#how i like studying ancient empires and such. never said i was interesting in living in em

[goldensunset]

like there’s ‘i ship this’ and then there’s ‘i like exploring this’ and they’re v different lol but alas they are forced to be roommates in the great apartment that is tumblr

[wylanzahn]

How do you keep from Copy/Pasting existing Cultures into your Worlds?

Basically just as the title says, and I'm sure there's been pleeeeenty of discussion on the topic, but I'm genuinely curious what makes your cultures unique and original (especially when the modern aura of writing is "everything's been done"). Furthermore, is having a copy/paste culture a bad thing? For context, I'm primarily a Game Master (GM) who also on occasion writes as well as works in the TTRPG actualplay space. When you have an audience (whether friends or fans) is it necessarily a bad thing to have familiar locations, themes, and even characters that mimic real life? Can it be easier for an audience to just assume we're in "Ancient Rome" or "Habsburg controlled Austria"?

For me I do like creating totally original locations with their own weird political systems influenced by magic, gods, monsters, and anything else fantastical--BUT sometimes I find a setting is more interesting of just "what if Romans could directly interact with their deities?". For me I just find the idea of almost "alternate history" but in my uniquely fantastical setting interesting. However, I also understand that some people like genuinely different worlds with no trace of the real world left behind.

When creating unique cultures I try to combine elements to create something more unique. For example I'm currently working on the ancient periods of my current homebrew world, and specifically in a portion I haven't particularly worked on before. In Evrosea, a sort of "ancients world" where Greco-Roman culture lives on well into the medieval 15th Century (of course technology has changed and evolved) I find myself studying more ancient histories. I knew from before I fully began working on worldbuilding Erosea that there was some sort of "Roman Empire" which spread its tongue as a sort of lingua franca across the continent of Dulgren (aka why Common exists in my D&D world). Also originating from the region of Evrosea was the sorta monolithic pantheon of "new gods" (aka Catholicism). So I have the ideas of imperialism and religious importance in this region. So the very clear start was Rome itself, but how could I make this Rome unique? Well here's what I found from my research on Ancient Rome:

Many pre-settlers, and even contemporaries of Ancient Rome, in Italy were nomadic grazers and herders.

The Aeneid, which tells one of the many origin stories of Ancient Rome, ties in the ancient Greek tale of the Trojan War, and makes Rome the successors of Troy.

That many of their religious practices were tied up with the Senate (especially after the abolishment of the crown).

Finally, while perhaps never directly ruled by the Etruscans, their neighbors were much more confederate like and were similar in culture rather than being a unified people or kingdom.

Taking the information I found I twisted and jumbled much of this random history and constructed a group of nomads who controlled the fertile valleys of Uvemos (home region of the ancient Carinaens, my replacement for the Romans).

Many of these nomads worshipped similar sounding gods (if not outright the same gods), and most of them lived off the lands of Uvemos. Only a select few of whom ever settled into cities. However, long after the first nomads of Uvemos walked the hilly countryside arrived a band of pirates and raiders, terrors of the ancient world, many knew not their names, but they quickly accrued a nickname, "The Sea People" (see Sea Peoples on Wikipedia for more, TL;DR a bunch of random marauders who attacked or even helped cause the collapse of some Bronze Age Civilizations). One such pirate was said to be the Prince Laogonus, an exile from Apeiros, who was said to be a direct descendant of the God King Ulios himself. Laogonus settled down on the banks of Janian Sea in a small dirt settlement near to the roaming tribes of Uvemos. Many years later the small city of Carina was established as a blossoming trade hub by the many different tribes of Uvemians. Of these tribes was born a Chieftain's daughter, Aurora. Aurora was said to be descended from the god blood of Ulios, and when she prayed to her great grandsire on the eve of battle she was enveloped in holy light-- thus becoming the world's first cleric. Of her legacy were many rituals formed and practices established, and the civitas mille clericorum* was born.

*(civitas mille clericorum) meaning "city of a thousand clerics," named after the heavy religious undertones established by the first cleric Aurora, at least according to legend.

Super cool right?? I combined some other ideas than the ones I established such as the Sea People from the Collapse of the Bronze Age, as well as these kind of Shinto-like-beliefs in the Carinaen religion, which, to me at least, seems the most like what Ancient Roman beliefs would look like to us today (though I didn't really get to talk about in my blurb). I like taking existing pillars of cultures and extending them, now rather than just being a complete Roman rip-off there's more of this nomadic or tribal culture, at least to early Carinaen history, there's more of a nautical legacy (unlike Rome, who didn't establish a truly working navy up until the Punic Wars), and finally the city of Carina is a beacon for holy warriors and classes like Paladins and Clerics (again this is D&D so that's oriented towards that).

But tell me what you think, and how best do you come up with your fictional cultures/countries? Do you merely copy off of pre-existing cultures or do you fully work from the ground up? I'm super curious to hear what you all have to say!

I'm also tagging a couple friends since I'm curious of your responses @hessdalen-globe, @northernthiefcranberry, @kerghoulen, and the ever wonderful @somethingclevermahogony.

Also guys I need you to pull me out, I'm this close to dropping out of the arts and trying to get into Harvard to do Ancient Studies. Send Help.

[by-speaker]

Standoffish (ENG. VER.)

The Emperor of the Arctic Empire was never late for his meetings, but today he needed those extra minutes. Not to prepare himself mentally as he had argued before his council, but to calm the inexplicable nervousness that had been gnawing at him since he learned that the son of death had arrived in his lands.

As he walked the icy corridors of his palace, his black wings fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and irritation. An arranged marriage. To a minor god. The idea should have repulsed him, but curiosity consumed him.

When he finally opened the mahogany double doors, time seemed to stand still. The first thing he noticed were those purple eyes, shining like gemstones, framed by markings that reminded him of a jaguar. The son of death was fascinating: his tanned skin contrasted with the immaculate white of the room, and there was something in his bearing that reminded her of the ancient Aztec warriors who once visited their land. Restrained power, ancestral pride, savage beauty.

“Sorry for the delay,” he announced, keeping his voice steady even though his heart had decided to behave erratically. His eyes roamed the room out of politeness: Techno, his old friend, with his blood cup; Catrina, elegant as ever; but inevitably back to Missa, as if drawn by a magnet.

Phil held out his hand, genuinely eager to make contact. “You must be Missa.” The name felt like honey on his tongue.

The minor god's curt reply was like a whiplash that brought him back to reality. “I didn't know mortals were so comfortable with the gods as to call them by their first name.”

His smile morphed into a grimace, more out of habit than true anger. The fire in Missa's eyes only made him more intriguing, but years of diplomacy kept him from showing it. “And I didn't know minor gods were so rude as to not shake the hand of the emperor of the Arctic Empire.’’

He watched with a mixture of amusement and fascination as Catrina stepped in, apologising for her son. The excuse of the fatal touch almost made him smile. Death by touch… how appropriately dramatic for someone with that face.

‘It's okay,’ he said, letting the displeasure in his voice mask his growing interest. ‘I suppose we must forgive the young god's inexperience.’

The provocation worked better than he expected. The boy bristled like an offended jaguar, and Phil had to hold back a real smile when he held out his bare hand in defiance. The markings on his face seemed to darken with his anger, making him look even more exotic and dangerous.

“Nice try, darling,” he replied sweetly, savouring the way the nickname made those purple eyes sparkle with indignation. “But you won't be able to get rid of me that easily.”

When they finally sat down to sign the contract, Phil kept his eyes fixed on Missa, studying every little gesture. The way his fingers held the pen, the slight frown on his brow, the way the candlelight played with the marks on his face. This minor god clearly thought he could intimidate him, and Phil found his naivety adorable.

The news that they would have to live together took them both by surprise. Phil looked at Techno, recognising the malice behind his apparent innocence. His old friend had probably noticed something in his gaze that he himself didn't want to admit.

As he looked at his signature next to Missa's on the parchment, Phil allowed himself a small smile. If the son of death thought he would be easy prey, he was in for a surprise. You didn't become Emperor of the Arctic Empire by being weak or submissive. This marriage would be a battle of wills, and while the idea should worry him, it only made him more excited.

After all, what better mate than one who shone with the fierceness of an ancient warrior and the deadly beauty of a jaguar?

[megabuild]

what is aoyuer? is that an acronym for something?

okay so i meant to make a big doc explaining what aoyuer is like months ago but then i started working on different projects and put it on the back burner.. and then i got ill and now i don't have much time to work on stuff at all. but not having the doc sucks and means anything i ever say about it is very confusing. so i'm so sorry anon for using your ask as an excuse to just dump as much aoyuer lore as i can without reasonably spoiling it but also thanks for reminding me that i have a lot of followers here who have never heard of it. a sobering thought

tldr; aoyuer (as of yet untitled empires rewrite) (sorry bree) is my au rewrite of empires smp that aims to connect seasons 1 and 2 as well as after life, new life, and a bunch more inbetween, with a major focus on pixlriffs' story. it also ties up a lot of loose ends and is generally darker and more adult-aimed than the original series. technically that's all you need to know but here's the no spoilers plot rundown for those interested

so aoyuer is built up of ~7 arcs but only 4 of them are like Super important

arc 0: this is just afterlife smp and a ton of early worldbuilding, the crash of the great stags, etc; what's most important from this is that oli exists and has for thousands of years, probably

arc 1: empires season 1! set in the 1500s, the world is going through a sort of renaissance period with massive technological advancements. pixlriffs the copper king (cprk) is working a boring little library job and spending most of his time kicking himself and being mad he hasn't done anything with his life (he is only like 30 but the idea of feeling old and unaccomplished even when you're young is a major theme for arc 1). enter fwhip! who is his annoying ex-roommate ex-bestie ex-boyfriend from university that left him on pretty bad terms. he has a way more accomplished job and as part of that he has been allowed to head The Empires Project which is a major journey intended to further some distant colonies while also investigating the land they're on. the land has some weiiird properties which fwhip thinks could be harnessed to create functional immortality (which was the subject of pix's thesis). he wants pix to come with him and investigate. pix feels weird about it but agrees to come along and be the "emperor" for the desert colony while he does his research... and then things get fucked up and scary! its a high fantasy that switches between a metaphorical dissection of their horrid will they won't they relationship and both of their issues aaand a more Literal dissection of the land and things living in it. including people and animals. at times. and also involves pix accidentally awakening a curse for a billion million years which sets the rest of aoyuer in motion.

arc 1.5 is sort of Not important but iwlike it a lot. there's not much to be said for it without major spoilers but it's set a little bit after arc 1 and comprises of fwhip being very upset about how his stupid project fell apart and trying to write up an Official Report on why everything fell apart while also coming to terms with him being the worst guy to ever have lived or something. much of aoyuer is like thinly veiled metaphors for mental illness but this one is just about mental illness

arc 2 sends us years forward into season 2 in the 1800s and our protagonist is professor pixelle riffs, lorekeeper (lrkp) who leaves his job as an archaeology lecturer to go and study the ancient capital and The Machiiine. because the machine set up WAY too much cool stuff to just ignore. sculk infection/possession is a big part of this arc. however while he's doing all this he meets oli! remember him? who has crash landed in S2 (basically the same way he did in canon) and is now regularly butting heads with pix. they eventually become friends and then umm something more :3 a lot of this remains the same as canon except the sculk arc gets a proper conclusion and ties into the ghost stuff. it ends with oli's finale where he still fakes his death (the goblin stuff is going to be changed but it's up in the air right now) and pix is devastated but pretty certain there's something not quite right so he picks greggory up and goes off in search of his lame ass boyfriend.

arc 2.5 actually takes place mid arc 2 because it's the hermpires crossover, which is less different dimensions and more different times (hermitcraft is our present and the rift facilitates time travel). when pixelle the archaeologist steps through the rift it causes serious time fuckery and so he sort of gets. forcefully ejected from his body and becomes a ghost possessing pixl riffs of the hermitcraft recap (rcp) who stumbles out of the rift very tired and very confused! there's a lot of fun mistaken identity stuff between him and oli and this is generally the most like. comedic and casual of the arcs though it still has some sweet moments.

arc 3 is just new life smp. where pixelle finally ends up in nl, finds that his lame ass boyfriend is still alive, and has relationship drama with him Except on top of that the land that new life is set on has similar properties to the land from arc 1 (functional immortality except it has some different effects, aka. going through drastic physical changes every time you "die") and so pixelle starts investigating that and maybe finds out that his whole life and his ancestors and descendants lives might be caught up in a time loop because of the copper king. forever and ever. this hasn't got much for it because i was going to work from new life canon as a base but then both pix and oli stopped playing on it LMFOHALDH but anyway.

aaand arc 4! final arc! which is set in the present right after pixl (the recap one) returns home from the hermitpires crossover. except the weird ghost voice of his ancestor in his head.. isn't going away? or rather its been replaced by a different one who is sending him on The Heros Journey. along with zloy and lyarrah and modern fwhip. this is basically the long awaited Conclusion to the curse that the copper king put in place and a lot of bullshit happens that icant really explain but it ties up all the loose ends and is generally just pix consistently having the worst time. hes the only pix who goes through hell without bringing it upon himself like he was just born.

and um. that's aoyuer! obviously there's more for all the arcs and i am happy to answer Basically any questions even though i get a little nervous sharing stuff about it because im shy. But iwhope thag explains at least a bit for everyone. My dream is to write this all into various fanfics but that looks kinda unlikely rn but it means a lot to me and you can kinda safely assume if I'm ever talking about or drawing empires there's a 99% chance it's actually aoyuer because I forget canon exists .AOYUER WORLDWIDE

[oraclekleo]

2024 Message from Oracle Kleo

Hello and I believe all of you are in the new year 2024 by now.

2023 was tough for all of us on multiple levels. But it also brought some good memories and blessings. Like with everything in life, there are pros and cons.

You can always aspire to make the next year better and so I come with suggestions on how to make your 2024 a better year for yourself and others. They are really only suggestions so don’t take it as anything more.

Fall in Love → With Yourself

Seriously! It doesn’t matter how many imperfections you can find about yourself. This is the life you were given now and you have a choice - you can either spend the limited time you have fighting your body and mind or you can fall in love with them and start feeling good about yourself. Happiness is not something you will receive from outside, it’s a state of mind, you can choose to feel happy and content. Stop searching for validation and appreciation from others and just do it yourself. Be your own biggest fan. You will never be perfect because nobody is perfect. You should pursue your goals but you are not your goal. The journey towards your goals is often much more meaningful so enjoy it. Start positive self-talk. Start noticing what you actually like about yourself. It’s likely to be a challenge at start as we are heavily trained to only see the imperfections but once you break that spiral of doom, the outcome will be breathtaking.

Stop avoiding responsibility

You are not living in a vacuum. You are part of society and your actions and words will have an impact and you will be held accountable. Stop finding excuses and face reality. You are responsible for your life. Your mother might have brought you to this world but you are an individual person now so act like one. Ask yourself what kind of a person you want to be and what kind of life you want to have. Ask yourself how your words and actions affect people and situations around you and try to become more considerate with others. You have every right to be yourself but you also need to respect others and find the balance between where your boundaries are and where the boundaries of other people are. Nobody said this is going to be easy. It might take a while but the sooner you start, the faster you will see the results. Embracing the responsibility might look scary at first but it also brings freedom. Start learning how to be more self-sufficient even if you only make baby steps. Learn how to cook a recipe or two. Learn how to grow spring onions in a pot indoors. Learn how to effectively clean and sort your home, how to budget, how to do grocery shopping, how to sew, how to do minor repairs at home. If possible, accept responsibility for other living and feeling creatures. Adopt a pet if possible and learn how to properly take care of them based on what’s natural for them. Being responsible brings clarity into life, it helps with setting priorities and with seeing the bigger picture. Being responsible means you need to have at least some plan. It sounds like a lot but it’s actually not that hard and you can start right now by looking up how to clean the gaps in between tiles in the bathroom.

Keep learning and exploring

When you stop learning, you are not staying in one place. World around you continues developing so once you stop learning new things, you actually move backwards in life. Never stop being curious. You don’t have to be studying or attending classes. Reading books or listening to podcasts or watching instructive YouTube videos is still going to push you forward, step by step. Become interested in something new in 2024. And search for information about it or try it yourself. It doesn’t have to be anything big. You might want to learn how to grow potatoes in a container. Or maybe you would like to learn about the Ancient Roman Empire and its history, culture and mythology. Or maybe you are curious about weightlifting. It really can be anything. Small or big. Significant for your further life or really just an interesting one time experience.

Do Good → Feel Amazing

Start helping! Seriously! You will never feel bored for the rest of your life if you just start helping others. You can join a charity organisation or become a volunteer but if that’s not possible, you can do your little bits with massive impact from the comfort of your home. Most of you have a good presence on social media. Any charitable or rescue organisation will be more than happy if you endorse and promote their projects and work online. Instead of endless scrolling or binge watching, you can start following sites and profiles for a good cause and start sharing and spreading the word about them. It costs you nothing and it’s likely to help those people immensely. Are you good at photography but it’s only your hobby? Why not offer your skill to your local animal shelter and make beautiful pics of their inmates so the shelter has good promotion material? Start being mindful about your spending. Maybe you don’t have to buy yourself that coffee and you can donate the little sum to a good cause. Your one coffee can mean a supply of fresh water for a day for somebody else. Maybe you have things at home that are of no use for you but you could donate them. Maybe you can organise collecting material goods at work or school and then donate it to a food bank or animal shelter. Maybe you or someone you know works for a producer who throws any kind of goods away for various reasons but it could be donated. Your local grocery store might be throwing into trash imperfect or old vegetables and fruits while it could still be a good food for animals in your local shelter or wildlife rescue centre. There are literally millions of ways you can help and trust me that you will feel better and more connected with your community even if you devote only a little bit to a good cause.

Love over Hate

We all have things we dislike or hate. Some of them are inevitable and you have every right to complain about them but most of the time, people get engaged in hating something they are not forced to endure. Why are some people so interested in hating on things online? I will never understand it. If you see something that’s not your taste but at the same time it’s not breaking a law, why don’t you just ignore it? If you do this, even only sometimes, just think about it for a little while. The time you devote to complaining and hating can be used to actually love or appreciate something else. Why would you waste your energy and time on fights and hate? It will never benefit you nor anybody else. Filling your heart with grudge and hate will affect you the most, not the thing or person you hate. It will poison your soul, not theirs. It will ruin your mood. It will leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Why not make 2024 a year of love and appreciation? Let’s spread love and good vibes together.

We all feel small sometimes, like whatever we do can never be enough because the world is such a mess. But every little thing matters to someone. Every little act of kindness can change someone’s life for the better. So stop thinking about everything you can’t do and start thinking about the things you CAN do. This is not a Marvel movie and you’re not the superhero. You can’t save the whole world. You can choose, though. You can either do your little to make it worse or your little to make it a better place. Nobody can command you in this. Nobody can force you to be a good person. You have to make that choice. And I’m very sure there will be people who will decide to ignore this whole post completely and it’s okay. But for those who reached here and maybe even started to think about what I have written, I believe in you. Maybe you will never be Captain America but if you actually decide to take the challenge and start becoming the best version of yourself in 2024, you are a superhero for me. 

Let’s make 2024 the best we can despite the world’s effort to make it really hard for us. 

P.S. Don’t worry, this is not going to become a serious world changing blog. I firmly believe I can do good while having fun on the way so we will continue with spicy tarot readings and more games. I just needed to say this. Thank you for reading this far!

Kleo 🦄

[veyette]

Dream dragon AU by milder-manners (check it out, there is good world-building, beautiful concepts and just as nice strip pannels drawn by them) theory

Okay, I'm going to try my hand here because I'm not sure how much people will think it's spoilers if I ask but I still want to get it out. This is more a jumble of thoughts than a true theory about what will happen

First, there is the (to me at least*) open secret that Dream is the white dragon since the first pannel and the prophecy implies he will tranform himself sooner or later (but can he already ?)

Dragons hybrids can shapeshift (thanks to vow this is now a fact (aka, her being a human silhouette then having a large tail in Dream's flashbacks) + the author confirming that some magical beings can shapeshift)... but it also said it's something you have to train for, even if genetical grounds matter a lot. So is that why Dream try to steal the End info, to power up his own strength ? Is it for himself, as dragons- nature can makes them want to hoard knowledge (on that note, is that the same motivation than vow ?) or is it to be able to get revenge (especially since we now know for sure he comes from Deepheart's capital)

Which brings me to a second theory : Dream's presence in Deepheart (2 things)

1. Magic : Wardens seemed very careful about who could learn the death magic. It seems logical than only a very few can learn it, aka the Ancient Council. I doubt another hybrid than warden (especially a cow hybrid since they aren't supposed to have magic) would be invited to learn it. Was Dream ever interested in this if he likes hoarding knowledge ? Could he try to study it even if his magic doesn't resonate with it ? Or maybe it's just a coincidence and he never had an interest in this kind of stuff (but ok, I'll admit the dsmp impacted my theory with c!dream and all that. Idk how much it ties into pure warden lore. But the death link is there and I don't want to close the door on this too quickly)

2. Growing up - dream's parents and heritage.

I want to be clear I may be wrong and the author may want to take us in a very different direction, but the white horns, the prophecy, the fact Dream is fireproof and that usually when you follow a guy you know is the hero and makes himself pass for a prey hybrid... all those makes me 99% sure about what Dream is supposed to be.

Where it's interesting is that dragons hybrids are rare, and that it's genetics that make an hybrid. So Dream's parents should be dragons hybrids too : what were they doing in Deepheart and why didn't they survive ? It may be that they weren't lucky genetically and weren't fireproof, or died from buildings falls, but maybe they weren't even there, Dream already alone at that age. Tried to know a bit more about dragons habits with their kids but seems like I was too sneaky with my formulation :')

Anyway. If Dream had parents keeping him safe, what were they doing in Deepheart ? Were they interested in magic too or trying to live a normal life (possible, but uncertain seeing how they are characterized so far). If his parents weren't there : why is Dream there, has he been left there voluntarily ? Why Deepheart especially if the Empire seems interested in the End, he would have been more in his place there. Unless his parents didn't know he was a dragon hybrid (which, they could both had recessive dragon genes which could explain the whiteness).

It could be an easy plot point where the author just needed a town to put Dream in that the Empire would attack but I think they wouldn't mention sculk magic that way and the importance of Deepheart if there wasn't more to find.

...I feel like an old crazy geeze trying to analyse this lmao, feel free to interract if you have more ideas to explore or points you disagree with

[syn4k]

(for those checking the notes: part two is here!)

"So, let me get this straight," said Pix, one leg crossed over his knee as he sat in one of False's dining table chairs. "You know Scott and Jimmy and Fwhip and everyone else?"

"Yeah."

"But they don't match the descriptions I've provided."

"Yeah."

False was sitting on the edge of her bed absently spinning a screwdriver in one hand, the man she'd dubbed Vacation Pix in her mind sitting across from her in her own chair. In the warm but still quite strong yellow glow of the lights she'd hung overhead, he looked even more different from the Pixl she remembered than he ever had in the dark outside.

"Okay," he said, leaning back. "Fwhip is a goblin now, and Scott is no longer an elf?"

"I mean, he never was in the first place, but yeah," said False with a shrug. "I've been here since day 1. They've been like that ever since then."

"What about before Day 1?" asked Pix, looking at her with that same intense gaze. That, at least, hadn't changed about him.

False looked down at the well-worn screwdriver in her hands. "I don't know anything before that."

Pix was silent for a minute. "Yeah, fair," he said. "See, though, I was there at the beginning too, and you were NOT there. Can I ask you something?"

"You already have, but go ahead," said False, looking up.

"In whatever world this is version's of me," said Pix, "what did- do I- what did- does he look like? We share a name, obviously, but you keep looking at me like you expect to see someone else here."

That's because she did. Fuck. Perceptive as always, she guessed. False cleared her throat. "Well, he wore- wears? Wore this button-down navy shirt," she said, leaning back a little and closing her eyes. "About the same height as you are. Brown pants, work boots, ponytail and beard, glasses."

"Huh. Alright. Where did he live?"

"In the Ancient Capital, over in the savannah," said False. "I don't know. I've only been over there like once. It's like really old and he's been studying it for a year and a half. He sleeps in this crypt thing and there's also this copper aging thing that he named? I don't know. He's just the resident weird history guy."

"Wait, back up," said Pix, sounding a lot more interested suddenly. "A named copper aging machine? Does the name David sound familiar to you?"

"Yeah," said False, looking at him. "How did you know that?"

"Because I also built one of those, back in my empire," said Pix. "Gave him the same name and everything. David 2.0, the marvel of Pixandria." He sounded wistful, bitter somehow. False looked at him closely, than stood up and walked over to the stove. "I hope none of my vegetables have gone bad," she said, opening and closing cabinets. "With my luck, they probably have. I have no idea how long I was mining for."

"Mhm."

"Because, okay," said False, finding a head of lettuce and turning it in her hands, looking for brown spots. There was one on the bottom side, of course. She set it down on the counter with a sigh and continued rummaging. "When I went down there, it was winter right? It was like, February. Really damn cold." She found a whole onion, somehow still crispy, and set it aside to cut. Maybe she could make sautéd vegetables or something. "The thing is, I have zero idea how long I was down there for. It could have been weeks. It could have been months." Gods, she hoped it hadn't been months. "I should have brought a clock or something! Then this wouldn't happen, and I could have gotten back here before-" She caught herself midsentence, leaning over the sink, hands clenched around the counter edge. She did not loosen her grip.

"Before what?" asked Pix from behind her.

False did not answer, acutely aware that the man was probably staring at her. She took as silent of a breath as she could manage and continued rummaging through her cabinets.

See, the thing was that she still didn't trust this man and his strange outfit. Was he a lot like the Pix she knew? Yeah. He was. But that didn't make him immediately as trustworthy as her Pix. She didn't even know the guy, and yet she'd invited him right in and was making him dinner.

Then again, he did have a bunch of sand embedded in his hair. He looked like he'd stood outside during a dust storm and hadn't bothered to clean up afterwards. False knew that wasn't why she'd let him in. She knew why she'd let him in, and it had nothing to do with his looks and everything to do with the fact that she'd been left behind, again.

Again? She'd only been here a year and a half. There hadn't been anything before this place that she knew that constituted an "again."

She hadn't just popped into the world at age 24, though. False was smart enough to know that something was up. She was also smart enough to not poke at her past or the other girl she saw in the mirror when she was running half-asleep cataclysms of foreign calculations and in the dead of night the only nightlight she had was the stars above.

False shook herself back to Earth and, grabbing a large knife, started chopping the vegetables she'd found with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.

"Your communicator should have the date on it, right?" asked Pix from behind her. "Then you can figure it out from there. Maybe we can solve this then."

False did not quite know how to tell this man that she did not want to solve this mystery, whatever it was. She wished she'd stayed back down in the dark. She wished she'd never sent that message. She couldn't go back now, though, and it'd be rude to refute her guest's suggestion.

False put down the knife and, walking over to her communicator, checked the date.

"May 27th," she said. She sat down heavily in her bed and stared at the floor. "Three- I was in there for THREE WHOLE MONTHS?"

Pix was silent, but False could see him get up and go over to the stove. Shit. Now he was the one cooking her dinner. That wasn't how she'd intended this evening to go at all.

Then again, nothing within the past three months had gone to plan.

"If this is Empires," said Pix from the other side of the room, "then there'll be residents in the towns to ask, right? Unless, of course..." He trailed off.

"Unless what?" asked False, looking up. Sounds like there was a lot going unsaid this evening.

Figures.

"Unless something happened and the apocalypse hit," said Pix with a sigh, dripping oil onto a pan. False didn't know where he'd found the oil or the pan. She didn't ask.

"What?" she said incredulously. "Why would that happen?"

"Nothing," said Pix. "Don't worry about it."

Ah. A fellow liar. She would get along great with this guy.

"I mean, this is Empires Season Two," said False. "I think we would have known if the apocalypse had happened earlier."

Pix whipped around. "Season Two?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

He paused, holding a wooden spoon, eyes suddenly distant. Slowly, he turned back to the stove. "At the start," he said quietly, such that False had to strain her ears slightly to hear him, "around that campfire, Fwhip mentioned that this was the first season of an idea he'd had. That meta was dropped pretty quickly. If there's a season two, then that means that somebody had to have survived the Rapture."

"This is season two, yeah," said False. "What the hell is the rapture?"

Pix paused a minute, then continued stirring the pan. The room was smelling quite nice now. "There was a demon. He basically caused the whole apocalypse. I don't know the specifics, but yeah."

"Oh," said False. There wasn't really anything else to say in this situation.

"Yeah," said Pix. There was a long pause. False continued staring at the floor. Pix continued. "It's good to know that at least somehow some things survived."

"I guess," said False, looking up. She sighed. "I think they just straight up left me here. Like whatever, it's not like I was planning on leaving anyways. But still, a send-off or something would have been nice."

It was silent but for the sizzling of vegetables in the pan. Two copper emperors, in the same room. Both of them were hiding things, False knew that that well. She knew the tone in Pixl's voice that said he was holding back from telling the entire truth. She knew the way his shoulders were set, probably the same as her own. Both of them had left behind something.

False opened her mouth, but Pix beat her to the "starting an awkward conversation" finish line.

"I'm sorry I'm pressing you this hard," he said quietly. "I just need to know- I just need to understand what's going on here. I walk out of that desert and right into the future. Everybody is gone except for the one person who stayed behind and avoided the end by accident." He turned around and raised an eyebrow at her. "Now, tell me, False, am I describing you or me?"

Ah. They were getting into the fun part now, the dangerous bit, tangoing right over landmines and doing backflips over the barbed wire fences that they'd bloodied their hands raising for so long. False was smart enough to know when something was up. She was also dumb enough to poke the lion. She answered his question with a question.

"Have you ever looked in the mirror and seen your face, but it's not the same person?" she asked.

Pix turned back to the stove, and False knew she'd gotten a wedge in between the cracks. "We're getting right to it then, aren't we," he said with a humorless laugh that was quickly followed up with a sigh. "Yes. Yes, I have. Where do you keep the plates?"

"Second cabinet to the right," said False, getting up and getting some forks from another drawer. "The cups are also in there." Pix nodded thanks and scooped the sautéd vegetables onto a plate.

"So, you want to figure this out," said False, taking hers and putting a fork onto it as well as Pixl's. "How about you go and do that yourself and I stay here?"

"You could have said that thirty minutes ago, before we had this conversation," said Pix. "I know this look. I also know that we're both hiding something."

That was true. False didn't like that he was right. She walked silently over to the table and sat down. She was all for poking the lion up until the lion bit back, but after that she was out of there. Pix set a cup of water down next to her plate and sat at the other end of the table.

"So," he started. "Let me guess."

"I'd rather not, actually," said False, blowing on her fork and putting it into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed. "I think you've been asking a lot of very rude and invasive questions, actually."

"And you haven't?" asked Pix. Fuck. He had a point.

"I have been a horrible host," said False. "Let's just say that."

"And I've definitely not been the best guest either," said Pix. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"Oh, don't pretend that this meeting was ever going to be anything but painful," said False. "These are really good, by the way."

"Thank you," said Pix, taking a bite off of his own plate. There was a pause as the both of them ate and drank in silence. "I'll phrase it better this time. Am I allowed to make a guess?"

"Sure," said False with a sigh. "Psychoanalyze the hell out of me."

"Well, it's not like the signs are hard to read," said Pix with a shrug. "An extroverted person usually doesn't stay in a cave for three weeks straight mining copper."

"I get the feeling you're talking from experience here," said False.

Pix smiled. "Good observation," he said.

"Can I ask a question of my own?" asked False.

"As you told me earlier, you've already done that several times," said Pix. "Go ahead."

"How'd you do it? How'd you avoid the end of the world?" asked False. "If everything goes to shit, you don't do it by hiding in a hole."

Pix froze a little, fork hovering over the plate. False waited. If they were going to do this here and now, may as well do it thoroughly. It took a few seconds for him to resume, but when he did, his voice had lost its bantering tone and became something lower, somehow angrier, a husky thing. "Well, I wasn't hiding in a hole."

False had always remembered Pix as a man with secrets, but ones that he wore lightly. He was always so confident, always in motion, the sort of guy you'd go to if everything went wrong because he'd have answers. This Pix needed the answers. He was a man on the run.

Aren't you too? a snide little voice in her brain asked.

Shut up, she responded.

"Where were you then?" she asked.

Pix didn't look up. "You know, I'm starting to sense a pattern here."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I think we're more alike than we think."

"Maybe in another world."

"Well, I'm from there, and I've seen this all play out before," Pix said now, sitting up and looking her straight in the eye. "Here's my hunch: you're bitter because you were abandoned. I'm bitter because I'm the one who left. Both of us were left behind, but for you that wasn't an actual choice you made."

"Oh," said False with a chuckle. "We're both running from our consequences, huh?"

"I wouldn't say consequences," said Pix. "I'd say our pasts."

"It's not like I have a past to run from," said False. She froze. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. Pix studied her from the other end of the table, and suddenly the scales were flipped and she was the one under the microscope.

Oh, False had a past alright. It stared at her in reflections. Her past was the force that kept her feet onto the floor. It wore her hair, it wore her shoes. It wore her face. Her skin.

Sometimes, False dreamed that she was alone.

"I get it now," said Pix, leaning back. "This world ended in ice, not fire."

"It's not ended yet," snapped False. "I'm still here. You're still here."

"Maybe so," said Pix with a shrug. "But either way, an era has passed. I show up here. You recognize me as another man, one who from what I've heard is basically everything I wish I could be. I wonder how he did it. And I recognize you as something I could have been if the roles were reversed."

"Congratulations, Sherlock," said False, finishing the last of her dinner and shoving aside her plate. "You solved the mystery. We're both messed up in complementary colors. You can file the case away neatly and go home now."

"But I can't," said Pix. "Neither of us can."

"Then why don't we just go our seperate ways and I finish my house and then die tragically in a wildfire or something and you go MIA while crossing the ocean?" asked False, at the end of her patience. "We're getting nowhere here."

"Well, I know where I'll go now at least," said Pix, taking a sip of his water.

"Humor me."

"Oh, I think I've told you too much already," said Pix, standing up. "I'll stop bothering you now. And just for the record, I don't think that you were left alone here intentionally. I don't think this universe's Pix would do that."

"Would you?" asked False.

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at her. "That's a loaded question."

"We've been firing shots at each other all evening, what's one more bullet?"

"Touché," muttered Pix. "The answer is no, I don't think I would. Maybe an hour ago. But not anymore."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," said False, standing up and headed for a bag she'd hung from a hook on the wall. "I'm going to bed."

"That looks like a travel bag, not bed."

"Well, I've got somewhere to go tomorrow," said False, tossing the bag over towards her dresser. "There's a Rift somewhere around here. You've convinced me that if I'm going to be forgotten, may as well be forgotten while being a pebble in their feet."

"Good luck, then, and good night," said Pix. False heard her door open. "I hope that finding your past turns out to be less painful than not having one."

"That's a really specific blessing," said False, turning around. "Well, since I guess I have to give you a blessing in return now, I hope you forgive yourself." Pix blinked, and False flashed him a shark-tooth grin. "I'm not stupid. If you wanna get anywhere where you're going, you have to stop shooting yourself in the foot every second step. Night."

"Night," said Pix, nodding as the door shut behind him.

False walked over to the wall, flicked off the lights, and went to bed without getting undressed.

She wouldn't let them leave her like this.

Not without a fight, anyways.

False had been mining for copper for... hours. Days? Time gets a little bit weird down in the deeps, and she remembered something that someone (a reflective surface on a clock face: still her face, but not an outfit she'd ever worn before) had told her once. Something an old friend had told them. It's wise to keep a stopwatch in the mines, he'd said, because if you don't you'll forget time existed at all pretty quick.

False hadn't brought a stopwatch.

She'd been mining copper for a while.

Several shulkers in her pockets and one extra hoisted onto her shoulder, she made her ascent with a small sigh and a slight wince. Her knees were NOT going to appreciate that later.

Her base was still right where she'd left it, every little trinket still in place and nothing touched as far as she could tell. A little clockwork copper raven lay sideways on her desk, innards splayed outwards and stomach open to the elements. Gears, springs, miniature pistons. Outside, the evening- morning? no, definitely evening sun shone low and heavy through her high windows. She checked her communicator, refreshed the chat. Just a lot of logging-out messages, the last one Pix from two weeks ago. All the ones before were even older than that.

False felt slight goosebumps raising on her biceps.

She hurriedly rubbed them back to warmth. They were probably just on vacation or something. It was fine. She stepped outside. The air was warm and sweet, high spring in the North, and she decided right then and there that she'd pull up a chair and just watch the sun set or something. Gods knew she needed the vitamin D.

Dragging a dusty folding chair outside (really, everything inside of her base was dusty, how long had she been down there??), False beat the dirt off one side, flipped it over, and did the same there, breaking spiderwebs with her bare hands and a wrinkle of the nose. Thankfully, the straps of fabric seemed intact and the joints moved smoothly, if not with a breath of resistance.

She set the chair down on the ground and sat down carefully on it, testing her weight, then leaned back and folded her hands over her stomach. The weather WAS nice, and she wondered why anyone would take a vacation when the world right here was just as picturesque.

False sat there a little while in perfect repose, body warmed by the waning sunlight, before suddenly snatching at her communicator next to her and reading the chat logs over again. Pixlriffs left the game. TheOrionSound left the game. GeminiTay left the game. MythicalSausage left the game. SmallishBeans left the game. Everyone else was listed there too, and before that there were a couple of Warden deaths. Currently, False was the only one online.

Of course, she didn't really have anywhere else to go. Other people had their worlds and their other servers and their own projects to attend to. False was just... here. Always had been, and she supposed she always would be. She couldn't really imagine herself anywhere else, anyways. Where would she go? A singleplayer world? No, that would drive her mad. MCC? Laughable. Hermitcraft? No, no, they'd know something was wrong. They'd give her questions she wouldn't be able to answer. False had seen the squints Gem had given her when she thought she wasn't looking, had seen how Pix had raised an eyebrow minutely when first raising her. False was smart enough to know that something was up. She was also smart enough to not press the matter.

Still, she did suppose it was a little strange that nobody had logged on in what, a fortnight? Even during the crossover, people still dropped in regularly to work on things quietly or get some trade deals on when the cameras were off. Even Oli had still dropped by once when he was supposedly on hiatus, and that had only lasted a few days.

Yeah. Okay. Maybe more than a little weird, but it was fine, False was like the queen of weird. Gods above, her secrets had secrets! She knew about as much about herself as she did her machines, which is to say, a lot but not everything. Not the full histories. If she read the stories told in the weathering of the copper she had crafted as her veneer, what would she read there?

Would her blood shine a bright verdigris as it was shed by the shining horrible truth?

Not the healthiest relationship to have with yourself and your history, probably, but False was also the queen of dealing the hands she was given. And the queen of this empty town, population her. Dealing with other probably empty by now towns.

Well damn, she couldn't quite ignore the fact that she'd been left behind now, could she?

With a sigh, False set down her communicator. She'd deal with that once she figured out how long she'd been down mining. Given that it was well into spring by now, judging by the trees, it'd been at least a month.

Wait, a month?

She must have made a mistake. There was no way that-

False's communicator beeped. She picked it up.

Pixlriffs joined the game.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Okay. Someone was here besides her, at least. And she was even on friendly terms with him! Well. Probably. They'd exchanged copper like, twice. False was pretty sure that counted.

<FalseSymmetry> hey <Pixlriffs> hello? <FalseSymmetry> dude where were you it's been two weeks <Pixlriffs> It's been two weeks? <FalseSymmetry> yeah nobody's logged on at all <FalseSymmetry> come to my base? <Pixlriffs> Where are you?

Again, those goosebumps. (Gods, they were getting annoying.) False frowned. It was a bit weird that Pix didn't remember where her base was, but then again he hadn't been over here in a while and he hadn't even been on the server since two weeks ago. She had to cut him some slack. With a shrug, False copied her coordinates and sent them into chat.

<Pixlriffs> wow that's a long way from where I am right now <FalseSymmetry> yeah lol <Pixlriffs> Okay, I'll be right over. Might be a minute though <FalseSymmetry> that's ok <FalseSymmetry> take your time

False put her communicator back down onto the ground besides her and waited, folding her arms again. The sun crept slowly down, eye-searing yellow fading to a more manageable red that stained the clouds purple and pinks and subtly ever-changing hues of grey. The sun dipped below the horizon. The stars came out. Pix was still not there.

False was considering asking if he was alright or something when she saw a human-shaped figure step into view in the glow of the torches she had set on her bridge. She sat up a little straighter in her chair and waved, getting up and walking forwards to meet him. "Hey," she said as Pix got closer into view. "It's been... a minute."

The face was Pixl's, but lined and worn. He looked like, ten years older. Instead of the button-down navy shirt and brown cargo pants he always wore, he was instead draped in loose, thin sand-colored robes that were bordered by a gradient reminiscent of the colors of copper. A brown shirt could be glimpsed beneath. His pants were grey and similarly loose, and instead of hiking boots he wore strapped leather sandals. False looked him up and down quickly. "Had a rough vacation?"

"Vacation?" he asked, sounding confused. His hair was down, and the grey streaks in it were more pronounced than False had noticed before. Beard too. What the hell had he been up to?

"Yeah," said False. "You've been gone for like, two weeks. You look like you aged ten years. I like the outfit, though. It's very," she waved her hand, "swoosh-y."

"Two weeks?" asked Pix, definitely sounding confused and now concerned. "I think it's been longer than two weeks."

"How long have you been out, then?" asked False.

"A month or two maybe? Maybe longer. I sort of lost track of the time, unfortunately."

"Oh, I feel that," said False, trying to ignore the knot that was tying itself oh so neatly in her stomach. "I've been mining for a while. Getting copper, y'know?" She thumbed backwards. "It takes a while."

"That it does," said Pix. His eyebrows furrowed, and he walked a little bit closer to False. "Do I know you?"

The knot pulled itself tight with a snap, and despite the warmth of the evening False was suddenly very cold. "Yeah," she said. "I- I've been trading you copper."

"I don't remember seeing you anywhere before this, though," said Pix now. "You're sure?"

False lied through her teeth. "I'm sure."

Pix stepped back and looked around, arms folded. "Okay, because I am 99% certain that I have never seen this place before in my life. Where- what's your name again? Where are we?"

"I'm False," she said, backing up a little. "This- this isn't funny anymore, Pix. Everyone's been gone for two weeks and they haven't come back yet. They've never done that before. I thought that you of all people would know what was going on-"

"False," Pix repeated, urgently now. Brown eyes met teal. "Where are we?"

"You're in Cogsmeade, and this is the Empires server," said False. "But you know that already. What are you getting at? Is this your idea of a prank?"

"It's not," said Pix. "This isn't Empires."

"What do you mean it isn't Empires? This is the server. You've been playing on it for a year and a half."

"This isn't the same place," said Pix, gesturing around him. "There's no Rivendell, no Mythlands, no Grimlands, none of that. This isn't the Empires I remember. I've never met you, and you've never met- well, not me me anyways. Something's up here."

False stood there silently for a little while, goosebumps returning to her arms. She got the feeling that they would be staying there for a while. The wind had turned cold, and somewhere behind her she could see that copper raven, still flayed, still unfinished. Time. She'd run out of time. She thought she'd had enough before the season ended- she'd run out of time.

"Do you want to go inside?" she asked.

"Sure."

[saturnsstufff]

The Empress (pt.IV)

Mmm. Blood for blood god, yes?

Warnings: mentions of abuse, poison, death, swearing

   The palace was a bit busier after the evening you announced your new employment. After the servants herd there would be a trip, they were mostly preparing for Techno’s, and Phil’s leave. Two days weren't much to you, but to Techno and Phil? They were busy days. Techno ended up stealing Phil from your side during those days, so instead you spent your time with Wilbur. 

   Wilbur was a brilliant child. For being twelve he already had a large understanding of how their kingdom worked. Not only that, but when questioned he could also tell you about other countries and nations. He didn't play up his intelligent, but he also didn't dismiss what he knew.

   Tomorrow was the day that Techno, Phil and you had planned to leave on. Phil did walk you to breakfast that morning, but Techno and Phil didn't waist time eating. They mostly hurried through, leaving little room for conversation, then left to Techno’s study. Leaving you and Wil alone for the day again. You didn't mind that though, yesterday you spent your time lingering over his shoulder well he did his studies. The studies, though sounding boring at first were actually pretty interesting. You had a education, however, the one you received was very basic. You were taught to read, write, and even shown basic math, but beyond that you weren't pressured to learn more. No one in your village was. This wasn't because your village viewed education less to survival. But mostly because your village was tiny, there were no great scholars. Most children were taught by there parents, like you, your mother taught you everything. Where Wilbur, at twelve was learning about different potion ingredients and there properties. You at the same age had just finished basic fractions. But that was ok, education wasn't something to compare, everyone learns differently and at different speeds.

   Well you maneuvered around the casual tables, bookshelves and sofas, he responded. “Oh! well, you see, Phil wants all of his kids to be respectful, especially to women” you nodded, ’most parents prefer that.’ you mused to yourself. The two of you walked through the library to a room in the back. This is where Wil did his studies. It was just a private room, mostly made so no one could disturb the individual reading inside. “Our mother, she was really kind- you would have liked her- and her most defiantly would have liked you” He was just loosely rambling off, but it was adorable, he had a bright smile. Well you listened, something told you, not many people sat and talked with him. “When Phil met our mother he always told us of how poor her home life was, she wasn't treated very nicely, you see.” Wil took the door to the study and opened it for you two. Both of you moseying inside, side by side. When you two found the sofa you sat down easy, mostly having to readjust after. Unlike you Wil half threw himself onto it with a little squeak of the cushion. “When Dad found out mother was carrying me, he quickly took her away from her home. Anytime he mentioned her parents you could have sworn he wanted to kill them. Dadza doesn't get mad, but when he does... it’s not exactly pleasant.” Wil had swallowed a bit thickly at that last comment. Letting it linger in the air.

   You walked with Wil towards the Library, the hall’s were a tad chillier due to the fact the sun wasn't out today. In its place was just grey clouds, offering more snow to the already maxed out ice cube you stood on. When you took the handle to open the door for Wil, he took it from your hand quickly. After grabbing it, he stumbled into profusely apologizing for his spur of the moment behavior.

“So sorry (y/n), it’s just, if Dadza caught me slacking on my manners... He wouldn't be too pleased.” You tilted your head slightly as he opened the door fully. Exposing the Ancient Book lined walls. The stale smell of paper, parchment, and the occasional ink hit you. The library was rather large, but then again, most things within this palace tended to be. The library did have a warmth to it, and a welcoming feeling. The type where if your not careful, you could get lost inside for hours at a time. In the corner rested a larger than normal fireplace, The attached Chimney ran to the celling, lined With thick Rocks and stones. The crackling and popping of the wood burning within was a very comforting white noise.

   “this might seem off, but, what manners?” they way you said it may have sounded wrong, but you meant it in the best way you could. Or more the less for him to expand on the manners he was talking about.

   “I'm not sure if I can ask, but, Techno looks older than you, did... He live with your mother when she was with her parents?” Wil shifted to face you a bit more. Putting his heel up on his knee. well he rested his elbow on the arm of the couch, he moved his head to rest in his hand. 

    “No, Techno was adopted. When dad was in the Nether he raided a lost fortress. from what he explained, there was just a toddler roaming around.” Your heart clenched slightly, you couldn't imagine leaving a toddler alone, none the less in a place like the nether. you have never been there, but the stories you’ve herd were enough to tell you the danger. “Since he’s a hybrid of a Piglin Brute and human, none of the other Piglins would touch him. So Dadza did, as Dadza does. he took him home.”

   You thought back on this a moment. Techno had a godlike amount of strength, not to mention how tall he was. Of course he was a Hybrid. You felt a bit stupid now for not picking it up. “Just, don't tell Techno I told you, he doesn't like his name being discussed behind his back” You nodded. Wilbur’s face grew into a smile. “This can be our secret” you nodded and smiled back.

   “our secret” The more you talked to Wil, you discovered he was a lot like Philza. The two had the most contagious smile you’d ever seen. The only difference you assumed was he had his mother's features. Phil had bright keen blue eyes, well Wilbur had deep beautiful brown eyes. Another difference was there facial structure. You two were quiet a moment before you spoke up. You had been curious of where their mother was, there were paintings of her. But she was no where around. The way Wil talked about her made you assume she had passed. “what happened to your mother?”

   Wilbur’s eyes saddened briefly before he- what you assumed- forced himself to contain. “Oh, well... Phil and Mom had a dinner one night with some other world leaders.” he paused a bit rubbing his neck. “It was supposed to be peaceful. but someone from the German Empire didn't want us to be allies. so he poisoned our mother’s food.” He started slowing down with the story as he went on. “Like you said with your father (y/n), you were too young to understand? That's how it was for me. I was only four. I didn't understand why Techno and Dad were so angry.” he wiped his eyes as they welled up, one eye let a tear fall. “They didn't keep me in the room long. As soon as mom started choking, they started yelling. One of our allies’, his wife, had taken me out of the room before it had escalated any further.”

   Your heart fell heavy, a pit forming in your stomach. you couldn't empathize with loosing a parent. especially at such a young age like that. You could easily tell Wil wasn't over his mothers death. The way he looked at the ground with such hurt, it genuinely pained you so see the happy boy like this. You moved yourself closer to his side and hugged him tightly, showing him the reassurance he needed. You didn't respond for a little bit. letting Wil express what emotions he had possibly bottled up. After a bit when you felt him pull back, you just kept your arm around his shoulder. You weren't his family. but you hoped that for what company you offered, it made him feel at least a bit better. “I'm sorry Wilbur…” was all you could muster. The atmosphere weighed heavier now. With the sadness of pressed memories lingering, the two of you didn't talk. instead you simply sat in silence.

   “So what’s France like?” you asked curiously, taking a bite of your mashed potatoes.

   By dinner that evening Wilbur and you had already promised each other that you wouldn't speak of what happened in the studies. He didn't want Techno on his back for opening up, or that he also cried a bit. You were ok with keeping it between you two, Wilbur had confided in you something very personal, the least you could do was respect his wishes.

   Dinner had gone by smoothly, the chatter between Wilbur and you had picked up quite a lot. You could tell this made Phil happy to see the two of you getting along. Especially since you now technically live with them. When you first arrived to the palace, dinner’s were kind of awkward, since only Phil and you really talked. But now it seemed that Techno was the only one that wouldn't partake in the conversations. He would put a word or two in. But mostly dinners were spent with Wil and you talking about whatever came to mind.

   Wil was hurrying to swallow to try and respond. “Oh! you’d love it there (y/n)!” Phil slightly chuckled at Wil. “Its really scenic!” Before Wil could ramble off about France and it’s perks, Phil had chimed in.

   “It is a beautiful place, but were not going to any specific places. were only going to the countryside's. We know that much” Wil and you cocked your head’s slightly. ‘what’s out in the country side?’ You mentally questioned, but Wil instead asked it aloud.

   “Not that the countryside isn't beautiful- why not stop by the towns?” Wil questioned, his brow furrowed. waving his fork between Techno and Phil for his answer.

   “The cities don't have what I need” Techno said plainly, at that Wilbur shot back with a remark.

   “mmn, like a girlfriend?” you couldn't help but laugh at the way Techno turned to face Wilbur. Since he still eats with his mask. you could only see his lips, to which Techno made a ‘heh?’ before he compiled his answer fully.

   “Keep it up I’ll take you to France and punt you out of my plane.” Phil laughed with you on that one. Although Techno was pretty stoic and monotone, over the last couple of days lately he’s been showing more of his ‘Brotherly love’ as Phil call’s it. you had a feeling that Techno and Phil were going to miss Wilbur during there trip. or, at least you would for sure. After Wilbur laughed a bit he got serious again.

   “But really, what are you looking for. there’s not many things in the countryside besides the occasional mansion or farm. Kind of boring if you ask me” Techno hummed in response. Appearing like he was aware of what was in the country already. Since Wil couldn't work a answer out of Techno he simply dropped the subject, viewing it no longer worth the push. Instead he started back on his steak, Phil picking up the conversation.

   “Those new clothes should be in your room tonight, (y/n)” you looked up and swallowed your mouthful. nodding before you answered.

“mhn! oh! right, thank you again for them. Are you sure my old pair wouldn't cut it? I’d hate to ruin a new pair of clothes on a side trip” Phil waved his hand in response, as if waving away your worry.

   “awh, I wouldn't worry to much on it. Besides, now that you work for us, you have to be official n’ shit” He grinned at you. “Besides, your clothes were nice for your village, but France and Russia have a bit different climates.” You nodded casually. The idea of visiting new places had you a bit giddy. Yes, you missed your home, but being with the royal family so far has been utterly pleasant.

   “do you have a certain time you would like to leave?” you questioned, your eyes dancing between Techno and Phil for your answer. Techno didn't look up from his food, expecting Phil to answer for him.

   “we’ll probably just end up sending a servant to wake you up. We don't have a specific time yet, but we know it will probably be early. Mostly so we can reach land on time. Techno has the map’s ready for tomorrow with the stops marked. fuel n’ stuff will probably draw us back time wise.” Phil poked at his food well he talked, moving a bit of the food to a nice size bite. “We don't have a designated time we have to return. But we also don't want to be gone from the palace long.” you tilted your head a bit, looking to Phil.

   “why don't you want to be gone long?” You assumed it was because they liked being in the comfort of their own home, but you also had a feeling it was something beyond that. Phil’s brow had came together in a bit of... frustration? 

   “we cant be gone long because the Governor's get antsy..." this was the first time you herd Phil's voice drop. It wasn't his casual light hearted tone, instead it was replaced with a deep, meaningful, yet precise tone. He knew what he wanted to say, and he knew exactly what he had to say. "We can't take Wilbur with us since he’s too young. It's also best to have someone to look over the palace in our absence."

   You set your fork down as you finished your plate. Mimicking how techno piled his plates. "Why do they get antsy?" You couldn't help your curiosity on this matter. ‘Did the Governor's not like them gone?’

   "Because they feel Wilbur is more fit to Rule. It's utter bullshit" Phil had a lot of pressed emotion on that topic. You could tell just from how he now handled and moved his fork. Usually he had a easy grip, loose moving it about his plate. But now his knuckles were a tad white, and his grip was much more secure. "Don't mistake my words, Wilbur could rule. He'd be a bloody brilliant king too. But Techno is my oldest son. The crown falls to him. Plain and simple. But They think, that because Techno isn't my blood, that it doesn't count." His words started becoming sharper and more hateful. He dropped his fork on his plate at this point out of anger. Even Techno who never moves his head much, Or talk for that matter, had moved his head to face Phil. Techno addressed his father.

   "Dadza..." you were a bit shocked, his tone wasn't as monotone. His voice showed his concern, or maybe his understanding. Phil only looked at his plate before he looked up with a breath.

   "I cant leave Wil because they pressure him. They pressure him into the thought of marriage with his best friend, into dethroning techno, last time the fucker's brought up killin’ tech and I" Phil leaned back in his chair a bit.

   Phil sighed again. Looking up at Wilbur with kind eyes, the hate from his previous thoughts wiped free. "I hate leaving him with that much pressure. He's only twelve".

   After the dinner everyone slowly retired to their rooms. Techno had stolen Phil again for some last minute run by plans, so in his stead Wilbur walked you to your room. You both didn't Talk long however, you both were aware that you would be up early the next day. Oh yeah, you were definitely up early. The sun hadn't rose yet and you were already being shaken awake by one of the maids. Telling you that Techno and Phil were patiently waiting. you hurried to change not wanting to leave them waiting any longer. 

   When you saw them in the hall you had just thrown your cloak and cape over your shoulders. The new attire Phil had made for you was just mostly more layers. This way if you got warm you could shed a few, or vise versa when you were cold.

   “I'm so sorry I kept you waiting-” you stopped mid sentence you couldn't believe what you saw. If anyone could have seen your face, they may have assumed you had witnessed a murder for the way your jaw hung open.

   There stood Techno in front of you, Phil by his side. But that's not what had your mouth open. Techno’s mask was long discarded, and by the gods was he good looking. Maybe not in the typical sense of beauty standards, but to you he was ethereal. He had scars, yes, but that only added to him. Maybe if he didn't have the scars he would have blown the beauty standard of Handsome, but speaking for yourself you prefer him with the scars. You definitely prefer the scars. There was a small scar over his lip. Then one larger one across his brow bone that dragged down to his cheek. From how the larger one appeared, you could only assume how long it took for it to heal. His eyes were delicate, but they danced ablaze. they were brown, but almost borderline red tinted. Without his mask you could see that he had a rather soft, natural appearance. He was young, younger than you assumed. He looked only about seventeen. The way he was dressed made him look like a casual, young gentleman you would have found on the street. you almost couldn't believe he was the feared Emperor. He must have noticed your lingering eyes, because his lips moved into the ever slightest bemused smirk. When you saw his expression you couldn't help the heat that flushed your cheeks. Worst of all is you could feel your heated cheeks, and that just made you redder from embarrassment. If this was how the trip was going to start, you were in for a long bumpy ride.

   “Hello, princess” was all he said. He was purposefully poking at you now. He just learned he had a big effect on you, and oh boy was he ready to torment you with it. You could only avert your eyes, you had nothing to say against that. You didn't even know where to begin with it all. it took you a moment to process. Phil still stood beside Techno, his hand rubbed at his mouth a bit to muffle the chuckle he had.

   “w...where’s your skull?... a-aren’t you traveling with it?” oh great, yeah your voice definitely, wasn't taking your side on trying to compose yourself. Techno hummed, he was really amused now.

   “Hm? Here I thought you would have preferred this... what a shame, I even shaved.” techno ran his large but delicate hand over his jaw and neck, the rings on his fingers stuck out against his skin. Phil laughed vocally now. The little shit was enjoying this. techno adjusted his stance and crossed his arms. He just held a bemused smirk, oh you so wished nothing more than to rub it off. You didn't care if he was a royal, if you thought you could take him, you would have.

   “Ok techno, that's enough, don't want her too red now. she might try and off ya’” Oh don't worry Phil you already thought about it. “don't worry about making us wait either kiddo, we had to get a few things ready anyway” you looked up at Phil as your cheeks finally started to return to normal.

   “What were you getting?” you inquired, your brows slightly furrowed.

   “This” Techno said, offering a sheath to you. You looked up to him and back down to it. It was a sword, not the one you made, but a different one. “We cant have you defenseless on your trip with us” You hesitated. you knew this was the wrong time to admit that you didn't know how to fight with a sword. You gently took it, parting the blade from its sheath to look it over. It was well made that's for sure, basic Iron, but still strong.

   “Your Imperial Majesty...” you were thankful for the sword but, again. you didn't know how to use it. you made them, but you were never taught on how to use one. Your mother forbid it, saying that you already took a man’s trade, there was no need for you to dirty yourself further down the path. “I... I cant...” Techno’s brow lifted in question. “I... d-don't know how to use it...” You felt shame take over you. Fully prepared for them to laugh at you. Instead Phil offered you a slightly surprised look. Techno only made a ‘Heh?’.

   “You don't know how to use a sword?” you could only shake your head, looking down slowly. Phil placed his hand on your shoulder reassuringly, moving his head down so he could face you. “Hey... Hey, your ok... Tell ya’ what. Well were out on the trip, we’ll show you ok? It’s still good to carry a sword, just incase things go side-ways. But I promise we’ll make sure you don't have to use it then, ok?” you nodded slowly.

   “O-ok, I'm still sorry...” Phil only shook his head, explaining you had nothing to be sorry for. He gently took the sword from you and put it back in it’s case. He told you to lift your arm’s, so that's what you did. He easily maneuvered the belt around your waist and secured the sword your hip. Almost like he would have done to his own kids. The weight of it would have to be something to get used to, but you were thankful that they were not mad or disappointed in you.

   The three of you walked to where all the planes were kept. this is where Phil offered you a choice. “Would you like to ride with Techno or I?” Oh, so you had to pick. You gave them a brief blank look. 

   “I figured I would be riding with you, Phil” You did assume you were just going to ride with him, but you also didnt want to be with techno if he was strickly in a teasing mood. Phil only smiled and nodded. 

   “Alright’ lets get going then” was all he said. Techno walked passed you and Phil. Making his way over to his plane, there was a heavier cloak waiting on the wing. Techno’s plane was different from the other ones, not physically. His had a crown on the side along with the signa, probably to shownit was the Rulers. He effortlessly threw the heavy cloak over his shoulder and stepped up on the wing. His arm reaching out to pull himself up. jumping into the cockpit easily.

   Phil handed you a similar cloak. “it’s colder right now due to the sun being down. you will definitely want this.” you nodded and took it with a ‘thank you’. well you put it on Phil had stepped up onto the wing. pulling his cloak on. He offered his hand down again like he did the last time you flew. His wings were spread out behind him, enjoying the freedom they had before they would be confined. when you took his hand he pulled you up effortlessly. letting you steady yourself before he lifted you up to the cockpit, assisting you in. when you were all situated the planes roared to life. Techno faced Phil and sent a nod. A wordless que. Phil sent a nod back before they both started moving together. Soon before you knew it, you were back in the air heading home.

@goldensunshineshit @snobunns @olyink @lolitsellieletsgobro @jackalopedoodles @angelic-scent @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @artsimatsu @justabalroginthenet @seme1e @fangirl570 @sweeetteaa @awlawdtheycoming @idkwhatusernametohave

[robininthelabyrinth]

Curse-breaker (Chapter 3/4)

- ao3 -

There were more guards than usual around the Unclean Realm, undoubtedly as a result of Wen Ruohan’s refusal to move from their gate, but that wasn’t a problem for them.

They knew all the ways in and out.

New ways, like the hole in the wall their little brother had teamed up with his best friend to carve out so that the two of them could leave little gifts and pass messages to them, and old ways, ancient ways, the ways of the dead that they’d learned from the still-lingering saber spirits that burned in rage and hate forever like an endless longevity candle.

Rage, and hated – but also love.

The saber spirits didn’t have to keep burning, keep fighting, but that was what their masters had wanted, and so they did. They fought against evil, time and time again, forever and always, and through their endless battle, in their hearts, their masters were never truly lost.

It was that simple.

It was that complicated.

It was time, they thought, to straighten things out. The saber spirits meant it as a gift, but the masters saw it as a burden; that wasn’t how it was meant to be at all – they just didn’t understand each other, steel and flesh speaking different tongues, meaning different things. The gaping chasm of understanding between life and not-life, which no one could bridge.

Well.

No one until them, anyway.

If a fish and a bird fell in love, where would they live?

On the shore, they thought. Right in the middle.

All they needed was someone to tell them that was an option.

It was time.

They passed like a formless spirit themselves through the many walls and guards in their path, heading to the sect leader’s study, as familiar to them as their own palms. Inside they found what was familiar, too: the heat-rage-pride pulse of Jiwei, resting in pride of place by her master’s side, and beside her was her master, their father, standing with his hands folded behind his back and looking out the window into the distance as if it would give him answers to questions that had eaten away at him his whole life.

They approached.

They were detected, of course.

“I already said that I didn’t want to be disturbed,” their father said, and although they had snuck close many times to hear him speaking, that beloved voice more familiar to them than their own, not daring to talk to him as they did to Huaisang who had always promised to keep their secret, there was still something different about hearing it so near, without walls between them.

They sighed happily.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said…Jiwei? What’s gotten you so excited –”

Their father turned.

His jaw dropped, eyes going wide and round as saucers, an absurd and silly look that suited him so much better than did the grim scowl and sad listlessness, interspersed with increasingly frequent bouts of uncontrollable rage, that he wore on his face more often than not these days.

What they had in mind would hurt, they knew, and equally they knew that they would not be able to act if they did not act fast – they were loathe to hurt people, much less people that they loved, and those that they loved would be equally unable to bear to see them hurt, yet both were necessary now, if they were to do what they had decided to do.

They did not allow themselves time to doubt.

They moved forward as quickly as a saber strike, sure and true, and their hands connected with their father’s chest and belly, heart and dantian both, with enough power to knock the breath out of him, taking advantage of his shock to strike when he would not even think of dodging.

In that moment of breathlessness, they latched on – latched on, and pulled.

What-are-you-doing-stop-that, Jiwei said, but even her ceaseless rage was blunted by the joy of seeing them once more.

You are hurting him.

I-am-not-I-am-refining-him-I-am-strengthening-him-as-he-strengthens-me-He-is-my-master-and-I-love-him.

You are hurting him, they insisted. Flesh is different. Flesh is brittle. Too much strength, and he will break.

Let me show you.

It hurt, of course, just as they’d expected. Not as much as when they’d shattered, though, and it was that – and perhaps only that – that allowed them to persist, using themselves as a cauldron, forcing their qi that was neither wholly spiritual nor resentful, neither fully alive or un-alive, through their father’s meridians, reshaping them as they went to be something capable of accepting the harsh, resentful, corrosive love of a saber spirit.

When they were done, their father stared at Jiwei, hearing her sing in his soul with an unprecedented clarity, feeling her love for him the way she meant for it to be felt, feeding his own love back to her in equal measure, giving everything of himself without holding back to the only thing on earth that he had ever loved without restraint.

His eyes were clear.

“A-Jue,” he whispered. “A-Jue…what is this?”

“A gift,” they said, their voice raspy with disuse. “Of many years making. I’m sorry that it took so long.”

Their father, unbreakable, burst into tears.

-

Later, when their father, his eyes still wet (though now from laughter rather than relief), told them about the ‘curse’, about his promise, about the rumors, and even about Wen Ruohan waiting for the chance to repent of his regrets, they thought about it for a while and said: “Let me see him.”

-

Wen Ruohan had done many things worthy of condemnation in his long life.

He had schemed and plotted, playing the hero and the villain both in their turn; he had fought in wars of such brutality that the current generation could not even begin to comprehend them, and he had also murdered in vile and underhanded ways, abandoning all integrity and righteousness, to ensure that such wars did not happen again. He had sought to strengthen himself by means both fair and foul, betrayed who he had to betray and stepped on who he had to step on; he had followed his ancestor’s path with his head held high until he had very nearly become a god.

He was not accustomed to regret.

Not accustomed did not mean immune: there were things he regretted, of course. The loss of his first family, the two sons and a daughter that he had failed so thoroughly that he still could not stand to hear the sound of their names, each one declared utterly taboo within the Nightless City – the wife he had married for power and then divorced in a fit of temper, driving her and her not-so-secret lover to the end of their rope in unspeakable desperation – the faithful servants he had sacrificed as pawns in his power plays and only afterwards realized how much he had relied upon them –

His brother.

His curse.

If by some miracle of fate he could choose to change a single thing in the ancient life that he had so far lived, it would unquestionably be the death of his brother.

Wen Ruohan had had quite a few brothers, in fact – his father, much like the usual style of leaders of the Wen sect, had fancied himself both empire-builder and emperor, and had had children accordingly, both his own and those he’d adopted, with all the headache-induing and often life-threatening dramatics associated with that – but to Wen Ruohan, there had only really ever been one that mattered.

Only one.

Wen Ruohan didn’t even remember any longer whether Wen Ruoyu had been his blood-related brother, sharing a father and maybe a mother, or if he’d been some child seized from another sect and given the Wen surname to help grow their power. It hadn’t mattered to him back then and it didn’t matter to him still, for all that he now prized his personal bloodline even above merit.

All that mattered was that Wen Ruohan had loved Wen Ruoyu more than he’d ever loved anything in his life, more than his sect, more than cultivation, more than power, and that Wen Ruoyu had died not knowing it. Had died cursing his name, spitting blood onto his face, fingers scrabbling at his neck in a futile attempt to choke him, wishing with his final breath that Wen Ruohan would never again know a single moment of peace.

Well, he hadn’t.

Ever the dutiful brother, he closed his eyes to nightmares, and woke to dreariness. He madly sought power enough to ensure that such a thing would never happen to him again, only for his obsessive quest to drive his few remaining loved ones into the grave; he had very nearly succeeded in becoming a god, and lost all interest in life in the process. The only joys remaining to him were his ever-growing power, his ever-expanding sect, and, sometimes, the blood and pain of other people, which he used as a reminder that he was not truly alone in this world.

And Lao Nie, of course.

Wen Ruohan had almost entirely succeeding in sealing off all of his emotions by the time Lao Nie showed up, smiling and carefree and reckless, half in love with the death he knew awaited him – showed up and battered down all of Wen Ruohan’s defenses. Wen Ruohan wished, now more than ever, that he had carried on in his attempts to make himself a true god, above all humanity, and not yielded to the siren call of friendship. Perhaps if he had been a god, he wouldn’t have been so hurt when Lao Nie barreled onwards with his life, leaving him behind not once but thrice – perhaps he wouldn’t have tried to kill him.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have nearly murdered the little boy that Lao Nie had on occasion shoved into his arms during a visit, no matter how many times Wen Ruohan reminded him that it was inappropriate – the little serious one who looked so bewildered by it all but who still called him Sect Leader Wen the way Wen Ruohan instructed rather than listening to his father’s not-quite-joking suggestions of ‘Uncle Wen’, the little crybaby that had all unknowingly once tricked Lan Qiren into a logical conundrum that had made the man’s mind splutter out like a machine falling all to bits while Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie had roared with laughter…the one that had been charming enough to make him change his mind and opt to keep little Wen Xu around instead of sending him out to be adopted into the branch families the way he had with the other children he’d refused to acknowledge, mourning as he still did his first family.

He hadn’t meant to hurt Nie Mingjue.

Not like that, anyway.

It’d taken some time for the regret to creep in – his initial bout of horror had been more shock and irritation at having hit the wrong target, the shame of making such an elementary error to hit a boy he hadn’t seen in years rather than the man standing right in front of him, and then he’d shrugged it off, thinking to himself that the loss of a son would be as good a way to punish Lao Nie as the loss of his life. It wasn’t until his spies in the Unclean Realm came back and described to him what he had wrought…

Nie Mingjue didn’t look anything like Wen Ruoyu, not really, but in Wen Ruohan’s dreams he wept tears of blood in just the same way, spitting up foam as his eyes rolled in his head, dying – dying – dead.

Not dead.

It wasn’t a curse, Wen Ruohan knew, but if there was something he could do – anything he could do – he would do it.

He had to.

“You have to let him go,” someone said, and Wen Ruohan looked up in surprise: he’d been waiting for half a day already and god or no god, his legs were numb with sitting.

He didn’t recognize the too-tall young man who stared down at him, one eyeball eerily colored red and steel grey – the young man’s clothing was non-descript and ill-fitting, mismatched as if he’d picked it off some laundry pile without thought of coordination. There was something of the Nie in his face, the breadth of his shoulders, but his features were finer and sharper, his waist more slender, his fingers lacking in the familiar calluses of the saber; he looked like he’d be a fierce war god when he’d grown into his body but that he hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

His golden core shone.

Wen Ruohan stared. His lust for power had long ago become an essential part of him, and in front of him was power, power at such a young age – if he could claim that cultivation for his own, maybe he could stop describing himself as nearly a god, could actually call down a heavenly tribulation and leap up to join the heavens in a single bound.

And then, maybe then, at last, he could have peace.

“You have to let him go,” the young man said a second time, and Wen Ruohan was distracted by wondering what he meant, not sure he understood and not entirely sure he cared. “That’s the only way. You have to let him go.”

He shifted forward, and something inside Wen Ruohan warned that he would strike.

It seemed ridiculous, though. Wen Ruohan, the finest living master of arrays, was not afraid of anything this young man might try to do – only a spiritual sword could pierce his armor, and even that, only one that took him utterly by surprise. No one would dare try to strike him.

Especially not this young man, who carried neither sword or saber.

Perhaps that was why Wen Ruohan never saw it coming – the young man’s hand moved in a jabbing motion, the way a sword would swing, and suddenly, impossibly, there was sword intent given physical form through spiritual energy, piecing through his defenses, slashing down at him and aiming right at his neck.

-

“Let me get this straight,” Lan Qiren said, rubbing his forehead. “Nie Mingjue reappeared after something like ten years out alone in the wild, and when he did he brought some sort of technique that just…fixed the Nie sect cultivation issue. The one that was killing you, and has been killing your ancestors for – generations.”

Lao Nie nodded.

“And then you allowed him to see Sect Leader Wen, who he attacked…in a way that happened to mimic some old tragedy that has apparently haunted him for years, thereby allowing him to resolve some long-held heart demon. And now Sect Leader Wen has retreated into seclusion in order to explore this moment of enlightenment further, and doesn’t intend to bother the rest of us for a while. Certainly not by continuing his schemes to take over the cultivation world.”

“That’s right,” Lao Nie said. “Though I don’t expect he’ll be in seclusion all that long; the Wen sect doesn’t practice –”

Lan Qiren held up a hand, indicating he wasn’t done and didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

Lao Nie obediently fell silent.

“And then,” and by now Lan Qiren was speaking through somewhat gritted teeth, “when Sect Leader Jin rushed over because he wanted to get in on what he perceived to be Wen Ruohan’s attempted takeover of the Qinghe Nie, your son attacked him, too – except in this case, he crippled him.”

“I did say anyone who trespassed would be killed on sight,” Lao Nie said, entirely unbothered. Because of course he wasn’t – why would anyone think that suddenly being freed of a lifetime’s death sentence would make him less reckless and shameless? If anything, his overwhelming joy had just made him even more arrogant and inclined to insist on getting his own way. “It’s been known for years, and no exceptions have ever been made, not even for sect leaders. Why should Jin Guangshan think himself different?”

“That’s a terrible excuse,” Lan Qiren scolded. “And besides the point.”

“What is the point?”

Lan Qiren opened his mouth, then stopped, thought it over, and sighed. “The point is, I suppose – are you going to the Jiang sect next?”

Lao Nie blinked. “The – Jiang sect? Why?”

“Because instead of the cultivation world breaking the ‘curse’ on your son, your son has apparently taken to breaking the curses of the cultivation world,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “And he’s already gotten four out of the five Great Sects, so why not complete the set?”

Lao Nie’s lips quirked. “Four? I can see the others: my Nie sect’s qi deviations, Wen Ruohan’s madness for power, the Jin sect’s terrible luck in getting that scheming old lecher selected as their next sect leader…but what did he do for the Lan sect?”

“It was in his name that you forced my brother out of seclusion all those years ago,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “And now I spend half of every year traveling wherever I wish, and the other half teaching; it is everything I would have wanted. Meanwhile, my brother has finally through his children learned what it means to care for others instead of rotting to death in a self-imposed grave built from ill-fated love…if that’s not curse-breaking, what is?”

[everdreamart]

Read my Thoughts

The journey through Aeor only gets more confusing as eye powers are thrown into the mix.

OR

An accidental telepathy fic where Caleb shares a bit too much to a certain drow.

Relationship: Caleb Widowgast/Essek Thelyss (Shadowgast)

Rating: Teen and Up

~~~~~

Things in Aeor are strange. Magic Especially. A teleport can send you miles away from target, and a spell gone wrong can make you bald! However, Aeor's atrocities were put on the backburner when Jester's weasel turned out to be her 'god' and the red eyes adorning the Empire Kid's bodies started to show power.

Darkvision was one thing that was quite startling to Caleb. He hadn't really noticed it with the constant flow of light emitting from Caduceus' staff and his own globules. It wasn't until Beauregard said something that it really occurred to him. Even more surprising was the telepathy. The ability to transcend one's thoughts into the mind of another. A mental link for shared knowledge. All sorts of possibilities flowed into Caleb's mind. How useful this could be in their upcoming battles with Lucien.

"Woahhhh Caleb I can literally HEAR your thoughts! Slow down a bit!" Jester marveled.

"OH Oh Beau! Can you read my thoughts??" Yasha exclaimed.

"Hey let's give it a try-" Beau smirked.

"Ok who do I love? Oh wait thats dumb.." Yasha mumbled. The rest of them started to laugh a bit.

Caleb shifted his gaze over to Essek. The drow's soft features focused on the commotion going on around him. A confused expression painting his face - no doubt from the sudden talking weasel - in a show of momentary openness. Throughout their travels in Aeor, Essek had slowly let the shadowhand persona slip away. Caleb liked this version much better. The way emotion displayed itself on Essek's face was new and nervous, but the man was truly trying to change. That alone caused something to swell in Caleb's heart.

Immediately, Essek's head snapped up and looked over at Caleb in surprise. Caleb looked away as soon as he turned his head. Did Essek hear him? He needs to get a better hold of this power. Fast. Swallowing hard, Caleb simply nodded, before turning his gaze back to their laughing friends.

-----

After a day of hard trekked travel, the Mighty Nein stumbled into the tower for a night of much needed rest. It was then that Caleb's mind started to wander. What exactly is transmitted through this telepathy? Feelings? Words? Images? The beginning pricks of worry started to crawl into his throat. Would he have to wrestle every one of his thoughts down so the others wouldn't be plagued by his memories? He glanced at the glaring red eye adorning his palm. Thick red lines seared into his skin flawlessly. Watching. Staring. Certainly these powers come with a price. And Caleb didn't know what that price was.

There's nothing he can do right now. Stay on task, Widowgast. Maybe something from the papers he picked up earlier will have more information about their enemy. With an idea for distraction in place, Caleb floats up to the library to begin opening the amber. He settles on a couch opposite from a crackling fireplace as he does so, the comforting warmth washing away the stress of the day.

Piles of books and papers fill the floor in front of him. Excitement and curiosity begin to tug at his mind. Caleb reaches out and grabs one of the dusty old tombs, tracing the foreign writing in awe. So much knowledge, packed in the papers around him. So much information to be learned and so little time.

"It's quite incredible, is it not?" A soft voice comes from behind him as Essek glides over to Caleb, staring at the collection of books.

"Ja. After our business is concluded, I would love to study more of Aeor's history and research."

"Well, we have a few moments now, do we not?" Essek smiled softly as he looked at Caleb.

And just like that, they were off. Reading through ancient texts, occasionally bouncing theories back and forth. The constant whirring of intellect trying to process the thoughts of mages from far beyond their time. It was invigorating.

However, from time to time, Caleb found it hard to keep his focus. His eyes constantly wandering back to the drow sat beside him, nose buried in a book. His thin white brows creased into a focused expression, eyes full of wonder and curiously, devouring the age old texts. The way his mouth would curl into a subtle smile when he found a particularly interesting section of text. Or how he would nibble at his lower lip when frustrated about something. He wondered if those lips would feel as good as he imagined. How soft and delicate.. Oh how glad Caleb is to have moments like these, just him and Essek.

At some point while Caleb was lost in his thoughts, Essek looked up. Violet eyes meeting blue ones.

"I uh.." Essek clears his throat. " I found a section that you might find to be interesting." He smiles and looks away.

Oh.

How much did he hear? How many of those thoughts slipped through in his tired state? Apparently enough for the subtle hints of purple creeping on the edges of Essek's ears to catch Caleb's attention.

"I think it's time for me to head to bed. I require more sleep than you do, after all," Caleb said as he stood up. It was awkward, for a moment. The silence was heavy, and he didn't dare steal a look at the drow beside him.

-----

Having your thoughts known to others feels like quite a violation of privacy. Caleb thought as he laid in his bed. I need to get a hang of this.

It took a while for him to get even close to falling asleep, for his mind was racing with thoughts.

He was on the edge of consciousness when he heard a small knock on his door. Surely all the nein are well into their sleep right now, so that means that the only person this could be is… a lump formed in Caleb's throat as he opened the door. Essek stood in front of him, a foreign expression adorned on his face.

"I hope I wasn't disrupting your rest. I would like to talk… if you don't mind?" He spoke softly as Caleb gestured him into the room.

It caught Caleb's attention immediately that the man wasn't floating, but walking instead. They sat on the couch as he responded, "Ah, I was having some trouble sleeping. You weren't interrupting anything. What is it you would like to discuss friend?"

"I ah.." He fidgeted with his fingers. The drow wasn't wearing his usual mantle, but instead the more comfortable robes that were provided to him from the tower. Caleb let his eyes momentarily linger on the way the clothing frames Essek's small figure. The way the deep blues and purples frame his gorgeous dark skin. Caleb promptly tries very hard to stuff these thoughts down.

"I took notice of the recent… developments of the eyes on beauregard's and your bodies. It… concerns me. The acquisition of such powers surely means that something was taken in exchange, and I am unsure of what that was." Essek says with worry laced in his voice. His eyes rise to meet Caleb's.

"..ja. I too am a bit uneasy about the current situation. Though it just makes our goal that much more important, does it not?" He replied, flashing a faint reassuring smile.

"I guess it does." The other wizard's gaze falls to his lap.

'That's not really what you came here to talk about. Is it?' Slips from Caleb's mind before he can even think to stop it.

The drow visibly flinches in surprise, then sighs slightly. "There was something else on my mind, yes."

Caleb slowly, ever so slowly, reaches his hand over to touch Essek's. "I'm here if something is wrong."

He is very aware of what Essek was referring to. However, he doesn't know what is going through the other man's brain, as thin smooth fingers meet his calloused ones halfway. A slight smile plays at the corners of Essek's mouth, and Caleb once again feels his focus begin to slip. He focuses on the feeling of Essek's hand in his. Soft skin, clearly not used to the harsher weather of the frozen wasteland as of late, his fingers only rough in the areas where one would hold a quill.

Strands of silver-white hair hover on his forehead, slightly covering vibrant violet eyes. Oh it is a sight to behold. Dark skin growing impersivibly darker. How he works at his bottom lip nervously. Caleb finds himself fighting back the desperate want to feel this man against him. To hold him close and study his features on a much more intimate level. Essek's ear twitches.

"I ah… I thank you for your.. Compliments..?" He stutters out as his face flushes an even darker shade of purple.

Something inside of Caleb breaks, and he finds it becoming increasingly harder to hold back the growing need to bring the wizard close.

"I apologize for not being able to return such… appraisal," the drow mumbles out, looking anywhere but Caleb's eyes. His other hand raises up Caleb's arm, settling on the crook of his neck. "I hope I can live up to your expectations, Widowgast." He smiles nervously.

Caleb's mind goes blank. Soft lips brush his own and his restraint vanishes. They crash together in feverish movements, a warm pressure on his lips that grounds him in the moment. It's so much better than he could've ever imagined. The sensation of Essek's mouth on his is something he wants to savor forever. He wants to memorize every movement and feeling of the man pushing against him, as if this was a rare slip-up and it would never happen again. Maybe he was dreaming after all, but the feeling of Essek starting to nibble at his lower lip quickly reassures him that this is very much real.

Something sharp catches Caleb's lip, and he recoils a bit in surprise. Essek immediately pulls back, a flash of worry crossing his face.

"Fangs." Caleb mutters out, breathless. "I was not aware you had fangs."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" he gets cut off by Caleb leaning in once more, capturing his mouth hungerly. His fingers lace through Essek's hair as he pushes onto him, desperate to be closer. More. He wants more.

Apparently Essek heard him, as the drow parts his mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Caleb runs his tongue over the sharpened points of Essek's fangs, feeling a shiver as he does so. They merge together, desperate to taste each other. To explore every inch. It's perfect. Absolutely perfect. He wants this moment to last forever.

They pull away after what feels like hours, but still isn't long enough. Essek's breath dances on Caleb's lips, mere inches away. Caleb smiles and presses another quick kiss to Essek's mouth.

"I think you far surpassed my expectations, Thelyss."

[lavellander]

hello im feeling extra “touch the stove”-y today so. i was looking for any dialogue where solas just straight up lies and (of what i could find online/transcribed, obv) i didnt find anything that was 100% untrue. he’ll completely avoid the question, change the subject, give part of the truth, etc etc etc, but nothing was just Entirely A Lie

what really gets me is that there’s a handful of convos where someone infers something from what solas says, and he will even point out that he didn’t directly say that. like, he tells people how to see through his shit, lmao

here is an embarrassingly long ass list of examples, all sorted by what kind of not-lying he’s doing lol, just bc i am unhinged<3

*note that some of these are cut from longer bits of dialogue or have been split up from one conversation into different categories*

literally just Not Answering The Question lol

Dorian: How much “will” do they have? They’re amorphous constructs of the Fade. Solas: Hmm.

Dorian: Solas, have I offended you? Solas: If you have, why would it concern you?

Dorian: Solas, what is this whole look of yours about? Solas: I’m sorry? Dorian: No, that outfit is sorry. What are you supposed to be, some kind of woodsman? Dorian: Is it a Dalish thing? Don’t you dislike the Dalish? Or is it some kind of statement? Solas: No.

Dorian: Let me get this straight, Solas. Dorian: You’re an apostate – neither Dalish nor city elf – who lived alone in the woods studying spirits. Solas: Is that a problem for you?

Solas: [has a whole tactical moment about the red jennies lmao] Sera: Where d’you get all this, then? Solas: Do you wish to be unnerved by another tale of my explorations of the Fade? Or do you wish to learn something?

Vivienne: You must be pleased with what was revealed at the Temple of Mythal, Solas. Solas: Why should those ruins please me, Enchanter?

changing the subject before he backs himself into a corner

Gatt: I don’t see any tattoos, but you’re carrying a staff. Are you from a Chantry Circle? Solas: No. And I would prefer not to discuss it.

Solas: I find the fall of the dwarven lands confusing. Varric: What’s so confusing about endless darkspawn? Solas: A great deal, although that is a different matter.

giving the truth, but not the whole truth

Blackwall: Skyhold. How did you find it? Solas: I looked. Blackwall: Now you sound like Cole. You looked? Solas: This world is full of wonders for those who seek them.

Blackwall: You spoke of seeing death and destruction. Did you fight in a war? Solas: There are struggles across Thedas at any given time. I doubt you would have heard of it. Blackwall: An elven skirmish? Solas: In a manner of speaking, yes.

Cassandra: Solas, have you always lived alone? Out in the wilderness, as an apostate? Solas: For the most part.

Cassandra: Have you ever encountered templars before? Solas: Only at a distance. I am an apostate, after all. Cassandra: And they never caught you even once? Solas: I am a very careful apostate.

Dorian: We found elves, living ancient elves, at the Temple of Mythal. Does that bother you, Solas? If Inquisitor allied with the Sentinels: Solas: I am pleased we were not forced to kill them, if that’s what you mean.

Iron Bull: You’ve got an odd style, Solas. Your spells are a bit different from the Circle mages or the Vints. Solas: That comes from being self-taught. Solas: I discovered most of my magic on my own, or learned it from my journeys in the Fade.

Vivienne: So, an apostate? Solas: That is correct, Enchanter. I did not train in your Circle.

Solas: You are a man who made a choice... possibly the first of your life. Iron Bull: I’ve always liked fighting. What if I turn savage, like the other Tal-Vashoth? Solas: You have the Inquisition, you have the Inquisitor... and you have me.

from cutscene at beginning Inquisitor: [mentions the anchor closing a rift] Solas: Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake – and it seems I was correct.

from cutscene at beginning Solas: [to a Dalish Inq] You are Dalish, but clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here? Inquisitor: What do you know of the Dalish? Solas: I have wandered many roads in my time, and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion. Inquisitor: [Crossed paths? dialogue choice] Solas: I mean that I offered to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.

from “I’d like to know more about you” convo in Haven Inquisitor: What made you start studying the Fade? Solas: I grew up in a village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.

actually telling the truth but no one picks up on the gravity of it

Solas: [...] I believe the elven gods existed, as did the old gods of Tevinter. But I do not think any of them were gods, unless you expand the definition of the word to the point of absurdity. I appreciate the idea of your Maker, a god that does not need to prove his power. I wish more such gods felt the same. Cassandra: You have seen much sadness in your journeys, Solas. Following the Maker might offer some hope. Solas: I have people, Seeker. The greatest triumphs and tragedies this world has known can all be traced to people.

Cole: No, inside. I don’t hear your hurt as much. Your song is softer, subtler, not silent but still. Solas: How small the pain of one man seems when weighted against the endless depths of memory, of feeling, of existence. That ocean carries everyone. And those of us who learn to see its currents move through life with their fewer ripples.

Cole: You didn’t do it to be right. You did it to save them. Inquisitor: Solas, what is Cole talking about? Solas: A mistake. One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything.

Solas: Empires rise and fall. Arlathan was no more “innocent” than your own Tevinter in its time. Solas: Your nostalgia for the ancient elves, however romanticized, is pointless.

Solas: Our people used to be here. Sera: Pfft, you say that everywhere. Solas: It is more true than you want to believe.

Vivienne: You must be pleased, apostate. With the Templars dissolved, your rebels will be most difficult to pacify. Solas: My rebels? Am I an agent for their cause, whispering poison into the Inquisition’s ears? Solas: How comforting. Vivienne: You enjoy seeing yourself as a villain? Solas: No more than any other clever man who wonders what he could do if pushed.

Vivienne: [about the Temple of Mythal] Now you know the elves were once a mighty nation. Solas: I always knew, Enchanter. The Temple of Mythal is just another reminder of what was lost.

(in the Emerald Graves): These forests have changed much since I was last here.

during the Fade!Haven cutscene Solas: It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture... and right then, I felt the whole world change. Inquisitor: [romance option] “Felt the whole world change?” Solas: A figure of speech. Inquisitor: I’m aware of the metaphor. I’m more interested in felt. Solas: You change... everything.

pointing out that people assume he means things he did not directly say

Cole: There is pain though, still within you. Solas: And I never said there was not.

Solas: You may well become fully human, after all. I never thought to see it. Cole: When did you see it before? Solas: I did not say that I had.

Iron Bull: We’ve got the alliance with my people. Given how much you love the Qun, I figured... Solas: I might scold you? Berate you for your decisions? Iron Bull: Hey. The Chargers died as heroes for the good of the mission. Solas: I never said otherwise.

Sera: Don’t you start. Solas: I’m reasonably certain I said nothing.

Vivienne: [talking shit about grey warden mages] Solas: I never claimed mages should be above the law, Enchanter. Vivienne: No, darling. You merely implied it, while offering no viable suggestions for improvement.

after infamous “side benefits” dialogue Warrior Inquisitor: You find my muscles enjoyable? Solas: I meant that you enjoyed having them, presumably. Warrior Inquisitor: Ah. Solas: But yes... since you asked.

diminishing things he does actually know by saying he he “believes” or “thinks,” or that things were vaguely “said” or “told”

Solas: I say what I believe to be true, even if it gives offense to those who prefer the lie.

Dorian: That orb Corypheus carries... are you certain it’s of elven origin, Solas? Solas: I believe so. Why do you ask?

Solas: It is said that we lived at a pace that sustained us for... ages.

making it sound like he’s talking about something/someone else, but it’s just him lmao

Cole: Do you know a lot about wolves? Solas: I know that they are intelligent, practical creatures that small-minded fools think of as terrible beasts.

Solas: No man can kill so many people without breaking inside. To survive... those you fight must become monsters. Iron Bull: The ones that kill innocent people, yeah. The rest... I don’t know. Solas: The mind does marvelous things to protect itself.

during In Hushed Whispers Inquisitor: I’m glad you understood what he just said because I’m not sure I did. Solas: You would think such understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong.

misc

this one i wanted to include because it’s the only circumstance (that i came across) where someone directly asks solas to lie and he literally says he can’t

during the fucking crestwood breakup scene Inquisitor: [angry option] Tell me you don’t care. Solas: I can’t do that. Inquisitor: Tell me I was some casual dalliance so I can call you a cold-hearted son of a bitch and move on! Solas: I’m sorry.

*also note that most of these are banter transcriptions from the wiki; some are cutscene / other dialogue posted by either @/daitranscripts or u/karinini on reddit; it’s not all his cutscenes obv, but I’m not about to look up every single one individually sdlkfj*

[qqueenofhades]

Some additional points about that grave find in Finland that you may or may not find interesting. And that may or may not be dated, because I studied history 20 years ago. That said, I'm not sure if 1000 years ago is firmly middle-ages in this context? At least back in my uni days, they told us that here middle ages got going slowly during 1100's and 1200's when Sweden started converting the population to Christianity and the prehistorical era gradually ended. Maybe they teach differently now.

More about the grave. I don't know why The Guardian would talk about Vikings in this context at all, because the erstwhile population of current day Finland is not considered to have been Vikings, afaik. They were similarly warlike, and the graves from that era have a lot of weapons, and they certainly encountered Vikings, but they never participated in the raiding, and isn't that what makes Vikings Vikings? Their language and religion was also different. But anyway. I don't mean to correct you because the larger point stands. When I saw the headline in a Finnish news paper about that grave and traditional gender roles my first thought was, well, maybe the gender roles hadn't become traditional then yet. Just some additional context, which could be illuminating or could be totally dated.

I did the stupid thing and sent you asks about the Suontaka burial before reading the Cambridge article about it: I'm reading it now, and my comments seem fairly useless. Feel free to ignore with extreme prejudice. We're in agreement on the guardian article.

Aha, well, we all make mistakes from time to time, so no worries! However, since you do touch on a few points that I would like to discuss, I'm going to go ahead and answer, whether for you or anyone else who might find it useful. (It's the teacher in me, I'm afraid.)

First, I have to say that I had a definite "eeegh" moment at the idea that the eleventh/twelfth century isn't "medieval" in Finland just because it (at least prior to the Baltic/Northern crusades, if we're considering them to begin with the Wendish Crusade in 1147) wasn't yet fully Christianized. Scholars pretty universally accept "medieval history" as referring to the time period between 500--1500 CE (the fall of the Western Roman Empire to the Renaissance). These, of course, are horribly Eurocentric frames of reference, but there you have it. Any event or culture taking place within that span of dates, no matter where in the world it is or what its socio-political circumstances may be, is medieval. We have to call out the pernicious equivalence of "medieval" with "Western Christian European," since that seems to be the underlying assumption. This is also what makes people mistakenly think that the medieval world (which, y'know, was just as big as it is now) is exclusively about white Christian Europe, and that no other global regions have a medieval history. Either way, the eleventh/twelfth century is actually closer to the end of the medieval era than it is to the start. I'm certainly not suggesting that you were consciously implying this; I have no trouble believing that that is indeed how they taught it twenty years ago. But yeah, the idea that still-largely-pagan eleventh-century Finland couldn't be "medieval" until it's Christian is definitely not the case as understood now.

The idea that anywhere in eleventh-century Europe is still "prehistorical" in any sense of the word is likewise a little baffling, tbh. Once more, it associates "history" only with "Christianity," and that would get quite a bit of pushback if included in a paper on medieval studies today. That is what also annoys me deeply when I see people describing the pre-Columbian Americas as "prehistoric" (read: pre-white-people-historic). If the chief marker of "history" is "written history," sure, there is a very narrow pedagogical argument to be made that these societies don't have narratives or chronicles in the standard historiographical sense. But also, uh, European colonialism and conquest destroyed vast swathes of records that we have never been able to read, understand, or even access, because they're just not there anymore. There is ample evidence that the ancient (and I do mean ANCIENT, up to thousands of years BCE) and early-to-late-medieval Mesoamerican societies had complex systems of writing, astronomy, calendar-keeping, and other history-recording practices, right up until 1492. There are something like four (FOUR) pre-Columbian Mayan scrolls still in existence, out of probably thousands and thousands, because the Spanish destroyed the rest. So "prehistoric," unless you're literally referring to the Stone Age, is never a politically neutral word or a word to use uncritically...

...and speaking of the Stone Age, we actually have histories for that too! Or rather (iirc) the Ice Age, because for example, Aboriginal Australians transmit their history orally and require each new generation to memorize it, word for word, exactly as taught to them. Some of these histories stretch back over ten thousand years, which means that we actually have first-person accounts of life during the end of the Ice Age, and scientists recently discovered that these traditional narratives accurately reflected the archaeological and geological record of Australia during the time period in question. (Indigenous people know what they're talking about and should be listened to, example number 85,000.) Of course, the Western-white-supremacist model of historiography calls these just "legends" or "myths" or "folktales" rather than history, because I guess not writing it down in a chronicle as a monk in a European Christian monastery in the year 1015 or whatever doesn't qualify as history for some people. (I don't have strong opinions about this or anything. Welp.)

I likewise don't know why the Guardian article brought up the Vikings, aside from the fact that they were quoting someone who explicitly used the Vikings in a hypothetical scenario about "traditional gender roles." This person expressed surprise that an intersex person living in a medieval Scandinavian society could rise to a high social role, by citing the widespread belief that "Vikings" were all dedicated to being very manly at all times and nobody with feminine qualities/feminine-coded social power could rule over them. I don't know if this was just a bad phrasing (plus, it obviously overlooks the often-egalitarian nature of medieval Scandinavian societies and plays into the favored white supremacist stereotype of the Vikings as some Master Aryan Race Where Men Were Men, etc) or what, but yeah, it's wrong across the board. Viking is the name of an occupation, not an ethnicity. It comes from the word wicing, meaning "seafarer" or "sea raider," and referred only to those guys who went out on their longships and stole a lot of stuff from their neighbors, most notably in the eighth to eleventh centuries. Their families back at home were part of the exact same society and benefited from those raids, but strictly speaking, they weren't vikings. We use the word "Viking" to describe any member of a medieval Scandinavian society, but it's similar to describing everyone living in the eighteenth-century Caribbean, no matter who they were or their social status or ethnic background, as "pirates," which is obviously inaccurate.

As you correctly point out, the Finns aren't considered quite the same as the Norwegians, Danes, and Swedes (as anyone can tell from looking at their written language; N/D/S are mutually intelligible and derive from the same linguistic family, while Finnish is COMPLETELY different and comes from an altogether separate branch of the tree) and therefore it's even more baffling that the person quoted in the Guardian article would cite them as an example of a "Viking" society. Likewise as you note, the whole phrase "traditional gender roles" is intensely problematic in most contexts, and especially here. It assumes that modern Western ideals of sex and gender have been static and unchanging throughout history, and that means that we tend to read our own (biased) assumptions onto the historical record and then get surprised when, shock of shock, they don't fit. The burial at Suontaka seems to have been of a biologically intersex person (i.e. someone with Klinefelter syndrome), but this is also the case when it comes to people assigned the usual male or female at birth, without any complicating genetic conditions. I'm working on a book review for an entire edited volume that discusses the intense gender-fluidity and proto-transgenderism in some medieval saints' lives, and how obviously the fact that they have been held up as a holy example, while explicitly subverting the so-called Traditional Gender Roles of the Middle Ages, means that it was (and is) a lot more complicated than shallow stereotypes and Bad Medievalism would have it.

Anyway, this is long enough (especially considering that you graciously offered me the chance to ignore it) so I think we'll stop here for now. But yes, there you have it. :)

[rosheendubh]

WIP...art-manipulation as visual inspiration for The Elegy of Dead Kingdoms...(crossover of StarWars/revamped Thrawn trilogy, FireFly/Serenity, and the Keltiad...also, spoof SpaceOpera-RockOpera featuring anyone from David Bowie, to LED Zepplin, NewOrder, U2, Ah-Ha...etc)...

~Background

~ At the impetus of River Tam, and the Operative, the Serenity’s renegade crew defies transit laws prohibiting unauthorized access to the wormhole connecting Terran space with the quadrant of the Republic Alliance and the Galactic Empire. Having only a fragmented record mentioning a lone survivor from a planetary massacre, the crew track rumors of a psionically gifted orphan said to have come from the Terran Fringe system of New Celtica, possessing the ability of manipulating the molecular structure of organic matter. An exile once in the service of Palpatine, whose skill of biokinesis Thrawn covets to stabilize the unpredictable violence of his cloned hybrids. A woman with adversaries on both sides of the wormhole, winning a Jedi to her cause, and determined to discover the key to a secret kept hidden for a thousand years. A buried legend of Old Terra, Earth That Was, that may be the last defense between the ancient darkness wakened by Thrawn‘s pursuit of absolute dominion, and the destruction of all life throughout the galaxy...(queue *cinematic drama music*)...

Somewhere between the battle of the Dark Force fleet, and Wayland, MonMontha offers a last ditch effort at negotiation with Thrawn. Imperial forces victorious in recent campaigns, have pushed back the RepublicAlliance to their InnerPlanetary systems. Rogue genetic scientists from the Terran quadrant, refusing to abandon their research after the PAX Hydrochlorate failure on Miranda, found a ready market amid trans-conduit Imperial war-profiteers, for their newest discovery. An archaic protogenome derived from dark-matter structures, endowing hybridized Reaver clones with real-time tissue regenerative capacity. These clones now render Thrawn’s army nearly indestructible. The scene above is merely my toying with a concept of the ethereal, and formidable River Tam crossing paths with the illustrious brilliance embodied in the GrandAdmiral Thrawn...

~scene~

On Coruscant, during Monmontha’s attempt at negotiating a peace, Rhyanon ferch Garowen (alluded to above) blatantly rejects Thrawn‘s coercive effort at bringing her to his side during a dinner banquet. B/c of this act of arrogance, Thrawn vows no mercy in the progression of his campaign, conquering and converting sector upon sector into a dark matter/anti-matter morass which becomes dubbed The Dimensional Rift, despite the valiant efforts of the Republic Alliance squadrons, directed by LukeSkywalker, and allies, to fend off the onslaught of Thrawn’s Dreadnaught fleet.

Before all that though, with the evening following the dinner still at hand, Thrawn abides by the Old Republic etiquette of host and guest, honoring civil diplomacy amongst enemies. A requisite social diversion-music or a dance-ensuing in the Palace reception hall holds no interest to him in Rhyanon’s absence. Preferring solitude, he meanders out to a balcony overlooking Coruscant’s expanse of lights, twinkling ladders of motion, reaching up to the lower atmosphere. And here, she follows after him minutes later, floating between shadows, a specter of innocence and dangerous beauty.

She pauses beneath a statue of some nameless goddess, a figure of Victory or Life, a pretension of lesser cultures. Weaker nations seeking hope in empty icons. The girl, young woman really, by the standards of human chronology, offers an entirely different contemplation.

From the sofa where he’s seated, viewing her from across the fountain, Thrawn appreciates the lithe symmetry of her form, a subtle disguise of strength and grace. Dangerous beauty. “You’re very like her, River Tam. A work of art, a living masterpiece,” he comments.

For as young as she is, not more than 20 years surely, she carries herself with a remarkable serenity. Stepping lightly around the other sofa, she leans her hip against the cushioned neck rest. Barely flickering an eyelid, she focuses luminous dark eyes on him, shining through the mottled patterns of light scattered between them.

Her voice resembles her figure, light and flowing. “A failed experiment, you mean, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” Flawlessly, she speaks his name, though he knows they weren’t introduced at any point previous to this moment. ”I was supposed to be like them—the researchers were trying to make me like them. One of your chimeric hybrids.”

“Ah, the one who got away,“ he muses. Something at that stirs a flicker in her dark gaze. “Yes, little Albatross, I read the classified reports of your Core Parliament. About your brother, the escape. An elegant devising. And a lesson as to the deficiencies of private-contract security.“

Tension firms a line between her brows, hardens her expression as she glances away from him for a moment. “It wouldn’t have mattered.“

His derision comes out as a short, barking laugh. “Why? Because your escape resulted more from the incompetence of poorly trained guards than the alleged skill of your brigand crew mates?

Her attention swings back to him, conviction firm in her words. “No. Because my brother watches out for me. He protects me. And he loves me.”

Thrawn says nothing, stoic against her emotion, such a human flaw. Rubbing his thumb and middle finger together, of the hand draped eloquently off the arm-wrest, he continues sizing up this most intriguing amalgam of softness and mettle.

”Love is a weakness,” satisfaction grim in his tone, picking at a piece of this puzzle embodied by River Tam. Toying with it, testing how she’ll react. “It causes distraction from the warrior’s path. Makes them vulnerable to fear. And you, little Albatross, were foremost, molded as a weapon. A living masterpiece of perfection.”

Her lids slant, head tipped to the side slightly. “I dream about them still. The other test subjects. The Reavers. The dreams used to frighten me. They were worse when the scientists would be administering some new cocktail. They’re not as bad as they used to be, since Miranda. But their voices—I...hear them-“a frown ghosting over her features”-though I’ve learned to hush them.”

”I think you hear a lot more than that, River Tam.”

Challenge broods in a strange magnetism between them. ”So do you,” she says mildly, sending a wary shiver over his skin. How she knows about inoculating himself with the protogenome he can’t begin—

-of course he can. She’s a mind-reader, a telepath. What can’t she pick out of the whirl of thought composing humanoid psyches if she’s so determined?

His awareness smolders like embers in a breeze, open to the Shadow’s primordial sequences merged into his own cells. Enhancing perception, layers of reality peeled back when he channels this infernal heat coursing through his blood. Vision, smell, sound, his mind branching like light off a faceted diamond, reflecting images in a 1000 different plains. And Thrawn, glorying in the draught of fractured darkness.

River’s eyes glint in guarded scrutiny, attuned, perhaps to the whisper of power subsumed by Thrawn’s cultivated urbanity. Wandering over to where he’s seated, she lowers herself next to him on the couch. Her mind brushes against his like leaves floating upon a watery surface, remaining on the periphery without venturing into the depths.

“Chiis physiology-Stamina, strength, resilience against extremes of physical exposure. Superior reflexes and intellect inherent to your species, allowing adaptive advantages over the millennia. A robust psychology keeping you from succumbing to the deterioration of sensory assimilation, the way your clones eventually will. A perfect medium for channeling the Shadow.”

Thrawn wonders where she’s going with her exposition. She bears the full weight of his scorching gaze with nary a flinch. The fey-like curiosity alive across her youthful grace causes a rare unease, unused to be so unabashedly studied. He holds himself still, tensing at the light pressure of her hand taking his out of his lap, wrapping delicate fingers over a wrist corded by muscle.

”Everyone has a weakness,” she says. “Even you.”

Anger snarls beneath the surface of his poise, a broiling red froth that must have blazed up in his gaze. ”Whatever you think you see child, you take liberties of interpretation,” speaking in cold, controlled wrath before which she pales, breathing deep to collect herself. The pressure of her touch on his wrist, though, remains steady.

Her hand, slender fingers resting atop his own, no suggestion of anything other than gentleness. His own hand, larger, stronger, a grip that could crack her bones with minimal exertion. Strangle the air from her lungs, twist her fragile neck like silken twine. Tangling the rich brown waves of her hair in his grasp, forcing her head back till her spine might snap, plundering her mouth as he would plunder her body. Raze her mind till she was left a weeping pile of bruised limbs and torn clothes, cowering on the chill marble floor, her thighs bleeding like the rags of her mind.

Unperturbed, she shares every image coalesced in his thoughts. Each portrait of violence fading into the recess of darkness where the Shadow brews and twists like smoke above the infernal hells. As well, he’s viewed the record of her encounter with the Reavers after Miranda. Like Rhyanon, she would fight him with a skill capable of delaying the ultimate conquest. This wisp of a child, scarcely into womanhood, moving like sand and water, a song of death captured in every leap and twist. Every dive and slash as she wound a choreography of slaughter against an entire pack of beastial invaders. The outcome inevitably in his favor, if for no other reason than the greater strength of his sheer physicality would overwhelm, exhaust her eventually, compared to human anatomic inadequacy.

“A matter of minutes, to take you. An act of utility, really--to break you. Make you beg for a mercy that would never come.“

Her eyebrow crooks up, scolding or skepticism. “But you wouldn’t do that, any of those things.”

Her patient humoring isn’t what he anticipated. ”What makes you think so?” he asks out of mere speculation, momentarily forgetting the antagonizing subtlety guiding their conversation.

”Because you‘ve seen what I am. The weapon, not the woman. And,“ she says, sighing with an almost child-like assurance, looking out to the far horizon, “because seduction isn’t your weakness. She is.”

Damn the girl, for gut-punching through his composure with such guileless effort. His gaze follows hers, tracking the aerial traffic dotting Coruscant’s night skies in a flickering menagerie. He concentrates on keeping his breathing even, stilling his mind, as he considers his reply. The silhouettes of soaring towers outlined by shimmering lights blot out the sky, the glow which would normally be visible on a less metropolitan planet, of satellites in orbit, and stars far beyond.

”One word,” he says finally. “She could have changed the tide of this war for the Republic with one word.“

She turns, a searching intensity in her deep gaze. Seeing too much within him. “So could you, change the tide of this war for Republic,” she says softly, giving a gentle squeeze of his wrist.

Impatient and irritated with the poignancy in her tone, Thrawn shakes her hand off. “She has no idea, the fate to which she’s condemned the galaxy,” he tells her with a hard look, rising off the sofa. He looms over her, eyes burning across her face, so that for the first time, she shudders away from the brewing wrath. He marvels again, the steel disguised beneath the seeming delicacy of her body. Her sandeled feet tucked beneath her on the sofa, the fabric of her dress, simple design of polyfiber cotton, drapes fine curves of breast, hip, and thigh.

Despite her attention fastened upon the night horizon, nothing of intimidation colors her posture, but sadness tinges the turned-down line of her lips. He bows his head to her before heading back to the reception hall lying through a corridor adjoined to the balcony. A salute, a parting to conceal his remorse of the lost fate she chooses with her friends and allies.

“And you, little Albatross,“ he rasps in dire promise, the epithet snaring her surprised glance up at him. “You have no idea what’s coming. None of you do.”

A wasted masterpiece of living art, dangerous beauty.

—

Watching him stride away into the dim hall, the Grand Admiral’s disappointment aches like an overstrained joint. Bothersome, but eventually fading unless exacerbated. In his absence, the darkness hovers about her, the balcony esconsed, now, in transient quiet. Illusory peace.

Alive, so alive, the hum of myriad thoughts, voices, hopes, griefs—the gambit composing sentient life throughout the city. The planet. Her mind-reading truly can’t extend with any precision beyond the palace, but a general hum always persists in the background of her consciousness. The sound of living beings. A vibration silenced forever upon Miranda.

That silence had almost broken her sanity more than any experimentation. As scientists sought to harness innate hyper-sensory perception with neurochemical alterations, subjecting her to an intensive programming, molding her mind-body duplex into prime mental and physical conditioning. In the process, she was often torn, battered, abused, and tortured, her mind confused, shifting between lucidity and dissociation and nightmare. But never breaking.

The sound of death, of nothing. Emptiness like a vacuum, no thought, or feeling. Miranda had almost broken her. Miranda, it turned out, opened the road to a recovery of herself. What she is, what she’s meant to be? No one seems to know. At least not since Simon rescued her from the illicit lab which had been her prison. Hyper-awareness, sensory adepts, psychic traits expressed amongst humans were hardly uncommon through the Terran quadrant, both Core and Fringe systems. Posited by some scientists as a natural development of sentient consciousness, induced by interstellar travel over the centuries.

Among these foreign systems across the wormhole, peoples attributed such gifts to some metaphysical energy field. The Force. Light and Dark. The association, to River’s thinking, paradoxical for a property endemic to all beings, carrying no inherent morality until determined by the intent of the wielder. Perhaps she just didn’t quite grasp its intricacies as yet, conceding that nuances of intuition, emotion, passive reception, meditation still often eluded her. The Force embedded such concepts, rather than the more actualized focus of psychic traits held by the majority of systems native to the Terran quadrant.

What she is. What she‘s meant to be—*a weapon, a work of art*. *No*, she answers her own query, the feeling of defiance liberating. *A failed experiment. The one who got away.*

”And you forget,“ she whispers to the attentive night. “I can still hear them in my head. All the time. Just like you do, Mitt’raw’nuruodo.”

Miranda is not what Thrawn has in mind, that sort of emptiness. He wants something more. Under Imperium’s auspices, subjugating and assimilating one star system after another, spreading this corruption of time and reality, bleeding the Dark Entity’s ravenous, primordial substance like an oil-slick settling into the sinkholes of what had been viable Star-systems. Seeding these tortured hybrids cloned of Reavers, and whatever other mutated derangements of horror will fuse and divide in an incubator. With his enhanced soldiers, their minds a racket of incessant savagery, submission to Thrawn throughout the galaxy seems inevitable. Especially now that Intel, and Republic specialists working with Rhyanon, recently confirmed the adaptive capacity of certain hybrids to infect other living creatures with their intracellular genetic material.

They’ll never be completely hushed, even in the deepest caverns of her own mind. Reavers. The chimeric hybrids. They howl, writhe, snarl, and scream in agony beyond their comprehension. But the havoc of their consciouses, keeping the hybrids contained as a utilizable resource requires increasing concentrations of sedatives, hyponotics, and psychogenic pharmaceuticals.

She can feel their echo within Thrawn, too. Not of the violence, but his craving the Shadow’s power. It’s why he covets Rhyanon-her abilities of biologic manipulation, transforming the very backbone molecules of life. Healing, rejuvenating, reconstructing, restoring from disease, infection, deterioration and decay. Thirsting for the surcease she could provide, balancing the Dark Entity’s immersion of his own constitution. A living masterpiece, the kind of gifted elegance Thrawn desired, Rhyanon, like River, was another one who’d gotten away. Another failed experiment. Another dangerous beauty.

Rhyanon loathes him. Holding her captive on his flagship under the influence of cortical inhibitors, and hallucinogens. Trying to force her into stabilizing the synaptic connections of higher brain function in his hybrids. Dampening their insanity as the cloned offspring reached maturity. Coercing her in other ways as well, while she resisted the influence of intoxicants deluging her system. That was why she rejected his play at truce earlier during the dinner, an offer to join him voluntarily. That. And the fact she and the Jedi were patently lovers. A circumstance exacerbating the already furious enmity between the Grand Admiral and Luke.

Rhyanon would use those same graces of biokinesis to tear him apart one atom at a time, despite the danger of inducing her own body’s destruction. The price of biopsionic talents, a check limiting the potential for abuse of that power over life and death. Unfortunate, in that Rhyanon’s ability, synergized with the particular strengths shared between their small group of Force-wielders and sensory adepts, offers the only potential counter against Thrawn’s growing influence.

Finding some way of battling this Dark Matter entity. This Abaddon, commanding elemental forces dating from the universe’s origins. A being capable of destroying multiple star-systems if they resist its Seeding. They’d all seen what happened on Namsonis 4 in the aftermath of losing the majority of Dreadnaughts. A desperate evacuation. A world wrenched apart like a ball of mud crushed in a fist. A solar system facing a monstrous dehiscence of time and space, heart of chaos, blowing a hole through the core of a sun, and incinerating the other 6 planets spared Namsonis’s fate. Hours later, a festering wound across the void of black, rocky debris and ionized gas discharges the last traces of a star system no longer existing between tomorrows.

Contrary to the stillness in which she sits, River’s thoughts spin countless strands in the spreading web of her mind, her fingers running absently along the ridge of her collarbone. Picturing simultaneous star-maps, envisioning parallel scenarios of navigation vectors, battle engagements, the stratified calculations worked in trans-dimensional matrices. Always hearing the Reavers seething in the recess of her soul.

Finally, arriving at some conclusion, she reveals to the passing night, ”I do know exactly what’s to come.” And maybe, maybe there’s a chance. One distant, improbable-verging on impossible-chance they have of subverting this menace before it reaches the Terran quadrant.

[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin: Chapter Two

Summary: The young prince meets a servant girl called Nouke. The two become best friends, spending many days in the West Garden. As Ahkmenrah grows older, he learns that he must sacrifice his time with his friend to learn the lessons his father has to teach him. Responsibilities shift and Ahk and Nouke’s friendship is tested.

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 5939   

Warnings: none      

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe​, @r-ahh-mi​, @theultraviolencefan​, @hah0106​, @rami-malek-trash​, @diasimar​, @sherlollydramoine​, @flipper-kisses​, @ivy-miranda-2390​, @txmel​, @sunkissedmikky​, @concentratedsassandcandy​, @babyalienfairy​ (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: I’m so SO glad y’all are enjoying this so far! Thanks a million for the likes, the reblogs, the comments and the gif responses! They make me smile!! 🥰 Again, as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

In the westernmost part of the palace was a garden, small in comparison to the grand courtyards were the king and queen hosted festivals throughout the year, but lusher and inherently more magical by far. On every side, the green paradise was surrounded by sturdy walls of sand-colored stone, apart from the open corridor that led back into the palace. The majority of those protective walls sat hidden by abundant foliage; lilies and shrubs and trees that fostered the illusion of no barriers at all.

At the center of the garden was a fountain with wide ledges perfect to sit and marvel at the prisms that danced across the surface of the water where lily pads floated. The air was always fragrant. Jasmine and lotus bloomed in abundance; their sweet perfume coupled with the fresh air created a welcomed reprieve from the scent of torch fire and papyrus that permeated the palace corridors. Beds of grass grew between the footstones and pathways while large palm trees sprung from the earth; their fanned leaves offering shade for the hottest afternoons. Within those walls, amid the green and vibrant blossoms, Shepseheret watched each of her children grow and play for many years.

That glittering, private oasis- nestled in a palace of gold, was Ahkmenrah’s favorite place in the world. Fore in that garden everything was soft and whimsical unlike the stone walls he called home. And in the shining green gem of a garden, the young prince met Anuksamun.

She was his age, with long wavy hair and skin a tone or two darker than his own. Her eyes were brown, but they sparkled like amber in the sunlight--not that Ahkmenrah paid much attention to such things at the age of six. It wasn't for many years that those flakes of gold would make his heart flutter.

Anuksamun was the daughter of Maketaten: the queen’s maidservant and dear friend. Her father, Ramentukah was a soldier in the pharaoh’s army. The three of them lived humbly in the palace with many of the other servants--happy for the shelter the king and queen provided in return for their service and loyalty. It never occurred to Ahkmenrah that he was (as some would claim) better than his friend; all he knew was that she loved the West Garden just as much as he did.

Every evening, Ahkmenrah would gleefully follow his mother and baby sister to the garden, excited to see his friend. The queen and her maidservant would lounge in one of the patches of grass or on the edge of the fountain watching their children play; ducking in and out of the foliage or splashing in the cool waters of the central pool when the desert heat was significantly stifling.

Ahkmenrah never felt like a prince when he was chasing after his friend, giggling as the fresh air swept through his curls as he ran. She only ever called him “Ahk”; never once did she speak of him with the title of “my prince” like so many others. He loved that shortened version of his name. Every time she called for him; it made him smile, and in return, he called her Nouke--a name that found her smiling back at him just as widely.

While the sun was high overhead, Ahkmenrah was with his father, learning what it meant to rule a vast empire. Those mornings and afternoons never lent the same joy he found in the evenings with Nouke in the garden. Nevertheless, the prince cherished the teachings his father gifted unto him. He felt a sense of pride when he stood at his father’s side during civil meetings in the throne room and council meetings. Every aspect was enthralling for his young mind.

The older Ahkmenrah grew, the more he understood and admired the way his father ruled. Merenkahre was firm when he had to be but often kind when the circumstances could warrant gentleness. The respect he bestowed upon his subjects and advisors never went unreciprocated, and Ahkmenrah noted it all; filing it away safely in his mind, so he could remember in the future. He yearned to show the same devotion and compassion to the people of Egypt when it was his turn to wear the crown. The prince learned quickly and eagerly.

No matter how old he grew, or how long his lessons would take, Ahkmenrah would always return to the West Garden. The moment his father’s teaching would come to a close, the prince would thank him for his wisdom and guidance then run through the halls until he was encompassed in the magic of the lush green, and reunited with his favorite person in all the palace.

Since meeting Nouke, Ahkmenrah always missed her. Her spirit matched his own: that unwavering need for adventure. Nouke was warm like the sun but always changing like the moon; she constantly kept him guessing, and it thrilled him. Every game was her idea, and Ahkmenrah never failed to follow her lead- whatever it may be. The whole of his childhood was written within the limits of that garden, and when he was with Nouke, he wasn’t a prince of Egypt--shackled from birth to his duty. He was just Ahk; no more, no less.

For six years that was the routine Ahkmenrah was used to: days with his father and evenings with his friend. However, as they got older, a piece of him came to realize that before long, their adventures in the serenity of the garden would come to an end. By the time he was twelve, most of his lessons ate into the hours the prince was used to spending with Nouke. It made him sad to think of her alone in their garden with no one to keep her company, but a large part of him understood how important it was to learn his father’s trade. He could only hope that she understood too.

It was exceptionally hot the afternoon Ahkmenrah followed his father out of the palace and into the training yards located on the grounds. He’d often heard his brother speak of the open field where the pharaoh’s soldiers trained along with the Medjay. It was a new sight and Ahkmenrah’s hunger for adventure lent him attentive eyes. Men and boys, most around his age, were practicing with all manners of weapons; spears, bows, and the khopesh. Ahkmenrah watched them all, wondering why his father had brought him to such a place.

“Three times a week, we will be meeting here so that you may learn to defend yourself,” his father noted as though he had heard his son’s thoughts.

Merenkahre stopped a good distance away from the other sparing soldiers and turned to face his son. Kamuzu stood at his side, holding the same stoic expression that Ahkmenrah could never really make heads or tails of. The Medjay deftly removed the khopesh from its place on his hip and offered it wordlessly to the prince. Ahkmenrah’s brows furrowed and he blinked at the curved blade apprehensively, confused as to how this lesson applied to being king.

“Take it,” his father encouraged, easily drawing his own matching weapon. “Test its weight.”

Ahkmenrah bit his lip, eyeing the khopesh wearily a moment more before obeying. A gasp escaped his lungs in mild shock when the heavy weapon fell from his hands, and into the dirt--it was much heavier than he had thought. Quickly, he retrieved the blade and held it with a firm, two-handed grip, looking sheepishly back to his father. The ghost of a smile played around Merenkahre’s lips, which put Ahkmenrah more at ease.

“Test its weight,” he said again, slowly gliding his own blade through the air with one hand.

Ahkmenrah mimicked the movements as best he could; the weapons cumbersome weight almost too difficult for him to manage properly.

“Very good,” Merenkahre grinned.

“Am I going to learn everything as Kahmunrah has?” Ahkmenrah asked, suddenly more interested to learn.

His older brother only liked weapons and fighting; he found no beauty in gardens or shared the young princes' sense of adventure. Thus, Ahkmenrah knew; Kah never wanted to be the big brother he wanted. But if he learned to fight, maybe he would like him more--the prince hoped so anyway.

A slight frown tinted the pharaoh’s expression, but he quickly hid it. “To a degree, I will teach you bow and spear and khopesh until you are comfortable enough with each.”

“Oh,” Ahk said, slightly disappointed. Kah only liked people who were as skilled as he was. “Okay.”

Ahkmenrah followed his father’s guidance, swinging the blade how he was instructed in repetitive motions, each one faster than the last until the weapon no longer felt so clumsy in his hands.

It was weeks before he was truly at ease with any kind of weapon in his hand. Still, he knew he would never harbor the same joy his brother seemed to when it came to such things.

“Am I going to learn how to strategize war next?” Ahkmenrah asked idly after a long day in the training yard.

His muscles ached as he walked back to the palace alongside his father and Kamuzu. Merenkahre didn’t answer right away, taking his time to think as his features grew pensive, causing Ahkmenrah to wonder what it was about his question that warranted such careful study.

“Your Consul of Montu will be responsible for such dealings,” Merenkahre decided, finally. “You must trust his word, should a time ever come that you need such knowledge."

That made sense, but Ahkmenrah pressed anyway, “but didn’t you know how to--”

“I learned because my father needed men to fight in wars he wanted no part of,” Meren explained sternly. “Do you plan to seek out war during your reign?”

Ahkmenrah shook his head, folding under his father’s unusually intense gaze, “No.”

“Then what you have learned will suffice,” the pharaoh’s expression lightened as they neared the palace. “We are done for today. Your mother tells me you are missing a friend of yours--go.”

Ahkmenrah’s face lit up, all previous thought of war and fighting long behind him. He quickly thanked his father and took off running.

The sun had only begun to sink into the distant horizon when Ahkmenrah made it to his favorite garden. He'd only stopped on his journey long enough to scrounge up a snack that he could share. As a servant, Nouke and her family were given small rations and often went hungry--a thought the prince hated. It only took her offhandedly mentioning she’d gone without one day for Ahkmenrah to make a habit of bringing something from his own, abundant supply. She had refused the first time, too proud it seemed to want his help; it was only when he offered to share that Nouke would accept his offerings. He would purposely eat slower, letting her take as much as she needed, and he would smile; happy to have helped his friend.

Nouke sat on the edge of the shallow pool; her dark hair pulled into a loose braid- the slightly darker tan pigment of her skin glowing in Ra’ s golden rays. Her face was turned away, eyes fixated on the lily pad she glided over the water's surface in absent motions. Even from a distance, and without the benefit of seeing her face, Ahkmenrah could tell a sadness had taken root in her. Something even the magic of their treasured garden could not properly deter. How long had it been since he had seen her? Days? Weeks? Much too long.

Her somber aura shifted however when Nouke caught sight of him with an idle glance. A gasp sounded on a quick inhale when her eyes met his--the lily pad forgotten. All of the gloom that had been constricting her spirit no longer bound her. She dazzled him with a smile that matched the sparkle in her eyes, and when she ran to greet him, she did so on fumbling feet, excitement quickening her gait to nearly a fault. Catching the blunder painted a grin onto the prince's lips as his pace hastened too, eager to be near her.

“Ahk!” Nouke’s honey-sweet tone was like a song to his ears after weeks of nothing but his father’s gruff voice in his head. 

The sound alone was enough to pull his smile tighter and prompt his heart to beat more fervently (for whatever reason). Unceremoniously, she threw her arms around his shoulders, enveloping him with a friendly embrace, with sufficient force to almost send Ahkmenrah stumbling backward.

“I thought maybe you’d forgotten me.”

“Never,” he assured her, returning her hug with just as much warmth.

She was smiling even brighter than before when they pulled apart, her eyes meeting his gladly.

“Sorry I’ve been away so long,” Ahk said, brandishing a peace offering: a linen-wrapped bundle of fresh dates and figs to share.

She glanced at the proffered fruit, then back to him with silent rejoice before tugging him by the arm across the garden to one of the shady patches of grass. She gave his arm another yank, tugging him down to sit beside her.  The cool patch of grass was a welcome contrast to the hours he spent under the sun in the training yard. He sat with his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands relishing in the soft textures and the company of his friend. Nouke waited patiently for him to pass her a portion of the food he had brought--like usual--and together they ate in content silence.

“I missed you,” Nouke said suddenly, in a rather sheepish tone that was unbefitting of her usual ebullient demeanor.

When the prince chanced to meet her gaze, he found she had spoken more to her food than to him, still, he smiled. He was so used to her exuberance, but he liked this timorous side of her as well.

“I missed you too,” Ahk said, sliding her the last two dates.

He could have eaten them easily, having worked up an apatite swinging a blade around the better part of an afternoon, but he had the luxury of ample meals whenever he called for one, unlike her.

The shy exterior melted into the lively attitude he was accustomed to, which had always lent a fullness inside of him that he couldn’t quite place. Nouke was the only person he knew to incite such a feeling.

“What is it your father’s been teaching you?” she asked, noshing on the last piece of fruit.

A tiny frown worked onto Ahk’s features, the shift in the curve of his mouth enough to elicit a slight ache in the muscles of his face. Nouke had always been curious about his lessons, and usually, he was happy to tell her the wisdom his father offered. However, after so much time away, Ahk didn’t want to discuss topics that had been pounded into his brain since he was six.

Ahkmenrah pulled absently at the green blades, and bit his bottom lip as he shrugged, “A lot of the same……just more.”

He sighed and when he caught her thin frown, he mustered a smile for her benefit, not wanting to burden her with his own troubles. It wasn’t right for him to complain, especially to her.

“He has been teaching me how to fight like Kahmunrah.”

“Oh?” she frowned, more out of wariness than sadness, but only briefly. “That must be fun. Is your brother helping?”

Ahk shook his head, “No.”

When he told his big brother that he was learning to fight, Ahkmenrah hoped it would spark some sort of kinship between them--a shared interest. Even a hint of intrigue would have been something. Instead, Kah had scoffed and pushed him out of his way. He didn’t understand why his brother treated him so.

“Sometimes I wish my father would make Kahmunrah pharaoh instead of me.”

Nouke glanced at him, surprise pressing a furrow onto her brow, “Why?”

Ahk shrugged, “I don’t want to spend my whole life in a palace. Kah isn’t going to be pharaoh, and he has traveled and seen so many places. I want to see them too.”

Nouke grew quiet, and he watched her thoughts manifest in waves of her pensive expressions, until a smile steadily unfurled across her features. Ahk smiled too, a reflex reaction to seeing her face light up with restored spirit.

“I think I know a way you can have a little adventure,” she told him before he could ask what had prompted her grin.

When she didn’t impart more of an explanation, intrigue contorted the prince’s face, his question written in the hook of his brow. Without a word, she tugged him off the cushion of grass and to his feet; he barely had time to find his footing before she was yanking him deeper into the garden. Ahkmenrah knew better than to ask where it was she was taking him; he followed her lead and reveled in the surge of thrill the mystery brought.

Nouke led him to the westernmost edges of the garden, skillfully cutting through the dense foliage that hid the towering wall until they were in the small space between the green brush and sand-colored stones. She stood for a moment, her hand still gripping his as she studied the bricks carefully.

“Nouke?” the prince asked, his eyes bouncing between her and the wall, then back to her.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she surrendered his grasp and began pushing gently on individual stones, causing Ahk’s confusion to grow. He was about to ask her again when one of the bricks fell loose to the other side with a quiet thud.

“Found it!” Nouke beamed proudly.

Ahk’s mouth hung agape in awe, blinking as she pushed more of the bricks free until the breach was large enough to crawl through.

“How…?” 

“I had a lot of time to explore when you stopped visiting,” she explained with a shrug.

Ahk frowned, “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. Now are you gonna follow me on an adventure or stay in these walls?”

She was already climbing through the opening with ease as she spoke. The prince bit his lip as he smiled and nodded. His heart was pounding and his whole body tingled with excitement; of course, he was going to follow his friend on an adventure--he would follow her anywhere.

“Kamuzu!” Ahk shouted, knowing it would be better to have someone to watch out for them than not.

“No,” Nouke frowned, gazing at him with concern from the other side of the wall.

“It’s okay, he won’t tell anyone where we go. He'll just protect us,” he promised with a grin and deftly climbed through.

The sensation of hot sand beneath his feet for the first time was one the prince would never forget; it’s soft but coarse texture so alien but grand. Hundreds of tiny grains shifted and moved heedlessly around his toes--free--like he suddenly was. Ahk had only ever known the packed dirt of the training yard and the hard stone corridors of the palace. Sand was new, and it pulled a tight smile onto his lips.

Directly on the other side of the garden wall was a stretch of rural landscape that grew more arid the further west he looked beyond the Nile. All of it open and dotted with sparse, dried foliage: land that had yet to be peppered with stone structures. Along the banks of the mighty river green sprouted creating a striking contrast to the surrounding dry sands. It was like stepping from one magical garden into another, but this one had no walls.

Something ethereal washed over Ahkmenrah as he took in the grandeur of it all; the sights and smells and the horizon stretching out endlessly with nothing to keep him from running to where the sun was sinking into it. Everything he knew was encased in stone walls. It would have been so easy to venture into that vast countryside, but that sense of duty, that had been all but bred into him, kept him where he stood--yearning.

Nouke was already strolling along the riverbank, free of the yoke of responsibility. He was envious, to a degree, but not enough to hinder the joy he felt seeing her so uninhibited wading in the waters of the Nile. His feet sank into the sands as he stood watching her, finding the grains growing colder the deeper he rooted. Ahk wanted to follow her; he found himself glancing over his shoulder to the hole he had crawled out of.

Kamuzu managed to fit through and placed himself at the prince’s side, wearing the same stoical expression he always did.

“My father wouldn’t approve of me being outside the walls like this,” Ahk mused.

Kamuzu’s austere features softened, and one side of his mouth quirked into a slight smile, “Then we simply won’t tell him.”

With a nodding gesture, the Medjay encouraged the prince to join his friend. It was enough permission to chase away the invisible tether keeping his feet from moving, and with a flash of white teeth, Ahkmenrah grinned and ran to catch up with Nouke.

“Come feel the water, Ahk!” Nouke said, pulling him into the steadily flowing current of the Nile.

The water was up to their knees, and the cool rush around his legs was akin to the sand under his feet. The undeniable essence of life flowed around him, invigorating his senses and tingled every nerve in his body. The stagnant water in the pool of his garden would never compare to the constantly moving surge of the Nile. Ahk paid no attention to how wet his fine linen garments became; he wanted to stand there forever, feet buried in the soft river bed, water flowing freely around him as the sun warmed his shoulders. Nouke, however, took his hand and pulled him along with the current. The further from the palace they strode the less weight Ahkmenrah felt on his shoulders. There, he was just Ahk, and that was enough for him.

That stretch of bank along the mighty river became their second favorite place to venture. Many evenings that followed, Nouke and Ahk would tuck themselves away in their new oasis, a secret hideaway that allowed the masks of their reality to fall, letting them each be more and less than who they were meant to be.

*** 

Like the ever-changing waters of the Nile and the shifting desert's sand, the passage of time reshaped even the closest of paths. Responsibilities grew more significant as they grew older; placing a very irrefutable wedge between Ahkmenrah and his friend from the garden. Though they oft fought it.

At thirteen, Nouke was no longer simply a child of a maidservant, but a servant herself. She was expected to see to many chores at any hour, keeping her from the garden of her youth. As for the prince, his time of wistful adventure ran out too; Ahkmenrah was rarely out of his father’s sight. Merenkahre’s lessons shifted into actions. The pharaoh had taken to surrendering his seat on the throne or at the council, allowing the prince a taste of the future that awaited him.

The first time his father sprung such a notion onto his shoulders, Ahkmenrah was sure his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. Every eye was on him, bearing down with a scrutiny that made his throat dry, and his palms sweat. He knew it was a test, one that he had been studying for most of his life. However, despite the years of shadowing his father’s every move, hearing his every command and testament, Ahkmenrah felt entirely out of his element. All his lessons were lost somewhere in the haze of his mind, and he desperately scrambled to recall what he had stored away. The only comfort was his father at his side.

Meren stood, mostly in silence, watching, lending quiet guidance, and solidarity. Even so, Ahkmenrah spent his first time as a ruler, with a white-knuckled grip to the armrest’s of the throne to keep his hands from shaking. That first time was the hardest. In the tests that followed, however, Ahkmenrah's confidence built more and more until he could present himself with the same regality of his father.

After a month of afternoons seeing to civil matters and addressing the council like a king, Ahkmenrah had never been more comfortable with the path the gods had laid before him. However, despite the comfort he felt, the notion of being pharaoh--and not just playing at it--had not yet taken hold. In his mind, he still had much to learn, but when his father summoned him to an early council meeting to discuss how much he'd learned in such a short amount of time; Ahkmenrah knew, his time as ruler was fast approaching.

That particular council meeting began like any other. Merenkahre sat at his normal seat at the head of the table while Ahkmenrah sat attentively next to his brother a few seats away. Most of the talk was the usual chatter: matters that ranged from trivial to pressing. Each warranted equal amounts of discussion regardless of how frivolous--a lesson Ahk learned early much to his childish frustration. When all other affairs had been seen to properly, Merenkahre stood, causing a hush to befall the room.

“My friends, there is but one matter remaining that I wish to discuss,” the pharaoh’s line of sight moved to his youngest son, and Ahk shifted, suddenly nervous. “I have been blessed in my time as pharaoh, and it is my wish that the same will be for the pharaoh who follows me.”

Merenkahre smiled proudly upon Ahkmenrah and gestured for the other men to follow his gaze. “As you are all aware, it was my intention to crown Ahkmenrah during his fifteenth year. But, during these past few weeks, he has shown wisdom beyond his years, and aptitude that far surpassed mine at his age.”

Ahkmenrah’s stomach twisted into a knot, and his heart was beating rapidly. Still, the prince held onto his composure, listening to his father, while sneaking side glances to Kahmunrah--seeing his indifferent expression meld into a disapproving sneer.

“Thus, I feel it is time, that I step aside and let Ahkmenrah take his place among Egypt's mighty pharaohs.” Merenkahre finished, holding his prideful simper.

A commotion broke out within the chamber as advisors sang praise to the pharaoh’s wisdom, all but one. Kahmunrah alone slouched into his chair, pouting, while the room congratulated the younger prince on his accomplishment. A lump grew in the back of Ahkmenrah’s throat; a cumulation of nerves, excitement, and a little guilt. No one had told Kahmunrah that he was never going to wear the crown, he figured it out on his own. And the bitterness it caused him had never been more palpable than in that moment.

Ahk swallowed that psychological clod in his throat before it grew large enough to choke him, and let his focus fall inward. A part of him considered forfeiting the crown with the demand that it be given to Kah so Ahkmenrah could spend his days exploring with Nouke. However, Ahkmenrah had endured years of teachings, and he wasn’t about to let his father’s teachings be for not. He didn’t want to let his father down, or his people. The prince wanted to be king, just not so soon.

“I’m not entirely sure he is prepared to rule, father,” Kahmunrah noted with an insouciant shrug.

Merenkahre shot his eldest son a vehement glare.

Kah raised his open palms as a sign of surrender, “I assure you; my reasoning does not come from my own desire to rule--”

“Then where?” Meren demanded.

“Your youngest son may possess the mind of a great ruler, but how can he rule the country if he does not know the country?”

The pharaoh’s intense leer waned as he considered Kah’s words thoroughly.

“I have seen much of this land,” Kah boasted. “The pyramids, where the Nile bleeds into the sea--I understand Egypt and her people. Ahkmenrah understands little more than the palace walls.”

The pensive expression on the pharaoh’s face melded back into a heavy suspicious leer.

“Are you suggesting that I crown you because you have seen all of these things?”

Kah’s jaw clenched as frustration strained his features, obviously upset his father gauged him with such mistrust. Nevertheless, Kahmunrah kept his tone even when he spoke his reply.

“My travels hardly give me merit to rule, father. I am simply suggesting the boy may appreciate the land and the people more if he sees them for himself.”

“Your son makes a fair point, my king,” one of the advisors noted.

“Yes,” another agreed. 

“And had you not seen much of the land and your people by the time you came to rule as well, father?” Kah added.

The pharaoh grew quiet again, rubbing his chin as he pondered. Ahk, however, sat, without finding words to speak, not entirely sure what was going to happen. It was rare Kah offered a suggestion that did not somehow benefit himself--Meren and Ahkmenrah knew that, which made the entire notion somewhat suspicious.

“And I suppose you want me to leave you in command while I am away with your brother?" Merenkahre tested, eyes growing narrow again.

Kah’s lips pressed into a firm line, his irritation becoming more difficult for him to stifle.

“You are the pharaoh, father. You will put into command whoever you think worthy,” his caustic tone matched his glance as he looked to Ahkmenrah and back to the pharaoh. “Just as you have always done.”

Ahk let his focus fall to the wood grain of the table in front of him, sinking lower in his chair, feeling Kah’s cold leer like daggers piercing his skin. He hated feeling guilty for something that was not completely his fault.

“Very well,” Merenkahre said finally. “I will think on this matter for a day, but it is likely the young prince, and I will soon be charting a course along the Nile.”

As the council adjourned, the apprehension that had been gnawing and tightening the knots in Ahkmenrah’s stomach slowly began to shift into something akin to excitement. Several of the advisors lingered, speaking to his father and brother about potential places to venture, but the prince didn’t stick around to learn where it was he and his father may be going. He liked the surprise.

It was early in the day, and he was sure there were to be more lessons awaiting him, but Ahkmenrah excused himself without a word, wanting nothing more at that moment then to share the good news with his best friend.

He went to their garden first in search of Nouke, but apart from the colorful birds, flitting throughout the greenery, it was empty. Curiosity pulled him deeper into the garden however, when his eyes scanned the furthest line of foliage, knowing the secret passage hidden behind the bushes. But, all the stones were as they should be; she was somewhere in the palace, and while a frown threatened to curl his lips downward, Akh would not let his excitement be hindered.

The prince wandered the grounds the better part of an hour before he found her among a group of maidservants, hanging washed linens to dry in the sunny courtyard. Immediately, Ahk's heart fluttered and beat faster and his smile spread across his face with tingling fervor. A chorus of surprised gasps echoed as he cut through the gathered women without ceremony. Some dropped to their knees while others bowed their heads respectfully, and all of them greeted him with a hushed “my, prince.” Nouke, however, beamed; giving him no such formal greeting. When Ahk took her hand, another gasp filled the open air of the courtyard, and the prince almost rolled his eyes at the drama of it all. Nouke didn’t ask when he whisked her away from her chores on hurried feet, she just laughed and held on to his hand like she would follow him wherever he wanted to take her.

Ahkmenrah was out of breath when he finally sat them down on the edge of the fountain in their garden. Nouke eyed him with amused confusion, waiting for his explanation with a soft smile painted on her lips.

“I have…to tell you…something…fantastic,” Ahk husked out between labored breaths.

Her dark eyes lit up, teaming with inquiry and that spirit he so admired. He took another moment or two to settle his breathing before he spoke.

“My father is going to take me on a trip to see the cities and landmarks of Egypt!” he was only vaguely aware of how fast he was talking; his excitement made it difficult for him not to. “It was Kah’s idea--he said a king should know his people. My father is going to make his ruling tomorrow and well…if he decides we are going; I'm going to ask that you come too.”

When he’d finished, Nouke’s excitement did not match his own, and that was enough to impede the joy he felt. She wasn’t even truly looking at him; her spirit dulled as she drew into her own thoughts.

“Nouke?” he asked gently, trying desperately to read her doleful aura.

She shook her head as her entire frame wilted, “I can’t go with you.”

Ahkmenrah’s face fell, and he met her sad eyes in silent question.

“I wish I could, Ahk. But I’m a servant. You're a prince. Your father would never allow someone like me to go with you.”

She was right. Servants were not companions to princes. Nouke to him, however, was so much more than a servant, she was his friend; she always would be no matter her station. His father would not understand that though, and the notion yanked ravenously on his heartstrings. All at once, the idea of adventuring lost its luster if he couldn’t share those experiences with her; and for a second time, he considered giving up the crown.

“I look forward to the stories you’ll bring back,” she said casting him a smile he knew was for his benefit and nothing more. “Promise you will tell me everything as soon as you return.”

Ahkmenrah nodded, sadness in his tone, “I promise.”

It fell quiet in the garden for a long time, the only sound coming from the rustling leaves caught in the desert breeze and the songbirds that played among them. Ahk’s eyes followed their sound, envying the freedom their wings granted them; with a few flaps, they could soar miles away.

“I have to get back to work,” Nouke murmured, sounding as though she didn’t want to leave him.

She gave him another rueful smile, and he did his best to match it.

“My father is probably looking for me,” he said, also not wanting to leave.

Before he turned to say his good-bye, Nouke pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Pink tinted her features and she smiled again, that time not quite as sad.

“Have fun on your adventure, Ahk.”

The prince watched her go, his fingers caressing the spot where she had so brazenly kissed him, feeling utterly torn. Ahkmenrah yearned to see Egypt’s centuries-old monuments and cultures, but part of him wished to stay in the palace forever where Nouke was. Surely a pharaoh who could do as he pleased could remain friends with a servant. The aching knot in his stomach, however, told him such a notion was not going to be so easy.

Next Chapter-> Chapter Three: Across the Sands

[stuffedeggplants]

Book tag game! List the books you’ve read in the past year, your favorites, least favorites, most disappointing, etc.

As usual, anyone is welcome to do this. I don’t want to tag anyone in case they’d rather be left alone for personal reasons. 

Favorites:

Batavia’s Graveyard by Mike Dash focuses on a mutiny aboard a 17th century Dutch East India Company ship which wrecks off the coast of Australia. The instigator was an incredibly sadistic, cruel, and manipulative person who carries out/personally orders a lot of terrible things. The author weaves in translated journals/reports from survivors, court testimony, and goes into a lot of interesting background on various aspects of Dutch society at the time so that you can better understand the context all these people live and move in.

A Ride to Khiva was written in 1876 by Frederick Burnaby, a captain in the British army. It recounts his attempt the prior year to travel from St. Petersburg to illegally enter the Khanate of Khiva (roughly part of modern Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan) as part of the conflict between the British Empire and Russian Empire in Central Asia. I minored in history and have always been interested in it, so I love reading historical memoirs and first-hand accounts of people from the past and just seeing how they understand the world around them. The author of this book has a lot to say about the political issues of the day and makes a lot of cultural observations, both of which are very interesting to read from a modern day perspective. (I think early on in the trip, he’s sitting on a train next to an Indian man who tells him that Indian independence is inevitable someday. I wanted to go back in time to triumphantly tell this guy that he was right, but felt a little sad at the same time because he likely didn’t live to see his people finally win that ~70 years later.) 

A Deepness in the Sky by Vernor Vinge. This one didn’t initially grab me, but once I passed a certain point I was hooked and couldn’t put the book down. The background and story itself was plenty interesting, but the themes, ideas, conflicts, and the way characters were humanized were are all great. 

Most Disappointing:

Dichronauts by Greg Egan. The concept was interesting, but the book’s primary purpose was clearly to explore what things are like on a hyperbola-shaped world with altered laws of physics. (The author actually has a whole website explaining the math behind the idea.) Egan clearly had plenty of ideas that could’ve been developed into a compelling story, but he never goes far enough with them. The book wasn’t bad, it was just disappointing because I was expecting more of something else while the author himself was obviously more interested in exploring mechanical/physics problems. 

Semiosis by Sue Burke starts off really interesting, but then something happens part-way through the book which I felt led to a series of cop-outs that made me uninterested in reading the sequels and killed what was so intriguing about the book itself. The premise is that Earth colonists arrive on an “uninhabited” planet where it turns out that plants are the dominant form of life and sentient, and for that I’d say it’s worth checking out. I don’t regret reading it, but this is in the ‘disappointing’ category for a reason. 

Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms: Journeys Into the Disappearing Religions of the Middle East by Gerard Russell is only in this category because I was unable to prevent myself from wanting a comprehensive, more academic perspective coming from someone with a history and/or religious studies background. The author is very clear right from the outset that he’s a British diplomat who speaks Farsi and Dari, and the book is the result of years of his own travels and investigations and speaking with people from the communities he profiles. It’s quite interesting and valuable but by the end of the book I felt a little let down that he wasn’t somebody who could give me the perspective I wanted. By the end I’d had several moments where I questioned why he failed to notice or bring up certain things (like more historical context or tie-ins with related cultures and religions, whatever) that I noticed because of my own experience and background, but that’s entirely on me because the author was, like I said, very clear about his own background so I shouldn’t have expected anything else.

--

The books I read are below the cut.

Shipwreck genre [non-fiction]

Island of the Lost – Joan Druett

Skeletons on the Zahara – Dean King

Batavia’s Graveyard – Mike Dash

Science Fiction and Fantasy

All Systems Red – Martha Wells

Artificial Condition – Martha Wells

Dichronauts – Greg Egan

A Deepness in the Sky – Vernor Vinge

A Fire Upon the Deep – Vernor Vinge

The Children of the Sky – Vernor Vinge

Stories of Your Life and Others – Ted Chiang

Empire of Sand – Tasha Suri

Rosewater – Tade Thompson

Semiosis – Sue Burke

The Cloven – Brian Catling

Fiction

Numero Zero – Umberto Eco

History-related [non-fiction]

A Ride to Khiva – Frederick Burnaby

The Horse, the Wheel, and Language – David W. Anthony

Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms: Journeys Into the Disappearing Religions of the Middle East – Gerard Russell

Who We Are and How We Got Here: Ancient DNA and the New Science of the Human Past – David Reich  

Ten Restaurants that Changed America – Paul Freedman

The Billion Dollar Spy – David E. Hoffman

12 Strong – Doug Stanton

Where the Jews Aren't: The Sad and Absurd Story of Birobidzhan, Russia's Jewish Autonomous Region – Masha Gessen

 To Finish

One Part Woman – Perumal Murugan

This Kind of War: A Study in Unpreparedness – T.R. Fehrenbach

Hard Contact – Karen Traviss

Cadillac Desert: The American West and Its Disappearing Water – Marc Reisner

[militant-holy-knight]

Clarifying the Crusades as “Defensive War”

Or How NOT to Do Crusader Apology

I felt the need to write this blogpost because there is a massive (but understandable) misconception that comes with defending the Crusades among people that know they have been smeared by liberals and revisionists, but are prone to commit serious blunders themselves because they lack historical knowledge about them. Some view it as a proper belated response after centuries of Islamic aggression which may be the case, but that is a gross oversimplification of what actually happened. But there are a lot of subtle details that get lost which result in constructing a very idealized view of the Crusades as an pan-Christian cooperation effort to destroy Islam. As an historian specialized in this time period and someone who goes at great lengths to defend them from political activists, I must advise fellow apologists to not fall into certain traps when talking about it.

The Context of Islamic Aggression

The Crusades officially began in 1095, but their origins can be traced back as further as the rise of Islam almost five centuries prior. Previously Christian lands such as Egypt, Syria, Palestine, the entirety of Northern Africa and Spain fell at Muslim rule and even then this didn’t stop further attacks all over the Mediterranean and Southern Europe from Arab pirates.

It’s important to note that the vast majority of this aggression directed at Europe was committed by the Umayyad Caliphate, which was established after the death of Ali, Muhammad’s cousin, the fourth caliph of Islam (and first Imam of Shia Islam). This caliphate practically continued the policies of expansion laid out by it’s predecessors but following the Battle of Portiers and the Second Arab Siege of Constantinople (both Christian victories that halted any expansion into Europe), the Umayyads entered a period of decay and a lot of infighting took place where they were replaced by the Abbasid Caliphate. This one was a lot less violent and more interested in consolidating it’s power by fighting rival Islamic empires than waging war on the infidels. One such rivals were the Seljuk Turks, a recently converted people that became displaced from the Turkic regions into the Middle-East.

The immediate cause of the Crusades was the Seljuk’s advance into Eastern Anatolia gobbling up huge parts of the Byzantine Empire and eventually culminated in the Battle of Mazinkert where they dealt a crushing defeat and the Emperor was captured, throwing the Empire in disarray. Alexios Komnenos was the emperor that sent letters of help to the Pope asking for relief - which was no easy task since the Catholic and Orthodox churches have parted ways over a series of theological, ecclesiastical and political disputes. Pope Urban assembled the Council of Clermont where he pledged Catholics to take up arms to 

This is No “War on Terror”

A often cringy apologist statement I see thrown out is that “The Crusades were waged to stop Islamic aggression” because I know any debater is gonna pick that one apart and embarrass the one who said it. The reason why its said is because 1) apologist observes there was historical preceding violence against Christians 2) therefore the Christians are fighting back. However, it’s important to note that by the time the Crusades were declared, there was no realistic chance of Islam ever taking Europe by military power because of the dispute between the countless Islamic states like the Abbasids, the Umayyads, the Seljuks, the Fatimids and etc. 

The contemporary rhetoric of the Crusades at the time was “retake the Holy Land”, not “stop the invasion”. While it’s perfectly plausible that Urban II did fear a potential invasion in the future should the Byzantine Empire collapse, the average crusader at the time did not sell his possessions and donated his lands to fund the expedition to possibly die in a far away land to preserve their Earthly way of life. He did it for the salvation and expiation of his soul - that is what he believed in. I think this isn’t acknowledged by apologists - whether they be actual Christians or secularists themselves (yes they exist) - because it’s embarrassing to admit at one point this is what Christians believed, but that is what history taught us whether we like it or not.

The one context where you could conceivably call this particular campaign a “defensive war” was to lend assistance to the Byzantine Empire, given they were in a time of crisis and needed all help they could get. Might as well call the ones to preserve the established Crusader states that were under threat. The problem is that it leads to another misconception made by Crusade defenders...

Christian Unity Was Lacking

While it’s true that Pope Urban was successful in inflaming the crowds of Europeans at Clermont about the atrocities reaped on the Christians of the East, another common misconception made by modern apologists is that they were acting like how Catholics and Orthodox do today, they were going to liberate their brethren and then leave them be. Due to the East-West Schism that took place just a few decades ago, the reality was far more cynical: The Catholic Church had no intention of restoring of restoring the reconquered lands to the Byzantine Empire and all Crusader states were to be under Latin jurisdiction, ruled by Latin Catholic monarchs with Catholic clergymen. As far as the Catholic Church was concerned, the Eastern Orthodox Church was schismatic and was to be brought into heel rather than left to coexist.

It’s well documented that Western knights disdained Byzantines for their seemingly effeminate and hedonistic manners, finding them unmanly fuccbois, while Byzantines wrote how Catholics were rough, uncivilized brutes, unworthy of being considered “Romans” and more akin to the Germanic tribes that overwhelmed the Western half centuries ago (though to be fair they weren’t entirely lying about that last part). And that is not even getting into the countless conflicts between Crusaders and Byzantines because I’d be here all day.

It’s inconvenient to point that the Crusader states were often in a very fragile state and requesting aid from Europe, since after the First Crusade was successful, many Europeans returned home and very few capable people were left to manage it. Yeah, yeah, we have better things to do so hold tight, m8s. This reality shIts all over the commitment that Christians had in solidarity for their co-religionalists. So Crusade apologists need to be careful in framing these campaigns as motivated by that motive.

There Were Actual Defensive Crusades

The real irony is that they existed after the period even if we don’t traditionally associate with them. the Fall of Constantinople heralded a new chapter in the war between the Cross and the Crescent with the Ottoman Empire beginning an expansion campaign rivaling that of the ancient Umayyads. Even before the city fell, the Ottomans had already consumed chunks of the Balkans including the entirety of Bulgaria, Serbia, Macedonia and Wallachia. Even though the Crusades to retake the Holy Land fell out of fashion by the time of their rise, the situation now changed - the enemies were right at the door instead of thousands of miles in faraway lands and the Byzantine bulwark that withstood for 1000 years is no more.

This time there would be no bullshitting - Catholics and Orthodox would have to cooperate again to deal with the Ottoman dragon and there was no time for squabbling. Cooperation was increased with Albanian Catholics and Orthodox setting aside religious differences and form the League of Lezhe, Pope Pius II interacting with Wallachian Orthodox ruler Vlad III Dracula and Catholic king Matthias Corvinus lending his Black Army to Moldavian prince Stephen III to triumph against the Ottomans at Vaslui. There were officially sanctioned Crusades like the Crusade of Varna and the Crusade of Nicopolis, but they were major Islamic victories over the Christians. 

There can be no denying that the Christian campaigns (whether they were Catholic and Orthodox) against the Ottomans were defensive and fit the conventional understanding of a crusade, whether it’s a military campaign sanctioned by the Pope or simply any war waged by Christians. The reason why the Balkans are ignored is because the Holy Land Crusades are the more lasting ones in the modern public consciousness and still believed to be the cause of many political problems today between the West and the Islamic world (which is rich, since the latter never gave a flying shit about the Crusades until they were on the receiving end of colonialism for a change). Other factors can be accounted like the Protestant Reformation taking everyone’s else attention and being more comparatively significant and that these particular wars were not for people’s souls, but for their lives, their lands and loved ones.

So to my fellow apologists: be careful when you say “the Crusades were defensive wars” because if the other side is more knowledgeable than you, they are going to take up to task and debate you if they can. You need to be prepared to acknowledge the little subtleties of history and remember that the current “bro” relationship between Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy was not the same as it was for medieval times, let alone was a motive for the Crusades because one side viewed the other as f*gg*ts and the latter viewed the former as brainlet cavemen. And more importantly, educate yourself about the wars in the Balkans and Eastern Europe which is surely a fun subject to study since many historical legends emerged from this period like Saint Stephen, Vlad the Impaler, Skanderbeg and John Hunyadi. 

They were all crusaders but you didn’t knew about it.