop and frown, he couldn't remember the last time he'd washed or even seen a pool of water. He sniffed his wrist bracers and recoiled. "It's just manly musk," he muttered in Lailah's direction. "I've been busy."

"Clearly," Lailah said. "Had any visitors at the Wind shrine?" She turned away before he could answer and smiled at the human who didn't look reassured. "Not to worry, dear, he may look like that but he's a good person."

"No," Zaveid said preemptively but it had been of little use. Lailah had over powered his protests with a few choice words but the real kicker had been the shepherd's puppy dog eyes. So, despite his complaints he'd found himself a sub-lord once more and travelling with Lailah. It was more pleasant than he would ever admit.

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Time continued to pass them by. Shepherds were born, lived, and died. The church rebuilt itself stone by blessed stone under Lailah's merciless guidance. Soon fifty years had passed, then  a century, and finally one early morning. A seraph emerged from an air pulse.

Zaveid felt it, a tensing of something deep in his soul. He paused, hands deep in the guts of some unlucky forest creature and looked to the coast line. The horizon line remained unchanged and yet the very air felt different. He inhaled, tasting the change on the tip of his tongue, before letting it go. Whatever it was would either come to pass or die still unformed, it was of little concern to him. The thought disappeared into the void reserved for none pressing matters and he returned to his duties.

Their next shepherd - a boy with messy hair the color of straw and mulish eyes - forced that thought back to the forefront. There could be little doubt that the child was Dezel returned to them as a human. Though the physical appearance was different, the soul that shined through - the one that they felt through the pact bond - was the same.

"Grampveid."

A sharp pressure drew him from his thoughts and Zaveid opened his eyes to meet Edna's displeased expression. "Food's ready," she said, adding a moment later "we're switching targets." Before she stomped off.

Zaveid unfolded himself with a groan, he collected a stick from the pile of roasted meat and joined the others. Lailah had spread out a map across two saddle bags, and was carefully etching out their potential routes. Chasing down the robbers would undoubtedly raise the locals opinions of them, but without a lead it was nearly impossible. Besides, it was better to leave such things to the appropriate divisions. That left them with two options; a nest of spiderlyneas had been reported recently or they could put an end to the menace living in the Spiritcrest. Out of the corner of his eye, he eyed Edna but the girl remained as tight lipped as ever.

"How big is this menace?" Deryn asked, voice muffled around by the meat he'd crammed into his mouth.

"Quite large," Lailah said, "and very old. If you remember your lessons it's classified as a 'flee on sight' monstrosity." Despite her grave words, there was a lightness to her tone that both of the youngsters picked up on. Deryn leaned forwards, peering harder at the map as if he could see the dark clouds of miasma surrounding the mountain peak.

Rose pushed up besides him, eyes glittering; "how old is very old, Lai? What's the listed reward price? It's got to be high for a flee on sight!" She chattered.

"Think over a thousand years," Lailah replied calmly and Zaveid eyed her suspiciously. It was clear that she had a goal in mind.

"There is no reward," Edna spoke then, she too was watching their prime lord through half-lidded eyes.

There were confused sounds from the youngsters, but they settled soon enough when Lailah raised her hand. "Allow me to explain," she began and Zaveid tuned her out. His eyes drifted away from the maps and out into the distance. The Spiritcrest was no small hop away, it would take them at least a week's travel or longer should they encounter trouble. Even if they were to arrive safely, they would be fighting against Eizen - the rumble at the back of his mind grew louder as it did whenever the name crossed his thoughts- he brought a hand up to his head, wincing. Deryn had the light but he didn't yet have the battle skills to back it up, his chances of survival were minimal at best. Still, Lailah would not have mentioned it if she didn't have some sort of plan.

The growls returned ten-fold echoing through his skull with a vengeance. Zaveid bit his lip, and focused inwardly. There was an area inside his mind, filled with tangled webs of shadows and bloody promises where lived the reverberations of a beast. It was not the true thing just as it had not always been so twisted, but was only a connection. Once it had been the source of confusion but much warmth as well. Now, though. Now, it was only a chain. Zaveid huffed a little and sent over a thought. <What's got your scales so scuffed up, big guy? You're making a lot of noise.>

He wasn't expecting an answer, he never did anymore. The growling did not recede and further inquiries only brought to mind the imagery of mauled meat. <You're eating,> Zaveid said, deadpan. <would it behoove you to chew quieter?> He received the mental equivalent of a tail to the chest. He staggered backwards out of the shared mind space. He opened his eyes grumbling deep in his throat, and glared sullenly off to the east. Eventually, a consensus was reached. Come morning light the group would head out to the spiderlynea nest. The group retired to their bed rolls soon after, but Zaveid remained where he was volunteering for the first watch with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

Lailah made her way over a few moments later, sinking onto the soft dirt with a groan that she would never have let the children hear. Zaveid glanced at her out of the corner of his eye noticing the faintest smell of incense in the air. He could feel the heat wafting off her skin. "Something bothering you?" He asked.

"Have you noticed anything weird about Deryn?" Lailah returned. She smoothed her dress down stretching the fabric over her knees.

"Are you thinking of something in particular?"

"No. It's- I would just like to hear your thoughts please."  

"There's nothing outright weird about the kid," Zaveid said slowly. "Other than being Dezel reborn that is."

"Right, that."

"Hmm?"

"The whole rebirth cycle thing," Lailah continued. "It's," she paused, nose scrunching up as she chose her words. "You remember how it was before lord Maotelus became our Lord, right?" Her eyes flitted away when Zaveid turned to face her, seemingly finding the nearby grass fascinating but there was a tension to her shoulders. Zaveid sighed.

"Not really," he admitted, "my memory pre-that kid's transformation is not the best. But, things changed after he became Maotelus people stopped-" the words tangled together in his throat, leaving his chest aching with an old pain. "Pre-Maotelus it was simpler, malak or human everyone returned after 100 years. No exceptions." Perhaps it wasn't fair to blame the kid for it, Zaveid knew, but he couldn't seem to help it. A bitter tone crept into his voice as he continued. "But after that kid became Mao, well no one returned." He swallowed and spat out the second half of his thought. "The human population kept growing but us? We were less and and less every year."

"That doesn't explain how it is that Deryn and Rose came to be," Lailah pointed out. "If, as you say, the cycle froze when our lord was born then why is it starting again now?"

"Spirits if I now," Zaveid grumbled. "Didn't understand the church then and I sure as fuck don't understand it now." He flopped backwards, resting his head on his arms. Lailah chuckled, and after a moment tilted sideways until she too was laying down. Zaveid bit back the teasing comment he'd been about to make. Lailah despite her laughter still felt tense. "Sheps probably had something to do with it," he said lightly, "that kid never knew when to call it quits."

Lailah chuckled again. Zaveid could feel her shoulders shaking and he smiled to himself. "Still, I am worried," the prime lord said, "regular seraphs being reborn as humans or vice-versa is alright but what if something else took advantage of our lord's nap?"

"Like what?"

"A former lord of chaos or the Calamity herself," Lailah replied matter-of-factually. "If Lord Maotelus was the cycle guardian then-"

"Crowe won't be making a re-appearance," Zaveid interrupted. "She's so deeply buried under whatever seals they're holding Innominat under that it wouldn't be possible." Even as he spoke though, his thoughts flitted away from Velvet and towards something uglier. "Crowe cannot return," he whispered more to himself than Lailah, "but that doesn't mean that the same constraints apply to her human opponents."  It was not a comforting idea and he shivered helplessly.

"You know who would return though?" Lailah asked suddenly and there was pleased warmth in her voice again.

"No but I suspect you'll tell me," Zaveid said. The grin appearing on his face despite his mood being far from cheerful.

"Eizen," Lailah said without preamble. She smiled up at him with glittering eyes.

His heart clenching painfully Zaveid couldn't maintain her gaze. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Edna will be happy, I guess." There was a pause, and he could practically feel Lailah picking and choosing her words but in the end, she only shrugged. "We'll do our best," Zaveid said halfheartedly, "not sure Deryn is the right shepherd to feed to Eizen though." That drew an offended snort but the topic was dropped.

The following morning dawned bright and cold, the sky clear for miles around. As the group gathered their items and shoveled food down into Deryn's bottomless stomach, Zaveid looked at the map. It was a straight forward route taking them through two cities and over a small river. He memorized it easily enough, before folding u the map and returning it to its weather proofed case. They set out within the hour, walking in their usual formation. Zaveid scouting ahead followed by Lailah, Deryn, and Rose while Edna acted as rear guard. The atmosphere was pleasant, just shy of cool where the sun had yet to burn the dew from the grass. The winds whispered in his ears bringing tidings from as far away as the coastlines. Zaveid sifted the information extracting news on hellionic activities. Though the weather had initially improved after Sorey's nap, it was still prone to unleashing freak storms or upending it's innards in molten spews. A pretty sight for sure if one was not fleeing for their lives.

The first town they came across was little more than a ramshackle collection of wooden huts encircling a well. The surroundings fields had not been left fallow which suggested that the local inhabitants were not destitute. They moved on swiftly, stopping for the midday break by a noisy brook. The next contention point - a larger dot on the map- was not for several hours.

Even from a respectable distance away the stone walls could be seen crowding the horizon. Zaveid exchanged a look with Lailah and darted ahead, the wind consolidating under his feet until he was shooting through the air. He landed on one of the walls with a quiet thump ad inspected the town. The streets - winding cobblestone pathways - were empty. The windows of the dwellings visibly shuttered. Zaveid frowned casting out his senses but they came up empty. There was nothing seeping danger in the town. He descended from the wall and wandered through the streets. There was not a soul to be seen, though the space did not feel unlived in. There was water in the well and the wood was unrotted. Whatever had chased the inhabitants away was either recent or -

He froze. The air vibrated. A heavy thumping reached his ears and he looked towards the sky. In the distance a dark shape was speeding towards the city, growing larger by the second. Zaveid blinked, cursed and dove for cover. There was little to be found, other than the insides of a building, the streets did not posses many overhangs. He pressed himself into a narrow alcove, pendulums sliding down his wrists even as his heart tried to beat it's way out of his chest. From his new position he could no longer see the beast, but the wind spoke of a huge wingspan. Automatically his thoughts turned towards Eizen but they were nowhere near Rayfalke. Besides the presence in the back of his mind was strangely quiet, it was always loudest when he was within Eizen's vicinity. He peeked around the corner and saw the creature descending, wings spread so wide that they ought to have blotted out the sun. But the wings were so translucent that the beams pierced straight through, forcing Zaveid to shield his face.

The dragon was huge. Perhaps the largest monstrosity that Zaveid had laid eyes on, it dwarfed even Eizen's bulk by several feet. It shuffled restlessly, crouching down on the cathedral's spire as tiles rained down to the ground. It's tail looped once and then hung down so that the tip scraped against the cobblestones. It's scales - golden-white in color - shone under the spring sun and when it yawned it's teeth seemed the size of his hand.  Zaveid gulped. As the quickest member he'd been sent ahead to scout but the party was not so far behind that they would fail to notice a draconian domain. Except, he frowned and tasted the air once more but nothing had changed. Other than the faintest remnants of weeks old terror there was no maovelance. No reaper's curse. No black miasma. He sensed Eizen stirring, no doubt reacting to the presence of another dragon, and hastily closed his mind to the intrusion. There was a rumbled protest, the feeling of scales scraping against stone and he could almost visualize Eizen glaring at him reproachfully. <<Go away,>> Zaveid thought in his direction, <<this doesn't concern you.>>

Fiddling with his necklace Zaveid considered his options; the dragon had yet to notice him and if it was as he suspected then the party would need to be informed of a new threat. It shifted then and he pressed himself further into the shadows, preparing to wind-step at a moment's notice but it only stretched out it's serpentine neck. As it moved he caught sight of it's yellow eyes, confirming the suspicion that this was not Eizen, though it did not explain how such a monstrosity had come to exist. The eolian thought it over for a moment and then strolled out into the closest courtyard. He pulled his domain in as close as it could, a respect that he would have normally offered only to Maotelus. He heard the sound of scales scrapping across stone but did not look over. There was a fountain in the center of the courtyard, water cascading over some bird stained humanoid shape. He stepped up and crouched down on the crook on the statue's shoulder. It put him slightly closer to the dragon's eye level.

If there was one thing that Zaveid had learned over his long years of existence was how to hide his fear. He could feel his heart decamping up to the base of his throat but he refused to let it show on his face. He met the single draconic eye evenly, pulling up a smirk for size. It inhaled, nostrils flaring visibly. Though it's scales were mostly white there was gold patterning that shimmered in the sun and the scales around it's claws seemed orangish.  Zaveid swallowed and when that didn't help coughed. His throat still felt too tight but he spoke anyway, "What's your-"

"You were one of Eumacia's pets," the dragon interrupted. "Were you not?" It's voice was surprisingly soft, crackling on the odd word but not guttural.

The air escaped Zaveid's chest in a startled gasp, and for a painful moment it felt as if his heart had stopped. "I- I don't know a Eumacia," he said shakily, "and I'm no one's pet."

"Eumacia Eumaaaciaa," the beast hissed, "my dearest older sister." It's tail trashed, tearing straight through the ground. It settled again, resting its snout on a paw. "You were hers," it insisted. "Bound you were to her vessel."

"Vessel?" Zaveid asked, the word bouncing around his brain. "You're going to have to put a bit more effort into your explanation, buddy. You're not making a lick of sense," he said eventually. Despite his efforts to shut Eizen out, the name slipped through the bond and he heard the dragon react. A long snarl reaching him.

The dragon rumbled, smoke drifting out of it's nostrils and Zaveid prepared to bolt. "I am Musiphe," it said, still with that same rumbling tone. "Young one, has no one taught you your history?"

"Er."

"I am what your kind calls an Empyrean," it continued, "You serve me."

"Yeah. Er. No," Zaveid said automatically. "I don't serve anyone and aren't you supposed to be, I don't know, up there?" He gestured at the sky. "And not a dragon," he added after a moment. The dragon shifted and Zaveid's attention flashed to it's teeth. He crashed into the side of a building before he realized it, sliding down to the ground with a pained grunt.

"Young one," the beast chided, "you have forgotten your manners." It descended from it's perch, cat-like in it's grace as Zaveid scrambled to his feet. He didn't need to look to know that a bruise was forming, darkening his side like splattered paint. Eizen was roaring now, though Zaveid couldn't tell if he was angry at the empyrean or off on a hunt. His head pounded with each reverberation.

"Mmm, can't say I ever learned them," Zaveid said, a swift appraisal of the situation and he backed away using the building to shield his back. "I'm afraid this where I love you and leave you Musiphe," he continued, "nice meeting you." The wind snatched him away moments before the tail brought the building crashing down. Zaveid saw the cloud of dust from the sky and took off in the direction of the party. As soon as he'd put distance between himself and the city, he dropped to the ground. The last thing he needed was the dragon catching him in the air. He wind-stepped along, small jumps that allowed him to remain aware of his surroundings. The group was still trouping along when he crashed into their midst, appearing between Lailah and Deryn.

"Change of plans, we're not going this way," Zaveid said and snatched up the boy. "Everyone get inside." He didn't wait for them to react, just secured Deryn under his arm and wind-stepped away. The wind rushed past, the surroundings blurring into a streamlined mess. The only constant was the warm bundle under his arm. He did not stop until they'd left the empyrean a whole day's travel behind, setting down on the sandy surface of a cove. The mad dash left him gasping for air like a beached fish, struggling to inhale through lungs that felt painfully compressed. Deryn, the over dramatic brat that he was, staggered away coughing. A small red sphere emerged from his chest and took human form beside the wind seraph. Two others emerged on its heels.

"Grampveid cease your dying and explain," Edna demanded, the point of her umbrella jabbing mercilessly into his side. Zaveid grunted. A hand pressed too his chest as if that would calm the thundering of his heartbeat. It wasn't like he required oxygen to survive but it felt as if his lungs were constricting struggling to adjust to the new environment. Black spots crowded his peripheral vision settling around Rose's head so that she was blotted from view. He closed them.  Instinctively sucking in information from the air.

"Shh. It's alright." Warm hands on his face, fingers curling around his chin and stroking his cheek. "It's alright, just breath for me." Zaveid inhaled trying to match the prime lord's steadying breath. Slowly the panic receded, and his heart followed suit sliding back down to settle into his chest cavity. He blinked hazily, swiped at his eyes and said haltingly, "are you sure you're not angel? because your purity is lighting my heart on fire."

Lailah did not look impressed nor did her concerned expression lessen. She stepped back and clasped her hands together. "What happened?" There was steel bleeding into her voice but Zaveid could only shrug.

"Nothing much, just stumbled across a dragon," he said, wincing a little when the group devolved into loud exclamations.

"A dragon? Like an actual dragon dragon?" Rose demanded, her restless energy redirected into bouncing on her toes, teeth bared. She looked ready to set off at once and track down the elusive beast. Deryn too looked inquisitive, though his naturally pouty lips were doing a better job of hiding it.

"It wasn't Eizen," Zaveid specified for the benefit of the little earthen glaring a hole into the side of his head. Some of the tension left her frame but he doubted that anyone else had noticed. "said his name was Musiphta or somethin'," he continued, "nearly ran straight into him. Bastard wasn't emitting any maovelance."

There was quiet gasp. Lailah - hands in front of her face - and eyes wide with evident horror. "Did you say Musiphe?"

"Err, it was something like that," Zaveid answered, rubbing at his neck. "To be honest I was a bit more distracted by the massive spiked tail."

"Musiphe, Musiphe," the prime lord muttered, "An Empyrean. How could this be?" Zaveid frowned at her fretting. The dragon had been large and terrifying, sure but it didn't exude an evil presence. He said as much but Lailah shook her head fervently. "No no, of course they wouldn't exude the maovelance. Musiphe was on of the great lords who ruled this land over a thousand years ago." She began to pace, fingers twisting together as little sparks drifted off her clothing. "He should still be with Lord Maotelus, I don't understand why you ran into him."

"What's an Empyrean?" Deryn asked. Simultaneously, Edna spoke in her typical dead-pan, "It's got to be boring hanging around a sleeping boss all day."  

"It's not the first time the Empyreans have descended," Zaveid said, "the guy mentioned someone named Eumacia having a vessel?"

"Did he say anything else?"

"No," Zaveid said, "he tried to eat me after that so I got out of range." There was a rumble at the back of his mind, vague disgruntlement emitting. Zaveid spared an appeasing wave for the beast before resolutely ignoring it again. Within the privacy of his own mind he turned over what the dragon had claimed, but he could recall no facts about an Eumacia much less being bound to her. The only one and even now innumerable centuries later chills ran down his spine at the thought, had been Melchior. The human was well and truly dust beneath the earth out of range of both his hatred and his vengeance. There was no way he'd be returning.

"The kid turned into a dragon," he said abruptly cutting off whatever the others had been discussing. "There's no reason why his lords couldn't do the same." Fingers tapping against his thigh he glowered at the sky. "It's not like Mao was bound to the other plane. The only catching point is why they chose to re-appear now. The humans can't see them."

"Slaughtering humans hardly requires them to be visible," Edna said, a darkness slipping into her tone. With her child-like appearance - still under 150 centimeters - it was easy to forget that she too had lived through the Abbey's reign. Deryn and Rose both looked at her, their eyes wide.

"Seraphs can do that?" Deryn asked, "aren't they supposed to be-" he paused and waved a hand for emphasis, "*good?*"

"Like all things, the seraphim are subject to both good and evil humors," Lailah replied. "It is not so much that the great lords would engage in senseless acts of violence but merely that it is within their power." The shepherd looked skeptical, not that Zaveid could blame him. The empyreans had not lifted a finger when the Abbey had been running around enslaving malakim left and right. They'd been content to remain in their plane, no doubt sipping on the world's lifeblood as they watched it burn. He kept that particular thought to himself, Lailah got oddly offended when he spoke ill of the church. Even now she was herding the conversation away from the empyreans and the Abbey.

Zaveid understood her recalcitrance but could not bring himself to sympathize. Though the church might have evolved since it's Abbey's days and become something a little less oppressive, it didn't change the fact it had engaged and still engaged in the conquest wars. The group settled in the cove, laying their packs down and setting up a campfire. Each was lost to their own thoughts. Not needing food, Zaveid dug out a gel for himself and found a large rock to perch on. Eyes closed and head tilted to catch the sunlight, he was content to sit peacefully. For awhile thoughts of the Empyrean churned through his brain but eventually they too faded into silence.

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It appeared out of seemingly thin air. There was no other explanation. One moment the winds had been functioning as normal, the next they were burning, disappearing so quickly that Zaveid barely had time to react much less warn the others. Their campfire erupted. Flames sky rocketing as the wood exploded. He grasped for the nearest figure, fingers closing around a thin wrist and dragging whoever it was closer. The air felt void, no winds, no breezes just the looming presence of the empyrean.

It landed deceptively softly, huge wings draping out across the ground. Zaveid thought he saw starlight reflecting off them. It's tail swept about, encircling the group nonchalantly as if it regularly herded it's prey. He exchanged a look with Lailah and saw the same fear reflected in her eyes. Rose pressed into his side, wordlessly.

"Young one." For a beast of it's size it truly had no business sounding so gentle. "You ran off before we'd finished our conversation." Yellow eyes blinked reproachfully.

"Was that what you ole ones call a conversation?" Zaveid asked, the retort slipping free before his brain caught up to his mouth. He felt Lailah's wince though she was nowhere near him. The dragon made a sound, and it took Zaveid a while to realize that it was laughing. Hot air blew from it's nostrils but the flesh grinding jaws remained closed.

"Begging your pardon, my lord," Lailah spoke, her head lowered deferentially. "Was there something you required of us?"

The beast blinked at her and then inhaled slowly, its tongue flicking out. Resolutely, Zaveid tried not to think of Eizen doing the same thing moments before he'd attacked a buffalo herd. "I do not recognize you," it said eventually, "one of that child's followers perhaps?"

"I am the Prime Lord Lailah. I serve under his lordship Maotelus," came the reply. Somehow she was keeping a mild tone despite their danger and Zaveid felt a surge of pride. He wasn't sure that he'd have been able to pull off half as much respect.

"Yessss. That child's indeed." The tip of it's tail twitched, just once. "You may refer to me as Lord Musiphe. I am-" it's teeth bared in the semblance of a smile, "that child's older brother." He rumbled again as if laughing at his own words.

Zaveid bit his tongue, swallowing down the protest until it had sunken into the pit of his stomach. There came an inquisitive rumble from within him. The feeling of soil shifting under his clawed feet as Eizen paced the mountainside. Somehow the knowledge that his own dragon was relaxing at home was calming. Zaveid snorted to himself. Eizen was no more his dragon than he was a harmless hellion. Though the longer he delayed on fulfilling his oath, the easier it had become to discern the dragon's thoughts and emotions.

Musiphe spoke again, dragging his attention back to the very real danger. "Tell me children," it said, "what are the occurrences of this continent. I would hear your opinions."

True to his word the dragon remained still and silent listening to the tale that Lailah and Zaveid spun. He did not seem overly bothered when they explained Maotelus disappearance and had in fact snorted when they'd mentioned the destruction of Camlann. The lack of reaction was off putting but for Zaveid it further cemented the idea that Empyreans truly did not care about the state of their world. He scanned the scales, searching for any kinks in the natural armor or traces of a fight. There were none. By all appearances the dragon had not engaged in any acts of violence, other than swatting Zaveid like a fly. It's domain was still clean.

"I see," the dragon hissed, it curled further in on itself as if that could hide it's claws. "Much has changed since I last walked these lands then." It chuckled and small sparks shot out of it's nose.

"Where's your vessel?" Zaveid asked abruptly. Giving voice to the thought that had been pinging him. Even Maotelus had had a vessel, after all.

Musiphe's head whipped towards him, the weight of his exhale causing Zaveid to stagger. A lip curled upwards revealing the edge of a stained tooth.

"Apologies my lord," Lailah spoke up hastily. "He means no harm. It is merely awe inspiring that you remain unaffected by the land's aura. We would not be so rude as to presume that we are worthy of inquiring after your vessel." Though one of the huge eyes rolled towards her, the snarl did not fade.

"What she said," Zaveid muttered after a moment.

"My vessel is my own," Musiphe rumbled, "even now it thrives and I am sure it will grow up into a fine fighter." It's tongue flicked out once more and it looked almost please.

"It?" Zaveid pressed, "is it a living creature?"

"Young one, your manners are truly atrocious," came the answer. "Perhaps you require a lesson or two before Eumacia returns to this land." The look in it's eyes was not a kind one and Zaveid shivered. His instincts were screaming at him to retreat now - that against this fiery vortex he stood no chance. For the first time in nearly a decade, he regretted stowing Siegfried away.

"You know, I'm still a little unclear on who this Eumacia is," Zaveid said, turning a blind eye to the prime lord's disapproving look. Let her bow her head in subservience, Zaveid had never done well in such circumstances and he didn't plan on starting now.

"My sister," Musiphe started but then it paused. It's serpentine head swung upwards and it's tongue swept out to taste the air once more. It remained silent for several moments, eyes hooded as if it were listening to another voice. It rumbled deep in it's throat, fire leaking out between it's teeth. "My sister," it repeated eventually. "has always been the inquisitive type. Though you are but a spotted rock at best she does not mind your arrogant transgressions. I am however not so lenient." There was a warning in those gleaming eyes, and a threat in the fire that continued to burn his winds away.

Zaveid glared up at it, staring into those eyes with all the bravery he possessed. There was an itch in his gut -some would refer to it as foolishness - that needed to be scratched. Giving in to it would be all to easy. However he wasn't by himself. There were children relying on him to keep it together. Letting out a frustrated growl, Zaveid bowed his head turning his vitriol against the earth instead. His hair ruffled under the heavy breath the empyrean exhaled, sweat gathering on his neck and sliding down to soak into his shirt. He heard it settle again, but the pressure did not fade and instead heightened as the large head lowered once more to rest against it's leg. It was close enough to touch, the pale scales turning reddish under it's inner heat.

The intent was clear. *You are a lesser creature than I* the empyrean was saying, *I do not fear you.* Zaveid bristled but there was nothing he - or anyone - could do about it. They were at the mercy of the elder beast. The empyrean remained with them for the rest of the evening and through the night. He could feel it's deep breaths stirring the sand. It's eyes -half lidded though they were - glinted in the starlight. Occasionally it would rumble up a question or revisit something Lailah had said earlier in the evening. It's domain was a massive web, spread out across the land and suffocated all that it touched. Zaveid wandered how it was that the beast was not attracting every hellion in the area. Such a massive source would feed the critters for months. However as soon as the thought crossed his mind, a slightly more worrisome bloomed. Discretely, Zaveid stretched his senses out towards his bonded seeking to draw comfort from Eizen's presence but there was nothing. Only the vaguest hint of cold.  

[under-the-lake]

Crimes of Grindelwald:  The Phoenix, the Blood Pact and the Skull -  More Questions than Answers

When watching Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (in Newt’s Suitcase) - The Crimes of Grindelwald, many questions arise, first of which is WHERE ARE THE CRIMES? Grindelwald doesn’t really commit any crime in this film, apart from a couple of murders, which, given Grindelwald’s record, can be considered trifles. Unanswered question as of yet.

Many things happening in the film seem to make no or not much sense:

1. What about this mess during Grindelwald’s escape? - What about the blood pact?

2. The For-The-Greater-Good- Narghile-Projector-Skull, 1898

3. Is Credence really a Dumbledore?

4. McGonagall cannot have been teaching at Hogwarts in 1927. In Order of the Phoenix, she says she’s been teaching at Hogwarts for 39 years. And OoP is roughly 70 years after CoG...

I won’t develop more than the first two points. I guess there’s not enough evidence for or against the Credence is a real Dumbledore thingy to make a fair point, yet there are a lot of theories out on the web. And the last point, well, it speaks for itself. So either Production and Rowling changed the canon, which means reprint books with the right dates and review all the data about McGonagall, or admit the film bit with her is crap. Plus she’s so much out of character that it’s just a joke anyway.

1. Grindelwald’s Escape Mess and the Blood Pact Business 

When I watched the beginning of the film, it made no sense to me. Unless, as it dawned on me right after it, Abernathy and Grindelwald had already swapped bodies before the transfer took place, and Abernathy would be the one in the carriage, the Grindelwald without a tongue. SWAPPED BODIES. Yeh. Not used Polyjuice Potion, but actually Transfigured into the other. We know that Grindelwald is a fearfully skilled bloke, but that’s something we haven’t seen yet. I mean he spent a lot of time as Percival Graves, but that was only Transfiguring himself. 

Anyway, had the plan not backfired, Grindelwald would be free and Abernathy would have been tried in London and probably sent to Azkaban since the UK Wizarding Community has no death penalty. Still, that would have given Grindelwald the freedom to act in the shadows and eventually reach his goal, changing the script rather thoroughly.

Now why didn’t this trick work? Why did Grindelwald have to get inside the carriage eventually? Because of the Bloody Blood Pact.

What is a blood pact?

A blood pact, or blood oath, is an agreement between the parties that is traditionally sealed with a mixing of blood from all who take the oath. It sometimes involves spilling the blood, or drinking it. It can also be a more allegorical description of an oath. The most common is blood-brotherhood, or any kind of pact of non-agression and boundless loyalty between parties. According to some academic sources, blood pacts have been considered from the 12th century onwards as satanic, or primitive and non Christian (what a surprise), thus helping the building of the construct of the barbarian in the Middle Ages. And besides, that makes me smile because what else is the foundation of Christian religion but a blood pact of sorts between Jesus getting crucified and his followers? Pact which is, moreover, re-enacted during every mass by Catholics?

History has many instances of blood pacts recorded. One of them is part of Hungarian history, when the heads of seven tribes swore a blood oath to one amongst them, thus acknowledging him as their leader. It was around 830 AD. The blood was kept in a vessel.

I read that in East Africa, among the Maasai, blood oaths were made to form blood brotherhood, and they meant that no harm could be done among the brothers. That is rather close to what Dumbledore and Grindelwald made. 

In early Mongolia and China, blood brotherhood was seen as something more intertribal than individual. Whole societies were bound together by the oath of two people. It is said that Genghis Khan’s dad was blood brother with his friend, and that the young Genghis Khan himself, when he was still called Temujin, had a sworn brother since childhood.

Some historical events also happened with a ‘blood oath’ that was only so called because of its seriousness, but not involving any real bloodshed. For instance, in 1842, Joseph Smith instituted the endowment ritual in Nauvoo, Illinois, USA. It was later known as the penalty, in Mormonism, and the words and gestures were removed from the rituals in 1990. Critics call it a blood oath because of the words of the actual oath, that speak of bloodshed (like cutting the throat). Similar vows are found in Freemasonry at the beginning of the 19th century.

This side of the Pond, Norsemen used blood oaths to become foster-brothers. That happens for instance in the Icelandic story of Gisli the Outlaw, where the taking of the oath is described in detail. The four men in the story end up not carrying on. They do shed blood on turf together, but at the moment of tying hands, withdraw. Blood-brotherhood is something rather common in Norse mythology too. For example, Loki and Thor are said to have shared blood in the days of old, which is one of the reasons why Loki would be tolerated at all by the Gods.

So apparently, Grindelwald and Dumbledore did something of the like, and they also did, as some cultures would have done  keep the blood in a vessel (and that would include the Holy Grail... no comment) .

Why did Grindelwald need a blood pact in the first place and why is it he who keeps it and not Dumbledore?

Theories are flooding the wizarding network. One of them is that Grindelwald was nice and happy when he came to visit his auntie in Godric’s Hollow (see pic; from https://www.pottermore.com/features/the-life-and-times-of-albus-dumbledore). Come on, folks. He was already gathering followers in Durmstrang, was expelled for using Dark Magic and was already in quest of the Hallows. I personally think that Grindelwald never was caring and affectionate towards Dumbledore, but always the manipulative, ambitious and unscrupulous bloke we know. A former Voldermort, without Horcruxes. 

Second thing. According to Rowling, Grindelwald was a Seer. Remember that letter in Rita Skeeter’s The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore ? Here it is:

Gellert-

 Your point about wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLE’S OWN GOOD - this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and, yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the rules. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counter-arguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this follows that we meet resistance, we must see only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)

Albus

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, chapter 18, pp. 395-396

Well. Here’s a theory based on this: How come Grindelwald went to meet Dumbledore just after the latter graduated from Hogwarts? How come he suddenly discovered Bathilda was family? Bathilda who lived across the road from the Dumbledores in Godric’s Hollow. If Grindelwald was a Seer, he might have Seen that Dumbledore was the man to thwart him in the future. He might also have Seen this letter. So would he want to finish his education in Durmstrang or get to the man who was to be his downfall but who was to fall in love with him? The other most powerful wizard of his generation? Maybe Grindelwald actually got himself expelled intentionally, to be free. I argue it’s Grindelwald’s ambition, fear and cunning that drove him to Godric’s Hollow, that he never had the slightest bit of positive feeling towards Dumbledore, and that he came intentionally to find a way to keep Dumbledore out of his way: the Blood Pact. 

BUT. Love is one of the main themes in Rowling’s wizarding world. Love as a means of protection. I therefore argue that the Blood Pact is NOT the thing that actually prevents the two men from fighting each other. It would only work as a magical artifact if both wizards’ intentions were pure and positive. So Grindelwald used Dumbledore as a weapon against Dumbledore himself. His love for Grindelwald is the thing that prevents Dumbledore from attacking, not the Pact. I think the pact acts like a Prophecy: it only works because one makes it work. So Grindelwald relies on Dumbledore’s love as a protection. Dumbledore was completely besotted with Grindelwald and Grindelwald used that as much as he could. That is also why Grindelwald had to keep the Pact and not Dumbledore: because it had no affective value for him, and he most certainly would not seek to destroy it, whilst Dumbledore might, once he realised he had been manipulated. That might also account for the pretty thorough bit of thinking that Dumbledore must have made about Love and about Prophecies… and that he shares with Harry in Half-Blood Prince, for instance.

So basically the Pact is Grindelwald’s ultimate protection against Dumbledore because Dumbledore loves Grindelwald. All right. Now how come, if that is the case, that by the end of the film Grindelwald hasn’t noticed that the thing had disappeared (remember, Newt’s Niffler nicked it during the Père Lachaise rally)? He was so keen on getting it back at the beginning, in the flooded carriage… I mean normal people would check their possessions after a meeting like the Père Lachaise one. Moreover, I don’t think that they only just arrived in Nurmengard when the final scene takes place. So why not worry about the Pact? Is the feeling of completion of having Credence finally in his grip so overwhelming that the pact is forgotten? A bit like Voldy doesn’t feel it when the first Horcruxes are destroyed?

I’m also curious about how the Pact is going to be destroyed and why it does take another 18 years. Provided it is destroyed. Fighting without destroying the Pact might get us back to the Dumbledore-Aberforth-Grindelwald duel that resulted in the death of Ariana. I don’t think any of the three wizards killed her, but her death might have impressed upon Dumbledore the power of Grindelwald, his unscrupulousness, and the might of the Pact as an obstacle to their confrontation.

2. The For-The-Greater-Good-Narghile-Projector-Skull, 1898

My first impression on seeing this skull in the hands of Grindelwald’s assistant Rosier made me think of a Muggle magic show. Impress people, show them stuff they don’t or can’t grasp. Lure them. Pure Grindelwald. Pure any dictator.

The Skull is a human one, without the lower jaw. It is engraved with Grindelwald’s symbol, the double G that reminds me so much of a swastika. It also has a date, 1898, and a German inscription: ‘Für das Größere Wohl’, which translates to ‘For the Greater Good’, and which is supposedly Grindelwald’s motto. It was also used by Dumbledore in that letter he sent his ‘friend’ in 1899 when they met in Godric’s Hollow (see above). People all over the internet tend to say Dumbledore invented the phrase. Well he did not. It was coined way earlier, and for instance it was used by Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832) who was a British jurist, philosopher and advocate of utilitarianism and animal rights. In the ideological duel that opposed Dumbledore and Grindelwald, using a phrase from utilitarianism is full of sense. Utilitarianism is a moral theory that explores the ethical reasons of action. An action can be morally acceptable or not, depending on its consequences. In our situation it’s the debate about why wizardkind should rule the Muggles. The reason for seizing power is different in both men. Dumbledore has positive ideas, Grindelwald thinks domination.

Many theories are out in the wild about the date on the skull. 1898 is one year before Grindelwald and Dumbledore met. If we stick to the idea that Grindelwald had a vision of the letter mentioned above, then he could have taken the phrase from there to use it and lure Dumbledore. He might also have simply come across it, but he doesn’t seem to me like someone who’d delve into philosophy books, nor care about what people thought. Using the quote is proof he’s manipulating people around him, for sure, and maybe he used the letter, maybe not. 

The weirdest bit to me is the narghile-projector. The Skull appears to be an object used by Grindelwald to project his visions so that other people can see them. A bit like a Pensieve, but with the show-off factor. The thoughts are actually blown into it via the mouth, whilst in the Pensieve, it is quite rational that they would come from the head and not the lungs. They are blown through a hose that is actually connected to the back of the skull, not the Foramen Magnum (the hole where the spinal marrow reaches the brain and only hole sizeable enough in a skull, apart from the eyes, nasal cavities and mouth). So I guess the skull was damaged to attach the hose. I mention this because it’s again showing how much respect Grindelwald has for anything. 

Grindelwald is a Seer, according to Rowling. So when he projects images of WW2 during his meeting in the Lestrange Vault in the Cimetière du Père Lachaise, he’s actually using this incredibly powerful way to get people to rally his cause: fear. Using the threat of a second war after peoples having barely recovered from the first, and economy being on the brink of implosion, is a very cunning move. Fear has always been the main vehicles of the rise to power of dictators. They need to be feared because the usually fear everyone. I won’t be analysing this too much here, because I’m planning another paper about that very issue.

To summarise, we can simply say the Skull is a way to show off and intimidate people. Next to that, even Circus Arcanus is schoolyard stuff.

3. The Phoenix

I’m not willing to discuss weather Credence is Aurelius and where he would be from. I don’t reckon there is enough evidence to make a point. However, I want to have a look into the phoenix, as a bird.

Let’s start with basics for beginners: Newt’s book. It is said that the Phoenix is the only creature that Newt might not have encountered on his travels. Might be he saw one in Dumbledore’s office, who knows when he got Fawkes. Ministry of Magic rating for the Phoenix is XXXX, which is ‘dangerous’. A footnote in the book mentions that the rating is not due to the fact the bird would be dangerous, which it is not, but to the fact that few wizards are known who have tamed one. According to Scamander, Phoenixes are found in Egypt, China and India, are peaceful and gentle, and have never been known to kill. They eat only herbs. 

The most notable fact about Phoenixes is their capacity to die by bursting into flames and regenerate from their own ashes, their ability to disappear and reappear at will (a power they share with Diricawls), and the fact that their tears have extraordinary healing powers, and can act against venoms as potent as Basilisk’s. Oh. Phoenix songs are magical too: they give the pure of heart courage and increases the fear of the impure.

Scamander’s allegations about Phoenixes being found in Egypt are confirmed by Muggle archaeology: Egyptians in Heliopolis worshipped a solar heron-like bird called Bennu (see picture above), but the information about this bird is scarce and subject to much controversy. The Chinese culture has a phoenix too, indeed, who is called fènghuáng. It shares some characteristics with our European phoenix. In China, its qualities are, besides being the female part of the dragon-phoenix yin-yang duo (see picture below), symbols of fire, the sun, justice, obedience, and fidelity. Remember Dumbledore speaking about Fawkes? ‘He’s really very handsome most of the time: wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers and they make highly faithful pets.’ (Chamber of Secrets, chapter 12, p.225). Faithfulness going to the point that if someone is faithful enough to their master, they can help them out of tricky situations, as we saw in Chamber of Secrets. 

Other cultures have phoenixes or phoenix-like birds: the Russians have the Firebird, the Japansese the Hō-ō, northern America the Thunderbird from Native American traditions (and Newt’s book). The Native American Thunderbird is part of the North West Coast (pic below, from https://pnsn.org/outreach/native-american-stories/thunderbird-and-whale/thunderbird-and-whale-stories/list-of-stories ) and Midwest Plain cultures, and has different statuses in each region. However, the notions of power, protection and strength are common to all. For instance, in Algonquian culture, the Thunderbird rules the upper world, while the earth part is the kingdom of the underwater panther or Great Horned Serpent (rings a bell? :P ). In Menominee culture, there is also this opposition between the Thunderbird and the Great Horned Serpent, but it is more of an actual manicheistic fight: the Thunderbird prevents the Great Serpent from overrunning the earth, and it controls rain and hail. However, in Menominee culture, Thunderbirds are the messengers of the Sun. So this draws a parallel with the Egyptian Bennu. Other cultures also feature the fight with the underwater spirits. In Ojibwe culture, for instance. They also state that the Thunderbird was created by Nanabozho especially for this purpose. Ok I think I’ll stop here and plan a paper about the Thunderbird. But what can be said is that somehow I feel like the Thunderbird is a sort of equivalent of our Eurasian Phoenix variations.

The phoenix is also an alchemical symbol. It symbolises the perfection of Quintessence (the fifth element, also called Ether). It also symbolises the Three Principles (Tria Prima: salt, mercury and sulphur, which relate to any triad in the world, like for instance energy, matter and entropy). Paracelsus adds that it refers to the fundamental matter, also called energy, dark energy, creative chaos, or the formless essence that defines all matter. Some authors go as far as saying that this means the phoenix is ‘the completely healed, perfected human being’, the one that has integrated himself so much that they don’t need their physical body anymore. All this talk about perfection and all that also means that eventually, phoenixes are related to the ultimate goals of Alchemy, which, in addition to healing and perfection, are the Elixir of Life and the Philosopher’s Stone… rings a bell?

Now all this makes Phoenixes quite special and, let’s face it, sort of the perfect birds for a bloke like Albus Dumbledore. Still. Why would phoenixes be the Dumbledores’ birds? In Crimes of Grindelwald, Dumbledore states that in their family, a phoenix will always appear to one who is in dire need of help. Why single Dumbledores out? And anyway, how and when did Fawkes come to Dumbledore? The only answer we have for sure about that last question is that it came before 1938 and was grown enough at that time to give two tail feathers to Ollivander to use as wand cores. As we know, one of them ended in Tom Riddle’s yew wand, which he got in 1938, and the other in Harry Potter’s holly wand. About the other questions, it’s a big ‘search me’. For the moment.

PS: Any comments, questions, critics or additional info welcome! :)

Online Sources

Blood pact:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magyar_tribes

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blood_oath_(Hungarians)

https://dailynewshungary.com/mythical-blood-oath-this-is-what-the-leaders-of-the-7-hu-tribes-said/

Phoenix:

https://www.boutique-of-arts.com/the-alchemical-phoenix/ 

http://www.levity.com/alchemy/alcbirds.html 

Thunderbird:

http://www.native-languages.org/thunderbird.htm 

https://pnsn.org/outreach/native-american-stories/thunderbird-and-whale/thunderbird-and-whale-stories/list-of-stories

Books and Papers

Baabar (2018, 2nd ed.). Almanac History of Mongolia. Nepko Publishing. Ulaanbaatar.

Gaiman, N. (2017). Norse Mythology. Bloomsbury Publishing. London.

Hughes, L. (2006). Blood Oaths, Boundaries and Brothers. In: Moving the Maasai. St Antony’s Series. Palgrave Macmillan, London.

Klossowski de Rola, S. (1973; 2013). The arcane doctrine of alchemy. Thames and Hudson, London.

Oschema, K. (2006). Blood-brothers: a ritual of friendship and the construction of the imagined barbarian in the middle ages. Journal of Medieval History, 32(3), 275-301.

Rowling, J.K. (1998). Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Bloomsbury Publishing, London.

Rowling, J.K. (2003). Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Bloomsbury Publishing, London.

Rowling, J.K. (2005). Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Bloomsbury Publishing. London.

Rowling, J.K. (2007). Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Bloomsbury Publishing, London.

Scamander, N. (1927). Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Bloomsbury Publishing, London, in association with Obscurus Books, Diagon Alley, London.

[writingismyhappytime]

Good Little Demon: Angelo Part 2

Angelo Parente x OC

Warnings: language, and babies

A/N: Red finally had her baby! Meet the newest addition to the demon family. 

"So this is the babe with the power."

Red glances up in irritation, her red gaze narrowing dangerously as the spots the demon lingering in the doorway of the nursery. She's sitting in a black rocking chair, trying to quiet her screaming son, who definitely has his fathers' lungs.

"The hell do you want?" She snaps, her red hair done up in a hasty twist on the back of her head. She's exhausted and very, very temperamental, so if this demon thinks he's going to fuck with her ---.

"I come in peace." David lifts his hands, showing the blood witch he means no harm. He might not like his second son, but he's been very interested in the birth of his grandson, now that they know he's a boy.

David figured as much.

His mother was a bloodwitch, and he suspects the reason that all of his sons have extra little talents whereas normal demons can wield hellfire and are strong, but that's the extent. It's what gives his sons that extra edge and makes the world fear them, makes their family infamous. He's quite proud of the reputation, honestly.

He's so excited to see what his grandson turns in too.

"Did the two of you settle on a name?" David asks curiously, gliding flawlessly into the room. He can see that Angelo had a hand in decorating the nursery, what a gothic looking bassinet. There's the regular furniture, a dresser of clothing, little odd and end baby toys, the rocking chair and a sofa, the crib, and the bassinet.  Strange to see such innocent items lying about a castle of death.

"Yes." Red eyes him warily.

Angelo is in his dungeon taking a nap, she basically banished him so he could get some sleep. The baby's only about four days old, and he's so little; the witch still has a hard time understanding how something so small and innocent was created from the two of them. But the moment she held the baby, the moment she heard it start screaming, she wouldn't have cared if it was twin girls --- she wouldn't have let them go, no matter the consequences.

Luckily it was just a boy, and she doesn't have that concern.

She'd been so worried.

There's only one female demon in existence, a genetic fluke, and her life started off so miserable. Demons would love it if they didn't need to breed with humans to produce offspring, and Red can't imagine what monstrosity a purebred demon would be --- hopefully it never exists. Her family only produced females due to their magic, and so when she learned she was pregnant, she nearly had a heart attack! The fact she had a son is, well, a blessing upon everyone.

"Well?" David is curious what the newest member of his family is called. He's never named any of his children, usually the mothers take care of that business.

"Well," Red shifts, sighing as she adjusts the screaming baby wrapped in a blue swaddle. "We settled on Lucian Azrael."

David snorts. "I suppose Angelo wanted it to be the other way around? Azrael first, yes?"

"Maybe." Red knows that's the angel of destruction, Angelo wanted his son to have a fearsome name, something to inspire horror and the like when announced. Red didn't like it, so they compromised; she also didn't feel the need to tell him he was also considered a good angel, not a bad one.  "But we're calling him Luca, whether Angelo likes it or not. He says he's going to call him Azrael anyway, but ---."

"He'll pick his own name," David chuckles, daring to edge a little closer. Red lets him near with a wary look, black circles beneath her eyes that speak of sleepless days and nights. David knows the birth was hard, he could feel his sons terror for hours, but he didn't dare visit, he thought that might make the situation worse considering how little the two of them get along. Besides, he knows Christopher and Richard were around, as well as the fairy girl. They were in good hands.

"He has Angelo's eyes so far," Red says after a moment, tilting her head back against the chair, sighing. "And his mouth."

David tries not to smile, peering down at the scrunched, screaming red face. He gingerly reaches forward, very slowly so Red doesn't snap his fingers off, and brushes the child's small cheek. He tilts his head a little, earrings jingling, gazing at the small thing.

The only child he ever held as a newborn was Richard, although of course he doesn't know that. He knew that he'd gotten Richard's mother pregnant, he could smell it on her, and he was there during the entire birth, and for a few months after until her husband finally returned from his business away.

"They'll cry consistently when they're first born, you can try some gentle tonics in his milk, or drink them yourself if you're feeding him." David offers, withdrawing his touch. He never thought one of his sons would finally have one of their own, not after they'd made their silly little oath not to keep expanding the line; perhaps a good idea, David doesn't want too many demons of his blood roaming around, too many to remember their names. He should have figured Angelo would mess up first.

"He's fine," Red scowls, not appreciating the parenting advice. It's not as if the older demon can say anything, he didn't raise or even try to keep in contact with any of his sons! He's always left everything to the oldest brother Christopher, who is now too preoccupied finally living his life to care for his younger siblings. "He's just --- just ---."

God, Red doesn't know. He just cries all the time! She's not sure if it's growing pains, but he's only four days old. Is he hungry again? Is his tummy hurting? Does he need changed? She feels like pulling out her hair! She's worrying constantly, hovering over him, almost panicked someone might try to take him, just because of how strong he might be one day.

She's so afraid for this child.

"Why not let the hellhounds care for him for a while?" David suggests, his hands going to his hips. He looks as eccentric as always with his large blond hair and excessive eye makeup, long black boots to his knees like he's going horseback riding at any moment; he's the epitome of the eighties with his bright colors.  "Rest."

"Like I'm going to trust one of those lumbering oafs with my child," she snaps, finally rising to her feet. She paces back and forth with a huff, muttering curses under her breath as she tries to quiet the baby. She doesn't need any advice from him, he can go fuck off! For all she knows, he's going to try to steal her baby and turn it into a goblin!

She figured he would visit eventually, his curiosity always gets the best of him, but she wishes Angelo would wake up already! She really wants him up here, being alone with David makes her nervous. She could break him in a second, one prick of her finger and she'd have him writhing in the floor screaming, so that's not her concern --- she's just... tired.

So very, very tired.

"They're actually quite efficient," David says in amusement, watching as the baby finally starts to grow tired of screaming. Red looks relieved, gently laying it in the crib, raising her hands in fear instantly when it moves a little before settling. She can't really think of the child as a person just yet, it just seems so unreal... her as a parent? She never thought it would happen, it wasn't supposed too.

"Are you here to patronize me, David?" Red finally asks, glancing over her shoulder, pieces of her hair straggling to frame her shoulder as she stares at him; her normal colored eyes are bloodshot, and a color of red that's very unsettling, but mothers do bleed many days after giving birth.

Which makes David a little uncomfortable, as it means that Red can use her blood magic on him at any moment she pleases.

"No, not this time. I came to visit the child. It's completely human as of now."

"I know," Red can tell, but technically he's a warlock. "His magic won't manifest for some time either."

"He'll be able to perform it, you know, until his demon side comes out."

"How do you know that?"

"I know many things, I've been around a long time. Do you think this is the first child a blood witch and a demon?" David brazenly walks forward, noticing the magic in the air; Red cast a silencing spell so the child won't hear them, didn't she? He can still read magic just fine, but he's noticed he can't hear witches do spells lately, his attention must be slipping.

Red bites her lower lip, crossing her arms uncomfortably. "They always become demons?"

"Yes. The demon genes are always the strongest."

The witch doesn't like that; she'd prefer her child a warlock instead, he wouldn't be in so much danger.

"But, until then, you can enjoy your time with him. Teach him the magic, teach him control, it'll carry over when he's a demon." David adds, unsure why he's offering his knowledge on the subject. Red is arrogant, merciless, if he reached for the child now she would cause every blood vessel in his body to burst spontaneously --- while not fatal, it would really hurt, and David hopes to avoid that experience again. He supposes she's a good fit for Angelo, they're so similar in natures at least they won't guilt the other for their actions. "You might be able to even keep him."

"Well, of course we're going to keep him," Red scowls immediately, sending him a vile look. "We're not sending him away when he changes!"

"Well, I didn't mean he would be leaving." Surely she knows that demons turn on their human kind during times of transformation? Well, typically they do, their natures come through so sporadically it's just not safe. "You will."

"I will not be going anywhere!"

"You won't have much of a choice. Do you wish for him to have Christopher's fate, killing his own mother?" David does regret what happened, but he was so young, he didn't know what that feeling meant! he had no idea he'd gotten that slave pregnant, not until his own father had commented about it. "It's plagued Christopher since his humanity has taken hold again."

"Luca would never hurt me," Red disagrees vehemently as she looks at the demon, eyes burning. "Look at Vinny, he's never hurt his mother. He's spent a lot of time with her and she's always been perfectly fine."

"He spent some time, but not all. His temperament is a rare exception of his breed."

"You have a fucking answer for everything, don't you?"

David shrugs nonchalantly, looking back down at his child. Black sprigs of hair sprinkle his scalp, and he has dark eyes from what his grandfather could tell from the few moments of them being open. His face is puckered, round and still a little wrinkled, skin red from tears. He'll be a handful, probably make both of his parents suffer before it's over.

"Father, why are you here?"

"Ah, Angelo, wonderful of you to join us," David turns brightly as he hears his son, giving him a serene smile where Angelo looms in the doorway. "I was just admiring my grandson."

Angelo glowers. The only rest he's gotten is when the sun is up, and even then it's fitful --- it's as if even when his eyes are closed, he can still hear that child crying, feel Red's unhappiness. It's strange, but the moment she had him, something shifted a little for the demon. He can't begin to explain it, but he supposes that's just the feeling all demons get when their spawn is born --- they just know it, know where he is. Angelo could find that child in the middle of a wind storm if he needed too.

"Is he bothering you?" Angelo directs the question at Red, who exhales heavily, her hair moving around her face.

"I'm fine. And Luca is finally asleep."

Yes, Angelo noticed he'd finally stopped screaming, which he can hear all the way in the basement. He cuts his eyes at his father as he starts forward, coming to stand beside Red, his hand absently going to her shoulder as he glances at the baby.

He's so proud of him, even if he doesn't do anything yet. He's the most handsome creature to look at. He might have his fathers hair and eyes, but Angelo thinks he'll be more like Red, more practical, less spontaneous --- okay, well that's what he hopes anyhow. He's excited for the child to grow, to become his own person, see what his personality will be like.

As long as he's not like David, everything will be okay.

Or their Uncle William, for that matter.

"The two of you did very well, and you haven't killed the child yet," David adds. At first he was very against Angelo helping raise the child, it's just not done that way, not for a demon. The only mercy they can give their children is letting them enjoy their humanity in ignorance, blissfully unaware of what will happen on their sixteenth birthday. That's how it should be done, but if Angelo and Red just insist on going against the grain, that's on them.

Red should be taking it away, teaching it witchcraft and letting it live it's life. She might even tell him about his father, what to expect, and once his birthday arrives, Angelo should come and get him, at least for twenty or thirty years, however long it takes for him to get in control of himself. Perhaps after that Red could see him, but not until then.

David figures the boy will probably kill her, she doesn't have good sense, won't listen to reason. Her son will be the death of her.

But, David warned them, so that's on them.

He can just imagine the rage Angelo will feel, he's so attached to the witch, they've been together for a few years now. Not very long even by human standards, but still longer than David has ever seen.

"Just be aware that the child will be vulnerable to all human afflictions," the older demon sighs, deciding to cut his visit short. With both his son and his witch in the room, David isn't quite on top of the foodchain now, and he doesn't like that feeling. "Sicknesses, broken bones, scars. You'll want to teach him how to defend himself, he is a Bowie after all and we have our enemies. You might want to get Gretel to teach you more about defensive spells and warding since you're no longer in a delicate condition, you should be able to take a beating now. I'm sure the old gingerbread has been just dying to teach you the stronger spells."

Well, yes, Gretel has. Gretel is another blood witch, friends with Christopher, if you can call it that. She's managed to stay hidden for a long time, but everyone's nature comes out eventually. She's taught Red a few spells, but none that require great strenght or effort, at risk of the child of course. Red doesn't really feel up to learning anything new at the moment, she just wants rest, for at least a few years after what she had to go through.

Labor took hours, it's as if the baby was punishing her before it was even ready to enter the world! She had contractions, and they were just... not close enough apart, apparently. Gretel came through and tittered about, but it wasn't until Rosie arrived that the baby decided it was time to meet his family, unfortunately.

Red won't admit how grateful she was for the fairy, having her at her side, holding her hand, breathing with her, telling her stories to keep her distracted. To be such powerful creatures, no matter the species, it's terrible to give birth. The witch never intends to do it again.

Rosie is the only reason she was able to make it through one of them! She's so patient and kind, and her hands are so... oddly soothing,  which is probably due to her nature. Fairies might be tedious and fleeting, but they make great midwives, and it's supposed to be good luck to have one of them at a birth.

Red took that to heart.

"It will be fine," Red mutters, looking at her child. "I'll make sure of it."

"He," Angelo corrects, frowning. "He will be fine."

"Right, whatever." Red rolls her eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

"How can anyone sleep with you two yammering so loudly up here?" Angelo growls, looking pointedly at his father. They've never gotten along, their relationship... well, they avoid each other most times. Angelo never wanted to be a demon, he caused the most fuss about it, gave David the most grief. David's always been cruel to him, and Angelo has never forgotten it; he won't let that continue on to his son.

David will never get to see him again if Angelo has anything to do with it.

"Don't you have virgins to ruin or something?" He asks pointedly, earning a derisive snort from his father. "Or villages to burn or tax?"

"Don't be cross, Angelo, this is merely a cursory visit. Did you think I wouldn't visit my first grandchild?"

"First and last, probably." Red mumbles.

"Mmm, I wouldn't be so sure." David has a feeling that's not the case. His sons get too lax, and some of their mates are too... well, seductive. He can imagine, now that Angelo has broke the promise, that someone else will mess up, will produce another heir. It's almost amusing to think he might have many grandchildren to visit and turn against their parents.

He wonders who the next one will be?

~~~~~~~

"What fucking nerve," Angelo growls as he paces back and forth in front of his desk, furious. "What the fuck does he think he's doing, coming here like this?"

"Well, Luca is his grandchild." Red points out as she slowly sits down in one of the arm chairs, grimacing. "Of course he came to see him, you know he would."

Yes, well, Angelo just didn't expect to be asleep when it happened! He was napping so well, but the moment he sensed David, he panicked; he was worried his father might do something to the baby, or to Red. Both are terrible options he could never tolerate, and he would turn the entire family against their father if need be.

"We need more hellhounds."

"Hellhounds don't work against your father."

"Well, we fucking need something then!"

"Oh, do stop yelling," Red sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as she leans back wearily. "I'll ask Gretel if she can cast something, she hates David just as much as the rest of us."

"Yes, but she also hates me."

"That's because you're a condescending asshole and you tried to bite her and make her a pet! She doesn't even like men!"

"Okay, that was decades ago! Centuries, actually, she should be over that by now."

"Well, if you didn't have such an entitled attitude, we wouldn't have issues with her, would we?"

Angelo's insulted. "I'm a demon, of course I'm entitled!"

"Well, Luca isn't going to be that way."

Yeah, sure, totally. Angelo frowns, but he doesn't want to fight with Red, even if she's picking for one. Instead, he goes to her, kneeling down in front of her and taking her hands with a heavy exhale.

"You need rest," he says after a moment, kissing her fingers. "Not even witches can go days on end without sleep."

"I don't want to leave the baby for too long. He'll start crying any minute." Red frets, having a hard time keeping her eyes open. She worries too much, but isn't that just what new mothers do?

"I'll stay with him until sunrise, why don't you go and sleep?" Angelo suggests, squeezing her fingers. Sure, it's not like he's trying to run a business or anything, make sure he isn't double crossed or his product stolen. The world might think he's distracted since he's had a son, although of course he's tried to keep that information nonexistent, but he worries.

He doesn't want his enemies, human and supernatural alike, thinking he's grown soft because of a child, that just won't do. He has a reputation to keep, after all, but maybe he should inquire about a nanny. Red can't handle that child by herself, she needs rest, and he wouldn't mind just letting the hellhounds take hold but she already shot that idea down.

Perhaps he should get one of his pets? He can control them completely, a simple bite from him will make them willing to do anything for him. He's not really needed a pet since he met Red, and what he has to do to satisfy his hunger doesn't count. She satisfies his needs in every other way he could possibly need.

"That's alright, I know you're working tonight."

"Oh, that's okay. I can work and have Azrael down here with me."

"We are not calling him that."

"I think it's a good name."

Red twitches, pulling her hands from his. "You know that Azrael isn't a bad angel, right? He was known as kind, his name literally means one who helps." She did her googling first. "So if you're wanting him to sound terrible and frightening, that name is not going to do it."

"I know what his name means." Angelo retorts, standing in aggravation. He wants his son to be fearsome of course, but --- well, he's hoping the name actually helps. "My name is Angelo, Red. I'm literally a demon named Angel."

Red finds it ironic.

Angelo was raised by a very religious father, he knows exactly that Azrael was actually considered the kindest of angels, just the one over death. He chose that name with purpose, as he hopes that means his son won't.... well, be out of control. He wants this family thing, he wants Red at his side, their child with them, not to be separated.

It might happen anyhow, demon natures are a fickle thing, but... well, Angelo wants family. He misses family. He was so close to his human father, he was so bitter when he realized what he was and what he'd lost. Family meant everything to him then, even if his human mother was a whore and none of her children belonged to her husband, it didn't mean he didn't love his half-sisters.

"Luca just.... sounds more like it should be for a werewolf and not a demon." Angelo finally grumbles, crossing his arms.

"I like it. Call him Lucien, it sounds intimidating." Red doesn't give a shit, but she's not calling her son something weird. Luca is good, and Lucien means light. So they essentially gave their son the nicest name possible, didn't they? Hell, might as well named him Adam.

Angelo rolls his eyes, feeling like they're going to roll into the back of his skull. "Go and rest, Red. If you don't, I'll hire a nanny and you won't have a choice."

"There is no way in hell anyone is looking after that child but us!" Red snaps immediately, rising to her feet so quickly she startles the demon. "I won't risk someone stealing him, Angelo! It's bad enough your father stopped by, now you want to invite a stranger into our home!?" She shrieks, and Angelo cringes, taking a step away.

"I was only kidding." Somewhat. "You know nothing will happen to the baby."

"I don't know, that's the problem! Your family has so many enemies ---."

"Don't put this off on my lineage, you have just as many as I do."

"Angelo, no one has any personal vendettas against me. They just don't like me because of my magic."

True.

"What if someone tries to take it, though? Because of who we are?" Red finally says, wringing her hands as she looks at Angelo. "Because of what he can become?"

"No one is taking the baby." Angelo shakes his head; he wishes there was something he could do to make Red believe that, to stop worrying herself before she gets wrinkles. "He's not safer anywhere else in the world, you know that. No one even gets on this property without my hounds alerting us."

"But what if your father, or one of your brothers ---?"

"You think one of them would steal my child?" Angelo dismisses that instantly. "None of them have use for that, and they would not gain anything. Besides, why have the wrath of demons coming after you? And who would want a screaming loaf of bread anyway?"

Red groans, running her hands down her face; the baby does scream a lot. "He's got your lungs, that's for sure."

Angelo chuckles, reaching forward to cup the face of the woman he loves more than anything; he never thought he would ever love anyone again, not after his human family died out, but here he is. He presses a soft kiss against her forehead, feeling her lean into him. "Everything will be fine, Red. Once you're back in top shape, you won't feel so bad either."

"I just... need to make a healing potion, I've just not had time." Red could make her aches and pains and post-birth issues go away, it's just she's either asleep or with the baby. Well, maybe she could haggle Gretel to making her one instead, or ask Esme to ask Gretel; for some reason Gretel does anything Christopher's girlfriend asks, and isn't so much a bitch about it.

"I know," Angelo kisses her cheeks. "But it won't be like this forever."

"Just a few more years."

"Mmm, but that's not so terrible, is it?" Angelo murmurs, pulling her into his arms; she feels so fragile right now, so easily breakable, it's hard to believe she's such a strong person. She melts into him, wrapping her arms tightly against his back. "Just think, soon he'll be rebelling, sneaking out and going to parties."

"Worshipping Satan and sacrificing virgins under the full moon."

Angelo snorts. "No, actually I was going to teach him the proper way to do that."

Red chuckles despite herself. She knows Angelo is full of shit, but maybe that's why she likes him so much. "You should put a bassinet down here, near your desk so you can watch over him while you work. He seems to like watching you."

"He's absorbing my evil aura already." Angelo replies, giving her a gentle squeeze. He'll have a hellhound put one in the office for him, although he's not sure how intimidating he's going to be trying to conduct a business call that needs some harsh tones with a child screaming in the background. If he can't control his own son, how is he expected to run a business?

He might just let the hellhound do the mothering, he just won't tell Red.

But he will think about the pet thing. Should he mention that idea to her? Well,  maybe not just at this moment, but later on.

Once his venom is in someone, they're pretty much his slave, they won't do anything he doesn't want. So if he tells them to love and cherish that child like it's their own and attend to it's every need, that's what they'll do.

No problem.

"Now, how about a nap?" Angelo murmurs, although he does enjoy holding her. She nods her head against his shoulder.

"Fine. I'll text Gretel and ask her for what I need, hopefully she won't mind."

"Why don't you text Esme instead and get her to ask? That usually works out better."

"True." Esme is so nice, if not still naive and a little air headed, but Christopher seems to want to keep her that way. "Christopher really needs to get her out in the world more."

"No, he's too protective. She'll never go anywhere without him, without some sort of escort. He likes the innocent ones, just like Father does."

Red wrinkles her nose; pervs. "Esme is a sweet girl, she doesn't ---."

"Come now, let's not get off on that." It must be the mothering instincts, but if Red gets started on what almost happened to Esme, she'll go on for hours. Angelo supposes it was because Esme's situation was so close to hers, that they were both kidnapped and enslaved, and the wound is still tender for the witch. She just feels this fierce need to protect everyone lately. "Nap."

"You don't have to keep fucking using the word at me, Angelo."

She definitely needs a nap. Angelo purses his lips, and closes his eyes in exasperation as he suddenly hears the faint wails of a child echoing down his stone castle right to the dungeon. Red groans, pressing her face harder against his shoulder, squeezing her fingers in his sweater.

"Please make it stop." She's going to have a mental breakdown, she's sure of it.

"I'll take care of it," Angelo says quickly, caressing her messy hair. "Rest. Let me handle it."

Red would let Martha Stewart handle it at this point, so long as she was under a watchful eye.

~~~~~~~~~

Angelo has no clue what he's doing.

He frowns down at the child he holds carefully in his arms, hoping he doesn't drop him. Is he supporting the head right? He obviously doesn't want the baby to have a crooked neck or something, is that why you support it this way? He has no idea.

At least he's not crying.

"That's a good boy," Angelo murmurs, lightly moving the baby back and forth. No tears, just big glossy eyes, little fists defiantly waving in the air. He's a good size for a baby, Angelo figures, having not ever really been around children. He seems healthy, Rosie and Gretel both said so.

Angelo wonders how many babies Gretel has helped deliver. She didn't seem as horrified by the whole birthing thing as everyone else was.

Angelo had no idea it was so horrible, why do women want to go through that?

It's not as if they could take Red to a hospital with professionals, so Rosie and Gretel were all they had. At least it was quick once it actually started.

Angelo doesn't want to think about that anymore.

He looks back down at the boy he holds in his arms, frowning. "You're going to have to watch yourself growing up," he mumbles, the big brown eyes completely focused on him. "You're going to have a lot of responsibility. A lot of enemies. Well, maybe not too many. Hopefully no one will even learn of you and you'll be a surprise when you're finally old enough to hold your own." Angelo says brightly, but he knows that's not going to happen.

David is bad enough, but he won't do anything to his own kin.

"So you're going to have to be tough, a big man, but be kind to your mother, she's a little insane." Angelo decides, wiping a little drool off his son's lips. "I saw her eat a man alive once, terrifying to behold. You're going to have to be as ruthless as her, but don't break her heart."

He feels foolish, talking to a baby as if he actually understands. Angelo could spill his life secrets, and at least no one could ever repeat them.

He glances at his office door, frowning as he senses his brother. Why can't anyone leave him alone? They know he just had a child! Does no one have respect for new parents these days!?

"What have I said about showing up unexpectedly?" Angelo grouches the moment Christopher appears in the doorway, looming and blocking the light.

"I did text, you didn't answer." Christopher replies, dark eyes finding the small addition to their family. He walks forward curiously; it's strange seeing Angelo, with his sulky expression, handling anything so delicate with such care. "So that's your son."

"Yeah, this is him." Angelo looks down, moving his arms a little so Christopher can get a better look. "He's got our hair and eyes, so he's definitely one of us."

Angelo had sort of hoped he'd have red hair.

"Mmm, that means the blood is strong." Christopher sighs. Vinny turned out a little different, his hair is brown, and Joshua, his eyes are a bright blue --- both of them are pulling away from the family. Everyone else with their dark hair and eyes, it seems that's where the demon blood is strongest. "Red alright?"

"She's resting for a little bit, I said I'd watch Luca."

"I thought his name was Azrael?"

"Eh, it is. I just call him that now to annoy her, but Luca is fine. Not very terrifying, but," Angelo shrugs.

Christopher clasps his hands behind his back, tilting his head a little as he studies the child, black hair framing his face. He was curious about his nephew, someone he didn't think would ever exist, and right now has a blank face and big brown eyes. He's still wrinkled and small, round head, toothless --- it's hard to imagine that every creature originates from something so defenseless.

"Rosie told Esme she handled the birth quite well."

Gossips.

"I suppose if you count nearly bleeding to death and pushing him out." Angelo responds; it was probably one of the most horrifying experiences of his life, nothing had prepared him for that. He could gut a man in under a minute and create a dog out of his intestines, but birth --- he never wants to see another one. "I wouldn't recommend getting anyone pregnant."

Christopher snorts, pressing his lips against a smile, the light glinting off the studs in them. "I'll keep that in mind. Are you going to keep the infant, or send him away?"

"Red wants to keep him here, where we can keep him safe. She worries already he'll get kidnapped."

"The threat is always present, but would be foolish." Christopher shrugs, watching as Angelo ever so gently deposits the baby in a bassinet, absently letting it rock back and forth with his hand.

"I know. Do you think if I made a pet to be the nanny, that would be sufficient?"

"A pet as a nanny?" Christopher hesitates. "Would Red agree with it?"

"Well, I'm obviously not going to be fucking the thing," Angelo rolls his eyes in annoyance. "But if I bit someone to be a nanny, I would have full control over them. They wouldn't harm him."

"You would just need to be particular about your pick, but I don't see why not. Just make sure it's not someone as air headed as Serena, you know she was resistant to Devin's venom in some ways."

"Probably due to the fact she barely had any brain cells for the venom to attach too."

Both brothers chuckle.

The baby makes a sound, immediately taking Angelos' attention, his head snapping. "Shh, shh, quiet now, Satan, let's have a nap." He sighs, hesitating as the baby threatens him with shaking fists. "Don't get all feisty on me and make your mother mad, she'll have my guts if she can't sleep."

Oh, that reminds Christopher.

"Here," he reaches inside his black coat, pulling out a tiny glass vial with a stopper. "Gretel sent this, it's why I stopped by. Esme said Red was needing a healing tonic?"

"Oh, yeah. Put it on the desk." Angelo waves his hand, the other keeping a steady pace for rocking, trying to get his son to quiet. "I'll give it to her when she wakes up. Birth takes a lot out of a woman, apparently."

"Mmm." Christopher really doesn't want to hear about that, and he definitely doesn't intend on putting Esme through it. He only came tonight because she wouldn't leave him alone about it and threatened to come herself, which he most definitely does not want! "I don't intend to stay, but congratulations on bringing another demon of hell into the world to cause misery and destruction for all of us."

Angelo makes a sour face. Christopher said that in much too bright of a tone, he hangs around his witch too much. "Thanks."

Christopher chuckles, turning on his heel and disappearing.

What a day for visits.

Angelo sighs as he looks down at the baby again.

"Well, Luca, you have a lot of uncles, you know. They're tough assholes, but unfortunately, we all have souls. And weaknesses. I'll have to tell you how to use those to your advantage so you can get whatever you want out of them." he says, admiring the baby. "Your mother likes chocolate filled croissants, it's her favorite right now --- or it was when you were still there. She hasn't mentioned them yet, so maybe that's changed. You better enjoy the food while you have an opportunity, eat all of it. I hear it's even better these days then what it was when I was growing up. Except for something called fructose corn syrup? Ah, I'm sure you'll figure that out."

Angelo absently tucks the blanket around the baby, hoping he's not too warm. It's usually cooler in the dungeon, so actually, what if he's cold and that's why he's upset?

He needs a baby whisperer.

Is that a thing?

He needs to find out.

Angelo glances up, hearing stirring upstairs. That better not be Red, she needs rest, and she better not be checking on him, he's doing just fine.

He's having a casual conversation with his son after all, which he feels is going to become a regular occurence.

His son.

How strange to think that.

He smiles slightly, his brown eyes meeting his son's.

He really does have a family again, doesn't he?

Tags:  @isaxhorror   @lucifersnudes (anything miw) @allthepeppercorn. @iknightwriter. @miss-mcbotty.  @my-gothic-doctor.  @little-h0rr0r @imaginemiw.  @lilybellsworld   @tokyoghoulyz    @imaginemiw   @bigdaddyfairywinkle @riegan @lucifersnudes    @horrorshow365    @imjustareject99    @nikkihorrorxx   @miss-evil-one   @itstrashleydude.  @kapowski-sitkowski.    @the-angriest-angel

[oceans-of-stories]

Atta boy! 2.0

“She’ll fly.  I ain’t say it’d be too reliant, but...she’ll fly.”

There was a loud clanking noise as the cat lass began to unbuckle her tool belt, setting it with a less than gentle approach on the desk in front of her.  The Xaela’s green eye kept to anything but her, settled on the bookshelf nearby as he seemed to be zoned out.  All these last months were about getting the ship up and going and here he was, pale faced with a pursed mouth as his newly hired engineer was telling him she was ready.  The Edda was moments away from flying for the first time in years since her crash, him finding her, him outfitting her...and his mind was on something far away.

“Oy.  Lad. Ya’re gonna get t’s ting goin’, aye?”  The cat woman gave him another sort of surly, yet lazy glance, nose scrunched.  The red headed Xaela could only muster up what could be called a grin and a nod before making his way to the ship’s navigation center.

--

The skies over Limsa were simply slightly cloudy today.  It made the small ship cutting through them almost seem smaller than it was.  It’s first flight seemed downright uneventful for the captain, the man’s eyes in a far off place even when watching the nobs and triggers, listening to Virginia in his one horn telling him what did what.  

“Ya’re a natural” She’d say.

“Oy, watch t’ouput, lad.”

“Ya ain’t wanna pay me bill if ya knock tis ting into t’topmast, aye?”

He didn’t pay her bill.  The Circle did. He had hardly funded the ship’s repairs and outfitting and instead he had decided to feel as if it were necessary to find only the shadiest of deals to do so.  

The mists was a simple hop, skip, and a jump away, something that was made even shorter by the speed the crafty vessel held.  A slow, quiet sort of creak it came to a stop in midair, parked near exactly where Virginia had expressed her worries - The Topmast - and one of the larger manors.  With a rope ladder Az would find himself back on soil again, legs wobbly in his boots, his one palm grazing the air to find some balance.

And off he was towards the front entrance of the Cyrus Circle Manor, clambering up the stairs and doing his best to ignore the squeaking feet following near his heels. He knew the little fish men had a creepiness to them that he couldn’t exactly pinpoint; the fact they held the word of the lord of house closer than anything else made him certain something was off with the creatures.  

“Oh, my scaled friend.”  It’d hit him like fog in an early morning walk.  Cold, stealing away his breath, making him wake to what was before him.  Zoroaster’s office. The plush sort of place that despite its look made him anything but at ease.  “Why such the long face? You seem tired.” His monocle gleamed under the sunlight filtering in through the windows, his body framed by the large leather chair he was sitting in.  The Garlean man always managed to look down at him despite their height differences, leaving Az feeling like a child. The wounds from his spat with Suren were gone - hidden under makeup or magic or both.  

“‘ve been sick, lad.”  He stepped forward, ignoring a few namazu that had followed him into the office, carrying wine glasses and a bottle of red, squeaking in between his feet to pour their master and his visitor a glass of their finest vintage.

Persi, in turn, plucked his glass by the stem and seemed to appreciate the luster of the liquid before taking a long drink, snapping his lips together and then patting his wide mahogany desk with a gloved hand, fingers settling next to a leather clad box that seemed to be the main course for their discussion.  “My Captain friend, to celebrate the Edda’s first journey, I wanted to perhaps...give you a gift.  And perhaps, as some may think, a promotion of sorts.”

Az could only step forward to the desk, ignoring the wine offered by the small beastmen, settling his one hand on his hip, the other half arm awkwardly hanging useless at his side.  The cock of his head to the side presented more of a question than any words could.

“Open it.”  The blood mage practically serenaded him.  Az case a weary glance towards the box, reaching forward to click the copper lock, tug the lid open and…

A hand. One made of metal and plastics, but a hand nonetheless.  And just as Az would find himself reaching to touch it, to examine it with a closer eye, the lid would snap shut.

The curling smile of the foxish man before him seemed to only grow seeing the Xaela’s mix of confusion and excitement on his face.  “This hand is for a man who finds himself in the good graces of Zoroaster.  This hand is for the man who wishes to learn as a member of the Circle instead of simply as an employee.  This hand is for you, my dark scaled friend, if you are to prove yourself that you wish to cast your loyalty to the Cyrus Circle.”

And with the smooth hand of a man much younger than himself, Persi had presented to him a written form.  Signature on the dotted line. All the words written in the gleaming silver ink pressed with little to it.  Even if Az could it’d be near impossible to read the words written there with the sun shining in like this only the paper and the tense feeling that hit the pit of his stomach.

This was the man that had driven off Suren.

This was the group that had his promised land lost to him.

His greens - once vibrant things, seemed to go dull, listless.  What excitement he had for the magitech before him was quickly torn away by the demands that fell from Persi’s mouth.  With a metallic clatter, the leader drew a small blade from underneath his cloak and placed it next to the paper, grinning as if he had caught his prey.

“A blood oath, my large friend.  Simple as that and you will have your new appendage.”

The dragon reached for the blade, picking it up by its handle and looking it over carefully.  His mouth fell ajar, staring upwards to the other who simply shrugged.

“Needn’t be the palm.  I quite understand your...difficulties.”  

There’d be silence as Az’s shoulders slumped, It was almost as if he was stuck here until he simply went along with what the lad wanted - what were the other outcomes for him anyhow?  Leave and be under his thumb regardless a full set of fingers?

“Oh?  Do you not understand, boy?”  The curly haired mage cast a thin eyed glare towards the other.  “Do you require help perhaps? A blood pact, you loveable dolt. I’ll cut your palm for you if you require it.”  

The man had stood up, standing closer to his desk, outstretching his palm for the blade.  Az stared at him, mind still processing exactly what he was asking of the Xaela, sweat beading on his forehead as his tongue licked at his suddenly oh-so-dry lips.  

And then his one hand slipped.

It slipped quite a bit.  It slipped all the way over to that outstretched, open palm, blade held tight in his own, slamming it downward until it hit the mahogany desk below them with a loud and stuck a good solid inch or two down into the wood.  The mage infront of him had to twist his arm downwards to not pull the blade deeper into his palm, eyes gone wide, the smile long gone.

It had hit the Xaela was well, the sudden spike of adrenaline, the anger that coursed through his veins.  It was as if he had finally found himself fed up with simply nodding along, going with whatever was demanded of him for the lad that was funding his ship and his crew.  Tired of them trampling into his ship as if they owned the place.  Tired of them harassing the one person he said he’d protect.  Just absolutely torn out of simply going with what was demanded of him.  It was as if for once the typically smiley man had touched his ferocious roots, staring down the other with fierce eyes and gritted, sharkish teeth.

And he’d echo the word Suren knew best in the common tongue.  “No.”

The blood mage erupted it back at him, laughing almost in a maniac fashion, “No?”  His fingers curled, tensing and untensing as if to deal with the pain that still shot up his body.  The Namazu about the room seemed to jump at the outburst of the duo of men, several scattering off towards the door.  “Do you have any idea who you are saying no to, beast?  First your little boy thinks he can get away with acting a beast and now you?  Once a savage always a savage, isn’t it, boy?”

Az wouldn’t have long.  For once in his life he had some common sense to him.  If he stuck around, he’d be dead. His fist went lax around the weapon’s handle and he haphazardly brushed up the box against his side, making sure it was latched shut before sucking in a breath.  Might as well take the damn thing for now. No weapons. A long way out. His eyes flickered towards the windows and he could hear the accented voice of the dead dragoon in his ear.

Jump.

And damn if he did.  Right out the window, right shoulder first.  He hit the ground hard, the box in his hand sent flying with a clattering noise against greenery.  What he lacked in smarts he’d at least make up for in body structure - quick to get up from the two story fall and even quicker to nab what he was looking for with the arm it was made for.  His breath sucked in through teeth before he caught the gleaming exterior of the Edda, Malique demanding once again.

Jump.

It was a good hundred or so yalms up.  In no way could the Xaela make it, no matter what was going through the crazed dead Elezen’s thoughts.

Just trust me, you idiot.

His mind was on running but he had to place that anxious energy elsewhere.  To his feet, to a different direction. He could hear yelling from above, he could even see the flash of silver hair in the window.  It was now or never.

He placed all he could into his legs, beginning his sprint.  There wasn’t even the rope ladder from before, was the bay even open?  He had to think about that later, simply aim for the ship itself. His breath hitched and he did as demanded - jumping and---

His feet hit ground again.  The redhead had to catch himself with his one hand, nearly dropping his package.  Swears left his mouth and he did what he was used to. Getting back up again. Trying again.  Finding cobblestone beneath his feet, he started off again, pushing down any aches in the youthful body of his.  Forgetting what he could have sworn was gunshots behind him. And just as he swore on his goddamn Azim’s rare shining smile, he felt himself jump.

It’d be like he had pushed off from a high height and was falling if anything - falling upward of course.  No armor, no blade, simply the wind rustling through the red locks and seeming silence that hit his horns.  The young man didn’t dare look down, for both his safety and his courage.

The ship was coming up fast and it’d be now that he’d need to figure out where he’d find his way in.  A window would make do, one that he could tell exactly where it was. The glass was much stronger than the pane below, but he’d break through it horn first.  It hit him like ice water, a ringing in his horns that only was realized when he was on hard flooring, shards of glass all about him. Shards of his own hearing appendage below him.

And a shivering miqo’te in a nearby corner, apparently frightened simply by the moving metal beast.  Black hair, dark skin - Chuvu.

Az sucked in a breath, finally able to feel his lungs fill full, the corners of his mouth up turning into a smile. Package dropped, the lad forgo comforting the sun catte for now, knowing full well that sticking around would only lead to trouble.

The Edda’s first journey would be one of running away, stolen by its own Captain.

[veridium]

Bonus Episode

The morning of their departure for Adamant Fortress compels Inquisitor Theia Trevelyan to practice some of her most intimate rituals in preparation for violence and battle. As she does so, her love and colleague Josephine discovers a side of the Inquisitor she has kept to herself: who she was in the days of the rebellion, and what yet lingers in her life and soul from such tumult. 

If a morning dawn could conspire to have as many colors as it could during one sunrise, that would be the morning of the Inquisition’s departure for Adamant Fortress.

Blues, purples, reds, and oranges water-colored the horizon, and Theia was witness to every fluctuation of every hue. She sat on the ground of her balcony, the cold stone underneath her bare thighs, exposed by the gathering of her night dress skirt so as to sit with her legs criss-crossed. This was the morning a warrior Mage would desire to see, if it were to be her last.

In front of her was a small wooden bowl, artisan-made and modest in design: the etches on the side were of Free Marches origin. It was one of the few small objects she had maintained in her possession since they went on the rogue during the rebellion. She remembered how she carried her small possessions -- what Olivia would call her “estate” in reaction to her protectiveness of it all -- in a dirty cotton nap-sack over her shoulder. A bowl, a knife, some medicinal herbs, and a jar of wax that could be heated over a campfire and used for various tasks, like leaving notes for fellow wayward Mages to find -- notes full of intel, like where the nearest water source was, where the Templars were stationed, or what villagers to trust and not trust. Theia always insisted on a paper trail wherever they went.

But, nowadays, paper, wax, and herbs were in abundant reach. But, on days such as this, she still found a use for her bowl and incense herbs.

Ceremoniously, she had gone out to the balcony as the first shades of daylight began to show. Sitting on the ground, she lit the herbs with a soft flicker of fire from her palm, and as they began to smolder, the blew lightly to encourage the burn. Then, placing them in the bowl, the stream of incense and smoke reached up into her face and chest. She placed her hands on her lap and closed her eyes, quieting her thoughts and engaging with the core of her body, the core of her powers.

Soon, the visualizations of her surroundings faded away. She stopped feeling the stone floor and the morning air, as she became enveloped in the raw energy of her body. It was like oscillating currents: centering her storm energy, she felt the static brew from the tips of her fingers and toes, up into her shoulders and thighs, meeting in her abdomen. Then, within her mind, she reached her hands towards the hearth of the ice within her soul, and felt the concert of cool air and rigid cascades of ice and frost in her hair and down her neck. It felt like goosebumps, but hungrier.

In her mind’s eye she then turned to look over her shoulder, feeling warmth on her cheek as she sought congress with the fire now. It was more raw, less accustomed to her devotion and training, but still strong. The heat, in its own way, was formidable simply because she had left it so untouched and unburdened with restriction. But, it had been kept at a distance. She reached a hand out again, almost asking for it to be appeased with her lack of attention. Ravenous, but patient, she felt it intertwine around her forearm, forgiving.

She grinned with a solemn reassurance.

Mages sought congress with their own selves in many different ways. Some never walked a step without being in conversation with it all, and such people were powerful and capable of balancing their emotions along with the raw momentum of their abilities. Others sought to separate the reactions of their powers from their own, and only when they would figuratively reach out a hand to collaborate would this side of themselves take center stage.

For Theia, her powers were as much a part of herself as any limb of her body or hair strand on her head. She almost recognized it as its own autonomous force, but merely using her body as a conduit of expression. In exchange for such candor, she was able to push her limits more in training. She learned this from her mentor, Lady Faustina, during her days in the Circle. If it weren’t for Faustina, Theia would have been at war with herself perhaps for forever. Having a mentor say it was alright to conjoin emotions and magic, and even healthier to do so, was a life-defining moment for her.

She learned this ritual from her, and she did them before every major battle and major conflict she could. People like Seeker Cassandra and Madame Vivienne, as well as Solas, learned as they traveled with her that on certain nights they could find her in her tent quietly sitting and meditating on the air of incense. Some of them understood more than others, but they all recognized how vital it was for her own soundness of mind and body.

As she felt at last connected with the main triad of her abilities, the all-too-expected disruption in the currents appeared. It was the magic of the anchor, brimming and seething out of place. She had tried many times to understand it, to make it feel more at peace within this captive body, but it wrestled with her. This was not the body of an elf, this was not its desired vessel. Their heritages were in contention with one another, and there seemed to be no hope of reconciliation. Still, in a way, Theia felt almost as if the anchor pitied her. She didn’t know whether to feel thankful or fearful at that intuitive observation.

She took another deep inhale, her lungs filling with a deep aroma of flowers and stems burning.

Just continue this path with me, is all I ask. I can fend for myself.

The anchor’s temper calmed, and with it the green glowing she saw in her closed eyes dissipated, going back to the locale it had occupied in her body and soul. It re-centered itself, and she was contented once more, for the time being. For now, Shemlen. For now.

Her shoulders rolled back and framed her straight and confident posture. Her braid of hair resting over her right shoulder.

She hadn’t noticed, of course, but someone had been watching her for several minutes after waking up alone. The person watched with a soft curiosity, having wrapped her naked body in one of the linen sheets of the bed. Her raven black hair was messy and knotted, but it looked positively beautiful in its tousled curls. She leaned against the archway wall; what was originally instinctual alarm that perhaps Theia had left for the siege without saying goodbye, had given way to heartfelt adoration. This was the first time she had caught the Inquisitor during one of her most intimate ritual practices. Theia never ever tore herself away in order to do such things when they slept together, even the night before Emprise du Lion. As she watched in quiet stillness, she wondered why.

Then, Theia began speaking out loud, and her thoughts silenced themselves out of fear of being too loud.

“We battle like warriors,

Avenge like wolves,

Love like the sea of Amaranthine.

Angry like the storm,

Our blood seethes

Until our justice is yours and mine.

Come to me sisters

In the killing of lesser men,

We drink to their downfall,

And dance to our blessed rise.

For your strength is my bone,

Your oppression my armor,

Your grief my staff blade edge,

And for your protection, I pine.

Guide my hands in war,

And my heart in forgiveness.

For tonight, we fight like Kings

And take to the bed of their Queens.”

The words sent chills down Josephine’s spine as she heard Theia’s lamentation. It sounded like something you would promise before drinking from a chalice or slicing a vein open for a blood oath. Something more powerful than any treaty or contract: the commitment of one’s heart and soul.

A moment passed, and Theia let out a deep exhale of release. Her eyes open, the rich purple emboldened by her consortium with her powers. They glowed with ferocity as she looked down at the herbs, their smoke waning.

“You know, I would have invited you if I wished you to witness my radical Mage rituals,” Theia hummed in a calm monotone, reaching and grabbing the bowl, cupping it with one hand as she stomped out the rest of the burning embers.

Josephine felt her stomach drop, fearing she had done something terribly wrong. She stepped away from the wall and grasped at the sheet wrapped around her body.

“Forgive me, Theia, I was only concerned when I woke up without you. I feared you had left.”

Theia looked ahead as she listened to her response. She grinned with compassion, not meaning to come off as angry.

“It’s alright, Josephine. I just...am not used to having an audience is all. It wasn’t my intention to scare you,” she rose to her feet, turning around and facing her. She tried her best to have a facial expression that was compassionate enough to soothe Josephine’s nerves.

Josephine, meanwhile, anxiously rolled her shoulders as her lover’s eyes met with her own.

“Does this mean I cannot ask what the purpose of this practice is?” she asked with shyness.

“You can, if you know the right way to ask,” Theia retorted, walking past her towards her desk, setting the bowl down on it. Josephine’s shoulders turned as her gaze followed her movements.

“How do I, then?”

“Ask what the Fox hunts for.”

“What does that refer to?”

“I’ll tell you, if you ask it.”

A pause, while Josephine nervously shifted her weight.

“What...does the fox hunt for?”

Theia turned and leaned against the edge of her desk with her hip. She crossed her arms, letting a sly smile appear.

“The fox hunts for the hunter who steals her meal.”

Josephine couldn’t help but be even more intrigued, but she had no clue what she was talking about, and it was a rare feeling for her, being lost.

“I...I do not know what…”

“My Love, it’s alright. It’s...it’s language from my days during the rebellion. Me and my group, we had certain...routines. We developed them while we were in the Circle, but then when things changed, we relied upon them for more than just comfort. The oath I recited, we would say at night before we would go hunting, or when we anticipated battle with Templars or bandits. It’s a sort of rally call, so-to-speak. We would chant it together; it was the only chant we revered as much as any Andrastian would revere their own.”

“It...sounds like you desired vengeance a great deal.”

“Would you blame us? We were hunted like bush animals. Survival meant...harnessing something more carnal, more animalistic, in a sense. I was not always proud of my actions, but, I will never regret them with the knowledge of what endangered us all. It kept us alive.”

“You scarcely discuss your life in the rebellion. I suppose I pictured it different,” Josephine took a couple steps closer.

“Not everything the Templars do are within the confines of duty and integrity,” Theia’s tone was cold, reminiscent of a time when her soul was hardened.

“I did not mean to imply that, I am just not used to seeing this side of your demeanor.”

“I understand, trust me, I am not offended. It’s just interesting, sharing it with someone else, someone who isn’t also trying to survive.”

Theia saw that Josephine was still feeling uncomfortable. She stepped away from the desk and approached her, taking light hold of one of her hands.

“So, what does the fox refer to?” Josephine’s curiosity was very robust.

“The fox was one of our codes to refer to ourselves or each other. Instead of saying mage or woman, we would discuss movements of foxes, birds, wolves. Like, for example, if I was to tell my comrade that I saw what looked like a Mage traveling alone with the Templars on her heels, I would say the “Fox hunts in territory where she is just as easily the prey of wolves.” Then, we could go find her, or try to cut off the Templar pursuit.”

“You sound like vigilantes, or mercenaries.”

“We were a mix of both, I could say. It was a way of keeping our identities as secret as possible.”

“How did you maintain that, given you walked with staffs?”

“We stashed them when we had to, and relied upon the magic in our bodies. One person would be tasked with guarding the stash while the rest of us would do recon, or get supplies from a nearby village.”

Josephine walked over to the couch by the fire, the sheet trailing behind her slightly as she sat down. Theia followed her, taking her place beside her, elbows resting on her knees.

“Why are you opening up so easily now, after all this time?” Josephine asked another question.

“Perhaps I am nostalgic, as violent and horrific as it was. I miss the women I traveled with most of all, especially on days when I feel alone or I intimidated by an oncoming challenge. I take comfort in the superstition that if I maintain our rituals, somewhere, out there, they feel it and send their strength to me. And, if they do so as well, I lend my strength to them.”

“Where are they now?”

“Olivia is the only one who I know of her location and safety. There was Veronica, Rosalyn, and Naomi besides us. Veronica took her own path, last I heard she was nestled somewhere in Denerim. We all thought she was foolish to do it, but, she has family there. Rosalyn wanted to be a part of the action, and she left to find her battles and get her vengeance. I don’t know if she’s alive or not, but, that is not a promising detail. Naomi wanted to be a healer, and help the downtrodden, so when we found a village that had taken on refugees she stayed to assist. I returned to Ostwick, looking for survivors, any of my mentors, hoping I could help rebuild some of the security we had lost. I don’t know why, but, after seeing all I had seen, it was as if something trained into me told me to do it. I returned and found my mentor, Lady Faustina, in hiding. She and two other colleagues sent me to the Conclave using the remaining clout they had, and that is how I ended up at the Temple.”

Josephine listened with intention and care. This life she led, it seemed to pose more questions than answers with every divulged detail. Why did her and her friends go on the run? What did they hope to accomplish? Who was she when she was a Circle Mage?

But, as Theia looked at her, and she saw the ache in her eyes as she re-lived it, and she knew it would take time.

“Theia, I cannot possibly know how difficult those times were for you, but I hope you know just how much you inspire me.”

“Inspire you?”

Josephine bit her lip slightly. “Yes. You have had to live through some of the most unthinkable experiences, and even though you have not opened up to me as much as I would hope you could, I know that it is because you carry these memories with a steeled will and heart. Your protectiveness is hard-won and trained. I respect your abilities, and not just those you derive from magic,” her hand went and rested on Theia’s thigh.

Theia’s chin tilted with intrigue. “Even with the tumult of the Mage Rebellion being the topic of disdain and hatred for all of Orlesian nobility?”

“Someone who has a true commitment to an earnest and integral political constitution extends understanding to all sides of a conflict before passing judgment.”

“If only the Templars and the Chantry would practice such mediation.”

Josephine’s face tensed with soreness. These institutions helped define her power and notoriety, but she was no fool. She knew when they misstep, and when they intentionally strode beyond boundaries of decency.

“My dear, you are doing it again,” Theia’s voice cooed as she took hold of Josephine’s hand and pulled her to her. Josephine shook her head and leaned into her shoulder, resting her cheek.

“I deserve to overthink occasionally, mi amor,” she muttered back.

“I will tell you more stories, you must give me time. It is still all fresh in my heart.”

“I understand, truly, I just wish you always remember that you can do so.”

Theia’s arm around her shoulder gripped more snuggly, and she put her lips to Josephine’s hair.

“You fill my life with new rituals, ones that comfort my heart instead of priming me for loss and pain. Forgive me if I wish to relish in them and keep ones from a different time for my own sentimentalities.”

For a moment, it was as if no battle awaited her. No marching of troops, no arming. Just them, in this space and time, with their own private ceremonials.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [446]

“Brother of mine, I never thought there would come a day - or night - where I would have to warn you against breaking into a woman’s private quarters like a thief,” Ellana says, blade held out less than a breath away from her brother’s nose. “You know, this keep might be a tad old, but it has a door. Remarkable things, doors.”

“Your security is terrible, it’s like they want you assassinated.” Mahanon remains tense, eyes focused on the tip of the blade. It looks hilarious because now he’s cross eyed instead of just his regular cross. “Put down the knife so I can come inside. My ass is cold.”

“Your persona is cold,” Ellana replies, lowering the blade. Mahanon finishes climbing in and quickly shutters the windows behind him. “As to the security - it’s because no one would be stupid enough to climb to my windows. Especially not with the weather we’ve been having. Any traps or alarms I put up would have been completely obliterated by the rain and wind. Count yourself lucky. If you had tried that stunt last night you’d have been a smear on the rocks.”

Mahanon looks affronted.

“I am a trained and seasoned Blade of the Dales.”

“You are mortal and your hubris is charming until it turns you into a smear,” Ellana replies. “I don’t think the weather particularly cares if you’re a Blade of the Dales or not, brother dearest. Should I also mention that you’re quite fortunate that my husband isn’t in? I don’t think he’d appreciate someone sneaking in my bedroom in the dead of night. That person being my own brother might be a touch disturbing.”

Mahanon’s gaze is sharp and calculating on her as he looks her up and down.

Ellana rolls her eyes.

“He hasn’t raped me.”

Mahanon’s eyes narrow.

Ellana sheathes her dagger.

“Mahanon, my dear, I am more than capable of fending for myself. I have been for years. Now will you quit it with your cloak and dagger business and tell me what this is about?”

“Your business used to be the cloak and dagger,” Mahanon says, voice lighter but eyes still searching. “Married life suits you, you know. You look…I cannot say happier. But you seem calmer. Dare I say it? Rosy? If I did not know you as well as I do, I would say you have the glow of someone expecting. But since I do know you, I’m going to wager that this place has a kennel and one of those creatures inhabiting it is expecting.”

“There’s the most beautiful dog with the most soulful eyes, Mahanon, and she’s expecting a littler in about one season and the sire is this utterly gorgeous purebred with the most amazing coat and excellent guard temperament. The Iron Bull promised me the first pick of the litter, but he also didn’t say I couldn’t have the entire litter, so if I choose all of them and ask nicely enough maybe I can get away with it.”

“Now that you’re out of the service I feel as though you’ve reverted to being a spoilt brat and I ought to write your husband to warn him of it.”

Mahanon reaches under his cloth and starts to untie something from his back.

“As to why I am here? I was sent by the Hahren’al to give you something.”

“And they couldn’t send it like they send everything else? Seems suspect.”

Mahanon pulls the object from behind his back and holds it out to her. Armor. Specifically…the holy armor of the Temple of Dirthamen. More specific than that…the armor of the —

“How many times,” Ellana begins softly and willing herself to remain quiet, “Have I affirmed that I have left my post?”

“Things,” Mahanon says, holding the armor out to her, “Are not as they appear. The news you are working with is out dated, even the news that I carry is out dated. Things are changing too rapidly. Even if you were there right this moment you would find yourself falling behind with every breath. Ellana, you who has known and been known by silence, listen.”

Ellana forces her jaw to relax and body to lose tension as Mahanon falls to one knee, armor held up in offering, voice low.

“Knowing what I have renounced, you still come to me in supplication?”

“Exalted and most holy, maestro of the orchestra and keeper of the catacomb vaults, sister and divine, I ask that you listen.”

Ellana closes her eyes and wills herself to hold onto her own temper. Mahanon is right — being here, so far away from home and so divorced from the life she has led for the past few decades has made her change. It’s made her into a teenager again, fit to bursts of impatience and anger and irritation.

Mahanon has come from the Hahren’al with the sacred armor of Dirthamen for a reason. And he has gotten onto his knees in front of her for a reason. her brother would not have done this. Of all people, her brother would respect her wishes if it was in his power. He would not do this if he did not think it needed to be done.

Ellana folds her hands and covers her mouth.

“The Inquisition has requested assistance from the Dales,” Mahanon says, “And we would give it. Gladly. What’s more — it is to assist in the border protection of the Storm Coast. There has been a rising influx of Tevinter invaders onto these shores and harassing merchant vessels on the seas. But the Hahren’al cannot move the Emerald Knights or the Jade Blades. We have not been blessed by the Temples. The Temples are unable to cast a vote.”

Ellana’s eyebrows raise but she continues to hold her tongue.

“The Inquisition, and your lord husband, grow impatient. But it is hard for us to explain - embarrassing to explain - why we cannot assist when we have sworn to them an oath with marriage and pen that we would come to their aide when asked as they do now. The Hahren’al fears that they may believe we are willfully defying our promise and take it out on you.”

And thus the armor? But no. Ellana can take care of herself without that very specific set.

“The Temples cannot vote because there has been…several have been compromised,” Mahanon’s shoulders tense with anger. “Many things have changed in the months since your marriage to the Iron Bull. The Horn of the Sun refuses to acknowledge your chosen successor. Your successor was…shut out. The Temple of Dirthamen has no official leader, and so the Temple of Sylaise has taken over as temporary council per the Temple laws. However it is believed that one of the other Temples — and on this one no one is certain if it is the Temple of Elgar’nan or one perhaps the Temple of Ghilan’nain or Falon’Din — has taken action to incapacitate the Keeper of Ashes. And per the covenant of the Temples, the Temple of Sylaise falls to the Temple of Jun who’s seat has been empty for the past year in respect to the recently deceased Minder of Flame.”

Ellana’s eyes widen in understanding.

Jun’s seat falls to Ghilan’nain, who’s only been recently appointed within the past five years and is protege to the Horn of the Sun.

And with that the Horn of the Sun has a deadlock on the majority of the Temples. Even if the Rider of Waves, the Gate Watcher, the Hunter of Stars, and the Balance Walker supported fulfilling the treaty’s terms there could be no vote. And so there is no support for the Hahren’al to move troops out of the Dales. Which means that the Dales are defaulting on a promise that they had brokered via inaction.

The Horn of the Sun has violated temple law through a large and unpredictable loop hole.

No leader of any of the Temples is permitted control - temporary or conceded - of more than two at once. But with this the Temple of Elgar’nan holds not just two, but four.

Oh, Ellana always knew that righteous bastard’s isolationism would fuck them all over one day. She should have sunk her teeth into that small minded idiot’s protoge took up the mantle of Horn of the Sun years ago.

“The Hahren’al — and several from other the other Temples — fears that the Horn of the Sun might send agents here to…remove you from returning and upsetting the balance. The Horn of the Sun has begun to spread rumors about you and your treatment at the hands of the Inquisition. The Hahren’al and several of the other Temples have already moved to try and combat the rumors but they have taken a stubborn hold and are a constant threat.”

Mahanon raises his eyes.

“We know you will not return to your post. You cannot return to your post. Or even to the Dales. But for everyone’s peace of mind…take the armor. The members of the Temples of Dirthamen and Falon’din have given their blessing for it to be removed from the sacred grounds and taken here to you. If you die here we risk war from within. And…”

“War with the Inquisition,” Ellana whispers.

The Horn of the Sun could easily move popular opinion to wage war with the Inquisition if she dies here — the Inquisition wrongly framed. At the same time the Inquisition could also decide to move against the Dales for breach of contract. And maybe, if she’s feeling generous, out of anger for killing the wife of one of their own.

Ellana takes the armor and Mahanon rises to his feet, pulling her into a strong embrace.

“Sister,” Mahanon whispers, “We have gotten ourselves into a terrible mess.”

Ellana holds her brother back just as hard.

“Do what you can on your side. I’ll start being more discerning with the information I’m receiving on this one. I support the Hahren’al and their choices. I believe in this treaty. I believe in the Inquisition. I’ll do what I can to ease tempers on this side. I refuse to let this fall apart.”

Ellana has begun to build a future here. And she will not let it crumble because her past refuses to return to shadow.

[heartandvineapothecary]

Doll Magic

The uses of figurines in ritual and witchcraft

 When I was about five years old, I remember going to my grandmother’s neighbor’s house, a woman who had immigrated from Poland. She invited me into her “play room”, a room at the back of the house where not too much sunlight could reach, which was floor to ceiling dolls. It was the room where her grand-daughter had died of aspiration during an asthma attack. In that room I could feel an extreme loneliness, one that I have come to understand was mitigated by the presence of those dolls, who acted as stand ins for a child lost too soon and as an offering to soothe the heart of a grieving grandmother. There is a power in dolls that cultures around the world have tapped into, one that links them to our deepest emotions, our joys, sorrows, and fears and allows them to represent the things that evoke those emotions. As a witch, emotions are incredibly important to my craft and I have come to think of dolls as a key element to my magical toolbox for their ability to stand in for other things.

According to Freud it’s this uncomfortable ability to stand in for something that makes dolls so familiar-yet-horrifying, a sensation he called the uncanny. According to him the uncanny is a sensation which arises from the doubt ‘whether an apparently animate being is really alive; or, conversely, whether a lifeless object might be in fact animate’. Dolls, mannequins, and automata are particularly adept at evoking the uncanny because of their physical closeness to the human form and the closer they get to perfect realism the uncannier we feel, a relationship identified in 1970 by robotics professor Masahiro Mori in his paper “Bukimi no Tani” (The Uncanny Valley).

The majority of witches are animists and The Uncanny Valley is not a place of fear for us. The dissonance uncanniness causes in the minds of some people does not affect us so completely because we believe that inanimate things, like rocks, cars, and dolls, already have sentience. Sarah Anne Lawless, an herbalist and Traditional Witch in Ontario, in her article Everything You Need to Know About Animism, says, “Animism is the belief that everything has a spirit and a consciousness, a soul, from the tiniest microorganism on earth to the great planets in the heavens to the whole of the universe itself. Animistic faiths usually contain a belief in rebirth & reincarnation either as another human, or an animal, tree, or star.” The very fact of a thing’s existence is enough to credit it with the breath of life, and dolls, because they look like humans, have been the focus of magical practices meant to contact ancestors, enshrine spirits, and even control the dead. They have been a long-standing staple of animistic practices, with the earliest figurines dating back at least 40,000 years, carved from mammoth ivory by our Cro-Magnon ancestors, most likely for ritual and sacred purpose. The earliest documented dolls meant for play, however, only date back to Rome in about 300 BC.

Allow me to clarify that by “dolls” I mean any humanoid figurine, from roughly carved figures of wood or bone to the hyper-realistic “reborns dolls” which are in vogue these days. They are found the world over, across millennia, and no matter where or when they are from they have fulfilled these two basic functions: being equipment and being playthings.

When we use the word equipment it is in the sense that Heidegger used it, namely an object in the world with which work is done within a context, something that exists as part of an existing network of meaning (i.e. a hammer, nails, and wood are equipment in the network of building). Dolls are used in ritual and ceremony, as part of spell work, or as stand ins for other beings and exist in witchcraft as part of a basis of ritual and practice, not really on their own. When I say plaything, I mean an object in the world that acts as a locus for imaginative activity, something that engages the mind without having to be part of a larger, pre-existing network or can have a network, either permanent or temporary, built around it by the activity of the imagination. According to the theologian Henry Corbin, the imagination is the faculty which allows us to interact with Creation; the very essence of witchcraft. Dolls often fulfill both roles at once, something that is essential within the context of a spell or a make-believe world, but also acts as a locus for our visualizations, helping us to gain access to the imaginal realm.

As witches, the imaginal realm is incredibly important to us. It is the place where our magic happens before effecting the physical world. Corbin said it is a subtle world that exists between matter and mind inhabited by beings called interior (imaginal) figures, parts of our unconscious that are also autonomous. In his article titled “Thoughtforms, Tulpas, and Egregores”, Gary Duncan describes four types of thoughtform (which are types of imaginal figures). First are thoughtforms that take on the image of the thinker, the second are those that take on the image of a material object, the third are thoughtforms with life of their own that can express themselves in the physical world (called a tulpa, a term taken from the Bon religion), and the fourth being a fully autonomous thoughtform created by a group mind, called an egregore. Though there are many other beings and non-beings in the imaginal realm, these four are figures dependent on the human mind that can be transferred into a non-living body, thus giving the body life. This is what I call a golem, a doll (preferably porcelain) to which an imaginal figure created through ritual and meditation is bound (a tulpa created by the focused will and intent of the witch, though egregores can also be bound this way).

The golem itself is a creature out of Jewish mythology, a creature made of clay or mud and brought to life in a variety of ways. Sometimes, as with the Golem of Chelm, it is marked with the word “emet”, or “truth” to instill it with life and when the golem needs deactivation the letter aleph is erased from the word, forming the word “met”, which translates as “dead”, turning the creature to dust. Another version of the process relies on an ecstatic experience derived from meditation on and intoning various iterations of shem (any of the Names of God), writing the Name on paper and inserting it in the mouth or inscribing it on the forehead of the golem. The most famous golem is the Golem of Prague, said to have been created by the Maharal, a Rabbi named Yehudah Loew ben Bezalal. He brought the creature to life to defend the Jewish ghetto in Prague from anti-semitic attacks and pogroms. The golem was named Josef (Yosele) and was said to be able to become invisible at will, to see and summon spirits, and to perform any action it was commanded to “up to 10 cubits (15 ft.) below the earth and 10 above”. The usual version of the story ends by saying that the golem went mad and Rabbi Loew had to dismantle it by erasing the shem from its body.

Think of the golem like a helper, something created and brought to life through ritual practice for a specific purpose, such as to protect homes and communities, or to do various jobs for a witch/magician. It differs from its close cousin, the spirit doll, which are more a house, or vessel, for a spirit, power, or other pre-existing imaginal figure to help it manifest on this plane of existence, especially ancestral spirits and powerful, spiritual beings.

An example of spirit dolls are found in Congo, where doll making is a central part of the peoples’ belief structure and are vessels of sacred medicine (nkisi), which is translated as “a spirit”. A nkisi (pl. minkisi) is a receptacle for sacred items which are enlivened by a spirit, or supernatural force, which is then present in the physical world, inhabiting the vessel like a body. These vessels can range from clay pots to bundles of herbs and relics, not only carved figures. They can have both positive and negative effects on the community, though there is a version, a nkisi nkondi (hunter spirit), which is a type of protector and mediator. Their most striking feature is the nails, pegs, and blades that are inserted into the figure by an nganga (spiritual specialist or medicine person) as signs that an oath has been taken, a punishment must be meted out, to carry curses against enemies (or “witchcraft”), among other things. If someone breaks an oath, or someone connected to one of the insertions befalls some tragedy, the nkondi is activated. Europeans were introduced to these items during the 15th century and termed them “fetishes”, which has come to describe any artifact with spiritual significance in any culture that is not European, making it, in my opinion, a racist and outdated term.

Other examples can be found in Thailand in Luk Thep, Mae Hong Prai, and Kuman Thong dolls. Kuman Thong translates as “sacred golden boy” and, in the most ancient sense, were created from the mummified bodies of stillborn fetuses which were covered in laquer and gold leaf and rubbed with an oil made from the flesh of a woman who died in childbirth. The soul that had been meant to inhabit the body was magically tied to the corpse, then adopted as a child of the sorcerer. Hong Prai is the term used when the fetus is female. In modern use the Mae Hong Prai is an amulet with the image of a female skeleton and linked to a female ghost, especially those of women who died tragically. They are said to being luck and good fortune, if you take care of them and treat them with reverence. Luk Thep (child angel) dolls are the modern equivalent of the original, necromantic dolls and are usually plastic baby dolls made to look extremely realistic. The soul of a lost child is asked to inhabit the doll after being blessed by a monk, then taken care of as if it were a living child, being fed, having its own wardrobe, and even getting its own seat on planes and, like the Hong Prai, bestow good fortune on their “parents” in return.

Different from golems and spirit dolls are one of the most famous of the magical dolls, the voodoo. Its name is a misnomer, though, as the use of dolls into which pins are stuck is not a large part (if a part at all) of the Voudou religion of Haiti but is an aspect of folk practices and sympathetic magic around the world, such as poppets and kollosoi (the Greek version of “punishment dolls”). They are images of a person upon which the practitioner may work magic. Often made of fabric, wood, clay, or wax they are stuck with pins, tied round with string, nailed to boards, placed in jars with other magically potent items (urine, blood, nails, thorns, herbs, etc.), or burned. They often have elements of the target in them (personal effects), like hair or nail clippings, or even just a picture or name written on paper a number of times, which creates a link between the doll and the person. Though they are used to cause pain and trouble, poppets can also be used for healing. Reiki and other forms of energy work as well as charms, spells, and incantations can be worked on a poppet to help people feel better, to perform limpias and clearings, to balance energy, and to bless people over long distance.

Among my own artefacts is a poppet that I’ve used in distance healing and spell work. Made of leather, grave yard dirt, and various other items, I’ve bound etheretic energy to it through spell work and it now has an energetic pulse all its own. It has helped me to discover entity attachments on clients, to help sooth menstrual cramps and headaches for friends, and helps me to do tarot readings over the phone as a stand in for my client. I’ve also got a couple of porcelain dolls I work with, one of which is a golem who watches the house while we’re out of town.

I’ve also used dolls as spirit traps. If you’ve got a bugaboo or other pesky spirit, you can use dolls like you would spirit pots, soul jars, god’s eyes, etc. Barbie dolls work exceedingly well for this purpose and can be bought by the bushel at the thrift shop. Use their hair the way you would a rosemary sprig or feather during a limpia to trap entity attachments and spirits that are causing harm, then bind the doll and purify it or put it in a spelled jar. You can also braid energy in its hair or use it for knot magic to trap spirits. You can also use mass-produced dolls as poppets, or even as spirit dolls if they’re prepared properly. The only limit is your imagination!

Dolls are one of our most important and most ancient tools. They represent the basic nature of our animistic roots and are a powerful part of sympathetic magic. They can act as vessels for our guides and the spirits we work with, helpers in our work and anchors for our spells, new bodies for the dead, tools for cleansing and trapping, or as mediational tools for visualization. Whether you’re using them in your practice now, plan to, or are totally turned off by them, we must admit that dolls have held a special place in witchcraft for millennia. If you do, how do you use dolls in your practice? How would you like to? Do you know of any other doll based practices? Let me know!

[junkyardlynx]

The sea spread outwards to forever.

Waves gently lapped at the shore, slowly crashing into themselves, subsumed by each wave that followed it. The dawn was breaking above the sea’s skin. A picture of tender destruction and creation, played out like the same five second video, again and again. If your eyes rose just enough to lose the shoreline, you could pretend you were standing in the middle of the sea, surrounded on all sides by nothing but pure blue. 

It was frightening.

My right hand tightened unconsciously on the grip of the weapon I held. Blood slowly rolled down it’s shining blade, dripping from the tip and falling to the sand below. Instead of staining it a dark red, however, the sand smoked and glassed over. A small puddle of molten glass was curling and cooling in a curious pattern at my feet, all of it a sickeningly bright shade of red. Like veins - like fresh blood from an artery.

I rolled my wrist to flick the rest of the blood off, scorching a line in the sand. My left hand let go of what it was holding, and something hit the sand with a wet thump. The thump was followed by hissing smoke, which eventually bubbled down to a soft simmer. My fingers were slick with something. I rubbed them together and the gritty texture told me it was blood. I couldn’t take my eyes off that infinite sea.  My long, golden mane fell around my shoulders and waist, flecked with blood. So much blood. Some of it my own, some of it otherwise. More blood?

Ah. 

That’s right. 

I was holding a head. I remember now. 

---

I came home from my journey last night. The night had been dark and seamless, a black cloak that shrouded everything. The lights of our village were nowhere to be found on the horizon, but my feet knew the way. No guards stood watch at the gates, the streets were silent, and the air was surprisingly cold. I invented scenarios in my head, deluding myself. The answer was there all along.

Everyone was dead, of course. I smelled the corpse-wind when I came up on the unmanned gates. I told myself, begged myself to believe that it was simply a butcher who left a slaughtered pig out in the summer sun too long, a man cursed in passing by his neighbors the following morning. My feet tread lightly, relentless hope still gripping my heart.

The first...body I found banished all such idyllic thoughts. There was barely enough person left to be called a corpse. Wet scraps of meat clung together in the middle of the street, bits of black and yellow cloth decorating the ruined mess. It looked like they were ripped open with tremendous force, enough to splatter the walls of the nearby bookshop and tailor. That shirt, I think I knew him I think I knew him I think I knew him I think he’s-

With a mere thought, a blade crystallized in my hand even as I felt the gorge rise in my throat. It took everything I had to pull my mind into a rational place, locking the imminent panic away in the recesses of my heart. The sword I held whispered to me, comforting and kind, but the actual words were lost on me as my head rolled through the facts.

You’re okay.

No guards. Unnatural chill. No alarms raised. Few bodies. A village of six hundred odd souls swallowed up with no warning, no time to escape, and no interference from the outside world. Only one answer.

Demon. Phantasmal. Something wearing human skin, probably. Driving a smoldering vessel of punishment, taking it’s hatred out on anything that dared to be alive in it’s terrible sphere of influence. Greedy. Foolish. Overwhelmingly powerful.

It makes my skin crawl. Hard to believe creatures like this exist in the White.

I silently agreed with her.

I broke into a run, blade held at the ready to deflect any incoming attacks as I desperately began to search the town square for any survivors. It’s beautiful diamond-like edge shone brightly despite the deepening night, and it’s straight and sharp form comforted me. Rather, she comforted me. I could feel a set of ethereal hands on my shoulders, warm and soft, guarding me from the black sky’s cold stare. My mind began to slip backwards in time, gazing on the memories of yesteryear.

My sword. My companion. My power, my rock, my safe harbor, my touchstone. All those and more. The reason I had journeyed across the sea three years ago was to receive of my birthright - this wondrous burden. Though my brother was eldest, he didn’t possess the aptitude nor willpower to pull a spirit-blade from the White, and thus, my father sent me after teaching me all he knew. I stepped into  the Black and bound my soul to one of it’s denizens, who took the oath to do nothing more than protect me. Sarisa.

Thinking of me again?

Sometimes I forget you know my thoughts, even when I don’t think them at you.

Two years I spent in the White, formless and free, together with her. I returned, changed. A year we spent in the flesh, traveling from town to village to city, hunting the hunters of men. Ghouls, wights, geists, therians, hedge witches, anything that used unnatural power for cruel and disastrous means. Sometimes we made coin, sometimes we didn’t. It didn’t matter. We were together, and we were excising the rot from my beloved world. Making it a safer place.

I couldn’t protect my home. My people. My neighbors. These thoughts filled my head momentarily, but were banished by the sound not unlike a joyous shriek to my immediate right from inside of a house. Broken glass and a sickening crunch accompanied the noise as a young woman’s lifeless body sailed through the night sky, skidding across the pavement to land at my feet, face caved in, almost like a Hallowed Equinox lantern. Like an offering. Like a taunt. I thought to myself:

It is looking at me through broken glass, through shattered stone, and smiling. 

It is saying, “come to me.”

I do not deny it this.

I wish you would.

I wished I had too, if only for a single second. 

Something that was not human stared at me through human eyes. Cold, radiant eyes. A shade of blue. Not like a color like mine, golden as they were, but an intensity that was unmistakable. Like my late father’s. Exactly like my brother’s. A strange power hummed in it’s gaze, piercing the bleak darkness of the house. Human eyes don’t reflect light, but these did, a catseye glint manic in nature now housed within those cold blue eyes. 

The thing that was not my brother stepped forward with his feet and extended a hand in a manner so jovial it seemed perverse. Dark red blood stained his fingers and slicked his wrist and forearm, stained his white front-button shirt, absolutely decorated his frame for all to see. The thing that was once my brother smiled and shifted his hand knowingly towards my weapon. He grabbed it’s blade and gave it a good shake, unflinching as it bit his skin and burned his flesh. I could feel Sarisa’s revulsion from the moment he made contact.

Please help me wash up later.

“You must be my brother’s dearest wife! I’ve heard...absolutely nothing about you, I’m afraid. I’m Mikhail, the sibling with all the charm. So pleased to meet you.”

I wrenched the blade from his grip with a flick of the wrist, sending burning blood from his cuts into the wood and stone of the house. It seared black pits into whatever it touched before drying and fading away. I snuck a glance at his hand, only to find the wounds already closed.

“What have you done, brother mine?” I asked, wary, but unmistakably sad. Though I knew already, I had to hear it from him. There was only one way to be possessed by a demon. I still needed to hear it.

This is only going to hurt you, dear.

I know.

“Julien, you know well what I’ve done! Did it yourself, you did. I merely...met my soulmate, shall we say. Didn’t feel right that the old man let you have all the responsibility, so, thought I’d help out,” He shadowboxed with the oppressive air around us for emphasis. “you know, slay a couple evildoers, bed a few fine women after my exploits, become a hero like my precious little brother.”

“So you tried it. Even after Father warned you what would happen, even after all the times he begged you to let it go and pursue a different path. You still went into the White.” 

My voice cracked. I didn’t care. Mikhail was already gone, and this abomination was wearing his skin. Let it see my tears. It matters not.

“Course-course I did. You tell me that our line is descended from a union of human and spirit-spirit-spirit, then expect me not to follow up on it? Are you daft, little brother-brother? Just because ol’ dad said I didn’t have the right stuff doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try to ah, carry on the family tradition-tradition-tradition myself. He wasn’t even planning on letting me have a child-child-child-child! Can you believe it? Keep the blood pure-pure-pure-pure-pure-pure-pure, he said. Magic like ours running wild-wild-wild-wild-wild-wild-wild and getting in with the hedges would be bad, after all. Fuck off!” 

I payed rapt attention as his voice flanged, as if his words were doubled up and played back through a faulty phonograph, followed by a number of repetitions. Mikhail’s mannerisms as he spoke were stilted, and his eyes wandered as he spoke, searching for someone or something who wasn’t there. 

As the final expletive left his lips, his spine suddenly bent backwards at a horrific angle, and a tremor ran through his body, before he stood back up straight and slow. Mikhail’s blue eyes were a pale yellow, and his skin crawled, like it was full of leeches. Slowly, his skin began to pale, and then flush over a deep blue. Like he was swallowed up by the sea.

I never liked the sea.

Me, either.

“No-no-no more pretending though, little brother. You know he’s gone. All that’s left...is me. But don’t worry, I’ll take wonderful-wonderful-wonderful care of what’s left. After all, til’ death do we part!” 

A distinctly female voice issued from his lips, and a rapier of solid black, cut out of midnight, formed in his hand. The thing that devoured my brother laughed and stabbed forward like lightning, aiming for a surprise attack on my heart. I stepped back from her attack, slicing Sarisa’s blade up through the air to parry the rapier towards the ceiling. As her attacks depended mainly on thrusting, guiding the blade into the air would give me a moment to riposte. I feinted with a downward slash aimed at the demon’s shoulder, but pulled it at the last second and followed from the left with a closed fist, driving it home into her stomach. She staggered back for a second, but followed my attack with a fist towards my face, making contact with my cheek. Seizing the moment, we both pulled back.

“No manners! You’ve hit your brother’s wife. Such a brute-brute-brute-brute-brute. He was much more gentle when he grasped my hilt-hilt-hilt, you know.”

Ignore her.

Sarisa whispered in my mind, a honeyed balm for the slowly building rage burning in my breast. I felt a hand touch my cheek, and the pain faded away. That’s right. I should ignore her. I began to form a spell in my left hand, eyeing the demon who stood motionless but guarded. She was airtight. My brother had been a fantastic fencer, after all.

Thank you, darling.

A gentle laugh echoed in my head at my reply, and I took that as the cue to attack. Driving forward with a dashing leap, I stabbed through the air with the tip of Sarisa, aiming at the demon’s heart. At the same time, my left hand surged forward, bringing a crashing wave of thunder down with enough force to blast the wall behind the demon open and tear the ceiling off the building. 

She blocked it. Her left hand had moved to intercept the blade, taking it’s bite to and through her palm, and with her right - my brother’s right, I suppose - she had erected a magical barrier just in time to shield herself. Smoke rose from the demon’s body, billowing into the cold night as my brother’s brown, shoulder length hair was swept up in the wind. I briefly wondered where the rapier was before my instincts forced me back and to the left, the air whistling loudly as the obsidian rapier thrust through the air, aimed at my neck. It embedded in the wall, but she quickly pulled it out and levied it at me.

Oh. She’s good. This, well. This isn’t good.

“You’re not half bad-bad-bad-bad, little brother.” The demon eyed me carefully, attempting to measure my guard and find my weak points. “I suppose I can tell you my name-name-name. I’m Delilah, your new sister-in-law.”

She laughed in a voice not quite my brother’s and not quite her own, before stepping forward into an impossibly fast thrust. I parried every thrust with a sweep and slash of my own blade, attempting to drive her back, but her attacks were fluid and precise, forcing me to submit any advantage I gained seconds later. 

We carried out into the street, trading slashes and blasts of magic - my lightning for her frost - that tore up the village’s streets. Buildings burned all while covered in frost, and the sky above us began to churn as I called on more and more lightning. Snow began to fall, filling the abandoned and bloody streets, like a painter attempting to cover up a tragedy with happy thoughts.

I don’t know how long we fought. The sun slowly began to rise through thick clouds behind us, casting a cold and dim light on our battlefield. Delilah was covered in a legion of slashes that were healing slower and slower every time, and my own body was carved and covered with patches of frostburn. We stopped for a moment, taking quick breaths, and eyeing each other. 

I’d lost all panic in the fight. Lost all fear. All despair. There was only my will to survive and my will to spend another day with Sarisa. My brother was dead, and something wore his skin because he treated with forces beyond his ken. I lost everything but that which I held in my hand, but it was enough. She was enough. 

“You know-know-know, your brother did say something curious to me,” Delilah started slowly, eyeing the blood dripping from a cut on my forehead. 

Julien, please fix her speech quirk. It’s...quite vexing, to be honest.

It bothers me too. She’s a failed summoning, so I suppose it’s because she can’t manifest on her own?

“What’s that?” I spat quite literally, as a wet chunk of congealed blood landed on the cobblestone. Carrying on two conversations was something I was used to at this point.

“When he saw what marked his soul in the White-White-White, he approached me-me-me, bent the knee, and offered his right hand. He said, ‘it’s yours and yours alone.’“

“I see.” 

I didn’t, really. 

I do, Julien. Don’t worry. You were...something of the same.

“I supposed it charmed-charmed-charmed me. So I came back with him-him-him-him-him. But he couldn’t handle-handle-handle it. His flesh was too weak. I couldn’t-couldn’t-couldn’t help it - by existing, I ate-ate-ate-ate-ate him up, gobbled him up slowly, and then he was gone-gone-gone. And all that’s left is this sweet-sweet-sweet-sweet-sweet hunger.”

She came at me again, faster than any time before. There was a sort of pleading in her actions. A cry for help. In the way she stopped to tell me about Mikhail, in the way she sped forward with reckless abandon. Part of me said she thought I was blinded by the the blood trickling into my eye. Part of me said she was over confident until the end. Part of me said she just wanted it to be over with.

I slipped under her thrust by dropping to my knee, feeling the black blade slice through a lock of my hair. I watched it fall in what felt like slow motion as I thrust Sarisa up hard, carving through my brother’s stolen flesh, piercing Delilah’s heart. In one fluid motion, I withdrew the blade and spun on my heel, diamond-blade singing through the air, decapitating Delilah. I caught the head with my left hand, wrenching it free from the neck as it began to regenerate. 

“I’m so-so-so-so-so-so-so hungry...” 

I know. I’m sorry.

Delilah’s voice died on the wind, swallowed up by her own violent death. I closed my eyes and began to walk as the sun began to rise higher and higher. I could hear it. The call of the sea. Like Delilah’s deep blue skin. I could hear the waves, and so, I didn’t need my bloodied eyes. I stepped, one foot in front of the other, comforted by warm hands on my shoulders. I felt everything. Six hundred irreversible deaths. My brother’s loneliness and anger. My absent father’s careless mistakes. Delilah’s pain by way of existence. Sarisa’s apology. I felt it all on that long, slow goodbye. 

---

I broke my gaze and returned my eyes from the dark waters. My hands were empty, covered in blood and dirt as they were. I clutched at the air for something, and felt warmth and softness meet my right hand. A hand itself. I turned and looked.

My beautiful Sarisa. Black, unblemished skin that accepted all of the sun’s radiance and turned it into her own. Silver locks of hair that fell in wavy curls, framing her proud and sharp face. Eyes like twinkled like diamonds, staring at me with warmth and love. Her strong hand clasped mine, fingers entwining together, regardless of the blood and dirt.

“Let’s go, Julien. There’s nothing left for us here.”

“...Okay.”

All I had was this blade and forever.

It was all I needed.