#mostly because I saw the part a priest from his faith and convince him to deface the sign of his god bit and was like sweet sign me up

[angesradieux]

Upended

Summary: Another fic in my modern AU, because I’m just having too much fun with it. Floki is just an interesting person to talk to. It's nothing serious--at least, it isn't supposed to be. But a kiss calls all of that into question and leaves Athelstan floundering, struggling to decide what he wants and how to reconcile burgeoning feelings with his sense of self and his faith.

The beep of the microwave summons Floki back to the kitchen, and he returns in short order with a bowl of popcorn. Finally, he sits back down on the couch. “So, Dracula Untold? You’re sure you wouldn’t rather watch Saw?”

“Positive.”

Athelstan reaches for the popcorn as Floki hits play, but his hand swipes at air as Floki jerks the bowl away with a laugh. “You thought this was for you? Nope!”

“Jerk.” The quiet scoff is devoid of any bite of anger or hostility, and even the disapproving glare Athelstan tries so hard to conjure is far too amused to be taken seriously.

“Guilty.”

Still, with a smirk Floki offers the bowl to Athelstan. The banter quiets as they settle in to watch the movie. Although the way Athelstan leans forward a little, resting a fist beneath his chin and the soft, skeptical, “Interesting,” leaves little doubt that the conversation will resume soon enough.

His eyes narrow just a little and he exhales a puff of breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Athelstan waves a hand dismissively, but the hum that follows says otherwise. “It’s just… Why bother to research if you’re not going to go below the absolute most surface level?”

Floki shrugs. “Because no one except you would know the difference?” Athelstan turns his whole body to face Floki, who pretends not to notice. Instead, he muses, “Seems fine to me. Except not nearly enough blood.”

He gives a huff, but turns his attention back to the screen. For the most part, he manages to quell his righteous indignation on behalf of the historians who must have absolutely despised working on this film, although as the first vampire makes his appearance Athelstan can’t quite bite back the hushed exclamation of, “Really?” He groans, so focused on everything wrong with the movie that he doesn’t seem to realize that Floki has spent more time watching him than the television screen.

With an amused smile, Floki returns to the kitchen for another beer.

It’s an almost herculean task, but Athelstan does his best to keep his grumbling to a minimum, although Floki’s encouragement makes it incredibly tempting. Still, he manages to mostly hold it together until the credits roll. He sighs and slumps back, as if the effort of sitting through the movie has utterly exhausted him.

“Alright. Let’s hear it.”

“You’ll make fun of me!”

“Probably. But out with it, I know it’s killing you.”

Athelstan rolls his eyes. “I mean. There’s nothing! Absolutely nothing there that’s even close to vampire folklore! And they researched! I know they did!” Floki’s eyes glitter as he just gives a hum, gesturing for Athelstan to continue. “I mean, come on! They cast Dracula’s brother! No one does that. They obviously researched enough to know he had a brother. And Mehmed the Conqueror! How many Dracula movies even mention him? But even that was… I mean, yeah. They existed and Dracula fought them. But even that was mostly wrong!”

“Mmm. So you’re a Dracula scholar now?”

“I at least know vampires! And—”

“But they aren’t even real!”

“The folklore is! It was a thing! You can read about alleged vampire sightings in Greece, from the seventeenth century. They took it seriously enough that word of it came back to France. It fueled arguments about theology!”

Floki doesn’t interrupt, and that’s all the encouragement Athelstan needs to continue his tirade.

“I mean, seriously! A Catholic priest observed it. And he was convinced it meant that western Catholicism was the true faith, as opposed to Eastern Orthodox, because if vampires appeared in the east, obviously it meant their souls were corrupt. Meanwhile, the Greek priest argued that the appearance of vampires was a good thing. Because the devil was trying to corrupt their souls, and if he wasn’t trying in the west, it meant their souls were already corrupt and the devil needn’t bother. It’s fascinating!”

“So the church says vampires are real, does it?”

Athelstan’s brow knits and he shakes his head. “Well, it did at one time. I mean, they were seeing something, weren’t they? I’m sure now there’s a scientific explanation for it—I think it’s the stories from Serbia, there’s some speculation that what they saw was actually the effects of death from scurvy?—but it meant something to people at the time. And when the source material is so rich and interesting, why wouldn’t you use it!”

His hands wave as he speaks, voice raising in volume as his frustration mounts, spurred on only by his own interest in the subject. Floki rests his chin on a hand, eyes glittering in amusement as he allows Athelstan to continue to dismantle an opposition that exists in the confines of his mind rather than anywhere in the room. Athelstan comes alive when he argues. If this is the result, then sitting through a lackluster movie was more than worth whatever minor suffering it caused.

“It’s a crime!”

He hasn’t noticed that Floki’s come to sit just a little bit closer. It doesn’t register until suddenly lips brush against his, surprisingly gentle. He stiffens momentarily, but then finds himself relaxing into it. There’s a second, however brief, where he starts to return the kiss. Just a second, and then he stops, pulling away.

“Stop.”

“Hm?”

Floki obliges, watching him curiously.

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can,” Floki says. There’s an air of mischief about him as he adds, “And I’m an excellent teacher.” He leans in again, but Athelstan just about leaps off the couch.

“I have to go.”

He looks rather like a frightened rabbit as he rushes for the door.

He hears his name, but he neither stops nor looks back. Floki hasn’t chased him, and yet that doesn’t stop Athelstan from locking his car immediately once he’s settled in the driver’s seat. He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he breathes. For a long while, Athelstan just sits in the silence of his car, waiting for his heart to stop racing and allow him to calm down at least enough that he trusts himself to drive.

That night, Athelstan sleeps poorly, but he can't say whether it's the tender softness that shrouds his dreams or the burn of hellfire that fills his nightmares with brimstone that disturbs him more. 

It’s barely past six when he rises, giving up on a restful sleep. He rolls over and turns on the bedside lamp. He grabs the laptop from his nightstand, settling it on his lap. If he’s not going to sleep, maybe he can at least get some work done. However, no matter how hard he tries to gather himself enough to crank out a few pages for the next chapter of his dissertation, his thoughts remain scattered.  It’s fine. It doesn’t need to be good right now, anyway--that’s what editing is for. At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself.

His fingertips remain still upon the keyboard as words refuse to come, chased away by the feeling of lips brushing against his own and the burning shame that comes from the realization that he may have put a stop to it, but he hadn’t wanted to. 

Clearly, this is all an exercise in futility and soon the laptop, just like sleep, is abandoned. Instead, Athelstan gets up and gets himself dressed. He scarcely takes the time to run a brush through his hair before making his way to St. Joseph’s church.

The doors are open. Father Cuthbert likes it that way, providing a refuge in the early hours for those who need a moment of quiet contemplation before diving into the hustle of daily life. The sanctuary has its own distinctive scent, incense that lingers and the warmth of smoke from candles lit for loved ones lost that hangs itself about the shoulders of the faithful. In the past, it has always been a comfort, a familiarity that seemed to welcome Athelstan home, centering him and calling his mind to the task of worshipping the Divine. 

Today, it leaves Athelstan sick.

Read the full fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29963424/chapters/73761141

[first-son-of-finwe]

So this is my “leaving the fold” essay, which I mentioned some time ago. I wrote this mostly for myself because writing things down always helps me make sense of them, but quite a few people expressed interest in it, so here it is. 

I was raised as quite a strict Orthodox Christian, and the religion is a huge part of my mum’s life. This is mostly my experience of its ideas and processes, and how and why I ultimately decided to leave. It’s a bit rambling, all over the place and very long, but I kinda wanted to post it somewhere, so 🤷

TW for mentions of abortion, alcoholism and general conflict.

When I was twelve or thirteen, my parents and I set off on one of our regular trips to Russia. We used to do this every year before time and money became restricted, and one of our compulsory stops was always a large, sprawling monastery on the outskirts of the city of Nizhny Novgorod.

It’s a place of smiling nuns but very strict rules, where God forms a part of every sentence and church is mandatory for both mornings and evenings. It’s a place of communal meals, harvesting vegetables and milking cows, ringing bells, and lots and lots of praying. For me, it was a taste of pure rural life. I loved running through the fields, swimming in the pond and helping out with the manual tasks of running a communal settlement. I gasped in delight when I saw the lone horse in the field. Deep down I was never meant to be a city kid, and being at the monastery fuelled my dream of living the simple life.

But the fact that we were there purely for religious reasons? That was only an afterthought. An obligatory thing I had to go along with, because the adults expected it. Perhaps I tried to feel the same spirituality they seemed to experience, but I never quite got there.

I put on the headscarf, held the candle, wrote the names of my loved ones on prayer notes for the living. I bowed to the icons, made the sign of the cross when everyone else did. But I never truly connected.

One year on the day of a particularly significant celebration, a huge icon was carried over a horde of kneeling worshippers, and my mum told me to kneel down and pray for my dad to recover from his alcoholism. And so I did.

This is something I’d been praying for for a long time. It’s something I was told to pray for at every holy site, and before every relic. And no, he’s never quit drinking.

But I already knew that he wouldn’t, even as I knelt, closed my eyes and begged whichever saint was on that icon to help my dad quit drinking. I simply knew that it didn’t work that way.

I knew it the same way I knew that Santa wasn’t real. Every child seems to have experienced a shock-horror moment upon learning that they’d been deceived, but I recognised him for what he was right from the start - a story. For someone who’s always thrown themselves wholeheartedly into stories and fantasy, I’ve always had a very clear distinction between fact and fiction - though I’ve also not been so close-minded as to think that there isn’t a grey area in between.

No matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I don’t think I ever truly believed in their version of what was supposed to be happening.

But I think my moving away from Orthodoxy truly began the day I heard my mum on the phone to her friend, who was at the beginning of a difficult pregnancy and was considering an abortion. She and her husband were on different pages with regards to this, though I don’t quite remember who wanted what. My mother’s advice was this: “Well you should really listen to your husband, because you know that a husband’s word is God’s word.”

Even being the believer that I was then, my immediate reaction was complete shock, followed by a thought process that went something like “Are you joking?? SERIOUSLY?”

And of course, it was hard not to think of my own father in his worst moments of drunkenness. So it seems “God’s word” is actually a whole lot of slurred, barely comprehensible nonsense occasionally sprinkled with some insults. That’s really the logic we’re going with here? And beyond that, how can you hand such a deeply personal decision to someone else??

When I went away to university for three years and spent considerable chunks of time away from my mother’s influence, my skepticism only deepened with every day. I couldn’t reconcile the science-driven environment I saw around me with the ideas being propounded in church. Sincerely believing in the Adam and Eve story, in this day and age? It didn’t compute.

Having said that, I would certainly not call myself an atheist even now. I think it is just as presumptuous to assume your absolute knowledge of the infinite universe and declare it contains nothing, as it is to declare that your religion is the only correct one. I find many things about the Christian God to be extremely convenient (just so happens to be an old white bearded man, oh fancy that), but I am certainly not convinced that there are no intelligent forces in the world, whatever shape they take. We are simply not in a position to know these things, and I’m okay with that. 

In turn, I treat anyone who claims to know them with intense suspicion.

Ultimately, leaving Orthodox Christianity was a long and painful process (I say ‘was’ in the past tense, but the truth is that it is still ongoing) filled with guilt, second-guessing, deliberate habit breaking and an extremely distressed and persistent mother. But my reasons for it boil down to four key things.

Their ideas did not match my ideas. I will never believe that women are obliged to be submissive to men. I will never believe that being gay (or in any way not straight) is a sin. I will never believe that Eastern Orthodoxy is the one true faith among all the other hundreds and thousands of faiths that exist on this planet. Living with your partner without being married is not a sin. Eating some chicken on a lent day is not a sin. A woman on her period is not “unclean.” Their ideas of good and bad, right and wrong seemed so incredibly outdated and arbitrary that it became hard to take anything they said seriously. And I felt so uncomfortable standing there, surrounded by people who I knew believed in all of this wholeheartedly.

Despite the religion branding itself as ‘Christian’, I don’t think I’ve ever heard any of the priests or worshippers talk about helping others. It is not on the agenda. People walk into church and think that because they’ve said their prayers, abstained from meat and dairy and then said their prayers some more, they’re now good people. But what have they done to make anyone’s life better? Who have they helped? Who have they listened to, cared for, understood? It’s not about that. It’s about making yourself feel good because you recited the Lord’s Prayer before eating your lunch.

The process of participating is extremely rigid, and trying to remember all those rules and traditions is honestly just stressful. Which hand do I kiss? How many times do I have to make the sign of the cross before approaching that super special icon? Do I have to touch the floor, or is that optional? Oh, everyone is kneeling...I guess I should kneel too. Once, I accidentally addressed the Archbishop as ‘Father’ and got a slew of disapproving looks from everyone around me. I think perhaps people find a certain kind of comfort and stability in routine, but having one imposed on you when you’re constantly unsure of the rules is not a pleasant experience.

Sometimes there is a very thin line between a religion and a cult, and Orthodoxy is toeing it a little too closely for comfort. I’ve seen it overpower people’s rational thinking and tap into their most powerful emotions in a way that’s honestly quite frightening.

The first step to leaving was progressively going to church less and less. I’d only ever really gone because my mum demanded it, but now, I put up a bit more resistance. I got screamed and yelled and cried at, and at first, of course I gave in. But little by little, I began to get the message across that I was simply not interested anymore.

Then, I deliberately made the choice to break certain habits. We always faced a row of icons on the wall and made a sign of the cross before leaving the house, and coming back in. It was such an ingrained habit that I did it automatically, and for the first few months, I had to physically catch myself in order to stop. That came with its own sense of guilt and hesitancy, and with the feeling that hey, now God is mad at you - hope a brick doesn’t fall on your head when you’re out there without his blessing.

The next step was removing the cross I’d worn around my neck ever since I’d been christened as a baby. Even now I can’t not wear something around my neck, so I have a little key necklace there in its place. Having a bare neck just looks too weird to me.

That cross came off and went back on at least three times. Each time I’d be persuaded, guilted, given the simple but effective phrase of “just do it for me.” I’ve removed it for what I hope will be the last time, and “just do it for me” won’t cut it anymore. If I converted to Islam tomorrow, would it be okay for me to ask someone to wear a hijab “for me”, even though they don’t share my faith? No, it wouldn’t. Religion and expression of religion is a personal choice, and not something you can strong-arm your adult children into.

Now, I’m in a fairly comfortable place where I’ve shed most of that initial guilt and am happy with my choices. I’ve even been back into church a couple of times just to meet a family member, only catching the end of the service - and even then, I’ve been reminded of exactly why I left. My mindset is simply too far removed to find any spiritual value in Orthodoxy.

Does my mother still try to get me into church? Yes. Are the attempts extremely mild and infrequent, compared to what they used to be? Yes. On one hand, I’d like to have a deep conversation with her and explain all the reasons why I have no interest in the religion anymore, but on the other hand, I know it’ll likely make her extremely upset.

Perhaps it’s better to just let it be.

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 15

And after vacation and a subsequent schedule change based on everyone's feedback, I'm finally back with the next scene of Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey. Now asides from schedule changes, such as only posting updates on Wednesdays and Saturdays now, the story has undergone some changes in presentation as well. I'll be mostly focusing on short 2-part episodic scenes for now with maybe the occasionally longer or shorter story. Prompts (I'll get to that after the story), will be one of the big determining factors in "episode" lengths and I hope everyone will be motivated by the story to send me some. For now though, let's join Rosy as she begins her solo arc of story...

     ~The Rings will always remember. It became kind of our mantra after we first heard it. Our truth and that of this world itself made of Rings which join Gaia and Chaos energy together. But the Rings can also be used to bind people and share their hearts and memories. Or at least it sounds nice that way. It’s how I gained the ability to run at the speed of sound, at least when I’m not tripping over my own feet and falling on my face. Tee-hee! Though I guess it’s funny then that I’m lying in the back of a pickup truck on my way to my destination.~

     The truck the narrator referred to was an old beat up steam truck. The bed was enclosed by wood planks not unlike a fence and was filled nigh to the brim with hay. The narrator lay within, a pink hedgehog girl clad in a white leotard and red slipper like shoes. As the truck bounced along the road of old stone slabs, she reached a white gloved hand up towards the sky and peaked between her spread fingers.

     ~Well, I suppose it’s because I got separated from everyone. My boyfriend, the world-famous Sonic the Hedgehog woke up the Rings that were sleeping like I knew he could, and everything got kind of crazy.

     ~Well, I guess he isn’t so world famous. I’ve been traveling for a while trying to find him and my friends but none of the people I’ve met have heard of him. It’s kind of lonely running around on my own, but it’s also hard to imagine what it was like running with everyone else too. I don’t know why, but the lands the Red Star Ring took us too just mess with time and memories. Ooh~! It’s so frustrating.

     ~But you know what, it’s okay. The Rings will always remember. And I know when I close my eyes and feel the bond I share with Sonic through them that we’ll never forget each other or our friends. And I’m sure Sonic will find me again too. If I don’t find him first. Tee-hee.~

     Though she laughed to herself in quiet, the narrator could not keep herself from sighing with a longing smile. Through her fingers and the tree branches the blue sky opened up adorned with clouds hung on a gentle breeze. Beyond them a small planet loomed in the sky ominously.

     ~I hope you didn’t end up there Sonic. It’d be really hard to get back together if you did.

     ~What is that little planet? I don’t know. It’s not Little Planet and everyone I’ve met is scared of it. And no matter where I go, by foot, Ring Gate, or even getting caught in a Ring Shift it is always there like the sky has an eyeball. But I only see it during the day. It’s so weird. I bet it would be fun if I could go explore it with everyone. But I can’t yet. I have to find everyone first, and before I can only remember them through the Rings. And that’s hard enough too.~

     Rolling over in the hay and propping herself up on her elbows, Rosy looked through the back window of the truck at the sapient dog who drove it. They eyed her through the rearview mirror, and she waved at them with a smile. As casually as they had checked their mirror, they returned their eyes to the forest road they drove down.

     ~I don’t know why, but everyone is just as scared of Rings as they are the planet in the sky. They consider running from those awful golems I’ve been bumping into since before I was separated from everyone more natural than collecting and using Rings. It makes me feel kind of exotic as I still vaguely remember we used Rings everyday wherever it was I came from. Ooh~! It’s so frustrating losing my memories. I know they’re still in my heart, but the words and images are all so faded now. What an awful land to steal people’s memories and time. And there are so many more types of golems now too. It makes it hard to convince people I’m just a traveling sightseer looking to catch up with her friends when I keep having to break them.

     ~The people I meet are so nervous whenever they see me fight or run. I try to cheer them up and remind them that they have guards they send out to beat the golems, but they still fuss about it. I hope they’re not dismissing me because I’m a kid. Ooh~! That would be so mean of them. But not as mean as those priests.

     ~Hee-hee. I guess I haven’t thought about them in a while. It’s almost like every town has them too. Mean priests who strike you when you arrive to take away any Rings you collected while traveling. I don’t get what they mean when they say that Rings shouldn’t be held by people. It’s so weird. But that’s part of why I’m hitching a ride right now.

     ~One of the last things I did with my friends was take a big group picture together. We didn’t have time to make the picture from the film, but someone said they saw a picture of me with a whole bunch of people so I’m hoping to find it. If I can get the current owner to let me see it, and maybe even have it, it may be enough to make finding my friends easier. I just have to be so careful though to not spook anyone. It’s so slow going though. I’m so glad the scenery is pretty. It’s kind of nice to slow down and enjoy it for a bit.

     ~I just hope none of those mean golems attack.~

     Sitting up fully, the narrator scanned the passing trees for signs of the stone constructs that had impeded her travels thus far. There were plenty of signs of ancient stone brick structures that poked out of the forest, but no sign of any stones that were animated. With a sigh of relief, she plopped back down into the hay and spread her limbs out as though to make a snow angel. In her eyes the clouds and tree branches above drifted by and the lure of sleep to stave off her boredom grew subtly powerful.

     ~I really can’t stop. It makes it harder for my friends to find me, but if they’re in trouble, I have to keep moving. Tee-hee. Rosy the Rascal can’t stop moving. I guess that’s wrong though. It’s too much trouble to be a rascal anymore. I guess I have to settle for being Rosy the Traveler. Adventurer sounds better, but the people I keep meeting are made uncomfortable by that too, so traveler it is.~

~~~~~

     “W~o~w~!” Rosy’s mouth formed a massive “O” Shape as she peered out from the truck bed at the town that erupted from the forest. More so the town that grew like fungus on the monolithic stone structure that jutted out of the woods. More than enough trees grew from it to make it look like the structure would soon be pulled back under the forest, but for now it was home to a plethora of overgrown stone buildings with tiled rooves.

     “This was your stop was it not miss?” The driver asked stepping around to lower the tailgate and provide Rosy an easier means to exit the truck bed. With a nod Rosy confirmed the driver’s suspicions.

     “It is. Jutting Rock Village. It’s so amazing, don’t you think?”

     “Maybe. I just hope you haven’t forgotten what you came here for. Nothing more awful than a traveler who lost their purpose.”

     “Don’t worry,” Rosy smiled at the driver. “I can’t possibly forget because the Rings will always remember!”

     The driver gave Rosy a suspicious frown and she laughed nervously while trying to give him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, really. The lands I’m from considered using Rings normal. No one ever even heard of Ring Craft. We were more worried about a scary man and his machines than anything else.”

     “Say what you will miss, but remember you only endanger yourself by putting faith in those things. You’d be better off if you were one of the lucky ones who can’t even see them.”

     “That’s not true,” Rosy puffed up her cheeks and thrust her balled up hands down by her sides. “Without Rings there’s no way I could have traveled as much as I have and experienced all of the wonderful things that I have.”

     “Suit yourself as I said. But what good is traveling and sightseeing when it’ll all fade in time?”

     “It’s why you have to live in the moment. It’s what Sonic taught me to do, even though I still think about the future all the time too. But even more so because this land steals our precious memories is it more important to live in the moment!”

     Perhaps it was simply Rosy’s persistence, or maybe the driver had a soft spot for children, but he finally smiled slightly at her. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the minute smile and the driver chuckled. “So be it. Who am I to tell a child who has made it on her own how to live her life? You go do what you do, and I’ll do what I do. Perhaps our paths will cross again, and we might actually remember each other.”

     “Don’t worry! The Rings will always remember.”

     “Whatever”

     With a wave and a laugh, the driver soon departed leaving Rosy to face the town of Jutting Rock Village. Energetically pumping her fists next to her shoulders, Rosy left the road and walked up the dirt path to the village. 

Scene 15 · CLEARED Rosy the Traveler, to be continued

 -----

And there we are, the opening scene of the Rosy the Traveler arc of the The Journey. Now, my first concern out of the gate is that I took a dual narrative approach for the story and hope it was not too confusing for everyone. Especially so since the detached 3rd person narrative is primarily in present tense while Rosy's first person is kind of leaning more towards past tense. For how I want to tell the story for the most part though, and the AU on a whole it is Rosy's adventures. Preferably I would love to have her adventuring alongside Sonic, but that is still something she has to earn and that the story has to make its way to naturally. I also have to consider the rest of her friends who are along for the journey and how they tie into her experience. But it is at the end of the day Rosy's experience and I hope to be able to capture that with this dual narrative approach.I hope everyone has enjoyed the story to this point and is hyped to continue this journey Rosy. Thank you for your support, it means the world for me and I hope you'll continue to be there support me. And if you can, please feel free to contribute to the story by submitting prompts to help shape the story. You can find all of the rules on my Prompt Discord Server - -, but feel free just to DM me your prompts here if you'd like. Thank you again everyone, I hope you enjoyed.

-----

Story Format by @cutegirlmayra​ Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song - Granblue Fantasy — Lumacee Archipelago Mysterious Forest

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

[fideleluc]

      introducing lucien montel, the graduate chair

“ for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard ” (2 peter 2:8)

hey hey! my name’s tays, i use she/her pronouns, and i live in melbourne, australia, and thus the aest (soon to be aedt) timezone. it’s been a little while since i’ve rped, but this group was just utterly irresistible so here we are! if you’re interested in plotting you can hit me up on here or discord (mightay morphin power ranger#9316) without any further ado, here’s luc montel!

stats.

full name: lucien henri montel known as: luc montel age: 25 dob: january 13, 1995 gender: cis male nationality: french religion: roman catholic course: currently studying a masters of social work, graduated a year prior with a bachelor of arts majoring in theology

bio.

( luc’s original bio ended up being i don’t even know how many words long so this is a very much summarised version, but if you have a bit more time on your hands you can read the full thing here! )

luc’s mother first learned she was pregnant not long after she graduated from highschool. she wasn’t sure exactly who the father was, but even if she did, she wouldn’t have told him - all of her friends, likely him included, had a pretty huge falling out near the end of their exams, and she was still too proud to turn to them for help, even after her own father kicked her out once he heard the news. she’d been working hard and saving up for years to get a shot at getting into a good school, something no one else from her area really saw as a likely prospect, but all her savings ended up getting funnelled into hotels and food while she tried to support herself on her own in the city.

the only way she could really pass time was to go for walks, and on these walks she ended up going past a church that seemed to be drawing her in - it was purely by chance that the priest, father pascal, was outside one time and was able to notice her hesitating, long enough for him to actually invite her inside. she had given up on religion after her mother left her and her dad, but still, when she was invited to their next mass, she ended up going - and she never really stopped. the congregation ended up being her entire support system while she was pregnant, getting her a well-paying job doing after school care for a catholic school and helping her find a cheap place to stay. 

luc was born on a chilly january morning, and got baptised a week later. there was no question of whether or not he’d be raised as part of the church - the only time he was able to sit still was when he was listening to father pascal’s sermons, and he took his first steps just outside in the garden. he was taught, essentially, to do good, to be accepting and generous and kind - and he never questioned it. his mother, who’d started on a teaching degree, was careful to teach him about other religions, and though his own devotion to catholicism never wavered, it still fascinated him. 

although he and his mother were better off than she had been only a few years earlier, they didn’t have a ton of money they could give - so they made good on their weekly promises to help the world with their time. luc was especially passionate about it - learning to cook so he could make things for bake sales, riding along with other members of his congregation to help out in food kitchens, doorknocking for any sort of donations people in his neighbourhood would want to give without hesitation or embarrassment. 

even when he got older and his friends had moved on to more entertaining hobbies, he continued on with attending mass and keeping up with his charity work, brushing off his friend’s accusations that he was being forced into it. truly, their own interests mostly bored him - he never really had a long enough attention span for tv or movies, and he couldn’t engage in video games like they could. one thing he could join in on, though, was football - if he wasn’t doing something for the church or indulging in his also newlyfound passion for cooking, he was out on the oval.

when his friends moved on further still to getting girlfriends and drinking, luc, again, couldn’t find himself as engaged in it as they were. though he’d happily drink with them, for the most part, he put his hand up to be the designated driver and was perfectly content staying their lookout when they got close to making scenes in public. he had a few girlfriends in highschool, but the relationships never lasted long - and again, he didn’t mind. at times he’d worry that he was missing out, but it was never a concern that lasted long, especially when he saw how desperately his friends needed someone to shepherd them at times. 

although he’d never been a hugely academic kid in the past, when it came time to think about university, he felt that, out of an obligation to his mother more than anything else, that he had to work just as hard as she had when she was his age to make up for the opportunity she’d missed for his sake. st margaret mary’s hadn’t been a realistic dream, but he’d figured he may as well apply - when he actually got in, with an offer of a scholarship on the side, he was almost tempted to throw it away thanks to his own doubts, but his mother quickly put an end to it. before he knew it, he was heading off across the city to the old building - a theology major. 

despite his devotion to the church, he hadn’t initially planned to join chastity club, if for no other reason that is just seemed a bit extreme for him - but when he came to a meeting out of a mix of boredom and curiosity only to find that something was distinctly wrong, he couldn’t stop it from becoming the major focus of his mind for the next few weeks until he could figure out what was really going on. when he was finally able to piece together the truth, he was conflicted - on the one hand, these were people using his faith to cover up criminal activity, bringing as much shame to the church as the people who twisted the lord’s words into messages of hatred, but on the other, it could be what these people depended on, and to have that taken away from them could be disastrous. instead of being angry like he knew he should’ve been, luc was overcome with a familiar urge to help - and so he did just that. 

he went to another meeting, and before they could say anything, he told them how easy it had been for him to find them out, how if he, someone with no connection to any of them, could discover the truth, then it wouldn’t be long before the staff would be following in his footsteps. he told them that, so long as a cut of any fundraiser went to an actual charity, he’d be happy to give them an actual, believable cover. 

he hadn’t actually thought they’d take him on. before he knew it, though, his actual studies were being pushed to the side in favour of planning, organisation, research - though he was sure to carve out a few hours a week to catch up on his actual work, most of his time was going towards the chastity club, and not just because he wanted to help them. even if it was just a cover to the rest of the club, to him, those cuts he got from the fundraisers were the only thing that mattered - he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, what he was taught to devote himself to all his life. helping people. 

as time went on, the idea of turning in the club became more and more impossible - not only was he actually able to make some wider good come out of it, but truly, the people he was surrounding himself with were like family, even if he had to turn a blind eye to half of what they got up to. he’d convinced himself that turning them in would be a far worse action than letting them stay running, and it’s a belief he’s held onto like a lifeline - but at the same time, he can’t ignore a worry that’s been growing louder and louder in the back of his mind. he never sees the consequences of the dealing. he doesn’t actually know if they’re doing more good than harm. he’s relying solely on faith, the same faith he has in god and that god, he believes, has in him. 

he can only pray it’s well placed.

personality. 

luc is nothing if not passionate. although it may take him a while to make up his mind about getting involved or starting a task, once he does, he’ll put his absolute all into it without turning back. no matter the exact motivation, whether it be his religion, his friends, or just a desire to do something, he works and believes with his entire heart, and once he’s dedicated to something, it’ll be almost impossible to tear him away from it.

since he was a kid, luc has always been generous. whether it’s with his possessions or even just his time, he’s one of those people who’ll throw their jacket around you if you mention it’s just a bit chilly and then refuse to ever take it back no matter how much you insist. the only way his mother eleanor was able to survive when she was pregnant and virtually homeless was through the generosity of what would end up being his parish’s churchgoers, so the first idea luc was ever taught to embrace was the idea of giving, something enforced by both her and the church itself.

part of what makes luc so convincing for the school board is that he’s an unfalteringly polite person. unless he has good reason to be angry at someone, he’ll try to greet everyone with a smile and see them off with a wish for them to have a good day, treating them like a friend even if they’re written in the first pages of his bad books. he’s always willing to listen to someone else chat and support them when they’re feeling down, no matter what mood he’s in or what’s at stake, and his consistently gentle, patient manner make essentially any lie he tells convincing.

although he was never known for his academic prowess, luc has never not been curious. once an idea intrigues him, he’ll do whatever he can to learn more, and rarely feels as if he ever has enough knowledge about the subjects that interest him, still willing to add more or take different perspectives.

luc has never been known for his spontaneity - though he’ll commit with his whole heart once he’d decided to do something, he’s very careful in making those decisions. he’ll often spend nights lying awake contemplating ideas, throwing himself different scenarios and seeing if they change his views, trying to look at things from every possible angle before making a call on something. though something he does may be stupid and may be risky, he’ll only take that risk if he’s absolutely sure it will pay off. his caution even comes through in the way he speaks, each word carefully chosen to keep things as civil as possible.

though luc is known to many as being gentle and polite, usually because he just is, that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of nothing less than being purely furious. though it usually comes from a place of love and devotion, often in response to some injustice or cruelty and rarely occurring at the drop of a hat, when something does anger him, he has no problem speaking his mind if he feels something could be done about whatever’s happened. he just can’t fathom the idea of people sitting by and letting bad things happen, and couldn’t live with himself if he just sat back and watched while someone got hurt. he has a lot of faith in people, and when people let him down, it cuts him deep.

luc was always a restless child, and that’s something that’s continued into the present day. he doesn’t often make it known - but that’s just because he’s always desperate to find something to occupy his time. whether he’s keeping himself busy by studying, planning a fundraiser, cooking, or even just going for a walk, he can’t just sit still and do nothing. the only exception to this is when he’s learning or listening to something, such as when he’s in class or church, but if he has no interest, all he’ll be focused on is how badly he wants to get up and move around again. he simply can’t relax until something that needs to be done is done.

as sociable and polite he is when in church or running fundraisers, luc is truly independent. as much as he enjoys the company of others, he’s equally comfortable in his own company, and much prefers to go over problems in his own head rather than voice them to someone else. although he’ll passionately speak out to help others, he rarely voices a concern if something has to do with him alone - it’s not that he doesn’t want people to worry, but he just figures he has everything under control as far as he’s concerned. he has no problem working on his own, and despite his own insistence when he gets a chance to assist others, he often refuses help for himself, no matter how big or small the problem is.

headcanons.

luc isn’t too sure how he went from being lucien to just luc when he was a baby, but it’s still what he introduces himself as now.

luc has never once had a moment of doubt about god’s existence, but he doesn’t think he really has much say in what happens on earth - he was taught by his childhood parish’s priest father pascal that humans were given free will because god trusted them, specifically trusted them to do good and take care of one another, and that’s a trust luc has always tried to uphold. even so, he does still think he’s always watching and may be able to give some signs, but he mostly turns towards asking saints when he needs specific help with something.

he still follow’s his mother’s belief that all gods from all religions are just aspect of the same spiritual belief of there being something bigger, and learning about those other religions still fascinates him, hence why he majored in theology when he was still studying for his bachelors - he’s still happy to follow his own god, though.

although he would never force any of his atheist friends to come to church or believe what he does, the idea that anyone would choose to believe there’s nothing over believing there’s something does baffle him somewhat.

he still goes to mass every sunday, but he doesn’t hang around the church as long as he did when he was younger - it’s partly a matter of time, partly a matter of the congregation. they’re lovely people, don’t get him wrong - but even after so many years, it’s still not his parish.  

luc isn’t all that much of a tv or movies person - unless it’s about something he’s interested in, he struggles to sit down for long enough to care about what’s happening even for just an episode, let alone a whole series or film. he may have a comedy or just something light on in the background while he cooks, but he doesn’t go out of his way to watch much.

although he’s studying for a masters in social work and does want to do something to help disadvantaged people in his country, he has genuinely considered becoming a priest.

although he hasn’t played since he was in school, he does still love football - he doesn’t often watch it, but if he gets a chance to go out on the oval, he’ll take it without hesitation.

the only language he’s fluent in is french, but he does know enough english to get by and did try to learn some latin from father pascal for certain bible passages - it didn’t really stick.

even though much of his free time is spent studying or organising the chastity club’s cover, he will still try to take a few hours every so often to go and help out in some soup kitchen or another.

he’s deadly afraid of insects - moths especially freak him out

when he was young, he’d often fall asleep with the sound of his mother’s radio coming through the wall, and still now when he’s struggling to sleep he’ll find some radio stream on his phone and listen to it until he nods off.

as much as he tries, he can’t keep a plant alive - he’s made many attempts to grow his own herbs or fruit trees, but to absolutely no avail.

when he’s studying he’ll chew on the ends of his pens, and if he doesn’t have a pen, he’ll bite at his bottom lip - if one were to look closely, they’d notice a patch of it is faintly scarred.

luc has so, so much love in his heart, but despite his few brief relationships, he’s hardly been able to turn any of that love into romance - not yet, anyway.

as willing as he is to help cover up the chastity club’s true nature to the school board or anyone he feels should be hidden from the truth, he doesn’t go to any of the parties they sell at, and hasn’t ever tried any of the product. it’s just not his thing.

he stayed in student housing until he came back to get his masters, and now rents a small place a short walk from the school - when he was furnishing it, he made sure to get a pull-out couch instead of just a regular one, just in case anyone ever needed a place to crash.

he still has the same copy of the bible he poured over as a kid, though out of fear over how worn it’s gotten he mainly keeps it safely in a drawer of his bedside table.

luc is very optimistic and has a lot of faith in others - though he does think things through thoroughly just in case something can go wrong, and is constantly aware of that possibility, he has a lot of hope on his side.

misc.

pinterest starsign: capricorn sun, gemini moon myers-briggs type: isfj-t enneagram: type 2 (the helper) hogwarts house: hufflepuff alignment: neutral good aesthetics: sun coming through a stained-glass window, rainbow dappled on skin. a voice lost in a chorus. a borrowed coat on a chilly morning. the ever-present smell of something cooking, always making enough for plenty of leftovers. restless legs, restless mind. faith that keeps your heart beating, fury that boils your blood. a tongue bitten so frequently it bleeds. unwavering eye contact, no matter how elaborate the lie. burying your head in the sand. murmured passages from a book with worn pages. doing all you can, but still lying awake, wondering if you could be doing more.  

[birdiethebibliophile]

{fic} Green and Grey (part 2)

Fandom:  Critical Role (Wildemount Campaign) Rating:  M Chapter Warnings: Death, car accidents, grief/mourning, drug mention Relationship:  Fjord/Caleb Widogast, Past Fjord/Mollymauk Tealeaf (YEAH, I CHANGED THIS ONE, DON’T JUDGE ME) Word Count:  2,786

Found here on AO3. Read from chapter 1 on AO3 here.

The long-awaited actual first chapter. (Hopefully now that the semester’s over, I’ll be able to write more and will be updating, ah, at least semi-regularly.)

If you want to follow along with the songs I get the chapter titles from, I’m making a playlist of them that will be updated as this fic updates!

__________________

Chapter 1: Come Away, Little Light

Come away, little light, come away to the laughter, Show yourself so we might live. Come away, little light, come away to the laughter, To the ones appointed to see it through. We are coming for you. We are coming for you. (“Come Away to the Water”, Glen Hansard)

Five Years Earlier

The room was dark, and it smelled like metal and cardboard and brine. It halfway comforted Fjord with its familiarity, the way it was the same scent that he woke up to and fell asleep to day after day. It was like the well-known movement of the ship, the heartbeat-sway rhythm that he’d learned to counterbalance with. It only caught you off-guard if you spent a few months on land, tripping you up and sending your legs and stomach reeling.

That was the other half – the half that filled Fjord’s lungs like he was drowning, smothering him and blanking his mind out. This was a dizziness, a head-spinning panic that was mostly induced by the man in front of him with the grey eyes and the buzzed-short gold-brown hair and the simple device clutched in his left hand.

“Don’t,” Fjord said, hands up and fingers spread as if to grab but not to hit. “Sabien, don’t. You don’t have to do this.”

“Kind of do, though.” Sabien blinked – slowly, distinctly, a motion that always drew the eyes to his face. Fjord knew well that look, that blink. He’d seen it on Sabien’s face since they were seven years old and Sabien was convincing Fjord to steal the quarters from their housemother’s wallet, lying sweetly when they were caught. “This whole shitshow’s rotten to the core. You ought to know that by now.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you should blow it up.” Sabien’s hand twitched, and Fjord froze. He had no idea how sensitive the switch Sabien held was. “Where’s the bomb, Sabien?” he asked calmly. “We can still stop this. You  can still stop this.”

“It’s one ship, Fjord,” Sabien said, tone dripping with a mockery even Fjord could recognize. “One fucking Navy ship. One fucking metal machine of death. What’s one ship, more or less?”

“Exactly,” Fjord said urgently. “What will blowing up one ship do? It won’t help. There’s a couple hundred people on here. You’ll just be killing innocents.”

“No one on this ship is innocent,” Sabien spat, and he took a step back from Fjord, further from the doorway, deeper into the shadows of the darkened room. “Every fucker on this ship deserves what I’m going to give them. Including the two of us.”

“Some of them didn’t have a choice,” Fjord said. “And what about Vandren? You gonna kill him too?”

“Vandren’s just as bad as the rest of them,” Sabien said. “You’re a fool for thinking otherwise. A fool who believes the lie that he cares about us – that he cares about you .”

Fjord flinched back as if stung. “Come on,” he said softly. “Sabien. Please. I know you. You don’t want to do this.”

For the first time, Sabien’s eyes dropped from their razor focus on Fjord’s. “I do, though,” he said. “You don’t know me, and you don’t get it. I do want to do this.” His eyes flicked back up, and for one odd, vertigo-inducing moment, Fjord thought they looked completely colorless in the darkness of the room. Colorless as a glass of water, but with nothing behind them to distort.

“Run, Fjord,” Sabien whispered. “You have to run, however you can. Sometimes this is the only way.”

Fjord saw the movement a second too late, and he could only get to the door before he heard the ear-splitting sound of an explosion.

Pain tore through his back.

He was sinking, sinking, sinking through ink-green water.

*****

The next thing Fjord remembered, he was in the hospital with no hearing in his left ear and an uncontrollable tendency to flinch and freeze at loud noises.

There were no other survivors.

 Present

Mollymauk Tealeaf’s funeral was on a cold day in November.

It was a private affair; Molly hadn’t known many people – he’d left his birth family behind long ago, and the people he’d traveled and performed with more recently. As it was, there couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen people there, only one of whom Fjord recognized, and he didn’t really feel like saying hi to her. Jester was sitting with her shoulders hunched and her knit hat pulled low over her curly hair, giving off more don’t-touch-me  vibes than Fjord could ever remember getting from her.

Maybe this was the first funeral she’d been to.

It wasn’t the first Fjord had been to, but it was the first one in a while, and he’d forgotten how goddamn much it hurt, losing someone.

You were too good for this world anyways, Molly.

The funeral was outdoors, and there was no ordained priest. Molly wouldn’t have wanted that, despite his fondness for the Catholic faith, and besides, Fjord would’ve been surprised if he’d have been allowed to be buried in a parish cemetery. He probably would’ve been annoyed by the somber atmosphere, honestly, but Fjord didn’t see there was any way around that. It was winter, and the snow made everything seem sharp and painful and also muffled, like silent tears. They’d set up a few folding chairs; they’d each said a few words that Fjord couldn’t really remember.

A quiet, skinny young man with ash-pale skin and long, dyed pink hair in a side cut – he’d introduced himself as Caduceus Clay, the groundskeeper of the graveyard – had offered them tea and said a prayer over the grave in a language Fjord didn’t recognize. Irish, maybe. It sounded a little like Molly’s slight burr.

Yasha, Molly’s best friend, hadn’t been able to stay through their makeshift ceremony. They hadn’t even known if she was going to be able to come, only just out of the hospital as she was, but she’d shown up with her arm in a sling and looking strange without her usual dark eye makeup. She’d taken one look at the grave, tombstone-less because they’d barely been able to scrape together enough money to bury him, and let out a wordless scream that made Fjord think of stormy days at sea where all he could hear were the crash of the waves and the bereft cry of sea-birds caught in winds too powerful for them, tossed through the skies until they were dashed against the surface of the ocean. She’d dropped to her knees and stayed there for a long minute, kneeling in the snow, before getting up and walking off before any of them could stop her.

Fjord couldn’t say he didn’t understand the impulse.

He shivered, bringing his hands up to his mouth so he could breathe onto them. He was wearing thick gloves, but even they didn’t completely shield his fingers from the dry, biting cold.

Another man who’d stuck around, not someone Fjord recognized, was wearing gloves as well – fingerless, threadbare. During the service, he’d been sitting next to a skinny white girl of about nineteen with a medical facemask and a shabby green hoodie. She’d been fidgeting with a Bic lighter until he put a hand over hers, and she’d stilled for a few minutes before resuming. Now she was standing near Caduceus, and her friend was at Molly’s grave.

Fjord watched as the man crouched down and started writing something with his finger in the light dusting of snow over the freshly turned, frozen earth. Part of him said he should leave the man to his own grieving, but something – whether a morbid curiosity, or an aching wish to know someone was feeling similar pain to his – made him get up from the spindly folding chair and walk over.

Mollymauk Tealeaf,  the man was writing. Shine bright, circus man.

“You knew him?”

The man’s voice was startlingly soft, rough and low and coiled with a German accent. His words sounded heavy, like drowning, like a thousand gallons of water filling your lungs and dragging you under.

Fjord would know.

“Yeah,” Fjord said, and stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his down jacket. “Roommates, actually. We, uh…” He swallowed. “Yeah. I knew him. You?”

“We were friends, I think,” the man said. He was wearing a long coat, shabby as his gloves, over several sweaters layered on top of each other. A scarf, handmade by the look of it, was wound around his neck. He had badly cut brownish-orange hair that covered his ears, and scruff that went a few days beyond a five o’clock shadow. He smelled like cigarettes and sulfur. “He was kind to me. Kinder than I deserved. He… we…” He trailed off, then shrugged.

“Well. Glad you came. He shoulda had more people here.”

“It was the least I could do for him.” The man glanced up, and his eyes were grey-blue, and they looked tired, and they looked like the ocean during a storm. “I am Caleb, by the way. Caleb Widogast.”

“Fjord.” He didn’t bother offering a last name. “Who’s the kid?”

“Her?” Caleb inclined his head towards the skinny girl. “Nott. My sister. She was friends with Mollymauk as well.”

“You know anyone else here besides her?”

“Beauregard.” Caleb gestured at the other woman, dark face twisted in grief, besides Nott and Jester. She was standing about twenty yards away, leaning against a tree. Fjord had seen her punch that tree halfway through the makeshift service, then swear and grab at her bleeding knuckles. “You?”

“Jester. The one in the tights. She’s pretty broken up.” Fjord’s eyes dropped back to Molly’s grave. “So’m I, if it comes to that.”

“He was a special person,” Caleb said softly, reaching out and resting his fingers on the snow-dusted dirt.

“Aren’t you cold?” Fjord asked. “Your hands…”

Caleb flexed his fingers. They were long, and spindly, and red. “Not too bad,” he said.

“I have gloves…”

“I’m fine.” Caleb stood, crossing his arms over his chest and burying his hands in his armpits.

Fjord was startled to realize Caleb was only a few inches shorter than he, and that not taking into account his hunched shoulders. “All right. You goin’ to the, uh… the party? Wake? Whatever it is?”

“Ah. I suppose. He would want me to.” Caleb nodded at the grave. “He wouldn’t like all this silence and sadness. He liked life.”

“He sure fuckin’ did,” Fjord said. He closed his eyes for a moment, hit by a sudden wave of pain as the realization struck him that he’d be going home to an empty apartment tonight. No Molly making a mess of the kitchen or keeping him up with his parties or stopping him before bed to do a one-card tarot reading.

No Molly.

Fjord wiped at the hot tears that managed to trickle down his face with the back of his glove. “I’m gonna miss that colorful son of a bitch,” he said.

“He was the best of us,” Caleb said, and closed his eyes, head bowed.

“Caleb?” The girl’s – Nott’s – voice, creaky and uncertain, stuttered through the snow as she slunk over. “Are you all right?”

“Maybe. Come here.” With one arm, Caleb reached out and pulled Nott into him, the two of them huddled together, now.

Fjord, not wanting to intrude, backed away. On his way back to his seat, he stopped by where Jester was sitting. “You okay?” he asked gently.

“No,” she said. Her nose was red from cold and crying. “I just… can’t believe he’s gone. Maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s going to appear and ask why we’re all so sad.”

Fjord settled into the seat beside her, unsure of what to do, how to comfort her. She was scrunched into herself, arms twisted into a knot across her chest, tight-clad legs wound around each other. “It’s so stupid,” she continued, voice clogged. “It’s so stupid, Fjord. The world is mean.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

It was their fault.

His  fault.

It was a stupid decision, but he’d never been able to say no to Jester, and she’d wanted to go to the party so badly. One of the kids who’d been coming to her storytimes for weeks now had been adopted unexpectedly, moving away, and Jester had needed something to cheer her up. So Fjord had remembered the party he’d been invited to by a friend of a friend, and said that he hadn’t planned on going, but sure, why not? He could bring Jester.

She’d been so happy about it.

He’d never seen her so unhappy, now, not even he was driving her up from the coast that first time. Two years ago, now. She’d been twenty and the entire back of his Jeep had been packed with her bags and she’d waved to her mom until they couldn’t see her anymore, and then she’d cried for a couple miles. This was different. She couldn’t call Molly on the phone when she missed him like she could with her mom. She couldn’t write him letters like she’d told Fjord she was going to do for Kiri. No one could, where he’d gone.

And it was his fault.

Fjord was suddenly struck with a desperate need to leave. He stood up abruptly, the chair tilting back. “I gotta – head out, Jes,” he mumbled. “Gotta head home, I –”

She nodded, still staring at Molly’s grave, where Caleb and Nott were still standing, and Fjord had a feeling he should be worried about her, but. But. He couldn’t be – not right now.

He couldn’t even go to the goddamn wake, he thought as he walked, head down and barely paying attention, towards the street where he’d parked. Couldn’t even give Molly that much. He unlocked his car with shaking fingers, slipped into the driver’s seat, and closed the door behind him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and let his head tilt back to hit the headrest.

He couldn’t stay there forever, as much as he wanted to, so after a moment, he started the car, turning the heat up as high as it would go, and carefully navigated the snowy streets home. It wasn’t far. Ten minutes, maybe. They’d chosen the graveyard closest to where he’d lived. Where Fjord still lived.

The eleven minutes it took Fjord to drive the distance felt too short.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in the place since Molly’d died. He lived there – of course he’d been in it. But now Molly was in the ground, and there was a finality about that that felt different, somehow. At least Molly’s car wasn’t parked in front; it had been totaled, Fjord had been told. (It was his name on the insurance papers. Of course it was. The other option had been for Molly not to have insurance at all, and Fjord had not been about to let that happen.

Not that it mattered, in the end.)

The hallway was dark when Fjord walked in, and Fjord kept it that way. He stripped off his coat, stuffing his gloves in one of the pockets, and hung it on the hook beside the door. Headed straight for his room – or meant to.

Molly’s bedroom was right across the hall from his.

He stopped, halfway into his room. Molly’s door was still open a couple inches – he always forgot to pull it closed when he left, and the gaudy tapestry that hung on the back of it was always getting caught. Fjord could see the corner of the tapestry, now, black fabric and silver thread. He could almost imagine Molly’s sharp-fingered hand pulling back the tapestry, Molly leaning in the doorway (Molly had been a leaner; doorways, walls, people, it hadn’t mattered to him) and asking if Fjord was going to spend the entire evening in his room, or if he wanted to hang out with him instead. Fjord would smile and say he didn’t have anything better to do, and he would end up in Molly’s room, and they would listen to one of Molly’s albums – Hozier, maybe, or Saint Motel, or Liam Lynch, Molly’s record collection seemed endless – and Fjord would doze off against Molly’s shoulder, and Molly would nudge him awake because he didn’t want you to wake up with a sore neck again, you’re practically an old man, after all, Fjord.

The doorway stayed empty, of course.

Fjord would have to go through that room eventually.

Not today. Not when Molly still haunted it like a ghost, like a phantom feeling in the back of Fjord’s throat akin to the beginning of tears, like the smell of Molly that still hung heavy in the apartment (incense and marijuana and something like metal, or maybe blood), like a Molly-shaped space in the air that he couldn’t step through for fear of disappearing himself.

Not when Fjord was responsible for that empty space.

He shook his head and closed his bedroom door behind him.

[milquetoast-on-acid]

Sanctuary City p2, A Reactionary Post

Lacking Faith

Major Crimes, S6xE2: Episode Review What this episode is about: Provenza's Printer Pricing & Prickly Page & Knowledgeable Nolan The Question of Father Jonas' Guilt Rusty goes to Stepdad Looming threat of Stroh Sharon's Office & Fish Art Two Mothers The Morgue & The Church: Sharon and Sarah Fire & Water: Dealing with our emotions Sarah & Mateo Garza Sharon & Andy Conflicting Missions Sharon & Father Stan The Ending Scene(s)

I really enjoyed this episode, more so than the first part. I see the first part as exposition and this part as the start of the emotional meat to the episodic arc. There is a lot to unpack in this episode but it's focus is on emotions this time.

Hyphenated Nation: Mike Pointing out the Hypocrisy in people Mike gives me life. I love it when he points out hypocrasy in people. "What about Irish American's or German Americans?" "Doesn't seem to come up."

"Michael" I don't know why but hearing Provenza shout out Mike's full name gives me life. When the team serves the search warrant at Ian’s house. Like when have we heard anyone call him Micheal? About as rare as we hear Louie, Andrew, Francis, Fernando and Russell. Page punching Ian was pretty badass, though. 

The News Vultures Can I love how each of the news casters have their own spin on what's going on since the police haven't released any information on the Joseph's three.

This one is obviously Fox news.

Sanctuary City I love when Sharon lits into Vega and gets on her soap box. Love the rant so much. Her pointing out that them threatening deportation is going to get them no where. 

"I'm not giving up my jurisdictional authority over this case without cause." Sharon was not happy when Mason negotiated their case over to the FBI if it was a kidnapping. If it does end up coming to that you can bet damn sure that Sharon is going to fight tooth and nail for it back.

Provenza's Printer Pricing & Prickly Page & Knowledgeable Nolan

Last week I thought that the printer was new because I had thought it was white. And then this episode went and proved that was not the case. "Look you just have to do it." I love how, Wes doesn't even know why everyone has to pay Provenza to use his printer.  And takes the moment to tell Page about everyone's various quirks and how to work around them. Not that he can understand why they are the way they are. He has just learned to go with the flow - so to speak. He does get a bit snarky when he tells Page she really shouldn't interrupt Sharon.

Question: Does Page only express one emotion? Why does she always have this dower look on her face?

"This is a new federal tax." This scene reminds of when Provenza made Taylor pay ten cents a page instead of five cents. And as everyone knows five cents is the friends and family discount. Except here he's really pushing the price up really high for the feds.

Mason as a Leader "Commander Raydor leads or we go our separate ways. The End." I love this and another comparison to Taylor. I don't think I would have ever seen this much support for Sharon (as a leader) in Taylor. Taylor usually humors the FBI but didn't ever put his foot down quite like this. "Uh ever hear of money laundering?" "Uh ever hear of house flipping?" I do love this moment of the FBI thinking they found some really good information only having it turn out that it was just how the couple made their money.

The Hollywood Strangler Buzz is really terrible at coming up with an on the spot story. And I can't believe the FBI actually bought it.  And I wish Andy would have given one of the FBI agent's the cursed desk.

The Question of Father Jonas' Guilt I wasn't so convinced about about Father Jonas in the last episode but now he's looking very suspicious. Especially with him flying the coop right as the kid he had so much feeling for was found dead and they hadn't even determined if he'd been killed or not. Especially since Father Jonas is someone the kids would go with willingly and would definitely be someone who'd leave Lucas at the church. Not to mention him moving to five different diocese in six years. Some things that could be alarming... "Ryan is not interested in Kelly Garret that I can promise you." "My bond with Ryan is more intense." Both statements sound soo creepy.

"This is exactly the ending I want to avoid." Father Jonas is kind of stuck in the 50's. And as much as I want to blame Provenza, Wes and Page for their pushy interrogation. I have to put some of the blame at Sharon's feet. They are the wrong detectives to interrogate him. I would have sent either, Mike, Amy or Buzz in there. The three of them have a much gentler touch that was needed for him. Provenza hates the Catholic church, Page doesn't know subtly if it hit her in the head and Wes is a bit of a snark king.

While everyone is preoccupied with Ma Garza's explosion over the death of her son. It seems that everyone is missing the most important thing that's happening at that moment. Father Jonas seems just a little too close to Miss Rojas. "So Ryan didn't do it. Thank God." Sounds like she inadvertently told the cops that Ryan killed his step father.

Rusty goes to Step Dad "Why ask me about a gun instead of Sharon?" The answer to that question is that Rusty knows exactly what he's doing. And knows that he's got a much better chance of getting the gun and a concealed permit by speaking to Andy first. This way Rusty has someone else on his side about getting the gun. If Rusty were to go to Sharon first she'd be much more likely to say no. He's got someone as a buffer to Sharon and that will help soften the blow for him. And I also love Andy's reaction. "What!" "At least your not completely crazy." "Oh my god."

Looming threat of Stroh

Sharon's Fish Artwork and her Office

In my review of pt1 I talked about one of the kid's book Moby Dick that Sharon had on her desk and how that symbolizes Stroh and Sharon's relationship. Sharon's new artwork on her walls. One of the paintings is of a giant whale being caught by a tiny fishermen. MC is very deliberate with it's details this not a coincidence. Especially considering this really isn't the kind of artwork you would think Sharon would have. It isn't anything like any of her other artwork. And when has she ever talked about her love of fishing?

Not to mention that since Sharon's office has blown up all of her furniture and artwork is completely new. Her furniture is very sixties vintage looking to me. While the condo might have a touch of that this it's much more so prevalent here. I also really like the colors they choose. Lots of soft blues and a few splashes of bright yellow. Blue is a very calming color and Sharon would want to feel comfortable in her office. A space that's a home away from home to her. The yellow gives it a bright vibrancy to the room but there's only a small touch of it. To the point that it wouldn't overwhelm you, it's an inviting room. 

Andrea Hobbs and her slightly awkward speech about her feelings on Rusty Can we talk about how awesome this little speech Andrea gives Rusty. Her I didn't like you because I don't like kids and you were annoying but now you're an adult and mostly have out grown that annoying. Is pure awesome. And I love how she gives this speech because it's her worrying over him because he doesn't want protection. 

I don't understand why Sharon doesn't compromise. She loves making deals. I could see her making a deal with Rusty. He can get a gun and a CPL if he accepts undercover officers. And I am kind of surprised that Sharon didn't put her foot down more about the protection. I get that it's been a few years since Stroh was around - but this is Sharon we're talking about. She knows how to negotiate. I think the only thing I can think of is that...

1. Rusty is older and wiser. Rusty has grown up since season 3. He's not the same person he was before and he's not as naive as once he was. 

2. Sharon ordered undercover officers without Rusty knowledge and she saw the effects of that from a different perspective. And how something like a mother's obsessive protectiveness ended up putting a wedge between a mother and her child. 

3. Rusty is an adult. Who is capable of making his own decisions. 4. If he doesn't accept police protection he's going to need some kind of way to defend himself. 

5. Seeing that Lucas died because he didn't have access to food or his insulin. Prompts Sharon into thinking that Rusty should have a gun. In case he's separated from Protection. And this sound an awful lot like foreshadowing to me. 

Wait...Is Rusty tracking Stroh's kills? huh....why?

Shooting Range Seeing Sharon load a gun is such a contrast to Rusty firing the gun. She's instructing him but all the while she's completely focused on the gun. Rusty's confidence isn't his problem but focus might be. He certainly needs a lot of practice that's for sure.

Fire & Water: Dealing with our emotions

Sarah & Mateo Garza

This arc really seems to make a huge point in the way that Sarah deals with her emotions and grief verses the way Mateo deals with them. Sarah is volatile and angry. She feels her emotions very intensely and often lets them control her. Look at how she explodes with anger at everyone closest to her when confronted about her sons death. Her husband, priest and her son's closest friend's parents. When the search warrant is executed at their house in part one. That's the first time we get some intense emotions coming off of her. She explodes with anger at Mateo, yelling at him. Which gives the detectives a sense that there are some real problems in their marriage. 

Mateo on the other hand doesn't deal with his emotions at all. He's intensely repressed. It's not that he doesn't feel the same emotions. In fact I may argue he may feel them more intensely which may explain why he's an addict. He doesn't want to feel them. He doesn't want to feel out of control. Especially his behavior at the morgue. He was so numb almost like a walking corpse. The way he talked about his son, about how they removed his organs and stitched his body back up. In such a clinical detached way almost like he was talking about a doll or a car. 

I find it interesting that these two are married, yet so very different. It's obvious that things aren't rosy between the two of them. There's so much going on with Mateo that he's not dealing with and may even feel that he needs to hold it together to deal with Sara's volatile moods. They are such a spot light in these episodes with their emotions and the way the deal with them that they are most definitely a mirror to...

Sharon & Andy Sharon and Andy are two very different people. Something all of us fans know very well. Like Sarah Garza, Andy is an intense ball of emotions. He feels and acts first and thinks second. There have been many times when Sharon (most often) has had to hold Andy back from his emotions. Like in "Heart Failure" when the killer punched Sharon in the face. Sharon had to yell at Andy to defuse his emotions. Like Mateo, Andy is also an addict. Fortunately for Andy, he's sober and clear enough to feel his emotions. 

Since we really don't know what it was that caused Andy to drink so heavily. I suspect that it was a combination of different things. The stuff that you see as a cop could drive anyone to drink. And since Andy feels his emotions so deeply there might not have been anyone he could have talked to about them. It was also suggested in "The Ecstasy and The Agony" that Andy may have drunk because their was an emptiness inside of himself that he was desperately trying to fill. 

Sharon is much like Mateo Garza. Repressed and reserved. She feels emotions quite deeply but does not express them very easily. She takes her time in dealing with her emotions, usually by herself. Sharon is similar to Mateo in another way in that she desperately does not want to feel out of control. She has a hugely hard time feeling vulnerable in front of others. So much like the way she dealt with shooting Dwight Darnell. She detached herself from her own emotions. She was cold, probably more cold than we'd ever seen her. It's a defense mechanism for her, in that she's trying to protect herself from the intensity of her feelings. 

Unlike, Sarah and Mateo. Sharon and Andy have a much healthier relationship. They have managed to balance themselves out with the other. In a way that I can't see Sarah and Mateo ever getting to. Sharon is still Sharon and Andy is still Andy but the two of them are better people for having been in a relationship with the other. 

Andy has his anger issues but he's become a much calmer person that he was before. A lot of that has to do with his own work on himself and a lot of that has to do with his relationship with Sharon. And how her calm personality and influence temper the flame inside of himself. Like wise with Sharon. She's still very reserved and always will be but not like she was before. Andy's bright and passionate personality has helped to push Sharon much more out of her shell. She is able to enjoy life more now that she has a supportive partner.

Two Mothers

The Morgue & The Church: Sharon and Sarah

The way the morgue was lit and shot. Felt like another funeral scene. The stark colors, the natural light. The organ/funeral music that has played very subtly throughout both parts. I don't think we've had music quite like that on MC ever before. Most of it's pretty standard stuff so to me to have it so tailor made for an arc is something that stands out. 

The morgue scene is very similar in tone and the way it's shot to the ending of part 1. But where's the church scene focused on Sharon's emotions. The morgue focus' on Sarah's emotions. Lucas' mother.

Conflicting missions

Sharon & Father Stan

Anyone find it odd that Father Jonas Alcaraz has a full name but Father Stan is just called Father Stan. And I don't even know if that's his first name or last name. Maybe Father Stan has only one name. You know like Cher. 

"Are you suggesting are mission's conflict?" I also really like how Sharon talks to Father Stan in her office. Notice that she doesn't take him to her conference room or an interrogation room, the break-room or the murder room. It's her office she talks to him. Why? Because it's her inner sanctum and the place she feels most comfortable. Her office really represents her heart. 

Sharon bares her soul to him. Sometimes in matters that even Andy doesn't know or understand (as we have seen in White Lies). Father Stan is one of the very few people that she trusts to be open and vulnerable with. So got to be extremely troubling for her to find herself on the opposite side of him. 

Sharon being pulled in two different directions by challenging her faith in the catholic church verse her belief in the justice system. Is about a million times more interesting of an arc for her than her being sick. I am so jazzed about the next few episodes and seeing how she's going to have to struggle in dealing with being on the opposite side of her priest/church. This is a position that she never expected that she would ever be in but somehow has found her way to. She has dealt with the church before but this is different because this is not just any church and not just any priest. 

Speaking of Sharon being sick....whatever happened to that storyline? It's such a odd thing for them to subtly hint about it in pt1 and not doing anything with it in pt2.

I love how Sharon speaks to Father Stan after Father Jonas leaves their interrogation. Almost like she's talking to a little boy and leaving out the part that they pissed him off. I mean I understand what she was trying to do. Trying to talk it down and smooth some edges before he hears Father Jonas' side of the story.

Unfortunately for her it doesn't work. 

"We have nothing to hide." Father Stan goes from being open and very cooperative in the beginning of the episode. But by the end of the episode only a court order will force him to let the police into the church's private rooms. I find it interesting that he tells Sharon that there's no need for them to have a search warrant but he won't let them in. Neither did he tell them that Father Jonas had left until Sharon asked him. He knew what they were there for. And I understand his need to protect him but if Father Jonas hurt those boys he needs to answer for it. And While I don't think it was Father Jonas that took the boys I do think he it very likely he was molesting Ryan. 

It's also interesting that since Sharon is so open to Father Stan with herself and her own heart. He's not as reciprocal when it becomes too tough for himself. And by that I mean his emotions regarding Father Jonas. Sharon let him into her heart and now he won’t let Sharon into his. 

The ending scene(s)

I really really love what their doing for the Sanctuary City arc. The first two episodes and I'm guessing their going to continue doing this throughout the arc. Each ending scene is an poignant moment for Sharon. Part 1 features a Sharon who is almost blown away by the death of a child. To the point where she had to take a moment for herself before she broke down in front of her team. Part 2 features Sharon as she has to battle her own priest for access to a potential suspects room. And if we want to boil down the emotions that Sharon expresses in each scene. It would be...

Sadness (or depression) Anger

Could each episodes's ending express a different emotion in the stages of grief? Interestingly there are five of them and their are five episodes in this arc. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. 

I don't know if I'm reading too much into it but I think it would be kind of cool if they did that. What is becoming clear is that Sharon is at the focus of these very poignant scenes. And do you know how much I love that!

Speculation: Let's gather what we do know. Lucas may not have been murdered and his death looks like the result of him not getting insulin to treat his diabetes. He did not have access to food or was not allowed to have any. He was left at the church, wrapped in a blanket and left on the flower bed. The boys were not coherst into the car that drove them away from the field trip.  All three boys had family issues. Two with father issues and one with the looming threat of deportation. Father Jonas Alcaraz left in the middle of the missing boys not being found. 

What does this information tell us? The person who took them was someone they knew and trusted. The person who dumped Lucas' body cared about him. Probably someone with a connection to the church. Like a member of the church or one of the parents. 

Which makes me think definitely not Marvin Garret or Ryan's father. Both of them wouldn't think twice about putting Lucas' body at the church. Garret wouldn't care where he would have left his body and Ian doesn't have enough care for Lucas to put his body there. My new suspect, Ryan's mother. Miss Rojas.

What I don't like: Lots of over acting. While I like the contrasting between the two parents, Sarah's extreme emotional outbursts verses Mateo's calm almost corpse like manner. And I talk about the reason why their portrayed the way they are but Sarah was just was just too over the top. If they could have held her back a bit on that I think she would have nailed it. I think for the case with The Garza’s mirroring Shandy the point could have gotten across the same but with more subtly. I'm all for annoying FBI agents doing their job in a shitty way and MC walking all over them. But the two of them are written so brusque that they could be scaled back a bit too. 

the face of crazy

What I do like: Sharon getting an emotional arc! Sharon battling her own priest in her own church. Makes it so intensely personal for her and I love it so much! The Garza's as a mirror for Sharon and Andy's relationship. The ending scene, the morgue scene. Rusty going to Andy about a gun. Because he's smart and also because fathership. Every time I view this episode I like it more and more. And I am really excited to see how the rest of this arc is going to play out and what it will ultimately do to Sharon's psyche.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Saint Josaphat of Polotsk - Feast Day: November 14th - Latin Calendar - November 12th -  Ordinary Time

Saint Josaphat of Polotsk, - Martyr for Unity

Josaphat, an Eastern Rite bishop, is held up as a martyr to church unity because he died trying to bring part of the Orthodox Church into union with Rome. In 1054, a formal split called a schism took place between the Eastern Church centered in Constantinople and the Western Church centered in Rome. Trouble between the two had been brewing for centuries because of cultural, political and theological differences. In 1054 Cardinal Humbert was sent to Constantinople to try and reconcile the latest flare up and wound up excommunicating the patriarch. The immediate problems included an insistence on the Byzantine rite, married clergy, and the disagreement on whether the Holy Spirit proceeded from the Father and the Son. The split only grew worse from there, centering mostly on whether to except the authority of the Pope and Rome.

More than five centuries later, in what is now known as Byelorussia and the Ukraine but what was then part of Poland-Lithuania, an Orthodox metropolitan of Kiev and five Orthodox bishops decided to commit the millions of Christians under their pastoral care to reunion with Rome. Josaphat Kunsevich who was born in 1580 or 1584 was still a young boy when the Synod of Brest Litovsk took place in 1595-96, but he was witness to the results both positive and negative. Many of the millions of Christians did not agree with the bishops decision to return to communion with the Catholic Church and both sides tried to resolve this disagreement unfortunately not only with words but with violence. Martyrs died on both sides. Josaphat was a voice of Christian peace in this dissent.

After an apprenticeship to a merchant, Josaphat turned down a partnership in the business and a marriage to enter the monastery of the Holy Trinity at Vilna in 1604. As a teenager he had found encouragement in his vocation from two Jesuits and a rector who understood his heart. In the monastery he found another soul mate in Joseph Benjamin Rutsky. Rutsky who had joined the Byzantine Rite under orders of Pope Clement VIII after converting from Calvinism shared the young Josaphat's passion for reunion with Rome. The two friends spent long hours making plans on how they could bring about that communion and reform monastic life. The careers of the two friends parted physically when Josaphat was sent to found new houses in Rome and Rutsky was first made abbot at Vilna. Josaphat replaced Rutsky as abbot when Rutsky became metropolitan of Kiev. Josaphat immediately put into practice his early plans of reform. Because his plans tended to reflect his own extremely austere ascetic tendencies, he was not always met with joy. One community threatened to throw him into the river until his general compassion and his convincing words won them over to a few changes.

Josaphat faced even more problems when he became first bishop of Vitebsk and then Polotsk in 1617. The church there was literally and figuratively in ruins with buildings falling apart, clergy marrying two or three times, and monks and clergy everywhere not really interested in pastoral care or model Christian living. Within three years, Josaphat had rebuilt the church by holding synods, publishing a catechism to be used all over, and enforcing rules of conduct for clergy. But his most compelling argument was his own life which he spent preaching, instructing others in the faith and visiting the needy of the towns.

But despite all his work and the respect he had, the orthodox separatists found fertile ground while they set up their own bishops in the exact same area. Meletius Smotritsky was named his rival archbishop of Polotsk. It must have hurt Josaphat to see the people he had served so faithfully break into riots when the King of Poland declared Josaphat the only legitimate archbishop. His former diocese of Vitebsk turned completely against the reunion and him along with two other cities.

But what probably hurt even more was that the very Catholics he looked to for communion opposed him as well. Catholics who should have been his support did not like the way he insisted on the use of the Byzantine rite instead of the Roman rite. Out of fear or ignorance, Leo Sapiah, chancellor of Lithuania, chose to believe stories that Josaphat was inciting the people to violence and instead of coming to his aid, condemned him. Actually his only act of force was when the separatists took over the church at Mogilev and he asked the civil power to help him return it to his authority.

In October 1623, Josaphat decided to return to Vitebsk to try to calm the troubles himself. He was completely aware of the danger but said: "If I am counted worthy of martyrdom, then I am not afraid to die."

The separatists saw their chance to get rid of Josaphat and discredit him if they could only stir Josaphat's party to strike the first blow. Then they would have an excuse to strike back. Their threats were so public that Josaphat preached on the gospel verse John 16: 2: "Indeed, an hour is coming when those who kill you will think that by doing so they are offering worship to God." He told the people: "You people want to kill me. You wait in ambush for me in the streets, on the bridges, on the highways, in the marketplaces, everywhere. Here I am; I came to you as a shepherd. You know I would be happy to give my life for you. I am ready to die for union of the Church under Saint Peter and his successor the Pope."

But aside from words, Josaphat insisted that his party not react in any way that did not show patience and forbearance. When the separatists saw that they were not getting the violent response they had hoped for they decided to wear Josaphat and the others down as they plotted more direct action. A priest named Elias went to the house where everyone was staying and shouted insults and threats to everyone he saw, focusing on calumniating Josephat and the Church of Rome.

Josaphat knew of the plot against him and spent his day in prayer. In the evening he had a long conversation with a beggar he had invited in off the streets.

When Elias was back the next morning , the servants were at their wits' end and begged Josaphat's permission to do something. Before he went off to say his office he told them they could lock Elias away if he caused trouble again. When he returned to the house he found that the servants had done just that and Josaphat let Elias out of the room.

But it was too late. The mistake had been made. Elias had not been hurt in anyway but as soon as the mob saw that Elias had been locked up they rejoiced in the excuse they had been waiting for. Bells were rung and mobs descended on the house. By the time they reached the house, Elias had been released but the mob did not care; they wanted the blood they had been denied for so long.

Josaphat came out in the courtyard to see the mob beating and trampling his friends and servants. He cried out: "My children what are you doing with my servants? If you have anything against me, here I am, but leave them alone!" With shouts of "Kill the papist" Josaphat was hit with a stick, then an axe, and finally shot through the head. His bloody body was dragged to the river and thrown in, along with the dog who had tried to protect him.

The unsung heroes of this horrible terrorism were the Jewish people of Vitebsk. Some of the Jewish people risked their own lives to rush into the courtyard and rescue Josaphat's friends and servants from the bloodthirsty mobs. Through their courage, lives were saved. These same Jewish people were the only ones to publicly accuse the killers and mourn the death of Josaphat while the Catholics of the city hid in fear of their lives.

As usual violence had the opposite affect from that intended. Regret and horror at how far the violence had gone and the loss of their archbishop swung public opinion over toward the Catholics and unity. Eventually, even Archbishop Meletius Smotritsky, Josaphat's rival, was reconciled with Rome. And in 1867, Josaphat became the first saint of the Eastern church to be formally canonized by Rome.

[autodidact-adventures]

World War I (Part 5): Austria Reacts

The archduke was shot on July 28th, and on the 29th, crowds of non-Serb Bosnians (mostly Muslim & Catholic Croats, who were the majority of Bosnia's population) marched through Sarajevo. They carried Hungarian flags, and pictures of the archduke and Sophie.

That was the more peaceful demonstration.  Meanwhile, people were attacking buildings of the Bosnian Serb community – they vandalized schools, newspaper offices, and a hotel; they also broke the windows of Sarajevo's leading Orthodox priest's home.  About 50 people were injured, and one was killed.

There were also demonstrations in other Austro-Hungarian cities, and in Munich and Berlin.  However, these ones were smaller and non-violent, and they didn't last long.

Even in Sarajevo, though, the furore died down after a few hours. The Vienna government announced that the victims would be compensated.  However, the Belgrade newspapers were “behaving shamefully” according to a British diplomat, wildly exaggerating the events and claiming that Serbian women were being subjected to “outrages” and that 10,000 of Austro-Hungarian Serbs had been injured or killed.

The Serbians had their own reactions to the archduke's murder.  One Austrian diplomat reported that they were falling “into one another's arms in delight”.  Crowds were disorderly, and as the newspapers spun their tales, they became angry.  But the Serbian government did their best to discourage all of this.

In Vienna, things returned to normal quite quickly.  Franz Ferdinand had been quite cold and stiff, and therefore wasn't popular among the public.  One observer said that “The event almost failed to make any impression whatever.  On Sunday and Monday, the crowds in Vienna listened to music and drank wine as if nothing had happened.” Sophie and the archduke were interred at the country estate, but with little fuss made about it.  Franz Ferdinand's friends were offended at this, and the Emperor had to explain his failure to do more than he had.

Austria was determined to take action against Serbia, but they weren't ready to do so yet.  For the next two days after the assassination, many meetings were held, with Conrad, Berchtold, the Emperor, and the Hungarian Prime Minister István Tisza attending them.  However, nothing was fully agreed upon.  Conrad and Berchtold wanted to attack Serbia, and soon, but the Emperor was uncertain, and Tisza against it completely.  They all did agree, though, that certain preliminaries had to be carried out before anything could be done.

The first of these preliminaries was to make sure of Germany's support – they couldn't do anything without it.  If Austria acted against Serbia, then Russia would get involved, and they weren't powerful enough to deter Russia (or fight their army if they invaded) on their own.

Also, Hungary had to agree.  Whether they won or lost the war, the Hungarians wouldn't be happy about the potential consequences, as they didn't want the Slavs to become a major part of the Austro-Hungarian empire.

The army had to be mobilized.  A hundred years ago, with no instant communication or fast transport, this was a cumbersome and expensive process.  100,000's of reserve troupes had to be called up; entire national railway systems had to be taken over to transport soldiers & supplies.  The timetables for mobilization were so complicated that years had been spent developing them.

Austria actually had two plans for mobilization (which was unusual) – one for attacking Serbia, and the other for attacking Serbia and Russia, with Germany alongside them.  Either one would take weeks to implement.  Thousands of soldiers had been sent home, as it was summer, to help with the harvest (this was common before the mechanization of agriculture).  Conrad was worried that calling them back earlier than usual would put Serbia and Russia on alert.

And that wasn't the only obstacle.  The French President Raymond Poincaré was scheduled to pay a state visit to St. Petersburg (Russia's capital at the time) from July 20th-23rd. If they got wind of Austria's intentions, they would have the perfect opportunity for France and Russia to cement their alliance, and co-ordinate their actions.

So because of these factors (slow mobilization, the harvest, Poincaré's visit), the army wouldn't be ready until mid-August – one and a half months after the assassination.  Any international sympathy Austria had would have disappeared by then.

Germany's support was readily given.  The archduke had understood the dangers of the Balkans and was more restrained than Conrad, and the Kaiser had liked & admired him.  Germany needed Austria as an ally, and thus needed to help defend them against Balkan nationalism. They hadn't been very supportive in the Balkan Wars, and they knew that their enemies around them were growing stronger.

Kaiser Wilhelm had been racing his new sailboat, the Meteor V, off the Norwegian coast when he heard about the assassination.  He returned quickly to his Potsdam palace (outside Berlin), and began to keep an eye on events, although not much was happening.

Wilhelm easily flew into belligerent moods, and when the news came that the assassins were Bosnian Serbs who had been prepared in Belgrade, he went into one of them.  He often wrote notes in the margins of diplomatic dispatches as he read them – a way of letting the foreign office know his opinions, and of playing the role of the military leader in a blustering fashion.  At the beginning of July, the German ambassador to Vienna, Hermann von Tschirschky sent a telegram saying that he'd urged the Austrians not to move too quickly against Serbia.  Wilhelm was angry, and wrote on it, “Who authorized him to act that way?  Serbia must be disposed of, and that right soon!”

News of his reaction reached Vienna, and they were very pleased about it.  Berlin was also sending messages of support through other channels.  Tschirschky (a member of the old Prussian aristocracy) did a quick about-turn, which suited his beliefs that Germany's position in Europe was becoming unsteady (many of the Prussian aristocrats believed this), and that Austria-Hungary was declining and becoming useless.  In one of his dispatches, he wrote, “How often I have asked myself whether it really is worthwhile to commit ourselves to this state, creaking in all its joints, and to continue the dreary work of dragging it along.”

On July 5th and 6th, Wilhelm and the Deputy Foreign Minister Arthur Zimmermann met separately with emissaries from Vienna.  Wilhelm didn't specifically tell them what to do, but told them that something had to be done about Serbia, that it should be done soon, and that Germany would support them not matter what they decided.  This was what Austria wanted to hear.

Immediately meeting with Wilhelm, the Austrian ambassador said that “It was his opinion that this action must not be delayed.  Russia's attitude will no doubt be hostile, but for this he had been for years prepared, and should a war between Austria-Hungary and Russia be unavoidable, we might be convinced that Germany, our old faithful ally, would stand at our side.  Russia at the present time was in no way prepared for war, and would think twice before it appealed to arms.”  This report became famous as the “blank check assurance” – that Germany would support Austria, no matter what.

But the Austrians hadn't yet decided what to do, or talked properly to Germany about it.  Zimmermann and Wilhelm didn't ask – it's probable that the Germans didn't think the situation was serious enough.  War Minister Erich von Falkenhayn was briefed on the meetings, a letter from Franz Joseph, and an accompanying memo from Berchtold (the latter two were mostly about Austria's long-term plans for changing the balance of power in the Balkans by using Bulgaria to prise Romania out of its alliance with Russia).  Falkenhayn said that what he had learned “did not succeed in convincing me that the Vienna Government had taken any firm resolution.”  I.e., Germany believed that Austria would have to be pushed into taking action, rather than taking the initiative.

But now that they had Germany's support, Austria was going ahead on their own, without informing them of events or plans.  They hadn't even explained that they couldn't take action until after Poincaré had left Russia.  Germany continued to assume that Austria was planning to attack Serbia at once, and after that, they'd be free to move all their forces to the Russian border.

At this time, the Kaiser and his closest associates saw little possibility of a European war.  Most Germans doubted Austria's ability to save itself – and, unfortunately, they doubted Russia, too.  Russia had been ineffective in the last decade, and Germany believed that that would not change.

After meeting with the Austrians, Falkenhayn asked Wilhelm if military preparations were necessary, but was told no.  Wilhelm soon returned to his boat, telling one of his admirals that “I don't believe we are headed for a great war.  In this case the tsar's views would not be on the side of the prince's murderer.  Besides this, France and Russia are not ready for war.”

Chancellor Theobold von Bethmann Hollweg went off on holiday.  Army Chief of Staff Helmuth von Moltke was still at a spa, recovering from a bronchial infection, and hadn't even been recalled to Berlin.  The head of the navy went off to another spa.  So the main people in the government & military were scattered about the place, unable to co-ordinate or respond effectively, or even keep themselves properly informed of developments.  At the meetings, they'd been more interested in the Bulgaria-Romania-Russia plan than anything else.

So Germany was sorted – now they had to get Hungary to agree. Count Tisza didn't care about the Hapsburg Empire beyond what benefitted Hungary, and definitely didn't want to attack Serbia.  At one point, he'd warned the Emperor that it would lead to civil war in Hungary.  Conrad had responded by saying that after they'd thrashed the Serbians, they'd probably have to thrash the Hungarians as well.

On July 7th, Berchtold called a meeting of the Austro-Hungarian council of ministers, to discuss measures to “put an end to Serbia's intrigues once and for all.”  Tisza didn't want any of this, and tried to shift the topic to the Bulgaria-Romania-Russia scheme.  But everyone else had lost interest in a long-term plan such as that, so he tried to slow things down, saying that he had to write a memo to the Emperor, explaining his objections.  (The Emperor was away at this summer retreat.)  The others had to agree, because of the way the dual monarchy worked.

The meeting focused on the idea that they should present Serbia with a list of demands, and whether they should make them too much for Serbia to be able to accept.  Tisza was the sole dissenter on the latter point, saying “Our exactions may be hard, but not such that they cannot be complied with.  If Serbia accepted them, we should have a splendid diplomatic success.”  This success “would decidedly improve our situation and give a chance of initiating an advantageous policy in the Balkans.”  He warned the others that not sticking to diplomacy could lead to “the terrible calamity of a European war.”

The Austro-Hungarian War Minister replied that “a diplomatic success would be of no use at all” and would be “interpreted as weakness”.  A summary of the meeting reported that, except for Tisza, everyone agreed that “a purely diplomatic success, even if it ended with a glaring humiliation of Serbia, would be worthless.” Therefore, “such stringent demands must be addressed to Serbia” that their refusal would be “almost certain”.

They all assumed that they would defeat Serbia, and discussed what they would do with it.  Tisza said that “by a war we could reduce the size of Serbia, but we could not completely annihilate it” because “Russia would fight to the death before allowing this.” For once, they agreed with him – Russia would certainly react that way.  So they decided to reduce Serbia's size, giving parts of it to Bulgaria, Greece, and Albania.  The rest would be an officially-autonomous state, but would really become an Austro-Hungarian satellite.  Berchtold believed that by framing their intentions in this way, they could destroy Serbia while promising Russia (and the world) that Austria didn't want any Serbian territory.

The summary of the meeting shows that the men were desparate, and frightened that if they didn't destroy Serbia, they wouldn't be able to keep the South Slav population of Austria-Hungary from revolting against the Hapsburgs.

What wasn't discussed was how the other great powers (even Germany) might react.  At the beginning of the meeting, Berchtold had said that a “decisive stroke...cannot be dealt without previous diplomatic preparation.”  But he was referring only to German support, which they already had.  They didn't think of needing to keep Germany informed.

Nor did they consider Russia, except for assuming that Russia wouldn't intervene if Austria didn't try to absorb Serbia. They were being secretive and deceitful, and keeping their plans and true intentions hidden.  Not even Germany would be told of their decision to break up most of Serbia after seizing it.  Austria would continue to assure the other great powers that they didn't want any Serbian territory.

Even Tisza began to go along with the idea.  Later in the meeting, he said that he “was anxious to meet the others halfway and was prepared to concede that the demands addressed to Serbia should be hard indeed, but not so much as to make our intention of raising unacceptable terms clear to everybody else.”  I.e., that the demands would be unacceptable (contrary to his first insistence), but that they wouldn't seem to be deliberately unacceptable to anybody else.

This was all a very bad idea.  Germany wouldn't know what Austria was really doing until it was nearly too late.  And as for Russia, they would panic, and see themselves as having been betrayed.

Not much happened for a while after the meeting, because of the need for secrecy.  Tisza was still not happy, and the next day, he wrote to Franz Joseph, warning that attacking Serbia “would, as far as can humanly be forseen, lead to an intervention by Russia and hence to a world war.”  He also changed his mind again about the demands, saying that they should be “stiff but not impossible to meet, and that further action should be taken only if Serbia refuses.” Berchtold was busy drafting these demands, and ignored Tisza.

By July 13th, Austria's ambassador in Berlin was reporting that Germany was growing nervous about their lack of action, but Berchtold ignored this, too.

On July 14th, Tisza objected to the use of the term “ultimatum” for the demands.  So Berchtold changed it to a “note with time limit” instead, which sounded better (but was really the same thing).  Serbia would be given 48hrs in which to respond, and would be told nothing about what Austria was planning to do if they refused.  Austria's ambassadors were told to assure Russia and Germany they they weren't doing anything to cause concern.

On July 19th, the council of ministers met again in Vienna.  They reviewed Berchtold's draft, and approved it.  There were 10 demands, and while at least half were reasonable, some of them could be interpreted as compromising Serbia's sovereignty.  The worst of them demanded that Serbia had to let Austria be directly involved in the handling of the assassination investigation, and internal matters related to it.  Of course they were not going to agree to that.

The council agreed that the note would be delivered to Pasic in Belgrade on July 23rd, directly after Poincaré had left St. Petersburg.  Tisza was no longer objecting by this time – Germany had promised support, and he was also beginning to see that the Balkan issues were threatening Hungary as well.  In particular, Serbia's friendly relations with Romania were a threat to their control of Transylvania, which had a large Romanian population that wanted to reunite with its true homeland.

The note was delivered on the evening of Thursday, July 23rd. But Pasic wasn't in Belgrade (he had been told that a communication from Vienna was coming, so this may not have been coincidence).  He was on an electioneering trip into Serbia's newest provinces.  The Foreign Minister was told to expect an important visit from the Austrian ambassador at 6pm, and he tried to telegraph Pasic, but got no answer.

The Viennese ambassador was Baron Giesl von Gieslingen.  Like many other Austrian officials, he saw war with Serbia as inevitable and also desirable.  When he arrived, he was taken to meet the Foreign Minister, who had an interpreter with him, as he didn't speak French or German.

Gieslingen began to read the note.  It was a very long document, and its introduction was a complaint that Serbia's behaviour had been intolerable, and would no longer be tolerated.  Gieslingen read slowly, pausing for the interpreter.  The Foreign Minister became more & more alarmed, and kept interrupting, saying that only Pasic could accepta communication of such importance.  Gieslingen said that if that was the case, he could only leave the note and go, and he did so, saying that Austria would only be satisfied with unconditional acceptance, and that they had to respond by Saturday.

Only Russia took much notice of these events.  Britain's government was dealing with an Irish Home Rule crisis.  The London newspapers had never been friendly towards Serbia, and they described the demands as being appropriate and responsible.  The Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey, suggested that the deadline should be extended, but that was all.

In France, even less notice was taken.  Poincaré was at sea, somewhere between Russia and France.  The public and government were dealing with a scandal where a former PM's wife had shot a newspaper editor dead.

The Kaiser only learned about it through the Norwegian newspapers, as he was still on holiday.  He was angry that the foreign office hadn't informed him of what had happened, and for the first time he began to be seriously concerned.  He suggested that the German High Seas Fleet's planned visit to Scandinavia be cancelled, but was persuaded against it.  Chancellor Hollweg urged him not to interrupt his holiday, but the Kaiser returned home anyway.

But at this point, he didn't even know what the note to Serbia had said.  Berlin had requested a copy, and the Foreign Minister Gottlieb von Jagow had received one on the evening of July 22nd (less than 24hrs before it was delivered to Serbia).  But it was an incomplete copy, and gave no indication that Austria was planning to reject Serbia's response.  Chancellor Hollweg didn't even bother to read it.

There was no more time for discussion or objections, and the Kaiser knew even less than the other Germans did – which Berchtold had probably intended, as he was determined not to let any more obstacles stand in his way.  But it had negative consequences for Austria.

Russia had been completely unprepared for the harshness of the note – in fact, the Austrian ambassadors (as they'd been ordered) had led the government to expect something very different.  Berchtold had done nothing to explain to European newspapers why Austria was taking action at last, and therefore the European public had no idea why they were doing this.  Very little had been publicized about the fact that the assassination plot had been traced back to Belgrade, and that therefore it was likely that Serbian officials had been involved.  And Austria hadn't made any public complaints about Serbia's failure to investigate the assassination.

So when news of the note to Serbia broke across Europe, people were very surprised – more so than if Austria had just invaded straight away after the assassination.  By July 23rd, when the note was delivered, it was 3.5 weeks after the assassination, and things had calmed down.  People were no longer likely to see a military response as being a reasonable reaction to the archduke's murder.

The Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Sazonov flew into a rage at the news.  He'd been deceived, he said; Russia couldn't possibly stand by while Serbia was humiliated, and Austria couldn't have sent the note without Germany's approval and support.  (Of course, that last one was incorrect.)  Germany and Austria-Hungary must be plotting to drive Russia out of the Balkans!  “You are setting fire to Europe!” he told the Austrian ambassador.

Meanwhile, the Prince Regent of Serbia was sending urgent telegrams to the Tsar, asking for help.  And Russia had to help, this time.  They'd failed the Slavs too many times, and the Tsar was told that his people wouldn't stand for it to happen again.  Russia would be disgraced, he was told; they'd have no more friends in the Balkans, and no respect in Europe.  In fact, it might set off another revolution, worse than the one in 1905.

But if Russia showed themselves to be firm, then Austria might hold back.  By Friday, July 24th, Sazonov was telling the army's Chief of Staff to get ready for mobilization.  And it was at that point that the Balkan crisis became a European crisis.

[morkaischosen]

This weekend, in a fictional world, (characters played by) my friend Colin and I wrote Doctrine.

The game is Empire LRP, by Profound Decisions; PCs are the 1500 or so members of an Empire of ten distinct nations and one Way of Virtue, who come together at Anvil, the place the Empire was founded, four times a year for the business of state, trade, magic, religion and war.

I say ten nations and one Way of Virtue; the tenth nation, the Imperial Orcs, became a true nation with territory and a Senator during uptime, having started the game as a fledgling people, forged from rebellious slaves within living memory.

The thing is, the Way of Virtue was written by humans, for humans. The only thing it said about Orcs was by implication; the Doctrine of Human Destiny states that “Only Human Spirits reincarnate, therefore humans are the greatest of all beings in Creation”.

But the Orcs, brought into the Empire, embraced the Seven Virtues the Way teaches are the paths to reincarnation for humanity; or at least most did. A little under a year ago - after three years of the game, with the Imperial Orcs winning the trust of some, being given land of their own, and making their presence known in all the political houses of the Empire - Bonewall Rek and Bonewall Cole arrived at Anvil for the first time.

They’re both scholars and priests, bringing together knowledge of the Orcish soul’s single life and the Ancestor-voices orcs can become with an understanding of human theology and the Seven Virtues. Cole is a shaman - one who hears the Ancestors almost constantly - and a shrewd and persuasive speaker, while Rek - my character - is a fiery, passionate preacher and writer. The latter is important to Imperial Orcs - as slaves, the orcs weren’t taught to read or write, so they have a deep respect for the written word. Rek and Cole arrived with a plan.

The Synod had preached the Way to foreign orcs, teaching them of Pride and lighting a fire inside them; but there was confusion, at the heart of it, as to what exactly the Virtues mean to orcs.

So it was time for someone to bridge the gap between Orcish understanding of the orcish soul and the Synod’s knowledge. Onto the scene came Bonewall Cole and Bonewall Rek.

We raised a motion before the Imperial Synod - a Statement of Principle saying that, having taught the Way to orcs outside the Empire, it was time to work on enshrining the nature of the orc soul in Doctrine; and that the Synod supported the work of Bonewall Cole and Bonewall Rek (by name) in developing this. That event went past in a whirl of theological discussions and more political ones; one prominent Synod member named Severin skeptically asked what the motion was intended to achieve, since it didn’t seem to do much. Our explanation - that it was part advertising, telling the Synod to talk to us about it, and part something to point at if, in future, our proposed doctrines were rejected to justify our continued work - seemed to convince him we’d thought this through, and the respect for us that began there made him one of our key allies.

The motion passed with a comfortable majority, but our work had only begun. The next event was mostly about refining our understanding, but also began the work of preparation for a Symposium that was planned for later that year. Chaplain Atla, the first ever orcish Cardinal, had received a letter from a foreign scholar named Blutsauger Wargan interested in correspondence with orc scholars, as few nations have such. His letter seemed to imply he was a fellow orc, and I raised a motion to invite him to our Symposium on behalf of the orc Assembly of the Synod.

We also really started grinding gears with Bloodcrow Yargol, a vocal fellow orc who feels the orcs shouldn’t be looking to get involved with what he sees as the human religion, and that we should have our own, entirely separate structures of the faith instead.

This continued; I was involved in more planning of the Symposium, specifically for a panel on the orc soul - we’d put Cole and two non-priest shamans, all respected for their understanding of orc ways, in front of those interested to speak.

And so to this weekend; the event of the Symposium.

One of the first things we did was raise the two Change of Doctrine motions we wanted. Something this significant requires a Greater Majority of the Synod’s General Assembly - more than half of the Synod (weighted by size of congregation) in favour - and since Synod business is handled by motions being posted and individual priests voting when they come in, rather than any kind of formal meeting, that means a lot of legwork convincing individual priests of our arguments. A few stick in my mind; one in particular started opposed, feeling that this was very sudden and lacked the foundations of study a change of Doctrine needs, but we explained how we’d been preparing this and he went away convinced.

The Symposium opened. Severin - unbeknownst to us - was one of the opening speakers, with a fiery speech on how the Way needed to transform itself in the context of the orcish nation; he exhorted the listeners to vote on these Doctrines and make sure everyone else did, as this needed to be a decision, and not fail simply due to ambivalence. After the session I caught him striding purposefully along; being enormously busy (as always!) he said I’d have to walk and talk, but I simply told him he’d said everything we needed to talk about in his speech and carried on in the opposite direction. I’m certain his conviction as to the importance of our work and his extensive influence were a major part of the work on promoting our doctrines, for all that we saw basically none of that happen.

Between and around that, we had such business as meeting Blutsauger Wargan, who was indeed an orc, and his companion Hilda, a hexenjaeger (or witch-hunter). There followed philosophical discussions and some horrifying culture clash as it became clear that the Empire’s culture relies on some magic the Commonwealth find utterly abhorrent due to its influence on the mind.

Then, the Saturday evening Symposium session on the Orcish Soul. It went exactly as I imagined it would - loud denunciations from Medea Ruth (an Imperial citizen who considers orcs to be subhuman beasts), arguments from both orc and human that the faiths should be separate, explanation, preaching, argument and passion. Loud, angry and declamatory, but the work we’d done on stacking the deck - as well as the general respect the Imperial Orcs have won from the majority of the Empire - meant broadly speaking, it went well. There was a particularly beautiful part where the priest I mentioned above who we’d convinced of our position came out on a full ride-or-die speech in our support; those two interactions managed to make a beautiful arc.

As voting closed for the night, we were around 30 priests short of the mark we needed; we headed off to our regular Saturday-night theological club, I was asked to plead clemency for someone who assaulted Medea Ruth, we narrowly missed a foreign delegation who’d either hate us or be deeply reassured that our theology is far less flagrantly heretical than they believed, and impressed a magical entity of pure knowledge with our understanding of Doctrine and what the changes we proposed meant.

Also, Bloodcrow Yargol was being condemned for heresy.

The next morning we set out to gather the rest of the votes we could. I was fairly sure we were going to fall short. We got to work anyway.

We gathered some votes. I made my clemency plea. Medea Ruth used her priestly skills to inscribe “SUBHUMAN CREATURE” on my soul, so another priest replaced it with something more complimentary.

As the clock ticked closer to the end of play, we heard Bloodcrow Yargol had been found guilty, given a vast fine and sentenced to be magically branded so he’d have to name his crime to anyone who asked. Many of the orc nation were in the Civil Service hub because of that, having been there for the trial and sentencing; so they were there when, minutes later, the Synod’s Tribunes declared that, for the first time in living memory, Doctrine had been changed.

The Doctrine of the Howling Abyss: Orcs live only one life. After death, the Orcish Soul either is lost to the Howling Abyss, or crosses it to become an Ancestor who can guide and advise living orcs.

The Doctrine of the Ancestors: To cross the Howling Abyss, an orc must be known for their deeds. Though there may be other ways to cross, embracing the Seven Virtues leads an orc to the great and inspiring deeds that make an Ancestor, and a Virtuous Ancestor can guide future generations on the Way.

With those two events happening at almost the same time - the condemnation of one prominent orc, while two others finally write our place into the Way - the event ended.

Next event we’ll see where things go from here.

[justasmallbloginabigklainefandom]

Death in Paradise muderers, because I try to convince my mum I know almost all episodes by heart. Which is untrue.

Season 1

Lily Thompson

She was part of a human trafficking scam and the current detective almost had her, so she killed him.

William, the butler

He accidentally killed the bride. He meant to kill the maid Margaret, because he has a crush on her but he is such a Nice Guy who can’t stand that women aren’t only there to fuck him. But because of the sun, he only saw her silhouette.

Angelique committed suicide 

She wanted to prove that Nicolas Dunham had murdered her daughter 15 years earlier

Patrick… or I think that is his name

Hamilton isn’t murdered

The guard and Hamilton switched places, but the guard didn’t know he was part of a bigger plan. Hamilton murdered him instead.

The brother

The bassist

Aidan Miles

He was an abusive ass who murdered Rose to get top secret information, but he failed. It later turned out that Rose has left all the information at her unsuspecting neighbour’s house and that her dog had all the answers. She gave a final clue in her alias: Nadia Selim.

Season 2

Louis and Kim

Moeder Overste

She thought sister Therese was there to lust after the Pastor or whatever he was called, so she killed her to “save” the Pastor. But Therese was secretly his long lost daugter.

Carlton Raynolds killed her with and injection made by Anna Jones without knowing.

Anna wanted to cover up the fact that she was using the clinic for identity theft and Valerie was about to rat her out.

TBA

Grant the bartender

Ronnie

Because Doug killed Will’s wife Karin. All for money

TBA

TBA

Season 3

Uhm, someone who pretended to be Poole’s best friend, but she actually stole that person’s identity and worked together with her husband.

She knew that Richard figured it out and that he was trying to prove that she stole the identity of Poole’s former best friend.

The so-called “victim” is actually the murderer

TBA

Helen

She found out her boyfriend Adam was cheating on her with Natasha. She killed Natasha with poison, while being 11 km in the air, because she coated stamps with poison.

I DON’T REMEMBER

The tour guide and another dude.

TBA

Crap, I also don’t remember this one. I know it when I see it, though.

Season 4

The ‘right hand man’

The best friend

All the evidence led to Katie, the wife, killing him, but Humphry realised it was suicide. Jake was terminally ill. His best friend knew about it and he convinced Jake to make it look like a robbery, so that his wife wouldn’t feel hurt. But when the cops started to suspect his wife, the best friend decided to plant evidence and make it look like a surf student did it. The reason why he wanted to protect Katie was because he’s secretly in love with her. But wait, there’s less. It was murder after all. Jake wasn’t terminally ill, but the best friend made him believe that, so that Jake would kill himself. This way, the best friend saw a chance to run away with Katie and half a million, thanks to life insurance. So it was a murder staged as a suicide staged as a murder.

Teresa

Betty

The dude with the eyeliner and the black hair

The victim refused to sign the new record deal and brand promotion deal, but the murdered needed the money. So he faked the victim’s autograph and then murdered him so that the deal could be sealed.

The one who found the body actually kiled her. Jasmine something.

Shelley Kennedy knew that some people were purposefully throwing the games and she told Jasmine that she was going to report them. Jasmine pretended to go along with it so that she could kill her, so that the secret would not be revealed.

Neville Longbottom

She was going to expose him as a fraud, since he pretended to be her son.

The prison guard

Money. It was a complot, but the prison guard betrayed him and killed him for real.

Season 5

Dan’s new wife and his ex-wife

His ex wanted revenge and his new wife was a sugar daddy who made the ex fall in love with her through manipulating her.

Ellery, the assistent

Ellery blamed Caroline for his daughter’s death and he wanted revenge.

The photographer

The priest

Cedrik and his friends accidentally caused the death of a boy 45 years ago and they decided to keep it secret. Instead, they all decided to give back to the island by being highly respected members of the community. But Cedrik wanted to confess. The friend who became the priest found out and he murdered him to prevent him from ratting them out.

Freddie, the “portier”.

He did it for the money.

Everyone/Matt

Robbert belittled everyone, but mostly his son Matt. Matt murdered his father in rage and the others helped him cover it up.

The new wife and the son

The boyfriend

Yet another White Guy who thinks his girlfriend is his property. Sian was about to break up with him, and he couldn’t stand the idea of her “belonging” to someone else. So if he couldn’t have her, no one could.

Season 6

All of them, but Victoria forced the other two to help her, and the Mayor’s involvement was accidental

Patricia…. the white one

Linda

She didn’t mean to kill him. They were lovers and he wanted to leave her in order to protect her. She accidentally stabbed him and the hotel owner made it look like someone killed him in his room to protect her.

He comitted suicide

Because he didn’t know he was being lied to by Asch or whatever his name was, his best friend made it look like murder to revenge Asch

A FUCKING OPEN ENDING MUM AND I YELLED

Steve Thomas 

He killed the man on the boat, because he is his long-lost father that left him to die. His mother killed Frank Henderson, since he’s a family friend and tried to convince Steve to turn himself in.

Ian Matlock

Edwina and Judith

Season 7

The kids: Pearl, Stephen and Karen

The wife Melanie

She thought her husband was cheating on her. She was wrong.

Gilly

Frank was going to fake his own death and live a quiet life with his wife Valerie. Gilly, who is in love with him, overheard that and felt betrayed.

TBA

Charlotte Hamilton, although Finn Anderson tried to kill her, but he realised what he was doing. So, Charlotte found a way to kill her and Finn became part of the plan.

Money. Always money. Charlotte was using the club to whitewash money and Finn was an abusive ass.

Gabe

To avenge his sister’s death

Samuel Palmer, the neighbour

Money. Sam was the one who called the police, because he believed his neighbour was dead. On his way out, he found the money, but his neighbour was not dead after all. He tried to stop Samuel from taking the money, and he accidentally got killed in the progress.

Leon

He killed both Jasmine (30 years earlier) and Billy to cover up that he and Jasmine had an affair

Season 8

The murderer wasn’t on the bus. It was Harold, the owner of the transport company. 

He’s corrupt and Raymond was his partner in crime. Unfortunately, Harold had already spent the money that Raymond was going to collect, so he stabbed him by using the back opening

Theo Roberts

His younger brother got killed by a snake bite, done by Xander. This was his revenge.

Terry Bills

He wanted to kill Bill for denying the dream of his daughter figure Catherina. But it went wrong, and Catherina drank the poisoned coffee. Terry then decided to frame Bill for it, but making Bill seemingly commit suicide from guilt.

TBA

Two-parter. Harrison Green murdered Tatiana, but Patrice was certain it was wrong.

Frances

Tiana was the biological daughter of Ewan. Frances didn’t want Ewan to know, since Frances wanted Ewan’s inheritance. Harrison did kill Tiana, but he was brainwashed by Frances to do it, and Patrice found out.

Faith Butler

Dizzie was her father and his LP collection was worth money. After the death of her mother, she had loads of debts.

TBA

Season 9

TBA

TBA

TBA

TBA

TBA

TBA

TBA

Archie

Robert wanted to fake his own death by making Olivia believe she killed him, but in reality, her gun didn’t fire. Archie was in on the plan, by shooting him again to wound him to draw blood. Archie then realised that his father never cared for him and shot him instead.

Season 10

TBA

TBA

TBA

Lulu

Dena was planning on poisoning Lulu, but Lulu overheard her plan through a vent. She switched the drinks. This way, Dena’s brother Taylor would be free and rich.

TBA

TBA

TBA

TBA