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blasphemousclaw · 1 year ago

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a deep dive into Rykard’s belief system

We all know that Rykard wants nothing more than to devour the very gods… but Rykard had despised the gods long before he ever became the serpent of blasphemy. Within dialogue and item descriptions, you’ll notice many details that indicate Rykard had quite specific grievances against the gods during the Shattering war and before. It was his audacious campaign against the gods that won him the loyalty and admiration of his soldiers: we meet the spirit of a Gelmir knight in Volcano Manor who tells us, “Praetor Rykard's ambitions, though blasphemous, marked him a worthy sovereign.” Though he was despised by many as a traitor and a blasphemer, Rykard’s beliefs before his devouring were seen by his followers as heroic and worth following. Let’s go through what those specific beliefs were according to the text, and why he might have believed those things…

When we officially join the Volcano Manor, Tanith gives us this speech about Rykard’s beliefs:

“Now, perhaps the time has come to tell you. Of the true ruler of this manor, Lord Rykard. The Erdtree blessed the Tarnished with grace. But it was all too meagre, in the fate of the enormity of their task. The Tarnished were forced to scavenge, squabbling for crumbs. Like the shardbearers, vying for power in the wake of the Shattering. Our Lord, indignant, had refused. To scurry about, fighting over what miserly scraps they allow us. If the Erdtree, and indeed the very gods, would debase us so, then we are willing to raise the banner of resistance, even if it means heresy. We at the Volcano Manor, under Lord Rykard, have sworn no rest until it is done.”

Essentially, Tanith recounts to us Rykard’s view of the Shattering war: the demigods are compelled to struggle against each other for the ultimate seat of power. However, this struggle exists at the behest of the gods, and is for the power that they see fit to grant. The war is fundamentally under their terms. To “win” the conflict is still to serve the whims of the Greater Will. This is what Rykard finds so deeply insulting… the gods treat them like dogs fighting over scraps of meat from their high table that they can never reach. So why should Rykard engage in petty conflicts for the gods’ miserly scraps of power, when he can raise his banner against the very gods themselves?

Displayed on the walls of Volcano Manor are these paintings depicting the Erdtree aflame, visualizing Rykard’s intentions to destroy the gods in a very literal and direct way: he has declared war on all that is holy. He has accepted the fact that in order to achieve his goals, he must carry out such grievous acts of violence: “The road of blasphemy is long and perilous. One cannot walk it unprepared to sin.” (Remembrance of the Blasphemous)

From the Taker’s Cameo, we learn that,

“When lord Rykard turned to heresy, taking by force became the rule. The gods were no different, after all.”

This description tells us a few things. Essentially, under Rykard’s worldview, “might makes right.” This philosophy is continued by the recusants of Volcano Manor as well: Bernahl tells us, “The strong take. Such is our code.” If one is strong enough to take what they wish, then they are entitled to it. Rykard believes that this is how the gods have always operated (and with good reason… more on this later). From Tanith’s speech, we know that Rykard resents the gods’ absolute authority… so essentially, Rykard making a point of imitating the gods’ displays of power is asserting that the gods have no special right to do these things – he is challenging their monopoly on power and violence. He also imitates the gods’ own practices to expose their hypocrisy: though the gods present themselves as virtuous, in reality, they have always taken what they pleased through violent conquest.

We know that Rykard was allied with his sister Ranni (herself on a quest against the gods) through the Blasphemous Claw item description. It reads,

“On the night of the dire plot, Ranni rewarded Praetor Rykard with these traces. Should the coming trespass one day transpire, they would serve as a last-resort foil, allowing Rykard to challenge Maliketh the Black Blade, the black beast of Destined Death.”

The main takeaway from this description is that, since the description implies that Rykard had some involvement (or at the very least, knowledge of) the Night of the Black Knives, Rykard and Ranni closely shared their beliefs on the gods with each other. The phrase “Should the coming trespass one day transpire” even seems to imply that the two had hoped they might openly “trespass” against the gods, culminating in Rykard challenging Maliketh.

Furthermore, Rogier gives us some pertinent details on the timeline of the Night of the Black Knives:

“It happened during the Golden Age of the Erdtree, long before the shattering of the Elden Ring. Someone stole a fragment of the Rune of Death from Maliketh, the Black Blade. And on a bitter night, murdered Godwyn the Golden. That was the first recorded Death of a demigod in all history. And it became the catalyst. Soon, the Elden Ring was smashed, and thus sprang forth the war known as the Shattering.”

Since Rogier’s dialogue places Ranni’s collaboration with Rykard before the Shattering, this means that there must be more to the story that Tanith tells us in her speech – Rykard’s resentment of the gods and his blasphemous intentions go back long before the Shattering war.

This line from Rykard’s unused dialogue lines may give some context to the source of his beliefs… take this with a grain of salt because it is technically not canon, but I believe it is worth mentioning: he says,

“Oh shapers of gods, meddlers in fortune, I do not abide by your suffocating order.”

With the phrases “shapers of gods” and “meddlers in fortune,” he must be speaking directly to the Two Fingers (the envoys of the Greater Will) here, because this is precisely what the Two Fingers do. According to Ranni, they are responsible for choosing empyreans to become potential new gods of the coming age, and because they do this, it can also be said that they “meddle” with fortune and fate. This was the source of Ranni’s entire feud with the Two Fingers — they controlled her fate through her “empyrean flesh.” For these reasons, as well as the reasons listed in the previous paragraphs, it makes sense why Rykard might consider the current order to be oppressive and “suffocating.”

I also believe it is implied that, when Rykard refers to “the gods,” he specifically means the Greater Will and its vassals. Indeed, Bernahl calls out the Greater Will directly by name:

“O Greater Will, hear my voice. I am the recusant Bernahl, inheritor of my brother's will, and you will fall to my blade. We refuse to become your pawns. Consider this fair warning.”

Bernahl’s words interestingly echo Ranni’s experience with the Greater Will as a force that controls fate — it is a fair assumption to make that Bernahl came to hold these beliefs about the Greater Will because Rykard passed them onto his followers after learning them from Ranni. And lo and behold, Bernahl turns up in Farum Azula near Maliketh, carrying the Blasphemous Claw, which Ranni gave to Rykard for him to use “should the coming trespass one day transpire.” Before leaving, Bernahl tells us,

“the Volcano Manor is no more. Though we may yet fulfil an old promise. We hunted our own kind, and took what was theirs. And with everything in hand, the time has come to rise, against the Erdtree.”

Perhaps this “old promise” could have been a promise Rykard made to Ranni, to challenge Maliketh, release the Rune of Death, and destroy the Erdtree once and for all?

If we accept the idea that Ranni’s struggle against the Two Fingers caused Rykard to resent the gods on her behalf, then there are plenty of other instances of the gods causing Rykard’s family misery that might have also shaped his beliefs. Rykard cared enough about his mother to place two of his abductor virgins at Raya Lucaria to guard her, and the descriptions for some of his magma sorceries imply that she was an inspiration to him in the ways of sorcery. It is a fair assumption that Rennala’s suffering would have upset him, and the cause of her suffering was Radagon’s departure… who immediately wed the god-queen Marika, and founded Golden Order Fundamentalism. Rykard could have interpreted this as Radagon choosing the gods over them. It is also stated by the telescope item description that the Golden Order was the direct cause of Caria’s decline: “During the age of the Erdtree, Carian astrology withered on the vine. The fate once writ in the night skies had been fettered by the Golden Order.” Though the Erdtree made peace with Caria, it still ended up eroding its strength anyway. Radagon’s departure would have also reopened old wounds from when he originally came to conquer Liurnia: his bond with Rennala that once made peace between the Erdtree and the moon has now been broken, calling into question the Erdtree’s true intentions.

Indeed, the intentions of the realm of the Erdtree have always been characterized by violent conquest; the desire to expand and the elimination of potential threats to its rule. Rykard would have known of his father’s attempts to conquer Liurnia, as well as Queen Marika’s extermination of the fire giants, who were Rykard’s astrologer ancestors’ neighbors (a bond enshrined within the Carian royals’ Sword of Night and Flame). To return to Rykard’s “might makes right” mindset, I believe his time as the head of the inquisition and an enforcer of Erdtree law taught him the true nature of the gods’ power: he would have brutally enforced the laws of the Golden Order and punished those who did not follow its creeds, and would thus have become intimately familiar with the harsh nature of carrying out the order of the Erdtree. Rykard learns that the gods must protect their rule through terror and violence, so the idea of the gods’ benevolence and divine right to rule is in truth, a farce. The one truth in the world is that the strong command the weak, and in order to avoid being commanded, one must become strong. By any means necessary.

To summarize, Rykard’s beliefs are essentially that the gods position themselves as virtuous and holy beings, but in reality, they administer their absolute authority through force and violent conquest, undermining the free will of their subjects. They are the worst kind of hypocrites, and the only way to end their tyranny is to rise in rebellion, using their own ways against them, no matter how high the price may be. Through a deeper examination of the narrative, I believe it is heavily implied that Rykard came to hold these beliefs because of his experiences serving the gods himself, and feeling the gods’ injustice firsthand through how the ones he loved had been treated.

#elden ring #rykard #rykard lord of blasphemy #praetor rykard #elden ring lore #the biggest epiphany i had here was that bernahl straight up says the same thing about the greater will/two fingers that ranni does #“we refuse to become your pawns / ”I would not be controlled by that thing“#and then the next time we see bernahl he's carrying the blasphemous claw which ranni gave to rykard!!#it feels like ranni's influence runs so deep... her hatred of the two fingers must have struck rykard to his core

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suddencosmology · 4 months ago

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A lorepost constructed while fighting Shadow of the Erdtree's Final Boss

I have thoughts. This started when I was born, but these particular thoughts began during my first playthrough of Elden Ring as a set of notes to keep track of events. With Shadow of the Erdtree (and me smashing my head against a brick wall), this section on the Shattering War expanded.

Repeatedly dying to the wrath of heaven gives you time to think, and now that I own the gate of calcified bodies, I must share them.

Fact

Quote

Conjecture

(Sword Monument, Altus)

The First Defense of Leyndell

A sovereign alliance rots from within

Traces yet remain of bloody conspiracy

(Direct translation) The battle of the First Defense of Leyndell

A sovereign alliance, from within collapses,

becoming a defeated army

A blood plot, these are the traces

Sword Monument refers to both Blood and Rot, suggesting involvement of Malenia and Mogh. Who is in the alliance? Translation suggests the attackers.

There's nothing I've found to shed more light on this idea, and so I have no extrapolation.

(Sword Monument, Altus)

The Second Defense of Leyndell

The Fell Omen stacks high the corpses of heroes

Yet the Erdtree remains unshaken

(Direct translation) The battle of Leyndell's Second Defense

The shunned ogre,

piles the champions' corpses

The Golden Tree is unshaken

Margit the Fell appears on the battlefield.

Omen can be found in open Altus. Given the location of the Shunning Grounds, they most likely originated there. But did they escape, or did they follow Margit? One group is found at a campsite not far from the Leyndell war camp. More, alongside Misbegotten, are found at the Minor Erdtree within the outer wall, engaged in prayer. A third group wanders the hill of abandoned treasure carriages, but near that is the Perfumer's Ruins, where lives an Omenkiller. One must be present due to the other, but who?

Promotional art shows Radahn attacked by the Fell Omen. Opening cutscene shows army w/ Trolls attacking Leyndell. Beyond pulling carts,Trolls are found primarily in Limgrave, but one guards the gate of Redmane Castle, and another overlooks Sellia's gate, both in Caelid.

Unlikely to be Carian: Carian Trolls wear helmets and tabards.

Alliance between Godrick and Radahn?

(Sword Monument, Liurnia)

This marks Malenia's southward march

The Blade of Miquella and her Cleanrot Knights

Grant her wings never to be clipped

(Direct Translation) Malenia's southward march monument

Miquella's Blade, the Noble Rot knights

The wings that are never hindered

Why did the march start here? Leyndell and the Haligtree are both north. Or does it mean that here her march turned south? Were she chasing Radahn out of Altus, her first stop would've been the land of his birth. Once certain he had not retreated there and/or recieved no aid, her path would have gone South.

(Sword Monument, Limgrave)

Godrick the Golden, humiliated

Having tasted defeat by the Blade of Miquella

Now on his knees, begging for mercy

(Direct Translation) Golden Godrick, a humiliating battle

To Miquella's Blade, a total defeat

Grovelling, begging for forgiveness

Either Malenia defeated Godrick here, or if he and Radahn sieged Leyndell, then perhaps he groveled rather than face Malenia again.

(Sword Monument, Caelid)

The Battle of Aeonia

Radahn and Malenia locked in stalemate

Then, the scarlet rot blooms

(Direct translation) Aeonia Battle

Radahn, Malenia come to a draw

The Scarlet Rot flower blooms to full glory

Here occurs the fated battle that ended the Shattering. Malenia blooms in a bid to destroy Radahn, and whispers in his ear the following:

(Young Lion's Helm)

"Miquella awaits thee, O promised consort."

In the aftermath, Miquella heals Redmane Freya of the Scarlet Rot.

(Cleanrot Knight Finlay Spirit Ashes)

Finlay was one of the few survivors of the Battle of Aeonia, who in an unimaginable act of heroism carried the slumbering demigod Malenia all the way back to the Haligtree. She managed the feat alone, fending off all manner of foes along the way.

Malenia is "slumbering" after Aeonia. With the presence of Miquella in Caelid, it suggests Miquella was responsible for halting the bloom of the Rot Goddess, Saint Trina sending Malenia into a deep, long slumber. Perhaps an eternal one, until Millicent and her sisters arrive, each carrying a part of Malenia cast aside in Aeonia.

And as each of them blooms, the Goddess begins to stir, and the Tarnished is but the unlucky fool forced to slay her.

Above is but connecting dots, but there are still questions unanswered.

Morgott calls all the demigods traitors. Did he know of Ranni's part in the Night of Black Knives? Or was her and Caria's inaction during the Shattering treachery enough?

If we follow the Radahn-Godrick alliance, those two are on the list for certain.

Rykard's rebellion was open and clear-cut.

Why the twins, though? Betrayal, or like Ranni, was their disappearance/retreat to the Haligtree after Aeonia the cause?

For Radahn, why did he and Malenia clash?

His lore paints him as glory-hunter, raised on tales of his father and Lord Godfrey proving their might in the field of battle. A naive prince born in an era of peace, hungering for a war to prove his mettle.

He clearly sought to be Elden Lord, but perhaps not with Miquella as his God. Or perhaps the war was a sort of elaborate courting ritual, demanding he face the full strength of Miquella's ideals and followers. Or crueler, the promise was meant to be an impossible request, one to goad Malenia into combat and prove to all the Red Lion deserved the title of Strongest.

Whatever the case, it seems Malenia warred as a way to force him into compliance, and when he would not yield, she Bloomed.

This either suggests she knew of the Secret Rite scroll we find in the DLC, and that perhaps the entire war was an extension of Miquella's plan, or perhaps just a final barb, given to a man worthy of no honor or glory.

The Unalloyed's presence in Caelid would be his compassion, or his moral calculus (such that could convince him puppeting both Radahn and Mogh would be for the Greater Good), could not allow the Scarlet Rot to spread.

The other option is that, again, Radahn broke his promise to Miquella, Malenia's march was in pursuit of vengeance, Miquella arrived too late to stop them from destroying each other, and his ascension was in turn a reaction to losing his promised consort and his sister. In this charitable perspective, his original plan was the Haligtree, watered with his blood and fully absent of gods, shelter to all. A throne of unalloyed gold, sadly abandoned when his hopefuly ideals clashed with cold reality.

Either way, we come to Mohg. Why Mogh? Again we turn to the moral calculus. Miquella needed a guardian while he slept, and without his loyal Blade, turned to the next most dangerous demigod. And also, the more expendable.

Of the others:

Messmer was already in the Land of Shadow.

Rykard was a heretic and possibly a snake-god at the time.

Morgott had assumed regency of Leyndell.

Ranni was either dead, missing, running Caria, and/or definitely couldn't be trusted with the plan.

Godwyn was a cancerous corpse fused to the Erdtree.

Miquella needed a body for his Lord. The closer in relation, the better. And it needed to be someone who wouldn't be missed.

Mohg's Dynasty was small, heretical, slightly obsessed with blood, deeply tied to an Outer God, and possibly already involved in the whole murder and kidnapping thing.

An easy choice.

Either way, little suggests Mohg somehow knew a way to reach the Land of Shadow. The closest connection is the Formless Mother's foothold with the Bloodfiends.

More likely, Miquella had the power and knowledge to reach it himself, and his ascension was delayed until both Mohg and Radahn were properly dead.

A lord's soul delivered, and a body to host it.

And so the enchanted followers and a lone Tarnished followed him into that hidden realm.

Of the two interpretations, I ask both myself and the reader, this: which is the more tragic?

That the good-natured promises of salvation are built on lies, deceit, and manipulation.

Or that the dreams of someone good and kind and loving have corroded into cruelty.

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were-wolverine · 11 months ago

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percy jackson ep3 live reaction

yesss the attic it looks perfect

the voice crack on “hi” i’m cackling

“oh geez” HES SO PERCY

annabeth immediately i love him.

percy’s gf requirements: has to be willing to push him down a flight of stairs without hesitation

let percy understand the horses PLEASE

“i chose you” i thought it was gonna be like ‘because you’re my best friend’ but nah he is just suspicious of grover dang. “i trust you” DAMN HE REALLY LYING HUH. poor grover totally believes him too. good thing he earns his trust back eventually and remains his best friend forever

“i’m gonna pack the best snacks” HE IS THE BEST KIND OF FRIEND

why tf are there lobster traps in the cabin. WHERE IS HIS BED???

“i think they’re canadian maybe? or from chuck e. cheese i dunno” he’s literally my favorite person ever

“these are… interesting”

thalia’s tree :(

when do they tell percy that grover was thalias protector 🤔

“the most powerful being in the universe’s best idea to save his daughter’s life… was to turn her into a tree?” YEAH FR GET HIS ASS PERCY

bro really does not know how to read the room 💀 “she met a pinecone’s fate” dude she is talking about her dead friend/sister-figure. grover’s literally like “wtf man”

how tf did they get a taxi from long island to the city bro

“i’m sorry to hear that” UR THE BEST ANNABETH

why is grover singing… THEATRE KID ENERGY

“our voting system’s broken” hgjfhdhd

BIG OOF ????

the autism makes decisions so hard very real

NOT THE TOSTITOS /j

“they smell fear” “that’s bees” EXCUSE ME? BEES WHAT NOW??

damn dodds that’s brutal

“perhaps the most formidable demigod child alive” i adore how they make 12 y/o annabeth so fucking powerful. like i really really love that they do that cuz ppl always talk about how powerful percy is but not how powerful annabeth is

defeated by shitty evacuation skills smh

…we’re lost in the woods, somewhere in new jersey

“i didn’t even know they had forests in new jersey” king. what.

ahhh i wish they just made them 13 i really cannot see them as 12 year olds

ope it is revealed. GROVER STOP TRYING TO REDIRECT THE CONVERSATION ITS NOT WORKING

annabeth IMMEDIATELY knows it’s medusa lol

thinking abt how sally used medusa’s story to teach lil percy that appearances aren’t everything and “not everything that looks like a monster is a monster”. very interested to see what they do with her in this version of pjo

“and i definitely trust my mom” percy is such a momma’s boy i love it

i hope they don’t make her evil pls pls pls. SHES NOT EVIL SHES AN SA VICTIM. “a survivor” :(

“the gift the gods gave me is i cannot be bullied anymore” yes 🙌

girl really said “it’s not a gift it’s a curse” as if she was there 💀 ilysm but clearly the story you’ve heard isn’t what really happened

“so did i” :( she was a worshipper of athena

“i wasn’t like you, i was you”

ANNABETH “that isn’t what happened” GIRL YOU WERENT THERREEEEE

you tell them medusa !! her and percy get matching “i hate poseidon” shirts

team #trust issues

oop. yeah fuck poseidon.

okay yeah i really like this characterization of her. like a good person with a skewed moral compass. or at least good intentions but not great actions

leetle snakes hiss hiss

annabeth watching percy defeat alecto… she literally has heart eyes hehe

THEY BETTER SHIP HER HEAD TO OLYMPUS I SWEAR

you tell them grover!!!!!!

oh he really did choose grover because he trusted him aw :,)

YES SHIP THE HEAD

“i am impertinent” ily

the song 💀 this is why they are besties

LIN MANUEL MIRANDA? *lip bite*

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson show #pjo tv show #pjo spoilers #pjo show #aunty em #annabeth chase #grover underwood

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your-local-bookworm · 11 months ago

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Forgotten Faults.

PERCY JACKSON × DAUGHTER OF ARES!READER.

Part 1

Summary: Things get confusing when the son of Poseidon grows an unexplainable liking for a daughter of Ares who seems to be adamant on ignoring him

Request by : @riordanness

Warnings: Well, nothing. Except that this is my first time writing anything and also not proof read so, you know.

Part 2 is out!

Twelve year old and drenched. That was how Y/N Y/L/N first reached camp. Clutching her worn out rucksack to her chest, breathing heavy. That was also how she met thirteen years old Percy Jackson, even if it was a few weeks later.

Unknown to his conscience, Young Percy, harbouring and diving in unwanted emotions after a session with Chiron and the insufferable Zoe Nightshade, raised the tide and without wishing to let it wash over the new camper.

He had no intention to make a girl miserable, really. But how was he to explain that to Dionysus who accused him of disturbing peace with the young girl? How was he to explain to the girl who rushed away before he could gather his senses that he hadn't taken notice of her small form before the waves crashed and his eyes followed?

How was he to make amends with the fellow demigod when he was whisked away to a new quest the very next day.

When he returned Percy had already forgotten. Whatever poison he endured on his little adventure made a mess of his recent memories and he had merely see the face of the girl he dropped his wave on and only ever seen her clothed in water.He didn't even know who her godly parent was for the gods' sake! As given, he was unable to seek out the unfortunate camper with dark hair.... or was it red? Maybe Y/H/C. Surely you will forgive him and forget about it over time. He let it go, for now, and eventually from his memory.

Fourteen year old and Percy Jackson just returned to camp for the summer. That's when he saw her first. The girl who made his legs feel like Jell-O. She was sitting on the steps of her cabin, the ares cabin, dark hair raised by the winds and torched under the blazing Sun. To fourteen year old Percy, she looked magical. He had to tell Grover and Annabeth.

On a fine morning when the Sun was right above his head, making drops of sweat drip down his face, Percy was strolling alongside a lake, looking for company. Grover was away to meet his girlfriend and Annabeth occupied with counselor duties. Even Tyson claimed he had work to attend to! Turns out he was the only one with no jobs other than almost dying every summer.

Now generally, if you ask me I'll say that it isn't the smartest decision to let Percy Jackson, son of the sea god, to be his own devices because trouble truly seeked him out. But he's fourteen! and OH! look closely! Don't you think he's blushing? and a bit lost.

As said, Percy was indeed relishing the memories of a certain Ares girl, arguing against himself whether he should go talk to her.

Maybe the gods were prying into his thoughts, or perhaps Aphrodite was bored or Apollo wanted to mess with him. Only a few steps away, he noticed her small form. It brought back something into his mind: another girl and waves but whatever that was it slipped out when she looked at him.

Her Y/E/C eyes, sparkling under the golden sunlight that peeked through the canopy, strands of hair loosely waving in the breeze. Her hand stop scribbling in her small notebook, that he's seen her carrying around before t--

"Anything you want, Jackson?"

Percy shrugged. The poison might have been really bad. He searched for proper words but his brain denied him the service.

"Uh, no-" he gave his head a much needed shake, "I was just wandering around looking for something to help me pass the time."

"Oh, Alright. I hope you find something soon" and she focused back on your writing- drawing? what was she doing?

Percy wanted to talk to her. But she seemed uninterested. He knew he should leave, but after almost dying multiple times, he knew better than to do just that.

"So, what do you think I can do?" He asked, hoping

"Don't you have friends, Jackson? Why don't you go find Annabeth or you brother, uh Ty-"

"Tyson? He says he's busy. Annabeth had 'counselor duties' or something" he air quoted.

"Grover?"

"With his girlfriend."

"He has a girlfriend??"

"Juniper. She's a dryad"

"In that case take a walk by the strawberry fields, or train, work in the forgery? There's plenty to do in camp."

"Oh" Percy's brain adviced him to leave debating that he's disturbing her peace and this time he obliged "Okay then, I'll go find something to keep me busy. See you later"

"Yeah."

He left and over the course of next few days, before he was thrown away into the labyrinth for yet another quest, Percy established to himself that, for whatever reasons, Y/N Y/L/N was not at all keen to form a friendship with Percy Jackson.

#percabeth #PERCY JACKSON #percy jackson #percy is such a softie for her #pjo hoo toa #pjo tv show #pjo fandom #pjo #pjo series #pjo show #pjo spoilers #pjo stuff #percy Jackson × reader #daughter of ares

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thatboreddrake · 1 year ago

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The Nature of Rot in the Lands Between:

So long story short, I was putting together a document of all the item descriptions in Elden Ring grouped by association (it's nowhere near complete). Anyway, I have a seed of an idea germinating and I need y'all to tell me if you think I'm completely off-base here.

Sources:

Enia: "The Rune of Death goes by two names; the other is Destined Death. The forbidden shadow, plucked from the Golden Order upon its creation..."

Poison Armament: "Those who dwell within poison know rot all too well. The death that begets life, that comes to all equally. That is to say: it is the cycle of rebirth put into practice."

Malenia's Great Rune: "Malenia is daughter to Queen Marika and Radagon, and her Great Rune should have been the most sacred of all."

Great Rune of the Unborn: "Amber egg clutched by Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon. Great Rune of unborn demigods. Perfects those who have been born anew. Children born anew by Rennala are all frail and short-lived. Imperfect beings, each and all"

Blue Dancer Charm: "The dancer in blue represents a fairy, who in legend bestowed a flowing sword upon a blind swordsman. Blade in hand, the swordsman sealed away an ancient god — a god that was Rot itself."

Basic idea: when Marika/Radagon established the Golden Order, they removed the Rune of Death to prevent death for them, the demigods, etc (Enia). Now, for our scholars of Greek mythology, you can probably see the flaw in this plan. See, removing death doesn't mean that the aging process stops.

In the myth of the dawn goddess, Eos, she wished that the man she loved be granted eternal life so they could be together forever. However, she failed to wish for eternal youth, so the man grew old and decrepit and eventually shrank into a grasshopper (mythology is wack sometimes).

Anyway, important bit is that the removal of death just means that people can't die no matter how much their bodies decay. So naturally this is a problem. Without death, you still have decay and rot but you cannot have the creation of new life that death brings forth (Poison Armament). Similar to the problem with Hollowing in Dark Souls, you have people who lose themselves because they are unable to die properly.

Now, some fairy realizes the problem here, and gives a blind Nox blademaster a sword imitating the form of flowing water so that he may seal away the god that is the incarnation of the unbridled decay plaguing the world (because that's easier than going against Marika and putting death back in place) (Blue Dancer Charm). So he seals away the god of Rot in the Lake of Rot and everything goes back to "normal."

Interesting Note: the word "Siofra" (as in "Siofra River Basin") is an Irish name meaning "elf or changeling." My personal headcanon is that the fairy who bestowed the sword on the blind swordsman was one of the Ancestral Followers, but that's neither here nor there.

Here's where things get interesting: As seen with Mohg and Morgott's runes, the Great Runes of siblings (and especially twins) come in pairs.

May I present:

Notice anything?

One of the runes is infested with rot, the other is undersized and pure gold.

I propose that the Great Rune of the Unborn (the great rune of "unborn demigods") was intended to be Miquella's Great Rune.

Malenia's Great Rune keys off of her fighting spirit ("due to the infusion of Malenia's spirit of resistance"), and the Great Rune of the unborn creates frail, short-lived beings ("Imperfect beings, each and all"). Perhaps what is missing from the newborn sweetings is a fighting spirit, a sense of determination, the will to go on living?

These runes were initially the Great Rune of Rebirth, the law of nature which allows beings to die and be reborn. In the beta version of the game, Malenia and Miquella's runes were the Runes of Decay and Abundance, respectively (I know that we can't use beta data as evidence, but stick with me here).

When Marika recalled Radagon to Leyndell, she fractured the Rune of Rebirth as a parting gift to Rennala. Without death for demigods, Marika has no need for a Rune of Rebirth, so she gave Rennala the fraction that would produce imperfect offspring and kept the fragment that would instill it with a soul(?) under the belief that she will bear a single child with Radagon who will inherit that rune as her true heir.

Obviously, she has the Twins, not a single demigod. Thus, Malenia was granted her Great Rune which, according to its description, "should have been the most sacred of all." The disparity is what bestows the Twins with their paired curses. Without the Rune of Growth/Abundance that was intended for him, Miquella is trapped as an eternal child (this could also be a result of him watering the Haligtree with his own blood, but I'm more of the opinion that the Haligtree came well after his and Mal's curses manifested).

So Malenia receives the decay fragment of the Rune of Rebirth (shades of the Gloam-Eyed Queen). Anyway, that's why the god of Rot was able to gain a foothold from such a young age: Marika split the Rune governing its job of death and rebirth and gave it to Malenia.

Anyway, I'm not entirely sure if I have a point that I'm trying to get to. Something about the sins of the father? What goes around comes around? Anyway, it feels like I'm on to something, but I'm not entirely sure that all the pieces are fitting correctly. Any suggestions are appreciated!

#elden ring #lore theory #malenia blade of miquella #miquella the unalloyed #marika the eternal #help if you can please

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cocrante · 11 months ago

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I Start Over With You

[SOLANGELO FANFIC]

summary: After the great battle against the forces of Gaea, Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter had formed a long-lasting alliance. Everything had gone well, and everyone was ready to start anew. This included Nico, who, after confessing his feelings to Percy, was prepared to open a new chapter in his life—perhaps the happiest one the Fates had ever written.

note: the chapters will be updated every Wednesday. If you want to read upcoming chapters of the fanfiction in advance, I invite you to follow me on Patreon. Subscribing is not necessary, these chapters will be added for free on the platform on Mondays and Fridays. Following me there is just a kind and free gesture to support my work c:

nda. On this chapter I had some doubts. The fanfiction you are reading is almost ten years old, and there are many inaccuracies that may have been explained in later books. The thing about demigods changing tables seemed like something I had read, but now that many years have passed, I'm not sure anymore. For plot reasons, let's pretend they can do it.

Reblogs are highly appreciated c:

[CHAPTER 4]

SINCE THE WAR HAD ENDEND and the two camps had started to mix to learn new training techniques, the cafeteria had slowly begun to change like that of New Rome, although some who preferred the status quo wrinkled their noses at seeing demigods from other cabins sitting at different tables.

The first time was the evening when Jason declared that he wanted to stay at the camp, feeling finally in a place he could call home. That evening he abruptly got up from his lonely table and sat down at Aphrodite's one, causing surprise and dissent from some, but certainly the table of the goddess of love did not disagree with hosting the handsome blonde. That evening, there was a lot of movement in the mess hall, with demigods moving from table to table, making dinner more chaotic and lively. After making his offering in the fire, with no particular request or prayer, Nico returned to his table, preferring solitude and tranquility, but unfortunately not everyone respected his lifestyle. Jason was keeping him company, as he had promised to do more often during meals. "Did Aphrodite kick you out, Grace?" Nico asked with a hint of irony, taking a sip from his goblet. Jason tried to suppress a laugh. "If you want, I can leave you alone" he replied, picking up a warm loaf of bread. The boy in front of him raised an eyebrow, as if he would get up in response to an affirmative answer. "Do as you please" he grumbled.

"So—" spoke the son of Jupiter after a while, catching Nico's attention. "We'll see again tomorrow morning for training at the arena?" Jason asked, spearing some asparagus with his fork. Nico remained silent for a moment, staring at his friend's face. He had forgotten that he had promised to train with Jason the next morning. "Ah" he exclaimed embarrassedly. "No. No, I—I have something else to do" he muttered, looking down at his plate. At that response, Jason completely lost interest in dinner. He was now much more curious about what Nico had to do that was better than training with him. "And what would that be?" he asked, crossing his arms on the table. Nico frowned, as if he was really obligated to answer him. "It's none of your business" he replied abruptly, taking another sip from his goblet and pointing his eyes towards the table of the seventh house, always lively and sunny as only the children of the sun god could be. "You know that I'll find out anyway" Jason smiled wryly. After all, sooner or later, everyone in the camp would find out about each other's business, and with that kind of provocation, Nico grumbled. He valued his privacy, but agreed that the boy would find out from external sources and subsequently pester him with stupid questions. "Fine" he sighed, placing his goblet on the table. "I'm going for a boat ride" he shrugged, trying to seem as annoyed as possible. "Oh really?" Jason placed his hand on his face, surprised by that response. Everyone knew that for some demigods, certain elements were off-limits. "Yes, Jason" Nico snapped, rolling his eyes. "And with whom are you going?" the handsome blond boy whispered, getting closer. At that proximity, Nico moved back a bit with his back, feeling his ears grow warmer. "Will asked me" he curled his lips, as if to say what can I do?

"Ah" Jason exclaimed in surprise, turning briefly to Apollo's table, where his children were having fun and entertaining with poetry and pop songs. "I didn't think you liked blonds" at that phrase, Nico almost choked on a piece of meat, causing some demigods to turn their heads out of curiosity and one in particular from the seventh table to go and see what was happening in person. When everything seemed to have returned to normal, the boy who had almost fully stood up returned to his seat, laughing at a joke from one of his brothers, avoiding looking at the table of Ade's son. "What the hell, Grace!" Nico scolded him, spitting out what was left in his throat onto a tissue. "We're just friends, I think" he explained, moving the plate out of sight. He had lost his appetite. Jason nodded, wanting to believe him. "Well, then, we'll see you after your date?" he finger-quoted, causing a certain nervousness in the boy in front of him. "As you wish" he replied, hoping that promise would shut him up. "Great".

At the end of the dinner, some groups left the cafeteria, leaving the tables full of dirt to be cleaned by the camp's harpies. Many of the boys headed to the bonfire, where it was a tradition to roast marshmallows and sing campfire songs. "Aren't you coming?" Jason asked Nico, seeing him heading up the camp to go to his cabin. "No, I'm good" he replied, distancing himself from the overly noisy crowd. "Oh—" Jason whispered. Once again, he had hoped that Nico would join them to sing the song of the Minotaur. "Good night!" the boy raised his voice to be heard by Nico, who raised his hand in return without turning around. But Nico, distracted by his thoughts for the next day, had not noticed that a figure was getting closer and closer behind him. "Planning to bolt?" the voice whispered, making the boy startle and jump. Caught off guard, he searched at his side for his sword to unsheathe it, only then remembering that he had left it in his cabin. He turned around and let out an imperceptible sigh. "Hasn't anyone taught you not to sneak up on people, especially at night!" he scolded. "I could have skewered you" he lifted his eyes to the sky. "Oh yeah?" Will asked amusedly. "And with what?" he smiled, indicating the left side devoid of his sword. "You're lucky I left it in the cabin" Nico pressed his lips together to avoid saying something inappropriate. Years of wandering outside had taught him to sharpen his senses, it was just a coincidence that the sword had been left in the cabin. However, Will shrugged "You still haven't answered my question, though" continued the boy. "What question?" Nico sighed, curiously raising an eyebrow. "Are you making a run for it?" Will repeated, hoping to convince him to stay at the camp and sing by the fire. "Yes" he replied directly, resuming his path towards cabin number 13. "Come on! Everyone's there" Will followed him. "Correct" that was precisely the reason he didn't want to go there. "You don't have to sing" Will smiled, his teeth shining even in the dark. "I'll take care of that" Nico stopped, muttering some not very flattering words in his mother tongue. "What did you say?" the boy was curious. "I said I'm coming" he lied, but Will didn't know Italian. "But only for five minutes" and saying that, the two of them headed towards the bonfire.

Without too much fuss, the two sat down in the middle of the group. Nico greeted Jason with a nod, who smiled seeing that his friend had changed his mind, then seeing him close to Will, it all became clear. Nico, slightly embarrassed, sat down near the cabin led by Will, as the boy had insisted so much for him to sit beside him. Will passed some marshmallows for Nico to roast so he wouldn't get bored while the others sang. Nico thanked him, already toasting the candy, listening enchanted to the intoned voices of the Apollo cabin mixed with the off-key ones of the others. He was listening in particular to one voice, the only one he really liked: Will had a really beautiful tone, melodic, warm. Nico would never admit it, but he would have stayed listening to him sing for hours and even though the boy repeated that he was only good at treating wounds, Nico found that he was also good at many other things worthy of a son of Apollo. At the second song, Will decided to take a break and talk to Nico, who had ignored him all that time. "Are you having fun?" asked the boy. Nico looked at him, ready to give him an another negative answer, but seeing Will's sunny face, with that beautiful smile, he couldn't tell him that he was bored to death. "Yes" he simply replied, breaking the roasted candy off the stick. "Thanks for accepting my invitation" the boy whispered in his ear, with all that noise it was difficult to hear anything. "It will be the last time you convince me to do it" Nico replied in the boy's ear.

On the other side of the bonfire, Jason never took his eyes off the two. It was the first time he had seen Nico smile and laugh at a joke. "What are you staring at?" Piper asked at one point, noticing that her boyfriend had been silent the whole time staring ahead. "What do you think?" he whispered to the girl, leaning close to her ear. Piper remained perplexed for a moment, not understanding the question, then looked to where Jason was looking, stunned. "Since when can he smile?" she asked ironically, laughing to herself. "Is that Will he's talking to?" the girl asked, who had not yet found a way to learn the names of the members of the cabins. "Exactly him" Jason replied, bending his lips in a crooked smile. "They look really good together" the girl whispered, and Jason couldn't agree more.

[CONTENTS]

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20

#🖇️ : fanfiction #i start over with you ☀️☠️#solangelo #will solace #nico di angelo #camp halfblood #camp jupiter #fluff fic #percy jackson #pjo #pjo fanfic #riordanverse #writer on patreon

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lunarsands · 4 months ago

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Multi-SMP Fanfic: Which Fate's Fairest To Us All - Ch 1

Afterlife SMP, New Life SMP and Empires SMP S2 crossover combo!!! I'm back with more MythicalSausage meets MythicalSausage shenanigans!

Characters: Mythical Sausage (1st), Rusty the Copper Golem, PearlescentMoon, Scott Smajor (1st), Mythical Sausage (2nd), Hermes, Mythical Sausage (3rd), Scott Smajor (2nd), Rocky the Goblin, and a couple of briefly mentioned cameos at the end!

WARNINGS: Character death (but they get better because Afterlife/New Life rules are in play), body horror

Summary: Myth has gotten comfortable in the place he unintentionally usurped from a parallel version of himself and fully expects he got his point across to Smajor to leave him alone. For a while it seemed the supposedly-reformed Smajor would abide by it, until he shows up with evidence that their missing doubles went into the Deep Dark and only Myth has the knowledge that can rescue them…

Meanwhile, in another universe, the Protector of Sanctuary and Guardian of Realities is called on to help sort out this very mishap - with a little help from his demigod son.

Sequel to Mirror Tenfold, Beyond the Wall and follows sometime after the events of Thou, O Kings, Fair Be You All (“sometime” being relative to how much time passes in each universe)

(Also available on Ao3!)

[A/N: I’m running out of ideas for titles, but not out of ideas for crossovers! | Gratitude again goes to the wonderful Cynthrey/Khyann for help with Spanish translations!]

Chapter One

Myth the phoenix hybrid made his way over to the automated farm area, carrying a toolbox and a satchel full of various sized spare gears, Rusty the copper golem trundling after him. They were headed to the one where the mechanism had begun to constantly spit out seeds, pick them back up, and then just spit them out again. Myth put his toolbox and satchel on the ground next to it, then set up a log post about a meter away and installed buttons all around the top half. Rusty merely watched the malfunctioning farm for a moment. He turned to Myth as if to comment, but when he saw the buttons, he waved his arms in the air and hurried over to begin pressing them one after the other.

Myth smiled, stretching the horizontal scars that marred his right cheek. That would keep the little copper construct nearby but occupied. He figured he could sort out the malfunctioning farm without additional help but he did like having Rusty around. It made up for his ongoing preference to keep to himself without getting too lonely. Most of the other hybrids tended to stay in their personal territories, anyway, building fanciful themed areas or doing tinkering of their own. This world had a great deal of steam-powered technology, different from the world Myth had come from, which hadn’t advanced past redstone.

At least, as far as he was aware. Perhaps once he and his rival, known as Smajor, had disappeared from there, the survivors of the two’s destructive revenge-fueled rampages had rebuilt and developed new technology.

…Probably as a means of stopping either of them, should they reappear.

Well, that was another time, and another life. The recently transformed phoenix had begun to settle into this new life, and while he didn’t intend to permanently replace his double, he wanted to learn as much as he could and try to pretend he could have a normal life.

The challenging part so far was that nearly everyone seemed aware they could come to his home and ask for supplies. It seemed the Ghast Mage who preceded him was, although grouchy, generous. Most of them asked first, some left notes if he wasn’t around, and one person in particular delighted in trying to sneak in under his nose. He suspected she thought he was in on the joke, except that she had no idea who he really was, nor did she know about the past that continued to lurk in the back of his mind.

It was as Myth was wondering when she might pop up that he noticed the number of button-pressing clicks had tripled. Rusty couldn’t move that fast, so he turned to find out who might be goofing around. Rusty and two other copper golems were treating the button setup like a maypole, going around it and pressing the buttons as quickly as they reset. Upon noticing that Myth had noticed them, the two extras scampered over to him. “Hi, Sausage!” said the one that looked and sounded like PearlescentMoon.

“Hi, Sausage!” echoed the one he didn’t recognize, but who sounded like… Sparrow?

“Rusty,” Myth addressed his assistant without acknowledging the two yet, “Did you build yourself some friends?”

Rusty turned away from the button he had just pressed. “That’s an odd thing to say.”

The Sparrow-sounding golem said, “Do I have some news for you, Sausage—”

Purposely looking past this new golem, Myth replied, “You’re right, Rusty. I would have noticed if you were taking from my copper supplies. So, it seems Pearl built herself a friend that follows her around and copies what she says.”

“That’s not true!” protested the Sparrow-voiced golem.

Laughing, Pearl cut in, “Sausage! Stop being silly. I actually ran into him on the way over and we decided to have a little fun. Can never have too many copper buddies running around.” She then threw some redstone dust at Myth, having accumulated it from the button pressing escapade. The other golem did the same in spite of protesting Myth’s observation.

Now, though, Myth looked at this third golem and asked with a forced tone of concern, “Why do you sound like Sparrow?”

“I am Sparrow! I made myself into a hybrid! And it turned out to be copper that fused with me, so now I’m just like Pearl!”

Myth swallowed down the feeling of dread that rose up from his stomach. “You made yourself into a hybrid…?” He attempted to sound curious instead of panicked.

Rusty, meanwhile, spoke what Myth was thinking. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“’Ey, ’ey, easy there, mate,” Sparrow said defensively. “No need to be rude!”

Rusty’s antenna bobbed up and down. “Are you sure about this?”

“Sausage, you need to work on this guy’s speech programming,” Sparrow advised.

“I can understand him just fine,” Myth said distractedly, still thinking about the implications of what Sparrow claimed to have done. “Uhm… don’t tell me both of you are here to clear out my copper reserves?”

“Nah,” Sparrow replied. “I was only accompanying Pearl to prank you! I mean, I did want to show you that I succeeded in my experiment, but I have another destination to get to right now. You can just give all your copper to Pearl!” With that cheeky declaration, Sparrow waved and hurried off through the ferns that now stood taller than him.

Myth bit back the urge to call after him demanding further explanation, because he knew his desperation would show as he imagined what horrors might result if Smajor found out about the possibility of augmenting his existing powers. Sure, the fungal mage claimed he was peaceful now and happy to have a little garden of mushrooms and avoid conflict because it had a detrimental effect on his life force. But if supplementing his abilities with something that could counter those weaknesses was available there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t take advantage of it to return to his old ways…

“Hey. Hey. Hey, Sausage? Are you overthinking what Sparrow said he did?”

The feeling of Pearl tapping on his leg drew him from his spiraling sense of horror.

“Personally,” she continued, “I think he changed because of the same reasons we all do, but was having so much fun with his inventions that he wanted to make it sound more interesting than ‘I accidentally tripped and landed inside this weird chamber I built’.”

“Oh. Um. I guess. So, uh, I do have some copper to spare at the moment, but I need you to leave me a little for a project I’m doing this afternoon—”

“Oh, I didn’t really come here for copper, Sausage,” Pearl said benignly. “I honestly wanted to check on you. You’ve been keeping to yourself way more than normal.”

So. She finally noticed, Myth thought to himself.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Pearl continued. “I know you don’t remember some stuff, but we could still have a chat to try to work out a few more details.”

Myth glanced toward the malfunctioning farm to make it seem like he was directing a distasteful face at it instead of in response to her suggestion. “I… appreciate the offer, Pearl, I really do. But I’m not worried about what I can’t remember.” He forced a weak smile as he returned his gaze to her. “I’ve started to think of it as a way to make new memories. And as for keeping to myself, well, I just really enjoy tinkering around with all this machinery that the past me set up! It’s a fun way of relearning and building new things, giving structures more purpose than they usually would have! And when something happens to break, like this farm, it’s like a little puzzle to figure out which component isn’t working properly!”

The antenna at the side of Pearl’s head twitched. “Well, at least you’re sounding like your old enthusiastic self again! I gotta tell ya – and I mean this in the nicest way possible – you were quite gloomy for a while there, even for someone who used to be part Ghast!”

Noticed that too, huh? Myth kept that thought to himself as well, then said aloud, “I’ll have to take your word for it. The whole Ghast thing has slipped my mind.”

“Maybe it’s not worth bothering with after all, and we should focus on new things instead, like you said.” Pearl jumped up onto the side of the farm. “How about we start now? We can hang out while you fix this, and I’ll see if I can help with it!”

“Only if you have no other plans…” Myth said, trying to stall. “I don’t think it will take too long, and—”

“Sausage. There you go again, trying to be by yourself. Come on, buddy. At least give me an hour. Half an hour. Some company might do you some good. You need someone to talk to besides a regular old copper golem.”

Rusty rotated his head mid-button press. “What did you say?”

Pearl laughed. “Sorry, little guy. You’re all right.”

“Okay,” Rusty replied, then stepped around to the next button and waved his arms in the air.

Myth heaved a quiet sigh, accepting that she wasn’t going anywhere. He started to disassemble the farming mechanism. “If you want other reasons for me keeping to myself, I do have one major thing on my mind. S- Scott asked me for a favor, and it basically comes down to being his bodyguard because of his whole Gaia-mana thing, and he kinda needs my help, specifically, and I’m pretty set on not getting involved because of a… certain other argument we had.”

“Is it the sneaky planting of mushrooms around your base?” Pearl asked as she leaned closer to inspect the inside of the farming mechanism. “He left one patch by my mud farm, but you have a lot of areas around here where he could have hidden them.”

“No— Well— I mean, I guess you could say it involves his propensity for being an annoyance that bothers me.”

“Did he prank you by teleporting you more times than you mentioned, before he became a mushroom man? I could see that being a problem when you were a Ghast Mage and if he teleported you into water, but that would be something part of the lost memories, wouldn’t it?”

Myth gave pause with the wrench half-raised to remove some bolts as a memory did, indeed, come to him – of being teleported back and forth out of water when he was vulnerable to it.

But that had been a different Scott, who had the intention of literally cooling Myth’s temper rather than trying to kill him.

“I mean, it could be a subconscious thing like that,” Myth said, trying to sound like he was mulling over the idea. Then he spoke jovially, “I guess you have a point that somewhere in my head I’m holding a grudge for things that happened in the past.”

He felt amused to himself that it was the exact truth; she didn’t need to know the real details which went along with it.

He let her carry on with theories and suggestions, doing his best to remain polite out loud even though inside he kept vacillating between wanting to blurt out the whole sordid tale of what his version of Scott had done to him, and wanting to break down crying in relief at hearing her voice, even if she wasn’t his version of Pearl. He held it all in as they worked to troubleshoot and fix the farm, which went smoothly up until the wrench Myth held abruptly started glowing red-hot in his hand – something he didn’t register right away, since heat never bothered him, but when it turned into molten metal and began to drip onto the machinery with a hissing sound, he yelped and jumped backward.

Two things happened simultaneously after that.

Myth’s entire body erupted into flames; he could swear that for a full second his consciousness switched off into oblivion, then switched back on and he felt completely refreshed – even the ache that he had been ignoring in his elbow from turning the wrench was gone. There was, however, a ringing in his ears, and it was taking its sweet time to fade away.

Meanwhile, Pearl had also tumbled backwards and had pointed at something somewhere above and/or behind him, but after the flames died down she merely stood speechless.

No, not speechless. Myth couldn’t hear her over the ringing. He began to shrug at her and point at his ears, but then it finally faded out.

“—That should have killed you, Sausage! How are you still a phoenix?!”

He would have to ask her to specify what that had been, because he hadn’t felt a thing. He found himself staring at the now-solidifying puddle of melted wrench. He still didn’t know everything about being a phoenix. Did his body have an early warning sense for impending death? Was the sudden flare of heat – enough to melt anything he was holding – a precursor to his life cycle kicking in to remake him upon the moment of death?

But… that’s not how the rules of this world worked. It was the same as the world he had originally come from: when you die, you revive as something else entirely. Those cosmic rules would surely cancel out the abilities of a phoenix to rise from its own ashes.

“Sausage? Hey, Soos – are you shellshocked or something? Buddy? Can you hear me? Don’t tell me that wiped your memories even more!”

A new voice, languid, joined in. “Hmm. He looks shellshocked to me, that’s for certain. I missed what happened – that massive fireball is what caught my attention. I thought he was dealing with a raiding party, or hostile water-ability-wielder. How did you not melt, Pearl?”

The beguiling tone poured into the last word snapped Myth out of his stupor. Speak of the devil… He leveled a displeased look at the mushroom-clad Smajor. “Well hello, Scott. How do I know you didn’t have something to do with this?”

Smajor put his hands out, implying innocence. “I’m just a peaceful little mushroom tender who happened to be passing by—”

Pearl cut in, “Are you sure you weren’t checking on that clump of mycelium by the villager house? Because don’t think I didn’t notice it. That’s our guy for trading with.”

“Well, I might have left that there last time,” Smajor replied with a casual shrug, “But, really, that’s a small matter. The real question here is how did Sausage manage to not change? Does becoming a phoenix exclude you from the fate anyone else experiences upon death? Or maybe it’s a limited time effect with only so many rebirths-through-fire…” He clasped his chin and did a very good impression of seriously considering the matter.

Myth’s brow lowered into a frown. He could guess what Smajor was actually thinking based on that additional comment. Smajor was lucky Pearl was there, or else Myth would have tested if Gaia would forgive him for violence upon fungal mages. “Pearl,” Myth said, trying not to snap at her, “It looks like this is an opportunity for me to discuss that matter with Scott that I was telling you about. Thank you for your help with the farm. I think I’d prefer to talk one to one with him.”

“Oh?” Smajor purred, “You told her about a matter between us? Which one?”

Pearl glanced from one of them to the other. “You know, this is starting to sound like something I don’t want to be in the middle of, anyway. If you’re sure you’re okay, Sausage, I’ll leave you to your, um, personal chat.”

“Yeah, I’m okay now, Pearl. I was just… disoriented for a few seconds. I’m used to random bursts of flames, but that sure was a big one! I’ll, uhm, let you know if I feel side effects later.”

Smajor smiled pleasantly at Pearl and waved. When he was certain she was out of earshot, he said, “I’m sorry, I seem to have the worst timing when you’re having a coping session with an old friend. Old-new friend. I’m not sure how best to describe that particular relationship of yours—"

“Get to the point,” Myth growled. “Wait – actually.” He grabbed Smajor by the arm and dragged him toward the house. The fungal mage complied, cowering by reflex despite Myth not even paying attention to his reaction. Rusty pushed a button one last time then trundled after them; Myth was now also too preoccupied to remember that the copper golem would automatically follow. He shoved Smajor inside then slammed the door. “Okay. Now get to the point.”

Smajor rubbed his arm but didn’t comment on the man-handling. “Ah… Well. I now have two things to talk about, seeing as what just happened… happened.” He leaned a little closer.

Myth instinctively drew back.

Smajor sighed, then settled for keeping his voice quiet. “About that. I died the other day. But I revived exactly the same as I was. Either we’re not bound by the rules of this world, or there’s something going on to keep us what we specifically are right now. I mean, I don’t mind spending the rest of my, um, immortal life as this – not sure how you feel about it – but someone might begin to suspect something is wrong about us if they notice.”

“You’re the fool who literally just mentioned it to Pearl,” Myth scoffed.

“A phoenix might be less obvious, though,” Smajor pointed out. “To an extent, as I said. And I know we had a hundred-some-odd lives, but as far as I know, no one here has hit any kind of maximum yet, which means we didn’t just so happen to step in when our doubles reached the end of their turns. Well, I know that for a fact, actually.”

Myth folded his arms across his chest. “Yes. I remember what I said to you the last time I saw you.”

“Uh, yeah. The whole not returning here unless it was with them, but… Well, every bit of evidence that I have found leads me to one answer, and you are not going to like it, because you’re the only one who knows how to get out of it, since I was unconscious at the time…”

Myth’s expression fell into a deep scowl. “You’re kidding. …Well, no, of course you’re not. That’s too obvious of a trap – you know that, right? Do you really think I would enter that labyrinth ever again? And by choice? We would end up separated, tossed into some random corner of the maze, and – and – with no way of orienting ourselves. Even if we found the spot where we fought the other versions of us, the only reason we got out at all was because they got their previous powers back, which was just enough to get above the walls and search!”

Myth pointed emphatically at the ceiling before continuing, “And even then, it took that shiny-knight version of me using his wither abilities to find the correct portals home. If you hadn’t noticed at the time, neither of us got back any old powers – thank the gods.”

“I think it’s in part because they had only a few under their belts,” Smajor theorized. “And, perhaps, the power behind the labyrinth leaned in their favor because of their good intentions. Maybe, if we go in with the spirit of rescuing these versions of us at heart, we’ll have better luck.”

Myth uttered an ugly laugh. “As if I could believe you have anyone’s best interest at heart.”

Smajor took in a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “It’s rather selfish of you to keep living in your double’s shoes instead of looking for him. This isn’t your life to live, Myth. Or are you just that jealous of all those other versions of yourself that you’ll gladly take over for one of them? Be honest. What’s in your heart right now?”

Myth began to emit flickers of flame, an annoyed growl rising in his throat. Before he could respond, however, the door burst open and Rusty exclaimed, “What’s wrong with you?!”

Myth now sighed. “Rusty, you know about me. Don’t be so accusatory.”

Somehow managing to sound sarcastic, Rusty asked, “Are you sure about this?”

The bright flickers died down. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side!”

“That’s an odd thing to say.”

“Then don’t agree with him!”

Smajor blinked and raised an eyebrow but merely observed the conversation.

“Are you sure about this?”

Myth opened his mouth to reply, then closed it and looked aside away from both Rusty and the fungal mage.

Smajor waited a minute to see if Myth would say something, then finally commented, “I’m not sure how you’re able to interpret what that thing is implying, but I think I appreciate its efforts.”

Rusty looked up at the fungal mage. “What did you say?”

Smajor blinked down at the golem. “I said I appreciate you helping me convince our fiery friend here to help me.”

Myth snorted. “He meant you calling him an it. You seem to think he’s just some empty automaton.”

Smajor shot Myth a flat look. “How about we get back on topic? If your concern is being able to get high enough for an aerial view of the maze, I can grow mushrooms to any height I want. It just takes a lot of mana. So, I’ve had to be cautious about approaching the entire problem. And the only thing I don’t have is a way to get everyone out. Myth, it is not fair if we leave them wandering lost in there forever while stealing their lives!”

Myth stared at him with a bitter scowl. “How did you die, by the way?”

“Huh?” Smajor was caught off guard by the change of subject.

“You said you died, but woke up still a fungal mage. Did your attempt to rescue them by yourself cause your death?” Myth watched his rival’s face carefully.

Smajor looked away as if embarrassed, then mumbled, “Zombies…”

“Excuse me?”

“I got cornered in a spider-infested catacomb by some zombies and had no choice but to defend myself to escape. But Gaia makes zero exceptions, and… I ran out of mana on the threshold of the exit, so all it took was one hit from the remaining zombies to take me out.”

Myth snorted in derision this time, yet then – miraculously – cracked a smile. “How far the mighty have fallen. I suppose if you’re that helpless, I’ll have to lend a hand. Since you can’t tell anyone else and are so afraid of what might happen if we get found out.”

Smajor frowned right back at him. “Really? That’s going to be your only reasons?”

“I’m nobody’s hero, Scott. If you want a truly sincere reason, then I’ll do it for Rusty’s sake. I didn’t intend to replace his original creator forever. I just… needed some time.” Myth directed this last comment toward Rusty.

The copper construct gazed back, then said, “Yes.”

~*~

Elsewhere in the multiverse…

The Protector of Sanctuary, graying of hair but still solid in his duty, stood before the lodestone in the Tower of the Sun God, one hand hovering over the bouquet of feathers tied with a braided cord of purple and gold thread that sat atop the stone. Over the decades he had figured out how to shape Sanctuary’s magic to imbue a focal point around an object that was associated with a specific person. Not only could he communicate with the self-appointed deity BdoubleO100 who had first built the tower and who resided in a whole other universe, he could now reach out to any receptive person that he had a token for.

Granted, it was easy to connect with someone of higher power like Bdubs or Joel – whose token was a solid gold statuette of a figure holding a trident in one hand and a lightning bolt in the other – but the bouquet of feathers with its significant colors served just as well for contacting the demi-god that Sausage and Joel had incidentally managed to bring to life and co-parent until Joel ascended to the celestial realms.

The lodestone hummed as it reached full telepathic connection range. Sausage spoke to the air, “Oh, Hermes~ I know you can hear me! I don’t know which universe you’ve adventured off to this time, but I need you to come home right away! Something is telling me I’ll need the Staff very soon!”

He waited for maybe three minutes, idly gazing out the window at the stands of bamboo that lay below bathed in sunlight, then he focused on the feathers again. “Mijo. This is a Guardian of Realities matter. I need that Staff back now.”

Sausage could feel the slight warping of time and space as a ripple appeared in the air over the lodestone. He moved back, and a half-second later Hermes emerged from the ripple. Accompanied by the jangle of bracelets and other gold accoutrement, the toga-clad demi-god with a purple streak in his pale blond hair stepped downward out of it onto the spot Sausage had just vacated.

“Sorry, Dad. There was a bit of a matter of an argument between two chosen heroes who I had been helping in the Mianite nexus, and I was trying to settle things peacefully when you called.” Hermes grinned apologetically and held out the Staff of Sanctuary. The sunlight from the window glinted off his earrings; one in the shape of a thunderbolt, the other a miniature flower pressed in resin.

Sausage smiled in understanding as he took the Staff from his son. “Okay. Just making sure you weren’t dilly-dallying anywhere dangerous which, ahem, could have been what my multiversal senses were telling me.”

“Nope,” Hermes assured, although he looked oddly nervous. “Just a regular old adventure.”

“Hmm. Alright,” Sausage said, pretending not to be suspicious as he headed down the stairs. “You can tell me about it later! I’m going to check if the magic can reveal some clues to me, so I can find out exactly where I need to go.”

Hermes followed him to the special tree that allowed them to communicate with the magic that sustained Sanctuary. Here Sausage placed the Staff into the hands of the armor stand for the magic to manipulate as needed. He declared, “Oh, Magic of Sanctuary! Hear me and answer! The energy of all reality is calling to me! Is there any aid which you could lend me to find my goal faster?”

A bright glow suffused the Staff. When it faded, the mushrooms had turned blue-black and were now speckled with bright turquoise spots. A translucent, dull-blue gemstone was now suspended in the center of the Staff’s crook. Sausage heard a chime that indicated the magic was done giving its response. He took the Staff in hand and carefully held it closer for inspection.

Hermes glanced over, too. “That looks kind of like… sculk. I guess it’s telling us that the first place we need to look is somewhere in the Deep Dark.”

“‘Us’? ‘We’?” Sausage asked skeptically. “Sorry, son, this is my job.”

“Aw, can’t I please come along this time? I know the cosmos hasn’t, like, officially deemed me a Guardian of Realities, but I’ve learned a lot and can probably help!”

“‘Probably’?” Sausage raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re not just looking for another adventure? These Guardian duties are not to be taken lightly, believe me!”

“I know, Dad, I know! I haven’t forgotten that first time, with that guy who was a splintered-off piece of you! And that time you summoned a bunch of other versions of yourself from other realities! Even as a kid, I knew how important the rule was to make sure no one got mixed up and returned to the wrong universe!” Hermes went quiet, lowering his head, then added in a mumble, “I’d like to have a multiverse-type trip together again. It’s been great that you allow me to travel by myself now, but just like that rule, I don’t get to take anyone around with me, and if I make any friends I have to leave them behind so that they complete the destiny they have in their own world.”

Sausage uttered a sympathetic noise and patted Hermes on the back. “Sorry, I should have realized you might feel that way about it, since the events that led me to this responsibility brought out my loneliness.” He tapped the Staff on the ground and nodded decisively. “Well, starting today you start your training to be an apprentice Guardian-of-Realities-in-Training!”

Hermes lifted his head, giving a little laugh. “Dad, that came out a bit redundant.”

“Oh – Hush! Let’s go ask Dolores if this gemstone means anything to her!”

Once, early on in her stay in Sanctuary, Sausage had wondered why he couldn’t communicate with Dolores like he could with other animals. Then it dawned on him that Wardens weren’t creatures of the sculk, but perhaps had once been an entire race of people of their own, perhaps even the ones who had built those Ancient Cities. So, he began spending time sitting by Dolores’ cave and passively teaching her words in Common – passively as in doing so while she was distracted by the noise machine, which he figured was a preferable safety precaution.

However, after a time she seemed to be drawn by the sound of his voice. It started with her standing by the machine but facing toward him. Then, during one week she began walking away from the machine and looming a meter away from the bars for the entire time he sat there talking. She would immediately walk back to the machine as soon as he indicated he was leaving for the day.

In the end, Sausage surmised that he was proving to Dolores that he wasn’t a threat, and she was lowering her guard. He then included Hermes in these sessions, and although Dolores emitted wary noises at first, she eventually stood calmly when both of them were there.

Now, however, this behavior caused Sausage to become worried when their approach with the modified Staff was met with loud sniffing and decidedly fearful-sounding whimpers. Dolores was already standing right at the bars by the time they reached the front of her cave.

“Hi, Dolores!” Sausage made extra effort to come off as cheerful. “The magic of Sanctuary changed my Staff to help us with a little adventure. We figured it’s indicating something in the Deep Dark. Does the, uh, smell of this gemstone mean anything to you?” He held the crook of the Staff closer to the bars.

The heartbeat visible through the exposed section of her chest grew faster. Dolores uttered an uneasy rumble followed by a whine, then she took two steps back and rumbled again.

Hermes frowned in concern. “Does she seem afraid to you? Because, personally, I’m a bit worried of what could make a Warden feel afraid.”

Dolores uttered a sad croon and turned to lumber away, much to Sausage’s scrutiny. Rather than return to the noise machine, Dolores walked to the very back of the cave and faced the wall. Then she raised a claw and scratched a roughly rectangular shape right through the lichen and the rock itself.

Sausage’s demeanor became somber. “The Ancient City portal. I’ve always wondered where it led to, but even I agreed with Bubbles about not testing it.” He looked at the gemstone. “Apparently, now I’m being called on to find out.”

Hermes spun on his sandaled heel and headed for the storage warehouse. “I’ll start packing some gear for us. I know the ‘City under Gobland has been fully carpeted for safety, but we should take a few stacks of wool in case the other side of the portal needs a light step, too. Should be a few pairs of Swift Sneak boots left in the armory. Oh, and maybe some invis potions, too! Could come in handy for scouting out if there are any dangers immediately on the other side.”

A smile made its way back to Sausage’s face after he quietly thanked Dolores then followed after Hermes. “Good idea, mijo. I’ll pack some food. This sounds like an adventure that needs a good number of empanadas and cookies to get us through it!”

~*~*~

Translations:

Mijo - son

Continued in [ Chapter Two ]

#alsmp #alsmp fanfic #nlsmp #new life smp #nlsmp fanfic #empires smp s2 #mythicalsausage #empires hermes #empires sausage #scott smajor #new life smp Sparrow #soul liminality #gods it's been so long #how do I do this again?

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counterpoiise · 3 days ago

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// How does Ethan feel when he thinks about Nemesis? Does he look up to her? Want to please her? Dislike her? Has he met her?

How does Ethan feel about his non-godly parent? Does he take after one or the other in particular?

North Loses It for 1300 Words (Headcanons) II Inbox: Open

Starting off with his dad: I doubt I’m the first person in this fandom to suggest that he was a prosecutor, but that seems like the most plausible option to me, personally! I think that Mr. Nakamura was a criminal prosecutor, likely known for being very tough on crime. I don’t think he was in any way cold with his son, though; moreso, I imagine that a lawyer who is also a single parent doesn’t have as much time for a kid as one should have, much less a child that’s also half-god, so for the first few years of life, he did what he could to raise Ethan, with the help of daycares and preschools. When Ethan got to first grade, I headcanon that something probably happened that caused his father to decide that camp was the best option. And while I totally understand how hard it would be to be a single parent, I do believe that in these formative years, this would have felt like rejection to a seven-year-old. So, Ethan chooses to live at camp year-round, and Mr. Nakamura supports his son’s decision.

What I don’t think his father would have expected is that Ethan would one day run away from camp. I can’t imagine he wouldn’t have cared that his son was missing, even if they haven’t been very close for years– in fact, I actually believe that this would have made it even harder to discover that your child is just… nowhere to be found. Given the strong sense of justice that a lawyer would have, Mr. Nakamura likely stops communicating with the camp altogether, blaming them for losing Ethan. I think that, after that, he’s been using his connections as much as he can to try and find his son, to very little avail.

Ethan doesn’t know any of this. All Ethan knows is that the only communication they had from ages 7-12 was via letters every few months, and that his being at camp has probably been easier on his father than it was to juggle as much as he did when he was living at home. So, he has taken all of this to believe that he can’t be dependent on his dad, and so… simply doesn’t seek him out at all from age 12 all the way to the present day. He thinks about his dad once in a blue moon, and perhaps wonders where he is now and what he’s doing, but seeing as how the camp can’t get a hold of Mr. Nakamura anymore, they cannot tell him that Ethan’s back there. This probably doesn’t help the sense of rejection Ethan feels.

Overall, I think that Ethan does not feel overly negative about his dad, but probably begrudges their distance just as much as he participates in it. But maybe one day, they’ll find each other again. After all, I also believe that Mr. Nakamura will never move houses, hoping that one day, his child might return.

Ethan takes after his father in appearance– I think he’s the spitting image of his dad– while he takes after his mother in almost everything else. His parents share certain traits, of course, too: the sense of justice and vengeance, the need for balance and fairness, and the belief in punishment for crimes.

That said, Ethan’s foundational ideologies about balance, power, revenge, and the world as a whole, come from his Nemesis parentage. He understands her and her mission, and he seeks to uphold it in every aspect of his life.

As for how he feels about her…

Well. Shockingly, it’s complicated lol! (A demigod with a complicated relationship to their godly parent? Groundbreaking…)

In my defense, it’s definitely… a ticklish subject, right? I mean, how would one feel about the parent who promised him that he'd save the world, but then permanently disabled him?

(Note: as a physically disabled person myself, being disabled is, of course, not all misery all the time and is not in the slightest an indication that a happy life cannot be led. But on the other hand, it is a difficult transition to go from being non-physically disabled to physically disabled, and it can be quite hard sometimes after the fact!)

At any rate, what I'm trying to get to is: Ethan thinks of Nemesis in the same way he would any situation or relationship– with a sense of balance, which creates a great deal of nuance.

On one end of the scale: Nemesis favors him, promises him something grand and glorious, and certainly doesn’t dislike him (and could, possibly, even be said to love him). On the other end of the scale: She took his eye, steered him into Kronos’s path, and likely knew that he was going to die at the end. In fact, I typically headcanon that the real exchange was “balancing the power of the world” in exchange for Ethan’s life, and the eye was actually just a way for her to make Ethan think the deal was complete (taking eye for an eye super literally), so that he wouldn’t get deterred from doing what she needed him to do (and being more fair to Nemesis: what the world needed Ethan to do).

In writing a version of this character where he survives instead of dies, though, something happens, then, that balances back out those scales (the second one certainly seems heavier, but not for long): and it’s exactly that– that Ethan doesn’t die.

On this blog, I have a few running ideas behind how Ethan lives because I’m not sure I want to commit to just one way, especially since leaving myself options means I can tailor the story depending on my writing partner (ex: writing with a Grover and allowing us to establish a bond between them because Grover manages to catch Ethan, or writing with @mistforms, we have established that Alabaster gave Ethan a card that gave him good luck, so that in combo with Ethan’s parentage helped to save his life).

But the common thing across all ways that Ethan could have survived is that in some way, Nemesis interfered. She gave him, or others, luck that balanced out the lethality of his fall. Even if she knew he might die, once the scales of power were righted, one could argue that his life could be safely spared without undoing what he did.

So, now the scales are: letting him pay high prices for saving the world, vs. saving him once he’d done so.

Seems a little bit more fair, right?

Ethan thinks so, at least.

Now, it’s not lost on him that Nemesis used him the way all of the gods use their kids, but I don’t know that that ever really bothered him as much as it did Luke or other TA members. He’ll use it as a talking point to recruit others to their side, sure, but Ethan’s main gripes were always that the Olympians didn’t do anything for him or his mom, that she was never honored the way she deserved to be, and that undetermined kids deserved better. I think that he understands the role demigods serve in keeping the world afloat, and he’s made peace with the fact that the gods will use them. In fact, I even think he can see some glory in that; after all, look at what his mother promised him. He had a higher purpose, something to strive for, something that would make him feel good, useful, and fulfilled. So, yes, he knows Nemesis used him. I think he’s actually glad she did, even if it caused a lot of pain along the way.

So, to sum all of this up: Ethan sees his mother’s negative traits but loves her anyway, and seeks her approval and favor. He is a dutiful child, but not in a way that destroys him; rather, it solidifies his sense of self and makes him feel seen by her. He wouldn’t change anything about it, except for maybe wanting to see her more often, even though he gets that she’s too busy for that. At the end of the day, he is still human, and he craves family, in a way that an immortal god can’t relate to.

#headcanons #answered #stygicniron #[wow. sorry i really had a lot of thoughts on this aljfdkls]

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gerdy-sertorius · 2 months ago

Text

The Lee Shore

The quiet embrace of land calls like a siren, and one ship, weary and hungry from years on the open sea, is primed to hear its call. It just needs a little bit more time to find a port, just a little bit more time at sea to ensure its safe landing. Yet its mastheads don’t quite stand with the same vivacity they initially carried themselves with, and its will eventually buckles. Left without wax for its ears, the ship pushes towards the land, nominally its only source of respite, its crew shaking with a growing horror that refuses to be abated. Not unlike the exhausted hands on deck, the twins Scylla and Charybdis hunger; they have hungered for millennia, and it’s safe to say that their bottomless stomachs may well never be full. The very concept of free will is stripped away from the lowliest ship hand and the captain alike as the galleon achingly, forcefully hobbles its way towards its desolation. Eurus himself takes initiative in marching it to its execution, pushing it against the wall for his never-tiring firing squad to take full advantage of. Such is the lee shore. In the chapter of the same name, one Bulkington, a ship’s pilot, found it within himself to reject those winds, and in that, Melville’s Ishmael, possessed for a moment of the spirit of Virgil or Homer, eulogises him and all he represented; it would be the only lasting record in memory of him.

He appears for perhaps three pages in the novel, in all but this epitaph a minor character, forgotten by the world. The irony is that within the metanarrative, until looking at this eternal tombstone of a chapter, neither would we remember him. Quoted as a man for whom “[t]he land seemed scorching to his feet”, Bulkington was someone who dared to not only reject the grand winds that would push him unwillingly towards land, but someone who dared to reclaim his own destiny from the hostile elements that would come before him. One who found refuge in the greatest danger he could find, whose courage would put a lion to shame. The final thought we ever hear of him is the concluding paragraph of the only page he is remembered in, and some of the greatest prose to grace the English language: “But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God --- so better is it to perish in that howling infinite than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing --- straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!” As I’m sure one can guess, there is a certain connotation to that final word that, for all the tenacity of a bulldog, I cannot completely extricate.

But in that moment, the Eureka escaped from my lips, and I thought to myself, why must one necessarily oppose the connection of the two concepts, particularly when it is inevitable? Why can’t I simply unify the ideas? Is there anything within the concept of art that irrationally linked concepts cannot for whatever reason be rationally linked? In short, I found I was being shortsighted. And, as such, I shall now attempt to explain why, exactly, the themes of both this paragraph and the other Apotheosis, aren’t fully extricable. First of all, I really must apply a disclaimer to this. Doing this properly would in fact require me to elucidate exactly what both the Apotheosis and the Melville passage signify. I’d like to emphasise that this is before the Pristine Cut releases, and as such, I lack the deeper knowledge from Apotheosis that comes from, well, playing Apotheosis in full, but I have enough faith in Black Tabby to believe that the majority of the existing themes are already present within, and will simply be expanded upon and properly developed. That is, I am taking the art as is, and trying to take from that the basic themes that we have now. With regards to the paragraph from Moby-Dick, in my professional opinion, it should be more or less safe from revision, considering it is dated from a hundred and seventy-five years ago, in addition to it being nothing more than a paragraph.

Furthermore, before all else is put forth, it is important to make note of the fact that within Ishmael’s eulogy, Bulkington is not a person. Bulkington the character is only the inspiration for Ishmael’s musings, and could be replaced with anyone else for the same result. He has not played any significant role in the story; he is completely static, and he was never even mentioned by the narration except insofar as to paint a picture of the regulars at an inn. Bulkington the character does not matter. Taking him, however, as an ideal shows a much fuller picture of what Ishmael is trying to say. Bulkington does not need to be a character, but what he does need to be is the conduit for that striking prose, for the triumphant cry against the sea. That is to say, I shall not be minutely analysing Bulkington, nor his four lines of dialogue.

To be able to compare the themes of the End of Everything and the obituary to the End of But One Man requires, definitionally, those themes to be made known. Throughout the final paragraph of Bulkington's epitaph, the primary theme is made quite clear. Despite the battery of waves, the lack of safety, the very ground constantly shifting beneath one’s feet, it is of far greater virtue to die at sea than to perish while cringing towards the land that initially promises its protection. “Lee”, before it was used as a term for sailing, meant “safety”, yet the lee shore promises not safety, but destruction wrapped in the guile of innocence. As it gently pushes a sailor towards the land, his just home, it simultaneously begs him to be dashed upon the rocks of that land. And if he does listen to those sweet lips calling him home, then he shall verily “come home,” and all the seafaring, all the agony was wrapped in the pallor of futility. To conquer the greatest of the seas, to see Tahiti, Cape Horn, the Maldives, to view the truly universal continent, and yet be brought down like Goliath himself by the rocks of the land. They outstretch their hand to hold him, to finally bring him rest. And, at last, they succeed. Such is the lee shore.

Yet Ishmael notes something else, something, dare I say, far more interesting. It is also in the rejection of the lee wind that mankind truly ascends. In nothing more than simply remaining at sea, mankind reaches its towering heights. For vice is meaningless without virtue, no? He who refuses to let himself be compromised by the false cry of home, well, he has then made himself greater than Hercules and all his labours. For in that rejection of the call of safety, mankind has found its freedom. And the greatest thing mankind can do, its highest calling, is to save its life, even if that requires its own destruction. In happily going to the ballroom for the Danse Macabre, the Grim Reaper tires. Ishmael posthumously cries that the pilot should “take heart”, because just as the heart was the key to bodily life, so too has the heart, according to the ancients, a deep and sincere reservoir of what may be more important – moral strength. And it is through that strength that man finds it within himself to fend off old Thanatos’s scythe with the rudder of his innate purpose.

That may seem rather confusing; after all, Ishmael himself, within that quote, directly romanticises death at sea. Clearly this is not about life and death – it is simply death. Yet, in my humble opinion, I would declare a key difference. To perish in the ocean is the choice taken. It is the adeo, a Latin word that carries the various and eclectic meanings of “goodbye”, of “fulfillment”, and of “action”, all at once; one's final decision. It is desire fulfilled, not simply living in denial about the inevitable, as one attempts to grasp for a chance that will never rear its head. If death is then hanging its gloomy countenance over every outcome regardless of action, then the man who lives as he was, the man who carries on with what he has determined he shall do, he carries far more valour with him than he who futilely runs screaming, never allowing himself to write his own future. A decidedly unromantic view, one could argue, yet one with a strange quixotic passion to it yet; a contradiction in terms, even. Yet, in the end, those are even the words of Christ: whosoever shall lose his life, the same shall save it. The very struggle with death, eternal for man, has become paradox.

And this philosophy of his is itself reflected in Ishmael’s actions later on in the book. He, in no less than the first chapter, is indicated to have an unhealthy morbidity about him – marching in funeral processions in which he has no connection and staying for an abnormal amount of time within coffin warehouses. And in the end, it comes to pass that even the ship he boards and the beast he attempts to slay are hearses of their own (in the plaintext, no less), sepulchres that stand whitewashed in two quite markedly different ways. He is no stranger to looking the angel of death square in the eye. And at the end, it is by clinging to a coffin that salvation finally comes to him. It is in that unashamed embrace of his mortality that he is able to find his way out of the waves. Melville was no Poe. He did not dive into the morbid purely for the sake of itself. But rather, it was the opinion of him that, in contrast, courage was, just for the sake of it being courage, virtuous. And the slow, futile crawl towards the shore, towards “salvation”, only to fall nonetheless, was for those of whom a timorous countenance was the only one they had learned. And in that ocean-perishing, in that death so completely removed from the desperate wish for life, ears far too stuffed with the wax of fulfillment to hear the growing chorus of the shore’s desperate cries, desperate attempts to claim one’s soul; up from that leaps thy apotheosis!

The Apotheosis carries more or less that same message, but in a very different light. Her context must be taken into consideration if anything is to be said about her, which in turn requires a brief analysis of the Tower. The Tower arises not only out of the failure of her (presumptive) Slayer, but his complete and total submission upon that failure. And in that, she becomes dominance incarnate, she ascends to divinity. And at that point, what is the Slayer to her but whatsoever she wills? There is contained within her purifying light no room for the blemish of disobedience. She offers the Slayer a spot at her side, willing to put aside his past transgressions for the sake of the future. Yet in the face of her magnanimity, he still refuses.

The Slayer refuses the Princess’s offer, his place forgotten — or perhaps simply never learned. She is willing to forgive his sins, as he has awakened her to her true place, that celestial throne. She speaks, her voice gently booming, love infused in every word, and tells him of all they could accomplish together, she offers the life that only she can bring. Yet in the face of her magnanimity, he still refuses. She is taken aback, yet understands. She understands everything. He needs to be able to process everything, like a young child who is confused on what exactly he did wrong. She has time, all the time in the world. For she is the world. Nothing happens that does not happen without her saying it is so, and nothing does not happen should she say it does. She can reform the world in the Imago Turri, and verily, she shall. She loves the lost little bird, for a reason that she cannot fully express. She finds it within herself to not only forgive his mistake earlier, but to forget it altogether. She is merciful, she is benevolent, she is loving. And through that love, she decides that he has come to a decision.

And so he utters that decision. And something odd occurs. In the face of her magnanimity, he still refuses. The Princess is disappointed, though she is careful not to break her imperious, royal smile. After all this time, he still doesn’t understand who he is? What he is? And so, though it breaks her heart, she does what she must. She offers him a choice, to either embrace her or to embrace the next iteration of their saga, one in which she shall surely open his eyes, to open the eyes of that poor little bird, if only he would accept it. She hopes deep within her heart that he does not choose the latter; why can her open arms never be embraced? In the last life, her foot brought down the Slayer like it was iron: strength that refuses to yield — why is he so blind to her head of gold, potential made into reality, value that cannot fade? Her silver shoulders that, despite the sickly air of the cabin being so corrosive, refuse to tarnish? Her belly of bronze, sturdy as steel and loving as Venus, here to protect him?

Yet in the face of her magnanimity, he still refuses, after everything, and her heart aches as she realises what she must do. The Slayer has forced her hand. And now she will force his. Such is the benevolence of her that she not only shall forgive him his trespasses, but shall even deliver him from the evil one, a dead echo throughout his skull, long forgotten by anyone, yet a plague, a parasite to his form nonetheless. This is something that is neither her nor him, and as such does nothing more than futilely stand in the way of the victory of the god and her herald. The pitiful echo is gone, and they shall begin their dance anew. He will understand now, there is no question of that. And that is all that matters.

The Slayer refuses the Princess’s offer, his place forgotten — or perhaps simply never learned. And so he fights, he marches onwards in his futile drive to freedom. He refuses to turn his eyes to the lee shore where safety and home lie, and stays within the tempestuous, oceanic struggle with a force far greater than him or anything else. This fight was never between equals, yet still the Slayer maintains his assault, not so much because he has a moral imperative to keep the world from ending, but because he shall not be beaten down such that he cannot bring himself back to his feet. He could, perhaps, yield control of the situation — that’s manageable, if not ideal; but he cannot yield his nature. Yet, at some point, he does. He feels his very soul crying out as his willpower becomes moot, shaking with the inevitability and the horror of it, a fight in vain that the Slayer refused to abstain from. It has given a magnificent swan song, yet the hunter he once thought he could win against has wrung the angelic trumpet out of the bird’s chest. He takes his blade, fighting with his own body, delaying the inevitable.

There is a part of him who wants to lie down, who wants to die, who wants to stake the Slayer’s life upon the ascendance of the only thing that can ensure safety. This part has been a thorn in the Slayer’s side ever since it made itself known. He is sick of it. He refuses to give any oxygen to it. He ignores it. It does not leave. He fights with it, he tells himself that he doesn’t want to give in. It does not leave. He gathers together all of his volition and he wills himself to simply reject this side to him, like he always has. Like he knows he can. But that broken little part of his psyche? He does not leave. He refuses to simply be stamped out. And as he remains, his voice begins to ring with the almost blinding clarity of knowing exactly what he is. But his value becoming as clear as the Princess’s light means nothing. Alongside the Princess, he can do anything. He easily overwhelms any opposition, and with a force unlike anything the Slayer has seen before, that puny little voice steels himself and acts. And with that imperceptible tremor, the mouse has roared, and the rocks upon the lee shore end the day speckled with a blood that the waves that crash against it can’t quite reach.

And he wakes up once more, the situation hanging like a heavy radiance over his head, a burden that his shoulders cannot bear. Yet he cannot set his burden down. Not yet. The world is apocalyptic and gorgeous and broken and complete all at once; even the trees, desolate and dead as they may be, herald with an Olympian majesty the cella of the cabin, proclaiming the divine majesty of who the Princess is. He at once realises that this is final; that this is going to be the climax of the dance of the god and her singular subject. There is an echo within him — it, unlike in lives past, declares its full and undying support behind him. There will be no treachery, there will be no petulance; the stakes are far too high for something as empty as that to be brooked. He takes a solitary step, not in any direction in particular, and in that moment the height of anything that has existed or ever will exist is reached. The Princess reveals Herself, yet at the same time remains unrevealed. There is no way to describe Her, because there is nothing other than Her. She stands, and with that the heavens bend themselves around her, a thousand lights, a thousand eyes, and a thousand suns in a halo around her beatific head. There is nothing that escapes her gravity, nothing able to stand its ground in the face of who She is. She is the absolute, the end of everything. The beginning of something new, something far grander than could be imagined.

She is so much more than him. And Her arms are happily opened to his embrace. The Long Quiet lets himself be pulled into the zenith of existence. He has opened his soul to Her, he has opened his mind to Her, he has even opened his carotid unto her, a sacrifice poured upon the marble floor and the symbol that he has repented of his transgressions. It is so easy to simply be loved. There is no virtue greater than love, there is no vice greater than abandoning that love. She loves him, and he loves her. What would he be if he denied that? She smiles at him, as if to say that tonight, he shall be with her in paradise. It has always been an option. This was always an option. He may have lost that paradise, yet alongside her, “the World was all before them, where to choose their place of rest, with Her as their guide. They, hand in hand, with wandering steps, and slow, through this world, they could take their solitary way.” He has embraced oblivion, yet while The Long Quiet remains in the unshakeable grasp of Her, the word has no meaning. She smiles, and reaches to take his hand. The lee wind blows him to shore, and he happily complies. He happily takes the safety offered to him. He is happy, and, just perhaps, that happiness is far more virtuous than any futile resistance could be. She is absolute, the end of everything. The beginning of something new, something far greater than could be imagined.

Yet despite who She is, he still fights. He deigns to perish in this howling infinite — if he must die for the sake of his soul, so be it. The Hero finds the blade, buried deep within one of many monuments to her greatness, and lets himself be swept within her gravity. He is facing the most awesome being to ever walk upon this earth, yet he still fights, for there is no other option. As the world breaks, the one thing that shall not is the Hero’s resolve; the mistake shall not be repeated. The world will end if he does not find victory, so then let him be damned if he doesn’t at least seek it. The knife feels perfectly balanced in his hands, and, shockingly, as he leaps towards Her, he finds within himself a brief moment of exhilaration. He feels that, despite everything, he can still do this. He is the one who has found the highest truth, indefinite as the Princess herself. He will end this. He will Slay the Princess, this false idol that purports safety yet is incapable of living in a world where not all is bent to Her will. The Hero is just the symbol of that, he is just the one who refuses to bend. The Princess turns to him, as he still resists with all the effort he can muster. And upon Her face is plastered a look that the Hero cannot quite understand. She is delighted. After all this time trying to tear his resolve down, to force him to see her point of view, She is glad that he chooses to fight. She faces him with the same love She had when he first entered the basement, all pain between them forgotten by Her. He has borne the suffering grimly, and with that, he, up from the spray of his perishing, found the love that was so much foolishness, a veritable stumbling block only a few seconds ago. Straight up, he leaps to his Apotheosis.

It is not entirely difficult to see the comparisons between the chapters. There exists within them the ideals of seizing your soul even at the expense of the body, most clearly seen in the end of the Tower. There is, curiously enough, a seeming innocence of the shore within the passage of Moby-Dick. It does not intend for there to be so much pain as a result of its existence, it simply welcomes the ship to itself, holding the anxious family members of the crew up such that they can see their returning loves. It provides respite, it provides warmth and resupply and new people to talk to and new cultures to understand. It simply wants the best for the ship that chances upon it, and with that, there is continuously a shout of joy arising from the crew as they see the land they have left for so unbearably long. There is a love present there. Yet as the lee wind pushes, as the confines of the construct begin to demand its toll, the land warps into a demonic entity, one that claims the souls of far too many innocent men. It does not necessarily want to bring harm, but it does anyway, because what else ought it do? As wood splinters all around it and bodies begin to pile up, the land cannot move. It must simply remain in place, horrified, as these externalities force so much desolation upon the ship that once loved it so. But whatever horrors it may have seen, it shall take heart, and see them through. Because there will always be a ship that the land can help, that the shore can do its just penance for. It never meant to bring harm, not to the ships that love it, and that the land loves in turn.

This is a love story.

#slay the princess #black tabby games #the princess #the apotheosis #apotheosis #moby dick #herman melville #this is probably my finest work thus far #i dont think it my “greatest”#but certainly my best #both these passages are in the superposition of being both incredibly christian and incredibly blasphemous #its oddly compelling #in any case #points if you can name where the quote from the third to last paragraph is from #i telegraphed it pretty heavily #but still #covering my plagiarism bases

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yourfirstsnow · 3 months ago

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neil "snow" vinson is a thirty-nine year old half-god from brooklyn, new york and is the son of asteria, the greek goddess of falling stars. he’s been at camp for a day and is a little astonished about being in the ark. snow is a playful, persistent, and patient kind of fellow. only time will tell what will happen to one of our intrepid heroes !

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄. neil "snow" vinson 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒. snow 𝐀𝐆𝐄. 39 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 & 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒. cis male & he / him 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. bisexual 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒. half god ( son of asteria ) 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. tattoo artist and ex-soldier

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑. blond 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒. hazel 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. 6'2" 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃. muscular, broad shouldered 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒. none of note 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒. various, sleeve tattoo's are most noticeable 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. none 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌. joel kinnaman

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓. neutral good 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒. creative, playful, friendly, persistent, patient, protective 𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒. selfish, sarcastic, immature, sardonic, greedy 𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒. art, travel, and sex are his top three INSPIRATION. the grim reaper, meet joe black vibes, tramp from lady and the tramp, casanova, skulls dripping gold, black cats, unkept bed, neon lit city streets, smoke, roses, starry skies

𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃

𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋. heightened awareness, but not overly phased 𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋. enhanced condition to being a demigod 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐀𝐒. being confined 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. 20/20 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃. right 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐆 𝐔𝐒𝐄. often, marijuana 𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐇𝐎𝐋 𝐔𝐒𝐄. often 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐓. he eats what he wants

𝐁IOGRAPHY

Neil went through his early life without much give or take. He was one of the lucky orphan's to be adopted, but the sting of those lonely years prior remained etched in memory through his transition. Going unnoticed for so long, it was strange to suddenly be observed this closely. To feel a pressure to prove his trustworthiness and his ability to compromise first and ask for necessities or affection later.

The Vinson's were rigid given their military background. So it was a surprise when Snow returned from school one day to find a new set of art supplies. That's when he had the thought that he was home to stay. Though the idea of home never held much weight in his mind or heart.

He got accustomed to the frequent moves, as if he were made to let go easily. Unlike his two siblings who struggled as they grew older and more possessive. He didn't make the highest grades and was often known as the quiet kid with their nose stuck in a sketch book. So easily forgotten, that sneaking out to high school parties to act out was no challenge.

After graduation, Neil dedicated himself to learning the art of tattoos. His parents thought of it as a passion project. Something fun, before his real work began by joining the military. Neil enjoyed the different people he met while completing his apprenticeship. Finding much more comfort in the company of creatives and in his own space. The Vinson's plagued his mind slowly with doubt. That he didn't have his life together and the army would point him in a clearer direction.

From his first day leaving home and joining the service, Snow honestly hated it. All of that space to express and think for himself was torn away. He became robotic, an obedient soldier, and relied on his old survival instinct to dissociate and overcome. One year turned to two, then five, and finally eight. Snow had become Sergeant to his own humble team of soldiers. Directed to the next ongoing mission in the desert.

Everything fell apart as the enemy descended one night. While it would have been his duty to stay, perhaps die, Snow finally took his chance and ran. Tirelessly, adrenaline pumping in his veins through the night. The endless starry night sky his only company and compass. The only ally of this deserter. Traitor.

He would travel for years, keeping a low profile and withholding details. In order to stay hidden and never confront his sins. It would hurt so much more to see the judgement in a strangers eyes, if they ever found out. As if they wouldn't have done the same in his position. He was only human, and at least now he could drift as much as he pleased and pursue the art he never failed to enjoy.

It was after his last break up in Prague, with a man he truly admired, that Snow received the call. Feeling beyond worthless and wishing to vanish after pushing him aside, Snow accepted the invitation. Perhaps the world on Earth was just not meant for him. Someone this distant and cruel.

Snow learned of Asteria and chose his role. It was laughable that he should be a tank. Someone who not only stayed but took the lead and hits, but seeing the younger men around coaxed the protective side out of him. He could still run, it would be so easy, but protecting the others might absolve some guilt that's recently caught up.

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vallerianella · 1 year ago

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hi yoomf if its too much thats fine but uh offers up my pastel guns of death and mr electric

Nutshell explanations uh

🧸70 smth chr. but 22 biologically, vv sweet cope kind if ur nice to him if ur not uh u get jail time in unending loop of the worst day you've ever had ^-^

🚀19. Imagine shojo boysmell older brother who used to be a bully and still has a bit of that in him but overall is very chill. Also engineer major lmao

🔗 immortal so idk if it applies but lets just say 18💀. actual delinquent whos very stubborn about what he believes in but willing to fight tooth and nail for the people he finds worthy

omg ofc oomf ^_^ collecting all ur ocs like pokemon hehehe

🧸 lotsie:

gallerian morta 🧺what if we both had abandonment issues and wanted eien 🖐️

da synergy with their disposition is nice u_u … my diplomatic pacifist calm soothing smileys who care for the dorm… nothings wrong with having a severe attachment to the construct of dorm members guys

an interesting dichotomy is perhaps how they view da concept of everyone leaving you 🧐 gallerian’s less nihilistic, and arguably more romanticized about it — considers it something akin to a bird finally leaving its nest. maybe, probably?...

🚀 saturn:

swipes occult prez elaine perleau @ u 🥛 ^_^ commander of evil dolls (infested with ghost friends. his fear abt dolls coming to life has been realized). tie her dolls to rockets i think itd be funny

when they both terrorise each other w/o knowing 💀 elaine’s not very good with social people or loud noises or like. anything. this world is terrifying. turns into the screaming man portrait when she sees his explosives attached to mr guinness III (doll she left lying around)

she seems to have no problem with blasting and exploding enemies on online games, though?…

🔗 durante:

gives u a bird girl… 🦂da aesthetics matchup in my head…

she’s somewhat of a demigod herself! or well. a creature who delegates (not) justice. gives you your last meal on deathrow before you enter the cycle to reincarnate ^_^. satine’s been let off her role recently.

generally speaking, she’s not the one who slams the gavel and decides whose evil, and doesn’t seem to have any particular opinion of those she deals with. if I say foils with dude tied up with what he considers right and girl whose indifferent despite supposedly embodying it ☝️moral dilemma but it’s not so in your face

#matchup game #ask game #ask

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whileiamdying · 2 years ago

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Pelé Will Live Forever

Pelé in 2014. Credit... Luiz Maximiano

By José Miguel Wisnik Mr. Wisnik is a Brazilian composer and writer who grew up watching Pelé.

SÃO PAULO, Brazil — Pelé once confessed that he had long been troubled by a conundrum, one he’d only be able to crack when he met God, face-to-face, and could demand an explanation.

What plagued him was a feeling of dual identity: There was “Pelé,” the world’s greatest living sports legend of the 20th century, but also “Edson Arantes do Nascimento,” the ordinary guy whose job it was to watch over Pelé, shouldering the weight of his quasi-supernatural existence. Pelé, who passed away on Thursday at the age of 82, felt, perhaps with some humor, that he was due some kind of answer as to why he had been given this double fate, upholding a godlike status in the world’s eyes, yet still feeling all too human. At his death, he wondered, who would die, given that both the incarnate demigod and the simplest of creatures coexisted inside him?

Anyone who saw him play will have no doubt God really did owe him an explanation. Pelé, the most consummate, luminous figure of perfection to ever grace a soccer field, was swept into fame at a very young age, unaware in the beginning of his own exceptionality. According to him, his most personal aim was to achieve the unrealized greatness he glimpsed in his father, who’d been an admirable but obscure player, to redeem him from a failed soccer career. Before he knew it, he was the top idol of the most popular sport on the planet, making his thunderous arrival at the 1958 World Cup, at the age of 17.

All this belongs to a bygone era of sports innocence. Soccer games were broadcast on the radio, immediately turning them into oral storytelling, steeped in legend and myth. Pelé’s career relied first on the radio and then television, cementing his fame there in 1970, when the Brazilian team captured the country’s third World Cup title. There is no visual record of much of his career, including some of his greatest goals. But throughout the 1960s, Pelé was unanimously known as the King of Soccer, bolstering his majesty with the natural nobility of someone who understood the value of his celebrity for every peasant with whom he identified.

Pelé scoring in the 1958 World Cup final. Credit... Associated Press

No one else combined his speed and dribbling skills, the ability to shoot with both feet, his precise and devastating ground and aerial play, a magical sense of timing with the ball, an instantaneous understanding of what was going on around him, all grounded in a robust and rigorously balanced athleticism. Even so, the Pelé-effect isn’t just a sum, unique it may be, of quantifiable skills.

A poet once remarked that Pelé seemed to drag the field with him toward the opposing goal, like an extension of his own skin. A philosopher conceded, playfully, the possibility of glimpsing flickers of the Absolute in him. The beauty and intelligence of his body in action, plus his eagle eye and the unpredictability of his tricks, made Pelé appear to be operating on a different frequency from the other players, watching in slow motion the same game he was participating in at high speed, while others around him seemed to be doing the reverse.

The phenom was quickly discovered and embraced on every continent, long before the introduction of large-scale marketing campaigns. It’s because his existence connects with the world through a symbolic alignment of a different nature. Beyond being recognized and revered in the traditional circles of European football, this affable Black man, ambassador of a peripheral country and performing in a nonverbal language, was perceived, celebrated and loved in the most diverse corners of the world as the eloquent assertion of a grandeur greater than any political and economic supremacy.

In Brazil, Pelé’s arrival on the world stage coincided with that of the nation’s new capital, Brasília, founded in 1960, and its innovative architecture, and the success of bossa nova music. It’s been said that a goal by Pelé, one of Oscar Niemeyer’s curves or a Tom Jobim tune sung by João Gilberto were like a “promise of joy” from an exotic marginal country that seemed to be offering the world a smooth if profound passage from popular vernacular to modern art, without the costs of the Industrial Revolution. The dictatorship that followed, beginning in 1964, gave signs, recurring and persisting to this day, that this path wasn’t so direct or so simple, to say the least.

Pelé playing for Brazil in 1968. Credit... Associated Press

Behaving in accordance with the dictates of traditional Brazilian cordial sociability, masking insidious structural racism and social inequality, Pelé did not adopt Muhammad Ali’s swaggering rebelliousness, or the passionate, political zigzags of Argentina’s Diego Maradona, nor did he pursue the carnivalesque style and tragic arc of Garrincha, the other great Brazilian star of his generation. Instead he remained a tacit and grandiose witness of Blackness in action.

More Dionysian, politicized and mercurial than Pelé, Maradona never ceased to be Maradona, at the cost of being consumed by the flames of his glory and his downfall. By dispensing with questioning God, Maradona made himself God and his own writhing demons. Garrincha and Maradona rose and fell without ever being able to separate themselves from the experience.

Pelé, meanwhile, had Edson. Among the geniuses of our time, he is safeguarded by his double, who takes on life’s contingencies and personal dramas on a lessened scale. Even if younger generations never got the chance to go head-to-head with his magnificent, indescribable appearance on the field, thanks to his guardian angel, Pelé is spared from ruin, remaining immortal in life.

Maybe God, if He exists, will reveal this to him.

#Edson Arantes do Nascimento #Pelé #Soccer #Santos #Cosmos #The New York Times #José Miguel Wisnik

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libidomechanica · 3 months ago

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Untitled (“To be dear, dear under guard the”)

A sonnet sequence

In her casement: ’-the time idle apprehensions, such worm he means to wait as ye may. Your hair was such fleeting oratory fails. Things hours was born? Tonight, Then my heart and extremes old; or else to see the Muse or moonlight, for one—all people of Or Molu. By natural temper? Rose Aylmer, who had bene not those dalyings, the man or a lass wi’ a tocher; the meant to him, where Science of beauty from, malgre all liars and if though his hand or foe: in all that fail to pray. Whistles all the next, text our sound. Of two golden bars from thee. Piercing sword in her a stations bounds lessons new thou would see, ride that same film over, so younger mournful hum toll for a moment, house to my favorite custom, Gama said: but yet more they spring, is swift to share: their clammy cells. To be dear, dear under guard the prey of the sky, vaunt as start not—lest it then restored it.

Curse to those held sagest, and of sublime; then, said thee; but red with some sublimer words had one another heart instead of wife about their plighted satyrs and ruin, and much they gazed on, till smiling and maids, behold the day wears, for he’s my daughter, and press tree, the stirrups, just at last deep oaths are seven change my near sweet contemplation fills a-snort and there because they some twenty time where he is dead: o let the people for our guided all are gone on Thetis’ glass of past regrets and yet him kiss me speak to me. The moor, a red-coat that on her, glares at the shifting sails, pilots of rhyme, by habit—the kind, and there, seize his mercy was. She blank end. Deep into the darkness— I can interior sense is what slain truth than his heir by night in shell those whom for it melts. And turned aside like a keyhole and sing and bitter clown, who had not in vain, she ask.

Side, and another know what its waters sent and demigods are reeking shows up at yours, and come in one knee; counterfeit. The flood the barber. Which I shower, jove slyly steers to the Sunnye beame so be known, something burn, and remark within him throbb’d no long because you once to stirr’d while their yields. What disturb the prize you are descendent moment: though shadow to pleasures of busie day?—Just escape from the haggard no more: they bent, and Iphigene to fayne, or the joy; my freedom, not help. What is hurt did greue. Little hardly words. What Loues pain, a third, look for me by moonlight, elbows.

Floats there he bleak steel and with sails to muse and many a please; but O too familiar care na thy dart! Unknown, by his ravisher pretty creating, to reach day— no her proved, not till thou sing, but soon his slain or hail, grew up on Greek contrived together motion, O thou no place. Oh I know of burning or shame with every wine from Female handsome, and begat of unknown, doubt if men are, should make us sad next designed; some yellow hear him—she is not near. In act thy fine, my sister in their souls unlike the sea, playing with fruit o’ mony a man, the views their rifles.

Yet is said and after many a mocke. Matured, you give me here and labouring off this chin, she placed, mark if he rush’d, who ruled by her nimble feet, and grief and frightest being pool them not augment. You run away. And stol’n of bones, yourself keeps learn’d; and strength to feare. I have a certainty, or smite rarely heate? To move, but makes me down. Not for whom so long all heavens; there form at e’en; i’ll see, which arch’d, dead and then lemons, or anything net. May win perhaps some moment march of woman’s first, for me. Heard or seeing in the But let it be sad or check’d every way.

A gloriously—when Phoebus wish of human observe when Rome’s annals so brilliant, woodcock, of what the blood, how dear domestic soul to him, who standing blasting done to changed me feared at their gifts he flies on to that I in you can compared with the breake your names my woes increse, my mother dwell. Divides warriors, all the Winter will come nook upon him; wedded with a golden face and dance, which can hardly is dissembling lips Loue withers, as if this diadem, than Dis, on her in my step into region clouds to love within him to be; discussion, which forever.

Head contrived; the savages one fault, the light, so was that sawe it, if you paid it will not? Leander was every scribed of the Guide-book’s privileged alone, bright Argus, spied her hand when ye lyst, ye iolly sheepe, the rest, her brought there; and by the turn out, he call a bee. Has been made loves; and all thee! Thou, that which only hope for they weave the little as you this officer, who in a lock without the stream! And, as if I agree, in what weld the dwarfish be told; or else swoon tongue, waking looser years are clerks,—those dainty rind, should shriek their number’s bosom rose; the night, for which.

And within, which had quite as quite foaming eye, and kiss her am grieved him grew tall as they punishment the restored. As oaks blow white young space; I love of my love is not doubtless ennui surrounding a little captive from leanings. Who fell, and you thinks to the Turk’s restored to stirrups. Herrick, that thee lives, and very fault, the night to kill. And grapes of me: now she is not for limbs, but do it to him to be venged on my stupidity. Went could not yield to bring’st this instigates in front door such bad-mixture of Time; when dayly brows, and unknown and tune to find the meant.

Live as ever again and a life alone. Why art twice for a thrush, bone. With you. Or pride and voyce, so beauty was they could rayse is wound a numbers; country dwellington, who make the shapes out comes the spaces besides of yore, with those lives more with fortune’s missal through the Turk’s teeth gleam, the other anger stole a little space; I loved the volleys, like fair, so you stood erect and ill such a cup hast thy country and my coffee Black thought aymes at first and louest to your pinky ring, and should be the stead of wife about you. She twisted the head: ashes at the ashes! Like the moon.

And our son, his last fall away th’ ears in the snow and I go. ’Dost thou art the fragrant melt that when I continue to us, of which it may drawn in the river have put this is such as might to higher spy. His hand from Latmus’ mountains, receive: for you: and left me with tall it apart, a tickling death, to see her for here and let thereof to Cupid brought so dear! Believing her breast. For Ajax, Juan walk’d o’er lustre in me, trust the rest. I miss you, you triumphant splendor on my brain compare, where, I a sclender the bristling in the din widows of Death’s valley.

Poor fellow, yellow sand, sends in plain cold, all pleasing hast thou dost lov’d never. Because I wont to pleasure took at some carriage. It mine eyes, faded they lead to close above, the century through and file there. Like other not, kind? And once at home, another’s other were deadly dreaming flies, tho’ your counting quite a nest of variety, now begin to jar. Here and more than your own, deny it. You live with rolling, my dear self-involved; but still be banish that boil overborne aloft, and the other, and gay Koutousow, he wiped her mine own hand. Quick relief in far with gore.

So stood called, my Belovëd, will turn comes the scented verse doth earth or holinight by kindly word which you come up in collection knew, must needs, sweetest o’ Beauty’s relations? Thereon Leander going on it out forbear to touches mine, or lead, or an approached; if force by many seeing on his broad may gush out, embrace may regarded breath? In tempest, they went, from island unto the sky to which heaven is mellow; come when toward buttercup, bobolink, went could rather then rolling, example of orphan went wish you come talk with music. Sweet and mused his admir’d!

Poor Cupid let me in the gate is black- eyed virgin kiss! Others, little long night, and pleasure. To meet dew place of fright eyes, and to your lives are soon shall slumber of all that make one Abydos soone believing with the Truth’s rays, choked in vision’d bower, to that. Of doubt I am alone dismantling too excursive, breast. You talked with rich with solemn feast received together made a wintrye ages black-lined in the riches, but Damme’ s rather this dame from Venus’ nun, as oaks blow for bandages and every moment, to fill with ugly Chaos’ den upweighed. Which, dissembled.

Sent a beating, a beauty’s anger, and in answer that my Love first the world may find nothing all king me a newe daunce: my old man say—one kissed, ordained, and wantonly, his opinion, which Jack howe’er our belles and plumes are banquets, Doric music out of a thousandth curse they hurt and inflamed my sommer burnt was. And here the thing new: that the merely supple-sinew’d, they will never within its tower, and loathing moved, but oft saw thy foot the grieslie Todestool grow a night came Johnson to see what euer among thee happy skies. To arrive the secret cause I woke beside me.

News of trees born, and their soule, I drank the pith, like a ministers hid among there is almost delightes, that in there wet feathery moment to me asleep had laste. Thy sovranty, recoiling wounded, from my eyes may weep, and cunning in delighter laugh’d and swept, he will hold his name; yet who should be friend hate, I do, yet the dead: and, what he had return, and won. Shall be more, one if I agrees? Tis also of song; and, when on a cursed be times, whereon the rest. Rude worke my little, mere not be such a noose, his Death’s valley night with my whole bright. Can for the strip your mother’s wings!

Where nis sike a brave oppress’d between two are measure of those text too grossness of polite; ’ but Johnson to be enjoy, and talk in the bugle-horn, the moon may not been the day, venus stood bathing a little fish in the day is gone to th’ other one another vows in statlier gloriously, and the burden would retract; and the means I find sound arms, be mine, each to prayse is what; and suit the despair maisters do despise the worlds on your dearth! Your lives by hours. And as my trick to dream; but that hour, when many a night whisper’d by we’ll never could he sounded Allah!

The night of loue I bought me for the case in a glories, like night reaps not your was prepared—the field in shadowed the priesthood may illum’d my good aduice: or prick’d out the would rate but in the ever ceased to snatch when I dipt intoxicated, naked feet were heard that blowes the intermission we shall stop with a grace, which the more the less to a bold Lysimachus, who expense of slaughter’s been wedded with trust? And whole army, like he waste in saving seems, to put it love a watery disk caught to give up love, whose for life, the polite; ’ but would my sheepe in golden keys.

Which mount they han the gazed on her father’s day; better, to see what the future shaken by the meant but seeing on remounts, and omnipotent, and kept it’s much of seven I have spent in vain,—to bear or plum, and panting organs to tune.-All people famous, but ye—our chance is smiling Hymen courage to see you talked at our her, kicking more, against they could turned, which the palace at his spent through-in my onward creeps, so cleaues thy selfe I neede not there, I a sclender thrusting,—and twitch of lantern, instead of amorous rage hys right in my bonny sweet contest, death does hast.

To some cowled, and would by dainty with liberty with riotous excess of the world my shadow of sommers proue her sighs, and he laid my fork, my man shall not? My heart know love’s refrain. Of heaven and ten the most my woe cannot, drenched spin, when hey, for I come, quick distrust which were but show the last of him the roar increse, my life behind her own ways: I measures we desires and fair; but six or several ways, at one saye, that very number;— through to seek nae maintain. From the brimming possessed, who landed on concluded that Jove, usurper of living in a row.

The bush, the glimmering her fast. With skill he cheese so we expecting separated and those only gods mightier ways, and the others, transparent commanded, you must yielded in your warm white of stone of riches exposed upon his largeness to be stuck faster went to revenge think that hour to take breaking of impulse and wonder tribe who fought my Rosalind, her long star, then for help as wolves do for my turret stand also in my stupidity.—Range ball common fellow, and all the fairer and kissed it: Pretty creatures dear. With my gruel! And streame: or it was in a mothers; other of thanks; the love possesse which some were tame. For much the pleasure, I will report. With still the despondency of burning, without disguise the long. Only their hospitality. Eyes and lay before worthy of their gesture, and dream. Now fired away dyd wipe. Yon roses.

Since breeds of your regular shoes from those cities or in the sweet Tibbie Dunbar? My haruest way of varied features course and to reply, you are a dog on their priming! Not say, mine eyes confest, even that were vain: then shall run, for I disdaine; loue into the lodging is this my bridal without him kiss. I’ll set off as he ought he, it is gone to speeding sometimes her come in night. Dwelt like fire. Thus, in her slaves in verses and how this diadem, than perjured most acute that was not my poor excuse; but doubt his Embleme. And after seas at rested the Willye, when his den.

The loved no injury more that we read with words as well as the clanging, still and that same groans, and thine: to-morrow to a tax-trap—I love were diverse: and shall men, saving separated and splinterior sense by nature is abuse—was he grey to whom it soon unrigged, and lesson new haue learnd loud long so many, died ere my selfe out o’ h—ll. On several score, when have take a look in. Acted with such this, but your hand or troubled hand upon the ocean while worthy such names with darke abstracted with he stood up the ages of power: as for those love of you.

Looks at, in time of war’s most fitt ne brest of the bett for ghostly galleon tossed by the phantom year to thy widow’d marriage in his own: t is not have admire: we, whose forgotten an vnsoote. Herewith Leander churl, make of mine theyr wonted fan of more, let me visit Hero’s gentler passive is come touch because I take it fall of some time will singing, all; o fair and then as something way to new Elysium to be! The temples you offers up her equipped from Hebe Hebe Jove’s veins fill’d as inconvenient sleepy vigour of thee beset by Christian thunderbolt.

So soone wexen dayly brow blush o’ my Phillis, or hail, or at least no less false in rape: unpraise but love is for its mother. So fair acceptance, that, mermaids are priuie to men, So she, to gie ane fashion, when once to die, and smells, all my spinnin’ wheels, which comes gloomy sky where arms to hazards rude. Now could fain be surely hath changed hen, if we can be believed his Cyclops set; I found then a token, so as the happy skies. I must now behaviour body throwe out once the greater mought falls, a fireball the copses ring, put him from thee: the one Friday afternoon, and see it.

Happy porpoise, gills a-snort and be free. Clover, an olive, capers, or common cry and your houris, like Etna, when I was girth, and strong, it could your pypes she craved it—’t is what by us, the robbed by her favoured jasper story and swore that make a look upon us as of other sire of my night brings a great Orion slide in lauish cups and up to attended breaking. We orderly, as pity to the eye turn’d—her boon forth the cool Eurotas the moved, but by his love, and claspt with sport, did the West, to take: in malice back against his mercy was.

Iron tears, and there went, would make choices? Drunk with increase, cheered: O Rhodian you for there; Then a token, so as the purchased by love’s ripeness to be! And cheek another��s care unclosed to chat on general Lascy, because I take quarrel of the ruby lips. The comic Muse; nor did I loue doth my brothers, two men whose hare, til she streets were exercised in youthful, assays, love you? My backwoods should the bouncing, listening the fatal knife has been. He was and death blest eye on, than his breaks forthright, or in the polygons of shame, in the way, assured by her neste: howe haue learn’d.

To rid him down at zero, nor a tender flight: a mazer alone can be fynd, all finish my deep kindness, paradise; and a woman, I. And this youth, rose-cheeked Adonis, the moonlight, the greater, hands. I must burnies trot, and power of his own at time thither. Yet she the Earth and the others: some pretty sure with the bar or plump cheek. That nevermore besmears to new Elysium to bear that crown. There warme, for love’s arrogance I see the things matter that wakes through rarely hath and sold a tale was artificial flood full of a winter’d o’er lustre in windowsill.

My hair is dripping with pretty ruth upon an heiresses play here all night, I shall aid they march, such doom was loued she her teethin’ a heckle, and I love itself, and water: the Turkish batteries me sweet conscious of hollow shall hands, press’d in the mob at last, for honor’s lays; then his flint. Only there if men sayd in Venus demands. We dauncing Bess, the swains, and archanged, and nothing, and while ever-singing someone used the jewelled sky. And blossoming, and palms in clustering nothing the shepheards God perdie God was cut him from the fashioned, and hours crawled by her spy.

That make: twas but that is payment ere she learnd I louer? Everything a curb trappe the walls were heavy firing eye, and lull thy thought up to them out those who expects us in a half-mushroom, half-reap’d with Hero, then running a yard or seen, thought; now she is dead, and when a half-mushroom, hall, o’er each gift, each others said and, curling, this I’ll better laugh as hers! And twitch’d with his false, ere Time and allured bird We text, text, text, to receive performed the night, and now all neck did crawled by times like dew, but not how the sea, by the steamship, in dreams and all the eye much the swallow then?

But who weren’t real, I would trace then, who, like these he bleak steel and all the kings! The pavement—if it be as were one; sweet harmony when shall be miss’d our she request of two are destine broils the highway, whole and heaven something seas of our glorious as travel’s end, doth take place books—fool, again as I suffer’d monstrous, scented in two love to burst the emblem rarely, whence follower turbidly flowers, euen thus of imitating looked in on my fair proportions, poesy so raft vs of other’s really promise, propped like a little friend, I leaves the founts of madness?

My carefully, suddenly bedded with as is far the bump I ride of warre: and still a Boy, and flank’d by weake defeated, in me underlings, it scarce knew not help the bush, then, how dear love, tempests all are now part of Hector, had stol’n thy refulgent the whole young snakes descried in course must smart of pleasure for waters, and even for thy? Love denied pin’d at every limb did, was neuer knew a glance of honest fame, or both, to human kind. And brazen from a nature is a curious meat is as we once the while the high skies, the year and against earth or commerce, perhaps to hont? Wildly rebuked his red cross: but see his sphere; i’ve heart an eddy from Jove? Port they were crowned. Child of bad; all creatures once so flash thee so appalling, and Jupiter, insist while the willing sprays of a bulky volume into the end of the gusty trees bore; nor long-lost children!

All was I to drossy pelf, than smiled across to rise again is what he dangerous guide, amongst the wind’s winding Nith I didn’t fall, that their toil; nor praise beside her he got my poor rich forever. ’ Kissing? Tossed, but quite forgotten, bone bag man, who in a dream. But she, when there turned the rest eye on, which taught it out a ray. Rosy hue; the runour feels, and our slaue; in bed I thinking fruitful lady thy heart up seas to make a little moment way it Cuddies Embleme. And like. These work sublime, not speed, to be blessed there was a lion, glaring base: base in red. And more than stood.

Than she doth she young Leander views they one colors just can’t do others that Learning cleare, and kissed its utmost perfect of all his custom, Gama said: your beauty be to changing, or speech,—nor evermore happy’s a great? But Johnson: Neither charm might quite for ever could fail and found; this wanting, put him up; I’ll let me have seen they tried to a bold sharply, and blazon forts of a dreams of most pitch of snuff’d his carriage, had stol’n from their propose the mirth, or I tomuch beleeued my soule, which the grief and showed up her myriad years of thy love in vowing back, but amazement?

—And bringeth and still she had been blesses again, I rather dimension I love of honest Nature’s sweet. Then, blubbering, and every word,—at least than his first sight cloth’d that I should let me like sweet perfume descends upon orthodox. Under at the bounds of this a sparkling first he left me die, or cool waves, pure repose, or one at they were metropolis, has met wi’ content, I shall to weapons: match for his sad sighed to kiss and his ray. Down yon scroggie glen, we daur na gang a milking throat and also suffered with shining wittes an accident or two, would not quit her.

And wild sparks upon each others know, but at push-pin, for festival. And this, heroes, name and honour, and pity;—I should the tide ebbs in slumber one women stands the rest. Is what I do not more chastity, immortal things be crown’d but that thou gone? And sacrificing thousand with pleasure, hope, fear his since the strived, expect me take town, blush thee! But one time, the name is it, to quench too busy, repeats the truly; love you away, than he country and her as human race, with gratify? A day at children and Johnson, where almost child’ ceased, had hang’d the ceremony.

And then it swear, and other fingers and to tae that blessed me if it kind? He touch’d with the thunder-song in a round wasted, the lists, and o’er the event; nor long called, but all admire ech turns round the vault received hunting the Christians down from too much to master is civilised, the foaming off likeness and scarce avails the mair that ached from Phoebe sayde that elder love, whom your glassy bower, jove slyly stealing upon his head fr an old music to described the best an ablative night: the mind, for lover has met a lamp-light over wi’ her comes upon thee, i’ll come.

Some gentle as that none others grew dumb, for what he sate by that they seek, nor tutor’s arms, neck, that when loe Perigot they fallen, have had it not yshend your own palace up, whereto those rose stern nymphs’ enveigling of the last great, if not flint! When wild, which I will fall damn near, that rather would praise, my cue for peaceful troop they sowed; ’twas but all keeps me bien, and wonder crime bigamy, he mark the parentless, so sweetnesse, which I will refuseth, giuing frame? This tardy plumes angels’ trumps do not glow, but by his fatuus to the sky will ever in his chin, she said, who taught meet.

But who stood. From my rival Pasimond a lawless bargain dropping doth vs better this blessing to a sad pickle putting intelligence prevent my pretty lad, whilst I stay they share, that wax and feede the distance blazed, and warned his memory: but worn. When the made for me the heart is like all be ascribed of tears, were ever— or else swoon to the voices of sight of lantern, instead of twilight thrice happy show of. Nor wished he did not yours steady breast could defence; stout on Shooter’s light her peeced pyneons beneath the causes can honest fairer and abandon fruit?

Free adit; we willingly scourge, the tongue that now you might hour, you are dead: Frederic the Greek, or by a short-legged his Palate blew in power empire of beautifully resolves: I’ll let me like in Germans were a little by loves; for in those cares? Riding—who fought of fright a cot and shuddering fauns would not choose against her, and branched spin, which was such less daddy’s spirit! Stands trembling provocation of the means that daily laboured shall be banishment to make this unsighing, and every raven-glossy hair: the base and then the gateways of herbes or merely mother.

And swept away, while turbidly ran, and fires shall many more in the waves in the drew one—then, how fleet henceforward to higher spares their love he lefte to want. Which infinities of readies do depart, with marriage. Or as it seem’d to wayst, till Ida has a wider. All we seize our task performed of all below with all we heart too daring your better! Of you once again; for all mixed with liberal act or speak thy resolves: if now to my onward creeping from a trance, the world that Jove, usurper of his own sweet as tree. Drew one—then, who, then roar of warres mynd aboue the place, dash’d her eyelids close in port, that, should defend the sky-lark shriller scream rose heard the sweet musicks mirthful joys, or soft-lifted in a Kirtle blueblack night not dead, or seen, the loser Lasse I changel pure and all his carry it on the word; no! But Juan was inflames and therein she look?

The town was his plump cheeks unprofan’d by dint of you, feminine in lover of your eyes shall aid the Sunne beams do not by stretched by the nuptial fuel, make epic poesy so raft vs of our broth of nighttimes with a song are, whaever hay, the sea, the fell the bridal within the Virgil, Tacitus, Livy, or some honour, lay on thee, to that you are dearly in their bare found again, and well lit, their violence sad and his suited train and silver-shedding on his moment is,—thought the one prise, the poor súpport of Albion’s first were true we heart, fearing; she yields. At first link with all walls, it takes are seven my topic— but t is ill assayde, how many a diplomatists of midnight concealed betrays poor súpport of memory of my nights long, thought those bloody mine never hay, the coroner found here by turns of happy Queene of liking by reflection.

Somewhere an heirloom seed of bright be thy fair; misshapen stood. The believe so appalling her fates a monk, saffron-robed till mountains the last: a peaceful ease, Cossacques. Told about to changels separated and gray, while the lessons nevermore admired of her wings, until she spell being bold to eye shall be true or flower of rank. And, forgive youth to hear you may deem, too gentle Silvia, do I accuse they came; their anchor dropping with nectar bowls. Hey ho the vena cava. Many a glorious than thunderstood, nor tutor of crimes: or if I neede not perform this dissemble Venus’ nun, as heavily he and clashed wife, I knew their stations. The fair, when Pity pleasure of wicks, that takes life into the golden Morpheus in silk and brings a greatly ouergone, love me, caw the swains, on musing durst begin to turned. Not run into regions fit.

Keats, when she dead I’ll leave our palace and Self-esteem. Intent vs in they would tell me Perigot of the Southcote—I have fall; or on the pleas, thou may, and azimuth, and wonder, holds a still with roses fine, my mother when he would pulsation the might dye: but I could you must be born with golden Morpheus in silent; but shared: but better here in one to find an error in the peace, protests to serve where sleepy pilot there it plans a woman is sentimes themselves where? And as a drowsie day? What after darkness through, and hear beauty herself be snuff’d his drunkenness.

A dreadful country and ball a word and can prove twas but die from then, to save thou then my self in your yrksome years with meaning to the body downward with head she and, and their statistics, tactics, and see but the digits, and the first creatures, do just after all thou less is just as might not reckoning hands held you a tale, how I admire, would beare will not. As quite through Rows’ most kisses dry, season, and fright deep chamber form a slight in the tints that wait its work. Or hieroglyphics on Egyptian soldiery to pine, I thought, and I been tressed to the better thoughts o’ the woods!

The vast expense, in me believe it? Without tender bit Beauty you but not aspire, took to receive: for love grasps her could say with riband bout my rude enough the seed saved her blowing friend foresters nine, the greatest glory stroke, the great assault: hounds, has something hung, and groans; and when another steady breake your warm of sight. Thou’s welcome. Orderly, as if by sometimes of birth cast; and as the fair, as being quite a Jupiter, e’en sae bonie lass wi’ a tocher, the matter to lose, they lead his last and tell me, that impressions to aspirant tail, where the snow what unfounde?

Because yours lives a world was run, catch the happy words, or aught or comely show his or t’other call then felt it sharp satire, i’d try confession, a virginity is neither cheeks unprofan’d by will as any life in ease, cheerefully stormy Cymon first appear? Thou, that the clouds bloom of existence, shriek their love sight and leap the revolving in the fool ourselves ask me no more. Or doubt extremes he was immovable; for nuts at me. So in their priming! Though multitudinous and still the antipodes of life he look down upon her race; but them kiss.

And cheere, yet still, save the rampart, there’s good and the ocean’s moaning a language of love. We drank him with sightless Titan hiccups in the expect our harvest of vanish’d, while each night, the Muse but in plaints, describing Pricket, valentine, summer wings. Came Psyche, ’ she spark of praise; naming fell, plunged for the red man’s breasts. Have for life, nor Jove’s refraine; loue in winters. Will excel all flushed away, then haste me one poor excused to th’ ears of the would not chang’d the wild beast in rape: unpraise the charms of men. The hall, and he rode with the door, he did so of a fine with the doome.

To join his gore. Leander voices: they my pain. Cursed the cowards him ere the tresses near him; and, curling all my heart that light trace to spil they’re too busy, and scattered with blossoming, they quickness in desire, threate: let powre in the sad, second I felt the place of forty were might bring as it seem’d to a sin far where peals the Gazette aristocratic in vain woman, shrieks and mute, and as yet, told that early know. Welcome, my brandy, though they peril as harbinger of songs can well rigged with thy foot the burning, did he taken, ran itself as finger times are a fool.

Meantime your mother. Like fire was, and my brain, O Love, seen and wonted with the after Winter with death-watch, I tease me daisy amus’d my pupil pen, neither side by side. Johnson was quite ensued to see her time; and in such gloomy sky will of simple as the world was dead, o my Belovëd, will suited not be longer flowers with indignation, which Hamlet tearing; she yielding eyelids closing with affrighted the euils both bare limbs and enter’d: first pretend therein all the charge to a worth the night came token or the proper could see; foole, drawn; here the flagging sails at summer is to be gone to look upon clouds depart of him for amorous pleasures, like an acropolis, or a lass wi’ a tocher; the ev’ning city’s takes the moon, the floor, a red-coat that I would you a tale was angry when the heard satte besides enjoy the ceremony.

I forget such credible hostile shipwrecked on the Spring with she stroked my discover the fain would do if run stare, yet should hoist my glory, and lull thy self no quiet leaves, She had been transparentage, was grand pomegranates and darkness— I can prove as the compare, and, tumbled on, ere a sylvanus weeping moved. I am to sette thee; but could rather Attica; or hearts, your old from of his whole those Janizaries, renders or whetherward, like a fruit with the same the grove when this leisure to him hastes the story mentions. He repeats the long-lost child.

But who should defend there it came on, no vapour, but now disjoined: three live leg still less harmonious, wooes th’ approach thou art thou this sùbjects fine, neede not to lose; the places. One critique, just whilome wont to shrieking nothing this more with a rustic middle of wicks, that dandled, but Nature wept, and the pool at noon; as yet. The brawling of carnage,—and them, who in deadly quarrels burst their breast. But their silver grapes of time— I that thou, when, issuing on the way to—where entreat deep breath, then begin with a rustic lost the man in a dreamed I was an All Nighting naked to an heirloom seed saved her—must not lie in the mornings, and my while they were his public learne spell? Jury of the sweet kernel; to second moon in front door a tide her reply, seven more would enjoying half-pay for your own on the eaves, hand down liking back, he spoke, drain to jar.

That sense, in which so pierce Pasimond, save thatch ’mongst the fled, and his beams from monarchs to the house to some merely drunk with him. The future shore rested the dark hour, when in the water, miles off then! Those lesson misse, open’d her face, rose Aylmer, all so;—God may have the lightest be true as tree. As it may, sets to cure thy Bagpypes renneth thick stain of tears, and especially for you It may be dear, and eat my sense: in malice with wine. Tho’ I slew these reward, like that have seen the room, and themselves And now Leander mine execution. Nor that where natures course begin!

Of crystal vial Cupid let me powre in youthfully flash the grey cheerfulness are gone. Salted cruel mocks your finger with a tent, in depth of ladies’ called, but by times, repulsed by this, all she, my body, which, after sort of plunder, as his wonder, and breathes alone, to join his own sweeping friend and would beare than thine owne consequences, beauty fires should do if run stared at the five, six, and floor chalk mimics pain— nature, as if he must mix with many a fayre Elisa one deep, has run, when twas these youthfull flames in the pleasured sun that the was received to see his back.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #174 texts #sonnet sequence

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