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d-noona · 3 years ago

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BARTERED BRIDE - Chapter 4

Ch 04 - Lunch Meeting

Kim Namjoon is a ruthless financier used to buying and selling stocks, shares and priceless artifacts. But now Namjoon has his eye on a very different acquisition - Park Han Byeol. Left destitute by her father's recent death, Han Byeol walks into Namjoon's bank looking to extend her overdraft. As Han Byeol needs money and Namjoon needs a wife, he proposes the perfect deal: he'll rescue her financially if she agrees to marry him. But in this marriage of convenience can Han Byeol ever be anything more than just a bartered bride?

Masterlist

"I nearly kept you waiting," said Namjoon. "I came back from the bank at eleven to go run in the park. As I was coming home I saw an old man on a bench who was obviously in need of medical attention. That held me up."

"Do you run everyday?" Han Byeol asks.

"I try to. Are you a runner?"

Han Byeol shook her head. "I play tennis and ski. I don't do work-outs."

He slanted an appraising glance at her figure. Today, in place of a black suit, she was wearing a designer outfit bought on a holiday in Italy. It consisted f a fine jersey-knit top in lilac, a waistcoat in violet, and swirling chevron-striped skirt combining those colors with pink and pale pistachio-green. The audacious color combination was perfect with Han Byeol's dark hair and brown eyes. "You look in great shape," he remarked. "But people in desk jobs like mine need some kind of fitness regime to stave off the bad effects of a sedentary lifestyle. Come and sit down. What would you like to drink before lunch?"

She remembered his remark about the wine she had been drinking when he forced his way in the previous evening. Was he one of those people who drank only mineral water and made everyone who didn't feel on a lower plane? Han Byeol had no intention of allowing him to intimidate her. "A Campari and soda, please," she said firmly.

Namjoon said to the butler, who had been following them at a discreet distance, "A Campari for Miss Park and my usual, please, Curtis." With a silent inclination of the head, the butler withdrew.

"Let's sit over here, shall we?" Namjoon steered her towards a group of comfortable chairs near one of the windows. "Have you finished your packing?"

"Almost"

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep, she had worked on it till long past midnight. At half past nine this morning a dealer whom she had ought a lot of furnishings had come round to buy them back. Luckily Han Byeol had paid for them out of her bank account. Although the money in it had come from her father, technically they were her property, not his. As soon as his business had been forced into receivership, everything her father had owned, including the family home belonged to his business creditors. But the cash the dealer had handed her could go in her pocket. It wasn't much but it was better than nothing if, when Namjoon spelt out the terms of his trade off marriage, she found that she couldn't accept them. Looking up at the elegant cornice around the ceiling and the two crystal chandeliers, their chains swathed with coral tassels at the tops of the heavy cream curtains.

"Are you interested in architecture?" He sounded faintly surprised.

"Sometimes."

The butler came back with their drinks, hers a slight more vivid red than the coral linen slipcovers on some of the sofas, Namjoon's colorless except for a twist of lemon floating among the ice cubes. It could be in or vodka, or it could straight mineral water. Namjoon said, "This was my grandparents' house. My paternal grandmother still lives here when she's not staying with her daughters". I moved here when my father died. We had been living in Ilsan. I have an apartment near Gangnam but I thought you would feel more comfortable being entertained in the main house," he added with a gleam of amusement. After a slight pause, he added "I shall move out when I marry. The province is better for children, if their parents can choose where to live. Most people can't of course."

"Where are you thinking of moving to?" Han Byeol asked.

"I haven't decided." His expression was enigmatic. "Where would you choose to live, given a free choice?"

Han Byeol considered the question. Once the answer would have been "Wherever Yoongi wants to live." She said, "Ideally I'd like more sun than we get in this city. I wouldn't mind living by the sea, getting some fresh air...or a lake would do as long as it has mountains round it. I'd like to look out on mountains...big ones with snow on top."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Sounds as if New Zealand would suit you."

She shook her head. "I'm sure it's a beautiful country but it's too far away from Korea. Have you been there?"

Namjoon nodded. "The scenery's magnificent...when it's not raining. Unreliable weather. I went with old friends, you might know them since they run in the same circles you do. Where have your travels taken you?"

"Mostly to holiday places...the Caribbean in winter...resorts round the Med in summer. My mother's a passionate gardener. She doesn't like travelling alone, even in a group. I've been on some garden tours with her...the south of France, Ireland, California. Where do you for holidays?" Han Byeol takes a sip of her Campari.

"I used to go with my father who also liked someone with him. We went to Japan together and other Pacific Rim countries. I travel a lot for the bank. For pleasure I usually go to France, Greece or Spain. Where would you like to go for our honeymoon?"

The question, tacked on to innocuous small talk, took her by surprise. "I haven't agreed to marry you," she said coldly.

"If you found the idea unthinkable, you wouldn't be here," he said dryly. "Let's be straight with each other Han Byeol. I need you...you need me. It's a sensible, practical arrangement."

She knew that at least the first part of what he said was true, but she wasn't about to admit it. Was it pride that made her reluctant to fall in with his plan too readily? She said, "I'm not clear why you've selected me."

"You're very attractive...as I am sure you're aware." he smiles at her gently.

"Is that all you want from a woman? An acceptable face and figure? Don't you care what I'm like inside?" Han Byeol scoffed.

'I can make some intelligent guesses. People can't hide their characters," he told her casually. "Even in repose a face gives a lot of clues to its owner's temperament. Apart from yesterday's evidence that you have a short fuse, I haven't detected any characteristics I wouldn't like to live with."

His arrogance took her breath away. In that moment of shock, she was struck by the thought it would be both a challenge and public service to bring this man down from his lofty pinnacle and convert him into an acceptably unassuming person. But perhaps it was already too late . One of gran's favorite sayings was, "What's bred in the bone must come out in flesh." Namjoon with his long-boned thoroughbred physique and his handsome features, looked a descendant of generations of men who had felt themselves to be superior beings and never experienced the doubts felt by ordinary people.

In a different, more rough-hewn way, her father had been the same. Probably somewhere far back in Namjoon's ancestry, there had been a man like her father: a rough-diamond unscrupulous go-getter who had founded the Park Fortune. Perhaps if Mr. Park had married someone better equipped to handle him than her quiet and easily cowed mother, her father might have been saved from becoming an overbearing braggart. Whether, at thirty four, Namjoon's essential nature could be modified was problematical. But it could be interesting to try.

She said, "I don't find you as transparent as you seem to find me. It takes me longer to make up my mind about people;"

"You haven't had as much experience of summing up people as I have."

The butler reappeared. "Luncheon is ready when you are, sir."

They ate in a smaller room with a view of a large garden, an oasis of well kept greenery in the heart of the city. The surface of the round Regency breakfast table had a gleaming patina resulting from years of regular polishing' It reflected the colors and shapes of the red-streaked white tulips arranged in a what Han Byeol recognized as an antique tulip pot, its many spouts designed to support the stems of flowers which had once been costly status symbols. The meal began with potted shrimps served with crisp Melba toast, tiny green gherkins and white wine, which they continued to drink with the main course, chicken with minty yogurt dressing.

While they ate Namjoon talked about plays and art shows he had been to recently. It was the kind of conversation made by strangers at formal lunch parties and although his comments were interesting Han Byeol thought his choice of subject was irrelevant to this particular situation. When the butler had withdrawn, leaving them to help themselves to a fruit salad with fromage frais, or to selection of more substantial cheeses, she said, "Why do you want a wife when you could go on having girlfriends and a change them when you get bored?"

Offering her elegant Waterford compote, its apparent fragility emphasizing the powerful but equally elegant form of the hands in which it was cradled, he looked at her with unexpected sternness. "I have a responsibility to my line. I need sons to carry on the traditions established by my predecessors."

She found this solemnly irritating. "Are you expecting me to provide proof of my fertility?" Before she could add that, if he was, he could forget it, Namjoon said, "No, I'm prepared to chance that."

"Big deal!" Han Byeol said sarcastically.

She had a feeling that Namjoon wouldn't hesitate to divorce her if she failed to live up to his expectations in some way. But although he struck her as a monster of cold-hearted self-centeredness, she couldn't deny that he was extraordinarily attractive. Every movement he had made since they sat down had heightened her awareness of the lean and muscular physique inside the well-cut suit and the long legs under the table. His hair was dry now but still had a sheen of health. There was nothing about him suggestive of stress or tension. He seemed entirely relaxed. Yet why did he need to arrange a businesslike marriage instead of falling in love the way people usually did?

Wondering, suddenly, if he might be in the same situation as herself, heartbroken, although it didn't seem likely, she said, "When did you dream up this scheme?"

"It's an idea I've had for some time...probably since my contemporaries started divorcing. I have about a dozen god-children, most whom now have step parents, some official, some not. I don't want that for my children."

"Did you parents stay married?" she asked.

It seemed to her that his face underwent a change. His lips didn't tighten. His eyebrows didn't draw together. But there was a subtle hardening and chilling, reminding her of the impression she had received that morning when they sat on opposite sides of his imposing desk/ Now they were at a table designed for a more intimate and relaxed conversation. But she sensed a change in the atmosphere and knew she had trespassed in an area of his where she was an unwelcome intruder.

"They separated. They were never divorced," he answered.

Han Byeol wanted to ask hold he had been when the separation happened, but something made her hold her tongue. Later, going back to the flat in the taxi he had laid on for her, she regretted her curiousity.

When-in-two people were going to marry, there shouldn't be any "No go" areas between them...or at least none of that nature. His past girlfriends were not her business, but his family life certainly was. She shouldn't have allowed herself to be put off. From now on she wouldn't be, she told herself firmly.

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #kim namjoon #joonie'#RM #bangtan army #rm x reader #rm x original character #rm motherfuckers

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roughrudesea · 4 years ago

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top 5 Shakespeare monologues?

I DESERVE THIS 😤

1. Richard II 3.2

No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth, Let’s choose executors and talk of wills: And yet not so, for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke’s, And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings; How some have been deposed; some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed; Some poison’d by their wives: some sleeping kill’d; All murder’d: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear’d and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable, and humour’d thus Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king! Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence: throw away respect, Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king?

WHAT CAN I SAY. I heard a friend do this monologue in an acting class almost a decade ago and even with zero context, I thought about it for years. Finally reading the play only made me love it more.

2. The Tempest 5.1

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves, And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid, Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves at my command Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth By my so potent art. But this rough magic I here abjure, and, when I have required Some heavenly music, which even now I do, To work mine end upon their senses that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And deeper than did ever plummet sound I'll drown my book.

A solemn air and the best comforter To an unsettled fancy cure thy brains, Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There stand, For you are spell-stopp'd. Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace, And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo, My true preserver, and a loyal sir To him you follow'st! I will pay thy graces Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter: Thy brother was a furtherer in the act. Thou art pinch'd fort now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood, You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, Expell'd remorse and nature; who, with Sebastian, Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong, Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive thee, Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding Begins to swell, and the approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shore That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them That yet looks on me, or would know me Ariel, Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell: I will discase me, and myself present As I was sometime Milan: quickly, spirit; Thou shalt ere long be free.

I’m honestly shocking myself slightly by not listing “We are such stuff,” but even thinking about this part of the play gives me chills. I love the journey Prospero goes on in this: watching him give up his magic and decide to forgive his former enemies is so engaging--and the language is completely unmatched.

3. The Tempest 4.1

You do look, my son, in a moved sort, As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir. Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd; Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled: Be not disturb'd with my infirmity: If you be pleased, retire into my cell And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk, To still my beating mind.

Okay I lied -- had to include “We are such stuff.” How could I not? I’m a Tempest and a Prospero stan. How could I NOT list this one when it is like *THE* iconic monologue?

4. Hamlet, 3.3

O, my offense is rank it smells to heaven; It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, A brother's murder. Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will: My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy But to confront the visage of offense? And what's in prayer but this two-fold force, To be forestalled ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up; My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer Can serve my turn? 'Forgive me my foul murder'? That cannot be; since I am still possess'd Of those effects for which I did the murder, My crown, mine own ambition and my queen. May one be pardon'd and retain the offense? In the corrupted currents of this world Offense's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law: but 'tis not so above; There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then? what rests? Try what repentance can: what can it not? Yet what can it when one can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe! All may be well.

3.3 is my favorite scene in Hamlet. I LOVE the tableau of Claudius praying, and Hamlet right behind him, ready to strike. Hamlet the character obviously has some incredible speeches, but this Claudius monologue is the one that always stands out to me: it is such a juicy glimpse into his inner psyche that is more carefully guarded for the rest of the play, and I love this moment (however brief) of unraveling.

5. Macbeth 5.5

She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

Forgive me for being so basic but I would really be lying to myself if I didn’t list this. Although this one, more than others, really depends on the actor. I have seen some renditions of this monologue I really do not jive with, but when it’s done well, it is top tier.

#shakespeare #richard ii #the tempest #hamlet #macbeth #whereforebase

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vividviverrid · 1 year ago

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ivy's fight with domino, a secondary antagonist in the book :} domino wants ivy's body as a host for the now-sentient AI program she developed & then fell in love with. this moment has significance because it's where ivy is forced to take a life and afterwards she will never be the same :( sorry ivy :(

Alright, everyone! I believe that I’ve gotten the time-delay bit figured out, so hopefully this post will go up straight at noon!

We’re making moodboards today! And we’re going to make one inspired by an event in the middle of your story. It can be any event, so long as it’s not at the very start or the very end!

#reposing force of the great lakes

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vaniri · 4 years ago

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The Great Divine Plan [Martin Septim/Hero of Kvatch]

On their way to Weynon Priory, Martin Septim and the Hero of Kvatch decide to make a quick stop in the Imperial City. After learning that the body of their late emperor lies in repose in the Temple of the One, they decide to pay him a visit. This is where Martin realizes who he really is and what awaits him in the upcoming future.

(beta read by @ugh-my-back thank you ❤️)

______________________________________________________________

They left the Kvatch refugee camp first thing in the morning, heading east, towards Skingrad. Enidd doubted Martin was ready for that journey, he seemed completely unprepared for what could possibly happen on the road, but time was of the essence. The state he was in worried her, though. The man was even quieter than after escaping the city and to be honest, Enidd couldn’t really blame him. He went through a lot. He witnessed Kvatch fall, saw his home being destroyed and people he knew being slain on the streets, by creatures that should have never come to this world. Creatures that were there because of him. And right after he thought that nightmare had finally ended, he learned that he wasn’t just an ordinary priest, but a son of the Emperor himself, and had to leave his flock, people who needed him, especially now, as soon as possible. No wonder he couldn’t sleep that night.

He was tougher than he looked though, Enidd must have admitted that. He didn’t strike her as the traveling type, considering his occupation and probably lack of fighting skills, but he turned out to be a capable companion and endured their journey to Skingrad without any complaint. He didn’t talk much in general and Enidd understood that. He needed time to process what had happened and what was about to happen. A lot of time, probably.

She felt like a fool for adding up to the pile of his concerns by revealing the true reason why the Daedra came to Kvatch. He didn’t need that information now, not after what he went through. Not when she needed him to trust her. She felt that he didn’t, not completely. Yes, Martin was following her, yes, he was very polite and obedient, helpful even in certain moments (as he was, in fact, quite skilled in combat). But Enidd could still feel his skepticism, his uncertainty about this whole situation, and for some reason it didn’t sit well with her.

He warmed up to her a bit in Skingrad, where they stayed for the night. They still didn't talk much after that, but the atmosphere between them was palpably lighter.

After long days of walking, the Gold Road finally converged with the Red Ring Road and they could head north, along the shore of Lake Rumare. The Imperial City, the White Gold Tower and impressive stone walls surrounding it, was looming on the horizon, silent, mourning. Enidd tried not to look in that direction too often, but her eyes were drawn to the tall structure towering over the city like moths are drawn to fire. And every look she took made the memories she thought she had already left behind come back to her with full force.

“Are you okay?” Martin noticed that something was off. Of course he did, he was very observant, Enidd had found out.

“Yes. I’m just tired. We should rest somewhere, you look tired too.”

“It’s getting late, and we’ve been marching since morning. We should look for a place to spend the night.” He suggested.

“Hmmm. There’s an inn by the bridge, but it wouldn’t be safe to stay there. This road is probably the busiest road in Cyrodiil, many travelers make a stop in that inn. We still don’t know who our enemies are and why they killed the Emperor, or how much they know. It would be easy to get spotted there. And Inns like that are a perfect place for silent assassination, especially as the city guards rarely visit them.”

“I’m sure there’s even more inns in the city.” He gave the elf a soft smile.

“You want to stop in the city?”

“Why not? It’s huge and highly populated, so it shouldn’t be hard to blend in and disappear. It worked in Skingrad.”

It did, but Skingrad was not nearly as dangerous as the Imperial City could possibly be and Enidd was very unsure if staying there was a good decision. The enemy had infiltrated it once, and killed the Emperor, the most guarded person in Tamriel, in a tunnel no one should have known of. Most of the assassins were dead, the elf made sure of it, but she had no idea how many of them could still be out there. How many were still in the city.

But at that moment it seemed like their only choice. One look at Martin told Enidd that staying in the wilderness for another night was not an option. Dark circles formed under his weary eyes as he still had trouble sleeping, with nightmares of the recent events plaguing his mind. He needed somewhere warm and comfy to rest and if there was a chance to provide, the elf couldn’t bring herself to deprive him of it. He was her responsibility, she had to take care both of his security and well-being.

“Well, okay. But we need to be extremely cautious. Try to avoid unnecessary conversations, and if someone asks, remember: you are a traveling priest, which is basically true, and I’m your guard. Which is also true. You don’t come from any particular city, Tamriel is your home and you travel around it, visiting shrines and chapels of the Nine.”

“Understood.”

When they arrived in the city the sun had already set and the gates were about to shut. The guards by the entrance eyed the newcomers warily, but let them in saying nothing. Apparently none of them remembered Enidd, which was pretty convenient in this situation. She had a role to play.

“Excuse me, mister.” She chatted one of the men up. “Could you tell me where we can find a decent place to sleep?”

“Merchant’s Inn in the Market, King and Queen in Elven Gardens, the Tiber Septim in Talos Plaza, and All-Saints in Temple District.” He probably answered that question a lot because his answer sounded bored and mechanical. “There’s also the Bloated Float on the Waterfront, but that’s not a very nice neighborhood.”

“Thank you very much.”

“And if you’re here to pay respects to our deceased Emperor, he lies in repose in the Temple of the One. All citizens are welcome to see him, at any time of day and night.”

Enidd said nothing, only nodded in response and entered the city, beckoning Martin to follow her.

It was strange to be there again, after all that had happened. Everything felt so different, yet seemed the same. Stone walls didn’t crumble. People were still on the streets, minding their business and trying to live their lives as they used to. Beggars were still bothering bypassers, asking for a coin to spare and evading guards that were trying to shoo them away. Wanted posters with the face of the infamous Silver Fox were still hung on every building in the city. Everything as it used to be weeks ago. But Enidd could feel the Imperial City grieve. Or maybe it was just her, entering this place again.

“First time in the capital?” She noticed Martin looking around with interest as they proceeded towards the center of Talos Plaza District.

“No, in my youth I spent some time here. I was an adept at the Arcane University, many years ago. It feels like a lifetime now.” He stopped in front of the statue of Akatosh, a giant stone dragon in a formidable pose and with wings spread wide, as if ready to lunge at his unholy opponent, looking at it with pure reverence. “It’s strange how everything looks exactly the same.”

“I hope you’re not planning any sentimental ventures, or to visit any old friends. We should keep a low profile here. And leave quickly in the morning.” The elf reminded.

“I know. So, where are we staying tonight? Tiber Septim?”

“Too obvious. Don’t look at me like that, better safe than sorry. Besides, the owner may remember me. I’d rather opt for All-Saints.”

“Lead the way, then.”

They made it to All-Saints without anyone bothering them and booked a small room with two separate beds. Enidd was sure Martin would hit the pillow promptly, but instead he sat on his bed with a pensive expression on his face. He didn't need long to get lost in his thoughts.

“You should sleep.”

“I know.”

“But something’s bothering you.” The elf took a seat beside him. “Is it nightmares? I noticed you wake up often because of them. I know that in Kvatch you saw terrible things and I can only imagine how you felt and how this horror changed you. But it’s over now and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I know, Enidd.”

“If you don't feel safe here I can stay up and take the watch.”

"No, you need to rest too. Besides, it's not that."

"Then what?"

He looked at her hopefully, as if expecting her to tell him what to do.

"I want… I think I should see him."

Enidd didn’t have to ask who he had in mind. Actually, she’s been thinking about it too, but couldn’t bring herself to suggest it.

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know. But if the Emperor really was my father, this is my only chance to see him.”

“And say goodbye.” She whispered, more to herself than him.

“Were you two close?” Martin wasn’t deaf. He didn't know much about his traveling companion, but he noticed the way she spoke about the man. It made him curious.

“Not at all. But Emperor Uriel was a good man, and he helped me a lot. He didn’t deserve to die like this.” Enidd rose from his bed and walked up to the window. She was staring absentmindedly through its dusty glass for a while, thinking. “You’re right, you should go to the temple. We should go. And we will, but not now. The guard said that people are allowed to see the Emperor at any time. So let’s hope the temple will be less, much less crowded late at night. You okay with that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now get some sleep.”

None of them could sleep much.

They left All-Saints past midnight and walked towards the round building in the center of the Temple District. As Enidd suspected, the temple was almost empty at this hour, save for the honor guard standing by the door.

Uriel Septim VII was lying in the altar in the center of the temple, surrounded by now extinguished Dragonfires. His now looking small and fragile body was clothed in the finest robes Tamriel has ever seen, with hundreds of gems adorning the top part and golden embroidery embellishing their bottom. Thick white fur was draped around his neck and shoulders, hiding his slit throat from the view. He looked as if he was just sleeping there, calm and finally at peace, with a serene expression on his now pale face.

A face that, as Martin noticed with absolute disbelief, looked so alike his own.

Despite everything that happened during these couple of weeks, he still had his moments of doubt, when he questioned himself how a simple priest like him, son of a farmer and a tavern wench, could be a prince and the heir to the Dragon Throne. It felt so unreal. Too unreal to be true, he thought. So every day he prayed to the Nine, asked them to give him a sign, show him the truth and end his quandary. But the Nine remained silent, leaving Martin uncertain. At least until now. Now the truth was lying in front of him. He could finally feel it. He saw it.

This was his father. And he was a Septim. He was truly going to be an Emperor, rule Tamriel and preside over her people. Suddenly he felt the weight of that responsibility heavy on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this. Granted, he had his flock in Kvatch; he knew how to listen to people, settle disputes fairly, and give advice to those who sought them. But he had no idea about diplomacy and politics, how to rule a country, how to wage a war or how to avoid it. No one taught him how to be a ruler. How was he going to be a good one, then?

He felt a sudden surge of anxiety rush through him.

"Are you okay?" Enidd's quiet voice and her hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his musing.

“Yes, yes.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“It’s just… I still can’t believe it’s real. But now I see it. This is my father. The Emperor is my father. And he’s dead, and everyone expects me to take his place. I just realized I don't know how.” He confessed, looking at her despondently. “How am I going to be an Emperor if I wasn’t made for it?"

"You’re not born as Emperor. You become one. You can too."

“You can’t know that.”

“And I don’t. But after the time we spent together so far I have a good feeling about you.”

A small sad smile tugged at the corner of Martin’s lips. It quickly faded away when his gaze fell back upon the body in front of him.

“Do you know how he died?”

“I was there. We were ambushed in a maze of tunnels below the city. His Blades were busy fending off assassins that swooped on us, I stayed behind to protect the Emperor. Then, another assassin appeared right beside us, out of nowhere. He cast a spell on me, paralysis of some sort. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything.” Enidd shook his head. “I was just standing there, watching that bastard slit the Emperor’s throat.”

All because I didn’t kill him first. She didn’t need to say that, Martin saw it in her eyes. He had to ask.

“You think his death was your fault?”

“No.” She shook her head again. “I couldn’t do anything. He asked me not to do anything. Right before it happened, we talked. He knew he was going to die, he knew he had to die that day. Said the fate of the world depended on that. It had to happen.”

“He asked you to let him die?”

“Yes.”

"And you listened? You believed him?"

"I was his agent for many years before his assassination. I worked in the shadows, so not many knew me, and I reported directly to him. I got to know him a little. It may sound strange to you, but Emperor Uriel had visions. Prophetic dreams about what was yet to come, as he described it. In one of his visions, many years ago, he saw me. He didn't know me, but he trusted me, took me in and let me work for him. By that he literally saved my life. And in his final moments he trusted me enough to consign the Amulet of Kings to me and warn me about the Gates. Of course I believed him. But did I want to let him die? No. I just had to. For the greater good.”

So there was a divine plan after all, Martin thought. A plan he still didn't understand, one that involved death of the innocent, suffering and destruction. He was right when he said he didn't want to be a part of it. Unfortunately, it seemed that he was in over his head right from the beginning.

"I'm sorry you had to go through this." Enidd didn’t look like she needed his sympathy, but he had to show it anyway. It was in his nature.

"It had to be me." She said morosely, eyes riveted on some point in the distance. Moment later her gaze shifted to him. “From the beginning I knew it would be me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Me neither. But maybe we’re not destined to understand. Maybe the gods just want us to execute, play our role in the Great Divine Plan.”

“And what is our role? Did the Emperor ever-” Martin hesitated. “see anything about my fate? Did he know what the Nine had planned for me?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe? He never said anything. He never said anything about you either, until the very end.”

“So I was a secret?”

“It saved your life.”

“So maybe he knew something after all.”

“Maybe, but whatever it was, he took it to his grave.”

He couldn’t know everything, though. People's fate wasn't written in the stars, not even in the Elder Scrolls, like Enidd once believed. People's fate was always in their own hands. Prophecies and dreams could guide them, but they had to find their own path. Like she did, many, many years ago, in a life that didn't feel like hers anymore.

Maybe she was led here so she could help this man see it too.

“Listen, Martin. I don’t know what the gods are planning, neither for me nor for you, but I know, I feel we don't have to be just passive observers. I'm not going to be a passive observer. Not anymore. And I swear that whatever the Great Plan here is, I’m with you. I’m not going to let the Daedra, or even the Nine, hurt you.” Enidd looked him deep in the eye and he knew her words were sincere. ”I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

He believed her.

#the elder scrolls oblivion #oblivion #martin septim #martin septim x hero of kvatch #female hero of kvatch #fanfiction #oblivion fanfiction #duck pecks her keyboard

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orthodoxydaily · 4 years ago

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Saints&Reading: Sun., Dec. 20, 2020

Commemorated on December 7_ by the new calendar

Saint Ambrose, Bishop of Mediolanum ( Milan)_397

Saint Ambrose, Bishop of Mediolanum (Milan), was born in the year 340 into the family of the Roman governor of Gaul (now France). Even in the saint's childhood there appeared presentiments of his great future. Thus, one time bees covered the face of the sleeping infant and they flew away after leaving honey on his tongue. After the death of the father of the family, Ambrose journeyed off to Rome, where the future saint and his brother Satyrus received a most excellent, for their time, law education. About the year 370, upon completion of his course of study, Ambrose was appointed to the official position of governor (consular prefect) of districts of Liguria and AEmilia, though he continued to live at Mediolanum (now Milan). In the year 374 the bishop of Mediolanum, Auxentius, died. This entailed complications between the Orthodox and the Arians, since each side wanted to have its own bishop. Ambrose, as the chief city official, set off to the church for presiding over the agenda. When he turned from speaking to the crowd, suddenly some child cried out: "Ambrose – bishop!" The people took up this chant. Ambrose, who at this time was still in the rank of the catechumens, considered himself unworthy, and began to refuse. He attempted falsely to disparage himself, and moreover tried to flee from Mediolanum. The matter went ultimately before the emperor Valentinian the Elder (364-375), whose orders Ambrose dared not disobey. He accepted holy Baptism from an Orthodox priest and, – having in a mere seven days passed through all the ranks of the Church clergy, on 7 December 374 he was ordained to the dignity of bishop of Mediolanum and at once he dispersed all his possessions, money and property for the embellishment of churches, the upkeep of orphans and the poor, and he turned himself towards a strict ascetic life.

Ambrose combined strict temperance, intense vigilance and work within the fulfilling of his duties as pastor. Saint Ambrose, defending the unity of the Church, energetically opposed the spread of heresy. Thus, in the year 379 he traveled off to set up an Orthodox bishop at Sirmium, and in 385-386 he refused to hand over the basilica of Mediolanum to the Arians. The preaching of Saint Ambrose in defense of Orthodoxy was deeply influential. Another noted father of the Western Church, Blessed Augustine (Comm. 15 June), gave witness to this, having in the year 387 accepted holy Baptism by the grace of the preaching of the bishop of Mediolanum. Saint Ambrose also actively participated in civil matters. Thus, the emperor Gracian (375-383), having received from him the "Exposition of the Orthodox Faith" (De Fide), removed – by decree of the saint – the altar of Victory from the halls of the Senate at Rome, on which oaths were wont to be taken. Displaying a pastoral boldness, Saint Ambrose placed a severe penance on the emperor Theodosius I (379-395) for a massacre of innocent inhabitants of the city of Soluneia (Thessalonika). For him there was no difference between emperor and common person: having then released Theodosius from the penance, the saint would not permit the emperor to commune at the altar, but compelled him to stand together with all the flock. Fame about Bishop Ambrose and his actions attracted to him many followers from other lands. From faraway Persia came to him students of sagacity, wanting to discern the Truth. Fritigelda, queen of the military Germanic tribe of the Markomanni, which often had attacked Mediolanum, asked the saint to instruct her in the Christian faith. The saint in his letter to her persuasively stated the dogmas of the Church. And having become a believer, the queen converted her own husband to Christianity and persuaded him to seal a treaty of peace with the Roman empire. The saint combined strictness with an uncommon kindliness. Granted a gift of wonderworking, he healed many from sickness. One time at Florence, staying at the house of Decentus, he resurrected a dead boy. The repose of Saint Ambrose, who expired to God on the night of Holy Pascha, was accompanied by many miracles, – and he even appeared in a vision to the children being baptised this night. The saint was buried in the Ambrosian basilica in Mediolanum, beneathe the altar, between the Martyrs Protasius and Gervasius. A zealous preacher and valiant defender of the Christian faith, Saint Ambrose received particular reknown as a Church writer. In dogmatic compositions he set forth the Orthodox teaching about the Holy Trinity, the Sacraments and Repentance: "Five Books about the Faith" ("De Fide"); "Explication of the Symbol of the Faith" ("Explanatio Symboli"); "About the Incarnation" ("De Incarnationis"); "Three Books about the Holy Spirit" ("De Spiritu Sancto"); "About the Sacraments" ("De Sacramento"); "Two Books about Repentance" ("De Paenitentia"). In writings about Christian morality, he explained the excellence of Christian moral teaching compared to pagan moral teaching. A well-known work of Saint Ambrose, "About the Duties of Clergy-Servers" ("De Officiis Ministrorum") evidences a deep awareness by him of pastoral duty; in it is contained not only the command for proper knowledge of Church-services, but the proper knowledge also of moral precepts, for those that serve in the Church. Saint Ambrose was also a reformer of Church-singing. He introduced into the western Church antiphonal singing (along the Eastern or Syrian form), which became known as "Ambrosian Chant"; and he composed 12 hymns, which were used during his lifetime. His solemn thanksgiving hymn, – "Thou, O God, we praise" (Te Deum), composed in the year 386, entered into the Divine-services of the Orthodox Church.

The Monk Nilus of Stolbny Island (1554)

Commemorated also May 27

The Monk Nilus of Stolbny was born into a peasant family in a small village of the Novgorod diocese. In the year 1505 he took monastic vows at the monastery of the Monk Savva of Krypetsk near Pskov. After 10 years in ascetic life at the monastery he set out to the River Sereml', on the side of the city of Ostashkova; here for 13 years he led a strict ascetic life in incessant struggle against the snares of the devil, who took on the appearance of apparitions – reptiles and wild beasts. Many of the inhabitants of the surrounding area started coming to the monk for instruction, but this became burdensome for him and he prayed God to point out to him a place for deeds of quietude. One time after long prayer he heard a voice: "Nil! Go to Lake Seliger. There upon the island of Stolobensk thou canst be saved!" From people that came to him the Monk Nil learned the whereabouts of the island; when he arrived there, he was astonished at its beauty. In the midst of the lake – the island was covered over by dense forest; on it the monk found a small hill and dug out a cave, and after a certain while he built himself an hut, in which he lived for 26 years. Exploits of strict fasting and quietude [ie. hesychia] he accompanied with another and unique effort – he never lay down to sleep, but permitted himself only a light nap, leaning on a prop set into the wall of the cell. The pious life of the monk many a time roused the envy of the enemy of mankind, which evidenced itself through the spiteful action of the local inhabitants. One time someone set fire to the woods on the island where stood the hut of the monk, but the flames upon reaching the hill in miraculous manner went out. Another time robbers forced themselves into the hut. The monk said to them: "All my treasure is in the corner of the cell". In this corner stood an icon of the Mother of God, but the robbers began to search there for money and became blinded. Then with tears of repentance they begged the monk for forgiveness.

Many other miracles done by the monk are known of. He was wont to quietly refuse an offering if the conscience of the one offering it to him was impure, or if they were in bodily impurity. In an awareness of his end, the Monk Nil prepared for himself a grave. And at the time of his death they came to him on the island an hegumen from one of the nearby monasteries and communed him with the Holy Mysteries. Before the departure of the hegumen, the Monk Nil for a last time made prayer and censed round the holy icons and the cell, and gave up to the Lord his immortal soul on 7 December 1554. The glorification of his holy relics (now venerated at the Znamenie Icon of the Mother of God church in the city of Ostashkova) was done in the year 1667, with feastdays established both on the day of his death and on 27 May.

Luke 24:36-53

36 Now as they said these things, Jesus Himself stood in the midst of them, and said to them, "Peace to you." 37 But they were terrified and frightened, and supposed they had seen a spirit. 38 And He said to them, "Why are you troubled? And why do doubts arise in your hearts? 39 Behold My hands and My feet, that it is I Myself. Handle Me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see I have. 40 When He had said this, He showed them His hands and His feet. 41 But while they still did not believe for joy, and marveled, He said to them, "Have you any food here?" 42 So they gave Him a piece of a broiled fish and some honeycomb. 43 And He took it and ate in their presence. 44 Then He said to them, "These are the words which I spoke to you while I was still with you, that all things must be fulfilled which were written in the Law of Moses and the Prophets and the Psalms concerning Me." 45 And He opened their understanding, that they might comprehend the Scriptures. 46 Then He said to them, "Thus it is written, and thus it was necessary for the Christ to suffer and to rise from the dead the third day, 47and that repentance and remission of sins should be preached in His name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. 48 And you are witnesses of these things. 49 Behold, I send the Promise of My Father upon you; but tarry in the city of Jerusalem until you are endued with power from on high. 50 And He led them out as far as Bethany, and He lifted up His hands and blessed them. 51 Now it came to pass, while He blessed them, that He was parted from them and carried up into heaven. 52 And they worshiped Him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy,53 and were continually in the temple praising and blessing God. Amen.

Colossians 1:12-18

12 giving thanks to the Father who has qualified us to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in the light. 13 He has delivered us from the power of darkness and conveyed us into the kingdom of the Son of His love, 14 in whom we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins. 15 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. 16 For by Him all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers. All things were created through Him and for Him. 17 And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist. 18 And He is the head of the body, the church, who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead,

#orthodoxy #ortodoxchristianity #ancientchristianity #originofchristianity #spirituality #holyscriptures #gospel #sacredtexts #wisdom

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msfangirlgonewild · 5 years ago

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Prescence (post-TROS fanfiction/Post Canon)

Before I’m posting on Archives, this is my first DamereyDaily2020 during pandemic week, and this is the second after Healing or ‘possibly the third’ series of ‘It's Like Poetry, Sort Of. They Rhymes.’

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Rey Skywalker

Word count: 4,650

Prompt: ’Two hearts and one home.’ Plus a bonus from late March ‘If You Lived to Be A Hundred’

Summary: Three months later...Poe had faith that his dauntless ally, his best friend, his ray of sunshine, his beloved Jedi...had returned for him.

Once the Death Star’s latest target and the site of the Rebel base during the final battle. Yavin 4 was a vast and most affluent planet of the Outer Rim Territories, and its large and sprawling tropical jungles teemed with an abundance of exotic beauty.

Following a long hyperspeed, T-70 X-wing Black One had reached Yavin 4. Similar to Ajan Kloss, this tropical moon planet was where Poe Dameron was born. He was glad, relieved to have finally returned from Coruscant and the third meeting of the Galactic Senate’s restoration.

Poe thought about the peace that had ensued after the war, and the friends that he had made along the way. He missed them so much out there, but it was time to come home, take a breath, and rejoin his father. Nonetheless, he was reflected on Finn and the journey with his fellow former stormtrooper Jannah, along with Rose Tico, Chewbacca and Lando Carlissian in search of their families. Larma D’Acy was now in the Senate’s seat while Beaumont Kim as her aide. Caluan Ematt had retired and returned to his home planet with his family. Kaydel Ko Connix had been promoted to Major and continued to serve in the military. And Jessika Pava, the fearless sole member of the Black Squadron was taking over Poe’s command.

He had visited some time with Maz Kanata at her restored castle at Takodana where she had her new cantina, and with Zorii Bliss and Babu Frik who were still running spices like in the days when Poe had worked them long ago. Zorii would keep in touch with him until if she needed hand otherwise.

The giant red planet was covered in clouds as Black One dropped from the atmosphere and flew over the grassy fields to landed perfectly just as near from his father’s homestead.

He pulled off his flight helmet and climbed down from the cockpit. As General Dameron’s temporary side droid while Beebee-Ate was away with Rey, Artoo-Detoo popped up from the astromech socket behind the cockpit, and maneuvered himself with his two small rockets to land slowly onto the ground. Finally, the droid and his maker-pilot were strolling toward the stable next to the farmhouse.

They walked past his mother’s A-wing interceptor, parked next to an old X-wing model, and Poe was suddenly curious. He looked towards the craft as Artoo was suddenly became excited with blipping and whistles.

Poe turned to the diminutive droid, as he arched his brow. “What?” he asked unexpectedly. “What do you mean—“

“Is that you, son?” His father shouted from the nearby stable while fixing his tractor. “And I could hear Artoo’s droidspeak.”

He nodded to himself. “Yeah, Dad,” he said, still focusing on the ship as Artoo rolled closer. “I’m home!”

“How’s my old mates at Coruscant?”

“Er...they all missed you,” he looked closer at the craft: one had the red stripe on two of its wings and on the body. It was sleek, like the T-70 X-wing or his original Black One that had been destroyed inside the Raddus’ hangar.

Poe abruptly realized that this was the T-65B starfighter, the one that Uncle Luke had piloted to destroy the first Death Star at Yavin 4, and then thirty three years later the same craft that had flown to Exegol with the guide of a Sith Wayfinder, with Poe along with Finn and the rest of the Resistance following its track.

Red Five��–here? Poe thought. No kriffing way!

“They’re coming to visit you the next seasons,” added Poe, sighed in relief. “And they’ll bring some of that Corellian cognac that you wanted!”

“Sounds good, Poe!” Kes Dameron answered enthusiastically.

That’s Master Jedi-Luke’s X-wing and I recognize this ship, Maker-Poe, the droid beeped to Poe. And I think there is someone here?

“Who?” asked Poe.

“Oh, there’s a visitor for you, kid,” Kes added. “And she’s with our Beebee.”

“Really?” His heart leaped to find out Rey was already there.

“Of course, you Space Porg! Did you see that old X-wing she’s flying?” Kes chucked as Poe got annoyed at his ridiculous teasing. “She’s at our old place. Do invite with your Jedi friend for a dinner tonight.”

“Ah…no problem, Dad. And I’ll tell her!” Poe wore a satisfied grin as he turned to giddy Artoo. ”Will you take it easy, bud?”

Sorry, sir. Artoo beeped. Never can help it.

He shook himself as he walked and the droid followed. “You know what, you’re a lot more cheekier like Beebee-Ate.” he observed. “And a bit naive.”

Why thank you very much, Master-Poe. You have to add that I’m a stubborn little droid as well. Jedi Master-Luke calls me that, by the way.

“Ah, I almost forgot that.” he chuckled lightly as they move along the path through the woods where his new home was, where his family was, and where the Uneti tree was located. “Does Uncle Luke cross your mind?”

Yes, Master-Poe. We had a lot of adventures when I was with him from time to time. But I can’t say much about what happened after he had gone.

“I know, Artoo,” he sighed sadly.

Until a sound of jubilant beeps and chirps approached as a spherical looking droid followed by a tiny cone shaped, rolled towards Poe.

“Beebee-Ate! Welcome back!” Poe exclaimed, dropping to his knees. He rubbed the droid’s body back as Beebee’s dome head jiggled excitedly like a child has returned from a long trip. “I really missed you, Buddy?”

Same to you, Master-Poe! Beebee beeps and chirps happily. It’s good to be home! What’s up, Artoo and you’ve been spending time with him!

Incredibly much, Beebee-Ate. Artoo replied. Master-Poe is happy you’ve come back.

“And how d’you enjoy crossing the galaxy with your Jedi Mistress-Rey?” he asked with a smile at Beebee. “Have you stuck with her?”

Yes, sir. She’s been keeping my antenna straight in case I get into trouble. We’ve traveled around to all the places, especially Tatooine.

“You mean Luke’s old homestead?”

Yes, sir.

Dio rolled closer to Poe. “Welcome back, Master-Poe.” he said calmly. He had been living there permanently as Poe’s second familiar. “How was the Senate meeting at Coruscant?”

Poe groaned as he nuzzled the droid’s cone head like a house pet. “Lot’s of reconstruction and other headaches, Little Buddy.” he smiled lightly. “Thanks for asking.”

He brought himself back to his feet as he was looked in the direction where he was going. “Is she there?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.” Dio replied.

Jedi Mistress-Rey has been at the tree in about an hour, Master-Poe. Beebee beeped in reply.

“What’s she doing?” asked Poe, looking at Beebee.

Meditating. Beebee double-beeped.

Poe looked over in the direction of the tree. He took a deep breath, glad of see Rey again. They had shared intimately at the forest of Ajan Kloss during an evening celebration. And it felt rewarding to him, as it was so very uncommon.

“Why don’t you guys go with Artoo and charge yourselves alright?” he said at the two. “I just need to speak alone with her.”

Beebee and Dio responded in the affirmative as they joining with Artoo and proceeded to the charging area. Poe resumes up the path, which finally opened into a clearing where he could almost feel her presence.

The ancient Force-sensitive Uneti tree stood there near the lake and his family’s old home, remodeled now as his own. Like The Great Tree at Coruscant, colorful fan-shaped leaves of gold and brown were attached to the coiled branches and stems of the large, twisted trunk.

Then Poe saw the enchanted tree, and near it a beautiful floating figure sat crossed-legged in the air with small boulders and rocks hovering slowly around her as the Force flowed through her. Her eyes were closed peacefully as she concentrated in a meditative trance that flowed between her and the tree.

Poe was silently impressed; he sat down on the grass, placing his flight helmet beside him. Then he stripped off his flight vest and placed it on top of the helmet as he watched the floating and reposed Rey. She had more beautiful since their first encounter on Crait where she had used her power to lift rocks. Looking at her now, Poe thought her once again of how she resembled an ancient Yavinesque goddess with her celestial objects surrounding her.

He’d never fallen in love with any woman in the galaxy before he found her. He had wanted her from the beginning when they first met at the Falcon, and now he loved having her in his life. Time was specifically a good thing when it came to General Dameron, who was gladly reunited with the lone scavenger from Jakku, now a fiercely independent Jedi after the tides of galactic war.

And it was something that he had faith in the ideal of his dauntless ally, his space goddess, his ray of sunshine, his beguiling sweetheart, and his beloved Jedi. She had returned for him.

Then a minute later, Rey had finally completed her meditation. She lowered herself neatly on the ground as the rocks fell around her.

Poe stood up and walked to her. “Hey, Sunshine,” he said to her.

Rey was aware of the familiar voice as she slowly opened her eyes and blinked. “Hey, Flyboy,” she replied breathlessly with a bright smile.

Poe took a quick step forward as Rey approached him and then wrapped her arms around him. At once all his aching memories of three unbearable months had finally lifted, and his eyes closed in bliss that as was back in his beloved Jedi’s arms. He tightened his hold around her waist and leaned against her chest as he inhaled the scent of her.

"I missed you,” she sighed softly.

“Same to you,” he murmured, his face buried in the crook between her neck and shoulder. “I’m surprised that you’re here.”

“Oh, I know. That’s why I came to see you, Poe,” she sniffed. “It’s been a long time since I was away.”

“I was worried while you were still out there.”

“More than your Force-sensitivity of tracking me?”

“Indubitably.” Poe lifted his head, raising his brows in a cocky manner and looked at her teary eyes. “I don’t want to spoil it too much, and it takes time,” he said meticulously, wiping her tears with his thumb.

“To be sure,” assured Rey.

He chuckled as his eyes mirroring hers while he stood in silence. It had been months since he and Rey had parted after leaving Ajan Kloss. There had been a lot of opportunities in their separate ways during the restoration of the New Republic, and some perks.

And he could see the truth in her eyes. Rey had missed him all these months since their fight against the Final Order, Emperor Palpatine, and his Sith Eternal, and she had come back to see him once again.

After disowning herself her Palpatine bloodline and adopting the Skywalker’s surname, Rey had made plans for the restoration and reorganization of the New Jedi Order––or maybe a search for the kybel crystal to build her own lightsaber from the parts of her staff.

She had returned to see Poe after her final trip to Tatooine. And either way, Poe was happy that Rey had come.

He began to move closer again until Rey spoke. “I hope you’re surprised I’m here with Beebee-Ate,” she noted. “He missed you.”

“Did he?”

She nodded slowly. “Uh-huh.”

“That’s my buddy,” he shrugged his shoulders with a sardonic grin as they gently pulled away. “And you’ve been flying Uncle Luke’s Red Five. What happened to your Falcon?”

“Lando asked me to borrow it for a while with Chewie,” she answered. “He told me the whole story about how his ship before he was beaten by Han in a card game.”

“That’s him, alright. He’ll never change a bit,” he sighed with a scoff, scratching the back of his head. “Are you going to stay for a while?”

“If you want me to,” she assured playfully, “then, I’m staying.”

“Good, I’m glad you’re welcome here, and you can stay as long as you like,” he said with a smirk. “Also, my Dad made some dinner for us tonight.”

“That’s sound’s wonderful,” she said in an optimistically.

Poe led her on a simple tour of the Force-sensitive tree. Despite growing up in the desert, Rey had already visited so many greens planets in the galaxy like Takodana and Ajan Kloss. But she was amazed at the exotic fields of Yavin 4 with its fresh breezes blowing through the Massassi trees, the scented fresh fruits of Koyo trees that Kes had planted, the bioluminescence of fresh flowers and lush green grasses, and the gleams of the late afternoon sun on the crystal-clear lake that shone with a lustrous and rare beauty.

As they strolled around under the tree in conversation, Rey noticed the renovated house nearby. “I can see the new home that you’ve to built over there. Is that the house where your parents lived?”

“Yup, I’m still restoring it,” he answered, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his fight uniform.

“Perhaps you need a hand. I’ve fixed a lot of stuff besides ships,” Rey glanced at him. “How about it, General Dameron?”

“Why not, Jedi Mistress Skywalker.” he was amused at the tone of her new surname. “A carpenter would be nicer to have around than a scavenger, a mechanic, or even a Jedi. But you only have a new lightsaber rather than a laser saw. Or maybe the Force would do–”

Instinctively, Rey quickly slapped his arm while Poe laughed with a cocky humor as they strolled. She ignored him as she is looked up to watch the gentle breeze moves through the branches of the Force-sensitive Uneti tree.

“Your father showed me this tree, and I can’t believe it’s so beautiful and mythical,” she said. “But it much seems so huge and different, unlike the one at Ahch-To.”

“It’s pretty awesome, huh? And it’s matured and more than I expected.” He walked to the trunk, but did not get close. “My mom helped Uncle Luke to cut two clippings a long time ago. So he gave her one as a thank you present.”

“So Luke has the other one at Ahch-To,” Poe continued. “and you’ve said there was a library underneath the trunk of the tree where the sacred Jedi texts kept.”

“That’s right, Poe.” she answered. “I returned the day on exile as when I saw the tree, it was burned down.”

Later, she stopped as Poe kept strolling. “Have you ever touched the tree?”

“Huh?” he blinked as he halted and turned back toward her.

“Did you?” she asked curiously.

“When I was thirteen, I was supposed to be close to the tree, but I’m afraid that was because I was being sensitive about staying away.” Then he swiftly glanced at her. “Later, I did at this point that I sat under the tree, and when I did, I felt the inside of me for the first time while I was napping.”

“Was it scary?” she asked.

Poe moved shyly away from her. “Nope, it’s childish. But sentimental.”

“Can you tell me, Poe?” Rey giggled, teasing him. “Come on.”

He turned back toward her again and looked down at the necklace that held his mother’s wedding ring around Rey’s neck. His expression was earnest as he moved towards her, and his fingers fiddling with the ring.

He took a patient breath and began. “I can only I remember what I felt about my mother and me. She was very close to me when I was a little boy. She would take me outside at night when my father was fast asleep. We went to the lake near the growing Force tree, we’d lie down on the grass and stared at the night sky.” Poe released the ring from his hand as he looked up at the afternoon sky. “Once, she pointed to the brightest star –– Caeli, the Bird Star of the galaxy. And it was a good sign; my mother promised me that I’d become the best pilot when I grew up, just like her.”

Poe missed his mom so much when he was with her. She had taught him advising and caring across the galaxy and over until he found himself in a place where the eyes of Shara Bey could not reach him.

“That was very touching, Poe,” she observed. “You missed your mom a lot?”

He sighed as he looked down at the surface roots between his feet, and he felt something like life, a presence, like the air through him. He cocked his head at her. “What about you, Sunshine?”

“What?” she puzzled.

“Have you touched or meditated through the tree?” he asked simply.

She took her breath with ease. “I felt it,” she replied with a simple nod.

“Was it scary or something?”

She shuddered slightly as Poe moved at her. “Hey, it’s alright I’m here with you.” he reassured her.

“It’s like a magnet pulling me, Poe,” she answered, and her eyes rose and met his. “It’s not scary. It replenishes me inside––the Force––through the way of the world, through my parents, Han, Luke and Leia, and Ben. I had cherished them as my faithfully as long as I wished for them. They’re in peace now, and I shall never regret it. The bond between Ben and me has been reconciled and purpose. I was very fond of him and remember him as a friend rather than an adversary. I embraced him with gratitude when he brought me back to life after I was defeated Palpatine and the Sith.”

Poe moved closer to her, brought her hand to his lips and softly kissed her knuckle. “Finn and I thought that you were gone there at Exegol.” he murmured with his breath hitched. “I…I’m––“

“I know, Poe,” she answered softly in a brittle tone. “But I live.”

He watched her in silence for a while, and before he could kiss Rey began to talk about something else.

“I was there in Coruscant,” she said. “At the service.”

He understood. He hadn’t seen her at the Monument Plaza during the service. “Finn told me that you’d left early,” he said.

“I wish I could’ve stayed for a while, but I had something to settle.” she nodded slowly. “That was a good speech, Poe. It was very...”

“Solacing,” he admits, cutting off Rey’s sentence.

Rey clasped both hands. “I’m sorry.”

He heaved a sigh and swallowed, looking more comforted than grieving. “I know, sweetheart. I don’t want to affect myself of having an ordeal like this. I miss everyone, especially Snap and Aunt Leia.”

She bowed her head sadly. “I understand.”

“Leia was your master after Uncle Luke, Rey,” he said.

“Yes,” she said calmly. “Master Leia taught me everything while I was at Ajan Kloss. She watched me what I’m doing, and it was with a patience between peace and calm. She told me about all the moments she treasure with Luke as he taught her every day. I miss her, and especially Master Luke, Poe.”

Rey recollected the motherly relationship with the master who trained her apprentice to refocus and free her mind from fear through the Force. She understood entirely that patience was the key of the Force.

Poe walked and stood beside her as he gazed at the fields. “Before we left on a mission in search of the Wayfinder, Leia said she was passing her torch to me to bring the Final Order down. And while I was at Exegol that I nearly failed or retreated, until the spark which had become a fire finally arrived with Lando and the entire fleet from the whole galaxy. They had done it, and Leia was right about what she’d said about new hope. I believe in her, Rey.”

Then a single tear fell from his eye, and he wiped it away. “Anyway, that was then before the war was over and it was time to move on. But i’m here now with my dad to start a new life, right from the start.”

He took a breath like he’s relaxed from bereavement as he runs his hand through his hair. “So, um…how’s Tatooine?” he asked. “Beebee-Ate told me.”

“Hot during the day, and cold at night,” she said, walking over and staring out at the lake as she felt the gentle wind behind her. “It looks fairly different than Jakku. And it’s not to be lightly traveled, that desert planet.”

“Did you find what you’ve looking for at Uncle Luke’s place?” he asked, watching the most beautiful Jedi he had ever seen standing on the very edge of the lake.

After exploring across the galaxy, and revisiting Ahch-To, her final stop had been the Lars homestead in the Great Chott flat on Tatooine. The moisture farm had remained abandoned, it was there where she buried Anakin and Leia's lightsabers. She stayed there for a while in peace and tranquility, staring at the striking blue and gold sunrise of the twin suns.

“Nothing special,” answered Rey after took a long breath. She picked up a small stone and threw and skipped it across the water. “But, there’s one who came and visited me before I left.”

“Luke?”

“No, it was Leia,” she said, turning her back to him. “She told me everything about Ben, about the pain he’d suffered, that there was still good inside of him, and she could feel it before she died.”

After a moment, Poe sighed as Rey went on. “Leia told me about you, Poe. Not so feisty as you’d think since when you were with her.”

“Oh, please,” he said like he’s was fooling around. “What was our second mom saying?”

“She wanted to know how you felt to be without guidance. Your instinct as a leader was genuinely unsurpassable, and it was such a difficult situation with what you did out there. She was pleased with you, Poe.”

Poe missed having Aunt Leia by his side during the war after Shara’s passing. He was just amazed by the miracles in the galaxy.

“When if she comes as a ghost to see you,” said Poe with a light smile. “tell her to say thank you, will you?”

“There’s more,” she said, this time sincerely. “Leia told me that I was her last wish for you—it’s because I’m your gift, Poe. I hadn’t noticed this before we met––”

Poe moved closer to her and felt the way her body relaxed against his. He placed his finger gently on her lips to silence her. “Enough, sweetheart. You’ve talked too much, and I know the exact words that she said to me.”

“Oh, there is something else,” she added with a sigh, leaning her forehead to his, and held her hands on his chest, clutching her fingers against the fabric of Poe’s flight uniform. “While I was still meditating with the tree, and I felt a presence that was unforgettable.”

They stood looking at each other in serenity and longing as the sunlight gleamed on the surface of the Yavinesque lake around them.

“It’s about us, Poe.” she whispered as her breath hitches. She closed her eyes like she was praying.

His heartbeat skipped a beat, and his eyes blinked as though he couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Tell me,” he murmured, as his eyes closed with hers.

“I remember at Crait when you were bewildering me while I used the Force to lift rocks and help you, Finn, and the rest of the Resistance to escape. Then we met at the Falcon, and as we shared about our pain by Ben and then Snoke, we were truly connected. Then we bickered with each other like feral Loth-cats about the Falcon being on fire because of your habit on lightspeed skipping,” Poe snorted at that as Rey lightly chuckled before continuing. “We fought alongside with Finn against the First Order from time to time. And while on a mission, you protected me that I fought my Palpatine bloodline against turning to the Dark Lord’s throne and falling to the Dark Side. And when I was ready for heading to Exegol to face my grandfather, were still arguing that I didn’t need you to safeguard or watch over me anymore. But you still protected me because you were deeply in love from the beginning without telling me.”

And Poe moved to hold her gently, then ran his hands smoothly along her arms and between her neck and her face. His head moved up as his lips brushed softly against her forehead. Rey flutters her eyes blissfully as she let her saying the words to flow. He whispered with kisses, from one of her eyelids to her cheek, and then that close to her mouth. Rey sighed with bliss and felt the feathery touch of his breath against her skin.

She went on: “Then the other day during the victory celebration, the night we shared each other in the deep of the forest when we made love...as the Force enlivened inside of our deepest emotions we shared, and preserved this moment forever. And when we left Ajan Kloss at dawn in our separate ways, I felt that my presence was inside still in your heart and soul, and that you would be waiting for me when I returned from across the galaxy. And now…” she paused for a second with her eyes opened, and Poe instantly stopped kissing her while his eyes stared lovingly at hers. “Poe?”

“What?” he asked, his expression beguiling.

“Why did you stop?” she asked, begging him to continue in his dawdling manner.

“Why did you stop,” he asked. “I wouldn’t know until you allow me to say so.”

Her breath hitched, then she choked up like she was almost crying, and they were both quiet for a moment until her face rested on his shoulder and Poe moved his hand to gently fondle her head.

“I came for you, Poe,” she declared softly at last with her eyes closed. “And I’m here…right here.”

He smiled peacefully, pressing his lips against the crown of her head. “Well, you’re here right now, my Lady Jedi,” he replies. “And I love you.”

With hindsight, she took his hand from her head and placed it gently on her abdomen.

Poe‘s eyes were stunned and surprised, and his mouth parted in wonder. Rey cocked her head to face him and smiled at him.

“No way,” he stammered, furrowing his brows. “Rey, you’re––”

“Does it surprise you, General?”

As their heartbeats touched each other’s chest, Poe’s permission was written into the desperation of with which his mouth met hers, something like a sense of contentment that he shared with her. He wanted more than anything is to be with her eternally.

Two hearts and one home. Poe discerned in thought.

“So you’re staying with me, Rey,” Poe said as his eyes gleamed and smirked. “And if you live to be a hundred?”

Rey laughed joyfully. Tears flowed down on her cheeks, and he gently wiped them away with his thumb. “I hope to live to be a hundred minus a day.” she sniffed in jest.

He chuckled thoughtfully with one brow widened. He nodded and caressed Rey’s face as she looked at him. “So that I never have to live a day without you.”

She leaned her forehead against his. The Force inspirited their emotions because of love, and the heart of the galaxy was forever changed.

“I love you, Space Porg.” she murmured.

Instead of calling her ‘Desert Rat,’ he decided to call her from now on.

“I know, Buttercup,” he answers softly, pulling her gently and returning his lips to hers. “I know.”

#damereydaily2020 #damerey #poe x rey #poe dameron #rey skywalker #damerey fic #star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars nothing but star wars #13. if you live to be a hundred #21. two hearts and one home #may the queue be with you #may the force be with you #post canon

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catcorsair · 5 years ago

Note

Your Daroga, please.

Because I realized that this is the single mention of the Daroga I have, in all my published works and WIPs:

(Sorry Daroga!) I wrote you this to make up for it!

___

A clangorous echo of stone grating against stone, as the massive structure which served as the front door to the little cottage five stories beneath the Earth swung open, then crashed shut. Footsteps, heavy: the uneven shuffle of a man with one too many scars. The clearing of a throat, rasping and tobacco-stained; and then, like an assault to the underground solitude of the living-room-beyond-the-lake:

“Erik, did you kill that stagehand?”

“You could knock, you know,” came the drawling reply. A long-fingered hand waved lazily off the side of one of the oversized leather wing chairs before the hearth, its occupant obscured in shadow; now the finger curled, carelessly beckoning the visitor towards it, and vanished again into the dark.

“As if you didn’t know I was coming from a mile above!” tutted the intruder. “Besides, I am not so very convinced that you are currently deserving of such a privilege.” He tossed his coat over the back of the empty chair, carefully seating himself, straight-backed, on a cushion that was much too soft for his comfort. Now he gave a long, pointed exhale, squinting in the leaner man’s direction and steepling his thick, dark fingers. “You must tell me the truth of it, Erik, or I shan’t be able to relax––and I assure you, I will not thank you for it. I have had a exceedingly long day, and I do not have the patience for your flippancies––”

“Oh, you don’t?” said Erik, mildly, raising an eyebrow such that it peaked in an irregular arc over the boundary of the black leather mask he wore. He sniffed and gave a deliberate swirl of the tulip of brandy he held perched in three long fingers, fixing his stare to the amber liquid, willfully ignoring the heavily-lidded gaze of the Persian beside him. “There are an awful lot of stagehands in this place, you realize––”

“Yes, but it is only of one I speak. The dead one, found hanging off the set of the Roi de Lahore.” Throwing an arm out over the side of his chair in an exasperated gesture, the Persian wagged a heavily-knuckled finger in the direction of the decanter, still open on the bar by the hearth, and added, “get me one of those, would you? What kind of a host are you?”

“A poor one.” Erik gave a snort, lifting his own glass to his lips; with a surprising deftness of movement (and a threatening utterance from its owner) the Persian plucked the drink from his companion’s fingertips.

“Many blessings, my friend,” he said sardonically, with a courteous bowing of his graying head; after a long draught spent easily returning Erik’s ominous stare, he tucked the glass into his palm, and added, gravely, “I am speaking of Joseph Buquet, Erik.”

“So he is dead?” Suddenly rising from his languorous repose to his full, impressive height, Erik moved to the bar aside the hearth, poured another tulip full of brandy with an exaggerated flourish, and took a long sip. He filled it again and returned to his chair, settling in aside the Persian, who had followed his actions studiously and with a meaningful narrowing of his dark eyes.

Erik was staring at his fingers, coiling and uncoiling them in an unconscious habit the Persian had seen him demonstrate on similar occasions of verbal questioning; noticing his companion’s attention, he stilled the agitated gesture. The black leather of his mask swallowed the fire light, obscuring his face in shadow as he tipped his glass in the air before him, as if he were a spectre made of only pale fingers; now he gave a long sigh, yellow eyes cutting through the black as they again fixed upon the Persian’s own. “What would you like me to do about it, Daroga?” he said finally, after several moments spent in pregnant silence, “If the man is dead, he is hardly any concern of yours, anymore. Nor mine, for that matter!”

And then, because the Persian said nothing in return, electing instead to continue to glare at him as he sipped Erik’s own snifter of brandy, Erik muttered, “yes, yes, you unbearable boob, it was I.”

Now the Persian sighed, readjusting himself in his chair to an even less comfortable-looking position, and said, with an air of self-satisfaction and thinly-veiled pity, “just because someone speaks ill of you, that is hardly a motive for murder, my friend––”

Erik glowered at his glass, hissing acidly, “of course not, dear Daroga. I would have to kill the half of this opera, if that were my reasoning.”

“But you have not, which I earnestly appreciate.” offered his companion. “As do they, I expect.”

Erik gave a derisive snort. His siren’s voice had softened when he next spoke: “I saw Buquet behaving in a manner that I did not entirely approve of. Does that satisfy your curiosity enough to drop the matter?” Emptying the remains of his brandy in a long sip, he settled the cup on a side-table with the tips of his fingers. Then, without allowing the Persian a chance to reply, he said to the empty remains of the drink, “he had an eye for one of the rats.”

The Persian twisted the end of his moustache on a dark finger. “Not your Christine, surely?”

“Ha!” Erik barked a laugh and turned again to his pensive companion, yellow eyes bright with something more dangerous than humor. “If he did, he would have been dead long before this!”

The Persian tightened his lip in an expression of mild discomfort as Erik continued, “no, no––it was little Meg Giry.” He spread his fingers in an existential gesture. “I caught him lifting her skirts on the spiral stair.”

“Meg Giry,” echoed the Persian, “the pug-nosed one?”

Erik's thin lips twisted in a wry smile. “Yes, I suppose she’s rather like her mother, isn’t she?” Again he fixed his stare to the hearth. “She leaves me macarons, in my box, sometimes… I think her mother scolds her for it, but the strange little thing has kept up the habit for years now.”

And then, after several pensive moments, his yellow eyes burning with the fire’s reflection, he added in a low voice, “the girl deserved better than the likes of Buquet.”

“Ah,” said the Persian, thoughtfully swirling his drink, “I expect it couldn’t be helped?” Then with a lifting of one heavy brow, he added meaningfully, “you have always carried quite the fondness for sweets.”

Erik turned from the fire, fixed his eye on his studious companion, and smiled. Soon his thin lips had contorted beyond the confines of his dark shroud, as the smile spread to take over the span of his jaw, deforming and warping the visible part of his face; and then he was laughing, great peals of raucous, discordant laughter, his too-sharp teeth flashing in the firelight as his thin frame shuddered with the force of his mad humor.

And without another word, the Persian slunk into the cushions, and lifting his glass high in the air, he downed the rest of the amber liquid in a long sip.

___

Sorry there is no smut, @maze-zen XD

#Phantom of the Opera #pharoga #Daroga #Erik #phanfiction #this is very silly and I'm sorry #catcorsair writes poto smut #catcorsair answers

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wristic-gaming · 6 years ago

Text

To Burn Eternal

It is both divine and damned. A creature once of light for millennia beyond count is now cast out and seething within Its own darkness like a collapsed star. Possessing a willing host, It follows Its own vices, seeking revenge for a two-hundred thousand year old grudge, dismantling It’s creators plan out of spite and disgust.

Word Count: 1700 Warnings: None Part 1 -

Joseph - The First Step into the End

The energy in the air chilled in a mix of both doom and excitement, adrenaline boiling up until the great doors clipped open. Joseph could feel the release, the doors and the seal letting in the Hell to come. Building on the intensity, arousing the passion of his flock Joseph let the authority see his family, see their strength and their number. Yet from the raised podium he saw.

The Deputy seemed to hesitate walking in. Toe to heel they tested the boundary and waited. For a brief moment they were distracted by the goings on before pulling in their other foot, standing tall, confidence slowly filling them up. A small smirk came as they eyed the walls with mild interest, fingers reaching out to flutter above the lit candles while they read the passages.

The visions were nothing compared to seeing them in the flesh. They radiated regality, like a knight standing in repose, with a sense of duty and honor. Beautiful was the single word his mind could form. Every step they took was slow, taking their time in meeting with the rest, in watching the others walk by. The last member to pass was gripped by the arm, the Deputy pulling up close and whispering something in his ear. Joseph watched their faces turn toward each other, the Deputy urging with a nod while Julian looked wide-eyed and sick, glancing to Joseph as it seemed to pertain to him. Or maybe he wanted Joseph to save him.

Meeting his perfect antithesis felt like he should be tempted into hatred, not five minutes and they were already set out to spread corruption. Yet all he found was admiration. If they were truly his last and final test, there was a sense of glory to overcome one that held such proficiency.

Seeming amused by the brewing anxiety they let him go, and how quickly the amusement fell. It was the first time they truly looked to him and his family. There was shock at first, they took in each member with a slight horror before falling into a fury. The eyes were suddenly so predatory as they again went from Herald to Herald, and fell to him.

A flush shot up his chest when their eyes met and Joseph submissively offered his hands. The burn was overwhelming enough he had to breath out a slow heady breath just to stop from shuddering. Such contempt reserved for him it reminded Joseph of a jealous child, impersonal but pure. They seemed to analyze him, between the Marshal and Sheriff they stood as a perfect Champion against the Just.

They had to be snapped at to be brought out of the trance shared, the connection pulling them both into destruction. But Joseph reminded himself, no matter what, he would be forgiving where they could never. Through that forgiveness, find conviction.

Yet leaving the church and walking through the streets, the hair on the back of his neck rose, tempting him to look back. He felt the Deputy’s grip on his shoulder tighten. He wasn’t sure how but Joseph knew with certainty, they were feeding off the panic and anger his arrest was causing. Excited by the riot brewing.

Before he could try to rationalize why he might be feeling that way the Deputy pulled in, whispering in his ear, drooling guttural words of arousal. “I really did miss this place.”

The sentence wouldn’t leave his mind. The smile in the tone, the animistic vibrato, the skin crawling affect it possessed him with. Even as it replayed in his mind he felt the hairs on his neck rise throughout the rest of the night while the Reaping began.

In the morning he sought out Julian. The man was pulled back from the rest, staring off in the lake and the mist rolling over it. The top of the thin clouds were tinted gold and the trees gently hushing.

“Julian.” He called with a smile, expecting him to be attentive. Julian was as loyal as they came. But he hesitated, head dropping to the ground before he found courage to look and return a tight fake grin. Softly Joseph came upon him, keeping the moment between them as gentle as could be. “Julian, I need you to tell me what the Deputy said to you last night.”

Julian tensed, chewing his jaw while he turned back to the lake. Joseph placed a hand on his shoulder and it did ease him slightly, a slow and heavy breath leaving him. “It’s clearly affected you. Tell me so I might heal that wound.”

Stubbornly he still forced that smile, ignoring the glittering tears in his own eyes. “Nothing that matters now.”

The words were strained, pushing down a warble that threatened to crack him. Joseph urged, more worried than ever how a simple sentence could unwind years of steady dedication. “Don’t push it down Julian, don’t let it fester. Confess and be free of this pain.”

Julian raised his head to the sunrise and the tears started to fall, the agony of silence building too fast. “They said,” He swallowed hard to keep his voice from cracking, shaking his head while the tears fell and Joseph rubbed his back, urging him to continue. “You promised her she would be happy. Would you like to know how many hours it took her to die?”

Julian than broke into sobbing, covering his face to hide. Still Joseph had to push, mystified. “You’re saying... she knew of your wife? Have you ever met this Deputy before-”

“No-no, no. I’ve never met them before in my life and-and normally the thought has never- it’s been a long time since my wife’s death brought me to tears like this but,” He broke down, weeping before he could talk again, “I feel so sick. My hands won’t stop shaking.” He showed the steady tremble. “I keep hearing what they said over and over and… and…”

“Yes, tell me.” Joseph was on the edge, pushing so close to Julian he could smell the tears.

Julian looked around like he worried someone would hear. He whispered, “I’m hearing her screams. I’m hearing her beg and cry for John to stop.” Choking up once more Joseph brought him into his chest, embracing him while he sobbed out, “Father, what’s come over me?”

It had been a long time since he felt so chilled. Still comforting Julian he spoke with calm certainty. “A Demon. A demon has etched cursed words into your soul. Fear not for you are with the Father. God has not abandoned you. You will go to John and he will cleanse you off this affliction.”

He could feel Julian seize up and fall silent. Joseph pet his hair back and pulled his damp face to meet his. “Do. Not. Fear, Julian. Overcome this anxiety and you will be free once more. I promise.”

A promise, the same kind of assurance Julian gave his wife who selfishly refused to submit. Joseph realized as soon as he said it, the sentence was perfectly made to undo Julian, to corrupt him completely.

It was no matter. A test was a test. If Julian failed than that was his own undoing.

Julian bowed his head, “Yes, Father.” And walked away, far more shaken then before. Joseph could hardly say he couldn’t relate. One night. One sentence. He knew Hell would come to burn through his beautiful Eden, that the suffering would open the gates to paradise and cleanse the Earth into purity. But could he ever truly be prepared for how they would do it?

A flush ran up his neck again hearing the words growl, I really did miss this place.

It did have a way of making him feel sick to his stomach, where the heat there flipped and confused him.

In trying to compose himself Joseph’s eyes honed on a particular spot on the island across from him, Dutch’s island. The stubborn old soldier, unable to let the fight die. It wasn’t hard to see the real reason Jacob flippantly ignored him to his own devices. So many times his family has had to wonder what if they’re lives had been different.

Across the lake a figure started to make itself apparent. The mist grayed them out, but they stood enough before the trees he could make out the shape of a person on the bank, staring at him. Yet warmth surprised him, flooded him with the heavenly choirs of whispers, of the Lord ready to give him guidance. Perhaps across this lake was an angel watching over him.

Ice chased his veins as words from a voice not familiar became clear.

When I am done, you too will know the agony of a shattered halo.

Unsure of what it meant, he puffed his chest anyway, challenging. “You cannot stop destiny. Try as you will, the Lord has spoken to me,” Something about mentioning God caused a sharp wipe of anger to lash at him. Not his anger, but as he realized, Its. “You can’t change the future-”

Joseph could see, feel the stinging flames of its madness induced fury. The singing was thunderous, so loud it rang in his ears.

I DO NOT NEED YOUR MASTERS PERMISSION. The Blessing of Light does not belong to ignorant little creatures like YOU.

The shadow turned away then, pulsing waves of hate and rage into his blood, fading into the backdrop of the mist and woods. Soon the heated fire dwindled enough for him to catch his breath, feeling his heart race in a way it hadn’t in a very long time. The sensation of something warm crawling down his ear startled him. Dabbing his fingers he pulled back to see blood. Slowly he rubbed the ichor between his fingers, looking again across the lake, wondering on how such an elegant and graceful divine creature could be brimming with so much hatred. It was a shame, a great tragedy to itself.

Perhaps his family could save it.

Let me know what you thought and who you’d like to see next! And just for kicks, let me know how your Deputy would feel being possessed by a creature embodying pure Wrath!

#joseph seed #Far Cry 5 #far cry 5 imagine #far cry 5 deputy #far cry 5 fic #joseph seed imagine #To Burn Eternal

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vividviverrid · 1 year ago

Text

this scene wouldn't fit in the actual novel but suddenly obsessed with the idea where soren traps all the main characters and he's feeling particularly evil so he forces them to do an impromptu open mic night judged by him & some of his manifestations and the person who gets the highest score on their improv performance is the one he spares. I've been watching too much doom patrol maybe, but we knew that

#reposing force of the great lakes

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lostinfic · 6 years ago

Text

The Raven and the Goldfinch | 2

Part 2 out of 3 | Part 1 | Ao3

Summary: In turn-of-the-century London, the famous illusionist, Peter Vincent, must use his skills to reclaim the love of his life, a woman he thought was lost to him. Now that he’s given a second chance, he won’t lose her again, not even when supernatural forces get in the way.

Rating: explicit (@ktrosesworld wanted smut, so it begins, but there’s still plot)

Word count: 2.6k (I decided to divide it into shorter parts)

Ship: Peter Vincent (Fright Night) x Jenny (Spirit Trap). (see part 1 for notes on this pairing)

≒

The Bristol Commercial Chronicle, 29 November 1895

ON VAMPIRES AND VAMPIRISM

Lately, the conversation of private parties has frequently turned on the subject of vampires; and the discussion has been prolonged and invigorated by the pieces brought out at the theatres across Europe. Even in Paris, the French literari, whom nothing escapes, desirous of displaying their learning, have brushed off the dust of repose and oblivion from more than one story applicable to the matter of vampires. In London, vampirism has almost superseded politics in the journals, clubs and salons of the genteel society. The success of Mr. Peter Vincent’s Frightful Entertainments is no stranger to this phenomenon; his Nosferatus have inflamed the collective unconscious. He deserves attention, no less from its temporary interest, than from its peculiar character, as part of the history of the human mind. It is connected with notions of the most extensive and powerful influence.

Last week, we reported on the presence of the Earl of Westmorland and his new bride, Countess Iphigenia (nee Goldfinch), at the premier of Mr. Vincent’s show at the Egyptian Hall. They had recently returned from the Austro-hungarian empire, where perhaps they were acquainted with such creatures of the night. Indeed, it is reserved for the ruder tribes of the north, and perhaps for those of the wilder parts of the East, to graft on the notion of re-appearance of the dead, that of malignity and delight in the suffering they had the power to inflict. It is a notion generally received among the Hungarians, that certain dead persons possess the power of returning by night to molest the living. We have it under good authority that a peculiar illness has struck the Westmorland household, and that the Earl has invited Mr. Vincent himself to his residence for a private performance.

≑

It was common for the rich and nobles of British society to own houses around the vast green expanse of St. James’s Park, and the Earl of Westmorland was no exception. Though he owned lands and a castle in the north of England, he needed a pied-à-terre in London, so, for the season, he and Jennie lived in a large Georgian townhouse not far from Buckingham palace. The grey, smoke-smeared stones of the house surrounded by skeletal trees was a dreary sight on this November afternoon.

At the gates, Peter and his manager, Ingwer, were instructed to enter through the staff door. Neither the Earl nor, more importantly, Jennie, greeted them.

As Peter followed the butler through the house, he deliberately slowed his walking pace and peered inside every room to catch a glimpse of her, but to no avail. As disappointed as he was, he understood she had to be careful in her own home. Since their secret meeting in the carriage, he’d thought of nothing but of her. It was maddening: they were in the same city but couldn’t see each other, and now in the same house yet she wasn’t in his arms.

Peter whistled in admiration when he entered the pompous great hall. A stage, built for his performance, occupied the back of the room under a large crystal chandelier. Peter snickered at the somewhat phallic shape of the chandelier.

“Do you think he’s compensating for something?” he asked Ingwer, elbowing him in the ribs.

Several portraits of the Earl himself adorned the walls in ostentatious gilded frames, along with ancestors and pastoral scenes in smaller frames.

Peter thought, if he owned this house and was married to Jennie, there would be nothing but portraits of her on the walls.

From every corner of the hall, marble statues of Roman gods watched as the servants arranged velvet-upholstered chairs in rows for spectators. Comparatively to the rest of the room, the stage was bare. Exposed. A challenge. One Peter was keen to take on to prove his higher intellect and skills to the husband of his beloved.

≑

From the minstrels’ gallery above the great hall, Jennie observed them enter. She hid behind the balustrade and peered between the marble pillars as he set up his equipment for the show. He kept glancing around, surely looking for her too. But for now, she had to stay away, there were too many people around, servants she didn’t know if she could trust, and the butler her husband had obviously instructed to keep an eye on Peter.

She bid her time by watching him work, he’d removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to install a dark wood contraption at the center of the stage.

So entranced was she by Peter, she jumped when she heard a whistle, like the twittering song of a bird. She hurried off the minstrel’s gallery. The trill echoed in the corridor, but she couldn’t locate its origin.

Voices came from the foyer, then footsteps up the staircase, and she forgot about the bird.

“Iphigenia? Where are you?” Dorothy, her sister, called.

The twelve year-old girl was as dark as Jennie was blonde, skinny while Jennie was plump, and for a good reason: they weren’t from the same mother. Dorothy was the daughter of a prostitute their father saw regularly, she’d died in childbirth, and against all reason, he had kept the baby. However illegitimate, Jennie loved Dorothy like a real sister, and she was the main reason Jennie couldn’t run away with Peter. It would reflect poorly on her sister and ruin her chances at a happy future. The Earl, because he was well-acquainted with Jennie’s mother, was the only one who knew that she would have been too ill to bear another child. At first, his tolerance of Dorothy had made Jennie happy, now it made her wary.

Dorothy and their father, Baron Thomas Goldfinch, had come over for tea and would stay for Peter’s show. Thomas’ cheeks were rosy under his greying beard, healthier than ever now that his gambling debts had been cleared by the Earl.

Jennie’s relationship with her father was ambivalent at best. For all intents and purposes, he had abandoned his wife in Northumberland, and Jennie held him responsible for her mother’s declining health and death, but he had a good heart nonetheless, as demonstrated by his care for Dorothy. And even if his interest in Jennie had laid mostly in acquiring wealth, he had never forced her to marry against her will. In fact, before Richard, she had turned down a few proposals, hoping for Peter’s return. Them, at 25, she was almost an old maid when the Earl started courting her. He was a widower, in his late thirties, and they’d been acquainted for some years already as his lands flanked those of her father’s. If only she’d held off just a little longer.

The family sat in the conservatory on rattan chaises amongst potted palms. She didn’t have the green thumb of the Earl’s first wife and some plants wilted. The high windows offered a beautiful view of the lake in the park, but most importantly, Jennie could also see into the great hall.

Her father inquired after the peculiar illness reported in the society column of the newspapers.

“One of our maids is so weak and pale she cannot work. We had to call in a physician, but he couldn’t make a definite diagnosis, and another girl is now feeling fainter as well. It is concerning, but the papers have exaggerated the story as they are bound to do.”

Jennie served the tea, two sugars for Dorothy and a drop of milk for Thomas.

“Is that the new tea service you brought back from Vienna?” Dorothy asked.

Sinuous, organic lines reminiscent of flower stalks and insect wings decorated the porcelain set.

“They call this style Sezessionstil. Richard thinks it’s too modern, but he admits I’m the artist, and I love it.”

She told her father and sister about the honeymoon in Austria-Hungary where they had visited the Earl’s family. She spoke with more passion about the beautiful mountains and architecture than about her new husband. Thankfully, they’d changed subject when Richard joined them. He down sat next to Jennie. When he put his hand on her leg, she had to exert phenomenal self-control not to recoil. Aspects of his appearance that hadn’t bothered her before, such as his bushy sideburns and fat hands, now repelled her. Every minute spent with him felt like a betrayal to Peter, even more so now they stood under the same roof.

“I have to go,” she said suddenly as she sprang to her feet.

"Where? We are all here, my dear.”

“I, erm, I have to… give the staff instructions for the reception. A lady of the house’s work is never done.”

She walked to the door with measured steps, but hurried as soon as she was out of the conservatory.

This morning, she’d chosen a cornflower-blue dress, reminiscent of her childhood’s skies, and so as she walked, she unpinned her hair, letting it fall loose down her back as a young girl would wear it. She wished she could be that child again, free of responsibilities and concerns about her family, wrapped in that magical world that only she and Peter inhabited.

She didn’t see Peter in the great hall, and knew he’d retired to the makeshift greenroom she’d had set up in the adjacent boudoir. Though a feminine room by definition, Jennie rarely used it as it held many mementos of the Earl’s first wife.

Peter didn’t notice her entrance. She’d become quite adept at avoiding attention, walking on tip toes to prevent the clanking of heels, only the quiet ruffle of taffeta might give her away. He was in the middle of putting on his costume, braces dangling off his breeches. She spoke quietly so as not to startle him or be overheard, “I used to do that for you.” She pointed at the kohl on the vanity, similar to the one she once stole from her mother.

He beamed at her, then sat on the edge of the table so they would be eye-level. She stepped between his legs. He closed his eyes and let her gently glide the stick of kohl across his eyelids.

“You used to shake like a leaf before a show,” she said, though her own hand was unsteady right now.

“It was not the show that made me nervous, it was you being so close to me.”

He opened his eyes and his copper brown pupils were even more striking with the dark lines. Despite the faint wrinkles that now surrounded his eyes, she saw in them her best friend, the magical boy with whom she’d fallen in love so long ago. However, the feelings that gaze stirred in her now, were not as innocent as they used to be.

He put his hands on her sashed waist, drawing her closer.

“These last days have been a real torture,” she confessed, “knowing you were in London and I couldn’t see you.”

“For me too.”

She touched his chest where his white shirt gaped, but glanced nervously over her shoulder. With a hand on her cheek, he brought her eyes back to him.

“My Jennie.”

Her chest heaved with a sigh, and she pressed her lips to his.

The kiss they’d exchanged in the carriage had been short, but she’d thought about it so much a yearning had built inside of her, growing stronger every day.

The taste of his mouth, the scent of his skin, his fingers spanning her waist, it all made her head spin. She wished there had only ever been him in her arms.

She deepened the kiss, fisting his shirt and opening her mouth in invitation. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her tight. His lips moved to her jaw and down her neck, and she canted her head to grant him access to her throat. His goatee scratched her skin. His mouth traveled lower down her neckline. His teeth pressed lightly in the swell of her breast. She gasped but it wasn’t unpleasant, on the contrary. She encouraged him to continue, running her fingers through his hair, grabbing handfuls. His tongue sneaked under the lacy edge of her waist shirt just as his hands searched for the fastenings.

Jennie was faster, opening his breeches and slipping her hand inside. He hissed when she palmed his warm flesh. His movements faltered.

Jennie caressed him tentatively. Full of hesitation, she searched his face for signs of pleasure. A string of curses gave her the confidence she sought.

“Watch your mouth in the presence of a lady,” she teased.

“Then give me something to do with my mouth.”

She let him open her waistshirt and corset cover, exposing more of her breasts which he prompts covered with hungry kisses.

“Have you ever thought about me touching you in such a way?” she whispered.

“Many, many times.”

She opened his breeches wider. She wanted to see his cock, see her hand wrapped around it, see it throb thanks to her touch. It wasn’t mere curiosity, but a primal sort of satisfaction she sought.

“Have you thought about me too?” he asked in return.

“Yes.”

“Let me see you.”

She stopped him going further. She wore too many complicated layers to undress and redress quickly if they were caught.

“If you won’t show me, then tell me.”

“I wished for your body. For your mouth.To soothe this burning in me no other man can.”

“I will soothe it, then revive it, again and again.” He spoke the words, hot against her neck.

He closed his hand over hers to make her pump harder. His knee pressed into the front of her skirts, she jerked her hips.

“I wished for your hands,” she said.

“What about my them?”

“The way they move during a magic trick. So agile. It inflames one’s imagination.”

He thrust into her fist, she used her second hand, twisting over the head of his cock.

“Fuck, Jennie…”

She covered his mouth with hers and swallowed his groan of release.

He’d barely caught his breath, that he was gathering up her skirts. She was too turned on to stop him. To hell with getting caught.

A flower vase fell and crashed to the floor. They jumped apart and stared at the pieces of porcelain scattered at least three feet away from them. How had it fallen?

“Did you hear that?” she asked. “The whistle.”

“No.”

Peter tucked his member back into his breeches, and Jennie cleaned her hands with a handkerchief.

Just then, someone knocked at the door. Jennie quickly hid behind a screen and Peter opened the door. It was the butler, bringing him refreshments. He noticed the broken vase, and Peter took the blame, then a maid was sent in to clean it up.

“I think that butler wanted more than offer me a glass of water, he’s been on my heels all day. He could’ve caught us in the act,” Peter declared after they’d gone.

Jennie nestled in his arms, and he rubbed her back to soothe her nerves.

“Maybe your husband’s suspicious because you wanted to invite me here.”

“It was his idea.”

“So, he’s not aware we know each other?”

“No. He would hate that… I’m still not certain why he did invite you.”

“You’re worried?”

“I cannot get the measure of him. I thought I knew him before the wedding, but since we came back from Austria…” She shook her head. “On the one hand, he liked my mother.”

“What?”

“You know… her gift.” Jennie rolled her eyes. “He wanted to communicate with his deceased father, and my mother, she just told him what he wanted to hear.”

“So, he’s gullible.”

“But also very proud.”

“He’s full of himself, he is. What are you getting at?”

“Just please, don’t do anything to ridicule him tonight. A wounded ego is a dangerous thing in such a man.”

Part 3

#Teninch Fic #childhood friends to lovers #Peter Vincent #ktrosesworld #Fright Night #peter vincent x jenny #Lostinfic writes stuff #Raven & Goldfinch #autumn prompts #the raven and the goldfinch

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vividviverrid · 1 year ago

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everyone's favorite unfortunate-deal-making nightmare demon, xorna!

We’re making moodboards! Let’s make a moodboard based on one of the side characters in our story!

#reposing force of the great lakes

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wastemybreath · 4 years ago

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Eloisa to Abelard - Alexander Pope

In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in a vestal's veins? Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat? Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat? Yet, yet I love! — From Abelard it came, And Eloisa yet must kiss the name. Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand — the name appears Already written — wash it out, my tears! In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys. Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains: Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn; Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn! Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep, And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep! Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown, I have not yet forgot myself to stone. All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part, Still rebel nature holds out half my heart; Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain, Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain. Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose, That well-known name awakens all my woes. Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear! Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear. I tremble too, where'er my own I find, Some dire misfortune follows close behind. Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow, Led through a sad variety of woe: Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom, Lost in a convent's solitary gloom! There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame, There died the best of passions, love and fame. Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine. Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away; And is my Abelard less kind than they? Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare, Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r; No happier task these faded eyes pursue; To read and weep is all they now can do. Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief. Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires, The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole. Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame, When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name; My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind, Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind. Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day, Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day. Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung; And truths divine came mended from that tongue. From lips like those what precept fail'd to move? Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love. Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran, Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man. Dim and remote the joys of saints I see; Nor envy them, that heav'n I lose for thee. How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said, Curse on all laws but those which love has made! Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies, Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame, August her deed, and sacred be her fame; Before true passion all those views remove, Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love? The jealous God, when we profane his fires, Those restless passions in revenge inspires; And bids them make mistaken mortals groan, Who seek in love for aught but love alone. Should at my feet the world's great master fall, Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all: Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove; No, make me mistress to the man I love; If there be yet another name more free, More fond than mistress, make me that to thee! Oh happy state! when souls each other draw, When love is liberty, and nature, law: All then is full, possessing, and possess'd, No craving void left aching in the breast: Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be) And once the lot of Abelard and me. Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise! A naked lover bound and bleeding lies! Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand, Her poniard, had oppos'd the dire command. Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain; The crime was common, common be the pain. I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd, Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest. Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, When victims at yon altar's foot we lay? Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell, When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell? As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil, The shrines all trembl'd, and the lamps grew pale: Heav'n scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd, And saints with wonder heard the vows I made. Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you: Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all. Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe; Those still at least are left thee to bestow. Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie, Still drink delicious poison from thy eye, Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd; Give all thou canst — and let me dream the rest. Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize, With other beauties charm my partial eyes, Full in my view set all the bright abode, And make my soul quit Abelard for God. Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care, Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r. From the false world in early youth they fled, By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led. You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd, And Paradise was open'd in the wild. No weeping orphan saw his father's stores Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors; No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n, Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n: But such plain roofs as piety could raise, And only vocal with the Maker's praise. In these lone walls (their days eternal bound) These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd, Where awful arches make a noonday night, And the dim windows shed a solemn light; Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray, And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day. But now no face divine contentment wears, 'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears. See how the force of others' pray'rs I try, (O pious fraud of am'rous charity!) But why should I on others' pray'rs depend? Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend! Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move, And all those tender names in one, thy love! The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind, The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills, The grots that echo to the tinkling rills, The dying gales that pant upon the trees, The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze; No more these scenes my meditation aid, Or lull to rest the visionary maid. But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves, Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws A death-like silence, and a dread repose: Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green, Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, And breathes a browner horror on the woods. Yet here for ever, ever must I stay; Sad proof how well a lover can obey! Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain, Here all its frailties, all its flames resign, And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine. Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain, Confess'd within the slave of love and man. Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r? Sprung it from piety, or from despair? Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires, Love finds an altar for forbidden fires. I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought; I mourn the lover, not lament the fault; I view my crime, but kindle at the view, Repent old pleasures, and solicit new; Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence, Now think of thee, and curse my innocence. Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 'Tis sure the hardest science to forget! How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence? How the dear object from the crime remove, Or how distinguish penitence from love? Unequal task! a passion to resign, For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine. Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, How often must it love, how often hate! How often hope, despair, resent, regret, Conceal, disdain — do all things but forget. But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd; Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd! Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue, Renounce my love, my life, myself — and you. Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he Alone can rival, can succeed to thee. How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd; Labour and rest, that equal periods keep; "Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;" Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n, Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n. Grace shines around her with serenest beams, And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams. For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms, And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes, For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring, For her white virgins hymeneals sing, To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away, And melts in visions of eternal day. Far other dreams my erring soul employ, Far other raptures, of unholy joy: When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day, Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away, Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free, All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee. Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night! How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight! Provoking Daemons all restraint remove, And stir within me every source of love. I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms, And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms. I wake — no more I hear, no more I view, The phantom flies me, as unkind as you. I call aloud; it hears not what I say; I stretch my empty arms; it glides away. To dream once more I close my willing eyes; Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise! Alas, no more — methinks we wand'ring go Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe, Where round some mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps, And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps. Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies; Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise. I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find, And wake to all the griefs I left behind. For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain; Thy life a long, dead calm of fix'd repose; No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows. Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow, Or moving spirit bade the waters flow; Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n, And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n. Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread? The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves; Ev'n thou art cold — yet Eloisa loves. Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn. What scenes appear where'er I turn my view? The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue, Rise in the grove, before the altar rise, Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes. I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee, Thy image steals between my God and me, Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear, With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear. When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll, And swelling organs lift the rising soul, One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight, Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight: In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd, While altars blaze, and angels tremble round. While prostrate here in humble grief I lie, Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye, While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll, And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul: Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art! Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart; Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes Blot out each bright idea of the skies; Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears; Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs; Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode; Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God! No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole; Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll! Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me, Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee. Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign; Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine. Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!) Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu! Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav'nly fair! Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care! Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky! And faith, our early immortality! Enter, each mild, each amicable guest; Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest! See in her cell sad Eloisa spread, Propp'd on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead. In each low wind methinks a spirit calls, And more than echoes talk along the walls. Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around, From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound. "Come, sister, come!" (it said, or seem'd to say) "Thy place is here, sad sister, come away! Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd, Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid: But all is calm in this eternal sleep; Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep, Ev'n superstition loses ev'ry fear: For God, not man, absolves our frailties here." I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs, Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs. Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go, Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow: Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay, And smooth my passage to the realms of day; See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll, Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul! Ah no — in sacred vestments may'st thou stand, The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand, Present the cross before my lifted eye, Teach me at once, and learn of me to die. Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see! It will be then no crime to gaze on me. See from my cheek the transient roses fly! See the last sparkle languish in my eye! Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er; And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more. O Death all-eloquent! you only prove What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love. Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy, (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy) In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd, Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round, From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine, And saints embrace thee with a love like mine. May one kind grave unite each hapless name, And graft my love immortal on thy fame! Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er, When this rebellious heart shall beat no more; If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs, O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads, And drink the falling tears each other sheds; Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd, "Oh may we never love as these have lov'd!" From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise, And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice, Amid that scene if some relenting eye Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie, Devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heav'n, One human tear shall drop and be forgiv'n. And sure, if fate some future bard shall join In sad similitude of griefs to mine, Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore, And image charms he must behold no more; Such if there be, who loves so long, so well; Let him our sad, our tender story tell; The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost; He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most.

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thelastdiadoch · 7 years ago

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GENGHIS KHAN’S WAR AGAINST THE TURCO-PERSIAN KHWAREZMIAN EMPIRE, 1218–1221 CE:

“With one stroke, a world which billowed with fertility, was laid desolate, and the regions thereof became a desert and the great part of the living dead, and their skin and bones crumbling dust; and the mighty were humbled and immersed in the calamities of perdition.”

The following is an excerpt from my post, “GENGHIS KHAN, THE STALLION WHO MOUNTS THE WORLD”.

In 1218 CE Subotai and Jochi pursued the rival Merkit-Cuman (Mongolians and Turks) force into Shah Muhammad’s territory; the Shah heard of the Merkit’s trespassing but arrived only after the Mongols had defeated them. A tense meeting occurred between the two; Jochi sent a message to the Shah that they sought peace and safe passage; that the Great Khan had told them to battle with no one other than the Merkits and Cumans but the Shah threatened them for trespassing. The two armies fought until nightfall but the battle was a stalemate, the Shah believed that the battle would commence the next day but the Mongols had slipped away under the cover of darkness.

Ala ad-Din Muhammad II, the shah of the Khwarezmian dynasty (Turco-Persian), was a successful military commander who grew ever more ambitious, conceited and prideful with every victory. Shah Muhammad II led a rich and highly militarized state which led an army twice the size of the Mongols and were famed for their heavy cavalry. After the Mongols had effectively defeated the Jinn dynasty of northern China, the Shah sent an embassy to them. The Jinn prince was paraded in chains so to bolster the image of the Mongols before the Shah’s embassy.

^ Khwarezmid Empire in 1217.

Genghis Khan treated the Shah’s envoys with respect, sending the head envoy throughout China so he could see how vast the Great Khan’s empire was. Genghis Khan told the Shah’s envoy that he acknowledged the fact that the Shah ruled the west while the Mongol ruled the east. The envoy conveyed the message to the Shah, “I am sovereign of the sunrise and you are the sovereign of the sunset”. The Shah took this as a disrespectful message since he saw the role of the sunset as subordinate, less significant, weakening, waning, falling, etc.

“Merchants from your country have come among us, and we have sent them back in the manner that you shall hear. And we have likewise dispatched to your country in their company a group of merchants in order that they may acquire the wondrous wares of those regions; and that henceforth the abscess of evil thoughts may be lanced by the improvement of relations and agreement between us, and the pus of sedition and rebellion removed.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Genghis’ envoys brought the Shah gifts that greatly overshadowed those he sent and in the message relayed by the envoys the Shah was referred to as “my son”. This was yet another sign to the Shah that he saw seen by Genghis as a subordinate. The Shah accused the Mongol envoy of being a spy so he interrogated him and tried to force him to turn into an informant but the envoy convinced him that the Great Khan’s intentions were peaceful and that his main focus was against the Jinn in China.

Otrar, ‘A crown for a khan’

Soon after the envoy was freed, a large trade caravan consisting of 450 Muslim merchants and 500 camels being escorted by 100 Mongol cavalrymen arrived at the Khwarezmian city of Otrar seeking to convince the rich trade city into commencing trade relations between the two great empires. The caravan arrived at a suspiciously coincidental moment so the governor of Otrar, Shah Muhammad II’s uncle, came to believe that it was actually just one grand spy operation. The governor of Otrar was also angered by the fact that the trade caravan referred to him as Inalchuk (his name. “Little-lord”) rather than Ghayir Khan (“Mighty Khan”).

“in the one hand it holds a crown, in the other a noose.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

The governor held the caravan under arrest and sent word to Shah Muhammad II, the Shah gave him permission to shed their blood and seize their goods. Some argue, however, that the governor’s actions were simply ones drawn from pride and greed – having nothing to do with the Shah.

“Ghayir-Khan (Inalchuk of Otrar) in executing his command deprived these men of their lives and possessions, nay rather he desolated and laid waste a whole world and rendered a whole creation without home, property or leaders. For every drop of their blood there flowed a whole Oxus; in retribution for every hair on their heads it seemed that a hundred thousand heads rolled in the dust at every crossroad” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

One camel driver escaped from imprisonment just before the massacre and retold the story to Genghis Khan.

“These tidings had such an effect upon the Khan’s mind that the control of repose and tranquility was removed, and the whirlwind of anger cast dust into the eyes of patience and clemency while the fire of wrath flared up with such a flame that it drove the water from his eyes and could be quenched only by the shedding of blood.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

The Great Khan sent another embassy which conveyed the message that all would be forgiven if the Shah gave up the governor responsible for the massacre. In response the Shah had Genghis’ Muslim envoy beheaded and the two Mongols accompanying him had their beards seared off and their hair shaved off. The Great Khan climbed a hilltop and, as he did before his war against the Jinn dynasty of northern China, he prayed to Tengri for three days and nights. “I was not the author of this trouble; grant me strength to exact vengeance.”

^ Homeland by agnidevi.

After being given Tengri‘s blessing, the Great Khan sent the Shah one last message: “You kill my men and my merchants and you take from them my property. Prepare for war, for I am coming against you with a host you cannot withstand.” The envoys the Shah had sent long ago had arrived before the Shah and informed him of the vast and powerful realm the Mongols ruled over, this greatly alarmed the regretful Shah.

Shah Muhammad II called a council in which his advisers convinced him that they had enough time to prepare for the arrival of the Mongols since the latter would have to campaign against an empire with heavily fortified settlements while traversing through tough terrain in the form of mountains, deserts and semi-deserts whose only salvation were the scattered oasis and a few meandering rivers. The Mongols proved him wrong when the skilled infiltrator Jebe and Jochi (Genghis’ son) rushed toward Khwarezmia in surprising speed, acting as an advanced guard tasked with distracting and delaying the Shah.

To avoid the Taklamakan Desert they instead climbed the mountains to its north in the dead of winter. Here they traversed its dangerous passes through blizzards which blanketed their path in snows 5-6 ft. deep, requiring them to wrap their horses in yak hides and themselves in extra layers of sheepskin coats. Like Hannibal Barca’s march over the Italian Alps, many Mongols and their horses fell to attrition. There was, however, a light at the end of the tunnel – the fertile Ferghana Valley. When the main army under Genghis Khan arrived they were joined and reinforced by contingents of Turks and Mongols unhappy with the Shah’s tyranny. Finally the Mongols had arrived before the city of Otrar, where the Khan’s merchant caravan was recently slaughtered.

“For he perceived that the plain had become a tossing sea of countless hosts and splendid troops, while the air was full of clamor and uproar from the neighing of armored horses and the roaring of mail-clad lions. The air became blue, the earth ebony; the sea boiled with the noise of the drums. With his finger he pointed to the army on the plain, a host to which there was no end.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Otrar was besieged, razed and the governor responsible for the slaughter of the caravan was said to have been punished by having molten silver poured into his ears and eyes.

^ Khal Drogo pouring molten gold over the crown of Viserys Targaryen’s head. Game of Thrones: S.1, E.6 (‘A Golden Crown’) [video of the scene].

The Shah could’ve sent an army out to break the siege but he believed that the Mongols were still inexperienced in siege warfare and were lacking siege engines since his intelligence was based on their early campaign against the Western Xia more than a decade earlier. Unbeknownst to the Shah, the Mongols had acquired one hundred and twenty thousand Chinese sappers and engineers.

Intelligence Network

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.” – The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

The Mongols were by far one of the greatest gatherers and implementers of intel, before campaigning against most foes the Mongols knew their strengths and weaknesses. Against the Jinn dynasty of northern China the Mongols invaded them when the enemy was facing droughts and floods; incited civil unrest of their Khitan subjects, therefore striping the Jinn of their cavalry strength. The Mongols, facing a realm with a massively overwhelming population, forced the local populace toward major walled settlements to strain their food supplies, when said cities were besieged they were plagued by disease and resorted to cannibalism.

The Mongols even chose the season to invade, when invading what is now Russia and Ukraine, they chose winter as the most opportune time being that the frozen rivers and lakes made travel easier. Attacking in the spring and autumn would force the Mongols to traverse muddied earth and the obstacles rivers presented. When invading lands with damp climates, which caused illness among the Mongols, they chose to invade on drier months. When facing a city facing a clash between classes, the Mongols would pin them against each other.

The Great Khan made use of merchants, envoys, and ambassadors to gather said intel, planting many of these spies weeks or months in advance. They relayed information of vulnerable weak points within the cities like its defenses, enemy morale, numbers, composition, etc. These spies tried to turn the inhabitants of cities’ against one another, as all had different interests. The nobles and the rich were promised that trade would flourish under Mongol rule while the poor were promised that they would be liberated or treated fairly.

“Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.” – The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

In their campaign against the Khwarezmian dynasty the Mongols were already well informed about their new enemies. For one, the Shah had placed family members in positions of power, ones with wavering loyalties and little to no experience. The Shah’s mother, Terken Khatun, had so much influence and officials on her side that she was seen as a sort of matriarch of Khorasan proper. Shah Muhammad II and his mother were known overwrite or overrule the decisions of one another, making directions and orders difficult to follow. Knowing about this power struggle, the Mongols sent out false decrees under the guise that they came from the Shah or his mother. Shah Muhammad II also had a strong distrust of his own generals so he instead relied on the skilled and powerful but uncontrollable Turkish mercenaries. Genghis Khan also took advantage of the Shah’s distrust of his generals by forging letters which implicated the Khwarezmian generals in plots to side with the Mongols.

The Shah was also overconfident in his belief that the Mongols couldn’t overcome his walled settlements so he took on a defensive strategy. This defensive strategy robbed them their great advantage of an elite mercenary corps of heavy Turkish cavalrymen. The Shah also allowed these Turkish mercenaries to terrorize his subjects, causing many to submit or conspire with the Mongols. Genghis Khan was also aware that soothsayers had warned the Shah that the war would not be in his favor.

Captivity and Deportation policy

I mentioned earlier the deportation of artisans and craftsmen back to Mongolia. As a people who were mostly made up of hunters, herders and raiders, they had few people capable of writing or those with professions capable of significantly stimulating trade. While campaigning the Mongols took on singers, musicians, performers and entertainers, merchants, armorers, smiths, weavers, tailors, dyers, tanners, carpenters, jewelers, glassblower, architects, masons, sculptors, furniture makers, chefs, potters, apothecaries, alchemists, doctors, shamans, soothsayers, astronomers, teachers, rabbis, imams, priests, philosophers, people capable of speaking several languages as well as those who could write and read several scripts.

From 1945 and onward, a program called ‘Operation Paperclip’ was enacted by the United States to bring fifteen hundred German engineers, technicians and scientists from Germany to the U.S. in order to deprive the Soviets, the UK and post-WW2 Germany of experts capable of strengthening their military might, especially rocket technology and nuclear energy. Britain and Russia did the same.

Those without professions deemed important enough to deport, were killed or taken captive by the Mongols. Those taken captive could be used to bolster Mongol numbers, carry supplies or aid them in laborious operations. The Mongols forced captives to raise Mongol standards and banners therefore making the Mongol armies look much larger than they actually were. Captive men, women and children were even known to be mounted on horses so give the same effect.

^ Osprey – ‘Men-at-Arms’ series, issue 105 – The Mongols by Stephen Turnbull and Angus McBride (Illustrator). Plate D.

“Sometimes when they are few in number they are thought by the enemy, who are surrounded, to be many, especially when the later catch sight of the children, women, horses and dummy figures described above, which are with the chief or prince of the army and which they think are combatants; and alarmed by this thy are thrown into disorder.” – Giovanni of Pian del Carpine (c.1185–1252 CE).

They were also forced to act as the Mongol vanguard, here these captives were pinned between the Mongols and the enemy army – they either charged forward or were struck down by the Mongols. When besieging settlements these captives could be used to dig tunnels under enemy walls, fill in moats, assault the enemy walls so to save the Mongols from unnecessarily losing their lives, or act as meat shields and arrow fodder. The latter was done to prevent the defenders from attacking and was also effective in pressuring cities into surrendering. There were instances of cities surrendering without the shedding of blood on either side being that they didn’t wish to be forced to murder their innocent fellow citizens. During sieges the defenders would sometimes see their friends or relatives among said captives and refuse to fight.

Fall of Bukhara, “no male was spared who stood higher than the butt of a whip”

One of the first great victims to fall to the Mongol war machine was Bukhara, the Shah’s religious capital, the city which bought the goods and treasures taken from the massacred caravan at Otrar. Bukhara was a very large walled (thirty-six square miles) city built on high ground gifted with fertile lands and now bolstered with a garrison of one hundred and sixty thousand. This center of learning was adorned with many canals, mosques, orchards, botanical gardens, and artificial ponds and lakes. All the while the city faced clashes between the poor, artisans, the older nobility and religious elites.

^ The Ark Fortress of Bukhara (Uzbekistan), here is where the inhabitants sought refuge after the Mongols made it into the city.

While his sons Ogodei and Chagatai were besieging Otrar, Genghis Khan and his son Tolui made their way towards Bukhara. As was the usual Mongol siege tactic, the Great Khan set captives as their vanguard where they acted as meat shields and arrow fodder, when facing moats the Mongols “had been filled with animate and inanimate and raised up with levies and Bokharians.” After the city surrendered, Genghis decided to make these ‘thieves’ an example to any who thought that they could profit from a Mongol loss. All merchants who took part in the purchase of the Great Khan’s lost goods had to return them or face execution while all rich men (190 natives and 90 foreign traders) had to accept heavy taxing.

“no male was spared who stood higher than the butt of a whip and more than thirty thousand were counted amongst the slain ;whilst their small children, the of their nobles and their womenfolk, slender as the reduced to slavery. When the town and the citadel had been purged of and the walls and outworks leveled with the dost, all the inhabitants of the town, men and women ugly and beautiful were driven out on to the field of the musalla (place of prayer just outside a mosque).

Chingiz-Khan spared their lives; but the youths and full-grown men that were fit for such service were pressed into a levy (hasbar) for the attack on Samarqand and Dabusiya. Chingiz-Khan then proceeded against Samarqand; and the people of Bokhara, because of the desolation, were scattered -like the constellation of the Bear and departed into the villages, while the site of the town became like a level plain.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

“O’ people, know that you have committed great sins, and that the great ones among you have committed these sins. If you ask me what proof I have for these words, I say it is because I am the punishment of God. If you had not committed great sins, God would not have sent a punishment like me upon you.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

The Mongols could’ve attacked the Shah’s capital of Samarkand earlier but saw it as too strong of a target. By bypassing it and taking out their sister city of Bukhara first, which was Khwarezmia’s religious capital, they cut off the Shah’s western flank which could’ve later granted him reinforcements.

“So in war, the way is to avoid what is strong and to strike at what is weak. [Like water, taking the path of least resistance.]” – The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

Samarkand, Paradise Lost

The capital city of Samarkand was similar to Bukhara but on a grander scale: a walled city which sat on high ground and held a population of one hundred thousand, irrigation canals large enough to hold boats, artificial ponds and lakes, parks, gardens, and mosques.

^ Triumph by Vasily Vereshchagin, depicting the Sher-Dor Madrasah in the Registan.

“It was the greatest of the countries of the Sultan’s empire In width of territory, the most pleasant of his lands in fertility of soil and, by common consent, the most delectable of the paradises of this world among the four Edens. If it is said that a paradise is to be seen in this world, then the paradise of this world is Samarkand. Its air inclines to mildness, its water is embraced in the favor of the North wind and its earth by the force of its exhilaration has acquired the property of the fire of wine. A country whose stones are jewels, whose soil is musk and whose ram water is strong wine.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Before Samarkand, the Mongols again made their numbers look bigger than what they were, forcing captives from Bukhara into forming up into battle lines.

“When however they are going to join battle, they draw up all the battle lines just as they are to fight. The chiefs or the princes of the army do not take part in the fighting but take up their stand some distance away facing the enemy, and they have beside them their children on horseback and their womenfolk and horses; and sometimes they make figures of men and set them on horses. They do this to give them impression that a great crowd of fighting-men assembled there.” – Giovanni of Pian del Carpine (c.1185–1252 CE).

“Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.” – The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

The battle for Samarkand is described by Juvaini as a grand game of chess.

^ Mongol vs Khwarezmid by EthicallyChallenged (DeviantArt).

“From the discharge of mangonels and bows, arrows and stones were set in flight; and the Mongol army took up a position at the very gates and so prevented the Sultan’s troops from issuing forth on to the field of battle. And when the path of combat was closed to them, and the two parties had become entangled on the chess-board of war and the valiant-knights (shah-savaran, shah = “king”) were no longer able to maneuver their horses (knight pieces) upon the plain, they threw in their elephants (bishops); but the Mongols did not turn tail (‘rukh nataftand’, “cheek, face, castle” i.e. rook), on the contrary with their King-checking (farzin-band, farzin “queen”) arrows they liberated those that were held in check by the elephants (bishops) and broke up the ranks of the infantry.

When the elephants (bishops) had received wounds and were of no more use than the foot-soldiers(pawn) of chess, they turned back trampling many people underneath their feet. At length, when the Emperor of Khotan (the sun) had let down the veil over his face, they closed the gates.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Throughout the siege the Mongols also used those they captured from Bukhara as meat shields and arrow fodder, there in the front lines they were massacred in the hundreds by arrow fire. Those unlucky enough to have survived were then forced to lead a charge against the city. These captives again fell in great numbers before fleeing, to Samarkand’s garrison this appeared as if the Mongols themselves were routing so they sortied out of the city to assault the seemingly disorganized foe. However, Samarkand’s garrison rushed forward and fell into a fatal Mongol ambush where their own elephants trampled them in fright. In one swipe the Shah lost fifty thousand men.

“Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant.” – The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

“They send a detachment of captives and men of other nationalities who are fighting with them to meet the enemy head-on, and some Tartars may perhaps accompany them. Other columns of stronger men they dispatch far off to the right and left so that they are not seen by the enemy and in this way they surround them and close in and so the fighting begins from all sides.” – Giovanni of Pian del Carpine (c.1185–1252 CE).

^ Samarkand by Richard-Karl Karlovitch Zommer.

The inhabitants, who were seeking a peaceful surrender since before the siege, opened the gates and let the Mongols in. The Mongols leveled the city, allowed fifty thousand pro-Mongol religious officials, scholars, etc. to live while sparing others in exchange for a substantial fine.

The Empress of Gurganj

Shah Muhammad II was able to flee from Samarkand while it was being besieged so the Great Khan tasked them with tracking him down and killing him. With the flight of the Shah the empire seemed to have been abandoned. Fractured, cities began being claimed by local rulers, governors and generals – acting as princes in their own right. The most important of these was Shah Muhammad II’s mother, Terken Khatun (“Queen of the Turks”), who ruled the province of Khwarazm (Chorasmia) from the city of Gurganj (Urgench).

“Terken Khatun had her own separate court and state officials and disposed of her own separate stipends and fiefs. Nevertheless her power extended over the Sultan, his finances and his high officers and officials. She used to hold secret revelries and it was through her that many an ancient house was overthrown. Whenever a kingdom or a country was conquered and the rulers of such kingdoms were brought to Khorazm as hostages she would cause them to be cast by night into the river (the Oxus River) to the end that her son’s empire might be untroubled by rivals and the fountain of his authority unsullied with dust.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Gurganj was the old capital, only succeeded by Samarkand in 1212 CE which the Shah set as his new capital after defeating the Kara Khanid Khanate and the Kara Khitans. This walled city was a rich center of trade which was adorned with an impressive palace, cathedral, mosques, libraries, madrasas (colleges), minaret, mausoleums, a bazaar, baths and a “garden of amusements”.

^ The ‘Soltan Tekesh Mausoleum’ in Kunya Urgench is supposedly the burial place of Shah Muhammad II’s father, Sultan Ala al-din Tekesh,

After Samarkand had fallen to the Mongols, Gurganj “was left in the middle like a tent whose ropes have been cut. (Juvaini)” Here the Mongols found few stones which they needed for their siege engines so they cut down mulberry trees, soaked the logs in water so to harden them, and then launched them at the city with their mangonels (catapults).

“They busied themselves with the preparation of instruments of war such as wood, mangonels and missiles therefor. And since there were no stones in the neighborhood of [Gurganj] they manufactured these missiles from the wood of mulberry trees. As is their custom, they daily plied the inhabitants of the town with promises and threats, inducements and menaces; and occasionally they discharged a few arrows at one another” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

The Mongols made their way into the city and fought bitterly from street to street, house to house, all the while setting the city ablaze by means of pots holding Greek fire-like naphtha. According to Rashid al-Din, when Gurganj finally surrendered, in anger for their heavy losses, fifty thousand Mongols were ordered to kill twenty-four captives each – one million two hundred thousand (an obviously exaggerated figure). The rest were enslaved while there are accounts of women being made to fist fight for the amusement of the Mongols, they too were eventually killed. The Shah’s mother, Terken Khatun, was sent off to Mongolia. The city of Gurganj was demolished by devastating fashion; the Mongols destroyed a dam which submerged the capital under the waters of the Oxus River.

“(Gurganj) became the abode of the jackal and the haunt of the owl and the kite;pleasure was far removed from its houses and its castles were reduced to desolation” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Merv

The city of Merv was at the time one of the largest cities in the world and its population was now further bolstered by refugees fleeing the Mongols. Grazing outside the city were Oghuz (Turkish) nomads who fled from the Mongol approach and were accepted by the Seljuk Turks of Asia Minor (Turkey) where these refugees would establish the Ottoman Empire. Since the city of Merv was so defiant in the face of the Mongol threat, it became one of the bloodiest casualties of the Mongol war-machine.

“The Mongols ordered that, apart from four hundred artisans whom they specified and selected from amongst the men and some children, girls and boys, whom they bore off into captivity, the whole population, including the women and children, should be killed, and no one, whether woman or man, be spared. The people of Merv were then distributed among the soldiers and levies, and, in short, to each man was allotted the execution of three or four hundred persons.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

The city was pillaged, the citadel was leveled, the outworks were destroyed and the mosque set on fire. Only five thousand inhabitants survived since they waited for the Mongols to evacuate before revealing themselves but when the Mongol rearguard discovered these stragglers, they killed them. From that point on they kept men behind to butcher any survivors that climbed out of their hiding places. “So many had been died by nightfall that the mountains became hillocks, and the plain was soaked with the blood of the mighty. (Juvaini)”

Nishapur

The great city of Nishapur was a center of Sufism (Islamic mysticism) which made carpets, musical instruments and items made of glass, turquoise, cotton, metal and stone. Nishapur had twelve canals, gardens, rich fields of crops and seventy watermills. Genghis’ son Tolui was besieging Merv so he sent his brother-in-law Toghachar as part of his vanguard toward the city of Nishapur, during a furious clash “an arrow was let fly Toghachar fell lifeless(Juvaini)”. The settlements of Sabzavar, Nuqan and Qar were utterly massacred in revenge, as were many others, but the worst had yet to come. As revenge for the loss of Genghis Khan’s favorite son-in-law (Toghachar), and to make an example of those who resisted, Nishapur faced a grim fate. Although Nishapur sent them envoys in the form of imams and oligarchs asking for a terms, the Mongols would settle for nothing less than annihilation.

“-although Nishapur is in a stony region they loaded stones at a distance of several stages and brought them with them. These were piled up like heaps in a harvest, and not a tenth part of them were used. The people of Nishapur saw that the matter was serious and that these were not the same men they had seen before; and although they had 3,000 crossbows in action on the wall and had set up 300 mangonels and ballistas and laid in a corresponding quantity of missiles and naphtha, their feet were loosened and they lost heart. They saw no hope [of salvation] save in sending the chief cadi Rukn-ad-Din 'Ali b. Ibrahim al-Mughisi to Toli. When he reached him he asked for quarter for the people of Nishapur, and agreed to pay tribute. It was of no avail nor was he himself allowed to return.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Mongol prince Tolui bombarded Nishapur from all sides with the aid of three thousand javelin-throwing ballistae, three hundred catapults and seven hundred naphtha-hurling (Greek fire-like) trebuchets. The Mongols created sixty-six breaches in the city walls then flooded into the city. The issue came forward that all men, women and children were to be killed, even cats and dogs.

“They then drove all the survivors, men and women, out on to the plain; and in order to avenge Toghachar it was commanded that the town should be laid waste in such a manner that the site could be ploughed upon; and that in the exaction of vengeance not even cats and dogs should be left alive.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

When the city was captured, under the request of Genghis Khan’s pregnant and now widowed daughter, she ordered the beheading of all survivors, save artisans and craftsmen. Men, women and children were all beheaded and their heads were piled into three heaps.

“A daughter of Chingiz-Khan, who was the chief wife of Toghachar, now entered the town with her escort, and they slew all the survivors save only four hundred persons who were selected for their craftsmanship and carried off to Turkestan, where the descendants of some of them are to be found to this day. They severed the heads of the slain from their bodies and heaped them up In piles, keeping those of the men separate from those of the women and children.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Sultan Jalal, son of Shah Muhammad II

After the flight of Shah Muhammad II back in 1220 CE, his son Sultan Jalal ad-Din Mingburnu (“God-given”) took on the responsibilities of repelling the Mongols from the area of modern-day Afghanistan and Pakistan. Sultan Jalal was despised by his grandmother Terken Khatun and was constantly being undermined and bad mouthed by her. If not for her, the great military mind of Sultan Jalal may have been able to turn the tide of the Mongol invasion. As these two great empires clashed we see time and time again Jalal giving great advice but being swiftly turned away and dismissed. The Mongol war machine steamrolled over the Khwarezmian realm undefeated, leaving death and destruction in their wake.

Another city which faced a similar fate to Nishapur, due to their killing of a beloved Mongol, was Nisa. The city of Nisa was under Mongol control but was attacked and retaken by the Shah’s son, Sultan Jalal. Throughout the clash (Genghis’ son) Tolui’s close friend Borke was killed. When the enraged and grieving Tolui had taken the city back, he drove the inhabitants to an open plain where they were all shot down to the number of seventy thousand men, women and children.

After the fall of Nisa and Nishapur, Sultan Jalal fled and was being tailed by the Mongols. When a small Mongol force built a bridge in order to cross the Panjshir River of northeastern Afghanistan, Sultan Jalal’s force suddenly appeared like a roaring wave and forced the Mongols into what seemed like a rout. The Mongols were feigning retreat across the bridge in an attempt to lure the Sultan but not only did he not fall for their ploy but he destroyed the bridge behind them.

“Sultan (Jalal) led his army in an attack on Tekechuk and Molghor. He slew a thousand men of the Tartar vanguard; and his army being larger in numbers, the Mongols withdrew across the river, destroying the bridge, and encamped upon the other side. The river thus formed a barrier between the two armies, and they [simply] discharged arrows at one another till nightfall. Then at midnight the Mongol army retreated, and the Sultan also retired, and having brought a great quantity of stores thither, he now took these from his treasury and distributed them amongst the troops.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

When the Great Khan heard of this naive and foolish setback he became enraged and embarrassed at how easily they were tricked. Genghis now sent a large army to avenge the embarrassment at the Panjshir River.

“The Sultan at once mounted horse, advanced to the distance of one parasang and drew up his army, confiding the right wing to Amin Malik and the left to Saif-ad-Din Malik Ighraq, whilst he himself took up his position in the centre. He commanded the whole army to dismount whilst keeping hold of their horses and to fight like desperate men. And since the numbers of the right wing, which had been entrusted to Amin Malik were greater than those of the Mongol army, 10,000 horsemen, all valiant warriors, attacked it and forced it back. Repeated reinforcements were sent from the centre and the left wing until they drove the Mongol army back to their base. In all these charges many were killed on either side, there was much hand-to-hand fighting and unending recourse to both guile and force, and none would show his back to the foe.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad. Battle of Parwan.

At the Battle of Parwan, Mongol commander Shigi Qutuqu was losing the battle so he mounted tens of thousands of dummies made of felt on horseback in an attempt to scare off the Sultan’s forces and he almost succeeded.

“Finally, when the bowl of the horizon was red with the blood of the sunset glow, either side encamped at its base; and the Mongols ordered every horseman to set up an image on his spare horse. The next day, when the swordsman of the sky had brought down his blade upon the skull of night, both sides drew up their forces, and the Sultan s army seeing another rank behind the Mongol army thought that reinforcements had arrived. They were alarmed and consulted together as to whether they should take to flight and seek refuge” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad. Battle of Parwan.

Ultimately the overconfident commander Shigi Qutuqu was defeated by Sultan Jalal.

“And again on the next day they dismounted, and the Mongol army, having experienced the fury and the great numbers of Ighraq’s troops, selected their bahadurs and attacked the left wing. Ighraq’s men stood firm and let fly (ijhraq) with their bows; and by attacking with arrows held the Mongols in check. And when the latter withdrew before that attack and made for their base, the Sultan commanded the drums to be beaten, and the whole army mounted horse and made a general charge, putting the Mongol army to flight. In the midst of their flight, however, they turned round a second time and charged down upon the Sultan’s army, striking nearly 500 warriors to the ground. At this very juncture the Sultan rode up like a lion of the meadow or a leviathan of the raging sea, and the Mongols were routed” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad. Battle of Parwan.

The Mongol commander then fled, leaving his men behind to be captured and tortured by Sultan Jalal who ordered for Mongol captives to have nails driven through their ears and into their brains. After the Mongols under Shigi Qutuqu were defeated by Sultan Jalal’s forces, Genghis Khan forced the shamed Mongol commander into showing him where the battlefield took place. While there the Great Khan insulted both Shigi and the enemy for their amateurish choice of terrain and tactics, stating that it was a poor choice to let the enemy choose the battlefield and that any other of his trusted commanders could’ve easily won this battle. This Mongol loss made them appear weak and vulnerable, human. Due to this many Khwarezmian cities rebelled or rose up in resistance against the Mongols, one such example was Bamiyan.

Bamiyan

Just like at Nishapur where Genghis Khan lost his favorite son-in-law (Toghachar) and Nisa where Tolui (Genghis’ son) lost his close friend Borke, the Mongol nobility had once again lost a loved one and retaliated in viscous fashion. This individual was Genghis Khan’s favorite grandson Mutukan (son of Chagatai) who was fatally struck by an enemy arrow in the valley of Bamiyan. This loss greatly grieved the Great Khan, none were allowed to cry or mourn his death, even Mutukan’s father Chagatai. Mutukan’s name and death were also forbidden from being mentioned.

With Genghis Khan’s beloved grandson taken away from him, he now sought to avenge the untimely death of this youth who may have one day been a grand khan. Assaulting and taking the city of Bamiyan, he ordered that EVERY living thing was to be killed. This time they went as far as even killing reptiles and supposedly cutting women open so they could tear fetuses from their wombs. The city was ordered by Genghis Khan to never be lived in again. It was renamed Mo-balik. “the accursed city” and was also known as the “city of sorrows/noise (screams of the murdered)”.

“He gave orders that every living creature, from mankind down to the brute breasts, should be killed; that no prisoner be taken; that not even the child in the mother’s womb should be spared. He gave it the name of Ma’u-Baligh, which means in Persian Bad Town. And to this very day no living creature has taken up abode therein” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Before falling to the Mongols, Bamayan had long been center of trade, art, philosophy, and especially Buddhism. The valley was adorned with two giant Buddha statues carved into the very cliffs themselves, one a millennium old and another which was made more than six hundred years prior. These Bamiyan Buddhas were painted, adorned with gold and precious gems. They were, however, defaced under Muslim rule. Though damaged, these grand figures stood in the valley like an Afghani city of Petra. This grand visage which even Genghis Khan left unharmed was sadly demolished by the Taliban, in an instance over sixteen centuries of existence was snuffed.

“(Genghis Khan) went forth to defeat him (the Shah) and exact vengeance, like flashing lighting or a torrential flood, his heart filled with rage and leading an army more numerous than the raindrops. When the Sultan received tidings of him and heard the report of his advance against him with so great an army that it was impossible to oppose that vengeful host and confront the Emperor of the Earth … he prepared to cross the Indus and ordered boats to be got ready.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Battle of the Indus River

Sultan Jalal had proven to be a successful military commander but In the end he was fighting a Pyrrhic war, as his men quarreled over the division of booty the sultan chose a side and faced the mass desertion of 30,000 soldiers. Without sufficient support to repel the Mongols, Sultan Jalal fled in haste toward the Indus River. Despite his haste the Mongols under the Great Khan himself were on their tail. So rapid and sudden was the Mongol assault that Sultan Jalal’s forces were in the midst of organizing the crossing of the Indus River.

“The Mongol army cut off the Sultan’s front and rear and encompassed him on every side; they stood behind one another in several rings in the shape of a bow and made the Indus like a bowstring.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

The Sultan destroyed his boats so to prevent his men from fleeing and to force them to fight desperately but they were eventually overcome and outflanked.

“He was brought a fresh horse, and mounting it he attacked them again and returned from the charge at the gallop. Like the lightning he struck upon the water and like the wind he departed.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

With defeat looming ever closer, the Sultan rushed atop his steed and the two then dove sixty feet into the 180 ft. deep Indus River.

“The Sultan was left between water and fire–on one side the water of the Indus and on the other an army like consuming fire, nay on the one side he had his heart in the fire and on the other his face towards the water, Nevertheless he did not lose heart but quit himself like a man, preparing for action and kindling the fire of war and battle. And when that lion through donning the garb of combat had become like a panther crouching in readiness to strike off the veil of opponents, he saddled the horse of vengeance and chose to plunge into the fray.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

“With a burning heart and a weeping eye the Sultan bade farewell to his children and with the boast … he ordered his to be brought up and mounting it again charged leviathan-like into the sea of calamity. Then, having forced back the Mongol army he turned rein and discarding his cuirass whipped his mount and caused it to leap into the water from a distance of ten ells or more … Seeing him swimming across Chingiz-Khan rode down to the edge of the water. The Mongols made to cast themselves in but he prevented them. They bent their bows, and some who were eye-witnesses have related that so many were killed in the water that as far as their arrows reached the river was red with blood. As for the Sultan, he emerged from the water with a sword, a lance and a shield.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

As the sultan made it across the 750 ft. wide Indus River which ran at a speed of up to 10 mph, the Great Khan lauded his bravery and heart, preventing his men from shooting him down or chasing across.

“When the Mongols saw him cast himself in the river they were about to plunge in after him. But Chingiz-Khan prevented them. From excess of astonishment he put his hand to his mouth and kept saying to his sons, ‘Such a son must a father have.’” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

“Then Isfandiyar gazed behind him, he descried him on the dry land on the far side of the stream. He said: ‘Call not this a man he is a raging elephant endued with pomp and splendor’.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

There in India he lived in exile yet was able to skillfully rally forces behind him, the sultan continued being a thorn in the side of the Mongols. As a result of the Khwarezmian campaign, the population of Persia had dropped to about one tenth of its original number (from 2,500,000 to 250,000) due to massacres, famine and the deportation of craftsmen and artisans.

“[Genghis Khan] dispatched to the right and the left, to the east and the west, and subjugated it all.” – Ala-ad-Din Ata-Malik Juvaini (1226–1283 CE), Persian historian and governor of Baghdad.

Although throughout the Khwarezmian campaign one thing that is evident is the large-scale massacres inflicted on the populace by the Mongols, the extent of these atrocities, however, are disputed. This is most likely a case of disinformation spread by the Mongols as well as propaganda on behalf of the Muslims and Christian worlds. Some settlements are mentioned to have held a population which far surpassed probability, most barely equaling ten percent of the population noted to have been massacred. Never the less, the grand scale atrocities committed against the Islamic Persianate of Khwarezmia led the Christian world to believe that the Great Khan was the famed Prester John, a Christian monarch of the east whom they long heard prophesies of concerning his inevitable triumph over Islam. Even To’oril Ong Qan (Genghis’ oath-father), Yelu Dashi and Kuchlug (both rulers of the Kara Khitai) were thought to have been this so-called Prester John. Kuchlug for his anti-Islamic policies, To’oril Ong Qan because he was a Nestorian Christian and Yelu Dashi because he accepted Christianity into his realm while warring with other Islamic nations.

Head over to my post, “GENGHIS KHAN, THE STALLION WHO MOUNTS THE WORLD”, to read more about how Genghis Khan was pressured into campaigning out of China toward Central Asia (Kara Khitai Khanate), to Greater Iran (Khwarezmian Empire), to the frontier of Eastern Europe (Medieval Russia and Ukraine) and back to China. I also cover Mongol shamanism and their tolerance of foreign religions, the famed ‘Yam’ pony express, their tactical use of captives and their massive deportation policy.

To read up on the early history of the Mongols, check out my post ‘THE MONGOLS AND THE RISE OF GENGHIS KHAN’. In this post I speak about the Mongolian transition from seemingly insignificant tribal confederacies into an empire that was four times the size of Alexander’s and twice the size of the Roman’s. I cover their military tactics, some of their battle formations, armaments, their rapid adaptation of foreign technologies, and their secretive order of bodyguards known as the Keshik. During Genghis Khan’s early reign the Mongols warred against themselves and their fellow steppe neighbors as well as Northern China’s Western Xia dynasty (Tanguts: Tibeto-Burmese) and eastern Jinn dynasty (Tungusic Jurchens who were Sinicized).

#history #mongols #mongolia #genghis khan #game of thrones #dothraki #khal drogo

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