#sacrifice and a vague sense of ever present shame

[red-garden]

Jiggy is so eldest daughter coded and he would have a catholic guilt aesthetics board on pinterest.

[crimezi]

okay so i was thinking about how the winners of the life series get assigned a celestial body that corresponds with their personalities

grian - the sun: the origin of life, an authority or divinity, that which everything revolves, light of the server, a ever burning source of shock and awe

scott - the stars: all the light that’s too far to reach, unchanging predictable path, always reliable, infinite and unattainable, a sort of destiny

pearl - the moon: that which inspires insanity, a constantly evolving and always present force, can change the tides, she’s got range <3

martyn - mars: the symbol of war for wars sake, rather easily manipulated despite his own knack for manipulation, ancient to the point of rusting, willing to betray everyone for a leg up in the terror

so i came up with at least my reasons for the rest >:3 i did my best to mix different symbolism and a few of them are more sound in their reasoning but i’m happy

mumbo - mercury: two sides of an extreme either too hot or too cold, constantly making insane twists in logic, a follower of sorts (he’s insane constantly in an out of control, seeks out information and spreads it around)

skizz- venus: the goddess of love <3, from afar a simple bright light but upclose the most volatile mix of elements, incapable of hosting life (he just wants to see everyone together but also he loves it when he’s given a reason to go a little crazy he’s so Aphrodite coded)

scar- earth: being returned to which sustains us, something something cycles and rebirth, potential, the roots that connect us, the feeling of stability and belonging, a strength that goes unnoticed (he is the flesh maggots adore, where would we be with out him)

gem- aurora borealis: the goddess of the dawn, circle of life, a connection to the dead, power and wonder (i only have so much to work with but also she is the embodiment of a spectacle the shimmering chaotic brightness and also dawn imagery is her thing)

bdubs- eclipses: a doom or foreboding sense of darkness, something so profound that can extinguish even the brightest light, seemingly inextricably connected livable chaos (bdubs is simultaneously very dark and very bright he’s always on edge and genuinely i think we should be more terrified of his ability to flip in a dime he’s very volatile and i love him)

jimmy - meteorshowers/shooting stars: gift from heaven, mystery beyond human comprehension, forces beyond control (boy falls so much, no but his brief but beautiful existence like transience, he moves so fast he burns himself always right before or at the beginning of the unravelling chaos)

cleo- ceres : the mother <3, death and rebirth, the rhythms of the seasons, fostering and adopting, unconditional love, all the issues of devotion, attachment, separation, sacrifice, loss and grief (big sad feelings every season, they always have a deep connection that’s brutally severed)

joel- jupiter: lonely despite all his efforts, all about improvement and good karma, lots of energy spent in forming relationships, calls forth miracles and changing fates, big eye for an eye vibes (he’s the big man!!, he’s always very focused on improving his game and making good deals but still incredibly stubborn)

etho- saturn: a very divorced married divorced planet, very focused in discipline and wisdom, lots of personal responsibility but can also represent shame and suffering (he’s got this very interesting balance going on between being very civil but also very anxious, i could study him for hours)

tango: uranus: hehehe, raw genius and eccentricity, upheaval and innovation hand in hand, out of balance a little rebellious!!! (tango is oops all unconventional ideas also he’s always better off in groups but his individuality and need to discover stop consistently leads him into unexpected sudden issues)

lizzie - neptune: the mystical realm the domain of dreams and delusions, always just a little to vague with intentions, idealism to a fault, a emphasis on creativity and intuition (she is confusion incarnate, listen everything about lizzie comes back to magic fairy shit)

bigb- pluto: a new approach and new perspective, the underbelly of emotions what lies beneath the surface, an unconscious mind exploring dark domains and cycles of harm, spirt over matter (listen bigb is the physical embodiment of ‘what happens if i exculswively go with the flow and just sorta stuble upon answers to questions nobody had?’ and i love him)

impulse- the void: all things ambiguous, the gap inbetween your real self and the replacement ego, incomprehensible emptiness (impulse always has like five facades up and behind all of that is nothing knowable there’s a gnawing sense of dread in all his seasons)

ren - supernova: an explosive transformation, change itself, unleashed potential, fusion in a strange and tragic ways, the afterlife, never ending chain of destinies (he’s just got so much energy he fucking exploded that’s why he’s not in the last 2 seasons he’s crazy powerful he’s just sets things in motion so often, he’s also very pretty <333)

okay i think all of that makes sense lmao

[mehoymalloy]

a stranger wearing my face - Grace/Athena

Stray Gods Prompt Week - Day 5

Also can be found HERE on AO3 as the seventh chapter of a nine chapter work; comments and kudos are appreciated!

Grace looked at Athena with the most peculiar sort of recognition—as if she knew her. Athena found this especially unnerving because she didn't even know herself; Grace certainly couldn't. It had started that day on the echo of old Olympus. Grace was meant to be a sacrifice, presented on the altar of her sham of a trial. Yet it was Athena who ended up kneeling before the assemblage, stripped of the mask she had long ago forgotten she was wearing. Exposed as the monster she truly was, the other Idols had regarded Athena in various states of shock, outrage, and disgust. But Grace... Grace had been the picture of composure, borderline apathetic as she regarded Athena on the ground at her feet. After all, how could she possibly be surprised or disappointed when she already expected the worst of Athena? Afterward, Athena had receded into herself, content to confine herself to her apartment and avoid all those she had betrayed for at least half a century. She never expected to see Grace again. This is, of course, precisely why Grace would be the one to knock on her door. Time and time again, she simply showed up, uninvited, inserting herself into Athena's sad little life with aplomb, with Athena too habitually polite to turn her away outright. Each time, Grace made it a little further into Athena's home. Lingering in the entryway to drop off some inconsequential little thing. Wandering into the kitchen because Athena foolishly offered her an obligatory cup of coffee. Sitting at the dining table after catching Athena midway through cooking a meal. Strolling to Bubo's favorite perch on the balcony and carefully smoothing down a ruffled feather. Each interaction left Athena quietly reeling while Grace seemingly took everything in stride. She no longer looked at Athena as she had at the trial—with that cool apathy that made Athena's stomach writhe with shame. Now, there was a flicker of warmth in Grace's gaze, steadily growing—a comfortable sort of recognition that didn't make any sense. Each time Athena unwittingly showed Grace these vague glimpses of who she once was, Grace gazed upon all these scattered pieces with that strangely soft expression, always seemingly unsurprised by what she saw. What's worse, Grace readily reached for all of Athena's broken and mismatched pieces, fingertips trailing along sharp edges with no fear of being cut as she arranged them into an impression Athena herself couldn't make out. And each time Grace showed up at her door—and later, when Athena somehow found herself at hers—Grace only ever wore this knowing little smile that Athena couldn't interpret, honey eyes flickering with that soft recognition that frustrated Athena immensely. Then, one day, something clicked—all because Athena finally did something that took Grace by surprise. She kissed her. It was a fleeting, breathless thing—as much a shock to Athena herself as it was to Grace. And when Athena immediately pulled away to hesitantly gauge Grace's reaction, there was that frustrating little smile, that flicker of now-familiar warmth, and something else: a glimmer of pleasant surprise. That was the moment it started to make sense. Grace had never been looking at Athena as if she knew her. The strange flicker that Athena constantly caught in Grace's gaze wasn't recognition. It was acknowledgment. All this time, Grace had been gathering up scattered scraps of every 'Athena' that had existed over thousands of years. Old routines, bad habits, mundane hobbies, every jagged piece—the expected, the seemingly inconsequential, the unpleasant—Grace had collected and cataloged as part of who Athena was, here and now. Athena looked at herself and saw a stranger—a warped perversion of the ghost of an old goddess, only half-remembered and nearly unrecognizable. But Grace... Grace looked at Athena, not like she knew her, but like she wanted to know her.

[mimicteruyo]

Dancing on This Faultline

[Touhou Ship Week Day 1: Memories. YukaYuyu, 1.3k, angst]

---

The Saigyou Ayakashi stood stark amidst the sea of spring. The remnants of its final crop of leaves lay decomposing beneath its branches, sacrifices to the passage of seasons. Yukari kept her distance as she watched where the branches met the sky. She didn't need to observe the borders to know the tree teetered between life and death, so unstable all it would take was a single push to banish it from Earth for good. An unnecessary push: it would soon topple into the Netherworld of its own accord. Already the boundaries connected to it undulated and rippled, marking the garden as belonging to two worlds at once. If anyone had been there with her and had dared to asked, Yukari would have told them this was why she did nothing. Nature would take its course without her input. Why bother? Of course, she was alone, and she didn't feel the need to deceive herself in this particular matter. She let the tree be because it was, in essence, all that remained of the one human she had truly loved. She sauntered closer, stepping lightly across the border between the blanket of fallen petals and the brown earth encircling the Saigyou Ayakashi. The seal upon the tree was tremendously strong, guaranteed to keep any further victims from succumbing to their fates, simultaneously ensuring it would never flower again. If the tree could bloom, just how bright would the blood seeping through the roots dye its blossoms? A cool breeze swept across the garden, sending petals flying and grabbing at Yukari's loose hair. It wouldn't be long till the season of cherry blossoms ended and only plain green remained in the trees. In all trees except the barren youkai tree. A youkai tree. A youkai, just like her. Hadn't she already accepted that? Who was it who had chosen to look beyond each veil she found and let what she had discovered behind them change her? It didn't matter if being able to manipulate borders also meant living with no escape from the awareness of the fragility of the world, that the boundary between meaning and nonsense was gossamer-thin. She would grow used to it. Others had. The more she thought about it, the more the tree was an eyesore. How long would it stand there, glutted on life force and lingering on without water or sunlight or freshly stolen souls before finally shuffling off to the Netherworld for good? She raised her hand to send it far beyond her senses.

"Do you think its blossoms would be even more vibrant than the rest?"

Yukari's hand remained up. She put it down very deliberately before turning to face precisely who she had expected to face.

Yuyuko had emerged by her side as quietly as a flower opens its petals. Her butterfly-like delicacy concealing a steel blade of a mind had been refined into ethereality, but had she been dressed in something other than a snowy robe, she might still have fooled a human into thinking she belonged in their fold.

Of course, there was no fooling someone who could see all the boundaries of the universe. Yuyuko had very decisively bled across the border of life and death. Even if that hadn't been obvious, the tree's blossoms remained sealed by the very being who now smiled at Yukari as though meeting an interesting stranger for the first time.

Yukari forced herself to remain calm. It had been inevitable. Where else could Yuyuko have gone, so decisively bound to the Saigyou Ayakashi, but to this awkward borderland? The only place where she could go from here was onwards to the Netherworld, where she would hopefully find the peace she had never found in life.

In other words, there was no reason for why Yukari should feel like someone had just slashed all of her veins from the inside.

"It would surely have the most magnificent blossoms of all," Yuyuko mused, continuing to smile in spite of Yukari's silence. Her voice was unchanged from life, even if the dreamy, vague tone hadn't been typical of her in the past. "What a shame. It's fortunate we have so many other trees to enjoy, at least."

Yukari found her voice. "You seem very at ease for a ghost."

"Yes, rather. I must have had many lingering regrets to remain here, but here I stand with little notion of what they may have been. Not that I mind."

With that, Yuyuko's attention returned to blossomless branches.

That could have been the end of it. Yukari could have accepted the situation for what it was and left Yuyuko behind, secure in the knowledge that what awaited her was better than a lifetime of fear and loneliness.

Instead, she found herself speaking once more. "Do you remember me?"

Yuyuko turned and tilted her head. A thin frown crested on her face just for a moment before her perfect calmness re-asserted itself. "Possibly. At least, I feel that I could hazard a guess. Perhaps after we find a suitable place to sit down we can entertain ourselves by trying to guess each other's secrets."

Yukari watched this new, breezy, strange Yuyuko and saw instead a face wet with tears, wreathed by hair clustered into clumps.

"You must go. I was selfish to ever think I could live with another person. If you don't leave, you too will..."

"Yuyuko." It was all she could think to say, only she didn't think it: the name escaped on its own, maliciously prolonging the encounter.

Yuyuko faced her, unconcerned by the lack of title or honorific, unconcerned even by Yukari's knowledge of her name. Her eyes were a marginally redder hue of brown than they had been in life. They had been entirely altered.

Yukari searched for something to say and found only further memories of a figure huddled tiny by guilt and winter's chill alike — a winter which had only just ended, but which Yukari had experienced as another person altogether.

"But I'm still selfish. I still cannot let you go." "Please, stay with me. For one last night." "Before it's too late."

She reached for the boundary between the past and the present, and Yuyuko came back into focus. The current Yuyuko, the one whose eyes were so close to those in Yukari's memories and yet weren't the same.

She looked at her in silence. The truth was that when Yuyuko had died, she had invited a part of Yukari to join her in death.

But... in doing so, perhaps Yuyuko had done her a favour.

She needed to stop thinking like a human. After all, she wasn't one. Neither of them were. And with that thought, she smiled at Yuyuko. "I'm glad you've been able to discard your past concerns."

"Thank you. I think I truly have." Yuyuko tilted her head again, precisely as she had when Yukari had first stumbled into this garden. "Perhaps you may one day tell me what those concerns were."

"Who knows?" Yukari found her smile becoming more genuine. "On my way here, I saw the perfect place to sit down and admire the remaining flowers."

"Wonderful. Will you lead the way?"

Yukari wasn't surprised when Yuyuko held out her hand. She was slightly more surprised when she herself reached out and took it.

Even so, as she interlaced her fingers with Yuyuko's, she felt like she was coming home.

There would be a time for re-introductions, re-explanations, a rekindling of passions. Or perhaps there would be none of those things and instead a new flower would sprout from the ground left bare by the cessation of humanity.

It would be a wondrous blossom regardless, Yukari knew, finally smiling in earnest as she guided Yuyuko through the land that was at once alive and dead, changing the boundaries of the scattering of light in her eyes to the shade of the most vivid cherry blossoms imaginable.

[hellsbellschime]

I have been struggling with Jon's ending since the finale aired. I am a Jon stan but I didn't care about him being KitN and the idea of the IT and the Chimera created by the Targs of the Seven Kingdoms didn't sit right with me. Yet Jon end the series exiled by Bran (and fucking Tyrion who gets what he craves) to the Watch again. Yet this time is not a self imposed one but he is sent as a criminal. A traitor (to the North and Starks, to Dany), an oathbreaker, a queenslayer and kinslayer. The show tries to masks this as some what sweet by having his pal Tormund and the free folk waiting for him. Yet that shot of the gate closing as Jon watches speaks to me as Westeros rejecting him and having no place there (to be continued)

Part 2 and when Jon seeks absolution all he gets is Bran vague statement of 'you were where you were supposed to be'. Jon is an outsider in the Stark family as Ned bastard. Being out of place makes him join the Watch at 14 trying to at least prove he has Ned honor. He dreams of being Lord of WF and a trueborn Stark, not out of spite, not out of power seeking. But because he wants to be someone the Starks can take pride and not the shamefull prove that Ned is like the rest. And this causes in him internal shame and pain because he knows his dream comes at the cost of his brothers and sisters rights. Martin presents him in Bran I as the one who bents Ned in keeping the puts and a seven years Bran understands that Jon is sacrificing his chance of getting a pup, how he places the girls and baby Rickon above him. We know that this sacrifice leads to Ghost. But as Jon goes to the Wall with little in s1, he goes back in the finale with less. The only thing that he can hold on is that Sansa, Arya and Bran and safe. Yet he loses everything in exchange. I'm rafting but what the final of Jon Snow keeps ke awake is "where is A Dream of Spring here"? What's the point of his character journey but to be allways doomed as the stain on the Stark name? 

I’m not surprised that you’re struggling with it because it was shit. I think that D&D were aiming for ambiguous but it was really just confusing and empty because it did nothing to address Jon as an individual. It’s not at all bizarre that this happened though, because the moment he met Dany he really ceased to be an individual and the entirety of his character arc was focused on masking the fact that Dany’s dark turn was coming, so his character got no real development and his internal life was nonexistent, and because of the time crunch they forced on themselves it required them to wrap up his entire character arc in half an episode. It was a horrible idea and horrible execution, so having him hand wring over his decision to kill Dany and then being sent to the wall “where he belongs” was the best they could muster in the amount of time that they had.

But for me, I ultimately don’t think Jon’s internal conflict is going to be about killing Dany at all. Once he’s at that point he knows it’s the right thing to do, I think he will be far more conflicted about the part he feels like he played leading up to it and conflicted about whether or not he could have or should have done something earlier. He and Tyrion are making the same mistake in believing that their influence is enough to guide Dany away from dark impulses which obviously isn’t the case, and he’s going to learn that he’s wrong in the most brutal way possible.

I don’t think he’s doomed, but he was sure as hell born under a bad sign, and one of the ultimate bittersweet ironies of his character is that on paper he is nearly everything bad in the eyes of Westeros. He’s a bastard kinslaying queenslaying traitor, except he was right. In a huge sense he’s a foil to Jaime, because Jaime has been awful for his entire life and the only truly heroic thing he had ever done in the first 30 odd years of his life was kill the Mad King, and the entire country derided him and loathed him as a Kingslayer. On the other hand, Jon is someone who has always tried to live up to his ideals and be a truly good and decent person, and the one time where he makes a mistake he essentially becomes Jaime Lannister in the eyes of the world, but instead of his mistake saving King’s Landing it winds up being the reason that it’s destroyed.

I think Jon’s internal conflict will be heavily driven by that, that basically everything that he idealized and wanted to believe in was a false ideal, and the problem isn’t that he never fit into the world, but that the world itself is wrong in so many ways. I think that in the end Jon will likely leave this world behind for quite a while, but I don’t think it will necessarily be forever. I think it’s more a symbolic rejection of the world that he always felt rejected by, and his understanding that people’s desires to take their “rightful place” in the world can be enormously destructive. I also think that one of his great gifts to the world will be not pressing his claim to the Iron Throne and letting all of the insanity that Targaryen rule has brought to Westeros end for good. I think that a big theme for Jon and Arya specifically has been the desire to fit in when they don’t feel like they do, and I think that’s something that GoT swung for and completely missed with the completion of their character arcs. I think that their book endings will be far more in line with that, that instead of feeling rejected they will understand that they can navigate the world in their own way and that’s okay, and they will instead reject the standards that they can’t ever fulfill. The great irony is that after a lifetime of obsessing over the fact that he doesn’t belong, Jon’s origin story both indicates that he DOES belong but that the ruling class of Westeros is fuckin crazy and isn’t really a place where people should want to belong.

In the early years Jon used to be my favorite character but I lost interest in him for exactly this reason, that D&D started using him as the kind of blank slate “chosen one/hidden prince” archetype and didn’t really do jack shit with his character beyond that, and that is undoubtedly why the R+L=J revelation felt so empty. It was meaningless both because it had no impact but because Jon had no reaction to it and quite frankly by the time he found out he was near Bran-levels of non-characterization. It felt like he had no internal characterization left even before he met Dany, but once the two of them came together it was like the show was on a rocket trying to get to the end as quickly as possible with as little explanation as possible. Most of the other characters could get away with their hollow endings because at least some aspect of it rang true, even if I don’t like Sansa’s, Bran’s, Brienne’s or Tyrion’s endings I can still make sense of them, but because Jon’s internal crisis came in literally the last goddamn episode of the series there was no time to fully explain why he was doing what he did or why he felt how he felt, and because it was too complex to explain they basically gave him a vaguely “happy” ending even though it was so shoddy and weird it was hard to even understand what the hell was supposed to be happening. It’s ironic too, GoT really went out of it’s way to make him into the male lead character and then gave him no development or resolution to actually give him a complete character arc.

[myforeverforlife]

the sacrifice (part two).

“I,” you struggled to get out. “I need a cure. My cousin is dying, and nothing else has worked. I need the help of the Byun witches.” You gulped upon seeing the hardening of his eyes. “Are you one of them?“

The man laughed hollowly, the sound sending a chill up your spine. "Princess, you’re looking at them.”

”I am the last of the Byun clan.”

Series masterlist : ( 1 )  ( 2 )  ( 3 )

A/N: Mentions of blood, vague mentions of minor character death

Pairing: Baekhyun and Fem reader

Word count: 4,670

Masterlist

Baekhyun’s words brought goosebumps to your skin. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“But,” you stammered. “There were so many of you. My aunt’s book had lists of people from your clan.”

“There were a lot of us,” Baekhyun emphasized. “The witch hunts changed all of that.” He glanced away, eyes falling to the floor as his dog waddled over. Baekhyun’s eyes softened as the pet rubbed its head against his leg. “Now, I am the only representative for my family.”

You knew about the witch hunts, the paranoia and fear that drove people to out even their long-time neighbors. Reports of countless riots had come flooding in for the first couple of years after the queen’s death and the king’s ban on witchcraft. The burnings weren’t as rampant nowadays, but it wasn’t unusual to hear rumors of a witch sighting once in a while. In your ignorance, you hadn’t realized how many of the witches had been killed.

It had never even crossed your mind that entire families would be wiped out.

Opening your mouth to speak, you thought better of it and stopped yourself. A simple apology would do nothing to fix this, to bring back the rest of the Byun clan. There weren’t any words sufficient enough to express the depth of your guilt and shame at the destruction caused by your uncle’s reckless decisions. But there had to be something you could say…

Quick footsteps against the staircase saved you from the growing silence, Jongdae the witch returning with another man behind him. This newcomer stared at you curiously, eyes flickering between your guilty expression and Baekhyun’s empty gaze.

“I assume we’re in the middle of introductions?” he said. With a thin-lipped smile, he nodded in your direction. “I’m Minseok.”

“Hello,” you mumbled.

Jongdae looked just as awkward as you felt, playing with the brim of his pointed hat as you all waited for someone, anyone to speak up. Finally, he nodded at the short hallway leading towards one of the other rooms. “You must be tired from your journey, I know it wasn’t easy to find us. Come eat.”

He walked away without waiting for you to follow, leaving his hat on a side table. Minseok was close behind, glancing over his shoulder when he noticed that you and Baekhyun remained unmoving. His lips parted, ready to call both of you over when he stopped himself. Shaking his head, he continued on.

“I… I’m sorry,” you told Baekhyun. “I don’t know if I would have come if I realized…”

Baekhyun seemed to wake up, breaking out of his daze. He studied your face, mismatched eyes roving over each feature. You weren’t sure what he was searching for, but whatever he found seemed to be enough.

“I understand why you came. The prince suffers from the same illness as the late queen, doesn’t he?”

You nodded weakly. “The latest physician believes it may be hereditary. Nothing works, I don’t know what else to do. I thought that…”

“That magic would be the one to save him,” Baekhyun finished. “But you traveled all this way, in search of the one thing that the king hates above all else. You would go against your uncle, your king?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation. “If it meant that my cousin would live, yes. I would do anything to save him.”

That seemed to trigger some sort of response, Baekhyun’s jaw clenching as he broke eye-contact. “Be careful with what you say. You might think you’re noble, but sacrifices have always been made in vain. You’ll need more than sheer will to find a cure for the prince.”

He left you behind, frozen by his sudden change in attitude. You hurried to catch up to him, almost tripping over his dog. What was it with these witches and their pets?

“I’m not a fool,” you told him. “I know of the risks and trials ahead of me.”

Baekhyun whipped around, eyebrows drawn low over his face. “You know nothing. The worst is yet to come, princess. Are you willing to die for your cousin, if that’s what it takes?”

You flinched at the harshness of his words, meeting his glare with one of your own. “If I had to sacrifice myself for Sehun, I would do it in a heartbeat.” Your hands were trembling, your entire being in shock as you realized that this was the truth — you would lay your life on the line to save your best friend. No hesitation.

The witch shook his head with a scoff. “Sacrifices get people killed. A hero complex won’t save you, little princess.” He left you behind, boots stomping against the wooden floor as he went to join the rest of his coven.

His dog looked up at you, whining uncertainly before running after his owner, nails clicking against the floor with every step.

Baekhyun was an enigma, polite one moment and then cold the next. You weren’t sure why he had reacted so strongly to your responses, caught off guard by the anger simmering in his voice.

But you wouldn’t let this deter you. Your path had brought you here, and you were intent on making sure that you got what you came for.

Squaring your shoulders, you made your way down the hall. The sounds of chairs scraping against the floor and hushed voices led the way. The witches had mentioned supper, but that didn’t stop you from gaping in wonder at the sight before you.

Minseok stood in front of the fireplace, this one larger than the one you had seen when you entered the house. He peered into the pot as he stirred, sniffing fragrant smells in the air. Jongdae passed Baekhyun a bowl of stew as the other man took a seat at the small table, his corgi staring up at him expectantly. A bowl of food lay on the floor, but the dog seemed more interested in the human food.

But in the center of the room sat a large cauldron, a white cat napping beside it. What was even stranger was the faint green light emitting from the top of the cauldron, casting warped shadows on the ceiling above.

Minseok looked up, confused by the awe in your expression. “Ah. You’ve probably never seen a potion brewing.”

“Never.” You took a step closer to it before pausing. “May I?”

He nodded, waving a hand thoughtlessly in your direction as he focused on serving up another bowl of food. “Go ahead. Just don’t touch it.”

The cat opened its eyes, mewling softly before standing up and strolling over to the table. You took this chance to move closer, eyes wide as you watched the mixture bubble and froth. “What is this?”

“Potion for the radishes in the garden. They haven’t been looking too good.”

You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing. These men were witches, and yet they were concerned with using their magic for radishes?

“Oh,” you replied lamely.

“I think the princess was expecting something more exciting,” Jongdae spoke up. He broke off a piece of bread from the loaf that lay on the table. “Maybe a potion for eternal life.”

You blushed at having been discovered. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I just figured that you wouldn’t need to worry about things like that. What with your magic, and all.”

“Not all magic has the same capabilities,” Minseok said as he brought a bowl of food to the table. “Come eat, and then we’ll talk.”

To your embarrassment, your stomach chose the most opportune time to grumble loudly. The other men didn’t seem to notice, or care. Either way, they didn’t mind as you left your knapsack on the floor at your feet and took a seat next to Jongdae. But before you could eat…

“Thank you,” you said softly, the whisper of your voice heard even as the men ate. “I know that me being here is less than ideal, but I appreciate the three of you letting me into your home.” You thought of how Dotori had led you to them, your tiny guide through the forest. “How long have you known I was coming?”

Minseok and Jongdae stared at Baekhyun pointedly, waiting for the witch to answer. Chewing through a mouthful of food, he replied, “About a week. The scrying stone showed me.”

Scrying stone? You were about to ask what he meant when Minseok cut you off. “Eat first. You look like you’re about to pass out from exhaustion.” He frowned at the shadows under your eyes.

He had a point. As much as you wanted to delve into getting all of your questions answered now, there was no denying that you were on the brink of total exhaustion. You were safe here, eating supper with a trio of hidden witches.

For now, all was well.

You didn’t hesitate to start bombarding the trio with questions as soon as the last person finished eating.

“How did you know I was coming?”

Baekhyun ran his hands through his dark hair, trying to figure out how to explain everything in a way that made sense. “My gift is in clairvoyance — the ability to see the near future. I can’t pick what I want to see, the scrying stone chooses for me. For some reason, it decided to show me you.”

“So it was mere coincidence that you knew I was coming?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Although magic is never just the result of mere coincidences. I think the craft might have brought you here.”

“The craft? Witchcraft?”

Baekhyun turned to look at you, one eyebrow raising. “You’re one of the Shin witches, right?”

“Yes, but I have no magic. I’m just like any other human.”

“You might not have the power,” Minseok chimed in, “But you’re still a witch.” He leaned forward on his elbows, hands clasped in front of him. “As a coven, we’ve agreed to help other witches in need. But your case is different, seeing who you’re related to.”

You gulped, the weight of your uncle’s sins present now more than ever.

“We weren’t sure whether to let you find us,” Minseok continued. “Some of us,” he glanced at Jongdae, “Thought it would be a mistake to let you know of our existence.”

“And so,” Minseok’s voice took on a serious tone. “We’ve decided to help you on one condition.”

Straightening up in your seat, you nodded. “Anything.”

Jongdae let out a deep breath. As if sensing her familiar’s anxiety, Dotori came out from where she bad been hiding in Jongdae’s pocket, climbing up onto his shoulder.

“We will agree to do everything in our power to cure the crown prince,” he began. “In return, you will find a way for the king to lift the ban against witchcraft and put an end to the burnings.” You were about to speak when he held up a finger, asking you to wait. “If either side, yours or ours, goes back on the agreement, they will pay with their lives.”

Your blood ran cold, the full weight of their request dragging you down, down. How were you supposed to enact such a change, to bring the witches back when the kingdom was out to get them? To fail would mean the end of your life, your existence.

But, another part of you reasoned. If they found a cure for Sehun and he was saved, you would have solid proof to show the king that the witches were to be trusted. Honestly, who else would you go to for help if you turned down their offer?

Feeling a set of eyes on you, you glanced up to see Baekhyun staring at you from across the table. His words from earlier came back to haunt you. “Are you willing to die for your cousin, if that’s what it takes?”

At the time, you had answered yes without hesitation. Now…

“How do I know for sure that you won’t go back on your promise?”

Jongdae smiled wryly, no humor in his expression. “A blood pact. Those who take part in the blood pact seal the deal with their lives. There’s no backing out once it’s made.”

“The deal will be upheld, one way or the other,” Minseok added. “The choice is yours.”

You would be engaging in real witchcraft, the final nail in the coffin to seal your fate. Your hands were shaking, fingers twitching restlessly from where they lay in your lap. But despite your apparent nervousness, you voice was strong and clear when you answered. “Yes. I accept.”

The three witches stared at each other, surprised by how quickly you came to a decision. “Once we make the pact, there’s no turning back,” Jongdae warned.

“I meant what I said. I will find a way to save my cousin, or die trying.” You looked each of them in the eye, refusing to back down. You lingered when you came to Baekhyun, trying to decipher the meaning behind his stoic expression. “I am confident that we will find a way to heal him.”

Baekhyun leaned back in his chair. “You have more confidence than we do, princess.”

“Alright,” Minseok declared, ignoring the younger witch. He pulled out a small switchblade from his pocket, the metal flipping open and glinting in the firelight. Jongdae got up, rummaging through the kitchen materials before returning with a small bowl.

Minseok held out a hand towards you. He nodded towards your folded hands when you stared at him in confusion. “Your hand — we need blood from all included in the pact.”

Slowly, you reached out across the table, palm up as you bit your lip. Even with all your talk of bravery and selflessness, if there was one thing that made you queasy, it was the sight of blood. Minseok handled your palm carefully, the blade of his knife cutting swiftly across the skin. You hissed in pain, watching as Minseok let the blood drip into the bowl.

“Baekhyun, get a rag and help her cover the wound,” he ordered. Quickly and efficiently, he cleaned the blade before drawing blood from his own hand. You watched in horror when he didn’t show any signs of pain or discomfort.

You were so transfixed by the ritual before you that it took Baekhyun a few promptings to get your attention. “Let me see your hand,” he said, holding onto a small cloth.

He was careful with your hand, wrapping the cloth around it and tying it firmly in place. Although the process was quick and over in a matter of seconds, he didn’t let go. You looked up to see him staring down at you, an unreadable look in his eye.

“I hope you don’t regret this.”

“I won’t,” you replied firmly, pulling your hand out of his grasp.

Baekhyun sighed before sitting back down, emotionally distant as ever as he and Jongdae contributed to the bowl.

All four of you sat with hastily bandaged hands as Jongdae began mumbling under his breath, eyes closed and hands cupped around the base of the bowl. You waited, unsure of what would happen next. All you could see so far was a bowl of blood that made you sick to look at.

“Bind the four through promises sworn, break the bonds and trust is torn,” you heard from among the whispered jumble of words. “Save the prince from his final breath, and save our people from further death.”

Jongdae opened his eyes, one finger dipping into the bowl and coming out bloody. Sitting across from him, Baekhyun leaned forward, eyes closing as Jongdae drew a line down the bridge of his nose. “Baekhyun, the clairvoyant,” Jongdae breathed out.

Minseok did the same, nose wrinkling at the sensation as Jongdae proclaimed him, “Minseok, the knowledgeable.”

Jongdae turned to you, his finger dragging down the length of your nose and leaving behind a crimson trail as you fought back the urge to flinch. “Y/N, the truth seeker.”

He did the same to his own face, a drop of blood falling off the end of his nose and onto his tunic. “Jongdae, the protector.”

The rest was incomprehensible to you, spoken in what sounded like another language. You found your eyelids growing heavier, only relaxing when you saw the others waiting with eyes closed as well. A tickling sensation began at the top of your nose, making its way further down. Just when it started to get uncomfortable, the feeling was gone.

“You can open your eyes,” you heard Jongdae say.

You did as you were told, surprised to find all traces of blood gone from everyone’s faces. In disbelief, you reached up to touch your own face, taken aback when your fingers didn’t come away red and bloody.

The witches laughed at your surprise, lightening the heavy mood that had been hanging over everyone since stepping foot into their home.

“That’s it?” you asked. “We don’t have to… drink the blood or anything?”

Jongdae snorted at your naïveté. “Whatever they’ve been teaching you about witchcraft is wrong. We’re not blood drinkers. Just practitioners of the craft.”

Now that the pact had been made, you were buzzing with anticipation. “Well? What’s the cure?”

“We’re going to need to do a lot of research first. Possibly even some scrying,” Minseok said. “We need to make sure that we know what’s ailing the prince first before we try to find a way to heal him.”

“My aunt had a book.” You reached down, pulling the leather-bound book from your knapsack and placing it on the table. “I can’t read some of the text, but it’s what led me here. Maybe there’s something in it that could help us?”

Jongdae reached out before pulling his hands back. “May I?” he asked you, nodding towards the book.

“Of course.”

Carefully, Jongdae brought the book closer to him. As he turned the pages, he treated each one carefully, fingers barely brushing against the parchment. “Wow,” he breathed out. “I wonder how long its been since the Shin grimoire was last read.”

“A grimoire?” you asked.

“A book of spells, or instructions for making amulets or potions. Things like that,” Baekhyun chimed in. He was leaning forward, reading the pages upside down from where he sat across from Jongdae.

Minseok elaborated for you. “A grimoire is a clan’s lifeblood. It’s how witches preserve their information, and then pass it down to their children. All three of us continue to learn from our families’ grimoires.”

Jongdae continued to flip through the pages, eyes drinking everything in while Baekhyun did the same on the other side. The two reached the list of Shin witches, glancing up at you in unison when they reached the bottom of the page.

“You and the crown prince really are the only two witches of your generation,” Jongdae gasped out.

You shrugged uncomfortably. “I always knew it was only us and my father left. All other family members that I have are from my mother’s side, and none of them come from a family of witches.”

Baekhyun turned the page, face alight with curiosity before realizing what was written there. Even with the book flipped upside down from his viewpoint, he could still clearly read all of the names staring up at him.

The names of his family.

Hastily, he turned the page, focusing much too intently on a random list of ingredients. “Not like we need to read about my family,” he mumbled. “We know what’s happened to them.”

Jongdae paused, worried brows drawn low over his expressive eyes as he stared at his friend. “Hey, do you want to talk — ”

“No, Jongdae. I don’t. Just drop it, please.”

All four of you sat in the thick silence, Baekhyun pretending to read through the pages as the rest of you worried about what to say next. The dog from earlier, the one who stuck by Baekhyun’s side, got up from where he had been lying down on the floor. He let out a soft whine, weaving in between his owner’s legs before settling down on top of his feet.

Minseok reached over, pulling the book away from Baekhyun and closing it. “I think that’s enough reading for tonight.” He slid it back over to you, giving you what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thanks. Do you mind if we look through the rest of it tomorrow?”

“Go ahead. All of you are free to read it whenever you’d like.”

Minseok nodded. “Thank you.” Stretching his arms above his head, he let out a long yawn. “I guess we’d better find a bed for you tonight. You can take my room, I’ll just sleep on the floor in Baekhyun’s or something. Tanie might go insane if we have to sleep in the same room as Dotori.”

Jongdae was about to fight back when Baekhyun stood up, the chair scraping against the wooden floor. “You can take my room,” he told you. “You’re the guest, and this is my family’s house. It’s only right that I give you my room for now.”

“I’m fine with sleeping on the floor out here,” you began, blinking in surprise when all three men groaned.

“Like we’d let you sleep on the floor,” said Jongdae. “Just take the room.”

“I — ” You began, growing silent when Baekhyun shook his head.

“Take the room, Princess. Please.”

It was the “please” that sealed your fate, such a simple word to be changing your decision. You couldn’t protest, not when you felt both indebted and grateful to the witches, especially Baekhyun. You still weren’t sure if he hated you or if he was just this distant with all strangers, but he had still let you into his home.

He let you in, even with what he knew about you and your family.

“Okay,” you gave in. “Thank you.”

His dog followed both of you upstairs as Baekhyun led the way to his room. The other witches stayed behind in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from earlier. Although the two of you walked in silence, the dog barked happily up at you, tongue hanging from his mouth.

“Mongryong likes you,” Baekhyun said with a tiny smile. You were struck with the realization that this was the first time you had seen him smile all night.

“Is that your name?” you asked sweetly, giggling when Mongryong jumped up in response. “You’re very friendly.”

Baekhyun stopped before a door, pulling it open and gesturing inside. “Here’s my room. Feel free to move anything you need to.”

“But where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll be in Minseok’s room.” He nodded at the other door down the hall.

“Alright.” You stepped inside, eyes roaming over the cluttered messes that took up space. A stack of books and other knickknacks covered his desk, with what looked like a pile of robes and other fabrics clumped together on the floor by his nightstand. It was messy, but it was also obvious that this room was well-lived in. A window was positioned at the other end of the room, moonlight peeking in between the curtains.

You turned to look back at Baekhyun. “Thank you, truly.”

The man coughed, nodding stiffly. “You’re welcome. Well… good night.”

“Good night.”

You closed the door, smiling down at Mongryong as he let out a small yip. “Come, Mongryong,” you heard Baekhyun say once the door had clicked shut. Both sets of footsteps grew fainter as the pair walked away, until you could hear them no longer.

Your knapsack dragged along the floor as you walked to the bed, the blankets shifting as you sat down. You still weren’t sure if Baekhyun hated you, or if he was just this closed-off to all strangers.

But if he hated you, he wouldn’t have agreed to help. If any of the witches downstairs truly hated you, they wouldn’t have risked their lives to help you. Maybe you were just overthinking things.

With a sigh, you lay back on the bed. Did it matter if they liked you or not? You were here to find a way to save Sehun, and that was all. Even if the witches didn’t trust you completely, at least they were helping you. All you had to do was fulfill your end of the deal. But the king’s word was law, and once he made up his mind, there was rarely any chance of changing it. What if you couldn’t convince him to lift the ban?

One thing at a time, you thought to yourself, closing your eyes. Save Sehun first, and then worry later.

But that was easier said than done.

Baekhyun shivered in the night air as he waited for Mongryong to finish doing his business. The corgi barked, choosing instead to stroll through the grass leading to the gardens.

“Mongryong, hurry,” Baekhyun grumbled. “Minseok will kill me if you pee on his vegetables.”

Mongryong sniffed at the leaves of a plant, ears perked up in interest before he walked away. He wandered over to the ring of trees, still close enough for Baekhyun to keep an eye on him.

Baekhyun loved his familiar, but sometimes he wished he didn’t have to bring him out for restroom breaks throughout the day. Even now as Minseok and Jongdae were getting ready for bed, he was out here trying to get his dog to pee one last time before bedtime. He assumed you were asleep already.

Baekhyun cringed to himself, imagining you trying to navigate between the piles of things he left lying around the room. He was usually good about keeping his things clean — he had to be when he was living with Minseok. But he was so busy lately that he hadn’t gotten a chance to organize his things.

Why did he care what you thought anyway?

He had gone back downstairs to whisper with Jongdae and Minseok after saying good night to you, the three of them trading their thoughts and opinions. The general agreement was that although you were naive, you seemed genuine enough to trust. Even Jongdae was warming up to you, although he had been the one most worried about you coming.

Baekhyun was still bothered by the easy way in which you had decided to bet your own life in order to save another’s. Baekhyun had nothing left to lose, and had agreed when Minseok first mentioned the idea of a blood pact, days before you arrived. But for you to agree right away, just after learning about what a blood pact even was…  It was reckless and stupid, even if you were doing it for your cousin.

Sacrifice hadn’t saved his brother, no matter how brave he was. Images of flames dancing against shadows, screams in the night and light blue eyes flashed through his mind.

With a shudder, Baekhyun straightened up, looking for his familiar. “Mongryong! Hurry up!”

His familiar ran over, already sensing the shift in Baekhyun’s mood. Mongryong barked at him, whimpering when Baekhyun didn’t respond right away.

“I’m okay,” Baekhyun murmured. He reached down, petting the corgi affectionately. “Just old ghosts back to haunt me.”

Looking over his shoulder, Baekhyun stared at his bedroom window. He hoped you wouldn’t regret your decisions.

You may be a witch, but you hadn’t suffered in the same way that Baekhyun had. The way that he, Jongdae and Minseok constantly lived in fear of facing the same fates as the rest of their families. But no matter how angry he was at how life had turned out, he wouldn’t wish it on anyone else, not even his worst enemies.

Baekhyun sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes as he stared up at the night sky. The moonlight seemed to be reflected in his one blue eye, the mark of his family’s magic. If he could prevent the loss of another innocent life, he would do everything in his power to help.

He only hoped that what he had was enough.

Series masterlist : ( 1 )  ( 2 )  ( 3 )

A/N: alright here’s try number two of me trying to update the series WITH tags this time lol. the series might be longer than I expected? I didn’t think it would take me a whole chapter to write these scenes, so I’m thinking that the whole series might be extended a chapter or two. I also want to add that any kind of magic/witchcraft mentioned in this series is a mix of things I’ve read/watched in TV or movies, and things I’ve made up for this series. (also, please let me know if there are any typos in here, I feel like there’s always something I miss when proofreading haha)

@shesdreaminginoverdose​

[fanesavin]

Evidence is presented and justice is served... or is it?

[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (x) | (x) Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 (x) (x) | Part 7 | Part 8  (x) | Part 9 (x) |Part 10 | Part 11 (x) (x) | Part 12 (x) | Part 13 (x) (x) | Part 14 (x) (x) | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 ]

@bumblingbrujo​​ @faye-andrews​ @xxtuaharjunaxx​ @ianncardero​ @ephrampettaline​ @thisbrutalbelle​ @danisavin @scarlettxruby

Tuah made his way towards the Dawnguard headquarters, strolling through the hallways as if he still belonged. His confidante followed closely behind him, a constant shadow and protector that he trusted implicitly. Once he arrived at Fane’s office, he watched Fane for a moment before making his presence known. “Care for a break from your work?” he asked, his quiet voice gentle, his smile mirroring his tone.

Fane was sat by the window, his eyes fixed on some distant point across the city. He’d needed some time away from the Quiver and this was the only place that came to mind where he might find some sense of solace. He heard the approach of someone, not that it really mattered anymore. But Tuah’s voice echoing across the office caused Fane to tense fractionally. “This work never leaves me, and I doubt it ever will.”

Tuah watched as Fane shifted from where he stood by the window, the lighting that permeated through the window framed the Inquisitor’s body beautifully and casting shadows on the floor. Tuah couldn’t help but smile as he entered the room and joined Fane by the window. His confidante silently closed the door behind him, guarding the door and let the two have their conversation in private. “That does not mean that you’re not allowed to have a breather every once and awhile.” He turned to face Fane, the gentle smile that he reserved for his friend painted his lips. “If you need someone to vent, you know you can confide in me.” At least it would ease Fane’s burden as the inquisitor, if nothing else, to have someone that he could confide in, other than those who had been heavily involved in the investigation.

Fane couldn’t bring himself to match his friend’s cheer, he shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Perhaps once this is all said and done,” he allowed but had a feeling that the guilt of this job would stay with him long after whatever happened came to be. “Let me ask you a question and answer me truthfully, if you could usher in a new age of peace to these weary lands, bring an end to the wars but… all that came at the cost of a innocent man’s reputation and perhaps see only justice partially served, would you take that chance?” He didn’t elaborate, nor did he turn but continued to watch citizens mill about the street below.

Tuah hummed, turning his gaze towards the city as he contemplated the other’s question. “The good of many outweighs the good of one man,” he recited, shifted his weight on his feet and resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, “a king must choose the best path for his people, even if it sacrifice a man’s innocence if it means he can maintain peace.” He turned his gaze towards Fane, a knowing smile on his lips. “It is heavy to carry the burden, isn’t it?”

Fane huffed at his friend’s vague answer but equally knew precisely what it was that Tuah was saying in that veiled tongue. “I’m no king,” he countered evenly “and a part of me would rather see the ramparts stained red than sentence an innocent man to a punishment he doesn’t deserve.” There was a weighted silence that followed the claim, and yet it was no less true. “An innocent man suffers and the killer continues to walk free to further their plans. How is that the world we live in? What kind of world can be built from that foundation?”

“No, but you are the Inquisitor to the High Raj, and right now, that weighs more than a king of some small nation.” Tuah shifted his gaze to the city once more, his face sombre as he contemplated Fane’s concern further. “A peaceful nation has always been built by the blood of the innocents, Lord Savin,” he pointed out, “one more innocent man would not make a difference. Would you rather stain your hand with the blood of many, or the blood of one, would be the question here.”

Fane grimaced, knowing that unfortunately it was true whether he wished it to be or not. He offered no answer to Tuah’s question about which he would prefer. “I want no more part in this… These games and betrayal. Equally, I’m not sure I wish to be shackled as these treaties would entail… We did not fight in their wars, why should we submit to the whims of people who would rather poison one another so that they might have the chance to sit on a throne– an ugly one at that.”

Tuah could only gave the other sympathetic smile, letting Fane venting out his frustration. Unlike Fane, he had the privilege to sit out most of the squabbles between the nobbles, allowing him to witness while not getting involved himself unless he decided to. Fane was thrust into the heart of it all unceremoniously, and found himself too entangled to be able to let himself out without consequences. His heart was far too kind to be meddled with the games that the nobles played. It was one of the qualities that he liked about the Inquisitor, and why he chose to be his friend. “Perhaps this peace that we hope for is still too far away from our reach,” Tuah lamented quietly, feeling his hope crumbling as he faced with such reality. “It’s a shame, really. If everyone had put aside their differences for once, there is much to be gain from this union.”

Fane held his arms across his chest. “Aye, perhaps it is.” Who could say? Unfortunately, they would have to see what the outcome would be. He glanced at his friend expression drawn and sombre as it had been increasingly of late. “I suppose we’ve postponed long enough, the Quiver hall no doubt summons us.”

Tuah nodded. “I suppose there’s no delaying the inevitable.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning on his heel and walked out of the room, waiting for the Inquisitor to join him.

Faye was already sat in her designated place in the hall. It had all come down to this, hadn’t it? Presentation of the efforts of so many, because of the evil and greed of one person. But would it really matter? Would it really make a difference? Would there really be peace and justice together? Or would one weigh out, and the other be discarded? Faye didn’t know. She had done her small part, and once it was finished, that was it.

Fane walked with Tuah to the castle, a detour being made to collect the crown. The offending item hung loosely from his fingertips and he rather unceremoniously dropped the offending item onto the table with a dull metallic clang. He moved to take a seat slouching back his chin resting on the knuckles of one hand, the same elbow propped on the thick wooden armrest while his thumb idly rubbed at a few of the new grey bristles in his beard.

It was time. Woken from her sleep in the early hours of the new day, the priestess had felt the presence of her lord. He had spoken to her, his voice a bright flame in her chest, brightening her eyes with the light of the eternal fire that burned within him. That burned within all who followed him. The priestess was no different. So she rose, dressed, said her prayers to the rising of the sun, and made her way to the Great Hall.

Iann felt an air of excitement, and some trepidation. But he didn’t show any of it, seated where he was. He watched the Inquisitor release the crown heavily and loudly - such poetry in the motion - and rubbed his own beard, knowing what was finally come to pass. If Savin heeded his advice, this would all be over, and soon. Iann felt it in his bones, like he could feel a morning squall on the ocean.

Tuah took his seat and leaned back against the chair, watching the empty seats being filled by other nobilities. He couldn’t help but wonder who it was that Fane had referred to in their conversation, speculating on his own who the black sheep would be. His focus and concern was more towards the Lord Inquisitor, as he was sure everyone else’s. As a king, he wanted the Inquisitor to choose what was best for the people, even if it meant sacrificing an innocent man. But as his friend, Tuah wanted Fane to choose what is best for him, even when it would mean spilling more blood than it already had.

Faye looked at Fane as he sat heavily in his seat. She looked at the crown as it fell heavily to the table. She looked around at the assembled, seeing the expressions - some dour, some unreadable - on their faces. The air literally trembled with anticipation.

Bella stepped into the Quiver quietly, finding a place for herself in any available seat as it seemed something was happening.

Fane stoically chose not to meet anyone’s eye, he could feel different gazes resting on him but equally looking at people was the last thing he wished to do right now. Especially with Iann sat across from him his thumb worried at his jaw slow brushes as he waited for nobles to settle.

The Red Priestess found her place where she had been before, along the wall where the representatives of the Cloverry would normally sit. She looked around the assembled, noting a few obvious absences, but turned her attentions to the Lord Inquisitor for now.

Miguel stayed at the edge of the room. His head was clear, and he was ready to sail.

Fane finally let his hand fall away from his chin and lifted his head to study those assembled with dark brown eyes “several days ago I was charged with investigating the death of the High Raj as you are all aware. I have done so to the best of my capacity with equal degrees of help and hindrance from many of you here.” He drew himself up in his seat, “several months ago now the cloverry chose Avitej Sharma to become the new High Raj of this realm, charging him with unifying our kingdoms into one. His crown was chosen from the treasury, before it was taken to a blacksmith here in the Capitol to be reforged.”

“I have spoken to the blacksmith charged with fashioning its fixing and confirmed the rig… Which you can all see here,” Fane gave a tilt of his chin to the crown in question “containing the venom was not present prior to its departure on the tour… And so my investigation began, the tour was clearly the most obvious point of strategic weakness for it to be tampered with clearly, and I’ve worked to confirm that this crown, used in the ceremony, was not the same one that left the Capitol at the beginning of its tour of the kingdoms.”

So far, Faye knew about what Fane was saying. That the crown had been tampered with, that much was certain. But to hear that it wasn’t the same crown at all, that was news.

Iann leaned forward with some interest. He hadn’t looked at the crown up close, given that he’d have no insight to offer about it. But seeing the clever little device, it was certainly cunning. And it also created a dramatic end as well. Such contrast done with such purpose.

Tuah laced his fingers together as he listened to the Inquisitor, his gaze following his gesture towards the crown. He couldn’t help but bitterly applaud the ingenuity of its design, for such clever tampering had caused the tenuous hope that the people had be crushed in an instant.

Bella rose her eyes to view the crown, not having seen it before like most there. Nothing so far seemed to point it in the direction of any one person.

“We know the crown on its tour went to and stayed longest in Blackspire, Summerset, the Kesleylands and Hathurana. It also had brief stays in Honeywild, the High Peninsula and the Eades… But in two of these locations I’ve come to learn the Captains left the crown unguarded… That was in Summerset and the Kesleylands.“ Fane paused briefly before continuing, "as I’m sure many of you are aware, House Kesley have made quite a reputation for themselves lately but their antics have been clumsy and heavy handed. A kidnapping attempt one one noble and an assault on one of the members in this room? A part of me wishes I’d had the opportunity to speak with Lord Kesley before his death… Which happened under equally suspicious circumstances… Perhaps tracks being covered?” There was an addendum he wished he could add then, but unfortunately he could not and when he continued his tongue felt leaden. “That I could not say but regardless… The person that designed this scheme and executed it was cunning, patient and calculated…”

Ephram, seated unobtrusively among the other nobles, wondered to himself if talking was allowed at this meeting. He supposed he’d either find out if somebody else voiced a question, or if his own need to speak urged him on first, once the Inquisitor had said his piece.

Iann turned only slightly, and looked over at Miguel as the Inquisitor sketched out an idea of the type of person who might design such a nefarious device.

Miguel kept his arms crossed and his face impassive. It didn’t matter who was found guilty, Miguel had contingency plans. His contingency plans had contingency plans.

Tuah furrowed his brows together, his lips pressed into a thin line. That didn’t narrow down the people that the Inquisitor was suspicious of. All of them was capable of such doings, himself included. Though he must admit some did better than others, having played the game for so long. “Do you have your suspects, Lord Inquisitor?” Tuah spoke first, wanting to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.

Ephram stirred in his seat. “Are there any from House Kesley left in the Capital?” He looked around at the assembled gathering. “None represented here, I don’t think …”

“From what I know, Kesley is dead, all of them. The last of their House was here…their Keep is currently looked after by their ward, the title will not fall to him.” Iann looked over at the Inquisitor for confirmation, but this was what Iann had recently heard.

Fane shook his head to the question. “The Prince is right, none that know or mean anything of importance, the last remaining member of the family was found with his throat slit in the dungeons after his attempted coup a few days ago.”

The passing of another once great House. The priestess felt a sense of loss for the kingdom. Despite it’s slow crumble into ruin and madness, House Kesley was an old name. May it’s beginning be remembered better than it’s end.

Fane curled his fingers a little at Tuah’s mention of suspects. “We’ll get to that, I think the evidence lends itself to the reasoning.” Seeing no other questions posed he shifted back in his seat once more. “The crown was swapped in Summerset,” he said simply “the Forty Isles Captain confirmed this under interrogation. The man was bribed with forty isles coin to leave the crown while the other Captain was diverted with a distraction… He took the bribe from loyalty as the person responsible for paying him implied the work was for the Queen’s Consort Juan Carlos… The Captain managed to find a way take his life in captivity before we had a chance to question him further…”

How convenient, Tuah thought bitterly, that the house that had made such a ruckus in the first place had been murdered. The dead cannot defend themselves when stand accused by the living “And there is no confirmation as to who murdered him, I assume?”

His eyes widened then. Juan Carlos? Did Miguel’s machinations run that deep, that he would send the most guileless brother into this? He wanted to reach behind him and throttle Miguel for this injustice, but Iann held his tongue. It was clear he was agitated, deeply. “What? Impossible. It is not our brother.”

Faye looked towards the Grand Lady of Summerset, and then Iann and Miguel, frowning deeply.

Miguel’s own eyebrows raised. Juan Carlos was busy, always working to make things better. Or at least the Cloverry’s version of better. He was a holy and moral man - there wasn’t a drop of deception in his veins.

The Red Priestess also frowned, but made no move to speak. The information was… interesting. She blinked, eyes narrowing slightly as she watched the unfolding conversation.

Ephram pursed his mouth, feeling a little rill of pleasure in seeing King Iann so unsettled. For once. “If it’s not your brother, Highness, that sets the deed on you. Or Prince Miguel. But likely you.”

Tuah turned his attention towards the Grand Lady in question, the murmuring of the restless crowd grew as the names were finally dropped. He turned his attention towards King Cardero. He glared daggers towards Lord Pettaline for throwing such accusation, before shifting his focus on the king, trying to set a neutral expression on his face when he addressed the other, “Do you have any proof to counter the Lord Inquisitor’s claim, your Highness?”

Ephram shrugged at Tuah’s glare, not even really aware of who the man was. At this point in the proceedings, Ephram had lost any ability or desire to defer to nobles who thought they were morally superior to everyone else.

Fane grew quiet seeming to consider his options at Tuah’s question. But equally knew he could not sit by and let some information slip by, “Grand Lady Cassandra was the last person known to enter the dungeons prior to Lord Kesley’s death. She lied to gain access claiming to be working for me, her reasons for going to see him prior to his body being found, however, I know not.” Fane turned his attention to the dissent breaking out, and glowered at the minor Lord “Lord Pettaline, you’d best catch that tongue lest it end up getting you in trouble. You may be welcome to a seat at this table but your contribution offers little but yet more discord which I do not appreciate.”

Ephram threw up his hands. “Discord! What is the obsession with characterizing any open discussion as brawling or discord? King Iann pressed the matter, Inquisitor, I was merely speaking to it further.”

Fane narrowed his eyes at the man, “the last I checked accusations are not speaking on a matter further.”

Ephram scowled. “I meant no hard accusation,” he allowed grudgingly. “Perhaps my manner of speaking isn’t as fine as to convey that properly.”

Iann smiled smugly as the little Lord was taken down, but it didn’t last long, because he was suddenly realizing what Savin’s evidence was pointing towards. His face paled, and he looked over at Miguel again. He knew the Inquisitor’s evidence was irrefutable, which only seemed to mean…no. Of all the people who could possibly be accused for this…no. “Lord Ephram has a point, although I appreciate your authority on the matter, Inquisitor.” Iann gave Fane a heavy look, then stood up. “The Carderos and Sharma’s have always warred, and the Forty Isles has reasons against our once High Raj.” Iann thought about Grand Lady Cassandra - but more importantly, he thought about that precious, innocent little Princess Adeline. He knew Cassandra would do anything for that child. Anything, to save her own crumbling land from eventually being annexed into a Forty Isles mainland holding. “I’ve held my tongue long enough. Would you like to hear our confession?” Iann looked over to Miguel. “We’re ready to give it, are we not, brother?”

Fane looked across the table as Iann spoke, Lord Pettaline’s grievances temporarily forgotten. His eyes thinned, but ultimately knew that the only chance peace might be brokered was this not that it mattered ultimately. There was no helping the sickening feeling sitting in his gut as his eldest friend rose to his feet.

Faye nearly stood stood as a look was exchanged between Iann and Fane. She looked between them both, but back at Fane in the end. The Honeywild’s petty squabbling forgotten, Faye looked at Fane as if he had grown two heads.

The Red Priestess did not abide by the rules of court. She /did/ stand. Hands falling to her sides, she took steps towards the table, eyes lit on the accused, and on the ones about to take the fall.

Fane made a small gesture for Iann to speak if he wished. He felt Faye’s eyes on him like hot coals but chose not to look in her direction.

Iann was… quick. But Miguel was always a step behind him. No, he couldn’t let the Inquisitor accuse Cassandra. He would be a dead man if she did. And Adeline would be out a mother. That wasn’t something he would wish on her, not if Lilo and Iann were the only ones around to take care of Summerset and the Forty Isles - with Adeline so young. So Miguel nodded along. “Right.” He stepped up, behind Iann, at his back, ready to agree with whatever he said to protect Cassandra.

Despite his moseying along that trail of suspicion only a few moments earlier, Ephram was in truth as shocked as anybody else by King Iann’s confession. And even more so by Prince Miguel’s stepping up to take his blame, dammit. That meant one major alliance he’d worked to procure was rendered void and worthless. At least he’d still have the Lady of Sommerset on his side.

“I’m now the King of the Forty Isles,” Iann started, but then paused when he saw Miguel stepping up by his side. If Iann was surprised, he didn’t let it show (he was surprised, but god, his little brother was a clever little one). “I planned the High Raj’s demise, as I knew my father’s demise was near. Good timing, I should say. My brother here of course is adept with venoms and the like - he’s been very useful at orchestrating the…little details. He’s always been very good at little details.” Iann looked at Miguel for a long moment, before he continued to address the Quiver. “But the Forty Isles could not have a Sharma on the Sunlit Throne. He would always be a Sharma, and although he looked like the path to peace, I’m afraid our Forty Isles is far too powerful for the comfort of a High Raj from his House. Something had to be done, and it was. You cannot kill the King of the Forty Isles, I’m afraid. What would you propose, Iniquisitor, would be a rightful punishment? I understand that I must be put under some judgement, to appease the commonfolk of the realm. So long as you allow me to take my brother back ot the Forty Isles with me, because a little Prince -” Iann clapped his hand on Miguel’s shoulder, hard and firm. “- needs to be held accountable to his people, and to yours.”

Miguel took a deep breath. The pat on the shoulder was what did it. Iann could have easily left him to the dogs of the mainland to deal with, but he didn’t - he wanted to take Miguel with him. Though maybe what Iann had in mind for his little brother was worse than what the dogs of the mainland could think of. Iann was nothing if not creative. Still, Miguel pet one hand on Iann’s shoulder, a silent show of solidarity.

When Miguel touched his hand, Iann realized that despite everything - how duplicitous and conniving Miguel could be - that they stood united on two fronts. The pride of the Forty Isles, and the protection of the Queen of Summerset, and her family. Iann wanted to shut his eyes and sigh. If only they could’ve have been united on other fronts as well. The Forty Isles was formidable enough with them separated…if they had ever truly thought to work together? They could have taken over the known world.

Tuah refrained himself from rolling his eyes to the back of his skull when what assumed to be another argument about to break. He did take a deep breath and let it out slowly before addressing Lord Pettaline. But before he could do so, King Cardero stood and addressed the assembly. Tuah held his tongue then, looking between House Cardero and the Inquisitor, trying to confirm his suspicion. That House Cardero would take the fall for the murder of the High Raj. Tuah couldn’t help but wonder what sort of game that House Cardero was playing, if there was any hidden scheme underneath the confession. The silence that followed King Cardero’s confession was deafening, suffocating. “What say you, Lord Inquisitor?” Tuah turned towards the man in question. “Do you accept the confession? Or do you have other claim to present to the Quiver?”

Danian their gut tighten when Iann stood to give a confession. Fane’s evidence was solid, but it was the last piece that felt the most damning to the younger lord. For Queen Cassandra to have *personally* been the last person seen prior to Lord Kesley being found dead, and to lie for entrance… there was no affiliation with the Forty Isles there. “Your Majesty,” Danian looked coolly across at Iann from their seat beside Lord Savin, “Your son is a ward under Blackspire’s care. For that, I must ask you– assuming your confession is true, was he at all aware of these plans while the crown made its stay in Lord Savin’s keep?”

Iann looked calmly back at Lord Lovel. “Why would a confession be a lie? It’s a shameful and dishonourable thing, regicide,” Iann said first. “My children are all innocent. It seems they are as honest as their grandparents and their Uncle Juan Carlos.” He looked at Miguel, fearful for a moment at his little brother’s plans. Get in with Lord Lovel, who was so closely attached to Buttercup. If Miguel had a plan there, that plan frightened Iann for the safety of his son. There was no way now that Danian would ever lose their loyalty towards Miguel, the Threepenny Prince had sealed that fate well. “I’m afraid all the sinister aspects of our family fell onto us, little brother.”

Miguel’s biggest regret spoke up and Miguel’s blood ran cold. They didn’t even speak to him. They spoke to Iann, asking him about his son. Miguel took a deep breath to clear his head, and then he shook it. “No, Lord Danian. All the duplicity in our family has fallen on the book ends. Iann and I are the only ones who knew of this until now.”

Ephram groaned, sliding down slightly in his chair and covering his face with one hand as Miguel duly embraced his guilt with both arms.

Fane felt the tension in his muscles as he sat at the table his back ramrod straight and face a mask of neutrality as Iann spun his tale. A convincing one at that, he always had been good with words. Only for Miguel to back it up, the change in their dynamic was subtle, yet Fane noticed it regardless. That unity, to protect the one thing that mattered. Family, but then they would, wouldn’t they? They loved their brother and their niece, even the person Fane suspected had orchestrated this whole thing. A long silence fell across the audience room, and Fane was only stirred from his stillness at Tuah’s prompt. He looked at Iann and Miguel. “Then I exile you both, for the murder of the High Raj… You shall return to your homeland where you will spend the rest of your days and be subject to the punishment of the Forty Isles for your crimes” he looked back to Iann, “your son shall as such remain my ward and charge to ensure this remains the case.”

[loadacademy575]

The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind Soundtrack Download

00:00 - A Land Of War And Poetry 04:01 - Currents Of The Odai 09:13 - Magnus Smiles on Suran 14:25 - Vvardenfell Vista 15:27 - Ascadian Idyll 20:24 - Shadow. Most tracks were given a title on the soundtrack CD ('Original Title') included in the Collector's Edition of Morrowind, and later another title ('Remastered Title') when Jeremy Soule released a remastered version of the Morrowind soundtrack on DirectSong. The Original Title also corresponds to the 15-track CD seen on some sites. 1 day ago  Each one is iconic. That's why ESO Morrowind looked at ES III for music inspiration. The soundtrack of ES III-V had strong identity and atmosphere and alot of the vague track in eso (imo) lacks the atmosphere of the single player games #26. The best Elder Scrolls music for me is the Forgotten Vale theme from.

Beyond a Steel Sky (Video Game 2020) SoundTracks on IMDb: Memorable quotes and exchanges from movies, TV series and more. Beyond a steel sky soundtrack. Beyond a Steel Sky Soundtrack This is additional content for Beyond a Steel Sky, but does not include the base game. Beneath A Steel Sky Soundtrack The Beneath A Steel Sky soundtrack can be downloaded here. Before using this support area be sure to check you are running on or above the recommended system requirements located at the bottom of this page. Listen to Beyond A Steel Sky (Original Soundtrack) on Spotify. Alistair Kerley Album 2020 46 songs.

Overview

There was a time when the Elder Scrolls franchise wasn't one of the biggest names in the RPG genre. That all changed in 2002 with The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, the first Elder Scrolls game to be released on both computers and consoles (Xbox). The game continued the franchise's fascination with open-ended gameplay that placed few restrictions on the gamer's actions — you might choose to follow Morrowind's main plot or lose yourself in exploring the game's vast world and its myriad sidequests. One of the consequences of this approach was that, probably involuntarily, Morrowind came to embody the difference between more non-linear Western RPGs and the traditionally story-driven JRPGs. With more than four million copies of the game sold, very strong reviews and a slew of end-of-the-year awards, Morrowind remains one of the cornerstones of Western RPGs.

To score Morrowind's soundtrack, developer Bethesda Softworks called upon the services of one of Western game music's biggest names, Jeremy Soule. Although still a relatively young composer at the time, Soule had already proven himself an expert at writing music for fantasy games with his work on the Harry Potter and Icewind Dale games, as well for Baldur's Gate: Dark Alliance and Dungeon Siege. Morrowind would prove to be another steppingstone for Soule on his way to becoming one of the foremost composers for this genre of games. In a press release, Soule emphasised that the 'stunning epic quality of the Elder Scrolls series is particularly compatible with the grand, orchestral style of music I enjoy composing the most.' At the same time however, Soule was aware that due to Morrowind's free-wheeling nature, gamers might spend hours roaming a particular area in the game, similar to an MMORPG. Soule then chose to create a soft and minimalist soundtrack that wouldn't be too dominant during these long stretches of exploration, so the music wouldn't wear out its welcome.

This approach yielded mixed results, at least according to various game reviewers, who commented on the soundtrack's limited scope and on its overreliance on its main theme. Complaints were also levelled at the ambient, non-adaptive nature of the music, which failed to reflect the gamer's actions and current situation. Despite such criticism, Morrowind's soundtrack was nominated for 'Outstanding Achievement in Original Music Composition' at the Annual Academy of Interactive Arts & Sciences's Interactive Achievement Awards in 2003, where it lost out to Michael Giacchino's Medal of Honor: Frontline.

On album, Morrowind's music was first made available on a 40-minute bonus CD that came with the game's Collector's Edition. Soundtrack collectors eager to find out how well Morrowind's music played outside of the game were later given an easier way to satisfy their curiosity. In 2006, Soule released Morrowind's soundtrack via his online music store DirectSong. This new release presented the music in remastered form and added six minutes to the difficult-to-find physical album, effectively superseding it. This review refers to the original physical release.

Body

So, are Soule's efforts for Morrowind as difficult to enjoy on album as during the in-game experience? Short answer: no. Fortunately, this is one of those rare cases where the soundtrack actually plays better outside of the game. First case in point: Morrowind's main theme. It's first presented on opening track 'Nerevar Rising' in obvious fashion. The track is effectively a series of presentations of the main theme, increasing in volume and scope as the melody is being passed from harp and flute to the celli, before a climactic finish on violins and full brass caps off the piece's development. It's to Soule's credit that the theme — essentially a simple three-note motif extended by two different secondary phrases — adapts well to all these different instrumental settings. The melody communicates lyricism just as much as an optimistic spirit of adventure once the orchestra cranks up the volume. This mellifluous quality comes to benefit the easily recognisable theme and helps it to adapt to other tracks' atmospheres, instead of blatantly putting its stamp on these compositions. 'Peaceful Waters' quotes the main theme briefly on flute and teases out its reflective character, while 'The Road Most Travelled' incorporates a rendition of the theme on solo cello into its lush textures. The melody plays equally well in the more energetic setting of Morrowind's battle cues, where the theme appears on flowing violins on 'Bright Spears, Dark Blood' and subtly referenced in the background of the second half of 'Dance of Swords.'

All these quotations of the main theme are fashioned intelligently and are inserted seamlessly into the flow of the compositions. It's a shame then that the theme only occurs regularly during the album's first half and then disappears — for good actually on the original physical album. If there's any issue with the main theme and Soule's use of it then, it's that the theme is actually underused and doesn't tie the soundtrack's second half together as well as the first half. Next to the main theme, there's a number of secondary themes which are specific to particular cues as a lightly-sprung but determined melody that's heard in various disguises throughout 'The Road Most Travelled'.

And what about the soundtrack's soft and minimalist nature? Good news here as well: Morrowind's music is anything but background droning. Instead, it's a rich score with pieces that develop formidably within their limited running times — ultimately the title's biggest strength. The album's compositions showcase fluid and expertly layered orchestrations that give every instrument section of the synth orchestra an opportunity to shine. Stylistically, it never goes beyond that classical fantasy sound that's been a mainstay of many games, with its rhapsodic and heroic strains. But on Morrowind, Soule applies this formula with an assured hand and the results are thoroughly convincing.

The album alternates battle tracks with more expansive compositions that seem to describe a scenery rather than actions. Its on these cues that the soundtrack develops a spellbinding pull and occasionally even a sense of grandeur that's most befitting for a world as large at that of Morrowind. Tracks like 'Blessing of Vivec', 'Silt Sunrise' and 'Shed Your Travails' are a well of soulful string melodies that don't fail to tug at the heartstrings, yet never sacrifice their noble air. Soule's talent for creating colourful, ever-changing orchestral layers is in full force on these pieces. The opening string melody of 'Silt Sunrise' is backed by increasingly complex orchestrations before calming down for a serene melodic statement, which in turn leads to a splendid conclusion over busy string ostinati and brass interjections. 'Shed Your Travails' and 'Caprice' calm down in their middle sections to include an ethereal female choir that instils the music with a real sense of wonder. On 'Shed Your Travails', this episode leads into an appropriately otherwordly, peaceful finish over glistening violin tremoli and a dying flute melody. 'Caprice', on the other hand, frames its spiritual interlude with light-hearted string ostinati and effortlessly segues from one musical extreme into the other. 'Blessing of Vivec' is just as beautiful and emotionally gripping as these cues, but remains more austere through its jagged solo cello lead whose cautiously ascending notes are a lot less flowing than most string writing on the album. While none of these tracks run longer than three-and-a-half minutes, they pack more development and symphonic drama into their running times than other compositions twice their length.

Morrowind's action material doesn't quite reach the same lofty heights, but it's convincing enough in its own right. Again, it's standard fantasy stuff: bold brass, driving strings and dramatic percussion. But Soule uses these familiar ingredients skilfully and presents them in well-composed shape. And his ear for details ensures these tracks merit repeat listens to tease out their intricacies, such as the rapidly descending violin ostinato figures on 'Dance of Swords' and 'Ambush!' Instead of using them to simply increase the tracks' rhythmic power, Soule places the cascading motifs between beats to create ear-catching, syncopated counterrhythms. Soule's penchant for constantly changing textures benefits the action tracks as well, even though their instrumentations are less colourful than those of Morrowind's slower tracks. Frequently, Soule casts his battle cues in an ABA structure that sees these compositions calming down in their middle section after a dynamic start, before ramping up the volume again towards the end. This change in tempo and texture is quite transparent, but helps to pace these cues and avoid monotony. And Soule makes sure that tension never sags during these quieter passages through the inclusion of lighter rhythmic elements such string pizzicati, hand percussion and tinkling piano notes.

All these positive qualities help to overcome the biggest criticism one could level at the battle cues: that their sound isn't powerful enough to allow them make their full impact. To a degree, this ties in with Soule's declared approach of not trying to overwhelm the listener with his music in-game. And make no mistake, the majority of Morrowind's action tracks are energy-laden enough to satisfy, even though you sometimes wish the percussion elements would have greater presence. But it's only once Soule's strips back the many layers of his compositions and focuses on the primal qualities of repetitive rhythms that things start to sound less promising, for example on 'Drumbeat of the Dunmer' and 'Stormclouds on the Battlefield'. The only thing that the minimalist rhythms of 'Drumbeat of the Dunmer' could have going for them is a resonant, forceful sound, and Morrowind fails to provide this. Tyranny bastard's wound ending. In general, the album sounds somewhat dull and compressed, with the effect that the detailed orchestral textures, particularly on the colourful slower tracks, aren't always rendered with a desirable level of clarity. Orchestral climaxes that should soar occasionally have their wings clipped, and the sustained double bass chords on 'Over the Next Hill' have way too much presence and muddy the soundscape. Sure, this is a synthesised soundtrack from 2002, but there are enough better-sounding albums around from the same time to suggest that Morrowind's acoustic appearance is hardly reference quality.

Summary

With The Elder Scrolls III -Morrowind- Special Edition Soundtrack, Soule further cemented his elevated standing among Western game music composers. The album impressively displays why Soule would come to be regarded as a specialist for scoring fantasy games. Particularly the more measured tracks on Morrowind are beautifully orchestrated and splendidly developed, to the degree that they sometimes feel like mini-epics convincingly compressed into three minutes. To a slightly lesser degree goes for the soundtrack's battle tunes, which are nicely varied in their textures and filled with intricacies, particularly when it comes to their rhythms. All the way through, Morrowind exudes that wondrous, yet bold feeling of high adventure that's so indispensable for a fantasy score of this character, captured in the score's strong but slightly under-used main theme.

Unless you insist on listening to your scores in a lossless format, the physical release of Morrowind's score is superseded by the digital version. The disc lacks the remastering and bonus tracks of the digital version, and ends particularly underwhelmingly with 'Drumbeat of the Dunmer'. That all said, fantasy score enthusiasts should not hesitate to purchase a version of this soundtrack.

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The Elder Scrolls Iii: Morrowind Soundtrack Download Torrent

Simon Elchlepp

The Elder Scrolls Iii Morrowind Soundtrack

[dreamlandofelegma]

Chapter 2: Desira:

Elegma entered into her classroom as Professor Sam was about to begin the lecture.

There was a scraping sound of chairs, as the students settled in the class room.

Professor Sam:

“Good morning class,” Today we are going to learn about the Golden Ratio.

Later we will see, how the Golden Ratio is connected with Quantum Physics, which is our main subject.

So, does anyone have any idea, what is the Golden Ratio?”

There was murmuring in the class, when one of the students raised her hand to answer the question.

“Yes! Miss Margaret,” asked professor Sam.

“The Golden Ratio is a ratio of 1 to 1.618,” Margaret replied in a proud tone.

“Very good! Miss Margaret, anyone, who would like to add on to what Miss Margaret told us about the golden ratio?”, asked professor Sam.

“The golden ration is found in nature,” another student added.

“Yes! Precisely! It’s not just a mathematical formula. It’s a phenomenon we find in nature’s magnificent equilibrium”, said professor Sam in an enthusiastic tone.

“Tell me, my dear ones, what do you see, in the great Pyramids of Egypt, the great portrait of Mona Lisa

by Leonardo da Vinci, the flower petals arrangement and the shell of a snail?”, professor Sam asked with the

same enthusiasm.

“Symmetry”, a student replied from the back side.

“True! That’s why it’s also called Divine Proportion,” professor Sam added.

Elegma was taking notes on her slides’ printout. She had the similar set of slides on the paper, which

professor Sam was scrolling on the projector screen.

The image of the great pyramid of Giza was currently on the screen, with some length/ height measurements,

showing proportions of the two ratios.

“Yes, Miss Margaret, you have a question?”, professor Sam saw Margaret raising her hand.

“What is the golden ratio for beauty?” Margaret asked in the same animated tone.

“Well, Miss Margaret, if by beauty you mean the human face?

Yes, indeed, there are several golden ratios in the human face.”

Some mischievous boys took rulers to measure each other’s faces.

“Do not, pick up a ruler, and try to measure people’s faces.”

Professor Sam stressed each word while, warning the students.

“However, during the European Renaissance, renowned artists and architects had used the golden ratio to

map out their masterpieces.”

“Thousands of years later, scientists adopted this mathematical formula to help explain why some people are

considered beautiful…and others are not.”

“How do I know that I am beautiful professor?”

In her haste of asking the question, Margaret forgot to raise her hand and ask permission from the professor.

“Wherever there is number, there is beauty. A famous saying of Greek Philosopher, Proclus.”

“I give you an example, if we divide the length of the face by the width of the face, the ideal result should be 1.6 (the golden ratio).”

“Which means a beautiful person’s face is about one and a half times longer than its width?”

Margaret asked keenly.

“Precisely!”

Miss Margaret, you have successfully found out one of the golden ratios in the human face.

There are certainly more of them present. Some are discovered, and others yet to be revealed,” professor Sam said mysteriously.

The projector screen was now showing the image of the famous Vitruvian Man, a drawing made

by Leonardo da Vinci, an Italian painter. This image depicts a man, in two superimposed positions, with

his arms and legs apart. It is inscribed in a circle and a square.

“It’s assignment time, my dear ones. All of you are looking at this painting, which provides us with the basic information of human body proportions.”

Your job, is to find out, as many golden ratios in the human body, as you can.”

I will be seeing you tomorrow, good day.”

Professor Sam left the classroom.

“Hey Eddie, Would, you become my Vitruvian Man?”, asked a boy in a pleasing tone.

“Only for the sake of assignment, my friend,” he added after receiving fake disapproval from Eddie.

“You mean to say, I have to sacrifice my modesty!”, Eddie said, while stressing the word modesty in a fun way.

“Ha ha ha”, there was students’ combined laughter in the class.

“I might do it for someone like Miss Maggie, perhaps, if she asks me politely, that is,” Eddie winked at the other

boy, while commenting on Margaret.

“You wish. And the name is Margaret. I am going to the library, to finish my assignment, in the meantime,

you all can monkey around, till your hearts’ content. Farewell.”

Margaret left the classroom with all her pride as some boys hooted to make fun.

Elegma also headed towards the library. There is little time left before the next class, so she wanted to

borrow some books for her assignment.

She wanted to take Leah with her, but she was busy talking with the group of students.

They were discussing the assignment as well. So Elegma left by alone.

She didn’t forget the scene from the stairs earlier. She clearly heard someone, and saw a vague image of

a feather, just like a peacock. Something was telling her that it could be another character from her dreams

that materialised in the physical world.

While her brain was captured by scattered thoughts, she pulled the library’s glass door open.

There was silence, and a book scent which spread inside the library.

The books were arranged according to the subjects.

The Physics section was enormous, showcasing books as well as final year projects from the previous students.

Soon Elegma found out the books related to the quantum physics.

One was titled as the Golden Mean in Quantum Mechanics.

Elegma took three books, which she thought could help her in the assignment.

The library wall clock was telling her that there are still fifteen minutes left for the next class to begin.

She decided to sit down and have a look at the books she wanted to borrow.

“Hmm, let’s look at this one first, the divine beauty of mathematics, nice spiral image, must be drawn with

the golden ratio,” Elegma thought aloud.

There was a snail shell like image at the title of the book. She flipped pages to see the table of contents.

“Amazing! How accurately they measured the spiral in a three- dimensional drawing.

No wonder why it is so mesmerising to see such images.”

“Charming, isn’t it,” somebody whispered in her ears.

She looked around shockingly, but didn’t see anyone.

It’s the second time she heard this sentence. First at the stairs when Leah was introducing her to Eric,

and second, just a moment ago.

“Something is definitely wrong.”

“Never mind, I should concentrate on my assignment.”

Again, she tried to concentrate on the book she was holding, when the spiral image turned colourful.

Elegma rubbed her eyes and looked again.

“What’s this? These colours are just like the colours of a peacock feather.”

The image spread, and all she could see was the most beautiful bird that ever existed.

“So much more than a peacock,” Elegma exclaimed.

In front of her, was a bird.

It’s feathers, resembled the peacock’s, but peacock has round circle, with a design at the center.

This one had a spiral like design, which was changing colours every other second.

“Forgot about me little girl, I am with you, since the day you were born,” the bird spoke in the most

euphonious voice. The voice could beat the most melodious singers.

“Desira, I know you. What are you doing here?”, Elegma replied in discomfort.

“Well, well, well, is that a way to treat a guest? You have become disrespectful.”

Desira was moving around like a fashion diva. Unlike peacock, she had beautiful legs, just like a secretary bird.

“I am just curious, why all of a sudden, the likes of you are popping in front of me.

Did I do anything wrong?” Elegma tried to keep her voice low to avoid disturbance in the library.

Luckily no one was there at the Physics section at the time.

“My dear, nothing is wrong with you. It’s just that now you are able to see us, but that doesn’t mean we

weren’t there before.”

“Tell me, Elegma, Have, you not you seen us in your dreams as well?”

Desira was flicking her beautiful eye lashes.

“Can you please go away. I have to do my Physics assignment,” Elegma said hastily.

“As you wish.”

Desira vanished after spreading her wings like a peacock.

“Didn’t know she was that obedient,” Elegma said surprised.

“Let me annotate the text on my slides printout.

These books will definitely help me out to complete the assignment.”

Elegma flipped her printout till she got the slide showing the Vitruvian Man.

“What if we divide, the distance between the finger tips and the elbow, by the distance between the wrist

and the elbow?”

Elegma was taking measurements to get the golden ratio.

“It cannot be happening.” Elegma was still as a stone.

“What happened dearest? You only saw, what’s in your heart.” Desira’s voice was echoing in her head.

“When I said go away. I meant it. Stop manipulating my mind.”

Elegma tried hard to keep her voice low. Her cheeks were rosy from the feeling of shame and anger.

“Elegma. What are you doing her? Our English class is about to start.”

Leah sounded panicked as she found Elegma sitting in the Physics session alone.

She had her books and notes spread all over the table.

“I have been looking all over the school for you. “Leah added.

“I am sorry Leah, I just wanted to borrow some books for the assignment,”

Elegma forgot about Desira for the time being.

“Yeah, I can see it will take all eternity to get these books issue.”

Leah pointed at some opened and closed books on the table.

“You go ahead, I will catch up with you in no time.”

Elegma quickly started to put the notes in her file.

“Not at all, I am not leaving you from now on.

First the bus incident, and now this.

You need somebody by your side today.”

Leah sensed her new friend’s anxiety.

“Okay we will go together. Here, you take my ID card, and get these books issued from the librarian.

Meanwhile I will gather my notes.”

Elegma wanted to set her notes properly.

“Fine. Be quick. Only few minutes left for the class.”

Leah left her with a reminder.

“I have to talk to my grandma, this situation is getting out of control,” thought Elegma.

“Leah. Let’s go.”

Elegma saw Leah waiting for her at the counter.

She was holding the books Elegma wanted to borrow.

“Here, these books are issued on your ID card for a week.”

Leah handed the books over to Elegma.

“Thanks Leah,” Elegma was grateful.

“By the way, do you really think you need such heavy books to complete a simple assignment?” Leah, inquired.

“Yeah, I could have searched it on the internet.

It’s just that, Physics is my passion. I wanted to dig deeper in the topic,” Elegma said.

The way Desira manipulated her mind, gave her shivers down her spine.

“I was discussing about the assignment with fellow students, one of them has an elder brother doing

Master degree in Physics, he could really help us”, Leah seemed concerned.

“Yeah I saw you with them”, Elegma replied pushing back the disturbing thoughts.

“You could have joined us silly, “Leah prompted.

“Yes, you are right Leah! I am sorry, I wasted a lot of time in the library, and now we are late for the class,” Elegma apologised.

“It’s ok, next time I’ll take care of you myself. You can’t be left alone.

I know you are new in this school, but you have to mingle around to get the most of it. Do you understand?”, Leah explained.

English class was started. Both the girls entered after getting permission from Mrs. Barnett, their English teacher. Margaret was reciting a ballad from the book:

“Morning and evening

Maids heard the goblins cry:

“Come buy our orchard fruits,

Come buy come buy…””

Elegma, and Leah settled down together on the back bench.

Margaret was reciting the poem with proper rhythm, taking care of the meters of poetry.

“Figs to fill your mouth,

Citrons from the South,

Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; Come buy, come buy.”

“We have learned about ballad meters before.

I want you to think about these stanzas and tell me, which ballad meter is used in this poem,” Mrs. Barnett said in a sharp voice.

“Please take it as an individual task. I don’t want any group discussions,” she added.

There was silence in the class.

Elegma saw her cell phone blinking. It was a call from home.

She excused from the class to go to the girls’ rest room.

“It’s unethical to leave the class just to answer my phone call, but it could be important,” she thought.

The girls’ common room was at the basement.

Elegma used stairs to go there as she always wanted to avoid the elevator.

Girls’ room was filled with students of different classes, most of them were seniors.

Elegma found an empty sofa at the corner.

She was about to dial her home number when the phone started to vibrate again.

Home was glowing at the screen as she pressed the green icon to accept the call.

“Hello”, Elegma put the phone to her ear.

“Hi! Big sister, how are you?” a young boy spoke from the other side.

“Harry. Why did you call me at this time? You know I am at school.”

Elegma didn’t expect her brother on the phone.

“Yeah, yeah I know. I was missing you,” Harry said in a sad voice.

“Harry, my little brother. I am also missing you a lot.

I will come visit you all, at the weekend, and then we will play basketball together.

What say you?”

Elegma wanted her brother to cheer up.

“Yay! “Harry, seemed happy.

“I will go and tell grandma. She will be happy to hear this.

Grandma, Grandma.”

Harry was probably running towards his grandmother’s room as Elegma heard a disturbance on the phone.

“Oh no! Grandma!”

“Harry, Hello?”

Elegma heard her brother’s scream before the call was disconnected.

[brooklynislandgirl]

❓

Reflections || Accepting

Nova Heart || Anikeni

~Does my muse trust yours~

Anakin sleeps. Fever-wet brow, deep hollows below closed eyes. Old scars and healing wounds. A sickness of the mind so deep that even she cannot reach him entirely. This rest is fitful and the nightmares are so real they threaten to choke everything in miles around his presence. She has been more than once in these few hours tempted to tie him down to the makeshift bed. To make a choice for him and course-correct. Never go to Mustafar and find some way to secret him back home where he can get the care and rest he needs. To maybe bring her Anakin back from the abyss he's fallen into, or at least some semblance of their former normalcy.

But to do so would be to admit that her trust, her absolute faith in him, had broken right along with his sanity. That there are, in fact, limitations appended to her promise that wherever he was, she would be too. That maybe loving each other just wasn't enough. And that she cannot do. She would sooner burn the galaxy down to the foundations, sacrifice everything that ever existed. She would give up the living Force before she would betray him.

So she mops his brow with a cool cloth and lets his hand curl in hers. She becomes an anchor, a beacon in the dark. Her trust remains inviolate.

~Does my muse dislike yours~

"I almost had you!"

She throws down the practice sabre, it's green blade disappearing after she lets go and it makes a defeated, metallic thunk when it lands. Her face is flushed green, dark strands of her hair stick to her cheeks and her neck having escaped the tight confines of its braid, and no one with olfactory senses in the room can miss the distinct but vague floral scent that rises from her skin.

"You did," Anakin says mildly, unbothered by her outburst, at least on surface level.

He did not tell her she let her guard drop, nor that she was distracted and thereby allowed her speed to be effected. He knows how much that stings coming from anyone but the masters, and from them it's murderous. Just like she doesn't dare utter the words 'I hate you'. Because even if he knew she was just frustrated, it would eat him alive. And she could never dislike Anakin. "We take five, and go again."

~Would my muse kill someone for yours~

Anakin is on Coruscant. She can only imagine the cruelty being imposed on him by the Emperor. Imagine because she is languishing in the Halla sector, currently locked in her quarters avoiding it's Moff. His crime is that he is both insufferably arrogant and mind-numbingly boring. His only real desire is to regale her with tales of his bravery and genius in the war, and in crushing the Jedi. He speaks of personally having a hand in dispatching General Skywalker, and claiming several of the young Jedi's victories as his own.

Clearly, he cannot read his audience.

To entertain herself in her solitude, she pulls out her datapad and keys in a specific encryption. She scans through faces, through condensed personnel records. Certain Moffs, admirals, courtiers...who thought they could replace Anakin as the Emperor's right hand. But what they fail to see when they look at her Za'lali is exactly what a man is capable of when that hand is cut off... And that he has two others, always. Kenobi escaped, much to her disappointment, though in no situation would she put him above Anakin. She has been gathering rumours as young women collect flowers and young men collect hearts. The strongest of the whispers point to either the Outer Rim or the wild-space beyond. It's only a matter of ti- The chime on her door breaks through her thoughts. Shouting, pounding on the door, demanding she come quickly. It would seem that the Moff had ingested something that did not agree with him and required emergency medical attention.

She smiles languidly, before deleting one of the records.

~Would my muse kill your muse~

"No, and do not ever think to ask that of me." She means it. The seriousness etched not only in voice but visage too is harder than any other thing she has ever said to him. A deep verdant blush creeps about her cheekbones though there is nothing romantic about it. It's spoken in the way she rises up where they'd been lounging seconds before, his hand that had been tucking strands of hair behind her ear left hanging in place until it falls out of sight in shame, discomfort. His Presence is as turbulent as her own though held in an infinite check. Emotions as hotly burning stars are dangerous things within the Temple walls.

It has never been easy for her to be angry with him, and isn't so now. She only has indignation to stand on. But for him to ask if she would do such a thing is so utterly galling she can't even begin to unpack the flicker-flash of temper. She would willingly die for him. She would think it a gift to slaughter half the galaxy in his name. But that he would even think to ask if she would ever hurt him, much less... It's...it's... "I could not do it, Za'lali. Not really. And...you must forgive me for that."

~Would my muse save yours~

If Melakeni had a heart it would be in her throat. Choking her slowly until black spots danced before her eyes. It is lucky that she does not, she's hyperventilating as it is, having run from the final push of the assault. She'd known something was wrong long before they'd reached the breach. She'd heard his scream through the Force and had nearly staggered under the weight and the pain from it.

By the time she'd found him the scene before her felt almost serene, which was wholly incongruous to the reality of it. Two others were fawning over Master Kenobi, but she only saw Anakin. And the Senator wrapped around him. Consoling him, holding his long and lithe frame...missing one of his limbs. His face is so pale, his body in such shock, she's surprised he's still upright. Her eyes narrow, murderously so, as she surveys the two of them. The jealousy is bitter in her throat. But the Senator is...just that. She has no place here and even if Keni herself had to participate in battle, she is still a Consular knight, a healer and Anakin falls under her care.

She strides like small thunder to present herself to them both, and with great care she gingerly wraps an arm around him, pulling him from the other woman's embrace. "You should report to one of the other healers, Senator. You wouldn't want your wounds to fester. Skywalker is in good hands now."

~Does my muse find your muse attractive~

When he was a child Keni's affection was entirely based on the fact that he seemed so lost and so lonely, so very out of place. She always hated the cruelty of the other children who thought themselves superior to him simply because they'd had the misfortune of being snatched away from their families sooner. It grew as they did. It became something no less protective but infinitely more attentive when they started maturing, and Keni began to notice exactly how he was growing into the man he would become. And then even that slowly began to change to, though she couldn't say when. But standing here in her quarters, turning her head over her shoulder to see him leaning in the doorway? Everything inside of her seizes up. She can drown in his eyes. There are entire other worlds that linger in those depths that she has never seen before. She wants to run her fingers through the burnished gold curls now lingering close to his shoulders like strangler vine. She wants to kiss the lips slowly drawing into a smile meant only for her. She swallows hard as her mouth has gone suddenly dry, sets down her brush. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

"Anakin. I wasn't expecting to..."

She rises like a rogue wave and perhaps with as much grace spills across his chest when she finds herself beside him. Breathing him down into her lungs, every cell in her body joyful that he has returned, whole and with only a week long need to sleep. But even haggard, exhausted, utterly spent in every possible way, he is still beautiful. He is still Anakin. "Welcome home." ~Is my muse disgusted by yours~

"Incredibly, utterly, totally inedible." Her whisper is a breath, the words meant to impart the height of displeasure, though they carry none of it in their seductive tone. A specific sort of tease meant for no one else to hear. Arms wound up behind his neck, legs wrapped around his hips. Every thing soft about her body is gently pressed into his as though with enough desire they can transcend physical limitations and become literally one body with two souls. A moment later she gives lie to the feigned disgust by sealing her lips to his throat, a long leisurely lick of his skin, indulging in the texture, the warmth, and absolutely the taste of him. It has nothing to do with feigned cannibalism, not that she's sure it counts considering they are different species, but the little sounds the restrained affection draws out of him is worth every bit of the game.

~Would my muse go on a date with your muse~

If she were to be honest, Coruscant is an eyesore. More than that it is the thing from deepest nightmare, thousands of layers of ever increasing scar-tissue atop the body of a dead or dying world. There is no sun here. No real wind to speak of, no life giving waters. The only greenery that exists are the cultivated kind set aside only for the incredibly fortunate wealthy, and the Temple gardens which are necessary to help provide food. The light is as loud as the people, and since the day she stepped foot on this world, it has caused her a perpetually low-key anxiety that she cannot shake. She still has the occasional nightmare of her own world becoming like this if they let outsiders in.

The only soothing thing about it is being up here on the roof. Laying back and staring up at the skies, watching ships break atmosphere in one direction or another. Fingers laced in the small space between them. Listening to him spin stories of the places they will one day go see together that are nothing like this monstrosity. This is the only time they seem to have to be together unimpeded by things like Masters and politicians, ever increasing missions of importance. And she wouldn't trade it for anything, not even a glimpse of trees.

~Would my muse kiss yours~

They pass one another in the halls, and fingers brush accidentally against the other's before they continue one, each as silent as barren worlds. Contemplative hours give each of them the meaning of patience. During a mission briefing from Master Yoda, they sit opposite of one another in the semi-circle. A shared gaze perhaps no more than seconds before their field of vision is full of holo star maps and battalion formations. A meal taken in the dining hall together. A cup is lifted and sipped from. Set down. The other takes it up and has their own drink. They eat in silence. The water pouring down over them both, the small confines filled with breath-stealing steam. Her forearms brace against the wall. His lips find a particularly tender spot at the name of her neck and he whispers a term of endearment across her skin. He sits on the edge of the exam table, anxiety fluttering the tips of his fingers inside the sleeves of his robes. There's a thousand different things he could be doing. That he thinks he ought to be doing. That this isn't a necessity, and that is why she insists. Better to loose an hour for a thorough neurological scan than the alternative. And at least this way, he has a touch of privacy. She steps into the small space between his parted knees. She presses her mouth to the outside corner of his lips. There are a hundred ways to kiss someone that you aren't allowed to. There's a hundred intimacies that go unnoticed. Anakin and Melakeni know them all.

~Would my muse betray yours~ "You are distracted, my little apprentice." She raises her eyes to her Master's, and is once again reminded of darkest Nekotrig. Of the dozen superstitions, the most compelling being the tale of how having it's lack of light falling on a person would kill them. The same could be said of his glittering black gaze. "I am sorry, Master." He raises an infinitely sharp and deceptively delicate looking quadranium stiletto, tests it's heft then balances it perfectly on the tip of one long and elegant finger. The keenness of the double edge could slice a whisper in half, it's strength allowing for deeply penetrating injuries. A sentient could bleed out in a matter of seconds. "Is it the Skywalker boy? You two are very close...friends." She doesn't hesitate to lie. "I do not know what you mean, Master. He is merely my clan brother. And is often injured. Careless of him, I know." She is only grateful to the Living Force that she has no heartbeat to escalate and prove her falsehood, and it pains her to reduce Anakin to nothing more than someone inept at taking care of himself. But she knows better. One wrong word, one moment of her Master's displeasure and... Accidents happen, or so they say.

"Next time allow Offee to see to him. You cannot play nursemaid forever." She lowers her gaze so that she can squeeze her eyes shut without him noticing, the hood of her cloak offers what scant privacy that it can. She licks her lower lip. "Yes, master."

~My muse's favourite thing about yours is~

Everyone else could make an argument were it common knowledge of just how much Melakeni loves Anakin that it is because he is young, he is handsome, he is the Hero With No Fear. They could say it comes down to the brilliant blue of his eyes, or the way his smile lights up entire sectors. They could say it is because he is the perfect Jedi...strong, courageous, compassionate to a fault. And she would not be able to say any of these things are a lie. But that isn't why she does. She loves that he is a quiet spirit, sometimes too nervous inside of his own skin, sometimes too thoughtful by half. But it is because he is gentle and puts so much of himself aside for the good of others. He believes very much in what the Order was supposed to stand for that he'd risk life and limb at any moment to uphold that ideal. He is perfect because he isn't at all. He has very real emotions, strong and grounded in love. That kind of selflessness is not something the Order ever taught him. If anything that was something they'd hoped he'd grow out of, given time. But then again, the Order never quite understood him. They are gone now, shattered and broken as they tried to make him. What few of them who have survived now hide like animals, which is something Keni cannot bring herself to be upset about. She crosses the catwalk of the Executor soft as snowfall until she comes to rest at his side. Though her arms remain at her side, her Presence envelopes him with every ounce of love she possesses.

Come to bed, Za'lali. We have hours still before we arrive. ~The thing my muse dislikes about yours is~ She watches him agree to what Palpatine wheezes about and lowers her eyes demurely, not for a moment allowing the sneer to curve her lips and bare her teeth. Flesh crawls at the mere idea of rending him apart fang and claw. Everything inside of her seethes that the ancient Sith lord still draws breath, still holds his invisible chains around Anakin. Who accepts the snide comments made with a grace that even in the courts at home she could never hope to duplicate. The not-so-veiled threats, the constant goading of hands that belong nowhere near him much less stroking his arm, his back, wherever they like with impunity. She can see now that it is better that she be sent away for these kind of affairs. She wants to create a new ocean for Coruscant out of the blood she wishes to spill. She doesn't only because she does not wish to make things worse for him. And just maybe she cannot help but to be angry with him. It seems Anakin has finally learned patience.

[nikole28j370-blog]

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