#i went into vault of knowledge myself all the way to the top floor to get this reference

[thousandth-island]

And here he is by popular demand- Big Manta carrying skysquids Frye and Shiver through the vault of knowledge < 3

+bonus

Frye is 100% the person spamming crab call to get attention. I know this bc it takes one to know one.

[mosaicofdreamsanddragons]

Scholarly Pursuits

Tang enjoys an evening of scholarly pursuits. At least that’s what he tells the others. They don't need to know about the heist. 

Or: Upon the fear that MK might be under the circlet’s curse Tang resolves to find the activation spell and destroy it. 

Link for ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446992

It had started with a Monkey King story, as so much in Tang’s life seemed to nowadays. MK was cleaning up the mess his clone had left in Pigsy’s shop and he’d seemed so down Tang had offered a story. MK’s morose “Anything that doesn’t have clones in it,” was to be expected really. Poor kid had been through a lot.

He ran through all the stories he knew in his mind for one that didn’t involve clones or a duplicate and replace. “How about the time Monkey King attained immortality for the first time? Or perhaps how he met one of his friends?”

MK looked up from where he was sweeping. “What’s the first adventure he had with the Monk?” he said.

Tang smiled and began a story of a Monk who freed a Monkey from under a mountain, their initial clashes with a tiger and bandits, and the resulting fight over the Monkey’s viciousness that split their company until a mysterious old women who was far more then she seemed provided a hat which tightened on command. The story had its desired effect as MK had all but forgotten the broom and the now spotless floor, in favor of perching near Tang and hanging onto his every word.

“Did the circlet work cause of what was said or is it based on who said it?” he said pulling out his unauthorized autobiography and scribbling something down.

“Well…” Tang began but he was cut off by an annoyed shout.

“Stop distracting the kid!” came Pigsy’s angry voice as he stomped into the room, only to do a double take at the spotless floors. “Hhhnf,” he said. “Good job kid, you get the rest of the night off.” MK let out a happy squeal of delight and rushed up the stairs leaving Tang alone with Pigsy.

“Take out tonight?” Tang suggested but Pigsy was not listening to him.

“A circlet that tightens upon command?” said Pigsy. “Any chance that’s going to bother him?”

Tang did not let his shock at Pigsy asking for his knowledge on Monkey king stories show on his face. Instead he pushed his glasses up and smiled. “He’s not wearing one is he? So it’s irrelevant.”

Pigsy huffed and moved off, “I suppose it’s not like anyone remembers how to activate it now,” he muttered.

And Tang’s blood ran cold.

Pigsy continued on oblivious. “How can you even be hungry when you spent all day….” But the words had muted into white noise, taking a backseat to the cacophony in Tang’s brain.

Because Pigsy’s assumption was wrong. Someone did know how to activate the circlet. Tang knew, he’d learned it.

…and that meant others could too.

“…And we aren’t getting takeout when we have perfectly good leftovers!” Pigsy’s indignation finally blasting through the bombshells in Tang’s head.

He nodded and followed the pig, taking care to keep his trademark smirk on his face. No point in worrying him further. And it’s not like the kid had been wearing a circlet at any time. There was nothing to worry about.

  When he’d still been young and naïve, before he’d packed his bags and gone as far west as his meager saving would send him (only two cities over and right into Pigsy’s noodle shop) he’d attended university and managed to secure a job working under a professor in charge of the archives. Aware of his fascination with the Monkey King and thrilled to pass on the love of folklore studies to another, the professor had one day shown him an old papyrus, “And this here is the spell to activate the Monkey King’s headband.”

“Really?” said Tang committing the words to memory. “Does it work?”

“Of course not!” said his professor. “That’s just a story. But this does show us the importance the myth had in the past….”

He was huddle against Sandy and Mei watching MK return to life for the second time in one day. He burst from a stone, just like all the stories, looking exactly how Tang had always envisioned the Monkey king: hovering in the air in front of the sun, wielding a staff, and a faint glowing band across his head.

This was not a story.

This was not a dream.

This was a memory.

   He sat bolt upright and all sense of sleep gone. After checking to make sure he hadn’t woken Pigsy, he slipped onto the balcony to think. He let the cool night air chase any last remnants of sleep from him; he would need his whole mind for this.

The facts were simple. The Monkey King’s circlet caused terrible pain when activated. Tang had seen the fragments of an ancient paper with writing on it and been told it was the activation spell for the circlet. MK had appeared to have a circlet on his head during his first fight against the demon bull king.

It was the unknowns that were less straightforward. He didn’t know if the Monkey King’s circlet could be activated by anyone with the spell or if the speaker mattered. He didn’t know if anyone else had attempted to learn the spell since he’d seen it in a dusty archive. He didn’t know if MK really even had the circlet on him or if it was just some cool aesthetic he’d created with his own powers in the heat of the moment.

And MK knew and worked with the actual Monkey King. Surely he would know if his successor had inherited his circlet. And surely he’d do something about it? Right?

Tang felt his hands clench on the cold iron balcony railing. He stared at it for a moment and then took a deep breath and forced himself relax. His fingers uncurled and he tucked them into his pockets before lifting his gaze to MK’s balcony.

Fact: He’d memorized the words within moments. That information was still out there and easily accessible to any enemy who could fool a university’s security system.

Fact: Tang could not afford this risk, not with MK at stake.

“But what can I do about it?” he wondered aloud. “It’s not like I can pull of a heist by myself.” A rustle in the trees caught his attention and he froze realizing what he’d just said aloud. He scanned the area for eavesdroppers (or worse, Pigsy) but there was only an orange bird rustling around in the plants on a nearby balcony. He had avoided trouble this time but the warning was still there. If he was going to do this, no one could possibly know.

  All good heists require plans. And the best require simple plans with straightforward execution so when it all failed in the third act, he could still figure his way out. The barebones of this plan was simple: get into the university, hope the passcode for the archive vault hadn’t changed since he was a student, destroy a priceless piece of ancient papyrus, get out. He could take the bus.

Then the morning news caught his attention and he had a better idea.

“Mei,” he said sliding his phone over to her, “Could you do me a favor?”

“Sure!” she said glancing curiously down from the top picture to the article beneath it. “What do you need?”

“Could you sign up as a last minute competitor at this race for me?” said Tang.

Mei skimmed the details of the race. “I don’t know,” she said brow furrowed. “This is in the next town over and I’m not familiar with the track.”

“It could be good practice for the big race coming up,” said Tang, “or you could do it just for the fun of racing. Either way I was heading into the town and I figured why not head in together?”

“So you need a ride?” said Mei.

“And to test out my Mei merchandise,” he said holding up the flags he’d made for her. He’d been working on a hat too but she didn’t need to know about that disaster until he managed to fix it.

She looked from his tiny Mei flag and back down to the phone. “I guess it could be fun.” Her smile returned and she bounced on her chair. “Yeah. It’ll be fun!”

Tang smiled as he closed his phone on the picture of his old professor standing next to the judges in a crowd shot. His old professor was not a racer. But his old professor’s spouse was on the panel of judges for this competition. Which could very easily mean he’d be there for support. And he would know the new passcode for the archives. If there was a new passcode. The trick would be to get him talking.

And he had just the conversation starter.

  “Sandy,” he said greeting the tall blue river demon. “Could I by any chance borrow one of your therapy cats for a little trip?”

“Where ya headed?” said Sandy. “Not all of them like long term travel.”

“Mei’s got a race in the next town over,” Tang explained.

“Say no more!” said Sandy cheerfully. “Therapy cats are excellent for pre-race jitters! This is the track she doesn’t know right? The one she signed up for last minute?”

“The very same,” said Tang.

“Ordinarily I’d say you should take Mo,” said Sandy. “He’s the best for differing travel, but he’s got a vet appointment. Don’t worry though, I’m sure one of the others would be willing to help.” He started shifting through his many cats, asking them if they’d like to accompany Mei.

Tang glanced about the room. He’d need a cat that was nondescript in case this went poorly, but it would need to be able to help Mei with said pre-race jitters. He should probably just leave this to Sandy, he knew his cats best and…he felt something brush up against his legs. A fluffy orange cat looked up at him, golden eyes meeting his. He reached down to pet it but it darted off, only to turn back around and look at him like Well? What are you waiting for?

If Tang did not know Mo, this would be strange cat behavior. But he followed the cat into the kitchen…oh it wanted food. “I don’t know where Sandy keeps the cat treats,” he said.

The cat gave him what can only be described as a dirty look before hopping on the counter, grabbing a something from a basket, and placing it down in front of Tang.

“Do you want me to play?” he said reaching down and picking up…Sandy’s wallet. The cat was a little pickpocket. The cat could fetch wallets, wallets which might contain things like passcodes to old archives. He met the gold eyes of the orange cat as it smirked, smirked!, at him. You ready for a heist? it seemed to say.

“Sandy,” he said lifting the cat up. “I think I found the perfect one.”

  Mei loved the cat. “Just look at its little green stripe!” she said. “It matches my jacket! He’s the perfect little mascot!” and the cat seemed to like her happily playing with him to calm herself down. He even put up with her dancing around with him in a fit of pre-race jitters and had greatly enjoyed the ride over.

“He sure loves to race!” she grinned, setting the cat on the front of her motorcycle. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait with Mr. Tang!”

Tang smiled as he accepted the cat and waved Mei over to the starting line. Then he joined the booth with the friends and family of the other competitors, right below the judges. Time for part one of the heist.

“Okay,” he whispered to the cat. “It’s all up to you.” The cat looked at him and flashed the smirk it seemed only to display around him. Then it darted up the stairs towards the judges box.

As Tang watched the race he tried to keep his focus on how Mei was doing and how well she was taking these curves despite being new to the track and not on how he’d just hitched his heist on a cat being able to steal the wallet of his old professor. But he held his ground.

Mei was baited into taking a turn wrong by a more experienced racer. The centripetal force caused her motorcycle to teeter. And Tang felt his anxiety well up inside him. He leaned forward. What if the cat was just a cat and he was imagining all of this? What if his professor saw him and realized his aim? What if Mei didn’t make the turn and it was all his fault for suggesting this fun family outing during a heist?

Mei threw herself to one side causing her whole motorcycle to right itself and zoomed ahead. Tang let out the breath he’d been holding into a cheer before falling back into the chair he didn’t realize he’d risen from.

Only to land on something. He shifted his weight to find a leather wallet. He glanced up to see the cat a few seats above him grinning at him like Why are you so surprised?

He turned this attention back to his find and carefully flipped the wallet open, credit cards, debit cards, ID, coupons, ah ha!

Slipped behind a faculty ID was a small piece of paper with a 1410 written on it. He smiled…

…and slipped the paper back into the wallet.

The cat batted him with its paws. Why did you do that?

“Less…” he glanced around at the cheering fans around him, “…obvious” he whispered.

The cat looked at him. Then it batted the wallet through the gaps in the stands until it fell to the ground below them.

“What did you do that for!” he whisper-shouted as the crowed around him roared.

The cat innocently licked its paw and rubbed its ears. Less obvious he could almost hear innocently repeated back at him.

It…was a good point. This way the professor would not even have to know he was here and the crime wouldn’t be traced to the disappearing wallet. He’d just assumed it had fallen from his pocket to the ground below. Tang could work with this.

Mei pushed the racer who had tricked her out of the track. Tang rose to cheer, loosing himself in the race. All he had to do now was wait and support his kid.

Mei placed bronze. Tang was thrilled. Bronze on a track she hadn’t even prepped for! He ran down the stands to give her a congratulatory hug. She excitedly jumped around the track, bonze metal swinging, and he found himself swept up in her joy. The cat decided to celebrate too by stealing his flag and running around waving it in the air and sticking it in the faces off all the other contestants.

Eventually though, Mei had to head back and grabbed the overexcited kitty. “You sure you don’t want a ride back?” she said.

“No I’ve still got some scholarly pursuits in this city,” said Tang. “Go enjoy your night of celebration with the others. Pigsy said he’d have the race playing at his store, so they’ll be ready and waiting for some celebratory partying.”

Pleased at the prospect of some fun at home, she headed off bundling the cat into the motorcycle. It was less then pleased and when it finally gave up on struggling it looked back at him with big sad eyes How could you abandon me partner? He ignored it. Between the cat’s sadness and Sandy’s wrath, he’d take the former.

He waved and turned back to head towards the bus station. A glimpse of golden shimmer caught his eye but he ignored it. He was on his own now.

It was up to him.

  The only person who noticed the cat turn into a hair upon its return to Sandy’s home was Mo. Mo, being used to this nonsense by now, just went about his day as normal.

  The bus ride to the next town over was uneventful and that gave him time to plan. He’d made it this far without drawing attention to himself, no point in loosing that now, so he bought an obnoxious sweatshirt that screamed college student to the skies and a hat he could pull over his eyes. Then he took off his glasses slipping them into a bland backpack and braced himself for the future headache.

He would like to say he looked the part. But after all these years all he could hope for was that he’d be mistaken for a professor or that no one got close enough to determine his age.

The school was laid out the same way he remembered it and it was quite easy to get into the library above the archives, find a book to read, and head down to the basement to use the reading nook set up there. Conveniently able to watch the comings and goings by the archive door, while looking the very picture of a diligent student seeking a quite study spot.  

So convincing in fact, actual college students had the exact same idea. There were four or five of them sitting in the nook. Well then, looks like this was a game of patience. Fortunately for him, while he had never attempted a heist before, he was quite the expert on waiting games.

Nearly five hours later most of the students had headed off towards the main floor and the remaining two were getting antsy. The silver one’s leg wouldn’t stop moving and the gold one was nervously glancing at the archive door, and then at him, and then at the exit.

Finally the gold one turned and whispered loudly to the silver one, “I don’t think he’s going to leave. Should we knock him out?”

“Can you do it quietly?” said the silver one “What if someone hears?”

Hmmmm. He could use this. “Gentleman,” he began. “It seems we are about the same business tonight. Perhaps an unlikely truce? I don’t ask what business you have with the archives, and you don’t ask what business I have.”

Silver and Gold looked at each other. “You just had to pick today for this” “Excuse me you said no one ever tries to rob places on weekdays!” “Well now we’re in the middle of another person’s heist!” “I know that I have ears.” “What do we do?” “We could team up” “No way! That always leads to betrayal!” “We could just continue like we never saw him?” “Yeah, we’ll just pretend we never saw each other.”

Tang took the opportunity to head over to the archive and type in the passcode. The door slid open but the noise caught the attention of Gold and Silver and they darted in behind him. He’d hoped they wouldn’t notice but as they wandered away from the books and over to the museum pieces he figured he might as well just get what he came for.

Even after all these years, he still remembered where the band-tightening spell had been. Reaching into the vault he withdrew the fragile paper from its spot among the rare books. Carefully he put on his glasses to read the lines, he couldn’t risk destroying the wrong paper, that would mean the loss of a priceless piece of history. Even this one was a priceless window into the past an…bang!

He could hear Gold and Silver arguing behind him. Something about not being able to carry all of whatever they were after. Gold and Silver two thieves that could easily walk over here, read the spell, and be able to hurt his boy. He took of his glasses and slipped them into his backpack, removing what had been in there before: a lighter.

It was a tad old fashioned but it did the trick. The flick of a cap and the paper burned to nothing in his hands.

Then the fire alarms went off.

Tang slammed the door to the books room closed so they wouldn’t get damaged by the sprinklers and sprinted for the exit. Gold and Silver followed hot on his heals but couldn’t quite keep up with the five large objects in their arms. Tang dove thought the door but they weren’t going to make it. So Gold dropped what he was carrying grabbed Silver and leapt through the door with a hint of magic.

They barreled into Tang but he barely registered that they were still holding on to a calabash. Instead is focus was on sprinting to the exit.

He burst from the building into a massive panicking crowd of college students rushing about like someone had yelled there would be free food but failed to give directions.

He could use this. He let himself match the frantic paces of the students and let the crowd provide cover to slip through an old hole in the fence towards the dorms. One he’d used many a time as a student late for class. He was pretty sure it had a gap in the security system too, as it had never been fixed. So he slipped through and stepped to the side, throwing off his college sweatshirt and his hat and pulling out his glasses.

Tang walked to a bus stop and took the next bus home. It was an uneventful ride.

  That night the robbery was all over the news. He watched the broadcast while eating noodles at Pigsy’s shop. “While no clear leads have been found. It is suspected that two of the culprits appeared in this photo taken moments after the crime.” Tang looked up to see fuzzy photos of Gold and Silver sprinting into the crowd. “A third accomplish is suspected, but while discarded clothes were found matching the image above, it is unclear if its tied to the case or not as all footage from the heist itself has been replaced with footage of this bird.” A video played of golden bird with magnificent red and green feathers preening in front of a security camera while a loud bang could be heard in the background. “Donors to the archive, including the Long family, have called an investigation of the security …”

Tang smiled smugly to himself. Nothing like a job well done.

[whitebookposts]

The forbidden archives - Sky: Cotl nightmare based comic.

So, as you probably understood from the title, I drew a comic based on my nightmare that I had that was about the game Sky: Children Of The Light. The Nightmare was pretty scary, but also very cool, so I decided to not only tell about it, but also to draw it out as a comic. I decided to try new style of drawing and coloring, and I think I did pretty well with showing the feel of anxiety and unease that I felt while dreaming this nightmare. Anyway, the comic has horror elements, so I will leave it under the cut. Also, I don’t know if I should put any warnings in the tags, so If I do, please tell me. Let’s get over to the comic itself, shall we? 

It was an ordinary day. I, in the body of my child of light, ran through the archives to the vault of knowledge. Nothing foreshadowed trouble - the walls and floor were as dusty as usual, the lamps emitted a faint light that illuminated the gray darkness, and in the distance you could hear the growling of crabs defending their territory. However, I could not help but be wary from the fact that the floor beneath me strangely knocked and creaked. Despite this, I decided not to pay attention to it, continuing on my way, listening to the echoes of my steps. After running through a puddle of water, I turned and ran down the corridor, intending to leave the destroyed archives. But when I almost reached the last corridor, the floor made a cutting grinding sound in my ear, and fell under my feet. I, frightened, did not have time to react and flap my wings, because of what I fell down like a stone. 

It seemed as if something was pulling me into the dark abyss, since even when I opened my cloak, the speed of my fall did not decrease, which is why, when I finally reached the ground (and the fall was very long), I hit the floor hard. It took me a long time to come back to my senses, and when I did, I saw that I had fallen to the very bottom of the archives. And I'm not just saying the very bottom - the place I fell into was so low that the hole through which I fell was the size of a point when I lifted my head up to look at it. Due to the fact that the hole was so high, I did not have enough flaps to fly out, and the flight itself was extremely difficult - it seemed as if the air itself was pressing on me from the top down, not wanting to let me fly away. I started calling for help, but no one heard my calls - all the sounds were absorbed almost immediately as they left my mouth in the darkness around me. I also could not teleport home - in a dream, to go home, I had to contact the spirits and ask them for help, but in the place where I fell, even the spirits did not hear my calls for help. 

Having no other options, I got up and hobbled away from the crash site, trying to find a way out. My whole body ached, and the darkness was so subtle that I barely could see my hands if I stretched them forward. I had to go by touch, content with the little light that I gave. The deathly silence, in which only my breathing and slow steps were heard, and blind darkness strongly pressed on my mind. I was scared. But even more - not pleasant. I didn't like being here. I wanted out. This is not a place for creatures like me. I SHOULD NOT BE HERE. There was a sense of forbiddenness and wrongness in the air. Stealth. As if there are secrets hidden here that no one should find out about. Plus, the darkness was sucking the light out of me, slowly emptying my cloak. I felt hopeless, I wanted to cry. But then, suddenly, I saw a blue, pleasant light around the corner. Delighted, I sped up and found the light source - it was a beautiful blue butterfly that quietly parked, illuminating the darkness with its beautiful light, making the sound of small bells. Its wings lit up the shelves, and I saw that there were mechanisms with information on them in ideal rows, just like in ordinary archives. But they differed from ordinary ones in that they had an image of a black hole painted on them. This immediately repulsed me from the desire to even touch them, because black holes in the world of my dream were associated with darkness and death. I looked around the archive - it was covered with beautiful glass slabs in perfect cleanliness and perfect repetition. There was not a single speck of dust, not a single crack. It also made me very nervous, because such an ancient and abandoned place should not be in such an ideal, NOT HUMAN state. Wanting to distract myself from anxiety, I reached out my hand to the butterfly in order to feel its warmth and recharge with energy.

But as soon as the butterfly approached me, something grabbed her abruptly, and squeezed, crushing. This "something" was a completely black hand, which in composition resembled the black water in the Golden Wasteland. The arm twisted and twisted as if there were no bones in it. Grabbing the butterfly, the hand also quickly disappeared, dragging it off to the back of the shelves. There was a disgusting chomping sound heard, and I felt hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at me. 

A few seconds later, from behind the shelves, dozens of similar arms appeared, either stretching, either contracting. I felt terrible fear and despair, but I was able to see in the distance another light, now of an orange hue. Looking closely, I saw that there was a door at the end of the corridor. My energy in the cape ran out, and the cape began to turn white, so having no choice, I began to try to slip through these hands to the door. 

Fortunately, I noticed that the arms were stretching and closing in a certain rhythm, and I was able to calculate the timing and slip without affecting anything. But almost as to spite me, when I have gone through almost all hands, I stumbled and touched the last one. Immediately all the hands fluttered and stretched out, reaching after me at high speed. I jumped up and rushed to the door, somehow avoiding the hands that were trying in every possible way to grab me. 

And so, I finally reached the door, my soul sang from the joy of finally escaping this awful place. But having brought the candle to the opening mechanism, all the joy abruptly left me, and my soul went into my heels. This door could only be opened with the help of one more player. All that was left for me was to stand in horror and feel that cold, disgusting liquid dripping onto my shoulder, from which the hand that was hanging over me was made. 

A hiss was heard, chilling and menacing: "by order of the wise one, no living creature should come out of here alive." A hand squeezed my shoulder. 

I woke up.

[fischerfrey]

Chapter 2: Apprentice Curse-Breakers

Summary: The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has some extracurricular activities in mind, and Ben struggles with the events of last year.

Pairings: Eventual OC/Merula Snyde

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Mild swearing, canon typical mean Merula

Previous / Next

Chapter 2: Apprentice Curse-Breakers

Their first class of the year was DADA, and that made Verna extremely nervous. Rowan had made it clear they didn’t think Rakepick could be trusted. In their words, she had been shifty at best and suspicious at worst last year when she had worked with Verna. Rowan was not happy about Rakepick’s appointment as a professor and that made Verna uneasy too. She had always known Rowan had far better judgement than her, and most days Charlie and Ben agreed with that sentiment. So, after breakfast, when the Gryffindors were filing into the DADA classroom, the mood between the four friends was not over the moon. Rakepick was already in the classroom, writing something at her desk. The class went through some major decorative changes each year when a new teacher took it over. It had become routine by now. For Rakepick, the theme seemed to be artifacts of various sizes and ages, that were spread all over the room on pedestals and tables, cabinets and other surfaces.

“Cursed items,” Rowan noted, when they took their seats.

“A niffler,” Verna replied, pointing out Sickleworth, Rakepick’s niffler whom she had had an unlikely partnership with last year, while investigating the Sleepwalking curse.

That was when Professor Rakepick got up from her seat, cleared her throat and snapped her wand, closing the classroom door and making writing appear on the blackboard in front of the class.

“Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts,” she announced, in a tone that implied not a small amount of unimpressedness. “I realize I am your fifth instructor in as many years, and that most of your other teachers’ methods were as questionable as their characters.”

Next to Verna, Rowan balled their hands into fists. They obviously had a thing or two to say about that.

“This year, I am not only going to teach you how to defend yourselves, but how to attack the Dark Arts,” Rakepick continued. “You will receive the finest instruction from someone who has actually faced the worst the Dark Arts have to offer.”

Something about the speech did make Verna listen. She couldn’t deny being interested in learning combat spells, the more the better, because she was sure to need them. From the corner of her eye, she also saw Merula listening intently. This year was gonna be another one spent trying to beat Merula to the top of their class. DADA was pretty much the only subject where she had any chance at all. Usually, it was Rowan and Merula vying for the title, but Verna wasn’t hopeless when it came to duelling and martial magic.

“They say this position is cursed,” Rakepick was saying now. “But breaking curses is what I do best. Now let’s get started, take out your books.”

~

After a whole class spent on how to deal with Ghouls, Verna was feeling much better about DADA. Maybe Rakepick wasn’t going to be so bad. Rowan didn’t feel the same way.

“She might know what she’s talking about, but she has no teaching experience, and I still don’t trust her after the way she dealt with you last year Verna,” they were saying, a little heated. “I think you should be careful if she decides to ask something from you, or… something…”

“Don’t you think you’re maybe overreacting a little bit?” asked Charlie.

“I agree with Rowan,” Ben inserted. “I don’t like her either.”

“We’ll be careful,” Verna assured her friends. “But Dumbledore must’ve had a reason hiring her.”

“Yeah, that’s true… I don’t know, I just don’t like this…” Rowan said and slowly the conversation turned to more casual matters, such as Barnaby Lee’s new pet crup puppy. The general consensus seemed to be that it was extremely cute.

~

After the day’s classes Verna was officially introduced to one Percy Weasley in the library. She and Charlie headed there to get started on charting out how much cramming they’d have to do for their O.W.L.s, only to find Bill and Percy already there, both noses buried deep in books, a scrappy-looking rat sitting on the table next to their study-material.

“Oh, hi Verna,” Bill said with a smile. “Did you two come to actually study?” The surprise in his voice was neither flattering nor unexpected.

“We came to plan on studying,” Verna told Bill, as she and Charlie sat down.

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Bill chuckled and then patted Percy on the shoulder. “Percy, this is Verna.”

“I know,” Percy said in a manner that seemed much too adult-like for an 11-year-old. “She gave us a rather short introduction of Gryffindor common room last night, but I haven’t had a chance to properly introduce myself, I’m Percy Weasley, future prefect, Head Boy, and Minister for Magic.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Percy, sounds like you have your future pretty well planned out,” Verna said and emulated her tone and smile to Beatrice from the previous night, with wildly different results. It appeared Percy was not a fan of hers.

“If you let him, he’ll plan your life for you, too,” Bill said, amused.

“This is my loyal rat, Scabbers,” Percy continued.

“Loyal?” asked Charlie. “It runs off every chance it gets.”

“There’s something off about that rat, yeah…” Bill agreed.

“Ron likes him!” Percy defended his pet.

“Ron’s eight, he likes everything except for spiders,” Charlie complained. Both of the older Weasleys seemed to have such a weird aversion for poor Scabbers that Verna felt bad for it.

“I have a rat too; his name is Hamish. He actually belonged to my brother, but I’ve been taking care of it in his absence.”

This seemed to appeal to Percy, whose tone towards Verna changed a little, when he said: “That’s really kind of you, to take care of your brother’s pet.”

Verna considered this a victory.

~

Their study session was cut short, when Professor Rakepick approached their table something like thirty minutes into Verna and Charlie trying to figure out what exactly to focus most on.

“Mr. Weasley,” she started, and all three of the Weasleys replied with an immediate ‘yes?’.

Verna stifled a laugh.

“William Weasley,” Rakepick specified. “Come with me. You too Miss Malinda, we have work to do.”

Exchanging a glance with Charlie, and Rowan’s misgivings about Rakepick running on a loop in her head, Verna followed Bill and the professor out of the library.

“What is this about?” she whispered to Bill.

“No idea, I guess we’ll find out soon, though…”

 ~

Rakepick took them up to her classroom, where Merula Snyde was already sitting on one of the desks, preoccupied with changing the colour of her painted nails to pay much attention to Verna and the others entering. Verna wasn’t happy to see her. Whatever Rakepick had in mind seemed to involve Merula, and that was never good news.

“Cease your activities Miss Snyde, we have important matters to discuss,” Rakepick commanded, and Merula immediately jumped down from the desk and stood straight. Verna and Bill walked up next to her as Rakepick went on to stand beside the teacher’s desk. She was tall and had a bearing of someone accustomed to commanding respect. Verna found it quite easy to believe she was capable of handling anything that was thrown at her. That’s how I want to be, she thought briefly.

“Congratulations you three. Of all the students at Hogwarts, I’ve chosen you to be my apprentice curse-breakers. Mr Weasley for his bravery and determination, Miss Snyde for her ambition and strength, and Miss Malinda for her natural talent, and obvious connection to the cursed vaults.”

“Why is Merula here?” Verna asked without missing a beat. She was not about to compromise her chances of rescuing her brother for the sake of Merula’s ambitions. She knew by now that Merula would never sacrifice her chances of getting whatever power and knowledge the vaults could give her, not for Jacob’s sake, not for anyone’s.

“Because she is a powerful witch and you’d be a fool not to accept her help, after all, I had to save you from Mr Copper’s attack just months ago.”

Merula remained quiet but gave Verna a smug grin.

“Enough. We need each other’s help to find the next vault and end its curse before anyone gets hurt,” Rakepick said. “I’m going to train you so that you can be more of a help than a hindrance to me, starting with the Incarcerous spell. Wands out!”

 ~

The three of them spent the next three hours attempting to learn the Binding spell with Rakepick’s instruction. She was a good teacher. Strict, demanding, but very clear in the way she instructed them, not leaning on any extra flash, just taking the simplest route to the desired outcome. Unsurprisingly, Bill was the first one to nail the spell. He had two years’ worth more experience and had always been talented. When Verna finally managed to cast the spell on Merula, she felt a sense of accomplishment far greater than if they had used training dummies. The spell conjured ropes that wound tightly around Merula, trapping her arms and binding her legs together. She wobbled for a while and then stumbled to the floor with a grunt. Verna couldn’t help but grin.

“Verna, I don’t think she can breathe…” Bill interrupted her victorious train of thought.

“Oh, shit,” Verna cursed. “Finite Incantatem!” she pointed her wand towards Merula and the ropes around her unbound. “Are you alright?” she asked despite herself.

“Of course, Malinda, mind your own business,” Merula spat, looking more hurt by the audacity of Verna asking her if she was okay. She got up and dusted off her ropes, avoiding looking at any of them.

Rakepick cleared her throat and said: “This is a valuable lesson; we are a team now. A family. No matter what happens, we must protect one another. Do you understand?”

With a sideways glance at Merula, Verna nodded. She hadn’t had this good of a chance to finding any of the previous vaults. Rakepick was an accomplished curse-breaker and now it started to make sense why she had singled out Verna the previous year. Maybe she had already known she’d work here this year and need Verna’s expertise with stopping another curse roaming the halls of Hogwarts. That was something good to tell Rowan, at least, to put their mind on ease.

“And the rest of you?” asked Rakepick with impatience.

“Of course,” Bill said immediately.

Merula eyed both of them with nothing short of disgust and then said: “Fine.”

“Good, then that’s all for tonight, you can go.”

 ~

Rakepick ushered them out of her class, and the three of them were left standing in the empty, darkening corridor. Verna had no idea about the time, but she guessed it was quite late and that they most definitely had missed dinner.

“So that was kind of… strange,” Bill said, but he sounded more excited than anything.

“Finally, someone is doing something in this school,” scoffed Merula.

“And I don’t want you or your megalomania getting in the way of saving my brother,” Verna exclaimed.

“Don’t worry Malinda, you finally have capable people helping so there’s a chance you won’t fuck this up.”

“Fuck off Merula.”

The shorter girl laughed, but there was nothing humorous about the sound. “You like to pretend you’re above the rest of us with your little mission to save your brother, but let’s face it; you’re just scared to admit you like feeling special. You want what’s inside those vaults just as much as me.”

“Shut your mouth about my brother,” Verna snarled. “I’m nothing like you.”

“Of course you’re not, cause I’m not pathetic.”

Verna instinctively reached for her wand and Merula did the same, taking a threatening step closer.

“Verna, we should… probably go… now,” Bill interrupted and placed himself between the two girls. He then proceeded to practically drag her towards the Gryffindor common room by the arm.

~

“I had it under control,” Verna said once they were out of earshot.

“Maybe, but I’d rather not take either one of you to the hospital wing in several different pieces.”

“Fine, yeah, you’re right or whatever… She just gets on my nerves.”

Bill gave her a curious look Verna couldn’t quite place, and then said: “Yeah, I know. You shouldn’t let her get to you that much, it’s what she wants.”

“I know, it’s infuriating.”

“You’re gonna have to be able to work together somehow, though.”

Verna frowned. “I’m not risking my brother’s, or anyone else’s life because of some school rivalry, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Bill said and then stopped. “Is that… Ben?” he asked and pointed to an alcove not far from where they were standing. It was dark so he was partly concealed in shadows, but when he heard his name, he looked towards them.

“Oh, hi Verna, Bill…”

“What are you sitting out here for?” Verna asked and went to her friend. Ben looked rough, like he hadn’t slept.

“I wanted to be alone and there’s always someone in the common room or the dorm…”

“Oh, sorry, I can go- “

“No, actually, can I talk to you for a second, Verna… I…” he trailed off and looked at Bill apologetically.

“I’ll go on ahead, don’t stay out long though,” Bill said reassuringly. Then he walked off to the direction of the Gryffindor tower.

“What did you want to talk about?” asked Verna and sat on the bench in the alcove next to Ben.

For a moment, Ben didn’t look like he was going to answer. Verna had the sudden urge to hug him, but she didn’t move, fearing that Ben would change his mind and leave like last night. Finally, he cleared his throat and stammered: “I’m scared that someone’s gonna take control of me again, and make me do something worse, or that I already have but I just can’t remember.”

He really was in a state. Gently, Verna laid a careful hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll work this out, you don’t have to deal with all this shit on your own, Ben, I’m the reason you’re in this mess in the first place.”

“I still don’t remember what really happened before I attacked you… Do you… do you really believe me? That I was controlled?”

“I promise you that I do, please at least stop worrying about that,” Verna assured him. Ben huffed out a breath and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Thank you, Verna, I don’t know if I’d be as understanding if I was in your shoes…”

Verna bit her lip. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to hear, but she couldn’t exactly blame Ben. Everything had gotten so messed up last year with Rowan and Ben arguing and Verna feeling like she was losing touch with them both. They used to all be so close and now every single interaction was laced with something like doubt. An uncertainty Verna wanted so badly to get rid of.

“We should head back to the common room before Filch finds us here, c’mon,” Verna said and got up.

Ben stood to follow and they were about to head after Bill, when suddenly Ben grabbed Verna’s arm and pulled her behind him.

“Look out!” he yelled and took out his wand but before he could so much as utter an incantation, a purple light hit him and knocked him to the side. Verna looked frantically for the source of the spell, and had her wand out in seconds, but she wasn’t fast enough either. Suddenly she felt her entire body stiffen up, as she was hit with what must’ve been the full body-bind curse. As she hit the ground quite painfully, she saw a hooded figure approach them from the shadows of the corridor. Desperately she tried to move, knowing full well it was not going to work. Her breathing came in shallow gasps as she lay there, helpless to do anything. The red-clad figure walked closer and kicked Verna’s wand out of her reach, as if it would’ve been any use for her in this state anyway.

“I told you death was coming to Hogwarts, Verna Malinda,” the figure said in a voice that was impossible to place or describe. It was modified with magic. “We still need you alive, but before this year ends, one of your friends has to die…”

Verna tried to focus on getting her fingers to move, to do something, anything. Her thoughts were a flurry of desperation and anger. The hooded figure leaned over Verna. She couldn’t make out a face or anything that could be used to recognize the attacker. Verna braced herself for something worse, but nothing happened. Instead, the figure stalked off, back into the shadows.

~

Verna was still trying to force her uncooperative muscles to move, when she saw Ben move in the corner of her eye. The boy sat up and Verna lost sight of him. She heard his footsteps and a muttered spell, and then felt her body able to move again. Without a second glance at Ben, Verna shot up like a lightning bolt, chasing into the direction the hooded person had disappeared to. She had to catch them, she had to. Her ears rang and when she looked down to her wand hand, it was shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was anger, fear, or both.

“Verna, wait!” she heard Ben’s voice, and footsteps echoing after her.

Of course, there was nothing and no one to find. Verna was getting sick of this. She balled her hands into fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. How could she have let the wizard incapacitate her like that? Ben caught up to her and Verna took notice of him now that she could think a little more clearly. He seemed fine, just a little rattled.

“Verna, hey, it’s okay,” Ben tried to reassure her, but it wasn’t okay. Someone had threatened to kill one of her friends. The thought made her chest feel like it was filled with water. The ease with witch this stranger had knocked both of them out of the game made Verna feel sick all over.

“This is bullshit.”

“Verna-“

She took a deep breath. “Are you alright?” she then asked Ben.

“Yeah, you?”

Verna nodded. “Do you think that was someone we know being used against us?”

“I don’t know to be honest… but we should head back now, before someone else attacks us…” Ben said and there was nothing to it, he was right. Verna knew she wasn’t going to find anything but trouble if she stayed here, so she followed Ben back to the Gryffindor common room.

[themyriadmen]

21:13

“Well, aren’t you a stubborn one.” The voice was… detached, the faintest notes of amusement just barely audible beneath the polite disinterest. Idithal turned in place, looking for its source - and taking in his surroundings as he did. A posh sitting room greeted him, the decor tastefully extravagant, all done up in deep, bloody scarlets and burnished gold. Sin’dorei colors, though of darker shades than the heraldry he was used to. He wondered if it were a deliberate choice of style, or if the room was simply dulled with age. A coat of dust covered every surface he could spy, cobwebs hung limp in high corners and between furniture that was beginning to tatter and fray.

It took an embarrassingly long time to realize that the world was in a fidelity he did not recognize. More vibrant, sharper, but oddly muted. Walls did not allow his sight through, but stood immutable with their aged filigree and chipping paint. This was, a distant, academic part of him realized, how others must see. How he had once done, before he had consumed a demon and become who he now was. Not that he could remember anything from before.

In fact, he could not remember coming in to this room, or the home that presumably housed it. He had been… Had been… 

Crumbling architecture, broken tombstones, candles burnt down to the quick, chains made of old, blackened iron. They burn as they are wound around him - the metal frigid cold against his skin. She is a shadow in a corner of the room, imposingly tall and in a frilled dress more suited for a ball than a mausoleum. Firelight dances in her eyes, flashes across pointed teeth when she apologizes and promises him it will hurt.

He looked down at his arms, bare and scarred, sickly light spilling through rends in his flesh. The weight of iron pulled at their every movement, but he could not see the chains.

“Fear not, your shackles still remain.” That voice again, closer - by the fire. Had it been lit a moment ago? “Forgive me that I found them a touch unsightly, and so elected not to see them.”

There was a plush sofa that he did not remember seeing as he spun, and a man sat in it that he most certainly would have remembered. He was an elf - sin’dorei, to match the room, with eyes that glow a dull, lifeless blue beneath a head of neatly coiffed hair. His face had the usual noble bearing of his kind, and his lips were pulled into a recreation of a smile that was just slightly off from perfect.

“Please, sit. You have come all this way to see me, I would be remiss if I did not offer you at least some comfort as reward.” Idithal blinked, and between the fluttering of his lids another sofa had spontaneously come into existence beside the stranger’s. He stood still, and invisible hands gripped him by the shackles he could no longer see and dragged him to the seat.

“Wonderful,” said his host, that same, emotionless smile not so much as twitching.

He made to stand, but leaden weight forced him back into the cushion. “Who are you? Where are we?”

“I believe you know the answer to at least one of those questions.”

The world tinges red, the chains tightens around him until they bite into his skin and his blood is lost in the haze of anima. It screams from him, torn from his soul and drawn out through his throat in tormented cries.

“Remember, boy,” she says, claw-tipped fingers outstretched towards him as he writhes. “Remember, and repent.”

“Revendreth,” he mumbled, phantom pains echoing through him and causing him to grimace. “I went to… To find out who…”

The stranger across from lifted a hand and gave a small, sarcastic wave. “Hello, me,” he said, voice filled with false cheer. “I had hoped never for us to meet, but as I said. You are frustratingly tenacious when you wish to be - not that I ought to have been surprised.”

“I don’t understand,” was the first thing Idithal could think to say, and his… twin? Doppelganger? Psychotic break? The other guy gave a mirthless chuckle.

“Not precisely quick on the uptake, though I believe that to be more of a fault of environment than intrinsic flaw. You tend to rely upon others to do the thinking for you.” The other hummed, the hand that had waved now drumming across the arm of his chair. A leg lifted to cross over his knee, and his head tilted in consideration. “Entertaining, certainly, though I must admit to a hint of frustration. I was always rather self reliant, whereas you tend to fall apart without guidance - no offence intended.”

“Fuck you,” he growled, and the ghost of a rattle sounded out as he attempted again to leap from his seat - again without success. “Tell me what’s going on!”

His answer was that same, damnable smile, as though it had been chiseled into his other’s face. “Ah, there is the temper. Naughty naughty, brother, dear - do you mind that I call you brother? I find it helps to keep things a mite less confusing.”

Idithal’s chair hopped with the force of his next attempted escape. It righted itself immediately after.

“Now,” the other continued, as if he was not the subject of a murderous glare, “I am sure you were expecting some… tragic play in three parts that would sum up your backstory - or, better yet -”

Idithal blinked, and the posh sitting room had been replaced by the demon-infested ruins of the Vault of the Wardens. He was no longer sitting, but stood up within one of the crystalline prisons, frozen but aware, staring out at the other-him on the other side of the cell.

“- something more akin to this, yes? Perhaps with the demon you had subjugated in place of me, exuding its malevolence into you, giving you an excuse for the evils that you commit?”

Another blink and he was back in the chair. A tremble passed through him.

“I wish that I could regret informing you that such is not the case. The simple truth is that there is no jailer, not any longer. The act we undertook, taking the essence of the Legion within ourselves, warring with it to come out the victor, was above all else a matter of will. A pity for the departed, then, that will happens to be a thing which I have in abundance. I subjugated the demon in whole, took its essence within myself and became it. I won the war.”

Idithal’s jaw worked for a moment as he attempted to find the words. “Then what is this? Why are… How am I here?”

“A miscalculation on my part,” his other shrugged. “Or, perhaps, finding myself unused to our newfound ability. You know well by now that the demon consumed specialized in withdrawing and storing the souls of others. Due to my unfamiliarity, I managed to slip myself into the bounds of that metaphysical cage, leaving my body temporarily without… agency, shall we say. You were a sort of autonomous response, the simplest, most basic parts of me taking hold so that I was not some empty husk upon the floor. I had, in fact, been near to wresting control of myself back when the Illidari threatened to kill us, but then…”

The silence was leading, and Idithal’s voice was small when he answered it. “Vylen.”

“Just so. I found myself intrigued by her intervention, by what use she might have had for you. I contented myself to sit back,” he waved a hand at the room they were in, “and watch events unfold, with the knowledge that I might intervene should the need ever arise. And, in truth, it never did. My experimental interest became more of an… existential one, I suppose you might call it. I came to wonder how you might grow, with the seeds of me in you, sewn in some foreign soil. It has been a treat, watching you become an arguably better person than I had ever pretended to be, when I came from a loving home and family, and you were birthed in a camp full of demonic betrayers. Not to mention that, through you, I have been able to experience my revenge far greater than I had ever dared to hope.”

Idithal’s head spun. His entire life was just… a fluke? A game? A story, to stave off the boredom of the man he had once been?

“Your revenge? I don’t… I don’t understand, any of this.”

The other’s legs uncrossed, then came together again - the opposite leg now on top. “I should, I suppose, start at the beginning. Allow you a bit of the catharsis you sought in that fool plan of yours -”

He has screamed and screamed and screamed until his throat has torn to pieces and there is not enough of him left to rebuild it.

“- if only to prevent it from ruining my fun. We were born with what our dear sister once described as a remarkable capacity for apathy. In truth, a mind healer likely would have done us some good in our formative years - especially after father’s passing, but mother was a proud sort who refused to admit that anything might be wrong in her baby boy’s head. She coddled, and I loved her for it, but one cannot help but wonder how they might have turned out in different circumstances. Well…” 

He trailed off, sending Idithal a look that sent shivers down his spine.

“One who did not have the particular opportunity that you have afforded me might wonder, I suppose. I digress - as you have experienced for yourself, it is intensely simple for us to assign no value to life. Conversely, for those few we do manage to care for, the depth of our esteem for them is… worrying, in a certain capacity. A thing which you have also found out. Tell me, which hurts worse? The scar she left, or the intangible ache of betraying your friend?”

His expression shifted for the first time, to one of honest, open curiosity.

“I had never been able to manage friends, you see. My family - my loved ones, were all that I required. To bother with those of lesser value seemed too inefficient for me, but I watched you try it. You cared for - care for? - that Light totem far less than you do dearest Vylen, but even that is more than I am familiar with.”

“Isilliya,” was all he could bring himself to say. “Her name is Isilliya. Not ‘Light totem.’”

His other waved away the correction. “Yes, yes, as you say. Mn. Carrying on - to me, my mother and sister were as Vylen is to you. They were the ones I loved. The only ones. Naught else in all the worlds and all the realms mattered. I used that, to keep them safe. Used how little value I saw in others to place value upon myself. I learned to spy, to stalk, to kill - and I charged good gold for all of it.”

“It wasn’t enough,” Idithal murmured. He wasn’t an idiot, he could see what was coming.

His other’s face froze, became as blank as a statue’s. “It was not. War has a habit of spilling over, of claiming lives uninvolved in it. I lost them both in the Second War, in a clash between the Horde and Alliance. Tell me - in what you imagined to have been a threat against your love, you tore to pieces a friendship you had actually valued, and visited great harm upon a person you had found the capacity to admire.”

Idithal’s head fell, shoulders slumped in shame.

“Tell me, knowing you would do such a thing to a ‘friend,’” the other continued, “how do you think I reacted to the loss of those I loved? What would I have done to those I assigned the same importance as the dirt beneath my shoes?”

“You killed them.”

It was, after all, what he would have done.

“In droves,” the other agreed, that stony visage cracking to show just a hint of maddened glee beneath. “Any I could find bearing those standards. Any who called themselves soldiers in that damned war. All were complicit. When the dead marched upon Quel’thalas, I stood aside, because it was right. It was just, that innocents suffer and die as my family had, meaninglessly, mercilessly. When the Sunwell fell and the quel’dorei withered, I drank a toast. When the Dark Portal sparked to life and armies marched upon it, I stood within their ranks and planted knives in their backs.”

The madness began to creep into his voice, a sort of keening, hysteric pitch.

“I sabotaged garrisons. I slit the throats of scouts and messengers. I bled them for every step they took against the Legion, against Illidan… and when I had weakened. When I could no longer hide amongst them, or steal enough to sustain myself, I turned to him. Gave myself freely to his cause, because it brought him into contest with those I would see destroyed. It did not matter that we might fail. That my death was likely. So long as we hurt them. So long as they paid in blood and souls for every victory against us. So long as a score of them fell for every one of ours…”

“Why didn’t you come back?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Why did you let me… Live?”

“Curiosity, at first, as I said,” the other shrugged, dragged back from his manic and melancholic edge. “While I had my goal in mind, my vengeance left to take, you were being directed in ways that satisfied that goal. Vylen wielded you rather expertly, and I found myself enjoying the life she found for us. It was… nice, I believe is the proper word, to have others to work with. Educating, to see how your sense of self formed around them. In time, I found myself loathe to part you from the one you had come to love so fiercely, knowing as I do the pain of that loss. I am a monster, brother dear, but I do frown upon hypocrites.”

“So, that’s… That’s it? You just… You think I’m entertaining?”

“You?” The other scoffed. “Heavens, no. You are rather a disappointment. All of my worst traits, and a refusal to acknowledge them. Even now, you crossed over into death and subjected yourself to torture in effort to find someone else to blame for your actions. You came here expecting to find a demon, a dragon to slay, some dark spectre tugging at your thoughts and directing your ill intent. Well, surprise,” he smiled that old, fake smile. “I have done no such thing. Your failures are all your own.”

Idithal felt suddenly nauseous, and a chain snaked its way up his chest to cinch around his throat.

“Not on this carpet,” the other warned. “Mother loved it. Where was I - ah. No, it is not you I find entertaining, it is your life. Had I retaken the reigns of my being, there is every likelihood I would not have survived the tribulations you bumbled your way through. Would not have had dearest Vylen there, holding my hand, keeping me safe from my own inadequacy. No, I would have fallen - perhaps at the Temple, perhaps before, and none would have mourned my passing. You, though… You lived where I would have not, and because of that I have seen so many wondrous things. Countrysides burning in felfire as the Horde and Alliance failed against the Legion. Watched their own paranoid, greedy idiocy then see them taking up broken arms against each other once more. Through your eyes I saw Teldrassil burn. I saw you turn your blades against men and women who thought you their comrade. I watched an Old God’s dreams call them like lambs to the slaughter. I watched the dead rise and turn their cities into charnel houses. I watched them scramble and flail as their leaders were whisked away into a shattered sky.”

As he spoke he had risen from his chair and crossed to Idithal’s. His twin leaned down, a hand placed upon each of the sofa’s arms, and bore his crazed eyes into Idi’s own.

“Through you, I have witnessed my enemies suffer beyond even my darkest imaginings, and I will not stand for your foolishness interrupting my fun. You will leave me, never again to return. You will fix your mistakes, grovel and plea to be taken back into their arms, because they have the strength to survive within the eye of the storm, and I would see it rage around them. You will be better, because I demand it.”

The other abruptly rose and took a step back. He lifted one leg, pressed the sole of a polished boot against Idithal’s chest.

“Goodbye, brother, dear,” the smile was back as the leg pushed out, knocking Idithal back in his chair. “Pray we do not meet again.”

Idi tipped backwards in his seat, and when his back struck the ground he found himself lying on the floor of a crypt, weeping blood and tears, his own breath choking in his lungs.

“I warned you that it would hurt,” said Inquisitor Anasthia, as she floated above his broken form.

[seven-oomen]

Hi, Ben!  I’m glad your day went well and you’ve had good luck with your therapists so far!  Thankfully today was not as bad as they’d feared (hence why they had me come in early), so it was mostly just a very long day, but not an especially stressful one.  I spent most of it channeling my somewhat dormant Tetris skills to redo aisles to fit out all the new crap they’ve been sending for the holidays, actually.  Which I generally tend to enjoy, as long as customers stay out of my way (sadly this is not often the case.)  Hopefully since we’re past the traditionally worst days, and one of the managers is back from vacation, my schedule should go back to normal for a little while.

The new preview is adorable, even if my entire knowledge of Phineas and Ferb has been gleaned from Tumblr posts (I was always more of a Cartoon Network girl.)  I look forward to learning along with Peter.  XD  And I look forward to all of the cuteness, even if they are being idiots.  XD  (Poor Mel - “I think this is worse than high school.  How the hell is this actually WORSE than when we were in high school?  Jfc.”)

And I’m pretty proud of the mountain ash thing, too, even though I’m sure I’m far from the first to think of it.  XD  And may I offer the suggestion of back-seam fishnet thigh highs?  That way they could leave them on, and also offers the option of a garter belt.  And because I’ve accepted that I’m absolutely shameless for clothes sharing, I feel like their tops are some ratty old college ones of Peter’s that they found in the vault/Noah’s attic/Chris’ storage unit, that didn’t make it into any of the memory quilts.  They’re 90s tees, so they’re already kinda short and boxy, but they cut them off even shorter, trim the sleeves and remove the collar and open up the neckline until it reveals most of their neck and collarbone area.

Peter just comes home one day and Chris is bent over the island top making notes in a cookbook, the toe of one leather boot occasionally scuffing the floor, hips idly swaying as he works.  Peter’s eyes just lock onto him like a laser, fervently following a line from the pointed tips of his heels, up the seams of his stockings and the straps of the garters that hug and highlight every line of toned muscle, to the blatant invitation printed across the graceful curve of his ass, like it’s his own personal treasure map.  A herd of elephants stampeding through their living room couldn’t distract him from a view like that, so he sure as hell doesn’t notice the half-circle of mountain ash just inside the doorway to the kitchen until he quite literally faceplants against it.  Chris hears his noise of pain and confusion, and just nonchalantly glances over one shoulder like “oh, are you finally home?”

Desperately attempting to play off his reaction, Peter finally manages “It’s not nice to tease, Christopher.”

“Why am I getting full-named?  You don’t think I laid that line myself, do you?”

 That’s when Noah comes sashaying past in a matching outfit, closing the circle of the ash line before Peter can react, heels clicking gently against the wooden flooring.  He spins and hops up to sit on the island next to Chris, leaning back on his hands and crossing one knee coquettishly over the other, his cropped sleeves just barely clinging to those sturdy shoulders and doing absolutely nothing to conceal the flex of his arms, thigh highs cradling nearly every inch of those long, long legs, one heel tapping lightly against the island, smirk equal parts mischief and pure, unadulterated sass.

“What can I say?  We thought it was only fair that you get to at least look at your gifts.  We just weren’t entirely sure you deserved to touch."  He turns his smirk down to Chris, who’s got a nearly matching expression at this point, and Chris tosses his book off towards the far counter as he climbs up onto the island with Noah, and they proceed to make Peter both very, very glad that the island is more than big enough to fit two grown adults, and very, very irritated with himself for his own distractablility (though really, who could blame him?  he’s just grateful that Noah included a dining chair in the circle so he has something to collapse into.)  (…so I perhaps should have included a warning that I’ve had wine.  Sorry, not sorry?)

Uhhh…*clears throat* moving on…  I saw the post with those littering clips, and that would be hysterical to see.  Like, Chris doesn’t even have any cleaning products with him, he just tugs down his sleeve over his hand and starts polishing the guy’s side-view mirror and the driver’s side windshield while giving his not-threatening-you-but-I’m-definitely-threatening-you speech, while Noah just casually pulls out a ticket book and starts filling one out.  And oh god, that lady is lucky Peter didn’t put his entire foot through the door.  XD  It would be absolutely impossible to tell if Ben was being sassy or completely serious.  Peter would be so proud.  And why can I hear Julio screaming out "GOOOOOOAAAALLLL!!!” at the top of his lungs because they used to do shit like that as kids and he just can’t help himself?

And I love the idea of them watching stuff together (shows, movies, whatever.)  In the case of The Witcher, I feel like Derek would be part of the super into it group with Stiles and Allison, and they’d all be sitting there having intense discussions about it after each episode and somewhat wishing everyone else would be quieter.  XD  Anytime Chris or Noah tries to get up because someone needs a refill or a snack, Peter tightens his grip and sends one of the kids to get it instead, flashing his eyes and backing it up with a bit of alpha command if he needs to.  He rarely has to though, whoever he calls on mostly just rolls their eyes and mutters under their breath about how embarrassing the three of them are, but does it anyway.  The other two always make sure to profusely thank whoever it was, rolling their eyes with grudging acceptance at Peter’s antics.

Since this got unexpectedly long, and it is now later than I thought, I’m gonna try and wrap up.  XD  I hope that today is another good day, and that you have a good experience with the other therapist on Wednesday, too, no matter who you end up going with.  And I’m glad you’re enjoying what you’ve written so far, because everything I’ve seen of the next chapter I’ve loved.  Take care!  *Hugs!*

I’m really glad to hear your day was not as hectic as it could have been. Though I hope things further calm down and that the relief of your manager coming back will set things back to normal. Because it sounds like things have been brutal.

honestly, I’m loving every single second of your wine induced babble and kept giggling while reading it, so apology accepted but very much not needed please keep going XD.

Now it is kinda late here and I have my other therapy appointment in 12 hours so I’m gonna keep it short. But there’s another little preview and I wanted to share this gem. (I hope it comes across as cute.)

Peter’s face was currently torn between a look of disgust at said vegetables and pure adoration for both him and Chris and it was honestly one of the funniest tormented faces he’d ever seen on their mate. Far funnier then that time they’d locked him out of a make out session while at the mall. Back when they were teenagers and horny and sassy all the time and when they didn’t have children or responsibilities.

Hope work’s okay and you’re doing okay, me and Mo are giving you lots of hugs and encouragement at least. <3

[whispersafterdusk]

The Master’s Apprentice - ch 6

Time passed quickly when all he let himself think about were his lessons; some days Kestrel introduced something new, some days she made him review what he'd already learned.  He had reached a point where throwing frost, water, fire, wind, or lightning was second nature, able to do so in the blink of an eye with both hands aimed in front of him or pointed in different directions (and he'd even managed to get the spray radius almost up to that of a two-handed cast - something he was definitely proud of).  

He'd also been introduced to casting earth and rock spells (there really wasn't any better descriptor for those) and, because of that, had learned that one of the locked doors he hadn't been able to explore opened into a very long, gently sloping staircase that led to a large storeroom. ((Continued below cut))

"This sort of magic will strengthen you against physical sorts of damage similar to a ward's defense against magic and allow you to change the landscape around you but, unlike with fire, frost, or lightning, you aren't able to simply create earth or stone out of nothing...I have yet to figure out why," she'd explained.  

Within the storeroom were stacks upon stacks of wooden logs, carefully preserved bolts of cloth, empty bottles and a variety of tools and pieces of things to repair the tools; at the very rear of the room where there had once been logs was where Kestrel set him to practicing these new spells -- he'd called stones from the ground and shaped the soil, and had dug the back of the room out further (and learned that yes, she had not been exaggerating when she'd said that moving earth like this was difficult: the harder he pushed outward the more the soil he was exerting force on and the effort required to keep moving it kept increasing exponentially unless he was careful with how he pushed and adjusted things).

Between the earthen spells and his ever strengthening wards (practice, practice, practice) Onmund was actually confident in his own defense - far more than he'd been at the College, that was for sure.  He'd been trapped down here, by his count, for about five and a half months and he was already well advanced beyond what he imagined his peers were at.

Of course...it was difficult to think about them, or about anything else on the surface; nighttime was the worst time to be alone with his thoughts.  His supposed immortality aside, it hurt to think that he'd never see anyone he knew again...he'd never love or get married, have a family, he'd never adventure and see what the world had to offer.  He was trapped in an elaborate hole in the ground, and would possibly be here until the end of time itself...and at night when his tired mind caught him unaware the realizations cut deeply, and made his eyes burn and his heart ache.

And strangely, it made him wonder how Kestrel had managed to be alone for so long.  From the little snippets here and there he gathered that she'd been alone for nearly fifty years or so before he'd fallen down here, and that while she'd had quite the number of apprentices they had been spread out over long periods of time interspersed with even longer periods of total isolation.  How had she not gone mad?  How had she wrestled with the feelings of loneliness, of regret and longing?  She still refused to tell him her exact age and he knew she had to be ancient...perhaps it was a question of time needed -- time needed to mourn and miss things, and time to heal and move on.

He still hadn't asked her what had happened to the man before him; she didn't talk about him aside from the odd comment here or there, explaining how whatever she was teaching him was something she'd discovered alongside that previous apprentice, and she'd let slip no hints whatsoever about who he'd even been or how long he'd dwelled with her.

It was a mystery he woke up one morning deciding he needed an answer for: if the previous apprentice had been gifted immortality then where was he? Surely, after all her warnings and sympathy about Onmund being unable to ever leave, she hadn't actually LET the other man leave.

"...may I ask you something, before we begin today?"

"Of course."

He hesitated a moment, slowing to a stop about halfway to the Hall of Mirrors; Kestrel took a few steps more to notice he'd paused before she stopped and turned around.

"The spell you have on me... If you created that with your last apprentice, and it also gave him immortality...why were you alone when I fell down here?  What happened to him?"

She smiled faintly and shook her head.  "I was wondering when you'd work up the nerve to ask about those that came before you.   Follow me, I will show you something."

She turned around and started back down the hallway but instead of the Hall she went to her own room; Onmund followed and once he was inside saw that her room was nigh identical to his in layout save for a flat table-like structure covered with a cloth in the center of the room, a coffin of white wood that stood next to a wardrobe, and a polished, pale brown wooden coffin on a wide, tall stone slab where a bed should have been.  With a very intricate, complex wave of her hand and an uttered word the stone slab ponderously moved aside to reveal a hole carved into its middle -- Kestrel walked over and stepped down onto the first rung of the stone ladder within the hole and, when Onmund followed her a moment later, he found the ladder went down for quite a ways (and it was tight, claustrophobic even - barely wide enough to fit his shoulders).

Eventually his boots landed on a chilly stone floor, with the only light being that pitiful amount that managed to make it from the hole at the top of the ladder down to this level; he suspected they were even deeper down than the storeroom had been and this room was absolutely frigid and their steps echoed in the space.

Kestrel conjured a series of very tiny magelight orbs - each about the size of her thumb, and sent them into the room in a flurry of light where they twinkled like fireflies; as the room steadily filled with their golden glow Onmund's eyes widened at what they revealed:

Coffins.  Heavy iron sarcophagi lined the walls to either side of what was essentially a stone vault - he could count twenty seven that had their lids on, and five more that stood open with their lids set perpendicular across their tops.  Each one shimmered in the magelight, their tops and sides polished to a sheen and with what he assumed were names carved near the heads.

"Here before you you see the apprentices of the past -- and before you ask, all save for one of them died of old age," Kestrel said softly.  "And, not all of them died down here... I have moved from den to den over the years but did not want to leave them behind, buried and forgotten."

Onmund took a few careful steps into the room before looking back to her; Kestrel nodded to him - she apparently didn't mind if he took a closer look.

Jyrmi, Brellin, Evulme, Balur, Agati... Each closed coffin that held a body bore a name and not a single speck of dust, and all of the coffins were finely crafted.  He walked halfway through the room, pausing where the magelights had stopped at the border between dim light and darkness; the room continued on but Kestrel had purposely not sent the magelights back far enough to fully light it.  The coffins to either side of him were empty...were there just more empty ones back there?

(And exactly how far ahead did she plan?  It was a chilling thought that one of these had almost had HIS name on it).

"I - I guess I understand why most of these would be here," he said slowly, looking back at her from over a shoulder.  "But I don't understand why you'd show me this - if he was immortal he should still be alive.  Why did he die?  Is he even down here?  Are one of these his?"

Kestrel conjured a much larger orb this time and sent it rocketing to the far end of the room - Onmund shielded his eyes as it raced by him - and there it stopped against the back wall, revealing a single pathetic, lonely wooden coffin shoved into a corner.

The wood looked old and dry rotted, it had no name; it was coated in dust and dirt and looked neglected.  He gave Kestrel an uneasy look and she slowly strolled toward him between the line of coffins.

"I am not so isolated here as I've made you believe," she started.  "I can choose to observe the surface world.  It's possible to come and go from here if you know how to navigate the web of protections that surround this place.  Many of my apprentices I observed for years, watching them grow and gauging their ambitions, until I offered them a chance to learn from me and plucked them from the life they had.  He was one of those...a very ambitious, curious man.  Oftentimes he was shunned for radical ideas and his penchant for asking questions, challenging 'common' knowledge.  He leapt at the chance to learn under my tutelage - I was offering him exactly what he desired, and he was the perfect companion in all aspects...TOO perfect.  I foolishly loved the man - it was difficult not to.  That was why I couldn't bear the thought of outliving him, but I couldn't bring myself to turn him either."

Onmund looked back to the wooden coffin again - it definitely didn't look like it belonged to someone that was loved.  "What happened?"

"We began to craft our spell... And when it seemed we had succeeded we were both especially cautious not to be too hopeful but also incredibly drunk on the rush of our triumph.  For twenty years we carefully monitored him - his appearance, his mental and physical health and needs.  Nothing changed.  We declared it a victory.  And when he was convinced he had immortality with no adverse side effects he went to rid himself of me - the romance had been a ruse."

She said it all matter-of-factly, with hardly any emotion, but Onmund himself was incredibly disturbed and confused.  "I...but...  But he needed you for the immortality...why would he try to kill you?  HOW did he try to kill you?  I can't so much as sneeze in your direction without going unconscious."

She laughed softly and rested a hand on his shoulder.  "At the time we didn't realize it was shared characteristics...our intentions hadn't been to share, but to gift.   And once he thought he had his gift he no longer needed me, just the vast amount of knowledge that he coveted and the freedom to move forward on his own, the-" Kestrel abruptly stopped, biting her lower lip.   "-the thing be damned," she finished after a pause.

"Thing...?"

"The thing we guard.  That he and I once both guarded out of fear for what it could possibly do," she elaborated.  "For all I know he decided he could control that too, and needed me gone so he could take possession of it.  I don't know and I don't care, and it's too late to ask him now.  To save myself I was forced to kill him, and once he was dead I felt everything I'd gained from him fade...to say nothing of how it feels to have your heart so cruelly broken."

A silence fell between them; Onmund couldn't help but stare at the coffin - his predecessor, right there in front of him, and by all accounts a traitor, a liar, and a would-be murderer.

"So he tried to attack you, failed, and you killed him.  Like you almost killed me?"

Kestrel shook her head.  "No no, when the spell was between myself and him it wasn't able to kill, and did not prevent him from harming me...it wasn't until after that - much, much later - that I figured out how to add that in.  I am not taking that chance again."  She turned on a heel and began to walk back to the ladder; the large magelight orb over the coffin in the corner extinguished and, as she walked by them, the other tinier ones began to as well.

Onmund hurried to follow her so he wouldn't be left alone in the dark, and it was a very long climb back up into her room; his arms and legs were burning by the time he hauled himself out of the opening and rolled off the stone slab onto his knees, sitting there in the floor and waiting for the slab to slide back into place before he used it to push himself back to his feet.

She was already moving toward the cloth-covered table and with a flourish yanked the cloth free; the table was a sheet of mirrored glass marked with runes and etched with constellation drawings.  At her gesture he came over to look at it -- it was amazing craftsmanship and he'd not seen anything like it before, and he wondered what its purpose was but assumed she'd be telling him if she was showing it to him now.

"This..." she said quietly, running her fingers lightly over its smooth surface, "is a scrying table.  A means to look at things from far distances - assuming what you're looking at isn't warded to block your sight."

"Scrying...  I've heard of that, actually," Onmund murmured.  He too reached out a hand to rest his fingers against the silvered glass; it was cold to the touch and he could feel a sort of latent power within it - something that would awaken with the right application of...something.  "I didn't realize you needed something like this to do it though."

"You don't," Kestrel laughed.  "You can use a simple map and a pure crystal - I prefer quartz - but it's considerably more difficult, and I dislike doing things the hard way for no reason."

"How does it work?"

"It's a combination of invested magicka from the caster, a high degree of mental focus, and knowledge of your subject or target," she explained.   "Having something belonging to someone you're wanting to scry helps but it's not required."

Onmund leaned forward, admiring the etchings and designs within the mirrored surface.  "Will I learn how to use this?"

"Of course...though, don't get your hopes up, it will be awhile.  It takes a lot of mental training that we've not gotten to yet."

The thought of being able to scry his family, his friends...to be able to see them again, even if it was just through a mirror, was a very tempting, attractive thought.  "I definitely want to learn."

With a soft chuckle she placed hands on his shoulders and turned to guide him out of her bedroom.  "In time.  To build a house you have to have a sturdy foundation - likewise, to climb to new heights with magical skill you must first have a solid foundation of knowledge."

"Yes, yes, I get that," he said with a small laugh.  He took a few quick steps to get out in front of her, shrugging off her hands.  "What are you showing me today, then?"

"I think today is a fine day to review," came her answer as she stepped ahead of him and led the way to the Hall of Mirrors.

-----------------------------------------------

Onmund had gotten into the habit of keeping a bound book of blank parchment sitting on his desk - something he thought he could have used as a journal, to leave some record of his discontent and attempts to find freedom again - and yet he hadn't done that at all.  Every morning he instead placed another tally mark in a row to keep track of how long he'd been here; by his count he'd been here eight months and six days exactly, which hardly seemed like any time at all.  

There were mornings where he woke before Kestrel came for him and he would sit at his desk and read sometimes but far more often he would retreat into daydreams -- he wondered how long the others had looked for him before giving up, how long they'd waited to let his family know he'd "died," or IF they'd even told his family yet...he knew his family would demand a body to be buried which the College obviously couldn't give them.  How angry would his parents be at them?  Or at HIM for refusing their wishes to be a hunter or farmer and becoming a mage, and (no doubt in their eyes) dying because of his idiotic choice?

There was a part of him that thought he should hate Kestrel for all this...but he didn't.  And he also thought that he should still be trying to escape despite the spell that could kill him with a thought...and yet, he didn't want to do that either (and not just because he'd die).  He hadn't even given it a thought in...a month, maybe more.  The things he was learning here he felt he couldn't learn anywhere else and...well.

Kestrel was a good teacher - a good master mage.  He had a lot of learning to do before he'd be advanced enough to help her research or anything like that but she never held that against him. She was firm but kind, never talked down to him, patiently helped when he asked, kept his curiosity and eagerness alive and strong with each new thing, and carried herself with a confidence no doubt born out of untold years of experience - that she seemed terrified of whatever it was that they guarded down here...he wondered if it was better if he never found out.  But he knew he would, eventually -- Kestrel's lessons this week had been of mental strength: sharpening his focus, withstanding mental assaults, broadening his ability to multitask (multicast?) rapidly by demanding he juggle several spells or problems all at one time.  He'd thought at first that this would be the precursor to learning how to use the scrying table - and maybe it was part of that - but the last few days she'd really doubled down on increasing his mental defenses.

She was preparing to tell him about the thing that was down here with them.  She had to be.

Another week went by, and then another.  Her lessons didn't change from the mental exercises, nor did she allow him time to practice anything other than that; it was starting to become a bit nerve wracking waking up each morning wondering if today would be that day.

And yet when that morning finally came he found himself oddly calm -- he'd been anticipating this for weeks so maybe it wasn't too strange...   Well, he supposed that he hadn't really been afraid of the Eye of Magnus at first either as he had no idea what it was at the time (and look at what'd happened with THAT).

With little fanfare (and hardly speaking) Kestrel led the way back to her room and moved her coffin and the stone slab aside again; they climbed in silence down the stone ladder to the chilled mausoleum and then walked by the dim light of a single magelight orb to the far end of the room where the wooden coffin of the last apprentice sat.  Kestrel veered toward the corner opposite of that coffin and seemed to simply disappear into thin air, though the air itself appeared to ripple like a pond's surface.  Onmund paused, uncertain of what he'd just seen, then Kestrel's disembodied hand stuck out of the midst of the air ripples and gestured for him to come closer.

He did and felt the hair on his arms stand on end as he passed through some sort of magical field; looking back out into the room was almost nauseating as everything visually rippled, like he was at the bottom of a deep pool looking upward.  There was a semi circle of runes carved into the floor and up the walls that were only visible if he was standing within it and Onmund swore his teeth were vibrating from all the power concentrated in this one tiny area; it was a very bizarre feeling overall but it did look as though they simply stood together in a rune circle as the walls and floor still remained - or appeared - solid.

Kestrel then began reaching out to runes etched into the walls, touching them rapidly and in a sequence Onmund had no hope of following; he heard a deep thrum, and felt it in his bones too, and then a sliver of the wall disappeared -- it was a sliver just barely wide enough to let Kestrel slide through turned sideways, and it was a considerably tighter fit for his larger frame.  By the time he'd squeezed through he was panting and shaking a bit from the sudden onset of immense claustrophobia and jumped a bit at Kestrel's cold hand on his arm.

The light that came through the gap in the wall seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness in this room; there was a sharp border at the edge of it's light - very sharp, like something solid stood there but Onmund couldn't see anything...but he could feel something.   Something that scratched at his mind, a mental tickle, a hissing that rose and fell with the cadence of someone speaking...something in this room wanted his attention.  A sense of unease filled him and he clamped down with the mental protection spells Kestrel had been drilling into him for three weeks; the scratching and whispering became quieter, but didn't go away completely.

Kestrel's fingers dug into his sleeve - she hadn't let go of him since they'd stepped into his room.  At her quiet word a magelight orb appeared above their heads and its light too cut off abruptly about ten feet from them as though a wall was casting a shadow there, but all Onmund could see was a deep darkness.

"I am only going to show you a glimpse," she said quietly.  "I don't dare risk anything longer than that.  Are you prepared?"

"I...I think so."

Kestrel kept her hand on his arm but tugged and pushed him ahead of her, positioning him so he directly faced the darkness; only then did her hand move from his arm to his waist and her other came up to rest at his belt as well.

Then the darkness dropped, and the whispers and scratching hit him with renewed strength.

It wasn't language as he recognized it - it wasn't words.  It was...emotion, and images.  He didn't even fully grasp what he was looking at as he wrestled to keep the wordless whispers at bay -- he saw a brief glimpse of something black and shining like obsidian, spiky and about the size of a book, and as his gaze fell on it he felt a compulsion to pick it up and put it on.

Whatever it was wanted him to wear it - it was a powerful artifact and Kestrel had no right to keep it from its rightful wielder.  He saw himself as Arch-Mage in a spiked crown, guiding young minds without fear of persecution or concern about what the damned Nords thought of his College.  All he needed to do was cross the room, pick it up, put it on, and he'd be free of his damned slave master as well.

And between Kestrel's firm grip on his hips and his own struggle to stay put he managed to cut through the scratching and non-noise, through the compulsion; he grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut - NOT looking at it shut him off from the desire to grab the...the whatever that was, though it did little to silence the noise in his mind.

And then it went silent - or as silent as it had been when they'd first entered; his heart was beating rapidly and he felt a little lightheaded, and put a hand to Kestrel's on his hip and took comfort that yes, she was still there.  When he finally worked up the courage to open his eyes he found the strange wall of darkness was back in place.  Everything had returned to normal.

He shrugged Kestrel's hands off and, on unsteady legs, squeezed himself back through the gap in the wall and into the mausoleum, falling against one of the nearby empty iron coffins and trying to get his heart rate and ragged breathing back under control.  He was only faintly aware of Kestrel coming out through the gap behind him and replacing all the warding spells; his heartbeat was impossibly loud in the quiet, and he didn't argue when she gently slipped one of his arms over her shoulder and in turn slid one of her arms around his waist and half guided, half carried him back to the far side of the room to lean him against the wall beside the base of the ladder.

It felt like an age had passed before he composed himself, and when he looked up to Kestrel she wore an expression devoid of any emotion.

"What...  What did I just look at?" he whispered.

Kestrel slowly lowered herself down to squat on her heels in front of him, looking him in the eyes.  "I call it the Crown of Domination...  I know very little about it.  It bears the power and mark of Molag Bal, and I suspect it might have even originated in Coldharbour.  Even before I lowered a few protections to let you see it you still felt its influence, yes?"

He nodded weakly.  "I - I did, yes.  I felt something trying to claw its way in, and there were whispers that weren't actually words, but I understood what it wanted me to do.  I don't even know what I really saw - just...spikes, and a black shine."

"It compels whoever looks at it to put it on...I'm not nearly brave enough to try and figure out what is meant to happen if it's worn," she said softly.  "Are you all right?"

"You keep that thing down here...so close to where you sleep?"

She nodded.  "I found it hundreds of years ago, entirely by accident.  I was unprepared for it, and my apprentice at the time..."  She shifted, turning to place a knee on the floor to balance herself as she looked back to the lines of coffins.  "That's her - third from the left.  There was once a time where I used my illusions to live freely among mortals...she was my only apprentice but we had partnered with several scholars from the capital to unearth what we'd been led to believe was a Black Book.  It most definitely wasn't - we all fell under some sort of...ensnaring mental magic.  One of the scholars closest to the crown put it on, and before I managed to break free of the spell he had already slaughtered my apprentice and all but two other men.  When I struck him down the other two fought to claim it themselves and killed one another."

"That's awful..." His hands were shaking and he clenched them in his lap, blowing out a breath.  "And you don't know what its supposed to do?"

"No, I do not.  Did you see visions?  Promises of power?"

He nodded.  "I saw myself as Arch-Mage, teaching others...unafraid of the Nords and their stupid attitudes toward magic.  And free of you and your spell," he added after a pause, glancing up to her uneasily.

She turned around, looking thoughtful; carefully she folded her legs under her to sit on the freezing floor.  "It may very well be it just shows you what you desire, or what it thinks you desire.  I can't be certain because what it initially showed me was nothing I had ever wanted once in my entire, considerable life."

"I've never thought of ever rising to the rank of Arch-Mage.  I just wanted to learn," Onmund murmured.  He again glanced to her and then quickly looked away -- he didn't want to be Arch-Mage, and he'd thought that he didn't want to leave either...he thought he'd come to terms with that.  But if the crown showed him something it thought he wanted - if it was going to show him whatever it needed to to make him put it on...

With a huff he forced himself to look back at her - he would try to understand his own thoughts on that half of it later.  "If that thing is so dangerous, why risk anyone else?  If your last apprentice actually did want that crown for himself -- I mean, is the spell on me enough to protect or deter me from that?  What if it DOES get to me somehow?"

She smiled kindly at him.  "It won't.  My wards and simple distance between you and it has worked for far, right?"  At her question he nodded.   "You have nothing to worry about.  And as for why I would risk other apprentices...it was always my hope that we would find a way to safely destroy it - or, well.  A way TO destroy it, period.  Maybe you will be the one to help me with that goal...I certainly hope so."

Onmund was silent a moment, letting that sink in; he might technically be a captive but if they found a way to destroy the crown then he'd be a hero, and there'd be no reason to stay hidden away down here.  "-if we destroy it, we could leave, right?"  Kestrel tilted her head, looking at him curiously; that she hadn't immediately said no encouraged him.  "I mean, if we don't have to guard that thing anymore, we could just go back to the surface.  You said you used to hide among mortals - there'd be no reason to stay hidden down here anymore, right?  And there'd be no reason to forcibly keep me with you either since there's no secret left to keep.  Not that I'd leave," he added hurriedly.  "You've taught me a great deal and I want to learn more.  But...if the crown is gone...?"

With another kind smile she leaned forward to pat his shoulder, then stood and moved to the ladder.  "It's fine to dream of the world from time to time, but don't let it distract you from what we must do."

"I understand.  I understand a lot better now."

"Good.  Go and rest...we'll begin again tomorrow."

[p-artsypants]

The North Tower- New Home

Thank you all for tuning in! I’m just taking a short break from 320 State Street to write something spooky for halloween. I don’t anticipate it to be very long. Hope you all enjoy.

—

Astrid pulled into the driveway with the lawyer. The trip from the US to Wales had been a long haul, and to say she was exhausted was an understatement.

“Is this it then?” She asked, stepping out from the car.

“Yes ma’am.” The lawyer, Mala Throk replied, a briefcase and a set of keys in hand.

The castle was set upon a hill, and looked over a sizable town on one side, and a lake on the other. It was huge and looked to be mostly intact. Of course, Astrid knew this wasn’t the case as she had visited the castle as a child on Holidays.

“Your Uncle left a very specific set of instructions on what he wanted you to do with the castle,” the lawyer explained, being the one to draft the will. “The South Tower, the one we are going into now is to be used for guests, and they are not to venture farther than the ballroom on the western wall. This is the only part of the castle that is fully renovated for renting out.”

The lawyer unlocked the front door with a skeleton key.

“Right,” Astrid agreed. “When my uncle had my family visit for Christmas, he had us stay in the South and West Towers. The West Tower isn’t as fancy, but it’s still spacious and historic.”

“And on that note,” Mala pushed her way inside, stepping into the lavish, but dank smelling, lobby. “The West Tower is only for family and hired hands for events. It is renovated servants quarters.”

Astrid twirled slowly in place, taking in the rich architecture and vivid tapestries. Directly in front, there was a long hallway lined with suits of armor that led to the ballroom, this Astrid remembered it from when the great Christmas tree sat in the corner, flooded with silver packages. It had a huge fireplace, big enough to sit in. It was the largest room in the house. On either side of the hall, a double staircase led to the dining hall. Iron statutes in the shape of people sat on the railings, baring torches. To the right and left of Astrid, two more halls lead down to the East and West Towers. A wrought iron chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling. “It’s more beautiful then I remember.”

“I apologize for the smell,” Mala stated, going to a window. “I was instructed to have the castle shut up until you arrived. The power should be back up sometime during the night. Your uncle has dehumidifiers in the ceiling, so the air should smell better in the morning.”

“It’s not so bad. It beats city air at least.” Astrid strolled the hall and opened another window, framed by rich mahogany and satin curtains. “I’m sorry I couldn’t move in sooner, I was just so close to finishing my degree.”

“I’m not concerned with it,” Mala smiled. “The groundskeeper, a man named Eret, was left a hefty sum of money by your Uncle, and went on Holiday. I’m sure he appreciated the time off. Finishing your degree was a wise choice, especially if you want to continue your Uncle’s work at restoring the castle.”

“I’ve dreamed of it ever since I was a little girl.” She grinned, “every Christmas I looked forward to coming to visit the castle. And my Uncle would take me to the library and tell me the history of the land. I’m eager to get to work.”

Mala grinned. “I’m so glad to hear it.” At this point, the duo headed back out to the car to get Astrid’s luggage.

“Thanks again, for all your help getting me settled in. My parents aren’t able to come until next week.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all.” Mala promised, “I love this castle. In the many times I visited Finn Hofferson, he gave me tour after tour, and told me the stories behind various art and rooms. Even on his death bed, he recounted things he spent years studying and writing down. His library is surely a wealth of knowledge…and his home…There’s just something magical about it.”

“If you believed my Uncle’s stories, then yes, it’s very magical.”

Mala snickered, “Oh, you don’t believe the castle is haunted?”

“I’m not sure I believe in ghosts…but I guess I’ll find out living here, now won’t I?” Astrid started heading to the West Tower, suitcase in hand. “If there are ghosts, maybe they can tell me more history about the castle.”

“Oh, Astrid, your room is in the East Tower.”

“Oh…” Said she in response.

“Unless you don’t want to live over there…”

“Oh no, that’s fine, I’m just so used to the West Tower.”

“The East Tower is only for you and Eret. It’s where the master bedroom is. Along with the Library.”

“My Uncle’s room, then?”

“Yes, precisely.”

Astrid followed Mala down the long hallway, framed with gothic windows and vivid paintings.

“I don’t think you ever mentioned the North Tower.”

“Oh, you’re right. It slipped my mind.” Mala replied, continuing to the stairs. In the middle of the tower, a spiral staircase traveled up and down three flights each way. Astrid knew it was the same in the West Tower. All the doors to the other rooms were visible. Together they climbed to the top floor, slightly breathless.

“So the North Tower…” Astrid reminded, panting.

“Oh yes, the North Tower,” Mala opened the bedroom door, coughing a bit at the dust that lied within. The room was indescribable. The windows on the far side of the room reached from ceiling to floor. The bed was directly across from the door. Large, buried with pillows; lush blood red sheets dressed the mattress. Ebony curtains hung by the windows and around the frame of the bed. On the North wall, a neat fireplace was tucked into the wall, encased with ornate marble carvings. Above the mantle hung a painting of an unknown man, wearing a fur pelt over his shoulder. He was not conventionally handsome, with a broad nose and tightly sealed lips. His hair, brown like chocolate with a copper tone, was swept back like a wave. But his expression was less then charming, like he was forced to sit for hours. He held an air of danger and roguish strength. His deep eyes held resentment and something else…longing? Astrid could not tell. She turned her attention from the bewitching portrait the the rest of the room. On each side of the fireplace was a door. One lead to a closet, the other to a bathroom.

“The North Tower is…a bit of a mystery to me actually.” Mala explained as Astrid set her bags down. “Your Uncle explicitly stated that it is prohibited to everyone except the owner of the house. Which is you now, I suppose. He said within it lies ‘disturbing truths’. When I pressed him about it, he refused to answer. It was the only time he would not elaborate on the History of the home.”

Astrid rolled her eyes, “it’s the whole ghost thing again.”

“The haunted aspect is what gave the castle it’s charm, and what brought the tourists in for events. Might I suggest keeping the stories alive?”

Astrid chuckled, “Just because I am skeptical doesn’t mean I’m going to give up a tried and true money making scheme.”

Mala smiled softly, “call it what you like, but I think there’s more to this castle then there seems.”

“I’m sure there is. The first thing I’m going to do is explore that North Tower for myself. Maybe I can use whatever I see to enhance my Uncle’s stories.”

“Splendid idea.” Mala grinned, “but might I suggest we bring in the groceries? By time we get those in, I’m sure the moving truck will be here with your things.”

“O-oh, right, of course.” Astrid sheepishly glanced away. Before leaving the room, she gazed again at the painting at the wall. “Mala, do you know who that is?”

The older woman shook her head, “I’m afraid I don’t. Your Uncle painted it, you know. Don’t know why it would be hanging in his room though.”

“That’s my uncle’s work?” Astrid stepped up closer to examine it. “He never had a steady hand when I knew him.”

Mala stepped forward too, “it must be very old then.”

“Look, the date,” Astrid pointed. “1953, Uncle was around my age then. Here, help me take it down from the wall.” The two women lifted it the large painting and then set it to lean against the bed frame.

The back only said one thing.

-Hiccup

“Hiccup?”

“I wonder what that could mean?” Mala mused.

“Maybe Uncle was commissioned and the model—or financier, didn’t like it. That’s why he has it.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about this painting.”

“I never came into his room.” She shrugged, “there’s a lot to learn about here in the first place.”

“Well, whoever this young man is, he’s an old man now. Might even be dead.”

“Too bad, he’s kind of cute.”

Mala only laughed as she headed back into the hall.

After about a half hour, the two had stocked the kitchen in the South Tower enough for Astrid to survive for a while. “Alright, the ice should keep the beef and milk cool enough, but try not to open the fridge as much as you can. At least until tomorrow.”

“Right.” Astrid nodded, “it’s going to be a pain trying to get around in this place in the dark.”

“Oh!” Mala snapped her fingers, “I knew that was going to be a problem, and I brought a LED flashlight for you. It’s in my car.”

“You are the best lawyer ever.” Astrid praised.

By the time everything was said and done, and she was moved in, it was around 8 o’clock and everything was dark. Astrid gave up the idea of trying to unpack more with just a flashlight, and stumbled her way back to her room.

At night, the castle was extraordinary creepy. There was no moon to illuminate. Just pitch black. Her flashlight landed on statues and cast eerie shadows on the walls.

“Ghosts indeed,” she muttered to herself.

After getting into the East Tower staircase, Astrid looked down to the bottom floor and paused at the unopened library. It wasn’t nearly time for bed yet, and what a better way to pass the time then reading up on the History she was so excited about? It took a couple of turns to find the right key for the door, and for a moment she hesitated. All of the keys were a tarnished gold, except for one, which was pitch black.

“North Tower,” she rolled her eyes.

Inside the Library, the flashlight ghosted over the various shelves as she took it all in. The library wrapped around the staircase, following it up three flights to the main floor. Books covered the inside walls, and two balconies allowed for access. The far wall directly in front of her was covered by a curtain, presumably over the windows, and Astrid made light work of opening them up. Not much light came in, but a sliver on the horizon, as the view was to the lake below and the mountains in the distance. Though, from this angle, the North Tower was within sight.

“Bah,” she waved her hand at the offending building.

Turning her attention back to the library, she took note of the large mahogany desk that sat just to the side of the windows with a fireplace behind it. Above that, a huge portrait of another man hung. This time, the man looked older but had a fur pelt draped over his arm. He wore studded metal and had a wild beard.

“Hmm, young Santa,” she mused. Though, the man in question did not look so holly-jolly. Much like the first painting, the model wore a sort of grimace and showed great sadness.  

She had to admit, she was impressed.

Astrid stood on a chair to examine the corners. “Hmm, 1950. He did this one first.”

On the bottom of the frame, a gold plaque laid into the wood.

-The Chief

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Astrid shook her head. Not far from the desk, a shelf of books were covered by a grate and locked, supposedly to keep them private. “Here we go. Tell me your juicy secrets.” Astrid flipped through the key ring until she found one that looked to fit. “Uncle really included every key to this house on this ring.”

The grate rose, and inside sat several unmarked books. She plucked the oldest looking one out and reclined on the lounge chair.

Inside, she was greeted with handwriting. “It’s a journal,” she mused.

June 18, 1945.

A month ago, my father died. My younger brother was notified in America, and he’s simply crushed. He wrote that he refuses to come back to Wales. My mother left shortly after, to get away from this blasted war. Therefore, I have inherited my childhood home. I am but a child myself, only just turned 18. Having an entire castle to myself just feels incredibly wrong. Though, I have allowed some displaced families to stay in the West and South towers. I make no money off of this venture, I only do it to because I am horrified of the children that sit in the train station with their masks. I have locked up the East Tower and the North remains shut.

My father once told me that disturbing truths lie within the North Tower, and that one day when I’m old, he’ll take me there to see it for myself. I suppose since he is no longer here to guide me, I am old enough to traverse that tower alone. I have begun this journal to document what I find.

I have my hunches to what lies inside. After all, I have lived my entire life in this house. I know all the secret passage ways and can find my way even in the dark. I know something lives in the North Tower. Because I heard it breathing.

Every tower has multiple ways to get to it, and yet, every door to the North Tower, save for one, has been completely sealed shut. The East Tower, on the main floor has a door with a slide lock on it. Beyond that, the hall is unrecognizable to the rest of the house. There is nothing in it save for the locked door on the other end. Tomorrow, I will venture inside and see what I find.

-Finn

Astrid was full of apprehension just reading about it. She turned the page, but was distracted by something outside.

There was a light on in the North Tower.

[paulriedelposts]

Churches in Munich

I have been living in my second hometown, Munich, for over three decades, and still, I haven’t explored all of its places. No, it doesn’t mean I don’t travel a lot or have no interest in discovering nooks and crannies of my city. It means the town is filled with an infinite number of mesmerizing architectures to see that every time I visit any corner of Munich, it amazed me differently. However, being a Catholic German, I have vast information about churches in Munich. The cathedrals of my place are worldwide famous, and they draw millions of sightseers from every corner of the universe. And today, I want to share that knowledge with everyone, but first, let me put some light on the history of Munich and its churches.

Munich and its Connection with Churches

Munich has more than twenty churches, and all of them are charismatic in their way. The Bavarian capital has an enormous religious history. People of Munich are still following sacred norms and obligations. Talk about the history of the place, the third-largest city of Germany, began as a benedictine monastery. It later transformed into a new settlement when monks stepped in and installed a market at the junction of the route from the river and Salzburg (once named Iuvavum). When you enter this urban town, you will witness the iconic old-fashioned walls and three old city gates. However, the central point of Munich is none other than my favorite square. Marienplatz, which is an enormous and ancient public location to meet new people. All tourists should start from here. Marienplatz Near the Marienplatz, there are some outstanding buildings, such as the New City Hall (Northern side), the Old City Hall (Eastern edge), and few highly renowned churches. Yes, I am talking about Frauenkirche, St. Peter’s Church, and Saint Michael’s Church. Out of all three, Frauenkirche, the Cathedral Church of Our Lady, is the most-visited sacred landmark in Munich. My hometown has a deep connection with religious history, especially Christianity. It would be hard to find non-Catholic churches in the city. However, every other cathedral is different from the rest in terms of architecture and design. Some of them are small, while many of them are quite large in structure. One thing I like about these holy places is everybody can visit the churches regardless of their faith, so one doesn’t have to be significantly Christian or religious to roam in the buildings freely.

Top Churches in Munich

Though every tiny location in Munich is worth exploring, however, visiting some religious architecture is a whole different story. It took me so long to compile a list of the best churches in Munich because of their beauty, designs, and charisma, but I finally made it. So, check out! Dreifaltigkeitskirche (Trinity Church) Popularly known in the entire Munich, Trinity Church, Dreifaltigkeitskirche in German, is a votive cathedral. The church lays in the center of the city, near Lenbachplatz. The construction finished in 1716. It was all constructed according to the plans of Giovanni Antonio Viscardi. The building is one of the ancient Bavarian Baroque-style landmarks. This monastery cathedral of the Carmelites is also the church of the Metropolitan parish of Our Blessed Lady. Let me share a surprising fact about it. In the Second World War, Trinity Church was the only religious landmark that had been spared from damage caused by bombs. Call it a miracle or something, but the church has weirdly attractive and mysterious vibes around it. Some Barock Being the first church building in the late Baroque style, the Trinity Church went through some changes, too. After the death of Viscardi in 1713, Enrico Zuccalli took the responsibility to finish it. The central building, along with its beautiful dome and entrance, are the masterpieces of him. Other than these, the two-faced south façade extends the front side of the houses of the street. Moreover, the polygonal central door is parted by columns and baroque crowns that enhance the appearance of the structure. In the Trinity Church, you will witness the beautiful artwork by Cosmas Damian Asam, whose paintings are on the dome’s ceiling. Other prominent artists include Joseph Ruffini, Johann Baptist Straub, Andreas Faistenberger, and Johann Georg Baader. To discover more about the cathedral and its remarkable displays, one must take a tour of the place. Michaelskirche (St. Michael’s Church) No tour to Munich would ever be completed without visiting Michaelskirche, also famous by the name of St. Michael’s Church. It is a Jesuit cathedral in the city. Consider it the most magnificent Renaissance church settled in the north of the Alps. The design of the building features the Baroque-style structure. It was opened in 1583 as a Parish church. Friedrich Sustris, with the help of Wendel Dietterlin, designed the building. And the Duke of Bavaria, William V, built the landmark between 1583 and 1597. Moreover, the monument was initiated as a spiritual center for the Counter-Reformation. If I have to talk about the façade of the building, I must say it’s very influential. It contains standing figures of Duke William and previous rulers of the Bavarian Wittelsbach dynasty. All the statues are made of bronze, and they placed in the positions to form a family tree. Furthermore, the interior of the cathedral is outstanding. It depicts Roman Catholicism in a beautiful style. From the arches to the aisles to the chapels, every display in the church is worth praising. And yes, there is a deep choir room, too. Even after faced damaged in the Second World War, the church looks hypnotically stunning and picturesque. It was fully restored between 1946 and 1948. Heiliggeistkirche (Church of the Holy Spirit)

Another Catholic church in the heart of Bavaria, Heiliggeistkirche, commonly known as the Church of the Holy Spirit, is a Gothic hall basilica. The church lies on the edge of the Viktualienmarkt. It originally belongs to the Hospice of the Holy Ghost of the 14th century. Johann George Ettenhofer remodeled the landmark in 1724, and he took six years to complete the architecture. The areas of renovation were vaults and pillars.  The inner side of the church features Rococo frescoes and stucco ornament by the very famous Asam brothers. Well, the original décor was awe-inspiring, but this cathedral had faced destruction during World War II. Even the interior furnishings were damaged to a great extent. However, after the war, renovations and restorations were carried out. In 1991, the interior was entirely reconstructed. If you are looking for the original landmark, you will only get the remnants of the north wall of the nave. And the tower of the church has a beautiful lantern dome. Look closely at the Neo-Baroque façade, and it is quite clear that the elements used in it are borrowed from Viscardi’s Trinity Church. Overall, the Church of Holy Spirit is worth exploring, and especially, its interior has something captivating that you can’t resist yourself from seeing it. Burgersaalkirche (Citizen’s Hall Church)

Most probably one of the smallest churches in Munich, Burgersaalkirche, known as Citizen’s Hall Church, is not less than others in terms of architecture. If you ask locals about it, you may find a mix response. Yes, this is not very famous among the Bavarian community. However, the vibrantly painted ceiling inside the basilica is magnificent. It also has a cute but contemporary style chapel on the ground floor. You need to go upstairs to discover more paintings and highlights. It’s another masterpiece by Giovanni Antonio Viscardi, and it was built between 1709 and 1710. There are two churches in one big Burgersaalkirche. The upper church is on the higher floor, while the ground church is on the lower portion. From the outside, the Citizen’s Hall Church is Baroque-style, and the statues of Madonna and Child are placed above the entrance gate. If you have plenty of time, visit the upper section of the church, too. It was once the prayer room, but it has been used as a church since 1778. I am sure you would like to view the masterpiece of decoration in the place, which is the statue of the Guardian Angel with the child. And yes, there is also a grave of Rupert Mayer on the lower floor of the church. St. Maximiliankirche (St. Maximilian Church)

Like many others in the Bavarian capital, St. Maximiliankirche, popularly known as St. Maximilian Church, is a Roman Catholic Parish Cathedral. It beautifully nestles near the River Isar in Munich on the southern side of Germany. The church took several years to finished, and it was erected from 1892 to 1908. Heinrich von Schmidt was the designer and the mastermind behind the stunning architecture of St. Maximilian Church. He made sure to design it in the Romanesque Revival style. If I talk about myself, I couldn’t get a chance to visit this place more than once. However, the giant structure of beauty is still in my memory. The cathedral is quite massive as compared to small churches in Munich. I adore the Romanesque-style façade that plays a vital part in heightening the value of the place. When it comes to the interior, it’s modest. The walls are plain with a few paintings and murals, but the furniture and ceiling are highly decent yet elegant.  Galleries Open galleries connect two towers of the building. Moreover, the soil of the place was very soft in most of the construction location. That’s why wooden beams were used for the support of the roof instead of traditional stones. Keep in mind one thing that the church was damaged a lot during World War II, and it was reconstructed in 1949. The overall appearance of the building is outstanding. So, everyone should visit this gorgeous land at least once in their lifetime. St. Lukaskirche (St. Luke’s Church)

I am sure you don’t want to skip St. Lukaskirche, as known as St. Lukas or St. Luke’s Church, which is probably the largest protestant church in the urban center of Munich. This only preserved Lutheran Parish Church is the creativity of Albert Schmidt. It was erected and completed between the time duration of 1893 and 1896, so it took three years to get the final appearance. It gracefully lies on the banks of the Isar, between the Mariannenplatz and Steinsdorfstrabe. And you can consider it among the historical places where people not only worship and perform holy rituals, but it is open for non-believers, too. Special on Architecture Nobody could ever ignore the structure of the building because of its Romanesque-style features. Albert wanted to give it a pre-reformation look, so he designed the façade of the church to rule the skyline of Roman Catholic Munich. And if you explore the interior, you will be surprised to view Gothic-style décor. However, both designs make the St. Lukas Church worth seeing. The church welcomes visitors and sightseers from all around the earth almost every day. It is also the venue for various cultural programs and concerts. When it comes to services, they held plenty of times per week. Moreover, the church community is in love with the St. Lukas gospel choir, which started in 1991. Now they have over 70 singers with flawless and melodious voices. Kreuzkirche (Holy Cross Church/All Saints Church) Not the typical one in the city, Kreuzkirche, also renowned as All Saints Church, is a cemetery church in the Bavarian capital. It is famous by the name of Holy Cross Church, too. Located in the southern end of Germany, Kreuzkirche features a sharp façade, and it is among the top-notch Catholic churches in my hometown. Jorg von Halsbach was the creator and designer of the landmark. It was erected in 1478, and consider it the first holy building with a cemetery in the Saint Peter parish. In the beginning, it was situated at the crossing of four roads. That’s why locals call it the Holy Cross Church. The building of the cathedral is in highly good condition, and all the visitors have permission to roam without hesitation. With brickwork walls in red and a giant bell tower, Kreuzkirche can be seen from a distance. Its architecture highlights the sky of Munich. When it comes to interior décor, it is in Baroque style, and the frescos are stunning to view, too. There are also few attractions within the church, so book your tour to discover them by yourself. I think I forgot to mention about the tomb of banker Gietz and the Phantom of Virgin to St. Augustine that are also there to teach mysterious old facts related to Saint. Paul’s Church

One of the large Catholic churches in Munich, St. Paul’s Church, lies in the city’s quarter of Ludwigsvorstadt-Isarvorstadt. Austrian architect Georg von Hauberrisser designed this gorgeous building, and it took almost fourteen years to complete the landmark. It was constructed between 1892 and 1906. The church was created in the Gothic Revival Style.  For outer appearance, limestone from Ansbach is used to enhance the façade of the church. On the other side, upper Bavarian tuff is the primary component for the interior décor. Other than these, the core of the masonry consists of brick. When it comes to towers, the central one is 97 meters, while the two on the west are 76-meter tall. Moreover, the western exterior is decorated by a giant rose window above the entrance side of the church. The entire façade and interior look highly gorgeous. Unfortunately, during the time of World War II, St. Paul’s Church was severely damaged by air raids. It was one great destruction because the large pieces of equipment were lost, which also include the high altar. However, the church was restored with time.

Other Churches in Munich

As I have mentioned earlier, Munich has over twenty churches, but not all of them are equally famous. Here, let me share a list of some not-so-famous cathedrals to show you some more colors of the city. Though they are not as popular as Frauenkirche, St. Michael’s Church, or Trinity Church, however, they still have some great value. So, if you have discovered all the well-known basilicas and have no idea what to do in Munich, you can try these churches, too.  Damenstiftskirche St. Anna Damenstiftskirche St. Anna, a chapel in the old town of the Bavarian capital, is drop-dead gorgeous in its structure. It is no doubt one of the wonders of Munich. Elector Charles Albert commissioned it in the 18th century, and a monastery in the legal form of a chapter of nuns was set up in the church. And yes, the cornerstone was laid in 1733. It was opened for the public in 1735. This beautiful chapel is the work of a famous architect, Johann Baptist Gunetzrhainer. However, the Asam brothers took responsibility for the interior décor of Damenstiftskirche St. Anna. The ceiling fresco is the most appealing thing in the church. Other includes the nave, altar, and interior ornamentation. Like many other churches and landmarks, St. Anna was also destroyed during World War II. Later, the interior was restored in the 1980s by using old photographs and images. Even though the inner side is completely renovated, but the murals are painted in classic black and white, but the charm of the place is still alive. The only negative point of this landmark is its gate that separates the visitors from the entrance and church nave. It restricts people from exploring the central area of the church, so it can be a little bit difficult for sightseers to view highlights of the church from close. Kathedrale Maria Schutz und St. Andreas The beautiful Catholic Church, Kathedrale Maria Schutz und St. Andreas, is another under-rated cathedral in southern Germany. Call it the Cathedral of the Intercession of the Mother of God and St. Andrew. Its origin is from Ukraine, and it’s the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Cathedral.  The cathedral is a piece of modern architecture. The church opened for the public in 1976. Its exterior is modest and decent. The interior is lovely, like many other churches in the city. Moreover, it can be among the best indoor things to do in Munich. Klosterkirche St. Anna in Lehel The Catholic Abbey church, Klosterkirche St. Anna in Lehel, also known as Abbey St. Anna Church, is an example of a unique art. Nestled in the heart of Bavaria, it was the first-ever Rococo church of the Old Bavarian region. It shaped the development of sacred and religious architecture in the land. Johann Michael Fischer designed this beautiful masterpiece in Rococo style in 1733. The interior designers included the Asam brothers and Johann Baptist Straub. It was all started in 1727 as a gesture of thank you for the birth of the heir to the Bavarian crown, Maximilian III Joseph. The construction was completed in 1733, and it was opened for the public in the same year. I have mentioned many times that World War II destroyed plenty of monuments. Unluckily, Abbey St. Anna was among those buildings. Rebuilt in the 1960s. The façade may look plain now, but it somehow managed to appear modest and decent.  Salvatorkirche (Church of the Savior) Another Gothic-style church in Munich, Salvatorkirche, popularly renowned as the Church of the Savior, is a former cemetery church of the Frauenkirche. The Greek Orthodox Christians have been performed rituals in this place since 1829. It was also the head office of the Metropolitan German region and the Exarch of Central Europe. Do you know the Greek Orthodox community called it the Transfiguration of the Savior? Initially, it was erected in the late Gothic style in the 15th century. Later, the exterior of the church was built in a Gothic-like architecture, and some Baroque pieces were removed in the restoration process. The inside of the building is fantastic, and the entire church looks captivating, even from a distance. Don’t have enough time to observe every detail of the site? No problem. It can be one of the top outdoor things in Munich. Just spend a few minutes outside the church to know the worth of its beauty. New St. John’s Church Located in Haidhausen, the district of Munich, the Parish Church of St. John the Baptist is a Roman Catholic Church. It is a masterpiece of Matthias Berger. He designed the building in the Gothic Revival style. According to historical facts, the population of the city grew swiftly in the early 19th century on both sides of River Isar. For this reason, the church of Haidhausen became too small to fit its growing gathering, so a new, larger church was constructed. Keep in mind the foundation stone for the church was laid in the 1840s. That is why it is called the New St. John’s Church. Though the construction of St. Johannas was almost completed by 1858, however, the tower took more time. It was erected by 1870, and the west tower of the church is 97-meter high. We all know what happened after World War II, and New St. John’s Church couldn’t save itself from destruction. The bombardments from world war II damaged many portions of the building. After the war, restoration works repaired the building. Even the tower received a new spire, too. Wies Church The UNESCO World Heritage Site, Wies Church, is among the traditional pilgrimage churches near the city of Munich. Dominikus Zimmerman ordered to construct this gorgeous landmark between 1746 and 1754. No doubt, Wies Church is one of the purest and holiest creations of Bavarian rococo. Its decent exterior looks super-classy, and the interior snatches the attention of everyone. Add this place to enjoy historical architecture. To put it briefly, I want to say visiting cathedrals and getting information about them is one of the best things to do in Munich. From the Cathedral Church of Our Lady to Theatiner Church to St. Peter’s to every gorgeous church in the city, the highlights will not let you think you have wasted your time or something. Not even for a second. And yes, don’t hesitate to try new things. Every adventure gives us unlimited experiences. So, are you ready to unlock new chapters of thriller activities in the heart of Bavaria? Read the full article

[gavinkblog]

Jakara at last (MIT Part 83)

The room was carnage, the Eyeless King screeched and called out to its followers, one dodged forwards past the Traders and removed his blindfold to reveal empty eye sockets. 

“I sacrifice myself for your glory”

One of the tentacled mouths reached from the King and clamped onto the face of the cultist, it drew the life-force from him, reducing him to a brittle husk and they could see the Eyeless King was invigorated.

The Traders formed a wall to prevent anymore cultists reaching the creature. Drogarth blasted a hole in the chest of the hulking creature attacking the Keepers and it collapsed to the floor dead.

They fought back the cultists while being blasted at with beams and psychically attacked by the gibbering Eyeless King. Mongo healed his allies as more cultists and creatures fell to their attacks, without his efforts they would certainly have fallen to the beams, claws and teeth.

Ulfgar was struck by another beam from the Eyeless King that started to drain his life away, it moved above the Dwarf to finish him off but he commanded the Keepers to hit it with all they could as he slashed up with his fathers axe. It slashed deep into it’s fleshy mass and the beast shuddered and fell apart in a shower of ichor and mouths all over Ulfgar. Even as shouts of victory went up from the others Ulfgar felt the powers of the defeated creature pulse through him as it drained his life and he collapsed to the ground stone dead, killed from beyond the grave by that which he’d just defeated.

Though they fought on with barely diminished vigour after the loss of their god and Mongo’s healing powers were stretched. The Traders and their allies managed to finished off the rest without further casualties.

The temple cleansed, they freed those  not completely indoctrinated into the cult. As they filed out Drogarth made a collection from them to go toward paying for Ulfgar’s ressurection, he managed to collect 800 gold from them, another 1200 gold was found within the temple itself. Finally with their business concluded they collected Ulfgar’s body and returned to the safe-house of the Keepers.

Talabee promised to return in a couple of days with information on Jakara, meantime they needed to report on the nature of the incursion.

The Traders spent a significant amount of their wealth gathering the ingredients to resurrect Ulfgar. Mongo then spent one of the days resurrecting their good friend. Ulfgar quietly rejoined them that evening.

Tabalee handed Drogarth her necklace and promised to contact them in a couple of days with information on Jakara, meantime they needed to report on the nature of the incursion.

The Traders spent a significant amount of their wealth gathering the ingredients to resurrect Ulfgar. Mongo then spent one of the days resurrecting their good friend. Ulfgar quietly rejoined them that evening.

A couple of days later a messenger arrived with a note from Tabalee requesting they meet her at the statue of the golden mammoth in the ladies ward and she would take them to see Jakara.

Next day they waited there under the fountain containing a huge golden tusked mammoth. Tabalee walked over to them from a nearby crowd and Drogarth returned her necklace.

She told them, if they consented to being blindfolded then she would take them to their headquarters. They agreed and once blindfolded she led them through a number of streets before they passed through a creaky old door and down some steps. They then heard a strange grinding sound and the tinkling sound of something rattling over the floor. The hairs on the back of everyone's neck began to stand up. Talabee took each of them by the hand and led them through something. Each of them in turn felt a humming in the air and a jolt of energy pass through them.

With that they were told to remove their blindfolds and found themselves on the far side of a crystal archway, a large gothic building ahead silloutetted against a roiling purple sky. Other individuals, all robed, surrounded them. They led the Traders into the hall ahead.

Inside they met a greying old Minatour of slight frame. He was introduced to them as Razzakan the steward of their offices. He praised them for their help with the incursion and that he understood they were there to see Jakara. He took them from Tabalee and led them briskly into the depths of the building. He warned them to treat Jakara with respect, he explained that she was quite an ancient Arch Mage of significant and an honoured elder of the order who could be quite prickly with those that she judged as wasting her time.

Finally he directed them to a door at the top of some stairs and told them to head in, he left them at this point and they made their way tentatively up to the door. A do not disturb sign hung from it, they knocked.

"Yes yes come in" came a voice from within.

Within a room filled with shelves laden with books, scrolls. Various arcane implements and a strong smell of sulphur. Sat at a huge desk on the far side of the room sat Jakara, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment.

They approached and explained who they were and that they’d been to the Vault of Glass. She remembered after a few moments, the treacherous Dwarves who’d commissioned her to make it and then refused to pay her. She confirmed their suspicions that she’d but the beast in the vault and unleashed it on the city in revenge.

They explained what had happened in the lost city of Taravex to Ulfgars’ father and asked if there was any way that his affliction could be reversed. She was rather dismissive of his fate and told them that while it was likely possible to reverse, she would have to take some time to figure out how and she was too busy in her studies to help them.

They offered to help her in exchange for her taking the time work out how to reverse the effect. She agreed on the condition that they help her though she doubted they would be able to.

She explained that she was interested in why such powerful incursions had breached Sigil considering it remained shielded by the Lady, also about the alignment of the stars and the unseen things beyond sight that were afflicting them.

Rincewind mentioned he’d done research in to the Shards of Elu and this pricked her interest. She exclaimed that she’d used one of the Shards of Elu to power the Vault of Glass and embedded it into the Basilisk to power it. She was in that area pursuing knowledge of Vakarian Thrace and his Star Forge. They explained they had found the Star Forge, this clearly impressed her.

She decided therefore they may be able to help her after all. If they could find out what Vakarian Thrace knew about the influence of the far realm on the stars and why he was interested in it. Then she would look into reversing the Basilisk effects.

After some prompting she remembered that in there was a gate back to Southgate in Tinkers Crescent. It was a building shaped like a ship, because it was a ship.. It was held in place by its anchor and the gate was formed by the triangle made by the anchor chain, the building and the ground. To activate the key was you had to have on your person a compass pointing due south. She also handed them a small jade coin that they could rub whilst saying her name three times and they would be able to talk to her.

They thanked her and left as she got back to her studies.

[yaksha89]

First Story

The tower was impressive; it was one of the tallest buildings in the city but was only five meters wide at the base. A window at the top, a set of double doors three meters tall and a plaque with finely written words were the only adornments.

'Leave behind your armaments, challenge the tower with only your brain and your brawn'

Directly below, there was an opening to put items. Crosis inspected the opening and the plaque gave them a sniff and frowned, "This sign is suspicious."

Aria looked at him then the plaque, "How is it suspicious? It is simply telling us not to use armor and weapons for the trials because they could lead to an unfair advantage."

Crosis took a step back from the tower, "Maybe I am simply ignorant of your ways, but I did not think it common to write in ancient draconic for your signs."

"What? Isn't it written in common?"

Crosis slammed his great mace into the plaque; it seemed to crumple under the blow until it started dragging the mace into itself. Crosis struggled in vain to free his mace but in continued to be pulled in. Just when it seemed it was going to drag Crosis in with the mace, he breathed out a torrent of acid that was absorbed by the plaque but did free his mace. They reluctantly put their equipment into the opening and the doors opened.

When they entered they were greeted by darkness. Once the doors closed an area approximately 50 meters long and wide lit up, the area they were on was a 5x5 square with a sheer drop, a similar square was on the other side with a door, with darkness filling the void. Scattered about were giant spikes rising from the darkness every meter, but even these were about five meters below their platform. Above them, about five meters off the ground were numerous chains scattered about in a seemingly random order stretching up into a darkness that seemed to close in on them.

Crosis went to the edge and peered into the abyss, while Aria checked the sides. Thinking he saw something Crosis unleashed his acid breath and watched as it dispersed. "There are small platforms, about three meters above each spike and a single narrow rail about one meter above the spikes I assume stretching the full distance."

"I found metal disks attached to the side, ten in all about a meter in diameter. I think we're supposed to place the disks on those platforms and slowly cross. Although I would like to figure out how the chains play into this. Doran, can you reach them?"

Doran walked to the edge of the platform then ran back to the wall, ran up it and leaped to grab a chain. Once he had one he reached for a second while he was still swinging. The second chain came away from the roof; it threw off his balance causing him to fall from the first chain. He landed on the platform with about two meters of chain in his hand. Crosis looked at the items they gathered, "So we run across, you go first and take the chain; you'll need it to pull her up." Doran nodded and began spinning the chain, he leaped down to the invisible rail, found his balance and sprinted across before reaching the end he leaped up the wall and used the chain to right his orientation, grabbed the ledge and pulled himself up.

Crosis frowned, "The rail is narrower than I thought, I won't be able to walk across that...what was your plan?" He asked turning to Aria.

"Oh, we place the disks on the floating platforms you saw, to establish proper footholds and walk across that way." She demonstrated three steps.

Crisis tentatively followed her. Once they made it ten spaces they came to a halt, "Ummm, we were supposed to be picking up the disks we left behind...can you go back and get them?". Crosis did his best to backtrack when he reached the first disk they put down the spikes began rising. Aria began panicking, while Crosis simply stood waiting for the spikes to rise tensing all his muscles to react to whatever happened next. When the spikes reached the disks they pushed all the disks up with them until they were all level with the platforms.

Crosis stepped out over the void between the spikes and found solid ground. "It’s all a trick." Crosis stomped over to where Doran was while Aria grabbed all the disks.

"What was that? Did they decide we passed even though we only made it half way?"

"No, when I tried to open the door, the floor started rising."

"It took you that long to try the door? You should have tried immediately, saved us a lot of trouble." Crosis said disdainfully.

They opened the door and were once more greeted by endless darkness. When the door closed behind them, the room lit up to reveal a vast open area completely underwater. A small platform protected them from vicious currents threatening to drag them into energy charged mines held by chains that stretched into darkness below. Other than their platform and the wall behind them there was no land or surface to be seen.

Crosis took one of the disks from Aria and threw it with all his might aiming at a chain tethering a mine. It wobbled on its path before being carried away by a current that whipped it around before it collided with a mine and vanished in a flash of light. "Four separate currents acted on the disk each too powerful to swim against for long and I see no door..."

Aria looked around, "I guess we're supposed to use the disks from the last room to figure out which current we need...so we have nine more chances with the disks and these 4 harpoons on the wall give us thirteen chances total." Crosis walked to the wall and grabbed a harpoon in each hand and inspected them. "I think we should ignore any currents that are more than one current away from us as..."

Aria was left speechless as she watched Crosis scale the wall using the harpoons as stakes to drive into the wall. Twice it seemed the currents were going to rip him from the wall, but suddenly the currents ceased and then they were engulfed by a flash of light. They were in the center of a new room about 30 meters wide, five meters from them in a circle around were nine pedestals with a floating piece of equipment. A disembodied voice said, "Take one each, and give up one each, then prepare for battle."

"Finally a battle," Crosis walked up to a pedestal and grabbed the floating sword; "I'll take the sword for myself." The sword vanished in a flash of light and suddenly they all felt stronger. Crosis turned to the pedestal on his left on it floated a helm, "I give up the helm." The helm dropped into the pedestal which dissolved into the floor.

Crosis looked at the other two, "I guess I want the crown and don't need the greaves." Aria said hesitantly.

Doran looked at what was left, "The mask and the gauntlets." The chosen one's vanished in a flash of light, and the discarded ones dissolved into the floor, suddenly they felt heavy.

The three remaining turned into the gear they left behind and the disembodied voice spoke again, "Arm yourselves, your enemies approach."

They each put on their equipment, the moment they finished, the three pedestals that melted into the ground rose up as stone guardians. Before they were able to stand to their full height Crosis brought his mace down on the nearest one with all his strength. The creature, disoriented by his strike wobbled on its feet unable to raise a guard, allowing him to bring his mace against it two more times reducing it to rubble. Crosis, breathing hard, turned to the other two enemies and was hit by a psionic blast from the one next to Aria.

Doran did his best against his foe, wrapping it in shadows and striking with his daggers, but he could feel the encumbrance of the items they gave up, his feet were slow and his hands were clumsy, so he couldn't land a blow. Aria was struggling to gain the attention of her enemy as she blasted it with feeble light attacks but it was firmly focused on Crosis.

Crosis ran towards Doran's enemy but was slowed significantly; he took another psionic blast before he reached his foe; however, the creature immediately jumped away moving with uncanny swiftness. Realizing he couldn't catch the creature he waited for it to strike and managed glancing blows at it as it ran.

Doran moved on to help Aria bring down her foe but he still couldn't land a solid blow and it continued its psionic barrage on Crosis. Crosis managed to take down his second enemy but was finally felled by the psionic barrage, as he struggled to get up he was petrified.

Aria and Doran unleashed everything they had on the remaining enemy but with Doran unable to hit, it had little effect. Through some miracle, the construct was unable to land a decisive blow either. So after half an hour it finally fell to Aria's holy light. With the final construct destroyed Crosis was freed and the whole group teleported to the final room.

The three stood before the God of Tactics, a well-built man in an open kimono missing his right eye, left arm and completely covered in bandages, leaving only part of his face truly visible. "So, you bested my three trials and thus have earned an audience with me and the right to join my prestigious guild. You are allowed to feel an amount of pride, it has been over 30 years since anyone has reached this place."

Crosis stood and stepped towards the God, "What benefits does one receive for being in your guild?" Tactics smiled, and drew his good arm from within his vest; it was heavily scared and placed it on his knee.

"Good I worried you were all brawn but you are far more. As members of my guild, you will bear my mark and gain its strengths, as well as the right to form parties with my current guild members and have unlimited access to their wealth of knowledge. As well as access to me and my vault of treasures of bygone heroes, though none of that is free."

"That seems sufficient, but I must ask if it has been 30 years since you got new members, how many members do you still have?"

"A shrewd question, it has been many years since anyone has joined but I have over 160 members still lodging in my hall."

"Very well then I accept." Once Crosis uttered those words an intense pain wracked his body as he felt the flesh on his back stripped away.

"Oh yes obtaining the mark is allegedly very painful. You two, will you accept? Or are you mere puppets that follow him unconditionally?"

Aria stuttered in the affirmative and Doran stared into Tactics eye for a moment sighed and agreed. Once marked they were teleported to the guild hall where they ate and prepared for the next day.

[readbookywooks]

Tyrion

They had warned him to dress warmly. Tyrion Lannister took them at their word. He was garbed in heavy quilted breeches and a woolen doublet, and over it all he had thrown the shadowskin cloak he had acquired in the Mountains of the Moon. The cloak was absurdly long, made for a man twice his height. When he was not ahorse, the only way to wear the thing was to wrap it around him several times, which made him look like a ball of striped fur.

Even so, he was glad he had listened. The chill in the long dank vault went bone deep. Timett had chosen to retreat back up to the cellar after a brief taste of the cold below. They were somewhere under the hill of Rhaenys, behind the Guildhall of the Alchemists. The damp stone walls were splotchy with nitre, and the only light came from the sealed iron-and-glass oil lamp that Hallyne the Pyromancer carried so gingerly.

Gingerly indeed . . . and these would be the ginger jars. Tyrion lifted one for inspection. It was round and ruddy, a fat clay grapefruit. A little big for his hand, but it would fit comfortably in the grip of a normal man, he knew. The pottery was thin, so fragile that even he had been warned not to squeeze too tightly, lest he crush it in his fist. The clay felt roughened, pebbled. Hallyne told him that was intentional. "A smooth pot is more apt to slip from a man's grasp."

The wildfire oozed slowly toward the lip of the jar when Tyrion tilted it to peer inside. The color would be a murky green, he knew, but the poor light made that impossible to confirm. "Thick," he observed.

"That is from the cold, my lord," said Hallyne, a pallid man with soft damp hands and an obsequious manner. He was dressed in striped black-and-scarlet robes trimmed with sable, but the fur looked more than a little patchy and moth-eaten. "As it warms, the substance will flow more easily, like lamp oil."

The substance was the pyromancers' own term for wildfire. They called each other wisdom as well, which Tyrion found almost as annoying as their custom of hinting at the vast secret stores of knowledge that they wanted him to think they possessed. Once theirs had been a powerful guild, but in recent centuries the maesters of the Citadel had supplanted the alchemists almost everywhere. Now only a few of the older order remained, and they no longer even pretended to transmute metals . . .

. . . but they could make wildfire. "Water will not quench it, I am told."

"That is so. Once it takes fire, the substance will burn fiercely until it is no more. More, it will seep into cloth, wood, leather, even steel, so they take fire as well."

Tyrion remembered the red priest Thoros of Myr and his flaming sword. Even a thin coating of wildfire could burn for an hour. Thoros always needed a new sword after a melee, but Robert had been fond of the man and ever glad to provide one. "Why doesn't it seep into the clay as well?"

"Oh, but it does," said Hallyne. "There is a vault below this one where we store the older pots. Those from King Aerys's day. It was his fancy to have the jars made in the shapes of fruits. Very perilous fruits indeed, my lord Hand, and, hmmm, riper now than ever, if you take my meaning. We have sealed them with wax and pumped the lower vault full of water, but even so . . . by rights they ought to have been destroyed, but so many of our masters were murdered during the Sack of King's Landing, the few acolytes who remained were unequal to the task. And much of the stock we made for Aerys was lost. Only last year, two hundred jars were discovered in a storeroom beneath the Great Sept of Baelor. No one could recall how they came there, but I'm sure I do not need to tell you that the High Septon was beside himself with terror. I myself saw that they were safely moved. I had a cart filled with sand, and sent our most able acolytes. We worked only by night, we—"

"—did a splendid job, I have no doubt." Tyrion placed the jar he'd been holding back among its fellows. They covered the table, standing in orderly rows of four and marching away into the subterranean dimness. And there were other tables beyond, many other tables. "These, ah, fruits of the late King Aerys, can they still be used?"

"Oh, yes, most certainly . . . but carefully, my lord, ever so carefully. As it ages, the substance grows ever more, hmmmm, fickle, let us say. Any flame will set it afire. Any spark. Too much heat and jars will blaze up of their own accord. It is not wise to let them sit in sunlight, even for a short time. Once the fire begins within, the heat causes the substance to expand violently, and the jars shortly fly to pieces. If other jars should happen to be stored in the same vicinity, those go up as well, and so—"

"How many jars do you have at present?"

"This morning the Wisdom Munciter told me that we had seven thousand eight hundred and forty. That count includes four thousand jars from King Aerys's day, to be sure."

"Our overripe fruits?"

Hallyne bobbed his head. "Wisdom Malliard believes we shall be able to provide a full ten thousand jars, as was promised the queen. I concur." The pyromancer looked indecently pleased with that prospect.

Assuming our enemies give you the time. The pyromancers kept their recipe for wildfire a closely guarded secret, but Tyrion knew that it was a lengthy, dangerous, and time-consuming process. He had assumed the promise of ten thousand jars was a wild boast, like that of the bannerman who vows to marshal ten thousand swords for his lord and shows up on the day of battle with a hundred and two. If they can truly give us ten thousand . . .

He did not know whether he ought to be delighted or terrified. Perhaps a smidge of both. "I trust that your guild brothers are not engaging in any unseemly haste, Wisdom. We do not want ten thousand jars of defective wildfire, nor even one . . . and we most certainly do not want any mishaps."

"There will be no mishaps, my lord Hand. The substance is prepared by trained acolytes in a series of bare stone cells, and each jar is removed by an apprentice and carried down here the instant it is ready. Above each work cell is a room filled entirely with sand. A protective spell has been laid on the floors, hmmm, most powerful. Any fire in the cell below causes the floors to fall away, and the sand smothers the blaze at once."

"Not to mention the careless acolyte." By spell Tyrion imagined Hallyne meant clever trick. He thought he would like to inspect one of these false-ceilinged cells to see how it worked, but this was not the time. Perhaps when the war was won.

"My brethren are never careless," Hallyne insisted. "If I may be, hmmmm, frank . . . "

"Oh, do."

"The substance flows through my veins, and lives in the heart of every pyromancer. We respect its power. But the common soldier, hmmmm, the crew of one of the queen's spitfires, say, in the unthinking frenzy of battle . . . any little mistake can bring catastrophe. That cannot be said too often. My father often told King Aerys as much, as his father told old King Jaehaerys."

"They must have listened," Tyrion said. "If they had burned the city down, someone would have told me. So your counsel is that we had best be careful? "

"Be very careful," said Hallyne. "Be very very careful."

"These clay jars . . . do you have an ample supply?"

"We do, my lord, and thank you for asking."

"You won't mind if I take some, then. A few thousand."

"A few thousand?"

"Or however many your guild can spare, without interfering with production. It's empty pots I'm asking for, understand. Have them sent round to the captains on each of the city gates."

"I will, my lord, but why . . . ?"

Tyrion smiled up at him. "When you tell me to dress warmly, I dress warmly. When you tell me to be careful, well . . . " He gave a shrug. "I've seen enough. Perhaps you would be so good as to escort me back up to my litter?"

"It would be my great, hmmm, pleasure, my lord." Hallyne lifted the lamp and led the way back to the stairs. "It was good of you to visit us. A great honor, hmmm. It has been too long since the King's Hand graced us with his presence. Not since Lord Rossart, and he was of our order. That was back in King Aerys's day. King Aerys took a great interest in our work."

King Aerys used you to roast the flesh off his enemies. His brother Jaime had told him a few stories of the Mad King and his pet pyromancers. "Joffrey will be interested as well, I have no doubt." Which is why I'd best keep him well away from you.

"It is our great hope to have the king visit our Guildhall in his own royal person. I have spoken of it to your royal sister. A great feast . . . "

It was growing warmer as they climbed. "His Grace has prohibited all feasting until such time as the war is won." At my insistence. "The king does not think it fitting to banquet on choice food while his people go without bread."

"A most, hmmm, loving gesture, my lord. Perhaps instead some few of us might call upon the king at the Red Keep. A small demonstration of our powers, as it were, to distract His Grace from his many cares for an evening. Wildfire is but one of the dread secrets of our ancient order. Many and wondrous are the things we might show you."

"I will take it up with my sister." Tyrion had no objection to a few magic tricks, but Joff's fondness for making men fight to the death was trial enough; he had no intention of allowing the boy to taste the possibilities of burning them alive.

When at last they reached the top of the steps, Tyrion shrugged out of his shadowskin fur and folded it over his arm. The Guildhall of the Alchemists was an imposing warren of black stone, but Hallyne led him through the twists and turns until they reached the Gallery of the Iron Torches, a long echoing chamber where columns of green fire danced around black metal columns twenty feet tall. Ghostly flames shimmered off the polished black marble of the walls and floor and bathed the hall in an emerald radiance. Tyrion would have been more impressed if he hadn't known that the great iron torches had only been lit this morning in honor of his visit, and would be extinguished the instant the doors closed behind him. Wildfire was too costly to squander.

They emerged atop the broad curving steps that fronted on the Street of the Sisters, near the foot of Visenya's Hill. He bid Hallyne farewell and waddled down to where Timett son of Timett waited with an escort of Burned Men. Given his purpose today, it had seemed a singularly appropriate choice for his guard. Besides, their scars struck terror in the hearts of the city rabble. That was all to the good these days. Only three nights past, another mob had gathered at the gates of the Red Keep, chanting for food. Joff had unleashed a storm of arrows against them, slaying four, and then shouted down that they had his leave to eat their dead. Winning us still more friends.

Tyrion was surprised to see Bronn standing beside the litter as well. "What are you doing here?"

"Delivering your messages," Bronn said. "Ironhand wants you urgently at the Gate of the Gods. He won't say why. And you've been summoned to Maegor's too."

"Summoned?" Tyrion knew of only one person who would presume to use that word. "And what does Cersei want of me?"

Bronn shrugged. "The queen commands you to return to the castle at once and attend her in her chambers. That stripling cousin of yours delivered the message. Four hairs on his lip and he thinks he's a man."

"Four hairs and a knighthood. He's Ser Lancel now, never forget." Tyrion knew that Ser Jacelyn would not send for him unless the matter was of import. "I'd best see what Bywater wants. Inform my sister that I will attend her on my return."

"She won't like that," Bronn warned.

"Good. The longer Cersei waits, the angrier she'll become, and anger makes her stupid. I much prefer angry and stupid to composed and cunning." Tyrion tossed his folded cloak into his litter, and Timett helped him up after it.

The market square inside the Gate of the Gods, which in normal times would have been thronged with farmers selling vegetables, was near deserted when Tyrion crossed it. Ser Jacelyn met him at the gate, and raised his iron hand in brusque salute. "My lord. Your cousin Cleos Frey is here, come from Riverrun under a peace banner with a letter from Robb Stark."

"Peace terms?"

"So he says."

"Sweet cousin. Show me to him."

The gold cloaks had confined Ser Cleos to a windowless guardroom in the gatehouse. He rose when they entered. "Tyrion, you are a most welcome sight."

"That's not something I hear often, cousin."

"Has Cersei come with you?"

"My sister is otherwise occupied. Is this Stark's letter?" He plucked it off the table. "Ser Jacelyn, you may leave us."

Bywater bowed and departed. "I was asked to bring the offer to the Queen Regent," Ser Cleos said as the door shut.

"I shall." Tyrion glanced over the map that Robb Stark had sent with his letter. "All in good time, cousin. Sit. Rest. You look gaunt and haggard." He looked worse than that, in truth.

"Yes." Ser Cleos lowered himself onto a bench. "It is bad in the riverlands, Tyrion. Around the Gods Eye and along the kingsroad especially. The river lords are burning their own crops to try and starve us, and your father's foragers are torching every village they take and putting the smallfolk to the sword."

That was the way of war. The smallfolk were slaughtered, while the highborn were held for ransom. Remind me to thank the gods that I was bom a Lannister.

Ser Cleos ran a hand through his thin brown hair. "Even with a peace banner, we were attacked twice. Wolves in mail, hungry to savage anyone weaker than themselves. The gods alone know what side they started on, but they're on their own side now. Lost three men, and twice as many wounded."

"What news of our foe?" Tyrion turned his attention back to Stark's terms. The boy does not want too much. Only half the realm, the release of our captives, hostages, his father's sword . . . oh, yes, and his sisters.

"The boy sits idle at Riverrun," Ser Cleos said. "I think he fears to face your father in the field. His strength grows less each day. The river lords have departed, each to defend his own lands."

Is this what Father intended? Tyrion rolled up Stark's map. "These terms will never do."

"Will you at least consent to trade the Stark girls for Tion and Willem?" Ser Cleos asked plaintively.

Tion Frey was his younger brother, Tyrion recalled. "No," he said gently, "but we'll propose our own exchange of captives. Let me consult with Cersei and the council. We shall send you back to Riverrun with our terms."

Clearly, the prospect did not cheer him. "My lord, I do not believe Robb Stark will yield easily. It is Lady Catelyn who wants this peace, not the boy."

"Lady Catelyn wants her daughters." Tyrion pushed himself down from the bench, letter and map in hand. "Ser Jacelyn will see that you have food and fire. You look in dire need of sleep, cousin. I will send for you when we know more."

He found Ser Jacelyn on the ramparts, watching several hundred new recruits drilling in the field below. With so many seeking refuge in King's Landing, there was no lack of men willing to join the City Watch for a full belly and a bed of straw in the barracks, but Tyrion had no illusions about how well these ragged defenders of theirs would fight if it came to battle.

"You did well to send for me," Tyrion said. "I shall leave Ser Cleos in your hands. He is to have every hospitality."

"And his escort?" the commander wanted to know.

"Give them food and clean garb, and find a maester to see to their hurts. They are not to set foot inside the city, is that understood?" It would never do to have the truth of conditions in King's Landing reach Robb Stark in Riverrun.

"Well understood, my lord."

"Oh, and one more thing. The alchemists will be sending a large supply of clay pots to each of the city gates. You're to use them to train the men who will work your spitfires. Fill the pots with green paint and have them drill at loading and firing. Any man who spatters should be replaced. When they have mastered the paint pots, substitute lamp oil and have them work at lighting the jars and firing them while aflame. Once they learn to do that without burning themselves, they may be ready for wildfire."

Ser Jacelyn scratched at his cheek with his iron hand. "Wise measures. Though I have no love for that alchemist's piss."

"Nor I, but I use what I'm given."

Once back inside his litter, Tyrion Lannister drew the curtains and plumped a cushion under his elbow. Cersei would be displeased to learn that he had intercepted Stark's letter, but his father had sent him here to rule, not to please Cersei.

It seemed to him that Robb Stark had given them a golden chance. Let the boy wait at Riverrun dreaming of an easy peace. Tyrion would reply with terms of his own, giving the King in the North just enough of what he wanted to keep him hopeful. Let Ser Cleos wear out his bony Frey rump riding to and fro with offers and counters. All the while, their cousin Ser Stafford would be training and arming the new host he'd raised at Casterly Rock. Once he was ready, he and Lord Tywin could smash the Tullys and Starks between them.

Now if only Robert's brothers would be so accommodating. Glacial as his progress was, still Renly Baratheon crept north and east with his huge southron host, and scarcely a night passed that Tyrion did not dread being awakened with the news that Lord Stannis was sailing his fleet up the Blackwater Rush. Well, it would seem I have a goodly stock of wildfire, but still . . .

The sound of some hubbub in the street intruded on his worries. Tyrion peered out cautiously between the curtains. They were passing through Cobbler's Square, where a sizable crowd had gathered beneath the leather awnings to listen to the rantings of a prophet. A robe of undyed wool belted with a hempen rope marked him for one of the begging brothers.

"Corruption!" the man cried shrilly. "There is the warning! Behold the Father's scourge!" He pointed at the fuzzy red wound in the sky. From this vantage, the distant castle on Aegon's High Hill was directly behind him, with the comet hanging forebodingly over its towers. A clever choice of stage, Tyrion reflected. "We have become swollen, bloated, foul. Brother couples with sister in the bed of kings, and the fruit of their incest capers in his palace to the piping of a twisted little monkey demon. Highborn ladies fornicate with fools and give birth to monsters! Even the High Septon has forgotten the gods! He bathes in scented waters and grows fat on lark and lamprey while his people starve! Pride comes before prayer, maggots rule our castles, and gold is all . . . but no more! The Rotten Summer is at an end, and the Whoremonger King is brought low! When the boar did open him, a great stench rose to heaven and a thousand snakes slid forth from his belly, hissing and biting!" He jabbed his bony finger back at comet and castle. "There comes the Harbinger! Cleanse yourselves, the gods cry out, lest ye be cleansed! Bathe in the wine of righteousness, or you shall be bathed in fire! Fire!"

"Fire!" other voices echoed, but the hoots of derision almost drowned them out. Tyrion took solace from that. He gave the command to continue, and the litter rocked like a ship on a rough sea as the Burned Men cleared a path. Twisted little monkey demon indeed. The wretch did have a point about the High Septon, to be sure. What was it that Moon Boy had said of him the other day? A pious man who worships the Seven so fervently that he eats a meal for each of them whenever he sits to table. The memory of the fool's jape made Tyrion smile.

He was pleased to reach the Red Keep without further incident. As he climbed the steps to his chambers, Tyrion felt a deal more hopeful than he had at dawn. Time, that's all I truly need, time to piece it all together. Once the chain is done . . . He opened the door to his solar.

Cersei turned away from the window, her skirts swirling around her slender hips. "How dare you ignore my summons!"

"Who admitted you to my tower?"

"Your tower? This is my son's royal castle."

"So they tell me." Tyrion was not amused. Crawn would be even less so; his Moon Brothers had the guard today. "I was about to come to you, as it happens."

"Were you?"

He swung the door shut behind him. "You doubt me?"

"Always, and with good reason."

"I'm hurt." Tyrion waddled to the sideboard for a cup of wine. He knew no surer way to work up a thirst than talking with Cersei. "If I've given you offense, I would know how."

"What a disgusting little worm you are. Myrcella is my only daughter. Did you truly imagine that I would allow you to sell her like a bag of oats? "

Myrcella, he thought. Well, that egg has hatched. Let's see what color the chick is. "Hardly a bag of oats. Myrcella is a princess. Some would say this is what she was born for. Or did you plan to marry her to Tommen?"

Her hand lashed out, knocking the wine cup from his hand to spill on the floor. "Brother or no, I should have your tongue out for that. I am Joffrey's regent, not you, and I say that Myrcella will not be shipped off to this Dornishman the way I was shipped to Robert Baratheon."

Tyrion shook wine off his fingers and sighed. "Why not? She'd be a deal safer in Dorne than she is here."

"Are you utterly ignorant or simply perverse? You know as well as I that the Martells have no cause to love us."

"The Martells have every cause to hate us. Nonetheless, I expect them to agree. Prince Doran's grievance against House Lannister goes back only a generation, but the Dornishmen have warred against Storm's End and Highgarden for a thousand years, and Renly has taken Dorne's allegiance for granted. Myrcella is nine, Trystane Martell eleven. I have proposed they wed when she reaches her fourteenth year. Until such time, she would be an honored guest at Sunspear, under Prince Doran's protection."

"A hostage," Cersei said, mouth tightening.

"An honored guest," Tyrion insisted, "and I suspect Martell will treat Myrcella more kindly than Joffrey has treated Sansa Stark. I had in mind to send Ser Arys Oakheart with her. With a knight of the Kingsguard as her sworn shield, no one is like to forget who or what she is."

"Small good Ser Arys will do her if Doran Martell decides that my daughter's death would wash out his sister's."

"Martell is too honorable to murder a nine-year-old girl, particularly one as sweet and innocent as Myrcella. So long as he holds her he can be reasonably certain that we'll keep faith on our side, and the terms are too rich to refuse. Myrcella is the least part of it. I've also offered him his sister's killer, a council seat, some castles on the Marches . . . "

"Too much." Cersei paced away from him, restless as a lioness, skirts swirling. "You've offered too much, and without my authority or consent."

"This is the Prince of Dorne we are speaking of. If I'd offered less, he'd likely spit in my face."

"Too much!" Cersei insisted, whirling back.

"What would you have offered him, that hole between your legs?" Tyrion said, his own anger flaring.

This time he saw the slap coming. His head snapped around with a crack. "Sweet sweet sister," he said, "I promise you, that was the last time you will ever strike me."

His sister laughed. "Don't threaten me, little man. Do you think Father's letter keeps you safe? A piece of paper. Eddard Stark had a piece of paper too, for all the good it did him."

Eddard Stark did not have the City Watch, Tyrion thought, nor my clansmen, nor the sellswords that Bronn has hired. I do. Or so he hoped. Trusting in Varys, in Ser Jacelyn Bywater, in Bronn. Lord Stark had probably had his delusions as well.

Yet he said nothing. A wise man did not pour wildfire on a brazier. Instead he poured a fresh cup of wine. "How safe do you think Myrcella will be if King's Landing falls? Renly and Stannis will mount her head beside yours."

And Cersei began to cry.

Tyrion Lannister could not have been more astonished if Aegon the Conqueror himself had burst into the room, riding on a dragon and juggling lemon pies. He had not seen his sister weep since they were children together at Casterly Rock. Awkwardly, he took a step toward her. When your sister cries, you were supposed to comfort her . . . but this was Cersei! He reached a tentative hand for her shoulder.

"Don't touch me," she said, wrenching away. It should not have hurt, yet it did, more than any slap. Red-faced, as angry as she was grief-stricken, Cersei struggled for breath. "Don't look at me, not . . . not like this . . . not you."

Politely, Tyrion turned his back. "I did not mean to frighten you. I promise you, nothing will happen to Myrcella."

"Liar," she said behind him. "I'm not a child, to be soothed with empty promises. You told me you would free Jaime too. Well, where is he? "

"In Riverrun, I should imagine. Safe and under guard, until I find a way to free him."

Cersei sniffed. "I should have been born a man. I would have no need of any of you then. None of this would have been allowed to happen. How could Jaime let himself be captured by that boy? And Father, I trusted in him, fool that I am, but where is he now that he's wanted? What is he doing?"

"Making war."

"From behind the walls of Harrenhal?" she said scornfully. "A curious way of fighting. It looks suspiciously like hiding."

"Look again."

"What else would you call it? Father sits in one castle, and Robb Stark sits in another, and no one does anything."

"There is sitting and there is sitting," Tyrion suggested. "Each one waits for the other to move, but the lion is still, poised, his tail twitching, while the fawn is frozen by fear, bowels turned to jelly. No matter which way he bounds, the lion will have him, and he knows it."

"And you're quite certain that Father is the lion?"

Tyrion grinned. "It's on all our banners."

She ignored the jest. "If it was Father who'd been taken captive, Jaime would not be sitting by idly, I promise you."

Jaime would be battering his host to bloody bits against the walls of Riverrun, and the Others take their chances. He never did have any patience, no more than you, sweet sister. "Not all of us can be as bold as Jaime, but there are other ways to win wars. Harrenhal is strong and well situated."

"And King's Landing is not, as we both know perfectly well. While Father plays lion and fawn with the Stark boy, Renly marches up the roseroad. He could be at our gates any day now!"

"The city will not fall in a day. From Harrenhal it is a straight, swift march down the kingsroad. Renly will scarce have unlimbered his siege engines before Father takes him in the rear. His host will be the hammer, the city walls the anvil. it makes a lovely picture."

Cersei's green eyes bored into him, wary, yet hungry for the reassurance he was feeding her. "And if Robb Stark marches?"

"Harrenhal is close enough to the fords of the Trident so that Roose Bolton cannot bring the northern foot across to join with the Young Wolf's horse. Stark cannot march on King's Landing without taking Harrenhal first, and even with Bolton he is not strong enough to do that." Tyrion tried his most winning smile. "Meanwhile Father lives off the fat of the riverlands, while our uncle Stafford gathers fresh levies at the Rock."

Cersei regarded him suspiciously. "How could you know all this? Did Father tell you his intentions when he sent you here?"

"No. I glanced at a map."

Her look turned to disdain. "You've conjured up every word of this in that grotesque head of yours, haven't you, Imp?"

Tyrion tsked. "Sweet sister, I ask you, if we weren't winning, would the Starks have sued for peace?" He drew out the letter that Ser Cleos Frey had brought. "The Young Wolf has sent us terms, you see. Unacceptable terms, to be sure, but still, a beginning. Would you care to see them?"

"Yes." That fast, she was all queen again. "How do you come to have them? They should have come to me."

"What else is a Hand for, if not to hand you things?" Tyrion handed her the letter. His cheek still throbbed where Cersei's hand had left its mark. Let her flay half my face, it will be a small price to pay for her consent to the Dornish marriage. He would have that now, he could sense it.

And certain knowledge of an informer too . . . well, that was the plum in his pudding.

[paulriedelposts]

Churches in Munich

I have been living in my second hometown, Munich, for over three decades, and still, I haven’t explored all of its places including some churches in Munich. No, it doesn’t mean I don’t travel a lot or have no interest in discovering nooks and crannies of my city. It means the town is filled with an infinite number of mesmerizing architectures to see that every time I visit any corner of Munich, it amazed me differently. However, being a Catholic German, I have vast information about churches in Munich. The cathedrals of my place are worldwide famous, and they draw millions of sightseers from every corner of the universe. And today, I want to share that knowledge with everyone, but first, let me put some light on the history of Munich and its churches.

Munich and its Connection with Churches

Munich has more than twenty churches, and all of them are charismatic in their way. The Bavarian capital has an enormous religious history. People of Munich are still following sacred norms and obligations. Talk about the history of the place, the third-largest city of Germany, began as a benedictine monastery. It later transformed into a new settlement when monks stepped in and installed a market at the junction of the route from the river and Salzburg (once named Iuvavum). When you enter this urban town, you will witness the iconic old-fashioned walls and three old city gates. However, the central point of Munich is none other than my favorite square. Marienplatz, which is an enormous and ancient public location to meet new people. All tourists should start from here. Marienplatz Near the Marienplatz, there are some outstanding buildings, such as the New City Hall (Northern side), the Old City Hall (Eastern edge), and few highly renowned churches. Yes, I am talking about Frauenkirche, St. Peter’s Church, and Saint Michael’s Church. Out of all three, Frauenkirche, the Cathedral Church of Our Lady, is the most-visited sacred landmark in Munich. My hometown has a deep connection with religious history, especially Christianity. It would be hard to find non-Catholic churches in the city. However, every other cathedral is different from the rest in terms of architecture and design. Some of them are small, while many of them are quite large in structure. One thing I like about these holy places is everybody can visit the churches regardless of their faith, so one doesn’t have to be significantly Christian or religious to roam in the buildings freely.

Top Churches in Munich

Though every tiny location in Munich is worth exploring, however, visiting some religious architecture is a whole different story. It took me so long to compile a list of the best churches in Munich because of their beauty, designs, and charisma, but I finally made it. So, check out! Dreifaltigkeitskirche (Trinity Church) Popularly known in the entire Munich, Trinity Church, Dreifaltigkeitskirche in German, is a votive cathedral. The church lays in the center of the city, near Lenbachplatz. The construction finished in 1716. It was all constructed according to the plans of Giovanni Antonio Viscardi. The building is one of the ancient Bavarian Baroque-style landmarks. This monastery cathedral of the Carmelites is also the church of the Metropolitan parish of Our Blessed Lady. Let me share a surprising fact about it. In the Second World War, Trinity Church was the only religious landmark that had been spared from damage caused by bombs. Call it a miracle or something, but the church has weirdly attractive and mysterious vibes around it. Some Barock Being the first church building in the late Baroque style, the Trinity Church went through some changes, too. After the death of Viscardi in 1713, Enrico Zuccalli took the responsibility to finish it. The central building, along with its beautiful dome and entrance, are the masterpieces of him. Other than these, the two-faced south façade extends the front side of the houses of the street. Moreover, the polygonal central door is parted by columns and baroque crowns that enhance the appearance of the structure. In the Trinity Church, you will witness the beautiful artwork by Cosmas Damian Asam, whose paintings are on the dome’s ceiling. Other prominent artists include Joseph Ruffini, Johann Baptist Straub, Andreas Faistenberger, and Johann Georg Baader. To discover more about the cathedral and its remarkable displays, one must take a tour of the place. Michaelskirche (St. Michael’s Church) No tour to Munich would ever be completed without visiting Michaelskirche, also famous by the name of St. Michael’s Church. It is a Jesuit cathedral in the city. Consider it the most magnificent Renaissance church settled in the north of the Alps. The design of the building features the Baroque-style structure. It was opened in 1583 as a Parish church. Friedrich Sustris, with the help of Wendel Dietterlin, designed the building. And the Duke of Bavaria, William V, built the landmark between 1583 and 1597. Moreover, the monument was initiated as a spiritual center for the Counter-Reformation. If I have to talk about the façade of the building, I must say it’s very influential. It contains standing figures of Duke William and previous rulers of the Bavarian Wittelsbach dynasty. All the statues are made of bronze, and they placed in the positions to form a family tree. Furthermore, the interior of the cathedral is outstanding. It depicts Roman Catholicism in a beautiful style. From the arches to the aisles to the chapels, every display in the church is worth praising. And yes, there is a deep choir room, too. Even after faced damaged in the Second World War, the church looks hypnotically stunning and picturesque. It was fully restored between 1946 and 1948. Heiliggeistkirche (Church of the Holy Spirit)

Another Catholic church in the heart of Bavaria, Heiliggeistkirche, commonly known as the Church of the Holy Spirit, is a Gothic hall basilica. The church lies on the edge of the Viktualienmarkt. It originally belongs to the Hospice of the Holy Ghost of the 14th century. Johann George Ettenhofer remodeled the landmark in 1724, and he took six years to complete the architecture. The areas of renovation were vaults and pillars.  The inner side of the church features Rococo frescoes and stucco ornament by the very famous Asam brothers. Well, the original décor was awe-inspiring, but this cathedral had faced destruction during World War II. Even the interior furnishings were damaged to a great extent. However, after the war, renovations and restorations were carried out. In 1991, the interior was entirely reconstructed. If you are looking for the original landmark, you will only get the remnants of the north wall of the nave. And the tower of the church has a beautiful lantern dome. Look closely at the Neo-Baroque façade, and it is quite clear that the elements used in it are borrowed from Viscardi’s Trinity Church. Overall, the Church of Holy Spirit is worth exploring, and especially, its interior has something captivating that you can’t resist yourself from seeing it. Burgersaalkirche (Citizen’s Hall Church)

Most probably one of the smallest churches in Munich, Burgersaalkirche, known as Citizen’s Hall Church, is not less than others in terms of architecture. If you ask locals about it, you may find a mix response. Yes, this is not very famous among the Bavarian community. However, the vibrantly painted ceiling inside the basilica is magnificent. It also has a cute but contemporary style chapel on the ground floor. You need to go upstairs to discover more paintings and highlights. It’s another masterpiece by Giovanni Antonio Viscardi, and it was built between 1709 and 1710. There are two churches in one big Burgersaalkirche. The upper church is on the higher floor, while the ground church is on the lower portion. From the outside, the Citizen’s Hall Church is Baroque-style, and the statues of Madonna and Child are placed above the entrance gate. If you have plenty of time, visit the upper section of the church, too. It was once the prayer room, but it has been used as a church since 1778. I am sure you would like to view the masterpiece of decoration in the place, which is the statue of the Guardian Angel with the child. And yes, there is also a grave of Rupert Mayer on the lower floor of the church. St. Maximiliankirche (St. Maximilian Church)

Like many others in the Bavarian capital, St. Maximiliankirche, popularly known as St. Maximilian Church, is a Roman Catholic Parish Cathedral. It beautifully nestles near the River Isar in Munich on the southern side of Germany. The church took several years to finished, and it was erected from 1892 to 1908. Heinrich von Schmidt was the designer and the mastermind behind the stunning architecture of St. Maximilian Church. He made sure to design it in the Romanesque Revival style. If I talk about myself, I couldn’t get a chance to visit this place more than once. However, the giant structure of beauty is still in my memory. The cathedral is quite massive as compared to small churches in Munich. I adore the Romanesque-style façade that plays a vital part in heightening the value of the place. When it comes to the interior, it’s modest. The walls are plain with a few paintings and murals, but the furniture and ceiling are highly decent yet elegant.  Galleries Open galleries connect two towers of the building. Moreover, the soil of the place was very soft in most of the construction location. That’s why wooden beams were used for the support of the roof instead of traditional stones. Keep in mind one thing that the church was damaged a lot during World War II, and it was reconstructed in 1949. The overall appearance of the building is outstanding. So, everyone should visit this gorgeous land at least once in their lifetime. St. Lukaskirche (St. Luke’s Church)

I am sure you don’t want to skip St. Lukaskirche, as known as St. Lukas or St. Luke’s Church, which is probably the largest protestant church in the urban center of Munich. This only preserved Lutheran Parish Church is the creativity of Albert Schmidt. It was erected and completed between the time duration of 1893 and 1896, so it took three years to get the final appearance. It gracefully lies on the banks of the Isar, between the Mariannenplatz and Steinsdorfstrabe. And you can consider it among the historical places where people not only worship and perform holy rituals, but it is open for non-believers, too. Special on Architecture Nobody could ever ignore the structure of the building because of its Romanesque-style features. Albert wanted to give it a pre-reformation look, so he designed the façade of the church to rule the skyline of Roman Catholic Munich. And if you explore the interior, you will be surprised to view Gothic-style décor. However, both designs make the St. Lukas Church worth seeing. The church welcomes visitors and sightseers from all around the earth almost every day. It is also the venue for various cultural programs and concerts. When it comes to services, they held plenty of times per week. Moreover, the church community is in love with the St. Lukas gospel choir, which started in 1991. Now they have over 70 singers with flawless and melodious voices. Kreuzkirche (Holy Cross Church/All Saints Church) Not the typical one in the city, Kreuzkirche, also renowned as All Saints Church, is a cemetery church in the Bavarian capital. It is famous by the name of Holy Cross Church, too. Located in the southern end of Germany, Kreuzkirche features a sharp façade, and it is among the top-notch Catholic churches in my hometown. Jorg von Halsbach was the creator and designer of the landmark. It was erected in 1478, and consider it the first holy building with a cemetery in the Saint Peter parish. In the beginning, it was situated at the crossing of four roads. That’s why locals call it the Holy Cross Church. The building of the cathedral is in highly good condition, and all the visitors have permission to roam without hesitation. With brickwork walls in red and a giant bell tower, Kreuzkirche can be seen from a distance. Its architecture highlights the sky of Munich. When it comes to interior décor, it is in Baroque style, and the frescos are stunning to view, too. There are also few attractions within the church, so book your tour to discover them by yourself. I think I forgot to mention about the tomb of banker Gietz and the Phantom of Virgin to St. Augustine that are also there to teach mysterious old facts related to Saint. Paul’s Church

One of the large Catholic churches in Munich, St. Paul’s Church, lies in the city’s quarter of Ludwigsvorstadt-Isarvorstadt. Austrian architect Georg von Hauberrisser designed this gorgeous building, and it took almost fourteen years to complete the landmark. It was constructed between 1892 and 1906. The church was created in the Gothic Revival Style.  For outer appearance, limestone from Ansbach is used to enhance the façade of the church. On the other side, upper Bavarian tuff is the primary component for the interior décor. Other than these, the core of the masonry consists of brick. When it comes to towers, the central one is 97 meters, while the two on the west are 76-meter tall. Moreover, the western exterior is decorated by a giant rose window above the entrance side of the church. The entire façade and interior look highly gorgeous. Unfortunately, during the time of World War II, St. Paul’s Church was severely damaged by air raids. It was one great destruction because the large pieces of equipment were lost, which also include the high altar. However, the church was restored with time.

Other Churches in Munich

As I have mentioned earlier, Munich has over twenty churches, but not all of them are equally famous. Here, let me share a list of some not-so-famous cathedrals to show you some more colors of the city. Though they are not as popular as Frauenkirche, St. Michael’s Church, or Trinity Church, however, they still have some great value. So, if you have discovered all the well-known basilicas and have no idea what to do in Munich, you can try these churches, too.  Damenstiftskirche St. Anna Damenstiftskirche St. Anna, a chapel in the old town of the Bavarian capital, is drop-dead gorgeous in its structure. It is no doubt one of the wonders of Munich. Elector Charles Albert commissioned it in the 18th century, and a monastery in the legal form of a chapter of nuns was set up in the church. And yes, the cornerstone was laid in 1733. It was opened for the public in 1735. This beautiful chapel is the work of a famous architect, Johann Baptist Gunetzrhainer. However, the Asam brothers took responsibility for the interior décor of Damenstiftskirche St. Anna. The ceiling fresco is the most appealing thing in the church. Other includes the nave, altar, and interior ornamentation. Like many other churches and landmarks, St. Anna was also destroyed during World War II. Later, the interior was restored in the 1980s by using old photographs and images. Even though the inner side is completely renovated, but the murals are painted in classic black and white, but the charm of the place is still alive. The only negative point of this landmark is its gate that separates the visitors from the entrance and church nave. It restricts people from exploring the central area of the church, so it can be a little bit difficult for sightseers to view highlights of the church from close. Kathedrale Maria Schutz und St. Andreas The beautiful Catholic Church, Kathedrale Maria Schutz und St. Andreas, is another under-rated cathedral in southern Germany. Call it the Cathedral of the Intercession of the Mother of God and St. Andrew. Its origin is from Ukraine, and it’s the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Cathedral.  The cathedral is a piece of modern architecture. The church opened for the public in 1976. Its exterior is modest and decent. The interior is lovely, like many other churches in the city. Moreover, it can be among the best indoor things to do in Munich. Klosterkirche St. Anna in Lehel The Catholic Abbey church, Klosterkirche St. Anna in Lehel, also known as Abbey St. Anna Church, is an example of a unique art. Nestled in the heart of Bavaria, it was the first-ever Rococo church of the Old Bavarian region. It shaped the development of sacred and religious architecture in the land. Johann Michael Fischer designed this beautiful masterpiece in Rococo style in 1733. The interior designers included the Asam brothers and Johann Baptist Straub. It was all started in 1727 as a gesture of thank you for the birth of the heir to the Bavarian crown, Maximilian III Joseph. The construction was completed in 1733, and it was opened for the public in the same year. I have mentioned many times that World War II destroyed plenty of monuments. Unluckily, Abbey St. Anna was among those buildings. Rebuilt in the 1960s. The façade may look plain now, but it somehow managed to appear modest and decent.  Salvatorkirche (Church of the Savior) Another Gothic-style church in Munich, Salvatorkirche, popularly renowned as the Church of the Savior, is a former cemetery church of the Frauenkirche. The Greek Orthodox Christians have been performed rituals in this place since 1829. It was also the head office of the Metropolitan German region and the Exarch of Central Europe. Do you know the Greek Orthodox community called it the Transfiguration of the Savior? Initially, it was erected in the late Gothic style in the 15th century. Later, the exterior of the church was built in a Gothic-like architecture, and some Baroque pieces were removed in the restoration process. The inside of the building is fantastic, and the entire church looks captivating, even from a distance. Don’t have enough time to observe every detail of the site? No problem. It can be one of the top outdoor things in Munich. Just spend a few minutes outside the church to know the worth of its beauty. New St. John’s Church Located in Haidhausen, the district of Munich, the Parish Church of St. John the Baptist is a Roman Catholic Church. It is a masterpiece of Matthias Berger. He designed the building in the Gothic Revival style. According to historical facts, the population of the city grew swiftly in the early 19th century on both sides of River Isar. For this reason, the church of Haidhausen became too small to fit its growing gathering, so a new, larger church was constructed. Keep in mind the foundation stone for the church was laid in the 1840s. That is why it is called the New St. John’s Church. Though the construction of St. Johannas was almost completed by 1858, however, the tower took more time. It was erected by 1870, and the west tower of the church is 97-meter high. We all know what happened after World War II, and New St. John’s Church couldn’t save itself from destruction. The bombardments from world war II damaged many portions of the building. After the war, restoration works repaired the building. Even the tower received a new spire, too. Wies Church The UNESCO World Heritage Site, Wies Church, is among the traditional pilgrimage churches near the city of Munich. Dominikus Zimmerman ordered to construct this gorgeous landmark between 1746 and 1754. No doubt, Wies Church is one of the purest and holiest creations of Bavarian rococo. Its decent exterior looks super-classy, and the interior snatches the attention of everyone. Add this place to enjoy historical architecture. To put it briefly, I want to say visiting cathedrals and getting information about them is one of the best things to do in Munich. From the Cathedral Church of Our Lady to Theatiner Church to St. Peter’s to every gorgeous church in the city, the highlights will not let you think you have wasted your time or something. Not even for a second. And yes, don’t hesitate to try new things. Every adventure gives us unlimited experiences. So, are you ready to unlock new chapters of thriller activities in the heart of Bavaria? Read the full article