#instead of being locked into one deity’s beliefs

[athalantan]

I hate to say it but the Weave really is the optimal source of magic. It’s not the only source, as Myst.ran propaganda has led many to believe, but what’s not propaganda are the pros of using it.

It’s reliable for one. When you cast a spell correctly, you can always expect it to turn out the same way. The only determiner is your own skill. This also makes teaching easier.

It’s relatively safe for another. Yes, magic is dangerous, but all that happens when you fuck up a spell is it fails. It’s not like you mispronounce the incantation and it blows up in your face. Now experimenting with magic is another matter. That can get explosive — but there are certain safeguards you can put in place. And once you have it perfected, it becomes reliable.

The greatest benefit is probably the amount of magic you’re able to mix. Magic can be categorized into schools, but there’s nothing stopping you from casting from multiple schools. You can mix and match and stack and tether to your heart’s delight. Yeah you might get more than you bargain for, but the spells themselves won’t become volatile or fail.

When you draw from other sources, you are limited to what that one source can supply. There’s no guarantee spells will turn out the same every time regardless of how you cast. Spells are also likely to become dangerous, at least unpredictable, if you make an error in casting, and they’re likely to be volatile when mixed with spells of other types. You’re really taking your fate into your own hands. This likewise complicates teaching. All-in-all, you aren’t limited by a deity, but you aren’t protected by one either.

[dare-valley]

The King of Annwn

Brythonic Paganism Essays: Part I

The Usual Disclaimer: The tales of The Mabinogion and other surviving Welsh texts were once shared orally, passed down across generations, and over vast distances. By the time these stories were finally committed to writing, the Welsh had long embraced Christianity. As a result, what remains in these medieval manuscripts offers only a faint echo of the ancient beliefs held by the Brythonic or Romano-British peoples. Yet, by examining these stories in relation to one another, and drawing parallels with other Celtic or even Indo-European traditions, we may catch glimpses of the older beliefs that inspired them. What follows is simply theory, built upon these comparisons.

There are many contenders for the title of King or Lord of Annwn, the Otherworld in Welsh mythology. So many, in fact, that most Brythonic polytheists I’ve spoken to tend to agree that Annwn, like the mortal world, has multiple rulers. However, I believe these deities share too many similarities to be entirely distinct. Rather, I see them as different aspects or variations of a much older, singular god. Before delving into the gods themselves, let’s examine the key motifs:

The God-King is often depicted as a hunter, accompanied by the Cŵn Annwn—the hounds of Annwn—described as pure white with red ears.

He is locked in an eternal, seasonal conflict, where he can be seen as representing winter, battling against an opponent who embodies summer.

This struggle often revolves around a goddess who symbolizes spring, the earth, or fertility. This mythic framework is incredibly ancient, with perhaps the most well-known version being the story of Persephone in Greek mythology.

The conflict often involves a journey to the Underworld and escalates to such intensity that a mortal king must intervene.

The god is also often depicted as a psychopomp—an entity that guides the souls of the dead to their final destination, much like the Grim Reaper. However, it’s important to note that Annwn wasn’t necessarily viewed as an “afterlife” by its original believers. Instead, it was more of a mystical realm, later misunderstood and conflated with Hell or Hades through the lens of Christian propaganda.

Arawn

Pwyll, King of Dyfed, embarks on a hunt and encounters a pack of white, red-eared dogs bringing down a deer. He claims the kill for himself, only to be confronted by Arawn, the true owner of the hounds, who is also hunting. To make amends for his transgression, Pwyll agrees to a request from Arawn: they will swap appearances and live as each other for one year. Arawn explains that he goes to war every year with Hafgan—a name meaning something like "summer song" or "summer white"—for rulership of Annwn. Despite defeating Hafgan in combat each time, Arawn always loses in the end. As Hafgan lays dying, he taunts Arawn to strike again, and Arawn, unable to resist, delivers the fatal blow—only for Hafgan to be magically revived.

Pwyll agrees to the plan and spends a year living in Annwn disguised as Arawn. Though he shares a bed with Arawn’s Wife every night, Pwyll honors the situation and never takes advantage of it. When the time comes to face Hafgan in battle, Pwyll defeats him but refuses to strike the final blow. With Hafgan dead, his followers recognize Arawn as the true King of Annwn.

Here, we see the recurring motifs of the hunt, the yearly conflict with summer, and the intervention of a mortal king. In this version of the myth, it is the King who travels to the Otherworld, not the goddess who is absent. While the myth lacks a love triangle with a goddess, Arawn’s unnamed Wife does play a role, with her honor preserved, this was included in the story for a reason. The psychopomp element isn’t explicitly referenced in this story, but other familiar themes remain.

Gwyn ap Nudd

Culhwch desires to marry Olwen, the daughter of the giant Ysbaddaden. However, Ysbaddaden knows that he is doomed to die once his daughter marries, so he sets Culhwch forty impossible tasks. One of these is to slay the monstrous boar Twrch Trwyth, a cursed Irish king who now roams Britain as a destructive beast. Culhwch seeks help from his famous cousin, King Arthur, who agrees but warns that to hunt this particular monster, they will need the aid of Gwyn ap Nudd.

Gwyn ap Nudd - whose name means "White Son of Mist" - is somewhat preoccupied at the time, having just abducted the lady Creiddylad from her betrothed, Gwythyr ap Greidawl, whose name means "Victory Son of Scorcher." The ensuing conflict between Gwyn and Gwythyr grows vicious. In one particularly brutal act, Gwyn kills a captured knight, cuts out his heart, and forces the knight's son to eat it, driving him mad. King Arthur intervenes and orders the two rivals to cease their war. From that moment on, they are condemned to battle each other once a year, on May Day, until the end of the world.

Gwyn also appears in the poem The Dialogue of Gwyn ap Nudd and Gwyddno Garanhir in the Black Book of Carmarthen. It can be interpreted from this poem that Gwyddno, unaware that he has been slain in battle, meets a warrior (Gwyn) and asks for his protection. During the course of their conversation Gwyddno learns that the warrior has witnessed many battles and the deaths of many of Britain's heroes, and Gwyddno realises he is now one of those dead heroes as he is speaking to Gwyn ap Nudd.

Later traditions place Gwyn at the head of the Wild Hunt as the King of the Tylwyth Teg, the fair folk, the inhabitants of Annwn, where he rides his host on the night between October 31st/November 1st looking for the souls of the dead. He hunts with the Cwn Annwn, the same pack of dogs Arawn had.

Let's go through all this. We have two examples of a Hunt motif, the Hunting of Twrch Trwyth, and The Wild Hunt. Both can be seen as metaphors for Gwyn's role as a psychopomp, The Wild Hunt is explicitly about the souls of the dead being taken to the Otherworld, and Twrch Trwyth is no ordinary boar, he is a human soul transformed into a monster, and Arthur believes that only with Gwyn with them could they succeed.

We also have a war with summer over a girl. Creiddylad is of uncertain meaning, it could mean "heart-flood", "blood-flood" which is unclear to me, but Gwythyr being "son of Scorcher" seems to be a clear reference to summer, their battle is to commence on May Day, the start of summer, every year, forever. It's also worth noting that the Wild Hunt the night before November 1st is the start of winter. This was of course decided by the (not so mortal) legendary King Arthur.

A note on Gwyn's family: Nudd (pronounced Neathe like breathe) is a god who's name means mist. Getting lost in mist is a sure fire way of getting to Annwn, like a portal, and the Tylwyth Teg, or fair folk of whom Gwyn is king, are said to waylay travelers with mist and fog. Nudd comes from the older Celtic word Nodens, a god associated with healing, specifically but not limited to eyes, as well as dream interpretation. So here we see a god who is responsible for clearing or obscuring vision, both physically and mentally, like mist. Nodens is also closely linked to dogs, hunting and fishing. Lludd is another version of this name, and Lludd is given to be Creiddydlad's father, making her Gwyn's sisters as well as lover, but we don't know for sure if the medieval writers saw Lludd and Nudd as literally the same person, so it's really a matter of opinion.

Gronw Pebr

Gwydion, a magician, trickster, bard and potentially tree deity (more on this in a future essay), has gone to great trouble to bring about the birth of Lleu Llaw Gyffes, Lleu of Many Skills. This includes him stealing divine pigs from Annwn, given to Pryderi ap Pwyll by Arawn and magically impregnating his own sister. As a result Lleu's mother, Arianrhod, has laid three tynghedau on him, which is like a curse or a fate.

One tynged is that Lleu could not marry any woman of any race in this world. So Gwydion, along with his magically talented uncle King Math, created a wife for Lleu out of flowers and named her Blodeuwedd, meaning flower-face. Blodeuwedd and Lleu are happily married until one day, when Lleu is away from home, a hunter arrives.

His name is Gronw Pebr, Gronw the Radiant, and he requests shelter. Blodeuwedd, having never seen another man in her life other than her husband and her creators, falls in love with him. Gronw explains that in order for them to be together, Lleu must die. So Blodeuwedd discovers from her trusting husband the very specific and convoluted means that Lleu could be killed, which involves a spear that takes a year of Sundays to create. She tells Gronw about this, who goes about creating the spear.

When the time comes, Blodeuwedd tricks Lleu into the exact situation in which he can be killed, and Gronw strikes him with the spear. Lleu is "killed" but his body transforms into an eagle that continually rots, and flies away. Using pigs to sniff him out, Gwydion finds the decaying eagle perched in an oak tree, and with his gift of awen (divine talent and knowledge) sings Lleu back to life.

Lleu, Gwydion and Math return for vengeance, and this time it is Lleu who slays Gronw with a spear thrust that pierces the solid stone Gronw used as a shield. Blodeuwedd and her maidens flee, but as they keep looking behind them the maidens fall into a lake and drown and Blodeuwedd is transformed by Gwydion into an owl as punishment, a goddess of flowers cursed to never see the sun again.

This story is a lot more from the point of view of our summer representative Lleu, who's fleshed out far more as a god in his own right in the full telling of it. Lleu specifically is the god of light, as well as being "many skilled" and sharing many characteristics of the "divine son" god that will be explored in the next essay.

Gronw, by contrast, has nothing that indicates winter other than he opposes Lleu and his opposition takes a year of work. He also enters our story as a hunter. The circularity of this conflict is reinforced in the resurrection of Lleu, as winter defeats summer just for summer to return and defeat winter and so on. I am reminded by this resurrection by Gwydion of Hafgan's final strike, which revives him.

Blodeuwedd also gets far more attention in this story than the women in the other tales. A being who is a literal embodiment of spring, fertility and the earth, being made from flowers. It is likely that the owl transformation is a medieval invention. There are other animal transformations in this branch of the Mabinogion that I didn't mention here as they weren't relevant, which also seems to be an addition based on a trendyness of people who shapeshift in medieval literature. However, we also have the maidens falling into the lake, which I imagine is a remnant of the original, in which Blodeuwedd falls in, as the maidens are not really mentioned before so this is an odd detail. Lakes were seen as gateways to Annwn, so here we see Blodeuwedd fleeing to her Otherworldly lover. I personally take the owl to represent Blodeuwedd during the dark half of the year, when she is with her winter lover, awaiting to emerge from the earth in spring.

We have no psychopomping either, but we do have two references to swine herding which seems reminiscent of Culhwch and Olwen. King Math is certainly no mortal, but he seems to be a god involved with magic, judgement and punishment.

A note on Lleu's family: just as Gwyn and Creiddydlad are potentially siblings, so too are Lleu's parents Gwydion and Arianrhod. The story doesn't come straight out and say it, creating the characters of Gilfeathwy and Goewin as stand-ins, probably for the sake of Christian sensibilities. These two are never mentioned again or anywhere else as far as I know, and it is Arianrhod who is pregnant as a result of the whole thing, not Goewin. Some versions even have Arianrhod in Goewin's place as foot holder to Math. Lleu appears as Llefelys in another story, who is brother of Lludd (Nudd). This would make Creiddydlad, the Blodeuwedd-like lady of Gwyn's story, his niece, as well as Gwyn maybe his nephew.

This really nails home how these tales became so mixed up in their countless retellings over space and time before being written down. They spread out and became something unique then smashed back together time and again, but somewhere in there is the important truth. It can be confusing and frustrating, but bare in mind always:

The Gods are not their myths,

Embrace the mystery!

[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews: Darklord Yagno Petrovna

Domain: G'Henna Domain Formation:  702 BC Power Level: 💀💀⚫⚫⚫ Sources: Domains of Dread (2e) Circle of Darkness (2e), Domains and Denizens, Realm of Terror (109-110), Ravenloft 3e

Yagno Petrovna is a sickly man clinging onto his ever dying belief in a fake deity as the land of G’Henna dies around him. Blinders are a necessary component to religious zealots and the ones Yagno wears are endless.

Yagno grew up in Barovia. Though I am uncertain which village he hailed from, it matters not. One unremarkable village made up of dilapidated buildings and mud is the same as any other. Barovia is not known for its religious populace , but Yagno was…well, let’s just call him imaginative. 

He was physically weak in a family that prided themselves for their vitality. This resulted in much cruelty from his brother, Yoshtoi. Hmm. I can sympathize a bit there, though my elder brother was more the type to lazily insult me from his chair than actually excrete any physical energy against me. 

Yagno would make up stories about the monsters in the woods and he actually feared them himself. I’m not sure why one would need to make up more monsters in the svalich woods or why others would not believe such tales, but siblings will be siblings and Yagno’s brother and others constantly abused him for it.

His brother locked him out of the house one night, telling him to find comfort with his monsters. Yagno became hysterical with his own fear and sheltered in a small cave. The next morning he found the word “Zhakata” scrawled upon the cavern wall. Instead of realizing it was just one night in a cave, a feat most young people would survive, Yagno believed that Zhakata had protected him from the monsters of the woods.

Like a true zealot, Yagno didn’t bother to look into this deity of his or the source of the word “Zhakata” (a code word used between two Vistani), he set up an altar to Zhakata in the cave. And, naturally, decided that Zhakata required ritual sacrifices. 

He sacrificed a number of servants and family members, Yoshtoi included, to this “god” of his. Eventually, he was discovered in the act of sacrificing his sister’s baby. His family saved the child and chased Yagno into the woods, where he fled into the Mists and G’Henna was created.

Yagno rules G’Henna as a Theocracy, making those that dwell there worship his false god. The people of G’Henna believe Zhakata has two forms, the Devourer and the Provider, though none have ever seen the Provider. The Devourer was said to have walked the land, thinning and drying the soils, freezing the people and making the land hostile to all living things.

Having never communed with his God, Yagno is plagued with doubt in Zhakata’s existence. He hides this doubt behind religious decrees and punishes any who question his or their own faith. It is said that the Mists are the ones that grant Yagno his power. A strange sort of torment, to obtain power yet never know its source. 

So powerful was his doubt that he hired a wizard to contact Zhaktat and find the Provider. The wizard ended up summoning a nalfeshnee named Malistroi who mocked Yagno and told him his god was false and never existed. Enraged, Yagno killed the wizard and left the devil bound in the wizard’s summoning circle. Yagno then told his people that there was no Provider, just the Devourer.

In a way this is true, with Yagno being the Devourer himself. His laws require that all food grown in G’Henna are offered to the church. The church pointlessly sacrifices some of this precious resource to "Zhakata" and distributes the rest to the people, barely enough to survive off of. Buying and selling food is considered a crime. Honestly, is anyone upset that the Grand Conjunction threw this Domain out into the floating pockets? No, I only continually get blamed for the less desirable changes.

Yagno’s real power comes from the altar within his grand cathedral that towers over the city of Zhukar. There he can charm the masses as if using a charm spell himself. He can also transform any native G’Henna into a beastial humanoid. These transformations are used quite often on those whom Yagno views as transgressing against him, though they only work on those that believe in Zhakata. In making these transformations, he is simply destroying his own followers. Quite simply put, Yagno is nothing more than a fool's ouroboros.

[theladyregret]

I've seen you make commets concerning Drow skin color here and also in the authors notes of your fics. Could you go into it more? I find it a lot more interesting then what a lot of people insist on doing. Also how do you balance it with in game racial lore or do you just dismiss it completely?

God, I love asks like these.

I'm pretty sure I've already gone into it somewhere on my blog but it was in response to an angry ask so likely something people would skip over because...drama. Which is of course totally valid but I'm glad I get to go into it again in response to a nice ask instead.

I'll start with the lore question which honestly isn't very complicated in it's solution. You can choose whatever lore you like for your preference and you really don't have to change anything. All you have to do is sweep it into the nice neat corner of "creationist myth" or "religious propaganda". That is to say that these things are not meant to be historically accurate or factual retellings. Hell, they could just be outright lies depending. Even goodly folk and religions with goodly deities can have these things and followers who take it as fact and it doesn't make them bad people necessarily. Ignorant maybe? Bad...it depends on how they go about it once being faced with the truth.

So when lore says "Drow have dark skin to show everyone else that they are evil and they were banished to the depths of the Underdark as a punishment" that is just something someone decided was true...but really isn't, but people certainly may believe it is. Just as the Drow are taught that they were forced underground by the evil surface races and that Lloth is their sole protector and they are the only goodly people in the world. It's not true...but some of them certainly believe that it is.

The key is to remove the idea of black and white in terms of what is good and what is evil and whether both can exist within every race regardless of stereotyping. No race is inherently one thing or the other regardless of cultural norms or upbringing. Every race is capable of evil and good. Period. Anything that says otherwise is a myth people may have been taught and may believe is true even though it isn't.

As for the skin tone thing. I have always been a big promoter of the fact that magic existing in a world does not mean science does not. So...even if it is a fantasy world with magic...genetics still exist. Evolution and adaptation still exists. Not everything is just magic. I'm also completely against the idea of locking races that aren't human into set ethnicities. Every race should be capable of having varied ethnic features based on where they are native to and I don't mean subraces either. So...if humans in a certain area have certain ethnic features like darker skin and hair, hair texture, certain facial features...that should equally apply to all other races that also come from that area in addition to their racial features. So a gold elf can have dark skin, darker hair, broader or narrower facial features because they come from a warmer region...and still be gold elves. Same for a wood elf, or an orc, or a halfling, or a gnome etc

Applying this to Drow is a bit different only because the Underdark is a fantasy construction but largely they can have the same differing in ethnic features but also...it's always been my belief that their dark skin tone (which tends to be more purple or blue toned rather then orange) is the result of an adaptation to the Faerzress radiation. This also explains why other Underdark races also have this adaptation...even the goodly races. And why do they have white or extremely pale hair in contrast to their skin? Because the adaptation that makes their skin dark is not the same as melanin and is not designed to protect against UV light but a completely different type of energy. As a result their hair doesn't have melanin and likely their skin would be sensitive to sunlight similarly to how people with low or no melanin would despite being so dark. If a Drow has darker colored hair...or red hair, this could either be a left over recessive gene or a gene mutation. Still possible just not common.

This can also explain why red eyes are so common as well because low or no melanin levels can make eyes appear pale blue, pink, red, or pale purple as well as not being able to filter glare from light well (among other things but I'm not going into all of that here). Humans don't typically have red eyes with albinism but you can bend those rules for the fact they're elves and not humans. Just like with the hair color it's also just as possible for some of them to inherit a recessive gene that puts more melanin in their eyes giving them an unexpected color or higher tolerance to light. (this could explain Drizzt's eye color certainly but I actually think that's a whole different thing which I have also talked about before in another post and won't go into here)

So yeah, this is generally how I feel about the whole thing and have for a very long time...and honestly...solves a lot of recent issues people have with it all, I think anyway.

[fighting-and-drawing]

⭐star⭐ Anything about Heart of the Warrior you want to talk about? Or about the sequel that you began, and then it vanished?

There are a few general trivia I could elaborate on that is referenced or cut in Heart of the Warrior.

The Takeda Clan and Aikido—In Chapter 5, Sasuke references the Takeda Clan being the founders of a progenitor style that led to the creation of Aikido, a modern Japanese martial art involving joint locks and throws against armed or unarmed opponents. This is historically true in a certain roundabout way. Aikido was derived from a traditional Japanese Martial Art known Daito-ryu Aiki-Jujutsu founded by a samurai known as Minamoto no Yoshimistu in the Heian Era who would settle in Kai Province. His great grandson would adopt the Takeda surname and become part of the Takeda Clan where he would later develop this school and Takeda-ryu to pass down through their family lines. However, it wasn't until the 19th Century that Takeda Sokaku (belonging to a minor line in the Takeda Family) had begun to publicly teach and restore Daito-Ryu and Takeda-Ryu which would produce one of Sokaku's best students, Morihei Ueshiba, who would later go on to invent Aikido.

Thai, the Moon, and the Bakunawa—Thai's surname, Bulan, and his fascination with the moon is reference to a pre-colonial Filipino tale of Sidapa, Libulan, and the Bakunawa that was regarded as an insight to LGBT culture in the ancient Philippines. To summarize, the God of Death, Sidapa, was enraptured by a moon deity, Libulan and saved him when a giant serpent, the Bakunawa, tried to devour Libulan and they lived romantically forever after. Now, that's a badass story and an awesome example of LGBT culture in pre-colonial civilizations and a huge inspiration for the creation of my OC, Thai Bulan. Thai even has a large back tattoo of the myth where the Bakunawa erupts out of the ocean and consumes the moon made in reminder of his bad luck with love. Now, the tale is inspiring and awesome, but there's one teensy problem—it's fake. Unfortunately, midway into the creation of Heart of the Warrior and still using the tale as inspiration for Thai, I had found out that although those deities and the serpent were real mythological figures, this specific tale was nothing more than a frankly disappointing and unfortunate misconstruction of Visayan myth. (And, before I go more into it, I want to point out that out of ALL the examples of ACTUAL LGBT culture in pre-colonial myths, I just happened to use the only fake one.) This was heartbreaking for me, to say the least. This tale not only gave hope to Thai, but to me as a Bisexual person of Filipino descent as well. So, what to do? Well, I could have removed a big part of Thai's beliefs that were already introduced in the story, or I could instead go on a slightly poetic retcon of Thai knowing this story was fake all along, but it was still the one he needed. If you want to know more about this unfortunate story, I'll post a link here.

Takeda Shingen and Masanobu Kōsaka—in Chapter 8, Sasuke tells a worried Thai about Takeda Shingen having a previous relationship with one of his generals, Masanobu Kōsaka. Unlike the last bit of trivia, Shingen's and Kōsaka's relationship was not only a real-life thing, but also well documented. Their relationship together was an example of shudō, or the practice of male same-sex relationships that was often practiced by samurai. Shingen pledged in documents to never harm Kōsaka due to his romantic intimacy towards him. However, Shingen would die five years before Kōsaka would die due to illness and I have yet been able to find (or afford to buy) scholarly resources to further research into their relationship. Now, this bit of history might be conflicting with the ever flirty Shingen we all know and love in Ikemen Sengoku, but this could be farther from the case. Shudō practiced by samurai was a relationship contracted between two samurai, mostly between an older male (nenja) and a younger male (chigo), where they wouldn't take any other male lovers and the older male would teach the younger male martial abilities, education, etc. until the chigo came of age and the relationship will end. The taking of female partners was not excluded in this kind of relationship. If you want to read more into Shudō and homosexuality in ancient Japan, a great source is Ihara Saikaku's The Great Mirror of Male Love, a collection of short stories depicting homosexual relationships. Here's also another link to read a bit more about homosexuality in Japan.

The Patua and Corpo Fechado—Thai, and eventually Yukimura, carries with them a Patuá, a cloth amulet filled with specific ingredients sacred in the African Diasporic religion of Candomblé that grants the wearer corpo fechado, or "closed body," which means you're literally invulnerable to all forms of attack and damage. A famous historical capoeirista, Besouro, was said to have this and was never harmed by blade or bullet. Now, while Thai is not a practitioner of Candomblé, Thai still believes in the amulet's protection. And, what was supposed to originally happen in the very first scene of The Heart of the Warrior was Yukimura watching as Thai fought off the samurai trying to kill him and not getting hurt even though Yukimura could see Thai getting struck or slashed by numerous katana and yari. It would mimic the stories of Besouro fighting off multiple armed men with guns and stuff and it would have been like a testament to Thai's fighting abilities and the idea of the supernatural and whatnot. So...I forgot about all of that entirely while writing and Thai is seen injured in the actual opening of the novel. In retrospect, this was a good thing as Thai still getting injured didn't make him a Mary Sue character that was invincible while still displaying that he is still an impressive fighter. It also, in a way, was more respectful for the amulet to just be a piece of filled cloth as again, Thai never practiced Candomblé and it wouldn't make sense for the protection to be granted to him without even being a practitioner.

"Don't fall in love"—Sasuke gives this warning to Thai and eventually MC/Mai when she arrives. Yeah sure, in Ikemen Sengoku, that clearly doesn't get heeded and we fall in love with the man of our dreams. But, if we are to be concerned with the implications of what that would do to the future, it's far worse for Thai to fall in love than MC/Mai. At least with MC/Mai, she could potentially replace the suitor's historical wife and bear the children they would eventually supposed to have. With Thai, however...the bloodline just ends. But, Yukimura was fated to die in battle anyways, surely that means their relationship won't cause too much of a ripple? That would be the case if Yukimura was also never a father...which he most certainly was in History, in fact having two wives. Although his more notable son, Daisuke, also fell in battle, he was still survived by numerous daughters and sons. Ooof....so, if we're to talk about a sequel and knowing the Shudo relationship, are we now heading to an ending where Thai will never be with Yukimura in the end to preserve History? Well, Life's a Mystery....

To end on a good note, I am planning to jumpstart not only the sequel, but a potential director's cut, but I won't make a huge spectacle out of the latter. I hope this post was somewhat entertaining.

[cityandking]

1, 9, 74, 80 for dai, minah and eniko!

ty!!! // 100 warm up questions

1. If your character wasn’t an adventurer, what livelihood would they lead?

DAI — if Everything hadn't happened he'd still be the cleric on duty at the northern garrison, where he would have completed his service and then gone to whatever next posting the Skysingers assigned him, working his way up the ranks of the priesthood. it would be, I imagine, a somewhat ascetic livelihood of stalwart and unquestioning service, and he would have considered himself content. (I don't think he could go back to that life after everything. I don't know what he'd do instead.) MINAH — if Nora hadn't recruited her, she'd have slipped the city guards (possibly with the help of the Orchestra) and been back on the road performing. they'd have played their tour stops in Tevinter and then gone east again, and honestly probably weathered the Blight in Antiva or Rivain. I imagine it would have been a lean few years (decade and a half), but life with the troupe is often feast or famine, and they'd have gotten through it. if something happened to the troupe... man. I don't even know. ENIKO — if Wick hadn't assigned him to join (spy on) the party, he'd still be in the business of selling secrets, doing all sorts of unsavory jobs for unsavory people, living in the shadows and scraping by however he had to. honestly, since Wick was one of his biggest employers/sources of work, I think he'd probably have eventually ended up working for/with the rebellion anyway and probably intersected with the party at a later point in time

9. What deity, if any, does your character worship? What’s their opinion on other people’s worship?

DAI — Pelor! they had a rough patch, but honestly, he came out of it with a steadier faith and a stronger bond. when it comes to other people's worship, his opinion is largely that his opinion doesn't matter—everyone's faith is their own to tend however they will, so long as it isn't doing harm. ozy and the owl traveller is an outlier adn should not have been counted. (honestly it's not ozy's worship he takes any issue with, it's the blindness of the devotion. though I suppose it's tricky for ozy to go anything with both eyes open when one belongs to the traveller.) MINAH — none. fuck the Chantry. she thinks other people's worship is stupid at best and harmful at worst. (she has a little more respect for the dalish and their gods—I think she'd find their continued worship in the face of such overwhelming prejudice and hatred a little inspiring. still dumb, because divinity isn't real and there's nothing out there that cares, but the ritual and community seem nice.) ENIKO — he doesn't worship anyone or anything. the concept of the gods scare him a little—he doesn't do well with authority, and gods are the ultimate authority. as with most things predicated on belief or faith, he finds worship to be stupid, useless, and a little laughable. if he were ever truly forced to confront divinity, I think he'd be resentful—surely if there were anything that cared or loved him out there, he'd know by now.

74. What makes your character feel safe?

DAI — I gotta be honest I'm actually not totally sure. he's been living in such a perpetual state of waiting for Something To Go Wrong that it's kind of hard for him to completely relax. I think it would have to involve His People also being safe and un-menaced. zaref, just in general. and being able to see the clear, open sky. MINAH — a key thing to understand about minah is that she never feels safe. no matter what there is always a tiny little part of her that is making calculations and keeping an eye out. that said, a locked door and some privacy are nice. so is having a lot of cash to fall back on (she has some pack rat tendencies) ENIKO — wall at his back, clear lines of sight, a knife in his hand and a lot of money in his pocket.

80. How does your character feel about receiving/giving orders? Are they more of a leader, or a follower?

DAI — he's made a transition from follower to leader over the course of the campaign. six months ago he'd have taken any order from a trusted authority, and would have considered any orders he might give (i.e. as the cleric on duty at the garrison) an extension of that higher authority. these days he's a) more discerning and b) more likely to take initiative unprompted. and he's a captain! aren't we so proud of him MINAH — honestly, I think she's pretty chill with both giving and receiving orders. she's used to receiving orders (and direction) from Alesso to ensure the smooth operation of the Orchestra, but she's also been in spots where she's the authority (directing her own act, calling the shots on a job, etc.) she's not going to go out of her way to be in charge, but if she found herself in a position where she had to be, she wouldn't sweat it too much. that's actually been a pretty easy transition in the wardens—though she hasn't had to taken any order she didn't like (except to Join in the first place, and that went—well, not great). chameleon that she is, she can play the leader or the follower with ease. ENIKO — considers himself a follower. less than a follower; he's a well-honed tool for others to use to achieve their own goals. he'll take any order if the pay is good enough—he has no scruples. (he has one scruple: he won't hurt kids.) even when he's giving orders, his authority is a secondhand thing—I think he's far more comfortable receiving orders than making his own decisions.

[respectthepetty]

Rage Against the (Expresso) Machine

TLDR: An Age of Enlightenment

The teachers' questions are targeted toward Ayan, not just by asking him, specifically, to respond but in the questions themselves:

Teacher Waree’s questions deal with political constructs and control, something that they want to do to Ayan

The language teacher is asking about the sun and the moon, which symbolize Ayan

The chemistry teacher is asking about boiling points and why substances dissolve, which could allude to Ayan breaking down

Ayan finds a sense of safety away from school in the café, which has a history in the gay community and invites Thua into that space to reward his help.

*Disclaimers – Long post that is coming from a western perspective, so implicit biases can exist. Call me out! If you see something, say something. Also, everyone doesn’t mean everyone. In the 18th century, the only people who could work and own property tended to be white men, so if everyone is stated, it usually means everyone in that specific group. Finally, chemistry is not in my wheelhouse.

The Bad Place

We continue to get shots of Ayan between bars at school as if being imprisoned

Yet the questions Waree asks Ayan are about philosophers who are key players in the foundational beliefs of democracy. All lived under a monarchy or dictatorship, yet wanted people to be free to decide how to be governed. They are from the 18th century, which is a period known as The Age of Enlightenment where individualism, logic, and cynicism of the law were heavily encouraged. These men also indirectly contributed to the United States Declaration of Independence and Constitution:

Politics

Thomas Hobbes believed that everyone was equal and should pick their ruler, but he also believed that once picked, that ruler had absolute power; therefore, everyone made an agreement within the group to give the ruler his power, and also to abide by it. Hobbes wrote a book called Leviathan, named after the biblical creature that brings chaos to people and can only be slayed by God. God created everything, so he created this creature and could be the only one to destroy it – absolute power. (USA connection - Election of leader and social agreement of the group to abide by his rule)

Charles Montesquieu believed that power needed to be divided to remain balanced. Each section could monitor the other sections with an agreed-upon system of checks and balances to maintain law and order – legislative, executive, and judicial branches. (USA connection - U.S. government)

John Locke agreed with Hobbes that a ruler should be selected by the people, but believed that the agreement was between the group and the ruler. If the ruler did not fulfill his duties, the group did not have to abide by the rules. He also believed that everyone had inalienable rights – life, liberty, and the pursuit of property, that the ruler could not deny resulting in no absolute power. (USA connection - Thomas Jefferson changed it to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" in the Declaration of Independence)

Side mission – Jean-Jacques Rosseau isn't mentioned, but he is the fourth pillar in the democratic foundation and was the most radical. He didn't believe in rulers but facilitators. Everyone gets to vote, and the majority wins instead of having elected officials make decisions on behalf of the people. If a person did not abide by the laws laid out by the majority, that person was free to exit to the left.

Language

The subtitles clarify that “Phra Arthit” is the sun; however, “Phra” denotes that the teacher is asking about the GOD of the sun, not just the sun. She follows this question by asking about the moon god. Ayan and Akk represent the moon and the sun, but she, as a character, doesn’t know this, and Ayan and Akk aren’t deities. However, in a very simplified version, Phra Arthit (Son God) and Phra Chandra (Moon God) conflict with Rahu (solar eclipse) and Ketu (lunar eclipse), so if the lesson continued, the focus would be on the chaos the eclipses cause, which would remind Ayan and the class of the curse’s ramifications.

Side mission - Rahu and Ketu’s orbital cycle takes 18 years, which is a saros, so it's been either eighteen years since the last curse or one of the boys turning 18 triggers it.

Another side mission – Dika warned Ayan to know the true meaning of words, which is probably why he excels at this questioning.

Chemistry

The boiling point is based on the internal forces of the substance while solubility (capability of dissolving) is based on the substance's ability to bond with the external substance. Water holds both negative and positive *energy* (not the right term, but chemistry is not my thing), so to bond with other substances and dissolve them, the other substance must also be polar/have negative and positive instead of absolutes.

The teacher could be asking basic chemistry questions, but because the other two teachers' questions were pointed, a quick analysis of these questions could reflect that the harder Ayan resists, the quicker he'll break down and conform(?).

Comprehensive Exam

All in all, each teacher attempts to exert some underlying knowledge over power/control, the curse, and breaking points, yet each time, the opposite can be seen; Waree’s lesson highlights how people should have the right to decide how they want to be governed, the language teacher shows that the eclipse isn't something to be feared, but a natural occurrence, and the chemistry teacher shows that breaking down and bonding can help create new substances.

Side mission - Thua attempts to help each time by trying to answer the questions or not making these moments into a spectacle like his peers.

For his help, he is granted access to Ayan’s safe space.

The Good Place

Pride is celebrated in America in June because that is when the Stonewall Riots (1969, New York) happened. It was started mainly by trans folx (Their names are important! Go learn them!) throwing a brick while at the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar.

Gay bars tend to be the popularized safe spaces in media for the gay (not queer) community, yet, historically, they have been rather exclusive. These spaces often weren't accepting of the trans community or people of color. Intersectionality is always at play even in spaces that should be open to all in the community.

However, three years before that, trans folx started another riot by throwing coffee at police officers, which is known as the Compton Cafeteria Riot (1966, San Francisco).

During the 18th century (full circle moment!), in the Age of Enlightenment, the creation of coffeehouses rose. They were seen as an alternative space for sharing ideas, holding intellectual conversations, and participating in political discussions outside of the university that were available and open to everyone regardless of education. These reasonings automatically lent themselves to the “gay agenda” (organize the community), so queer cafés have existed just as long, if not longer than gay bars.

The choice to make the show’s safe space a café could be because the plot revolves around high schoolers who can't legally drink, so a bar would be inappropriate, but…the show has proven to be more critical of the way space is utilized. Making the safe space a café calls back to the coffeehouse’s origin of being a space open to everyone to share, learn, and organize. It also reinforces that the space is inclusive to EVERYONE in the community.

The choice of making the wait staff dress in maid outfits seems to refer to the maid cafés that are spread across Asian countries. In those cafés, the maids are always women who are held to stereotypical beauty standards, and their job is to help their patrons. Neither of the wait staff seen in the café display those stereotypical beauty standards, which highlights the core functions of the establishment – to be open to EVERYONE and provide help for all who enter, even those who aren't out.

Side mission - It could simply be the way the building is, but it is interesting that when Ayan entered, he was shot with the door behind him since he is a passage for Thua and others into this place, while Akk and Kan are seen with the wall of cameras behind them because they are there to watch and monitor and can't be free since they believe someone is always watching them (e.g. Kan's "if we stay, we'll be stereotyped too).

Random musing - The irony that now breweries and coffee shops are the first signs of gentrification is a strange transition of our time. However, they are more expensive than their humble counterparts (bars and coffeehouses), so they are meant for a more leisurely crowd with disposable income. Although Ayan and Thua are the more “out” boys, which is why they are in the safe space, they are also the more affluent, which is why we see them with drinks, perhaps.

Very excited for next week and the show’s handling of the open discrimination of gay men who present characteristics outside of traditional masculinity (i.e. femme traits).

[miomines]

left to dust

hey,,, so i heard that u guys like genshin ocs,,, and also sagau,,, u mind if i uuh join u,,

here's some villain/impostor au,,, enjoy,,

Several decades ago, the young lord Mingyu had given up his belief in the archons. Prayers remain unanswered even with his multiple attempts. Celestia was something no average person could ever achieve. He had no one to rely on but himself.

Tao showed up in a blaze of fire and chaos, burning his prison to the ground and taking refuge in Mingyu's body. After nineteen years of unanswered prayers, a demon is what comes to his rescue instead. He would never be alone now and the comforting warmth of Tao will always be with him.

He was no longer just Mingyu. His spirit and the demonic spirit of Tao had merged. They were one in the same and yet different. He was still Mingyu. They were still Tao. However they were much more now that they were together.

He had never mourned over the fact that he was never chosen to be a vessel for the Creator despite his vision. The Creator simply existed in his peripheral vision, never to be looked at directly. He had prayed to higher beings for years, hoping for the comforting warmth of a deity casting their gaze on him. Instead he was left to rot, to get saved by the blazing hot fire that was Tao.

It's been several decades since the burning of his family home, a crime that remains a mystery to this day. Several decades he has been alive and yet he still looks as young as he did the day the manor went ablaze.

Mingyu did not worship anyone. His belief was meant for himself and Tao. While others hoped for the warmth of the Creator, Mingyu focused on his work. He refused to put his belief in a deity that will just ignore him, just like all the others.

He had never encountered the Creator and didn't plan on going out of his way to. Occasionally he would accept a request to eliminate a target only to find that the camp was already decimated and the lingering feeling of the Creator. For a long time he kept his distance from the three nations that the Creator was rumored to be, only returning when they seemed to have disappeared.

He settled down back in Liyue, finishing jobs quickly and avoiding the gaze of the Yaksha as well as a certain exorcist. Mingyu kept to the shadows, never lingering in one place too long before he left. Liyue, despite being his home, was not a place familiar to him. 

Without a further thought he was on the path to his childhood home, a place he lovingly dubbed his prison. The land was cold and the air was still. The entire place reeked of misfortune and bad luck. Strewn across the field was debris from destruction long ago, the crumbles of a manor that once stood there proud.

A monument was structured near the front and from what he remembered, there were four graves behind the remains of the manor. Of course, only three had actual bodies buried. His own grave is the only one that has ever been visited, despite not actually being dead.

(His family never deserved those graves. Withholding food, carving ruins into his skin, locking him in the basement if he even breathes a certain way. They could've rotten underneath the debris. That's what they deserved.)

Nature had already started reclaiming the space, growing over the mountains of ruins. Mingyu encouraged it. His family legacy would die here and he would go his own separate way. As he stepped around the ruins of his old prison, he made his way to the back of the manor.

On his grave there was a letter taped to it, 'Tao' scrawled carelessly across the front. A part of him growled in annoyance as he took the letter without care and opened it. Inside were two simple sentences, ones that made him scoff.

'Kill the one who impersonates our Creator. Your payment will be sent once the impostor is dead.'

Annoyed, he crumpled the letter and threw it aside. A stupid request, and even if he wanted to there were no details on where this so called impostor was. Mingyu knew a lot, but he is not someone who knows everything.

An impostor. He scoffed. That's not a crime worth death. That's not a target he would go after. Whoever sent that request is delusional and he won't play into it.

---

 When he arrives in Mondstadt, the city is in chaos. It's strange and his mind flickers back to the request taped to his unused grave. Surely that's not the reason? Weary and confused he makes his way deeper into the city, keeping to the shadows and staying out of sight.

As he gets closer to Angel's Share, he starts to figure out more. The situation almost makes him laugh. He stays just out of sight, close enough to listen in.

The words 'impostor' and 'Dragonspine' stick out to him and he makes his way out of the city silently. He doesn't plan on killing this 'impostor'. The city of freedom is in chaos and he wants to see the cause of it. The request he had gotten also just makes him curious.

Mingyu remains out of sight, his approach silent and determined. Once again he's thankful for Tao. If he was still a regular human, he could not travel these distances. His dear demon friend makes things so much easier.

Dragonspine is as cold as ever, not that it's surprising. A good place to hide from angry devotees. It's only by chance does he take notice of a shine out of the corner of his eye, confusion filling him as he steps closer.

Liquid gold?

The blood of the Creator, whispers Tao.

Mingyu stares at the snowbank in an incredulous manner. He almost wants to laugh. The impostor he was hired to kill was actually the Creator? The cause of chaos was the Creator themselves? 

He shakes himself out of his stupor and lets Tao follow the trail of golden ichor. Amusing, so amusing. He can't help but feel pity for the poor Creator. His gaze trails up, focusing on the site of a slumped body against the mountain.

Poor thing.

Without a second of hesitation, he draws near them and scoops them up (thank you Tao for the inhuman strength). He ducks into some ruins without a second thought. The ruins will keep the biting wind at bay.. Carefully he sets the Creator down, letting instinct take over as he gathers materials from his pack to make a fire.

Mingyu glances back to the Creator, sympathy tugging at his heart. He's not a healer, most of his potions are poisons but there's no way he's going to let them bleed out here. The poor thing isn't even dressed appropriately for Dragonspine weather..

The fire sparks and grows. Tao, in his chest, purrs at the warmth. He shrugs off his cloak laying it on the ground before he carefully moves them onto the fabric. He digs through his pack to find some bandages and gauze that gets immediately thrown to the side.

A single healing salve is all he has but at least it's something. He turns back to the Creator (still out like a light) and carefully smears the salve against their wounds, bandaging them up gently. In the back of his mind, he's incredulous. He's bandaging up a deity. The most important deity at that.

He leans back and sighs after each wound is covered. It'll do for now. Mingyu carefully wraps the cloak around their shoulders, propping them against himself to get them closer to the fire without fear of burning.

The Creator shivers and curls closer to the warmth but still doesn't awaken. All Mingyu can do is sigh and get comfortable. This is the strangest situation he's been in and he grew up in a cult worshipping Osial. He's quite literally possessed by a demon, and yet this situation is at the top of the list.

He slumps back against the ruin walls, dropping his gaze to the sleeping deity.

Tao, what the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?

[odditiesofnicole]

Disposed Of.

When Cameron is left to do away with the enemies of queens and kings, he gives his newest victim a specific task.

Word Count: ~5680

Content Warnings: Power Imbalance, Fearplay

If Cameron had to narrow down one favorite aspect of mortals, he would name their corruption. Truly, mortals were made in the images of creatures like him and other deities. There were so many shades and flavors of divine beings that he would have never guessed mortals would develop similar, awful attributes. Especially those in power. When you gave a mortal power, you saw their true self. And it was positively amusing. They struggled and fought against their natures, and for what? To pretend they were good?

He loved it.

They had other quirks he’d grown delighted by over the course of his lifetimes; their love, their naivety, their propensity for war, their foolishness. Despite what the other deities felt about him, Cameron did love mortals. Dearly. Simply by being a Primordial, he indulged in them in a way deities could never. Gods, goddesses, angels—they all had to remain in their own sectors of the higher planes. Primordials, like himself, had been cast out into the deepest trenches of the world. This way, deities hoped they would no longer have to see their failed first attempts at creating beings beneath them. His existence was a glaring reminder of their error.

Unfortunately, that left Cameron and his kin in the mortal world. Hiding in the shadows maybe—like the monsters they were—but able to live somewhat freely among their mortal kin. Most used that to cause dissent and chaos among the mortals. A little war or two there, some destruction here. Not Cameron. Cameron had bigger seeds to grow on the material plane.

No, Cameron didn’t want to stay locked in the shadows. He wanted to become a god. Or, at least, something close to one. If he could trick the mortals into thinking he was, how hilarious the look on his divine counterparts’ faces would be when he was to attend one of their mandatory summits. To be included in their circle instead of protected under his brother Rayne’s shadow. To show them how precarious their positions were when reliant on mortal belief. Anyone could do it at that rate.

Becoming friends with some of the lesser gods was a work in progress. He had to thank Mii for her kind heart, as she’d been the only one so far to accept him. Strange, really, when her elder sister ruled Judgment. He would have thought they would have similar viewpoints. But Cameron had accounted for Jihae. After all, it was why Mii had been the perfect candidate to befriend. If he had one, he swayed the other.

That was only phase one of things, however. Phase two was locking himself into the mortals’ consciousness. To achieve that, Cameron had to worm his way into their belief system. Tall tales and myths alone were not good. It had led Ari to him, but Ari was no believer—as much as Cameron would have yearned for that. No, Ari had a special role, but it would not suffice. The next best thing he had to rely on were the mortals’ kingdoms. Specifically, their ruling powers.

Kings and queens of nations had one thing in common; most wanted to stay in their position through whatever means it took. Though there were many mortal rulers who had been warned (rightfully so) of Cameron’s nature, there were those who saw him as an asset. It was a risk they played, but to have a creature of his power in their pocket would secure their and their families’ throne for years to come.

Cameron obliged. He didn’t ask for much. Only that they have a place of worship dedicated to him in their kingdom somewhere, and to give their subjects incentive to seek him out. In many cases, the kingdom’s other religious subsectors found ways to outlaw worship of him, which was fine. He enjoyed challenges. Unbeknownst to the zealots, those kings or queens still made good use of Cameron’s capabilities as part of their contracts. When they had problems, they turned to what Cameron could offer them. Power over council.

Each nation Cameron stroked his influence through had a different set of reactions to him. Some didn’t care to pay him any mind, while others had paladins, holy warlocks, and clerics from all across come to be rid of him. There were royals who believed they could find the loop in their contracts—a way to keep their power and influence while also ridding Cameron on the sly. It wouldn’t look favorably on them if their people discovered they had dealings with monsters. Unlucky for them, Cameron was well versed in legalese.

Ari hadn’t been the first to attempt a divine smite, and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Cameron thrilled in the fact Ari’s failure had spread through his Fey Court. Bring more, he would say. It surely beat waiting days on end for something entertaining to happen when his brothers were either ignoring him or predisposed, respectively.

Those who did not come to smite him, however, were often a product of their rulers. Sent there for Cameron to do only one specific thing, quietly.

Within the next week, Cameron would expect a new visitor, or so his sources on the high seas told him. Being tied to the ocean had its perks; information traveled easily along the waters, whether by word of mouth, the wind, or message in a bottle. The individual in question would come bearing the nation of Zahn’s colors, so Cameron already anticipated what task the king required of him. That man sent people to Cameron for the smallest of things. He was really quite paranoid about his throne.

Cameron sprawled in his red sofa, tail overhanging the other arm of the couch and looping around the back. His home—if one could call the plane he was imprisoned in a “home”—was modeled in much the same way as a castle’s drawing room. In place of tall lampshades, the walls were lined with strings of bioluminescent seaweed. As he didn’t require sleep, a sofa sufficed in place of a bed, and he had a space set aside for boxes and containers opposed to a kitchen. In them, he had a few forever-replenishing fruits, like cherries. He didn't know why, but he'd always been fond of them. They came in pairs, unlike any other fruit he'd known. And they stained whatever they touched.

Other crates contained the treasures and offerings he had accumulated over the centuries. Those who he had gifted powers to always responded in kind with a trade; it was part of his deal, as faith alone was not solely of interest to Cameron. Mortals had an ingenuity that surpassed the gods at times, though many of the divine were too uppity to acknowledge it. Mortal inventions were beautiful and destructive and strange, and he tried to collect at least one fascinating thing for each century. A simple structure of stone molded into a circle had become a wheel, and then that wheel had given the basis to carriages. What he had the last year always metamorphosed into something entirely different by the next.

Cameron sent his tail tip into the crate beside his sofa, curling around a glass bottle and pulling it out to set in his palm. The bottle was half a quart in size, easy for him to wrap his fingers around. At the bottom was a small patch of sand, which Cameron swirled around until a small cloud formed. It was formless at first before the particles of sand formed into a pillar. That pillar then became a humanoid form, surrounded by loose, sandy sketches of cliff faces and the oceanside. Cameron hummed, clinking claws against the glass.

The passage through the caves was an old one. His whirlpools were far more frequent in granting visitations over recent years, as the rumors and stories all leaned toward his domain being in the sea—not just near it. People were much easier to chat with when aboard the rocky waves. However, he'd used the caves specifically in the days when he'd been more of a monster than a trickster. When he would assume the form of a dragon to vanquish. The caves wound round and round for a time before the barrier between the mortal plane of existence and his own merged, leading voyagers straight into his drawing room—and their doom.

The sandy image turned ninety degrees and Cameron tipped the bottle to match, watching as the humanoid shape slinked through the narrow passage of the bottle until reaching the end of the tube, where the cork kept the sand from spilling out. Though the grains of his mirrored vision showed no details of the visitor, there was a distinct perplexity in the way they turned their head this way and that. Of course they were lost, Cam thought with a snicker. The path seemingly led to a dead end.

What separated visitors from intruders, however, was what they did when faced with the smooth rock wall. The unwise about-faced, finding the way back easier than the way inside. But the smarter ones…

The cork to Cameron's bottle popped open as the spectral form pushed on the wall, spilling out some of the granules. Farther in his room, toward the entrance, he heard a yelp. Business, then. Cameron sighed, corking his message bottle and setting it aside.

What could have been the reason this time? Didn't Zahn's king tire of these methods? It had been a handful of years...or had it been centuries? Cameron hadn't had reason to meet the newest king in the family yet. Thus far, he'd been rather manageable. It amazed Cameron that the consequences of their actions building up didn't bother rulers in the slightest. But it wasn't Cameron's job to pass judgment when the Reaper eventually came to collect mortals across the afterlife.

Chin resting on his folded hands, perched on the arm of the sofa, Cameron awaited the visitor's form to emerge in the arch of his doorway. He supposed it was a bit of a walk for one so small, but they still didn't have very far to go. The room they'd fallen in was blanketed by sand and sea glass, which they could certainly use the coastal glass as a toboggan. Though the sound of metal clinking caused him to perk up, a rhythmic thud-clink-thud that unmistakably belonged to someone decked out in armor.

It didn't take long for the figure to emerge following their footsteps, their four-to-five-inch frame coming into clearer view than Cam's message bottle could allow. Their skin was patchy, both fair and brown—a rare condition Cameron didn't see too often in mortals. The hair that sat on their head was a darker brown than their skin, almost like the color of bark, and it was a mess of curls. And as they whipped their head around, Cameron noticed they had long hair tied into a ponytail. A woman? Cameron thought, then rubbed a finger against his lips ponderously. No, their build seemed male in stature.

They hadn't understood where they'd ended up at first, their sword gripped tightly in their hands and helping guide them. It wasn't until they glanced up and caught sight of Cameron that they froze where they stood. Cameron's lips curled up in the corners, growing especially wider when the armor-clad visitor lifted their sword in standard knight's posture.

"First time?" Cameron purred. "I love firsts."

The small knight breathed out somewhat rapidly. They didn't say anything for several seconds, but finally they spoke. "You're…"

Cameron postured. "I know. A sight to behold? Incredibly beautiful? A wonder?"

"...huge."

At first, Cameron blinked, taken aback, before he burst out laughing. It caused the knight to jump a few places backward, but they maintained their stance. That was almost applause worthy.

"Yes, yes, I suppose to you, that's how I appear," he said as he drummed his fingers on the sofa, his smile now showing a few sharp teeth. "You're cute. So, to what do I owe the pleasure then, hmm?"

Cameron had never been fond of some of the methods his kin used to extract the truth in mortals' words. He didn't need to erect a dome of lie detection in order to have them speak honestly, though regardless, he welcomed their attempts to lie; the better a liar they were, the more they dug a hole for themselves in their guilt, in Cameron's eyes. Murderers were especially duplicitous. But tricks were Cameron's specialty, and if one tricked the master of tricks, then—well—they earned his favor all the more.

He was patient as the knight seemed to collect themselves, although Cameron supposed "himself" may have been more accurate after hearing the knight's boyish tone. They sounded young, too, which was rare. Young and of high ranking? The King of Zahn wouldn't have given preferential treatment to just any of his knaves or squires to send to him. That had to mean he was already part of the nation's order.

The knight clenched his sword tighter, widening his stance and staring up at Cameron with flickering eyes. He could see the glisten on the knight's skin all the way from where he lay. “I know all about you,” the boy said. “You like deals, don’t you? So I’ve come to…negotiate.”

Cameron's soft laughter evolved into a full-on giggle fit. He attempted to smother the noise with his hand, what little good that did. The knight watched him, their brow furrowing with each noise that escaped Cameron’s lips.

“Negotiate? Oh you poor little thing,” Cameron replied, cooing. “You have no clue why they actually sent you here, do you?”

The boy's sword lowered. Not enough to meet the ground, but enough where Cameron could see more of their mottled skin. “What do you mean?” he stammered. “I know exactly why I’m here! They—the king told me to come here to make peace with you.”

“A fancy way of putting it.” Still smiling, Cameron sprawled out on his sofa, long tail looped around the other arm of the chair and curled farther behind until the tip could wiggle free in the knight's direction. “Do you truly think your people are interested in having a conversation with me?” he asked. “The—how did they put it?—the ‘Luck Devourer’? The Wretched Serpent?”

Somehow, the knight's wince was all the more amusing. “I-I’m sure you aren’t all of those things,” he muttered.

“Then where’s your open palm to extend to me, little one?” Cameron nodded toward the weapon in hand. “You must have done something especially heinous for the king to send you out here to me, though. Did you sleep with his daughter perhaps? Insult his manner of dress? That wouldn’t be too hard. Oh! How about take from the royal treasury? He’s far too much wasted coin, if you ask me.”

The boy's face had already been red from Cameron’s first guess, but it had turned darker with each subsequent prediction. “I didn’t do anything like that!”

“Then come now, Sir Knight, out with it. Spill me your sins. What do you have to lose? Did you commit murder?”

The knight's expression hardened, voice just as stony. “I would never disrespect my Oath like that.”

Cameron perked up, sitting away from his sofa’s arm, earlier mirth pacified some. It had been the first reaction he’d gotten out of this one that didn’t seem to have trepidation or uncertainty behind it. There was a sudden amount of bite to the knight’s words. Had he struck a sore spot? So it’s not murder, but it’s related, Cameron mused with narrowed eyes. Curious…

Not only had the king sent a soldier, but a holy knight at that. A paladin, or one in the making. Cameron had seen a few before with that blue crosshatch embedded in their breastplate. Did the king mean to rescind their private little deal instead? Cameron searched within his consciousness, plucking at one of the tangled strings within. The line he had between him and the king was still there, which meant he’d not found a way to break their contract.

“What does anything I’ve done have to do with why I’m here now?”

Cameron sat up straighter, already forming calculations for his next course of action. A paladin could spell bad news if they were worldly enough. Some were adept at masking the scent of the divine on themselves if they were indebted in the service of a god. He'd need to tread carefully just in case. Mortals couldn't often smite him, but more power behind the force of their deity could. Maybe this paladin was an omen from Rayne, and Cameron's time slithering across the planes had come to its decrescendo.

“The king doesn’t send knights and fighters here to make peace with me,” Cameron explained dryly. “Maybe to kill me, I'll give him that. But people who have pissed him off enough for him to want to ship them off to their quiet, unquestioned deaths—that’s who he enlists to come here. He and I… We're business partners already. And you, boy, must have done something very damning for you to be here on his orders.” He leaned into the sofa arm, head propped in his hand. “I would wager it was downright treasonous,” he added.

That wave of fear Cameron sensed earlier crashed over the paladin again. “I didn’t—”

“What’s your name, little knight?” Cameron asked.

The paladin hesitated. “It’s… It’s Loki.”

“Well, Loki, I must be the unfortunate bearer of bad news on this lovely day of yours.” Cameron smirked, chuckling as his tail wrapped around the small knight and brought a yelp out of him. “But you were sent here to die, little one. I’m very sorry about that.”

“N-No, that’s not—” The knight’s face paled. “That can’t be right! I didn’t do any—wait! Wait!”

Many mortals didn’t believe Cameron could feel much of anything when he had hold of them. Little did they realize, they were easy to detect despite their size. Their heart, their breath, their every movement. Monsters like Cameron may have lacked what was at the core of a deity, but he didn’t lack the senses. All but their taste, which they naturally did not possess, was heightened comparatively. Curious that he was more tethered to mortals than most gods could dream of, he thought.

Cameron’s focus shifted as the knight’s voice prattled on. He was spouting nonsense as he was hoisted into the air. Cameron observed him with distant eyes before sighing quietly. They were always so blubbery whenever it came to this. He was usually one for theatrics, but after the first one hundred times, the gig grew stale.

His forefinger and thumb extended, but his entire hand paused as the knight’s, Loki’s, blathering snagged on something in Cameron’s head. Something about the King of Zahn. “What was that?” Cameron asked.

“How could I just leave bystanders to die?” It was as though he hadn’t noticed Cameron’s interjection at all, instead focused on feverishly moving his hands. Somewhere along the way, the knight had dropped his sword. “The kingdom’s own people?”

Cameron gave a suffering sigh. “Perhaps if you stopped speaking in fragments, I—”

“They wanted me to turn a blind eye,” Loki explained in a rush, as if his story even made sense to begin with. A haunted look crossed through the paladin’s gaze. “An entire sector of the town would have died because it wasn’t the royal guard’s responsibility at the time. We were supposed to stay where we were stationed. We were…” His eyes grew hazy. “I told them it was wrong and went to help.”

There was silence for a moment as Cameron pieced together the knight's tale. Meanwhile Loki took labored breaths in and out, quivering against Cameron's scales. No, this wasn’t murder at all, Cameron thought. Far from it, actually.

“You got on the king’s bad side…for doing the ‘right’ thing?” Cameron raised an eyebrow. Loki looked shocked by that, which made Cameron scoff with amusement. “I understand morals, little self-righteous paladin,” he explained. “I’m a monster, but I’m not inept at grasping the concepts.” A squint came to Cameron’s eye. “Hence my confusion, as I’m sure you see the oxymoron in this. Oh, your king tricked you really good.”

Loki still shook his head, voice soft and watery. "I couldn't have been sent here to die—I can't! What will my mother do? My brother? Our name... I can't make this worse—"

Normally, Cameron had his fun with the mortals a bit, then sent them on their way elsewhere. A little mind wipe of their previous deeds, perhaps a pledge to him in their stupor, then he observed from a distance to see if they’d commit the same errors as what had landed them there with him in the first place. Holy warriors seeking to wipe him out, he couldn’t so easily wipe the minds of, but they couldn’t so easily do away with him either. However, the holy warriors who were, themselves, crooked—those were the best.

Eldritch beings may not have followed the same codes as the house of the divine, but Cameron did have his own rules to abide by. Rayne, Mii, Ofrae, and Ari (the newest addition to that list) had forced that upon him, should he maintain their favor. Enjoying himself, above all else, was his first code. Yet he couldn’t take mortal life wrongfully. Especially not the goody-two-shoes mortals. It was the only thing that still bound him to his divine brethren, them shackled by the same rules of balance as him. They could tip the scales, but not force their hand. It would have been easier if this knight was a little crooked, like the rest of the sacrifices Zahn sent through. Divine law could turn a blind eye to that. Not this one.

This was why paladins were always bad news.

Tossing his head back, Cameron groaned. He released his tail from around Loki, awaiting his quick fall with a hand. Even though the knight didn’t have far to fall, he still cried out like a squeaky toy at the fingers that wrapped around him. Cameron pursed his lips down at the paladin, rolling him around gingerly. His quivering was easy to feel, despite how valiantly he fought against Cam's grip.

“You went against your knights’ orders,” Cameron said. “Probably made the king look like a fool with that little stunt you pulled." He smirked. "You made those lives you saved indebted to you rather than to the king. You could cause an uprising because of it—a little rebellion. To the king, it was treason.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Cameron hushed him and pressed a claw to Loki’s mouth. The finger trailed lower, tipping his chin up so that they made eye contact. No matter how much Loki darted his gaze, he didn’t have much else to look at.

“He told you by coming here, you would prove yourself to him. Get rid of the terror on the seas. Stay in his good graces. Restore your family's name, I'm guessing.” The pad of Cameron’s finger smoothed against Loki’s cheek. “Did I get it right?”

Loki’s breath quickened, and Cameron relinquished his touch and grip, observing with interest. It left the paladin in the palm of his hand. Loki's posture mimicked the pose of someone who’d been knocked onto their backside, legs splayed, knees bent, arms keeping them upright. He looked dazed.  

"It's easy for him to blame your death on a foolhardy errand," Cameron added. "That's the deal he and I have."

After a beat of silence, Loki finally spoke. “Are you going to kill me then? For the king?”

“Now who said anything about that?”

“But you—”

Cameron chuckled. “You came here to play nice with me, yet you don't know a thing about who I am? But that's all right! I find it adorable."

It was a jerk of his body to flip onto his back, where Cameron could easily hold Loki above his eyes. Like this, the paladin dangled by the breastplate he wore, which Cameron pinched the top and bottom of to keep him aloft. Based on all the fight Loki put into his legs, he wasn't comfortable. He had enough sense to stop, though, when he realized he wasn't slipping any time soon. He really had come underdressed for a knight. All he had were his metal boots and a breastplate. Confidence? Or underprepared? Cam couldn't say.

It probably wasn't wise to step in the middle of a knight and their oath, Cameron thought. But he didn't sense anything divinely about this boy. At least not yet.

"I have a proposition for you, Loki," Cameron said, eyes swinging back and forth, following the pendulum motion of the paladin's legs. "Have you ever ventured into the Fey realm before?" At the perplexed look he received, Cam grinned until every tooth showed. "Oh you're going to have so much fun there. Really! It's one of the best places you could visit on a short vacation. Especially for someone like you.

"Now this is very important. While I send you there, I want you to find a man named Ari. He may take the shape of a faun, or he may take the form of an elf. Brown hair, pink eyes, tan skin—very, very handsome. I have reason to suspect he may be under a certain kind of surveillance," Cameron explained, pouting. "I haven't seen him for a while, and I'm worried. So can you be a very good paladin and seek out my friend?"

"How...did you meet him?" Loki asked.

Cameron's eyes twinkled. "If you return to me, I'll tell you. Now here—" he dropped the paladin onto his chest, ignoring his short shout "—give me your hand. That's it…"

He held Loki's hands in a light grip, pinched between forefinger and thumb. Eyes half lidded, Cameron searched within himself, through the tangled web of contracts he had floating in his subconscious. When he found the thread he sought, he opened his eyes. His grip tightened just a hair more, keeping Loki locked in place when he'd felt the paladin flinch away. Likely on account of his eyes, Cameron surmised. Many mortals couldn't stomach seeing them turn into black, empty sockets.

The contract slithered up Loki's arm, an invisible constrictor that wrapped around his shoulder before sinking into his flesh. It was blocked by the clothes he wore, but underneath would have been the symbol of a two-headed snake. Pleased, Cameron opened his eyes again to see Loki holding his afflicted arm against his chest.

"I've given you enough of myself to keep you comfortable, and to ensure you keep in touch," Cameron said. He wagged a finger. "Don't go running off, now, because I'll know! And you wouldn't want to disrespect your Oath like that, now would you?" He snickered at the frown he received back, which he couldn't help but rustle Loki's hair for. "Now as much as I love company, you'll be losing years off your life if you stay any longer, and I've already done my duty."

He deposited Loki from his chest and down onto the floor again, giving his body a chance to stretch and tingle from his fingers to the tip of his serpentine tail. When Cameron cast his eyes to the floor again, he saw Loki staring at him still.

"Do you…" Loki swallowed. "What do you do with everyone else who comes here?"

"Do you really want to know the answer?"

Loki turned his attention down to his boots. "I had heard one story that I didn't believe—once. There was a poster for a wanted man in Zahn for a while. When I'd been visiting another city for medical supplies, I think I saw him. I'm not really sure what he was wanted for, just that he had a bounty. It was a pretty old poster. He didn't seem to remember anything about living in Zahn, but he mentioned that he'd met a man with green hair and skin that could shine like the shoreline. That he smelled like the ocean and had saved him. He was actually working as a clinic and had a family in that new town."

Loki looked up and tilted his head. "You're not really doing your end of the bargain, are you?"

"Me? Tricking the king?" Cameron asked, hand on his heart. "That's a weighty assumption you accuse me of, Sir Loki."

Loki smiled then, and it made Cameron squirm. He hadn't had this sense of uneasiness since coming into Mii's friendship the first few years.

"No," Loki said. "I just think I have you figured out now, finally."

"Now, now, don't go thinking in that little head of yours that I'm some benevolent being," Cameron replied, bending down on the sofa to scoff at Loki. "I have honored my deals with those in need of disposing."

"Okay."

"I'm serious!"

"So do I just leave the same way I came in?"

This kid… Was he being teased? Cameron narrowed his eyes at the paladin, who'd taken to meandering a few places away from the sofa and into the center of the drawing room. He could just barely feel his own power humming under Loki's skin, something the knight hadn't seemed to realize himself. The means to exit was right at his fingertips, but instead he toddled around like a lamb. This boy was someone the Zahn king wanted Cam to expunge? Really?

Then again…

"I would never disrespect my Oath."

Humming, Cameron feathered his fingers across his lips. More than a lamb, that glimpse of severity with which Loki had spoken was perhaps like a tiger in a meadow. There was use in that.

Cameron had believers who would pray, and warlocks and magic practitioners who would invoke his power, but he'd never had a warrior before. Rayne had Lisolette for a time during the Great Divide and the War of Absolution, and she'd been a sight to behold for a mortal swordswoman. Would Loki become something similar if Cameron invested a bit extra into him? His contracts were always temporary, drawn and released at his whim. He hated being tied down for any substantial amount of time.

But what would it be like to have someone serve under him on an Oath? What should he call his path? Could he come up with a new moniker to make his status sound even closer to that of his godly kin? It excited him.

Cameron eased against the cushion, upper half now rested on the opposite arm of the sofa as he swapped positions. He picked up the discarded message bottle and turned it over in his fingers studiously. "Manners might be a start," said Cameron, fluttering his lashes. "How does one ever intend to leave without a 'please' and 'thank you'?"

The small paladin winced, then seemed to blush—if the fidgeting hands were anything to go off. That guileless attitude had returned. "I-I didn't mean to disrespect you… I'm very appreciative of this—"

But Cameron waved the notion off with his hand. "Once you return, it's up to you to get yourself to the Fey Realm. I imagine you'll have quite a bit of preparing you'll need to do. And should you have to report to your king and he inquires, well…"

Cameron uncorked the bottle, leaned over, and tipped the sandy contents onto Loki, leaving the boy in a coughing fit. The sand settled at his boots before swirling up in a slow storm of white and tan.

"Best come up with something impressive to convince him, hm?"

"What?" Loki asked, voice high, as he batted at the ever-growing sand. "You said he sent me here for you to… He'd know I was lying!"

"Stretching the truth isn't lying, my dear little lamb. It's called invention. Let this be your first lesson from me, and you're going to need plenty of your wit from now on. A lot more than you have, in fact. Didn't you say he sent you on his behalf to make peace with me? You'll figure something out! Bye bye, Little Loki."

The paladin said something more, yet his voice was lost in the tornado of sand as it swept him and his presence out of Cameron's domain, leaving little more than a trace of him. Cameron brushed away a few sand granules that remained before he slid off of his sofa, venturing to the entrance of his abode. Behind the thick piles of sand where Loki had arrived stood a gigantic violet curtain on the wall, which had beneath it a window into other worlds. Like a zoetrope, the windows transitioned between different realms at each sundial mark. When Cameron had been locked in his realm for a couple of decades, the glimpses of the inaccessible had been what had kept him sane. It'd been perhaps the only good gift he'd received from his elder brother in a long time.

Cameron touched his fingertips to the glass. Currently, the window displayed a wintry landscape with a castle made of ice crystals in the distance. It was still morning on the material plane he neighbored, so soon it would shift from Winter to Spring in his looking glass. He'd have a couple more hours to pass before he reached Ivory's Summer in the Fey Realm, where Ari resided.

He wondered how Loki would feel discovering the "surveillance" Ari was under was none other than Cam. Ari’s superiors in the Fey court were probably apprehensive of Cameron’s presence lingering on Ari, true, but that wasn’t the reason he'd sent Loki there. Someone so caught up in their own morals? The Fey would be a good culture shock for the boy, and he wanted to see how that would change him, if any.

Change… Such a simple thing that mortals took for granted how precious and powerful it really was.

Cameron's gaze slid up to the heavens, almost accusatory in nature. "You see? I have my own now too," he muttered. "You're not so special, Rayne."

[lazysublimeengineer]

crystal clear

Summary: One shot sequel to, "of glamorous appearances and intrigues"

“So that’s Hanagaki.” Senju fixed him with an attentive look as if witnessing something foolish yet radiant at the same time.

Wakasa still looked apathetic and disinterested at the unfolding events in front of him. But he knew that upon hearing Takemichi’s resolute words and clear objectives, it made him want to laugh at his idiotic brazenness yet he can’t tear his eyes away from the compelling beauty of his bravery hiding underneath his gawky and jittery appearance.

—Or how they’ve looked at Takemichi like he brought out the shining light to a dark place of chaos beyond them.

Characters: Takemichi H., Draken R., Senju K., I. Wakasa

In the middle of the impending war and traffic jam, Takemichi decided that he needed to put a stop to this mess. Or maybe he unexpectedly started it since Terano was looking at him like he wanted to crush an insect while the other gangsters surrounding them gaped at him as if he had lost his goddamn mind.

“I have no interest…Neither in Brahman, nor Rokuhara Tandai! I am only here to defeat Kantou Manji Gang’s leader, Sano Manjirou!” Takemichi bellowed with a determined look on his face. His blue eyes shining in temerity and boldness.

Whispers and murmurs erupted from the onlookers around them.

“I see. So that’s why you’re here.” Kakucho stated calmly.

“Are you insane?! Are you trying to interfere with the three deities?! A small fry like you?!” Terano yelled at him furiously, blocking his path with his imposing stature and wrath.

Takemichi kept his firm stance in front of him even though Terano’s imposing figure made him want to back down and stepped away out of reflex.

A punch suddenly went flying into Terano’s direction where the latter barely managed to dodged it with his arm blocking his body. But the sudden punch still sent him flying into the other side of the path.

Did he just got hit?!

“If you want to get to Takemitchy, you have to go through me!” Draken shot a proud smile at Takemichi’s direction before regarding Terano with a challenging yet mocking grin on his face.

“Come on, let’s begin round two!”

“Viiivo!” Terano yelled with a wide grin on his face before he ran towards Draken’s direction.

However, the loud sirens of the police cars halted their movements and looked around sharply.

“The cops?!” Takemichi cried, his eyes widening in surprise and panic.

“Tch. Let’s settle this some other time, Draken.” Terano stated in half disappointment and a matter of fact voice.

“South! I had left the old me in the Tokyo Manji Gang! I’ll never join Rokuhara Tandai!” Draken bellowed.

Terano didn’t deign him with a response and continued walking away from him.

‘You never change Draken. Your heart will always be with Toman.’ Takemichi inwardly thought with a small smile on his face.

As Draken and Takemichi watched Kakucho and the other members of their gang followed Terano away, Akashi called Draken’s attention and went towards his direction.

“Akashi?”

“Sorry for just standing quietly.” Akashi uttered as he patted Draken’s shoulders lightly before walking past him.

Draken watched him go although he could sensed Takemichi’s surprised and bewildered look into their direction.

He inwardly sighed. One of the reasons why he didn’t tell Takemichi earlier about his involvement with the Brahman gang was that he didn’t want Takemichi getting into another dangerous fray again. Knowing Takemichi, he wouldn’t hesitate to jumped onboard into the dangerous world of delinquency again once he knew everything. It’s already alarming itself that Takemichi still wanted to find and save Mikey despite him warning that Mikey had already changed and won’t hesitate to kill him if he decided to interfere and be a nuisance towards him.

But he guessed that Takemichi doesn’t operate like the other people. He was stubbornly firm about his beliefs and actions especially towards the people that he cared about the most. And maybe that’s one of the reasons why he’s also fond of their crybaby hero regardless of him being an awkward, lanky lad.

As Mikey had noted in the past, he may not be dexterous in a fight but he doesn’t give in easily to his opponents. He’s strong in his own way. And Draken wanted to protect him.

Takemichi had already saved his life in the past and now was the right time to return the favor to him and protect his future.

His short, wavy locks danced along the soft breeze of air. In the midst of the growing chaos around them, Senju was transfixed to the unflinching blond in front of them.

Takemichi was spouting some bold claims of not joining either of the two gangs and instead has the goal of defeating Manjirou Sano, the leader of the Bonten gang and one of the three deities.

“So that’s Hanagaki.” Senju fixed him with an attentive look as if witnessing something foolish yet radiant at the same time.

Senju didn’t know whether to laugh or raised an eyebrow at that imbecilic yet strong-willed goal of the blond.

Nevertheless, he finally got to witness one of Takemichi’s display of firmness and relentless attitude. No wonder the people around him always compared him to the late Shinichiro Sano. He’s physically weak in fighting but he’s great at drawing and motivating the people around him with his firm words and actions. Takemichi’s charisma was showing when the situation needed him to be determined and unyielding to the pressure in front of him.

While Draken was still busy defending Takemichi against Terano, he made his way towards the rattled blond and looked at him in the eye.

Takemichi yelped and he almost fell down to the ground since he was taken aback by Senju’s sudden appearance in front of him. But he quickly regained his footing and stood firm on his spot.

“E-excuse me?” Takemichi stammered, a complete opposite of his resolute self a while ago.

Senju’s lips curled upwards, his eyes dancing in hidden amusement beneath his penetrating gaze. Before Takemichi could backed away and protest, he leaned closer and whispered something into his ear.

“How bold of you Hanagaki to expressed a brave claim like that. You don’t fail to surprise people and mess with their heads.” His voice came out low, deep and throaty with his warm breath fanning against Takemichi’s senses. It made the blond’s eyes widen briefly and his heart sped up quickly.

“Eh? W-what do you m—?” His words were cut off when Senju pulled away and walked past him like it was nothing.

Senju had a feeling that this was not the last time that he’ll encounter the interesting blond and he will look forward to it.

Takemichi could only stare at his retreating form, unable to form a coherent sentence with the sudden close encounter with him. He was still trying to calm his stuttering heart inside his chest.

Why did Senju never failed to make him feel like that?

In spite of his small stature and seraphic features, he has the power to intimidate and draw the attention of people to him. His charisma and power reminded him of Mikey. The only difference was that he was sporting a calm and placid expression most of the time, he didn’t really see him sporting another expression on his face aside from the mild annoyance that he felt towards Shion earlier when the man questioned his presence there contemptuously.

He was a complete mystery to Takemichi.

Yet at the same time he felt like he was also figuring him out.

Takemichi just watched him go, unable to say anything in spite of his own heart wanted to tell otherwise.

Wakasa still looked apathetic and disinterested at the unfolding events in front of him. But he knew that upon hearing Takemichi’s resolute words and clear objectives, it made him want to laugh at his idiotic brazenness yet he can’t tear his eyes away from the compelling beauty of his bravery hiding underneath his gawky and jittery appearance.

His bored gaze slide through Senju who whispered something to Takemichi that made the blond shaken not out of fear but out of surprise and incredulity.

Senju can be that dramatic sometimes. Nevertheless, Wakasa narrowed his eyes at their proximity and the blond’s flustered reaction towards him, making him fold his arms across his chest and lips turned into a thin line.

He’s not the only one who can make him feel like that.

After watching Terano and Draken’s anticlimactic end of almost brawling with each other with a bored expression on his face, Wakasa sauntered towards Takemichi’s direction who’s panicking again at the thought of cops making their way to them.

It’s both exasperating and amusing really. His reaction is akin to an ordinary citizen living here. He’s definitely an oddball to their world of delinquency.

“Yo, Takemichi.” He drawled out lazily as he played on the lollipop stick at the side of his mouth.

“Oh, h-hey.” Takemichi smiled nervously at him.

“You got some guts making a speech like that earlier. You busted your head or something?” He tilted his head to the side and looked at him casually.

“Ah, that one. I guess it can’t be helped since I’m not exactly sure on how to de-escalate the situation without resorting to something crazy.” Takemichi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Wakasa put both of his hands into his pockets before he leaned closer and looked at him straight in the eye. “Hmm. Just to let you know Takemichi, our goal is still to get you onboard before anything else and we won’t give that up easily until you say yes got it?” His penetrating gaze bored into his soul.

“W-well you s-see—.”

“We’re leaving too!” Akashi announced loudly, making Takemichi stopped midsentence as it caught his attention.

“Tch.” Wakasa stepped away and flashed him a lazy smirk before he turned around and retreated back with Akashi and the other members of their gang.

Takemichi swallowed thickly and watched Wakasa go away with wide eyes.

What the hell was that all about?

That guy’s a damn ninja. Takemichi swears that one day he’ll have a heart attack just because of Wakasa sneaking up on him.

Wakasa is the epitome of trouble and silent disaster but Takemichi couldn’t bring himself to backed away from him completely.

And why is that?

Was it because of his laidback yet strong stature? His lazy yet sinister voice? Or was it those eyes that could penetrate his soul and bring him into a void?

“Takemitchy! Inupi! We’re leaving as well!” Draken called over their attention, cutting off his wandering thoughts and raced back towards Draken and his motorcycle.

For now, Takemichi decided not to think too much about his encounters with the powerful members of the Brahman as he had more pressing matters that he needed to focus on such as Draken suddenly dropping a verbal bomb in front of him while they we’re driving away.

“Takemitchy, I’m sorry. There’s something big I gotta tell you. I’m currently a member of the Brahman.”

Takemichi’s thoughts grinded into a screeching halt and stared at him like he had grown two heads.

“Huh?”

It wasn’t even the end of the day and the unexpected turn of events kept surprising him.

Nevertheless, he knew that Draken’s got a lot of explaining to do and he’d welcome it no matter how long it was.

(A/N: I don’t own any of these characters from this franchise. Inspired by the events in chapter 214 of the manga. Or in another chapter of Takemichi’s harem and the boys fighting over him lmao. Takemichi had enough of them fighting and laying his individual rights thick on the ground like the cute badass he is. Senju and the others are in pure awe of him. Draken defending our crybaby hero like the great knight he is. Reviews are amusing. So, let me hear them from you.)

[iamshwee]

Hellenism and the Journey of the Afterlife

In the original mythology of Hellenism, the Greek Underworld was considered another world or realm where our souls, known as our Shade, is taken after death. In the original Greek afterlife, at the moment of our death the shade is separated from the corpse when Death (Thanatos) reaches out to cut a lock of hair from the corpses head (often referred to as a ‘lifeline’) where it then takes the now unphysical shape of that former person. The Messenger God (Hermes) then transports the shade across the River Styx (the river of hatred) to the entrance of the Underworld. The Underworld is sometimes simply known by the name of its patron god, Hades, and is treated as a resting place for the soul before it drinks from the River Lethe (waters of forgetfulness) and is reincarnated into a new life. Many within Hellenism believe in form of reincarnation and this was a subject broached by many philosophers of the ancient world. However, the journey of the afterlife is the more commonly resonating belief. The Underworld itself is described as either ‘the outer bounds of the deepest ocean’ or ‘darkness hidden beneath the depths of the end of the earth,’ and thus is considered the darkest counterpart to the brightness of Mount Olympus. This realm itself is invisible to the living and made solely for the dead to be used as almost a type of bypass station.

Once Hermes delivers the shades to the entrance of the Underworld, good people and bad people would then be separated. Infront and directly across from the entrance of the Underworld lives the personifications of Grief (Penthos), Anxiety (Curae), Diseases (Nosoi), Old Age (Geras), Fear (Phobos), Hunger (Limos), Need (Aporia), Death (Thanatos), Agony (Algae), Sleep (Hypnos), and Guilty Joys (Gaudia). On the opposite side of the entrance holds War (Polemos), Discord (Eris), and the Furies (Erinyes). Many beasts lay waiting before the entrance of the Underworld, including Centaurs, Gorgons, a Hydra, the giant Geryon, the Chimera, and screaming Harpies. In the center of all this lies an Elm tree, where False and Broken Dreams (Oneiroi) hang from the branches like dead leaves.

Shades that enter the Underworld carry a coin under their tongues to pay the ferryman, known as a Charon, to take them across the River Acheron (river of pain) safely. Within Hellenism, the dead are properly buried with a coin under their tongue as an offering, or like the Trojan hero, Aeneas, who delivered a rare tree branch called a Golden Bough to the Charon. The Charon is permitted to turn shades away, often the shades of the unburied, which cannot be taken from bank to bank without payment, often due to a lack of proper burial. The physical description of the Charon has changed over the years but is often portrayed to be a barren, filthy, hollow-looking human-shaped creature with fire red eyes, a long unkempt beard, and a dirty dark ash cloak.

Once the Charon carries a shade across the river, there lies the mighty three-headed hound of Hades, Cerberus, guarding the gates as well as the Three Judges of the Underworld. These minor demigods are known as King Aeacus; the guardian of the keys to the gate of the Underworld, King Rhadamanthus; the lord of Elysium, and King Minos; the judge with the final vote. It is up to these judges to outline the deeds of the deceased, and they create the laws that govern the Underworld. Most of the laws of the Underworld assured that there was no true justice waiting for the shades of the dead and that they wouldn’t necessarily receive ‘awards’ for how they lived their physical mortal lives.

However, the overall voted outcome for any shade can be changed by Hade's command, if and when he pleased. When the Earth was divided between Chronos and Rheas' three sons; Zeus received Mount Olympus, Poseidon the vast seas, and Hades the Underworld. Hades is rarely seen outside his own realm, regardless of his co-ownership of the Earth, and most punishments shades received were often demanded by other gods seeking eternal vengeance. He was not a tormenter of the dead and sometimes had even been considered the ‘Zeus of the dead’ due to his being so hospitable to them. He did not run his realm on his own, however.

Persephone (Kore), daughter of the harvest Goddess Demeter and Zeus, is often considered a fitting other half to Hades, though their origin story changes depending on point of view. Once, when Persephone was alone gathering wildflowers, she came across a beautiful narcissus flower that was planted specifically for her by Gaia as a favor to Hades, who had fallen in love with Persephone and desired her as his wife. It is said that Hades believed Persephone to be ‘more beautiful than the Goddess Aphrodite’ and would settle for nothing less than her love. The moment Persephone picked the narcissus flower, Hades appeared from a fresh crack in the Earth, riding a golden chariot and carrying the torches of Hekate, on his mission to seduce Persephone into the Underworld. Demeter searched for her daughter relentlessly, begging that the other deities help her do the same. Learning of this abduction infuriated Demeter, leading her to neglect the Earth and forbidding harvest, freezing the grounds until her daughter was returned to her. Zeus, annoyed by the cries of starving mortals, and badgered by fellow deities who heard of Demeter's anguish, forced Hades to return Persephone to Mount Olympus.

Hades complies with the request, but not before offering Persephone six pomegranate seeds for her journey home. It was explained to Demeter that she would be released so long as she had not tasted the ‘food of the dead.’ Unaware of Hade's trickery, Hermes was sent to retrieve Persephone but was informed she had tasted the food of the Underworld and was now bound to its realm. Instead, Hades offered a deal to Demeter; that Persephone may stay in the Underworld for half the year (the winter/fall months) and come back to Earth the other half (the spring/summer months) to be with her mother. Thus, every half-year, when Demeter and her daughter were reunited, the Earth flourished with vegetation and color. But for the latter months each year when Persephone returned to the Underworld, the Earth would once again become cold and barren. This is essentially Hellenism’s explanation for the seasons and in this way, Hades was able to gift Persephone, Goddess of spring and fertility, with being the Queen of the Underworld and his wife, thus ruling over their realm side by side. Persephone helped to give death a more merciful face, regardless of Hades' bouts of kindness toward shades. While Hades was known for being immovable, Persephone even assists several heroes and grieving lovers who stumble down lost into the Underworld. But beyond their realm, and Hades beloved Cerberus, holds the final resting places for all shades; the Isles of the Blessed called Elysium, the Asphodel Meadows, the Mourning Fields, and the Dungeon of Torment called Tartarus.

Elysium, also known as the Elysian Fields, is one concept of the afterlife, described as the place for exceptional beings, often ‘Heroes,’ to eternally reside. As this concept modernized, Elysium was later expanded to include those righteously chosen mortals who are pure of heart. This makes Elysium essentially the Hellenic Paradise, where they may live a blessed, happy afterlife, with grand feasts, and the ability to indulge in whatever their deepest desires may entail. It is said that the philosopher Socrates, and the Hero Achilles, were two of the few who were permitted into this glorious afterlife.

We do not know much about the Asphodel Meadows, other than that it is a section of the Ancient Greek Underworld where the shades of ordinary people are sent to after death. Those who have never committed a significant crime or had not achieved any level of greatness or recognition, reside here. Those who were not permitted into Elysium, and had nowhere else they belonged, spent their afterlife among the Asphodel Meadows realms. Essentially, this is where every day people’s shades settle within the afterlife. Similarly, the Mourning Fields were a concept from the Latin Epic Poem ‘Aeneid’ written by Virgil between 29 BC and 19 BC. This was a section of the Underworld that was reserved for shades who wasted their lives on unrequited love or died of a broken heart.

Tartarus is said to be as far beneath the Underworld as the Earth is beneath the sky. This essentially means that Tartarus was so dark that ‘the night is poured around it in three rows like a collar around the neck, while above it grows the roots of the Earth and the unharvested sea.’ This is where Zeus originally cast the Titans, along with his father, Cronus. It is said that Homer believed Cronus to be the King of Tartarus and that Odysseus mentions some of the people within the Underworld who are experiencing ‘punishment’ were found here. This is the deepest abyss of the Underworld and is used as a dungeon to torment and influence suffering for those who lived a particularly wicked life.

The Greeks believed that there was a great journey into the afterlife, but that the afterlife held no purpose. The souls of the dead still existed, but that they were insubstantial and often too weak and therefore unable to make influences on the living. The shades in the Underworld were now essentially neutral, and that no one was able to use their previous lives to their advantage after death. They believed that death was not a complete end to life, or human existence, but accepted that not unlike life, the afterlife was relatively meaningless. It is said that you are in the afterlife who you are in the moment of your death; meaning someone who died in battle would be covered in blood in entering the Underworld, and those who died in their sleep remained peaceful. The Greeks considered their dead to be irritable and unpleasant on occasion, but they are not necessarily dangerous or malevolent. The souls can grow angry and hostile, and often the Greek's response to this would be a drink offering, or even blood sacrifices to initiate communication.

Unlike its Catholic counterpart, the afterlife in Hellenism does not necessarily revolve around divine punishment. Those who are punished in Tartarus deserved the same level of punishment while living, thus assuring the ordinary and mundane shades an afterlife of equality and simplicity. While some believed in reincarnation and thus the recycling of our shades, it is widely acknowledged that all of our shade's journeys will eventually end. The likely hood of an everyday person passing on and ending up in a sort of ‘hell’ type afterlife is relatively slim in the eyes of Hellenism, and it gives the Greeks a sense of relief in death instead of an intensely instilled fear.

[kosdaoziro]

Personalization of Faith

Yes, I know, it’s been a while. And this is a different sort of post.

Usually, on this blog, I talk about things related to my religion, Kosdaoziro (hence the blog title), but this one is going to be a lot more meta. This is about the beliefs of a person, of a religion, and how they differ.

Keep in mind that I grew up in a western Christian background, so these might not be things that need clarification if you’re from another one.

What is a Belief?

In general, a belief is anything that one thinks is “true” for reasons other than those which can be externally verified. These can range from the belief in gods, superstitions, and even inside jokes (though that’s a bit of a stretch.) 

This leads to two kinds of belief: Personal belief and Group belief.

A personal belief is, well, as it sounds. It is one that you have formed based on your own experience or thoughts. These don’t have to have a “spiritual” component, for instance, you may believe doing something improves shiny luck even though there’s no code backing you up.

Group belief on the other hand, is more often some kind of spiritual. The idea is to be connected by a common thread, be it the belief in some deity defined by a holy book, of a difficult path to enlightenment, or the existence and influence of spirits. It is very likely you’re familiar with at least one of those

The perceived conflict. 

It is common, from my experience, to see that spiritual belief must be wholly personal or group. There are some groups, such as pop-culture paganism, which tend to see a wide range of “personal” beliefs in the wider area of the general belief in spirits, but even there, it is more that there are so many spirits that picking a selection is seen as necessary.

But there are other ways of looking at it, beyond even this selection process. It is actually more unusual to believe that the gods of your faith are the only divine beings out there, in the history of faith. While most traditions didn’t exactly look on outsider gods fondly, denial of their existence was rare [if you want to know where this came from, look it up].

What does this mean for Kosdaoziro?

Kosdaoziro is a kind of... touch point between Pokepagan practices, the broader world of more “traditional” faith, and self help material.

Being more restricted to five Figures instead of a pantheon of spirits may seem restrictive. But it is something I want to clear up is that you don’t have to restrict your view to just the Figures. What I am describing in my documents and in my blog posts is a framework.

The key of this framework is not to force arbitrary lines in the sand of who is in or out, or what “level” someone is on, but to give ideas about how the spirits of or metaphors relating to these Pokémon can positively influence your decisions.

To be a Kosdaozirano (member of the faith), is to recognize the realness of the two Desires and appreciate how the Figures are useful to see as existing in some way or as useful metaphorical characters. 

Notice, that this does not stop you from believing in other gods. Or that gods exist, but Arceus and Jirachi are not among them. All that matters is you agree with the values and are not using participation in the faith for ends other than the nourishment of the self.

This sounds cool, but how do I get more information?

Glad you asked! If you use Discord, you can join with this lovely link. There’s no need to be anything more than just interested in it, you don’t have to add it to your practice to enter the server, and no channels will be locked from you if you are not a Kosdaozirano.

[duraxxor]

Tales of Solanthos: Shadows Chapter 1 - The Cursed Child

" Darkness has a way of permeating within every single entity. It's existence is unlimited, unlike the other five original elements. And that is why it is widely feared. Because you never know what may be lurking in the Dark. " -- ???

Solanthos. A world filled to the brim with magics that have long evolved in the passing years since it's elemental cataclysm. And with the reformation of the very earth we stand upon, the planet itself as taken on a variety of layers. Some may even argue that the deeper you go to the seething core, the more hellish it becomes. I can attest to that theory. My name is Alphus Daevara, and what I am about to explain to you is more than just my story. No, it is a revolution in a new age amongst the world as we know it.

Amongst the many races of Solanthos, there were the Wyverians. The Wyverians are said to be pointed-eared, magically-attuned mortals that had evolved over time from the blessing of the creator Sylvirra, the matron deity that is said to have rivaled Solexstras, whom the Strassian people revered as their patron. That, however, is a story for another time. Anyways, there were four divinities that split depending on what it was the Wyverians chose to worship. The Goldenthorn, for example, are widely known for their belief in nature and all it provides, exalted in the ways of Life. The Sky Nomads are another group that chose to live amongst the skies in their floating city, believing that the Air they breath is the key to living a prosperous life. Then, we have the more sects that believe themselves to be more sophisticated amongst their kin. The Houses of Radiance, noble bloods that worships the light of the day stars and it's eternal flame. This house of nobility is often lost in it's own arrogance at times and unlike the earlier two, they do not extend their hand to other races so eagerly. Unironically, however, there was one final house whom believes themselves to be even more powerful than the House of Radiance. The Duskhaven choose to live in their underground city that stands on the borders between the first layer of the planet and the darkness that lies deep within the earth. However, their light is in the form of the moon phasing. Another notable trait that defines Duskhaven from the rest is their darker pigmentation as opposed to the lighter tones from their kin amongst the surface.

You're probably expecting me to tell you which one I fall into, aren't you? A Goldenthorn that values all life? A Sky Nomad that strives for adventure? A noble among the Houses of Radiance or perhaps one of the nocturnal Duskhaven? Well, if you guessed the latter of the four, you would be right to a degree but it gets more complicated from here. For you see... My father was of Duskhaven while mother, on the other hand, was of Radiance. Their marriage was highly frowned upon, going as far as even receiving death threats as well as the guardians paying close attention to their every movement. Eventually, they earned their right to love but not without consequence...

6.16.9100 - sixth cycle, sixteenth day, nine-thousand and one hundred years after the reformation. With life comes pain, and with pain comes life. A familiar that my mother experienced and accepted well. She screamed and writhed from the contractions. My birth was nigh but alas, my father was nowhere to be seen. " Where is he?... Where is my husband?! " The Goldenthorn that were requested for her birth outside of the territories answered naught once but instead gave her advice. " Continue to breath in and push, Apolla. Your husband will be here soon. As will your child... " My mother rebuffed herself, lost in the pain from both my arrival and the separation of her beloved. Alas, the only one awaiting her outside was her brother, one who had clung to a hope that his sisters choices would not cost the house their reputation. He, who was also responsible for my father, Sephirrion, from being present as he had guards assembled to prevent what my uncle declared to be an interference. With each scream, I drew closer to existence until finally one high pitching shriek followed with the sound of a babe crying out it's first breath.

" It's a boy, Apolla! Rejoice! You have birthed a son! " The Goldenthorn practitioners cheered with the success until they looked upon the crying child's form upon the initial clean up. Neither sun-touched nor midnight complexion existed. Instead, it was as if my flesh had been touched by storm clouds or the greys of stone. A tuft of white hair sprouted from my cranium. And to some, it was a sickly sight. Specifically my uncle who had immediately rushed into the room to his displeasure. " Sister... What. Have. You... Done?! You have soiled our family name with the existence of a cursed child! " My mother was even given a chance to process what he had said in her tired state before the Goldenthorn found themselves scrambling to stop an enraged Radiance from hurdling a ball of flame at the child. It all happened so fast. Even to this day, I'm haunted by the heat that had struck my flesh. However, as the child was engulfed in flames, the hue of radiant fire twisted, discoloring into an insidious purple blaze until the scream of a babe sent the flames outward in a burst, striking almost every single person within the room. My uncle along with a few of the Goldenthorn were burned but no one was killed in the incident. House of Radiance guards came swarming in and the injured Uncle gave her command. " Take the child to his father... and tell him that he is NOT to set foot close to our territories ever again! As for my sister... Take her and have her locked in a cell! I will not allow this event to destroy my family's way! "

So from that point, the last memory I can recall was the voice of my mother shouting my name despite my birth having been but a mere moments before she was torn away from her child. The guards did as they were commanded and eventually, my father learned of what had transpired. At this point, not only was Sephirrion overwhelmed with guilt and heartache, but he was mortified by the idea that his son possessed such a destructive power. From then on, he chose to raise me under his thumb amongst the Duskhaven. While they weren't as resentful of my existence, they still held prejudice against my father's love interest and the end result. To some, I was nothing more than a motherless child and an embarrassment. While others, believe me to be a white-haired demon. The latter was personified once my eyes had opened to the cruel world around me. An iris divided into two rings of color, the outer being a crimson river of blood while the inner ring illuminated with a blend of orange and yellow. Some described it to remind them of a feral beast before they took note of the dark pupils that possessed no shine to them.

My father would carry this burden on his shoulder for as long as he would live. No one would ever learn or could explain what had transpired that day. Why a child did not burn in fire and reflected such power in such a destructive manner. It was uncommon and hadn't be displayed in any infant. My father tried to give me the most normal life any Duskhaven could offer a halfblood. Food, water, clothing, and shelter. But most importantly, enough love despite the hole that was always within his heart. And with the cycles of life would come public education so I could learn how to live amongst the other's. I still remember my first day of school how everyone stared at me. Even the teacher introduced my name and it was as if I were a criminal. Children whispered obscene things about me that they had heard from their parents.

Freak. Blasphemy. Demon. He should be dead.

I chose to ignore it the best I could and stayed in my corner. That was, until I was confronted by an unexpected occurrence. A Duskhaven girl whose hair was a golden blonde, unlike most and her eyes were as blue as the oceans that were described in geographical lessons. " Hey you, why do the other kids make fun of you? " She asked in such a sweet but prodding voice as we sat outside the academy underneath a glowtree. Incase you were wondering, a glowtree is said to be related to an type of cypress on the surface world but it adapted to the darkness and stores the light that beams from the sun and moon phasing through cavities above. Anyhow, I didn't know what to say or think, I simply stared at her a moment. " Huh? I know you can talk.. I don't understand why they make fun of you? You have pretty eyes. So what if you're different? " I remember something in my tiny, little heart clenching on my strings and I just couldn't contain myself as I began to cry at how kind and warm this girl was to me. " Hey... it'll be alright. You're name's Alphus, right? I'm Felyna. " That's a name I would remember forever. She was the second person to extend a kindness to me aside from my father who raised me. I would meet her during recess and sometimes even after school amongst the City of Undershire.

But, as years passed and I approached the age of ten cycles, her father began to take notice of how close we were. One might say he was much like my uncle and didn't take too kindly to a halfblood mingling with his noble child. I remember when day this tall, powerful man dressed in magus attire approach the two of us outside of school. " Felyna.. " His voice was deep with age and possessed a wicked octave to it. "... why are you fraternizing with this abomination? " As the question plunged my heart like a blade, his daughter protested by reflecting his own question with denial. I can remember how much his voice raised when he demanded his daughter return home at once, forcing her to respect his wishes with the threat behind his voice. But I made one more error at that moment as he told the father how mean he was being and glared at him. " Do not question my ways of parenting you ignorant, little gremli- " As I half expected my face to be lobbed off my shoulder by the strike of a hand, Felyna's father found his arm caught by my own father's. " Leave the children out of this matter... I'm the problem, not my son... " His azure gaze was locked upon my father's yellow orbs in the heat of the moment as they both retracted their arms and the opposing entity said the following words. " You have made a grave mistake, Sephirrion, and I will see to it that you both regret it... I will not have my daughter sullied by your... thing. "

At that point, my father had finally told me that night that I wasn't allowed to go back to the academy and that he would be homeschooling me in his spare time. It was peaceful for the most part but my heart ached as I feared I had gotten Felyna into more trouble that I expected. I never saw her again after that event and not long after, the quiet peace would be broken by the sound of our door being shattered to pieces. It seemed her father held true to his words as my father and I found ourselves confronted by several magi. " Run, Alphus! Run and don't look back! " Those were the last words I heard of my father ever again as I managed to escape through the window of my room and made a run for the city gates. Once again, I had made another miscalculation in my youth as there were guardsman waiting for my arrival as they caught me, the wild, unruly child and I found myself face to face with the same father who had nearly struck me for even glancing in his presence. " Take him to the Pits of Ab'bothi. Make sure that I never see his abominable presence near my daughter again.. "

During my childhood I had heard of whispers amongst the children about these pits. Ab'bothi was an unfamiliar term from a race known as the Arakne, which were apparently spider-like people. In their tongue it translated to Strong Jaws apparently or so the Duskhaven children claimed. It was said that these deep caverns were a living creature that swallowed anyone whole that plunged them for knowledge, never to return. And here I was about to be taken to these pits for only the elements knew what? Always fighting, always flailing, I tried as I might to escape but my energy reserves eventually ran out until found myself tossed onto the hard, stone floor far from the City's light. What little light graced this deepening cavern was nearly snuffed by an smoggy darkness. The entrance paying homage to the name as the ceiling and floors were decorated with jagged spikes that reminded someone of the Strong Jaws. There were even a few that had bones stuck between them, fermenting with the scent of age and death.

" Walk, halfblood. " I felt a dagger pointed directly at my back at the very tip, giving me no choice but to walk forward on their command. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six steps taken before I was told to stop and turn around. Despite my cooperation, my face was struck by the dagger, leaving a jagged scar on the bridge of my nose which was met with a harsh cry of pain as I fell backwards onto my bum, holding my bleeding face. I remember asking, even pleading with them in my painful confusion. " Why? Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this treatment?! " To which, the lead of the group of hired henchmen covered in their shrouds answered. " We do not question our Lords, we only carry out their commands. But know this... that as you snuffed from the life that it is because you were born that you deserved this... " Harsh words were something that I had become familiar with, but to hear a grown man tell me that it is my life which condemns me to such treatment. It struck like a harsh chord along the strings of what remained of my heart. Even when they raised their weapons and the magi began to channeling destructive fire, it was as if I had already given up hope that I even deserved to live. My mother was gone, my father was likely dead, and my closest friend was banished from ever seeing me again. And here I was, about to die, for being a halfblood thing. And in that moment, my gaze stared blankly as I accepted the jaws of death.

" Kshhhhhh...kkkkk... How very curioussss...kkkk.... "

A series of clicking followed such words that were breathed down my spine as I felt something much more threatening approach from behind. The magics of the magi were suddenly nullified and the light was snuffed by a clouded smog. Even as the Duskhaven themselves looked around in a disturbed confusion, I dared not move a muscle as my own vision saw through the darkness at what was staring at me from above. I didn't quite know how to describe it either. A mouthful of needles wrapped in a series of bandages? How could such a beast or monster see in this darkness? Wait, how could I see in this darkness? " You sssssee me boy, don't you? " Saliva dripped from his that maw of potential murder, or at the very least, that's what I was hoping it was. It wasn't until I hesitated that I saw the elongated limbs beside me that looked at though the forearms on their own were as tall as a Duskhaven on their own. How big was this thing? I remember one of those limbs lifted to point those spiny fingers towards the men that were in a commotion. A single finger could completely gouge my eye out if it so desired. " Well? Can you sssspeak? Kkkkkk... or has the ssserpent got your tongue? " There it was, that incessant clicking that brought shivers to the bone.

A nodded to the best of my abilities, gritting my teeth as I steeled myself for whatever else may await me in these dark times. " Do you wish to live, child? It would be a wasssste to see such youth be sssnuffed by the ignorant. " In that moment, I remember my eyes cutting towards the men who were preparing themselves as they found a means to illuminate a short range, the leader calling out to find me and finish this job quickly. " Y-yes. I want to live! Please, help me! Spare me! Don't harm me, please! No more! " To most, it was a pitiful sight and it was the last time I truly had a moment of weakness as I covered my face.

" Ahhhh.... Excellent... kkkkkk.... " The insideous clicking followed with a rush of air as whatever this anomaly was, it had took flight in some way, shape, or form. And as I thought it had left me to the wolves who had spotlighted me in the distance, I began to notice that the magus were once again placed in a panic as one by one, each one was being pulled into the inky blackness that surrounded the area. Screams and cries of terror followed by the sound of tearing flesh and duskblood puddling upon the floor below. Even so, the leader of the assailants didn't give up as he set his sights upon me. " I knew you were a miserable halfblood... but to be cursed with such monstrous demons that follow you in your wake... I will end you! " I couldn't catch a break. It seemed as though one thing after another, my heart was always on some form of edge. I could do nothing but throw up my arms and hope that it softened the blade that was about to be plunged into my small body. Yet the pain did not come. Why?

" What is this?! " The leader cried out just before I pulled my arms down to look beyond the truth. The image of a familiar hand with elongated claws had wrapped completely around the Duskhaven's left arm. " Let me go! I was sent here to do my job! I won't go back empty handed! " The protestation of the assassin was met with not a glimmer of mercy. In fact, he found that this putrid substance was expelled from between the fingers of this creature. Dark magic that ate away at his arm, severing it as the flesh and bone fell completely off. Never in my life had a heard a man scream so loudly in such torment. I was shaking, perhaps even terrified from the possibility that I may be next yet... something about it seemed correct in nature.

" Tsk tsk tsk... You mortal beingss always have an excusssse for mucking around my territory. A job? More like ssssome petty squabble... " The thud of two feet as they landed from above. Much like the face and the arms of the beast, so two were these elongated legs that bent and contorted in a sharp manner. This would explain his acrobatic skills of likely being able to climb the ceilings perhaps rather than flight? Leaping perhaps. "... all thisss trouble for one whelpling? " A clicking laugh followed as the light illuminated the creatures form more than expected. The majority of the body was shrouded by a cloak that seemed to blend with the darkness, as if it were a part of it. Such enchanted relics weren't unheard of but were quite rare of the Wyverian breed.

" I'm not sure w-what you are, demon... but that child is a blight upon our kind... and if left unchecked, he could very well be a.... " The pained man suddenly felt his own bones start to contort and snap from the inside, as if he were being manipulated by an unseen hand. " Threat? Thisss... gifted child? Oh nononono... not a threat so as long as you continue to berate and abuse him... however... Ra'shi'sek... " The utterance of such a word was hissed from the needled mouth and right before my eyes, my troubles were engulfed in a violet wildfire brought a vivid light to the entrance of these cavern, revealing the true size of the being before me as he stood slightly hunched over. He was bigger than any man I had ever met in my lifetime, almost two average Duskhaven in this current state. All that remained was the wailing agony as the assassin and his desecrated underlings were sent to some malevolent hell, vanishing as if there wasn't a single trace.

" And then... kkkk... there was one... " A soft chittering followed across my eardrums as the being began to step towards my right side, which just so happened to be the entrance to the Pits of Ab'bothi. Unlike combat, the giant humanoid possessed no loud thud in his steps as they proved to be silent in nature. Calculated, perhaps. I remember pulling myself up rather carefully and slowly before the stranger came to a stop. " If I were you... I would not try returning to the City... you will likely be held resssponsible for their deaths... but... kkkkk... if you wish to give it a tr- " Not a single pause was required before the next words fell right out of my mouth. " I have nothing left there... I would be better off not returning if there was a chance my parents were still alive... I want to go with you.. sir... "

The towering shroud stood there silently for the longest moments before another series of clicks followed, tilting his covered head to the side before. "... Why? " Another faint silence was shared between the small child and the being that had saved me from death. I swallowed, despite having serpent's mouth from the lack of hydration. " You said I was gifted. I want you to teach me how to use that gift to live. I know not why you have been so kind to me but, I would not wish to waste the chance you have given me. " The being heard my case, tilting his head to the opposing direction before he chittered with his reply. " There will be rulesss. I will teach you but to pass beyond the veil, you may never return to  your people without my permission. For if you do... kkkkk... I will abandon you. And if you pursssue me, I will treat you as I had the othersss. " The deadly claws fidgeting in the dark as he allowed the speech to permeate in my mind. The brief hesitation was due to a lack of trust and just before I could answer, he continued. " You are stepping into the Abyssal Wilds, child. My path will not be an easy one to walk, no matter if you are a whelpling or a mighty beast. You will be pushed to your limits ssooo that you may surpasss them. KKkkk... Are we in agreement? "

What sort of horrors may await me in the unknown? Were they more terrifying than him? To push me passed my limits? Would I be broken? Mangled? Shattered? I had already been through many turmoil. Beaten and reaped from any equality amongst my kin. I remember this red-hot fire burning within my heart as anger against my kind began to manifest in my form. And rather than answer verbally, I stood as tall as I could and followed this entity's steps until I finally stood beside him. " Tell me child... what do they call you? " He asked as we began to move in unison, despite the major height difference. " Alphus... Alphus Daevara. What are you called? " The light of the upper crevice that cascaded down onto the city soon dimmed as we stepped into the unknown abyss that lies beyond the pits.

" A name that translates in the tongue of your kin as... The Huntsman. "

[monstersdownthepath]

Spiritual Spotlight: Zyphus, the Grim Harvestman

Neutral Evil God of Accidental Deaths, Graveyards, and Tragedies

Domains: Death, Destruction, Evil, Plant, War Subdomains: Blood, Catastrophe, Daemon, Decay, Murder, Thorns, Undead

Inner Sea Faiths, pg. 88~93

Obedience: Spend an hour sitting on the grave of someone who suffered an accidental death. You must reflect on how chance has wronged you and vocally reject the influence of any gods associated with these wrongs. If no suitable grave exists, spend an hour telling strangers how their religious beliefs and hopes for a just afterlife are folly and of no consequence. Alternatively, you can write this screed and post it in a public place within a settlement. If you’re away from civilization, you can instead spend an hour sabotaging a path, bridge, tool, or other device so that it’s dangerous for the next person who uses it. Benefit: You gain a +4 profane bonus on Craft (traps) or Disable Device checks, chosen when you complete the obedience. 

i’m glad the grim harvestman covers his basis but also jesus

Anyway, Zyphus is one of the most petty and spiteful of the gods, and this is no better shown than in this Obedience. A typical adventurer wandering the countryside must actively make the world a worse place for everyone else involved, and the clause “next person who uses it” means that you have to either toss aside your party’s good will, or take up the dreaded spot at the back of the marching order. Should you find yourself in a public area, you become just as much of an obnoxious git as a follower of Groetus, except this time you’re personally spitting on their beliefs... However, if you wish to be significantly more tolerated by society, you should do as Zyphus encourages his followers to do and disguise yourself as a Pharasmin or the faithful of another god of order and afterlives and very carefully disguise your blasphemy as “misguided” teachings. At worst, you can feign ignorance and/or explain that you’re new to the faith and had no idea that what you’re saying is wrong. You can even blame other Zyphans for muddying your understanding of the truth, an act I’m sure the Harvestman finds extra ironic!

Telling someone that their practices don’t matter because Pharasma has already decided your fate is the easiest way to go, and the best part is it’s not even inaccurate! NPCs don’t have the spiritual freedom PCs do, so their path is already nearly impossible to change! Get pranked, idiots! Masquerading as one of Pharasma’s flock comes in especially handy when performing the first and ‘easiest’ ritual, as well, because tending to graves is something the Lady of Graves wants people to do in the first place. Make sure to be careful with how you word your vocal casting away of the god’s will, however, or you may arouse more suspicion than you soothe.

The benefit is subpar. Crafting traps is alright, but you’ve likely got better things to use your gold on--wait, there’s no restriction on the CR of traps you can craft, so long as you can beat the DC and have the gold? Well. Go crazy, go stupid, I guess! Here’s a list of everything you can make! The most cost-efficient and useful, however, is the CR 1 bear trap, which--make no mistake--will absolutely shred lower level encounters, but will lose a lot of its spark later on. At least it costs basically nothing to make! Traps are usually the domain of the DMs, but if you need to hold an area? They can come in very, very handy. Otherwise, you’re just leaving them behind you on lonely roads in the hopes some fool will step on them.

Disable Device is normally the way you want to go, shutting off traps that could be a potentially lethal danger for most of the party at most levels. And, of course, rearming them so some fool behind you can stumble into them later. Even if your adventure doesn’t contain many traps, you should never underestimate the strength there is in doing something as simple as popping a lock.

Boons are acquired slowly: the first once you reach 12 hit dice, the second at 16, and the third at 20. However, the Evangelist, Exalted, and Sentinel Prestige Classes can be entered as early as level 5; doing so grants you the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. As Zyphus is a true deity and does not require Fiendish Obedience, you earn the right to enter the classes earlier than those who serve fiends!

-------- EVANGELIST --------

Boon 1: Champion of Cruel Chance. Gain Deathwatch 3/day, False Life 2/day, or Healing Thief 1/day.

Decent all around! And by “decent” I mean “they have niche uses, but shine in those uses.” Healing Thief is the most interesting one, establishing a link between you and a creature you touch that causes the victim to heal only half as much from magical or supernatural means, with you gaining the other half. Creatures who gain Fast Healing or Regeneration through supernatural circumstances can become a boon to you, while enemies relying on Channeled positive energy or in-combat healing will find themselves struggling. The best part is that it doesn’t even offer a saving throw!

Of course, it’s still a touch attack, and you have to remain within an extremely tight radius around the enemy (25ft + 5ft/level) to maintain the siphon. This is a little riskier than I’d like, not to mention it’s completely useless if your foe doesn’t use any in-combat healing. Also, at only 1/day, I’d probably settle for the significantly more boring False Life for a nice 1d10+8 (up to +10) temp HP that lasts for a million years. It’s not much, but you can use it twice and it might stop some scratch damage, and every point between you and 0 HP is nice.

Deathwatch lets you instantly know if you’re looking at an Undead or disguised Construct, which is its primary function in my book. With a duration of 10 min/level, it’s likely to last for entire dungeon floors and makes you an expert at calling out foes who’re on their last legs but otherwise looking healthy. It’s a decent spell if you’re unsure of what you’re going up against or want to be the pointman for your team, but otherwise False Life is the typical go-to.

Boon 2: Resiliency. 1/day, you can gain a number of temporary hit points equal to your Hit Dice, lasting for 1 minute. Activating this ability is an immediate action that can be performed only when you would be brought below 0 hit points, and can be used to prevent you from dying. If you have the Resiliency ability from another source, you can activate these abilities separately or as part of the same immediate action.

As far as I can tell, there is exactly one source for the Resiliency ability as it’s written here, and that’s a single Rogue Talent. It’s... eeeeeegh, not so good. It lets you stall death’s timer for a single minute, usually long enough to end the battle (or be ended) and get some real healing. It will likely save your life at least once in a campaign, but the goal here is to avoid being brought to 0 in the first place! Especially since this will, if obtained ASAP, only shield you for 11 HP, which is one--maybe two--attacks from a creature with a similar CR and basically nothing against spells being flung around at that level. This Boon is actually worse in many ways than just giving +1 HP per HD you have, especially since you technically already have access to the same amount of temp HP in False Life.

I suppose the most amusing use of this power is to fake being down and out until your foe turns away, but that carries risks of its own. If you’re brought to -20 or something and the temp HP only takes you to -5, you’re still knocked out but at least have some mercy time before you start dying for real. I’d advocate for combining this with Diehard if you want to get the most out of it, because otherwise this is an extremely subpar “Life Insurance” Boon that will really only impress the group maybe once or twice in a campaign and be boring or underwhelming in all other moments.

I’d want it to be at least 2 or even 3/day.

Boon 3: Tragic Minion. By spending 1 minute praying over the corpse of a Humanoid opponent or a Humanoid who has died a tragic death, you can summon an Allip to serve you. Unlike a normal Allip, this Allip is of an alignment that matches yours, and has a number of hit points equal to half your total. It receives a +4 bonus on Will saves to halve the damage from channeled positive energy, and it can’t be turned or commanded. This Allip serves as a companion to you and can communicate intelligibly with you despite its madness. You can dismiss it as a standard action. If the Allip is destroyed or dismissed, you can’t summon another for 7 days. This ability allows you to have only one Allip companion at a time.

Oh, that’s cute! You get a little insane friend! Unfortunately, as you can see here, it’s about 10 levels too late to actually be useful. At the level you can finally summon one, your Allips are extremely fragile, as even with their boosted HP they’re still only protected by an AC of 14 and no outstanding resistances aside from their incorporeality. Enemies with magic weapons are almost a certainty by level 14, and even enemies without magic weapons will rarely ever fail their save against the Allip’s Touch of Madness, whose save DC doesn’t scale past 15. You’d be relying wholly on it scoring critical hits, which make the Wisdom damage and drain irresistible, but that’s obviously not viable.

Really, all parts of Tragic Minion are ironically accurate. The Allip can’t even really serve as a scout, because they constantly Babble to themselves in a way that hypnotizes everyone within 60ft of them. Even with their +8 Stealth, a bunch of mooks suddenly stopping and standing still will alert enemies who can succeed the DC 15 Will save that something strange is going on. Adding in that Allips have no ability to hide or disguise themselves, just walking around with one is enough to turn heads. And don’t even think about just dismissing it and summoning another one, or using it in combat with any level-appropriate foe, or this is a blank Boon for an entire week!

Seriously, the 7 day ban on summoning another one is a serious kick in the teeth when the “only one at a time” limit was restrictive enough. You’d think Zyphus would be happy to grant his most powerful Evangelists more than one CR 3 minion at a time, but no! If you lose this extremely fragile minion, no more for 7 days! That’ll teach you to take good care of your toys! And that’s more or less the Allip is; a toy. An accessory.

-------- EXALTED --------

Boon 1: Catalyst of Destruction. Gain Break 3/day, Find Traps 2/day, or Spiked Pit 1/day.

Well I certainly hope there’s traps, given who you’re working for! But it’s good to have insurance that they’re not aimed at you. Find Traps lasts a decent time (1 min/level) and grants a monstrous Perception bonus to spotting them, automatically triggering a Perception check if you draw too close to a trap as well which--depending on how you interpret the spell--alerts you to the fact one is nearby even if you don’t see it. Then you can use Zyphus’ granted +4 to Disable Device to knock it out!

Break can have its uses, shattering enemy equipment even as they wield it. Just remember that targeting an attended object allows the wielder to make a saving throw in its place, while an unattended object gets no saving throw (provided it’s nonmagical). And since Break targets Fortitude, it’s not likely to affect the targets you’d really need it to (Fighters in heavy armor and Barbarians with big weapons), but if your teammates can knock their weapons from their hands, they’re free game. However, the use of Break in combat doesn’t nearly compare to what it can do out of combat; weakening doorways, crumbling containers, sabotaging enemy equipment they’d otherwise grab later, and cracking open items made of skymetal. Note that a second casting of Break outright destroys an item that’s already broken, and you have three each day! Personally, I’d save it for the times you need to sabotage something or bypass a small obstacle, rather than risk a high-Fort-save enemy succeeding in combat and wasting your turn.

And I’ve spoken about Spiked Pit before, here and here, but to reiterate:  it’s a pseudo Save-or-Suck that seriously waste the time of anything without a decent Strength score or some Climb skill as they crawl back out of the pit, while you and your allies either deal with other foes, or rain destruction down on them from above. Even if the victim makes their initial save, the pit doesn’t go anywhere, letting you push your targets in one at a time if need be. Since it’s literally just a huge hole in the ground, you can even hurl multiple enemies inside! AND it’s filled with damaging spikes! The spikes don’t do much, but every little bit helps.

Boon 2: Ever Vigilant. You are protected by a constant Death Ward, The immunity to energy drain ends after the effect has prevented a number of negative levels equal to your Hit Dice*, which resets when you next perform your Obedience. In addition, you gain a +2 profane bonus on saving throws against effects that occur before your first turn in combat.

*it says “Exalted level” but that would mean that this could have zero effect if you don’t class into it, so it’s been changed to prevent it from being a dead Boon.

Huh, this is pretty g--wait. Hold on, let me read this a little closer

“The subject gains a +4 morale bonus on saves against all death spells and magical death effects. The subject is granted a save to negate such effects even if one is not normally allowed. The subject is immune to energy drain and any negative energy effects, including channeled negative energy.“

and what did Ever Vigilant say? “The immunity to energy drain ends--”? But that implies that the rest of Death Ward stays up, right? ... right :)

A lot of Boons grant you an everlasting spell effect for your trouble, but none of them are quite as potent as this one. Death Ward UTTERLY stops negative energy effects, crushing the entire school of Necromancy underfoot, crippling the offensive power of most forms of Undead, and ironically making the devotees of the God of Tragic Death some of the hardest sons of guns to actually tragically kill. Even if an incoming death effect offered no save (such as Power Word Kill), Death Ward forces one, and because you’re Ever Vigilant you don’t even have to know you’re going to face one to begin with!

Also, a universal +2 bonus to saves when out of combat, and for the first round in combat! A nice and cute addition, making it slightly harder for enemy casters or monsters relying on their powers to get the jump on you. Ever Vigilant makes you one of the best Undead hunters out there... Which is why it’s--ironically--tragic that Zyphus, an Evil god, gives it out. In an Evil vs Good campaign, you’re not likely to actually be combating enemies who use negative energy, death effects, or anything else Death Ward protects against. The real sauce in this ability comes from an Evil vs Evil campaign, or a campaign in which you’re pretending to be Good, or at least Neutral! Just... make sure it ends before level 14, because...

Boon 3: Visitor From Abaddon. 1/day as a standard action, you can summon a pair of Greater Ceustodaemons as if with Summon Monster II, and gain telepathy with them to a range of 100 feet. The Ceustodaemons follow your commands perfectly for 1 round per Hit Die you possess before vanishing back to their home on Abaddon. The Ceustodaemons don’t follow commands that would cause them to perform overly good acts or save mortal lives other than your own, and they immediately vanish if your orders contradict these restrictions.

...it’s going to be very difficult why a Pharasmin can summon two daemonic gorilla-men who breathe electricity. Ceustodaemons are bred to be the dumb muscle of Abaddon, but they’re still capable warriors in their own right with decently damaging claws (2d6+6) and a bite (1d6+6) and the ability to exhale 6d6 points worth of Electricity damage in a 30ft cone. There’s also their spell-likes, an at-will Dimension Door letting them infiltrate and scout for you, a 3/day Fly to make your party a nightmare to fight, and a 3/day Dispel Magic to crack enemy magic open.

However, they’re only CR 7, unlikely to stand up on their own against level-appropriate threats. So, the key here? Don’t use them against level-appropriate threats, as is normal with summons dramatically weaker than you are. They’re terrors that shine brightest against enemies hovering around the CR 10 or so range, their resilience and immunity against--and I’m not exaggerating--nearly every status effect in the game except petrification and their DR 10/Good or Silver letting them slug it out with mid-level foes and rip apart nearly anything else lower than that.

There’s also the fact that they can be summoned as a standard action with a range of Close, letting you teleport your gorilla fiends right at the enemy’s vulnerable backline or in front of their melee bruisers to tie them up while the rest of your team flanks. The standard action summoning is the biggest treat here, because being able to have two more beefy bodies available immediately shifts any battle in your favor... But know that if your campaign keeps going past level 14, your gorilla men are going to have a harder and harder time standing up to level-appropriate enemies, and it’ll eventually cause them to be summoned to fight against minibosses only or--eugh--being sent on scouting missions. They’re good at them, mind, but you know how it is.

At their absolute worst, though, they’re still six castings of both Fly and Dispel Magic. There’s worse things out there.

-------- SENTINEL --------

Boon 1: Walking Disaster. Gain Bungle 3/day, Spontaneous Immolation2/day, or Deadly Juggernaut 1/day.

Bungle is a fun spell, slapping a target with an insurmountable -20 penalty to their next attack roll or check requiring a d20 roll, but since the spell is only level 1 and takes your concentration to maintain, it’s not likely going to stick. Granted, it lingers for 2 rounds after you stop concentrating so you can focus elsewhere, so there’s certainly worse spells to use... but it only affects one attack roll or check at a level where most enemies have two or even three attacks, making it significantly less useful than it looks. It’s best if you use it out of combat to scramble a skill check a foe is trying to use, but it’s negated by a Will save entirely so it loses a lot of potential oomph. And I just read the spell even closer and it says it only works on Humanoid targets, so it’s even worse than I previously thought!

Spontaneous Immolation is infinitely funnier to use, anyway. Why make someone flub a speech or fail an Escape Artist check when you could have them suddenly burst into flames from within? With no component requirements, Spontaneous Immolation is TRULY spontaneous, the victim exploding into fire without having an idea of the source. You could potentially make people believe it’s the wrath of your god, the power of some curse you possess, or even the wrath of their god if you can spin it well enough. The damage is middling--3d6--and is halved on a successful save, but it’s got a range of Medium and sets its victim alight if they fail their save so you can create a single spark in a crowd that becomes a roaring inferno as the panicking victim grabs onto whatever they can to try and put themselves out.

As God of Sudden Death, it’s a perfect spell for both in and out of combat, slaying random citizens in bursts of horror and pain they’d have no chance to realize is coming, I’m sure Zyphus approves of using it to malice citizens just as much as he enjoys watching his faith’s foes burst into flames. This leaves Deadly Juggernaut, a spell that a martial character such as yourself would normally LOVE getting... if it weren’t for the final clause stating that the effect doesn’t trigger unless you slay a foe within 4 HD of yourself. While that prevents the effect from being exploited with a Sack Of Rats, it also makes it far less likely to activate if you’re fighting swarms of lower-level enemies. It DOES mean that battling creatures of roughly equal strength to your party has some pretty high snowball potential, but since you, personally, have to reduce the target to 0 HP, unless you’re the party’s DPS you may just end up missing out on most of the spell.

I’d personally just tuck Makes You Explode under your belt each day. If nothing else, it’s a funny prank to pull on the locals.

Boon 2: Tragic Accident. 1/day as part of a successful attack, you can target your opponent with either Inflict Critical Wounds or Poison as a free action. The DC for this ability is (10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + your Cha mod). You don’t have to declare the use of this ability until you know the attack is successful.

More than almost any other god I think I’ve encountered, Zyphus encourages lying, subterfuge, and you looking as harmless as possible. Even the ostensible God of Secrets and Murder, Norbergorberburgerhurger, inspires less subtlety in me than Zyphus, because his domain is specifically accidental deaths. You gotta make your kills look like mistakes no one could have seen coming, which makes Tragic Accident yet another tool in inspiring fear and terror than actually being useful in a fight.

Give someone a playful slug on the shoulder and scream as they fall over, dead. Deck some guy who’s hitting on you in a bar in the chest and feign horror as he suffers an apparently fatal heart attack as Poison rips through his body. Hit someone with a blowdart or even just hurl a pebble at someone and strike them down with nearly no trace, since this ability can work with ranged attacks as well. Coming up with subtle ways to use this power out of combat is significantly more fun than thinking of ways to use it in battle, because as a 1/day negated (or halved, in Critical Wounds’ case) by a save is just asking to be disappointed.

Especially in the case of Poison, because if you want someone dead in combat, hitting them usually works better than slowly, slowly, slowly hoping and praying that their Con hits 0. Inflict Critical Wounds is a little more useful if you’re using it to speed up an opponent’s death in combat, dealing 4d8+11 (+1 per level) damage... or healing an Undead ally. Yes, you have to hit with an attack, but as I’ve already stated above, the attack doesn’t have to deal much--or ANY--real damage to trigger a Tragic Accident. I do appreciate that Zyphus assures your attack connects before you trigger this ability, a lot of other Boons are not so gracious. Like...

Boon 3: Unfairness of the World. 1/day, you may fill an attack with negative energy. You must declare your use of this ability before you roll the attack roll; on a hit, the target gains a number of negative levels equal to 3 + 1/2 your Hit Dice unless it succeeds at a Fortitude saving throw (the DC for this ability is the same as Tragic Accident’s DC). If you openly wear an unholy symbol of Zyphus, the saving throw DC to resist this effect increases by 2.

... This one!

Hah. Well. Whatever you hit with this is dead. Like, straight up dead. The name of this Boon is as accurate as can be. There is NO recovering from being slapped with ten negative levels (+1 for every 2 levels you have!), because even if your victim survives the initial onslaught of energy, that’s a -10 to every single roll they make and the loss of some or even all of their high-level spells and most potent abilities. This isn’t so much a Save-or-Suck as it is the mother of all signals for your entire party to unload every SoS they have on their person upon your victim.

IF it lands.

Because not only do you have to succeed an attack roll to use this ability or have it dissolve into the aether, but they also have to fail a Fortitude save. That’s two possible points of failure for this ability which seriously reins in its potential, but with just a LITTLE bit of setup you can cut your unfortunate victim in half. It’s definitely both a possible end to a fight AND something you can smite a random citizen with by using the same “things that count as an attack roll” exploits I listed Tragic Accident. By the time you get this power, you can also shamelessly reveal your faith in the Harvestman to make the DC 2 higher, but you may want to keep that to yourself if you’re still masquerading as something else, breaking it out only for boss fights.

Most gods in Inner Sea Faiths leave a lot to be desired, so it’s nice to see a god give so generously! It’s just too bad it has to be the God of Pettiness and Inconvenience.

You can read more about him here.

[dragon430]

~Technical Artistry~ Prologue: To Be A Goddess

Summary: After an early afternoon filled with errands and burning stares, you decide to take a little break, only for your brief relaxation to be rudely interrupted by some unwanted guests.

Warning(s): Swearing Word Count: 5,317

Authors Note: This story is intended to be inclusive of all readers, regardless of their race and physical features, but please let me know if you find any mistakes as I am not perfect and sometimes don't realize I write them.

Being a Goddess is not all sunshine and rainbows. Most would think that having the role of a deity means you get adored by all, people willingly falling at your feet to kiss the ground you walk on. And you can thank movies and tv shows for planting that untrue belief in people's minds. ‘Cause newsflash, that is not how it is nor how it ever has been.

Sure, when you first came into being, you were praised and loved by your people. The great Artisa, the Goddess Of The Arts and mother of creation. But you only got to feel that love for a short amount of time. First, it was because humans didn't want to correlate you with their success in art, preferring to only thank themselves even after having asked for your help. 

And while that was disheartening, you were still able to get by with the number of people who dedicated their lives to the arts. Those who may not have worshiped you but who lived for everything that you are. And at the time, that was enough. But all too soon, you felt the dwindling of imagination.

The damage of people not believing in you was immense and tragic, but you didn't think it would have gotten any worse. Sadly, you were wrong. Humans started turning on each other, all with their own beliefs and views that they tried to force down the throats of others. And, as the strong trampled over the weak, differing artistic thoughts were more likely to be discouraged than praised. Slowly dimming any worship you were getting until you nearly flickered out of existence, like a candle's flame being snuffed out by the ferocious wind.

Fortunately, you were able to hang on but only by the skin of your teeth. You stuck around and whispered in the ears of the privileged how a portrait or statue of them would make everyone jealous. Encouraged the less fortunate to channel their talents into something that they could support themselves on. Willed the unique to proudly present their differences to the whole world. Because while some may sneer and turn away, mocking those who don't follow the same path. There would be others who were charmed and fascinated by something new and exciting that they wish they had the skill or freedom to do themselves.

Truth be told, you wish that your meddling was always well received, but in the olden times, it very rarely was. Those with different views were subjugated and looked down upon by the humans who were too full of themselves to even think that the world didn't revolve around them. But despite the hardships that those special few had to go through, you did it all in the name of the arts. And for the progression of man and womankind, you would do it again. After all, the beauty of one's creativity isn't meant to be locked away.

As the years progressed, so too did people's thoughts towards expressing themselves through acts of creation like drawing, music, plays, and so much more. And thankfully, your meddling worked because as time moved on, the shackles of censorship slowly rusted, the years passing chipping away at the chains until they crumbled.

The people were able to finally do as they wished with their creativity, given their freedom to create whatever they could dream of. And while you were happy with the outcome, the slow growth of interest in the arts had you a bit worried. Yes, people were given the right to express themselves as they wished, but it was a slow-going process for humans to step out of their repressed comfort zones. And since no one was worshiping you by name and instead what you stood for, you needed that much more to stay clinging to life. 

For a while, you were able to live a bit comfortably. Granted, far away from humans lest you get murdered and not have enough worship to be resurrected. And while it was still a bit of a struggle at times, you were able to make it by with the minuscule amount of worship.

Then the twentieth century came along.

In the beginning, you would have never thought that you would be thankful for the progression of technology. But soon, you found that people could share their creative passions in a way they never could before. And because of how easy it became to create things, many more people were doing it. So, while people still might not believe in you, the pure amount of artistry out there gave you more than enough worship to make up for it.

And as technology grew and went through numerous upgrades, it made art that much easier to share and create with it. Giving you the power and security to live amongst the humans you longed to interact with. As, in your long years of life, you always wanted to be able to do more for those who worshiped you. But your fear of getting killed and not being able to come back always won over your yearning to connect with the humans who had unknowingly supported you.

But upon getting upgraded with the use of technology, your dreams finally became a reality. Though, as nothing ever comes easy, the new development also brought forth a lot of new problematic dilemmas. Your ability to upgrade being the main focal point of the troubles.

You see, you are an Old God, but one, unlike most others. It isn't rare for humans to create a new story for an old god or move to a different country with their beliefs in tow. And when that happens, a new version of that god is created. But that was never the case for you. 

Everyone in the world has creativity and the ability to master some type of expression through art. So, when you came into existence, you were the soul goddess who governed over the arts. Because, unlike any other god or goddess, what you ruled over stemmed from humans everywhere. And you were "born" from artistry all over the world versus the typical deity only being believed from one culture and carried to other places with them.

Then, with the never-ending changes the world went through, you evolved over time. You started to become integrated with the technology and media that came into existence, as most of it was only made possible through the arts. And in turn, the arts were only able to prosper because of them.

It wasn't long after that when you found a strange kinship with the new deities. An odd understanding grew between each of you where you knew the importance you all held for each other. Because of that, you were able to connect with one another in a weird way that kept you all linked together. And despite not interacting with them as much as you would with the old gods, you still thought of them as your kin.

And somewhere along the way, without notice, you no longer considered yourself an old god in anything other than age. But at the same time, you never fully fit into the category of New God either, as the arts were essentially the building block that brought many of them into existence. Because of this self-revelation, you are placed in the neutral zone between the old gods and the new. Though with the whisperings of war you've been hearing, you feel the decision to pick a side will be forced on you sooner rather than later.

You sigh at your last intruding thought, clearing the wisps of it that linger to distract you by standing to throw away your empty disposable cup. The little bell above the café door chimes, signaling the end of your reprieve for the day as you make your way into the cool outside air. Breathing deeply, the rush of wind fills your lungs, and goosebumps rise along your arms from the chill leeching away the warmth of your skin, waking you from your relaxed haze to get a start on the day, well…afternoon..

Sticking your hand in your leather jacket pocket, you pull out your to-do list. Your eyes glance across the page, taking stock of what tasks are close together or can be combined into one to be accomplished in the least amount of time possible. Once you have a general plan, you redirect your eyes to the top of the page before sticking it back in your pocket. And with your next task in mind, you stroll down the sidewalk.

Letting your feet guide you to your destination, you close your eyes, focusing on the noises in the area. You listen to the muffled chatter of people shuffling their way around, to the laughter and crying of children, and the speeding of cars down the road. And if you really strain your ears, you can make out the softest singing of birds among all the commotion of the humans.

Smiling, you idle at the crosswalk and wait for traffic to stop. Once the coast is clear, you go to take a step away from the safety of the curb. But even before your foot can hit the pavement, you pause, your grin dropping from your face just as quickly as it had appeared.

You look around to find where the sudden feeling of being watched is coming from. The intense burning of someone's eyes on you causes goosebumps to once again flush across every piece of skin, little hairs standing at attention as if ready for battle. You're probably just overthinking it, your earlier thoughts of war putting you on edge.

Normally, feeling someone's stare wouldn't cause this reaction. After all, it could just be someone checking you out as they walk down the street, eyes lingering a little longer than they should. But there's this odd sense of...not hostility per se. It's more like aggressive impatience as if someone is waiting to approach you but is being held back by something. And while you try to convince yourself that the gaze is completely harmless, it still frays at your nerves, pulling on them like how a child tugs on a loose thread.

Your eyes dance along the street, keeping in rhythm with the erratic staccato of your heart drumming against your ribcage as you try to spot your alleged stalker. From dark and damp alleyways to well-lit building entrances, behind trash cans, and even around telephone poles, as ineffective as that hiding spot would be. Your gaze skips about, trying to find the person who's still pinning you under their intense stare, only to find nothing.

You thought you would feel better if you didn't find anything, but your jumbled nerves war against your assumptions. If anything, not knowing where this person is, has a chilling anxiousness flooding your system, freezing your muscles to keep you immobile. Your eyes rescan their path once and then twice before you will your legs to move, to get some distance from this spot before you panic.

After all, who knows, maybe it's just some weird coincidence, and when you leave, the feeling will vanish. Or, if it follows you, you'll at least have enough time to make it somewhere safe to think about how to get out of the situation.

Sealing your fate with a calming breath, you resume your trek to the other side of the street to continue your tasks. You attempt to ignore the sensation as it seemingly follows your every move. Unease chills you to the bone, warring with the burning feeling of the stranger's eyes and threatening to send you into flight mode. But as your shop comes into view, you sigh a breath of relief, quickening your pace as the feeling alleviates the closer you get to it. And upon entering your photography and art store, lovingly called 'Sketches and Shots', a sense of safety washes over you, protecting you from the stare like a blanket does from a chill.

You take a quick glance outside from the shop's window, slightly ducked to the side to remain unseen by anyone that may be watching. With no shady figures staring menacingly at where you entered the store, you allow yourself to relax for the time being. Nerves mend their frayed ends back together as your heart reigns in its pounding beat to a mellow thrum. After all, it would be stupid for someone to try anything in a store with people milling about. So, at least while you're inside, you're perfectly safe, basking in the cozy and comforting aura your shop provides. 

No longer needing to be vigilant, you find your attention wandering to the walls. Painted canvases are strung up by fairy lights, the soft glimmer reflecting off the paints and leaving an enchanting glow that brings the art to life. As if you could reach out and be sucked into the image portrayed there, ripped from a reality so cold and dull to live in one of vibrant joy.

The next aisle houses pictures that even the best of the best wish they could capture. Striking portraits illuminated by golden light that makes one's features purely angelic, bringing forth not only the perfection but the divine flaws that make the subject so beautifully unique and human. Scenes at the circus, trapeze artists somersaulting through the air as their outfits sparkle from the flames of the fire-breather below, all eyes transfixed on the stunts, stuck in the same trance the exotic snake dancer holds her reptiles in. Even dark and haunted forests are transformed into something that can be described as nothing less than ethereal by the slightest sliver of glittering moonlight that fireflies dance through, waltzing to the sounds of the wind rustling through branches, the swaying releasing leaves that the trees shed from their applause.

Customers peruse the aisles just as awestruck as you. No matter the amount of art you've witnessed, to see it so lovingly created, used not only to capture a person or a setting but to portray the pure emotions of its creator, is something that will always leave you in astonishment. For art is an extension of those who use it, supplying them with the dreams they wish to achieve, places they hope to run away to, memories that they desire to last forever, and so much more.

And to be willing to share that talent with others, despite the contrast in interests that most humans have, is something utterly spectacular. Artists can be constantly pushed to the edge with hurtful comments from people who live to prey on others' insecurities through what they love. But creators will clutch onto the edge of that cliff with all their might, empowered by the kind words of those who appreciate their hard work. Truthfully it reminds you of your existence as a goddess, teetering on a scale of negatives and positives that can tear your life apart when the bad outweighs the good.

But that's why you created Sketches And Shots. It was made to be a shop that would take in art from struggling artists crumbling under the boulders of self-doubt from poisonous, and frankly uncalled for, criticism. Where others, who enjoy the art, would help lift that heavy burden from crushing the beginnings of a great talent. And you really have found the best art enthusiasts out there, free of judgment and filled with intrigue about any new piece that makes an appearance.

Smiling, you wave at people you know as regulars, the ones who show so much support that it actually makes it hard to keep your shelves stocked. A wonderful little paradox that causes Louis a bit of stress when he has to rush to supply the store with paintings or pictures when pieces from other artists aren't in yet. But no matter how much he'll complain about it, it's nearly impossible for him to keep a smile off his face at the revelation of how wonderful the situation really is. Though speaking of the grumpy ravenette, you should track him down to see what he needs from the store instead of wasting time in your thoughts.

It doesn't take long for you to find your prey in the Painter's Room—his usual hideaway. You watch him for a moment, intrigued with what he's creating with his delicate strokes, his movements just as beautiful as they are well-articulated. Every painting he does is more reminiscent of a photograph with how accurately he captures his model.

And while it may take him a few days to finish a piece, the wait is well worth it. Even watching the actual process of its creation is enough to leave you in awe of his work. From every stroke of the brush, a smear of color, the scratch of charcoal, it's all enough to keep your gaze locked on his form, so focused he didn't even hear you enter the room. Seeing him so calm in his craft, so absorbed as he channels every flicker of emotion into the painting, almost persuades you to leave him in peace. 

And you would have if not for the devious idea that forms in your mind. Smirking, you sneak up behind him, careful to creep around paint buckets and crumbled pieces of paper to be as silent as possible. When you're within a breath's distance away from the man, him still being too caught up in his work to notice, you launch your hands on his shoulders. With a yelp that reminds you of a scared kitten, he jolts into a standing position and whips around to face you. With a shaky hand, he brandishes his paintbrush like a mighty sword.

Only for you to smile once seeing his choice of weapon. "Oh no. I'm so scared, Lu."

His shoulders sag with a sigh, paintbrush still being pointed threateningly at you, "You should be. I could ruin your favorite jacket, you ass."

A laugh bubbles past your lips as you ignore his comment and crouch down to look at his painting. "Sorry, but you know I can't help it. I was just stopping by to see if I needed to get anything for a restock."

He straightens, paintbrush loosening in his hold to dangle precariously from his fingers as he walks to a bulletin board hung on the wall. Your eyes follow him as he unpins three sticky notes and rejoins you to hand them over.

Standing from your bent posture, you take the notes and read over the scribbled words.

"There's more on the back," Louis says while sitting on the stool in front of his work again, rolling his shoulders back before pressing fine bristles to the canvas.

"I will never understand why you can't just find bigger pieces of paper to write your lists on, but whatever. I'll go get this stuff and lug it back." You go to walk out of the Painter's Room but stop at the threshold. Turning back towards him, you shoot a smirk over your shoulder, "Also, just for future reference, I'm better looking from the right side." You point at his easel, featuring an unfinished painting of you in its early stages of color.

Your comment is met with a flash of an exasperated glare before he turns back to his canvas, no doubt grumbling curses under his breath. You ignore his colorful words in favor of throwing a wave over your shoulder at him, shutting the door behind you. Your eyes quickly glance over the papers to try to get an estimate of how much you're going to be spending as you walk out the shop door to collect the stuff listed.

Strolling down the sidewalk, you make your way to the closest art supplies store. But the feeling of being watched returns soon after you are a few steps away from the shop, making you curse yourself for forgetting about it in your attempt to relax. The stare burns hotter than before as if admonishing you from leaving your safe space, and you're almost tempted to rush back to it. Almost.

As your arms are blanketed in goosebumps, you try to scan the area discreetly by lifting the sticky notes to your face to peek over the edges. Only to sigh in frustration upon, once again, finding nothing of your apparent stalker. 

You're ready to accept the fact that this might be a permanent occurrence for today. And as much as the seemingly endless gaze unnerves you, you try to calm yourself down. After all, if they're staring from a distance, no harm will be done as long as you stick around the busy streets...hopefully.

So, deciding to ignore the feeling for your sanity's sake, you look down to fully read the papers instead of just skimming over them. Though upon looking over the lists of what to get, you groan, the sound rumbling through your throat as you throw your head back.

This is going to take a while.

After two hours of shopping, you finally return to Sketches and Shots with an armful of bags. Stepping to the entrance, you precariously balance on one foot to gently knock on the door with the other. You learned your lesson earlier that trying to put all the bags down isn't the best decision when half of them slid out of your arms and scattered across the street while still at the supplies store. So instead, you wait outside the glass, hoping for someone to open the door to save you from said embarrassment happening again.

Thankfully after another patient tap to the glass, Dave, one of your regulars, comes to your rescue and holds the door open for you, "Hey, there. Do you need any help with those bags?"

"No, I'm fine. I just couldn't get the door. Thanks, though."

"Of course! I can't let a pretty lady struggle after all." The man gives you a bright smile that you can just see from a space between your mountain of bags.

You return his grin with one of gratitude, hoping that he can at least hear it in your voice since he might not be able to see it. "And that's why Beth loves you. Tell her I said hi, will you?"

"Sure! She's actually planning on stopping by next Friday for the painting lessons." At the sound of his wife's name, you don't have to see his face to know that he's beaming at even the mere mention of her.

Honestly, he worships her more than most people worshiped gods and goddesses in the old times. And it's really cute. Not only to see those two in love but to know that your shop had a hand in the start of their love story and is still a constant part of their lives. Something that fills you with pride that what you reign over can bring two souls together in such a pure and loving way.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you mentally return to the conversation. "Oh, nice! I'll be sure to hop in and see her then. After all, I still have to go over all your guy's anniversary pictures with her to see if she wants anything edited."

Dave makes a playful sound of dismissal with what you guess is a wave of his hand as the slight breeze caused by the movement hits your arm. "I wouldn't even worry about that. After the wedding pictures, she trusts you with any decisions you make. I'm pretty sure you could send her a blurry picture, and she'd still love it." 

You can't help the laugh that slips past your lips at his truthful comment. "Well, you're not wrong. That woman just loves to have everything cataloged, no matter the quality. As long as the photos showed how happy everyone was, she would buy them."

"Exactly my point. Now I should probably let you get that stuff put away. I'll see you on Friday if she doesn't send me in sooner."

"Alright, I'll see you later, Dave."

With a wave goodbye, he vanishes into the landscape photos, most likely picking something out to decorate his and Beth's new home.

Resuming your trek, you stride over to the Painter's Room. Peeking through the door’s stained glass window, you see Louis teaching today's class. As silently as you can, your elbow pushes the handle down to open the door, and you quickly move to the back corner, placing down all your bags. Not wanting to interrupt the lesson or distract the students with the rustling of plastic as you try to put things away, you leave the bags against the wall. Once again, you quietly venture across the room. This time, placing a gentle pat on Louis' shoulder on your way out to signal your delivery.

And with one more exit from Sketches and Shots, you're on to your next task. It doesn't take long to make it to the music shop you own about a block away. You'll be there just long enough to check how things are going before continuing with your to-do list. Maybe with a tiny break mixed in to soothe your aching arms from lugging all those bags around.

The vinyl record sign comes into sight first. A child excitedly walking out of the shop with a new mini guitar coming second and causing a smile to spread across your face. You step past the boy chattering happily to his parents and make your way inside, beaming at the people looking around or playing instruments.

Strolling over to the speaker section of the store, you enter the command passcode before changing the current pop music to an AC/DC mix. Some of the musicians fall silent at the change, glancing up to the radios embedded in the walls before starting to play again, mimicking the song flowing through the speakers. 

"HEY! HOW DID YOU—Oh Melody, I didn't see you come in. I thought some punk hacked into the system again."

You can't help but snicker at Jake's outburst, "Don't worry, it's just little old me. How have things been today?"

Squaring his shoulders and puffing his chest out, Jake points to himself in confidence. "Well, I sold two guitars, three basses, one drumset, and multiple CDs and vinyl records!"

Quirking an eyebrow at him and smirking playfully, you tease, "And how much has your arch-rival sold?"

"Uh—" His confidence deflates, arms crossing against his chest as a pout surfaces on his face, "I don't want to talk about it."

Laughing, you walk past him, leaving a comforting pat on his shoulder on your way to the front counter. Upon reaching it, you lean forward, laying your crossed arms on the surface. Seeing Anne, aka Jake's arch-rival, reorganizing the shelf, you smile and call out, "Hey, beautiful, how's work been treating you?"

Jumping at the sudden voice, Anne whips around with a pissed-off look before her eyes land on you. Instantly she lets out a relieved sigh, her steely gaze softening as it holds your own, "I am so happy it's you, Mel. I am sick of people flirting with me today."

"Who says I'm not flirting with you, huh?" Your smile turns into another devilish smirk, brow quirked up at your question.

Matching your grin, she braces her hands in front of yours, whispering so just you and Jake can hear, "Well, your advances are completely welcome." She finishes her sentence with a flirty wink directed at you.

There's a moment of silence, your eyes locked on each other's while a familiar pair burns into the back of your head. You try to hold onto the flirtatious look, but the moment your gaze catches the wobble of her lips, you fail to keep it together, and you both burst into laughter.

"Ugh, I think I'd prefer it if you didn't hit on my girlfriend, thank you very much," Jake grumbles and walks out from behind you to stand next to Anne.

You straighten up and place your hands on your hips, a few more chuckles slipping past your lips at his remark. "Calm down. We're just playing around." Your words are followed by an air kiss blown to Anne and a mischievous smirk directed at Jake.

With a groan and an exaggerated eye roll, Jake throws his hands in the air, "You are impossible!"

Keeping your smirk, you leap over the counter between the two, an arm laced around each of their shoulders. "Well, I'm just here to check up on you guys and make sure nothing bad has happened."

"No, it's been a pretty quiet day," Anne comments with a relaxed smile, leaning into your hold to most likely take some of the weight off her feet.

Jake nods, copying his girlfriend's action of leaning into your side as he cups his chin in thought. "Yeah, the worst we've had was some kids putting a bunch of stuff in the wrong places, and as I said before, someone kept switching the shop's music."

"Well, that's good. Do you guys want anything for lunch? I'm going to our favorite BBQ place right down the road in a bit," you ask while moving out of the way for Jake to ring up a customer.

A look of thought passes over Anne's face, and you take the time to crouch below the counter. Unlocking the safe there, you take out the money drops for the day and put them in a bank bag, securing them in your jacket’s zip-up pocket to deposit at the bank before coming back with lunch.

Once the safe is locked again and you return to your previous standing position, Anne answers your question. "Well, I want that pulled pork sandwich from last time, and I think Jake brought up wanting to try that new brisket grinder."

"Nice, I'll bring those for you guys in about an hour." You walk around the counter, making your way towards the entrance with a wave to the two.

"Thanks, boss-woman," Jake calls out as the door closes behind you.

Throwing a thumbs up over your shoulder for him to see through the glass, you make your way to your next and most tranquil location. After a short walk, which you're grateful for or else you probably wouldn't have time to go, you're greeted by the serene atmosphere of your favorite park.

Sitting on your usual bench, you gaze out at the people around you. The giggles of playing children, the softhearted scolding of parents, and the teasing of couples fill your ears. A smile graces your face at the serenity, no shoving down a crowded sidewalk, no honking of people with road rage, and most importantly, no burning stare able to penetrate the peaceful atmosphere.

Closing your eyes, you take in a deep breath, floral scent tickling your nose as the smell of wildflowers mixes on the gentle breeze. You can feel the warm sun rays upon your skin, chasing away the slight chills of the afternoon wind that tried to seep through the layer of warmth your body provides. Here you're able to relax, to just admire your surroundings with no responsibility lingering over your head. The perfect spot to take a break and just forget about everything, if only for a short amount of time.

Two people rest on either side of you, and while this normally wouldn't bother you, their presence causes your stomach to sink without you even having to look to see who they are.

"Hello, darling~" You hear the unmistakable voice of David Bowe to your right.

Sighing in frustration, you realize the exact reason slight unease made itself known to you as they sat down. Tilting your head on the back of the bench, you can't help but let out a quiet, "Fuuuuck."

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Helios and Morpheus

A/N: Here is my part of our collaboration for the Durin’s Day Gift Exchange for @linane-art ! Thank you for brainstorming with me and being so supportive and patient. You made this even more exciting than I thought it would be, and let me tell YOU, I was thrilled about it all in the first place. I hope you enjoy it. I am so excited to share it! :)

This is somewhat loosely based on Greek Mythology, AKA it’s an Alternate Universe! Rated Gen. Get ready for some LONGING and some FLUFF.

LOOOOOKKKKKKKK AT @linane-art​ ‘s ARTTTT LOOOOOK AT THE PERFECT BOYSSS!!!! Thank you for giving us SUCH gorgeous works. 

The link for Fili is HERE!! And Kili is HERE!! Please go give @linane-art​ some love!!!!!!

Helios and Morpheus

Tell us of the impossible lovers, O Muse.  Those who defied Fates, Furies, and Almighty Zeus, Who found forever hidden in distance between, Paradise more perfect than Elysian serene.

Tell us of Helios, the God of Golden Sun Who rides in his chariot before night’s begun. His radiance shines as he watches and he waits For God of Dreams, Morpheus, to fly from his gates. 

Perfumed with his poppies and directives to spare, Roused only by his One with the rays in his hair, Morpheus stars in dreams prophetic and divine, Telling his love in sleep, “You are mine, you’re all mine.”

One alone rules the day as sky’s singular light. Another’s domain lies in the darkness of night. As stubborn as star-crossed, fierce as Cronus, they were, Bridging the cosmos for a love that was most sure.

Book I

To those below and above, he was known as Morpheus. To those around him, however- to his parents and his brothers, the Oneiroi- he was Kíli. To himself, he was a dreamer.

One could suppose that’s how it all began.

From very early on in his eternal life, he was known around the cosmos for his talent of deceit. But the true-hearted Kíli only deluded with his physical appearance. With a bit of concentration and a blink of time, he could shift from his godlike form into any other imaginable. Those below often said that no other was more skilled than he in representing the gait, the features and the speech of men, but little did they realize, Kíli could manifest as much more. Truthfully, he just thought the world of men had very tiny imaginations, even in their dreams. 

And so, his talents were put to use. Zeus commended him and dubbed him the leader of the dream makers, called the Oneiroi. He was to spend his nights flying through the world of men, delivering messages from the gods to their pupils through their dreams. Instead of using his skills for amusement, for playing pretend and hiding from his brothers, Kíli- Morpheus- would exhaust himself and his power by playing messenger boy for the King of the Gods.

Still, Kíli learned to have his fun. 

You see, though Kíli was explicitly told what message to send to whom, the how was entirely up to him. He could morph into a towering cyclops and poke the belly of his recipient until he listened. He could make a pit stop in the sweetest dream of the prettiest semi-divine woman and make her fall in love with him just before night’s end. He could even visit Hades to make ghost children into brave soldiers, or Hephestus to take a lesson in sword forging. As long as he delivered his messages on time, he had the power to do whatever he wanted.

But it all ended with the rosy-fingered dawn.

Every night had its end. For others, that was a hopeful thought, even a prophetic one, but for Kíli, it just meant he’s run out of time. His freedom was stripped away by the clouds painted orange. For a long while, some thousands of years, he stomped back through his gates like a tantrum struck child, furious at his forced time-out. He’d grunt at the guards and leap over the Rivers of Forgetfulness and Oblivion, and lock himself in his cave to sleep among the poppy seeds until he received the orders for his next outing.

In the recent millennia, however, he’d been risking everything to hide behind the lock of his ivory gate and watch the black night sky lift and glow indigo, then violet. He’d wait to see the golden chariot cross the cosmos, pulling aside the curtain of night to reveal the bright blue day behind it. He’d heard the stories all his life. He knew what happened in the universe that took his time away from him and turned it into day. But he only recently saw the phenomenon for himself and since then, he never wanted to miss the show.

It wasn’t the glittering coat or glistening mane of the thundering horse that he was interested in. It was the one inside the solid gold chariot that first caught his eye. It was Helios, God of Sun, he wanted to watch because, though he was almost blinded by the sunny halo every morning, Kíli was sure Helios was smiling at him.

Book II

Helios was happy. Though others often wondered how he could be.

Those above pitied him for his status. It was unjust for the God of Sun- the deity of something as important as creation, light, and life- to be considered a minor god. He would never see the world below from the peak of Mount Olympus. He couldn’t watch the measly humans through the silver, puffy clouds. Sure, he had his own clouds to peer through way up there on his own throne, but they weren’t as pretty as the ones that surrounded Mount Olympus. Not at all. Helios only had regular clouds. What a shame.

It may have been that those below pitied him even more than the Olympians. Helios was alone. Yes, he had power, eternal youth and breathtaking beauty, but he’d never share any of it with anyone. How sad! To spend the light of day watching the world below, only to be so distant from it. Poor, lonely Helios.

Solitary and depressed, but never forgotten. For who could forget the sun?

In return for his service and out of their pity, the gods above gave him the most beautiful land to shine on and watch over. Artemis kept her trees tall and her meadows vast so long as Helios kept them green. Demeter graced the farmlands, encouraging crops to grow up to the light of his rays. Even Poseidon, grateful for the glimmer of warmth Helios left on his sea, returned the favor and controlled his waves whenever the halo of sun crossed the sky at day’s end.  And sometimes, Zeus would throw some thunderbolts and give Helios a day of rest when he especially deserved it after weeks and weeks of impeccable radiation.

Helios was the only being who couldn’t understand the world’s view of him. Between those generous gifts from the higher gods and the worship and prayers from the humans below, how could Helios ever be unhappy? In his opinion, he had it made. 

Because he was a minor god, he didn’t have to deal with the problems of Olympus. He was glad the fabricated kidnappings, adulterous adventures, and cannibal snacking rituals were kept way over there on that mountain and his warm, serene hours were spent way over here on his very own throne. He shined his brightest on his own. 

Still, that didn’t mean he disliked watching the humans from afar. On the contrary, he adored them.

He smiled down on them as they wept in his name. He peeked through the dreary, grey clouds and gave them warmth as they built his temples stone by stone. Attentively, he watched as they danced and sang for him, begged him for his blessings and thanked him for his creation. In their words, he was gracious. He brought joy to mortals. Again, their words, not his.

He was given all this simply for being beautiful. He was pure light. He ruled the sky for thousands of years and was grateful, never wanting any change.

Then, as randomly as an autumn leaf falls to the ground, his lands brought him something new. Or rather, someone. As Helios crossed the sky and brought the dawn, he looked down on his endless estate and spotted this someone watching him. It was not a farmer, nor a thief or human forced to wake before the day. 

Instead, it was clear this Dark One enjoyed the night. He stood unshrinking from the black sky and smiled at Helios, clearing any blame for his bringing the sun. This someone, this Dark One was happy to make his sacrifice to Helios- a ritual the Sun God had never enjoyed until now. Now, it was a gift.

Never in his eternal life had Helios pulled on his steed’s reins to slow the sunrise. It wouldn’t work. His chariot would plow on with its duty with time warping speed, never paying a hair’s attention to the Dark One in the shadows. There was no time. Dawn must come.

With that, Helios crossed the sky, eventually losing sight of his someone below. When he leapt from the gold to gold, from the chariot to his throne, he searched for the Dark One, but his own light stole the shadows and his someone was nowhere to be found. His passing eras slowed to hours. During the time of his reign, he watched the humans find Aphrodite, Hestia, and Hera and when the night came, he himself found his Dark One waiting for him every morning.

Book III

Morpheus had the ability to enter the dreams of any and all. He could punish the dastardly with nightmares so garish and haunting, his victims would change their ways in the morning. Or he could gift the selfless with visions of peace and profit, the lonely with companionship, or the sick with health. Over the span of his existence, he’d delivered messages and prophecies to billions- humans and gods alike.

Tartarus, he could even sneak into Zues’ dreams and feel the power of the King’s Thunder if he felt like it. But Kíli valued his immortality too much for such a thing.

Bottom line: Kíli could visit all who dreamed. Which was everyone. Or so he thought.

It was really just his luck that the one he so wanted to meet- and even eavesdrop on if Kíli was honest- was out of his reach. Contrary to popular belief, the sun never slept and neither did the god who powered it. 

He didn’t understand why. What did Helios have to do during the night? Where did the Sun God even go when darkness came? Wasn’t there time for the Golden One to rest?

Kíli was determined to find out.

When darkness came on the Winter Solstice, the longest night, Kíli flew as fast as he could to the dreamers through the lower lands. He delivered a curse here, and a revelation there. Then, dressed in his best disguises, he climbed up to Mount Olympus to greet the two gods he was meant to visit. His foretellings were clear and concise. There was no time for any mix ups or confusions which, despite Kíli’s best intentions, were a common occurrence with drowsy recipients. 

After all his duties were finished, he tumbled down to his gate with time to spare. There, hanging onto the delicately etched ivory pillars, he waited alone. The night hours he so treasured ticked slowly past- slower than ever before. More than once he leapt from the ground, wings waving and flapping when he was sure he saw a speck of light coming from the east. But he realized his eyes were only playing tricks on him in his anticipation, and eventual boredom.

Still, he didn’t leave his post.

The sky remained dark for so long, Kíli was sure he’d gone blind trying to make the smallest stars into the golden halo he longed to see. He wondered why nothing was happening, why the blanket above wasn’t lifting to indigo, then violet in preparation for Helios. Had something happened to the Golden One? 

He panicked. 

It was unbelievable. 

For ages, Kíli wished for eternal night and cursed the morning Sun, and now all he wished for was the scalding rays to burn his skin. He’d welcome such a painful end if he could see the Sun God one last time.

Then, there was light. 

Real light, nothing Kíli’s eyes or drowsy mind could create. This was it.

His waving wings let him hover just above the ground, his bare toes dipping into the tall grass. He had to be careful, he had to time it right if he wanted a chance to speak to Helios as he crossed the sky and brought the dawn. If his actions weren’t perfect, his flesh would sizzle and leave his bones unsheltered to melt in a matter of seconds. Helios’ light was his end. So he must stay in the shadows.

After such darkness, Kíli could only see a white blur crossing the sky, but after years and years of watching the sunrise, he knew well how Helios’ shining steed cut through the night like a rapier. He raced up to meet it, his every muscle jolting in tandem to flap his wings with enough speed and precision to shoot him to a height that took his breath from his body. There, on the level, he waited.

That was his mistake.

The chariot barreled toward him with such graceful speed, its very own wind left Kíli reeling through the air.

       “What are you doing?” He heard.

He found his balance and his rhythm and darted from the heat on his back. It singed the very tip of his wing, but with the breeze of his flight, the fire and pain didn’t travel upwards. So he flew on, grabbing hold of the chariot’s edge.

       “No!”

Kíli realized, but it was too late. Of course the gold of the chariot would be as blazing as an open flame. He hissed in pain, but flew on until he matched Helios in his flight.

He called the Sun God’s name, letting it grace his lips for the first time. “Helios!”

       “Are you daft?” Helios cried, yanking on his reins with a force that turned his knuckles white, but the horse didn’t slow.

       “I’m Morpheus!”

Helios laughed. His eyes sparkled, glittering like the brightest stars in the sky, like the loudest, most dazzling thunderbolt Zues ever threw had been captured inside the golden head of this god.

Kíli knew Helios was beautiful. He knew of the creamy skin, the aureate halo, and the smile as curved and irresistible as cumulus clouds. But he didn’t know of the blue eyes. They struck him and slowed him down.

Still, before he burned, before he circled back and raced to his gates, flying through without a look back, he heard Helios yell something to him. He saw Helios smile at him, as he’d seen every morning for hundreds of years. But this time, his Sun was close enough to touch.

Book IV

Helios’ days were all the same. It was clockwork and routine- the paths he took to and from the farthest corners of Poseidon's ocean, how long the trek took, when and where he’d begin and end. He knew what he’d see along the way. There were never any surprises because nothing was ever different. 

At least that was the case until Morpheus loomed by his gate for the first time. His first appearance had been unusual and indeed gave Helios pause at first, but even that had become something expected after thousands of years of his Dark One’s presence. 

Morpheus flying to his chariot before dawn, however, that was unexpected. A surprise. Even a fright to Helios that jarred him like nothing else he’d ever experienced. It left him with so many questions. Helios wasn’t used to having any such thing. He was the Sun. He had all the answers. He was the steadiest thing in the cosmos. He was arguably the most dependable god.

But now that Morpheus had flown to him, Helios was unsure. He sat in his throne and glowed dimly over the day, diverting most of his energy to all the questions now crowding his headspace.

Why, he asked. 

He’d spent his eternity thus far watching all beings under his light. They were predictable. He was never surprised by their actions. And yet, Morpheus, God of Dreams, left him flabbergasted without a single answer as to why he’d risk his life to speak to a god in the opposite domain. What was the point? What did he want to say? Wasn’t he terrified?

But Helios’ most important question was: Had Morpheus heard him?

He hoped so. For when he wasn’t wondering and pondering, Helios was dreaming. Well, he guessed he was dreaming. He’d heard his humans talk about it in his temples, running to his altar after a night of his blessing their sleep and revealing himself to them in a vision. It was as if they’d truly seen the god, Helios, and had even spoken to him, though it was obvious such a thing was impossible. Helios never strayed from his post.

But he dreamed on with his eyes open and his rays shining. Just before his mind’s eyes were wings twice the size of Morpheus’ body and black as the fur of Cerberus. He even went inside his fantasy and touched the wings with his fingertips, leaving them with what he hoped was a pleasant warmth. As his dream Morpheus leaned into his touch, even closed his eyes to it, Helios’ halo shone ever brighter to the lands below. 

Then, as if clouds filled the sky, more questions would clog Helios’ mind and his rays would dim as he asked himself why.

So the day went on, sunlight ebbing and flowing until his steed grew agitated. Sparkling hooves stomped into the ground, the glistening tail swished and the impatient head bobbed, strong neck arching tight in anticipation. Dusk was approaching, as was Helios’ long ride. But even after his exhausting day, he leapt into his chariot, ready to work through until dawn when he’d see his Dark One again.

       “Come to me tomorrow,” he’d said. 

He hoped it with every glittering speck of himself.

The reflection of his chariot shimmered in the ocean below as he passed through the sky. His steed took him past mount Olympus and over the thatched roofs of Corinth, then Larissa. He passed wide meadows and gentle creeks, waiting patiently for the chance to fly over Morpheus’ gates. Though the Dream World spanned much of the Underworld, Helios knew exactly where the horn entrance would appear at the break of dawn. He knew where Morpheus would be. 

Morpheus.

It left the great Sun God trembling, for he was aware of the danger his Dark One faced. If all didn’t unfold perfectly, Morpheus would be no more. And it would be Helios’ fault. Even in all his uncertainty, he was sure of that.

Leaning over the side of his chariot, Helios kept his eyes glued to the ground. He stayed low, remained as dim and cool as he could without giving himself a mortal chill. He waited. All things familiar glowed underneath him until the horn gates of Morpheus’ Dream World glittered in his rays. But Morpheus wasn’t leaning on the post. Instead, he was already flying through the air to meet the chariot. Helios’ gut sunk.  His Dark One was wasting his energy. He should have waited! 

It was too late now.

As Helios’ golden horse loped on, quickly surpassing Morpheus’ own swift speed, Helios reached out with a cool hand and dragged his Dark One safely into the seat of his chariot. Then he slid to the opposite side, pulling his limbs as far from Morpheus as the chariot allowed.

The two gods stared at each other. Morpheus was squinting at him, even in Helios’ dim light.

       “You told me to come back to you,” Morpheus said. “You told me to return at dawn.”

       “Yes,” Helios said.

Morpheus scooted closer to him, moving his hand to the back ledge of the chariot to pull himself along. “Why-”

       “Don’t!” Helios cried, dragging his Dark One’s hands into his own. “Don’t touch the chariot. It will burn you.”

Morpheus latched onto him. “But you’re not burning me. How is that?”

      “It’s only dawn. My rays aren’t as powerful now.”

Morpheus was watching him through narrowed eyes, taking in his every feature as if he’d never seen another being before. Like he’d only ever dreamed them, and never actually saw or touched. It took every bit of Helios’ power not to shrink from his gaze. No one had ever looked so closely at the sun.

Morpheus reached for him and ran his icy fingers around Helios’ ear, tucking his shining hair around it. “You’re so warm.”

       “Sorry.”

       “No,” Morpheus was quick to say. “It’s pleasant. You feel wonderful.”

Just below them was the shore of the western ocean. Dawn would soon pass into full morning. They didn’t have much time.

       “Why did you come? It was dangerous for you,” Helios said. He shifted in his seat to shelter Morpheus from the light creeping up to his back. They were close now, closer than any two opposing gods had ever been.

       “I’ve spent so long in the shadows,” Morpheus said. “I wanted to feel your light.”

Helios grinned. Everyone in the cosmos wanted to feel the light of the sun. But he’d keep himself from all the world, he’d let it all freeze over if it meant he could safely shine on his Dark One for the rest of his eternity. Just for a moment, he leaned closer to imagine what it would feel like.

       “I wanted to see you, but you don’t sleep!” Morpheus said, bumping the tip of his nose to Helios’ cheek. He jerked away and hissed, rubbing his sizzling face. “You heat up quick,” he laughed.

       “You must leave,” Helios said with a wince. “I can’t slow the dawn.”

       “I know. But here, take this.” Morpheus reached to the nape of his neck and untied the sticky stem of a single poppy from his hair. He placed it in Helios’ hand and folded his fingers around it. “Tomorrow when the moon rises, I want you to smell this. It’s one of mine. Bring it up to your nose and take a deep breath. Think of me and I will come to you in your dreams.”

       “I’ve never dreamt anything before. I’ve never even slept.”

Morpheus reached for him, but stopped himself before he could touch Helios’ scalding skin. He closed his eyes to the blinding shine. “Then I’ll fly to your chariot every day at dawn.”

       “No. It’s not safe for you.” The poppy was wilting in Helios’ hand without its maker. “I’ll do as you said. As long as you will come to me.”

       “I swear it. There’s no place else I’d rather be.” One eye creaked open and Morpheus smiled before it clamped shut again. “You sure are bright.”

       “You must go.”

His black wings rose above the chariot and opened like wide wooden doors before Morpheus blindly leapt from Helios’ side and dove to his gates. There, he disappeared before Helios’ own rays could burn his flesh.

As the Sun God was delivered to his throne, he held tight to his poppy and dreamed with his eyes open about what the night would bring.

Book V

It was rumored Morpheus’ wings had the strength of a thousand soldiers. Though the feathers were lush and silky, the arching bones crowning the tops- extensions of his own spine- were not to be trifled with. How else would he fly through the cosmos from city to city and even to Mount Olympus to deliver himself to the dreams of his recipients? The wings were so robust, so legendary, and yet his flight was as silent as an owl’s, for what good were they if they woke his dreamers? 

Tonight, however, his wings were still. He had his scroll, his list of messages to deliver and beings to visit, but instead of rushing out of his gates to tend to his duties, he stood just past the lock to his Dream World. For the first time in his endless existence, he didn’t know where to go. 

His most important dreamer didn’t have a regular resting place. As far as Kíli knew, Helios traveled in his chariot all through the night, distributing his light around the universe. It would be impossible to pinpoint his exact location, never mind catch up with the soaring chariot. The only thing Kíli could do was wait to be summoned.

Still, Kíli couldn’t even be sure Helios would be able to dream, or even sleep for that matter. His poppies worked wonders on ailing humans, but he’d never offered one to a god before. It was forbidden by Zues. As was his and Helios’ affair. He knew they were treading a very dangerous path.

Usually, Kíli would be terrified of Zues. He would hide in the shadows of his Dream World, only emerging from it to take orders from the King of the Gods. He’d take his notes with his head down and wings wilted, never quite looking the Maker of Thunder in the eye. Every interaction made him quiver down to his soles.

Now, however, with Helios in his sights, he wasn’t scared. It was as if he had a secret weapon that left him powerful and fearless against anyone who stood in the way of him finding his very own Sun. Nothing mattered beyond his One who glowed and lit up the sky, bringing hope to all in his domain. Kíli felt that now.

So he stood at his gates, daring Zues to threaten him or his love and hoping with every inch of himself that his poppy would work. He waited for Helios’ call.

He closed his eyes to listen.

The wind rustled in the grass and tickled his feet. A cat yowled in the dark. The warm stuffy silence of night muddled his mind. 

Then all was clear. When he opened his eyes, Helios was in his arms, asleep.

His plan had worked.

As expected, the Sun God was warm. Kíli had felt this kind of residual heat before when he entered the dreams of sleeping humans who were wrapped up in too many quilts during the night. However, this kind of warmth wasn’t so oppressive. Instead, it was a balmy comfort that washed over his lap and up his arms. Kíli, the God of Dreams who only came out at night, was feeling the Sun for the first time.

Meanwhile, Helios, who never slept and never left his post, conquered his fears and did so for Kíli. He was peaceful. The poppy had worked and it had given him rest. That knowledge only added to the rush Kíli was feeling in his chest as he pulled Helios closer, protecting him, lest he regret placing his trust in his Dark One. 

Though Helios was not shining, not even glowing, Kíli was still stunned by his beauty. It wasn’t dull or dimmed in the night, but magnified. This close and without his rays, Kíli could see his true beauty- the lines in his lips from his own heat and those around his eyes left by his gleaming grin. Even now, in sleep, Helios smiled and Kíli didn’t miss the dimples in his cheeks and how the left one was deep enough to cradle the tip of his forefinger. 

Kíli took this chance to touch the god, not to take advantage of him, but to appreciate him while there was time to be had, while he was unwatched. He ran his fingers through the silky golden hair, down the strong neck and over the proud, smooth shoulders. It electrified him like the night air never could. Then, after what felt like hours of staring and contemplation, Kíli even dared to kiss his Sun’s head. His lips lingered over the warm skin as he held Helios tight to his chest.

With that, Helios sighed. “Where am I?” he asked, working to focus his gaze on the one above him.

       “You are in the arms of Morpheus,” Kíli said, smiling down on him. “Which is to say, you are asleep.”

       “Morpheus.” Helios wriggled closer, wrapping his arms around any part of Kíli he could reach. “If this is a dream, then let it never end. There’s nowhere else I wish to be.”

Kíli hummed. “You’ve come over to the dark side then, hm?”

       “If that’s where you are, yes. I’ll follow you there.”

Like most things in the world of the gods, Kíli’s flowers affected all beings differently. He was happy enough that Helios had fallen asleep at all, so he couldn’t blame the virgin dreamer for his honeyed state. If Kíli was honest with himself, he didn’t at all mind his Sun’s sweet words, though he knew they were coaxed out by the power of his poppy.

Helios sighed again. “I’d follow you anywhere.”

       “You’re quite the romantic in your dreams,” Kíli said.

Helios grinned. It was bright enough to make Kíli’s heart soar, but not to blind him as it had when they shared the sky. 

       “Have I won you over, then?” Helios asked.

       “Do you think I’d risk my life just to speak with you if you hadn’t already?”

       “Twice!” Helios said with a wagging finger. “You did it twice.”

       “Yes, I did. And I’ll do it again every morning hence if it will allow me the privilege of holding you again.”

The Sun God let his head flop on Kíli’s arm. “Now who’s playing the romantic?”

Kíli would do anything to see those blue eyes more clearly, but as Helios talked on, his lids fluttered shut, lashes feathering against his cheeks.

       “I must have- had too much of the poppy. I did as you said, but the first… it didn’t do anything. I needed to see you, so I...” He laughed. “And now I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

Kíli caressed his cheek. “It’s all right. You can relax, I’ll be here.”

Immediately, the Sun turned to sand in Kíli’s arms, burying his forehead in his Dark One’s chest. Again, Kíli felt immeasurable pride. One of the most important beings in the cosmos allowed himself to be cradled and cared for by him. It made him return to his earlier wishes of wanting the night to last forever.

       “Morpheus-”

       “Call me Kíli.” He smoothed the line between Helios’ brows with his thumb as he explained, “It’s the name my mother gave me. Only when Zues gave me the Oneiroi, did he give me the name Morpheus as well.”

       “But that’s not who you are.”

       “No.”

Helios said his name. His real name. A lazy tongue flicked its way through the consonants and soft lips curled around the sounds with a smile. Then Helios said it again. “Kíli.” He leaned into Kíli’s night-cool touch that grazed the rounds of his golden cheeks and the cliffs of his thick brow. It rumpled as he said, “I don’t remember a time when I didn’t empower the sun. I’ve always been in the sky. Alone.”

       “Not anymore,” Kíli said.

Helios hummed and sighed and sank further into Kíli’s arms as if the disease of his loneliness- an ailment he never knew he had- was cured irrevocably. “Kíli. If you are Kíli, then I must be someone as well. Give me a name, Kíli.”

       “Your name is perfect just the way it is.”

He opened his eyes. “But it wasn’t given to me by anyone who matters.” For the first time, Helios reached up to Kíli and stroked his cheek. The touch was long overdue, but Kíli could forgive it because of the tenderness it evoked. He leaned into it, distantly listening as Helios continued. “Call me Fíli. Similar and yet opposite, just as we ourselves are. I’ll be your Fíli.”

Kíli snorted. “I should call you ‘Silly’ instead-”

He squeezed Kíli’s arm and chuckled. “Just give me this.”

Kíli wasn’t in a state to deny him anything. He’d fallen too far too quickly for such things. So he nodded.

       “Will you give me something else?”

       “Anything.”

Ever so gently, Helios- Fíli- led Kíli’s lips down to his own. Kíli gave him his kiss. In one moment everything between them changed. The cosmos parted and opened the way to a new universe of their own, one in which they could live in harmony and without fear, pain, or isolation. After millenia of giving- Fíli giving life and Kíli giving fantasy- they together stole it all for themselves. They gave each other the impossible. 

But Kíli felt himself begin to fade. 

Fíli held onto him like a stubborn serpent.

       “Don’t leave me,” Fíli said against his lips.

       “I won’t. It’s you who are leaving me.”

       “No.”

Kíli chuckled and his cool air blew over Fíli’s face, making him shiver. “It’s not your fault. You’re waking up.”

       “Stop me.”

       “I can’t. Not even you can slow the dawn. But we have forever now, Fíli.”

Fíli kissed him again. Even on the edge of his dream, the sun inside him was rising, leaving his flesh hot in Kíli’s arms. He would be untouchable in a matter of minutes.

       “Will you come to me again?”

       “Every night,” Kíli assured, risking his fingers to feel Fíli’s smoldering cheek once more. “And I will wait at my gates for you every morning.”

       “Not for too long, Kíli. I won’t have you scorching your wings again.”

       “You’re starting to sound more like yourself,” Kíli said with a scoff.

Fíli smiled. “I’m still your Fíli. And there’s still nowhere else I’d rather be than here in your arms. But you’re right, we both must go.” 

Yet Fíli’s only movement was to kiss his Dark One again. Then he watched until Kíli was a blur in the darkness.

Book VI

When Fíli opened his eyes, he was in his chariot. From the look of the waving blue mountains ahead, he could tell his nightly quest was about halfway through, meaning his trusted steed hadn’t even noticed his mind’s absence. After all, the horse knew the route as well as he did. It was an encouraging display that simultaneously left him bitter with disappointment. While it was made clear he’d be able to remain in Kíli’s Dream World for longer nights in the future, it only reminded him how short tonight’s visit had been.

He didn’t want to wait- not for the day to pass or even the night hours to fade before he could see his Dark One again from high above. But alas, even Zues himself suffered from such impatience for not even the King of the Gods could accelerate time. 

What did comfort Fíli, however, was Kíli’s love of the night. Though Fíli was bored by its boring darkness, his love- yes, his love- relished his freedom under the starry sky. It was his time to thrive. Fíli could imagine him, dream of him flying through the cosmos as he leaned back in the seat of his chariot. Maybe one night, the two would cross paths, he thought.

But when he wriggled down into his seat, something crunched. It set off a familiar smell. He reached up, startled to feel something in his own hair, and gently pulled at not one, but three poppies that were neatly tied and tangled together. Kíli must have left them in his golden waves just before he faded away from the dream. Rolling the stems in his fingers, Fíli smiled, bringing too high a dawn for the middle of the night. But he couldn’t help it. These were a promise from Kíli for more nights like this one in a universe of their own. 

They’d make a life for themselves in the short hours before dawn. Helios and Morpheus, known to only themselves as Fíli and Kíli, would love for eternity.