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ask-de-writer · 4 years ago

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 75 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 75 of 83

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Sarfin now looked as if the bundle of parchment had exploded. The Council witness was outraged. Blind Mecat was looking sightlessly sideways at Dark Iren and both were sporting Dragon grins, full of amusement and fangs.

Sarfin sourly agreed, “You have made your point. This is the wrong Court for the matter of the counterfeiting. Your proposal has merit and will be adopted after examination of the ships books.”

Kurin held out more parchments from the pile in front of her. “Here. This is a fully referenced abstract. It cites the Grandalor’s books by volume, page and line. It will make the search much easier.”

This batch of parchment was gratefully accepted by the Judge, who was beginning to feel that things were out of his control.

“Now,” said Sarfin darkly, even angrily, we come to the admitted matter of slavery. You stipulated that the Grandalor has violated the First Great Law, and sold victims into servitude.”

“I said no such thing, your Honor,” said Kurin politely. “I said that they sold indentures to the Arrakan fleet.”

“It’s the same thing,” retorted Sarfin.

“Tis nae!” exploded Tanlin angrily. “Do Oi look a slave? Oi sold m’ indenture six times t’ earn m’ Master’s Certificate! Oi made enough t’ buy a share o’ t’e Princimorn as well!” More calmly, she explained, “Indenture, w’ich’s for a term fixed by contract, is t’e ‘eart o’ t’e Arrakan educational system. Each ship ‘as t’e duty t’ teach t’e young fry t’ read, write an’ figure. After t’at, t’e youngsters decide w’at t’ey wont t’ do an’ sell t’eir indentures t’ learn. T’e Master gets t’e person for a set term, paid in full at t’e start. T’e student gets room, board, payment for ‘is service an’ instruction in t’e art. T’ere’s nae slavery. W’at Barad did wa’ dune in Arrakan Water an’ legal t’ere. T’e T’ird Groit Law, about respecting t’e law and customs o’ ot’er fleets in t’eir ane woters is all t’e defense Barad needs.”

“And the money from these sales that Barad made?” asked Captain Farrol with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

“Strictly regulated by Arrakan Law,” Kurin answered. “A maximum of ten percent of the sale, after deducting specific documented costs of training, is available to the broker. The balance must be paid to the student and to no other person whatsoever.”

“So,” asked Urson, “where does the Grandalor come up with these,” she spat the word, “indentures? Violation of the Marriage Laws?”

Kurin looked at her with such pity that Captain Urson felt like crawling out a scupper. “A friend of mine once said that if you want to ask a question, you should allow it to be answered, not answer it yourself.” She turned to Barad. “Sir, would you be so good as to explain to them where you got the students for your trade?”

Barad got slowly to his feet. “Captain Urson, you in particular should know where my students come from. Seven came from your ship alone. They chafed under your hard style of Captaincy and became trouble makers. You put them off and they would have drowned had I not taken them in. One is a lead deck-hand and content. Another became a Master boat-builder. A further one is a sail lofter. The others are a bosun, Second Officer, First Officer and a Captain. And you just threw them away.”

Barad put hands on hips and angrily surveyed the Court. “I took men and women in when you found them inconvenient. Easier to let them drown. You never investigated when they ‘disappeared’ because they were already condemned. Now, you play at outrage. Your mistakes live and prosper in the neighboring Arrakan fleet. That is why the Arrakan trade has dropped off to nearly nothing. They know you and your ways.”

He turned and faced Sarfin. “Sir, of the whole Naral fleet, only your ship has never given me a student. The only other ship like that is the Longin, and we did, to our regret, take on Silor Elon.”

Kurin reached up and took Barad’s sleeve. “We will tell that in it’s proper context. Thank you for the clear explanation of where your students came from.”

Barad looked down at her and smiled. Then he sat.

Sarfin looked like he could use one of Doctor Corin’s stomach cures. “So, the indenture trade as conducted, is completely legal. It has been the means of saving a fair number of lives into the bargain.

“Now, we must address the Charges, as they and the stipulated ramming are connected.” Sarfin just looked tired and sad now.

“How do you plead to the First Charge. Murder and attempted murder?”

Kurin stood before Sarfin, hands behind her back, the breeze ruffling her white hair. “Captain Sarfin, we plead not guilty,” she said firmly.

“Kurin, we know that the plot to kill you, which miscarried and slew Garfin Halin Grython originated on the Grandalor. At the highest levels, too,” Sarfin reminded her.

In genuine outrage, Kurin demanded, “What? Is the Judge the prosecutor now? Where is there justice in such a hearing?”

Sarfin actually cringed just a bit. Then he said, “I must apologize. You are correct. The case against the Grandalor and her officers and crew to be determined will be presented by Council prosecutor, Captain Farrol.” He smiled a little and added, “I will try to keep an open mind. Captain Sula will assist me in that effort. It was she who brought the fleet’s attention to the violation of the Grandalor’s rights and then made possible this expedition to restore those rights.”

Kurin immediately calmed herself. “I apologize for my outburst, your Honor. I have known you for a long time and am well aware that you have earned your nickname ‘the wise.’ All that I ask, for my clients and friends is that you set aside what you believe that you know and hear the case on its merits. It is far different than even I believed, and I was a victim of the crimes involved. If I believed that I were representing the criminals, I could not be here before you.”

That caused a small uproar among the audience. Kurin could easily hear the words ‘young and gullible’ among others. Her cheeks burned with the embarrassment of anger. She did not consider herself gullible.

Sarfin regarded Kurin thoughtfully and nodded acceptance of her statement. Turning to Captain Farrol he asked, “Are you ready to proceed with the case against the Grandalor?”

“I am, your Honor,” he replied. “The essence of the case is simple and the evidence compelling.

“About seven or eight Wohans ago, the Grandalor began to search for an Ord. Captain Barad, all of his officers and many of his crew participated in this search. They finally obtained the deadly thing from the Dolthin.

“Ostensibly, the Ord was to be used for experiments in fishing. The idea presented was to try to find a way to make it safe to catch large predator fish like Strong Skin, Wing Ray and Hag. This was a transparent ruse.

“The real goal was murder. Master Selked made a deadly awl out of one of the Ord’s spines. The death-dealing awl was hidden in a kit of sail stitching tools.

“The target of the plot was none other than Kurin herself, who now defends the culprits!” He pointed dramatically but his gesture was spoiled by Kurin yawning lightly behind her hand.

“Is that all?” she asked quietly. “Garfin, I know, died of mishandling the awl because he didn’t know what it was. That does make his death murder, of course.

“Do you have the sewing kit for evidence?”

Irritated that Kurin was being so direct, and stealing his thunder, Captain Farrol, said, “Of course. It is right here.” Donning a pair of gloves, he produced the box, once neat, now marred by the ugly green of Red Weed test paste, showing how far the contamination had spread.

Kurin addressed Sarfin politely, “Would you please get Masters Juris and Selked here? I want their expert testimony.”

Captain Farrol immediately objected, “Master Selked is a part of the conspiracy. His testimony is worthless.”

“Why not let the Court decide the value of his testimony?” Kurin riposted. “Or do you have any need at all for the Second Great Law? Willful violation of rights under the Great Laws is grounds for loss of Captaincy and Master’s Certification.

“I wonder how the Captain’s Council would react if that matter were pressed. There are those here,” Kurin gestured at at the rail, where five Great Sea Dragons were watching the proceedings, “who can press the issue if they have reason to do so.

“Blind Mecat, a question please. How important are the Great Laws to the Dragons?”

“Little Fish, we regard the Great Laws as the core of human ecology. Without them, both humans and many other species impacted by them all suffer,” Mecat replied.

“Thank you, Cat. Captain Farrol, the purpose of this trial is to determine whether any of the accused are guilty of anything.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 75 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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powerovernothing · 5 years ago

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Okay so ive been devouring you TKTEATA au and let me tell you its aborable, but as i understand it korbin went through the oblivion crisis , and i have this little hurt/comfort scene that i put all my characters through and it goes as follows " a little child comes up to the HOK and innocently asked them if they were a black smith, when asked why they would think that they get the answer of "because you smell like fire and brimstone it clings to your clothes"

Considering that both of these scenarios are actually rather similar with both of them dealing with instances where Korbin interacts with small and curious children, and I have been putting off the latter for quite some time – mostly because things in real life got in the way, and I honestly really want to apologize to my Mistress Sis for the incredibly long wait for those delicious feelings! – I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to actually combine these both together, and answer at the very same time!

Starting with, of course, taking a moment and personally thanking you for all the wonderful and fantastic support and attention that you’ve been giving my Oblivion Verse lately! I saw the massive amount of notifications through my phone, and I honestly turned completely blood red with happiness at the fact that you enjoyed it so much that you went on a supportive spamming fest!

It means so much, and I am so glad that you enjoy the things I write, and that you enjoy Korbin’s story and his interactions with his brothers. It means so much, and I just want to wrap you in the biggest hug possible! So, thank you, for not only enjoying my things, but also leaving me a wonderful message to get my creative juices flowing!

Now, with that out of the way, let’s get into both of these scenarios dealing with Korbin and the subject of interacting with children, shall we?

(*~*4K Words Split Between Two Scenarios Involving Korbin And Children Underneath The Cut! Tons Of Fluff, Angst, And Other Emotions Abound!*~*)

Throughout the course of my story, especially in the Revised Timeline where things are considerably better – for the most part, at least, Sheogorath’s influence in His Little Raven’s head aside – and Korbin has a chance to live his life with his older adoptive siblings at his side, he actually does interact with children quite regularly. Mostly, and with it referencing the question that Jonathan Crane’s Mistress of Fear sent me, through his time spent with the homeless and those forgotten and abandoned upon the streets of the Waterfront District of the Imperial City.

You see, considering that Korbin spent several of his young childhood yearsalso growing up on those streets, alone and abandoned just as well, he knowshow it feels, and he never wants to see those who are in a similar place sufferwhen there is actually something he can do to help improve and better theirsituation.

So, any of the money that he earns through Dark Brotherhood contracts – early on in the Revised Timeline, and directly after Bellamont’s death – or the work he does assisting the new recruits and everything else at both Lucien and Vicente’s side – seven months after Bellamont’s death, and everything that comes later in the aftermath of the Oblivion Crisis – he takes and uses to help support those on the streets.

He spends it on fresh food, warm blankets, simple weapons so that they might protect themselves, and anything else that might help keep them save throughout the long and difficult nights. Everything that he didn’t have when he was a child. He never minds doing it, always happy to present his packages to those in need, and always smiles and wishes them well whenever he does.

Sometimes he does it in secret, sometimes he interacts with those he helps, itjust all depends… however, in one instance where he was assisting those inthe Waterfront District, and he was in the process of dropping out somepackages, he suddenly felt a weight press against his back.

Instinctively he reached for the dagger that he keeps near his person, unknowing whether or not this was someone who could actually do him harm, but upon turning his head towards the direction of his attacker to cast them a darkened glare as warning, he found emerald eyes staring back into his own golden gaze.

Realizing then what he was mere seconds from doing, his hand quickly fell away from his blade, and his breathing hitched in his throat.

It was a child. A small Argonian girl; barely more than a handful of years in age, clutching onto his armor in a white knuckled grip, as she attempted to bury herself within the folds of the leather with a muffled whimper. She looked frail, disheveled, and absolutely terrified.

Shifting around, he pulled the girl back to arm’s length, and questioned with a gentle chuckle as to why she thought it wise to latch onto the first armor clad stranger upon the streets, and how if he had been anyone else, she would not have been even half as lucky.

He had meant it as a way to quell her frantic emotions, and focus her attention solely upon him, instead of her own feelings and the world around her… but it seemed when he finished speaking, she became even more afraid, and trembled like a leaf underneath his oversized hands upon her shoulders.

It was the direct opposite of what he wanted.

Shutting his eyes briefly, he sighed under his breath because of his misstep, and then reached to carefully cup the side of her face. As the girl reacted to his touch, he slowly raised her chin until their eyes met once again, and then began a very different set of questions in a far softer tone.

What exactly had frightened her in such a way, what he could do to take away the source of her fear, and most important…what would allow her smile to return.

It turned out, what had frightened her so incredibly was the fact that she was hungry, and she wasn’t thinking properly. She was hungry, and she had taken a chance to nab something fresh and warm to eat… however, in the process, she wound up getting caught by the owner of the meal – a very angry, very cruel, very frightening Imperial man – and he processed to describe in detail the things he would to her, before turning her over to the guards so that they might proceed to do the rest to worthless and pitiful thieves.

This alone caused Korbin’s heart to twist in anger, rage, and… familiarity. Because this is exactly the type of thing that he did when he was growing up – in fact, this is the very thing that landed him in the Imperial Prisons in the Original Timeline to begin with, which led to him meeting Uriel and everything that followed – and because of that, when the young girl was able to get free, and then start running in her own tears, and huddle herself against the nearest person she thought could protect her, Korbin proceeded to do that very thing.

He stood his ground against the cruel man, awarding him a swift punch in the face that caused him to fall to his knees, but he merely chuckled as the blood ran down the corner of his lips.

He reached for the dagger at his belt once again, but before he chose to act on every feeling he had, and how he had chosen to take it out on this man alone, he told the young girl to run and hide behind the nearest corner and cover her ears. And, when it was all said and done, he would come and find her, and make certain she was protected more properly from anything and everything that tried to hurt her from thereon.

In the aftermath of the man’s death, and once Korbin hastily cleaned himself of the blood of his victim and went and found the girl just as he promised… she latched herself onto him and saw him as a helpful giant that would keep her safe from the world around her. In a sense, think of it as the relationship between the Little Sister’s, and the Big Daddy’s of the Bioshock series.

She looks up at him, and she sees someone who is larger than life itself. Someone who is basically a hero, a Knight in Shining Armor, and someone that she cares about and knows will protect her.

Contrary to what you may think, he doesn’t instantly snatch her up and take her back to the warm comforts of Cloud Ruler Temple to introduce her to his adoptive brothers. Even though there is a part of him that truly wants to do that, and make certain she is cared for, he knows it would be too much of a shock. So, instead, he allows her to grab his hand, and take him to where she stays within the Waterfront District.

The young girl doesn’t speak much, she is hardly three years old in the human equivalent to her Argonian age, and mostly just mutters or whispers, thus she takes his hand with a small whisper of ‘Home’ and drags him to her special place. To the outside eye, it’s nothing special. A makeshift blanket fort that a normal child would have, but Korbin?

He is patient, he is understanding, and is absolutely telling her in many words how wonderful it is, and how pretty she made it, and asks politely if he can snuggle under the blankets as well just to be playful and make her laugh.

He always goes out of his way to leave her extra gifts, and small packages to keep her warm and protected, and in one instance where he does visit her the next time around… and the young girl has somehow managed to fall very sick because of the exposure to the elements around her, that is when he scoops her up and takes her back to the warmth of Cloud Ruler Temple.

She remains underneath his and his brother’s care for a short while, and they eventually end up finding her a proper family to adopt and raise her when it is time for her and her protectors to go their separate ways. However, if you’re wanting to know more about this young Argonian girl in more detail than what I mentioned in the above, allow me!

Her name is Me’elni, although her translated name would actually be Whispered-Melodies. She is four years old in Argonian, although that would translate into three years old when you do the math in terms of human years.

(I have an entire life span chart that I made for the different races of theElder Scrolls world when I was in the process of creating side characters forKorbin’s story, so if you ever want to see it for reference or just out ofcuriosity, just ask and I’ll post it up!)

She was born in Midyear 430 of the Third Era, thus making her Birthsign be The Steed in the Elder Scrolls world, and Gemini in the real-life Zodiac equivalent. She is incredibly short, around 3′8″, and barely comes up to Korbin’s thigh. As mentioned above, she hardly talks – as she is very young, and the world around her is terrifying, and no one was here to teach her how to speak properly – but when she is under the care of Korbin and his brothers, she is able to start speaking in single phrases and gives the boys special nicknames because of her time spent within their care.

Korbin’s chosen nicknames are either‘Tall’, from when she first met him, ‘Safe’ when she started being in his care, or ‘Da’ when she started becoming incredibly attached to him. Martin’s nicknames are ‘Glowy’, from his magic and the times where he entertained her through various light shows, as well as ‘Warm’, because of the way his magic feels to her touch. And for Lucien? ‘Pointy’, because one of the first things she noticed about him was his dagger, and then ‘Dark’ because of the way he tends to dress in his black robing.

Her design is based off of a red bearded dragon, and because of this, she tends to ‘poof out’ and hiss whenever she is overly angry, or whenever she is trying to look threatening to those that seem to be scary – yes, she hissed at Lucien, and he found it overly adorable as he has a weakness for young Argonians being a father of two in the past – and whenever she is incredibly happy or excited, she tends to stomp around or wave her arms back and forth. She also has an intense weakness for the tastes of blueberries and cannot get enough of sweets that are made from them.

She also has quite an ear for music, and in her adult life she becomes a lute player that travels with a band of bards. She never gets to the point where she is able to speak easily, or clearly, but she is able to weave music so nicely that she says everything she needs to through her songs. However, another thing I feel as though I should speak about in relation to Me’elni is that she… is actually the daughter of Runs-In-Circles in my Oblivion Verse.

I’m still currently in the process of working out every single detail relating to her mother’s history – as well as giving her a proper name one of these days – but I know for a fact that she had ties to the Thieves Guild at some point in her early life, and when she gave birth to her daughter, and tried to do whatever was needed to provide for her and keep her safe, she somehow managed to make her way to the Shivering Isles, and is unable to make her way out of the hold that he has on her.

But some part of her, is still very much aware of her past life, as even in her Mania addled mind, she still calls out to the daughter she wishes to go back to – whenever she runs around and screams ‘Nini’ over and over again.

Nini is Me’elni’s affectionate nickname.

Is that sad? Is that just a little too far over the edge in terms of angst? Perhaps so, but welcome to my Oblivion Verse, here are your free package of tissues, and please feel free to leave your heart at the door! In any case, I believe that about covers one of those scenarios, based around what would happen if Korbin befriended and temporarily adopted a young homeless girl… now to tackle the over scenario that you left for me, my dear and wonderful Lady La Luna!

Now, this one really made me start thinking about things in a more creative sense, I have to say! It‘s so very interesting, so very unique, and I honestly just wanted to try and give you a more in depth answer than what you were probably expecting!

Well, I mean, as you can see, I tend to go above and beyond in terms of details… but as for your scenario, how about I answer it with what Korbin would do in both the Original Timeline – the one in which the events of Oblivion take place without any massive change, and thus Korbin loses his brothers in the end – as well as how he would react in the Revised Timeline – where Korbin makes a deal with Sheogorath to reverse the timeline and rewrite the story so that he can save his brothers from their fates – at the same time?

After all, in both timelines Korbin is a very different person, and would have different reactions if a child suddenly came up to him and asked him this question and gave that reasoning behind it. So, let’s start with the Original Timeline answer, shall we?

In the Original Timeline there was a bit of a gap between the ending of the Oblivion Crisis, Martin’s death, and Korbin choosing to head to the Shivering Isles.

In the aftermath of Martin’s death, and when Chancellor Ocato came to Korbin’s – basically comatose – side as he knelt in front of the nearly formed Akatosh statue, and the remains of the shattered Amulet of Kings, and asked where Martin had gone, and why he was no longer present… Korbin reacted by suddenly standing to his feet, rushing out into the falling rain, and getting as much distance as he could before he collapsed down to his knees and screamed out in agony of everything that had happened.

And when he was done, and his screaming was finished, and his throat was raw? Then he simply started walking.

He got on the road, he headed southwards, to which would eventually lead him to Bravil, and numbly continued on until he hoped the road would finally give out at some point. So, in this scenario, let us say that Korbin actually went into and stayed at Bravil for a while before heading towards the Strange Door that would take him to the Shivering Isles. He is numb, he is broken, he is hardly feeling a single thing, and hardly allowing himself to react in any possible way that isn’t in bitter sadness.

And if a child came up to him? If a child tugged on the leg of his Shrouded Armor and innocently asked him if he was a blacksmith? I think that strange question would be enough to knock Korbin out of his daze for a time.

He doesn’t want to be rude, he doesn’t want to ignore the child, after all… for some reason this child wished to come up to him – the stranger who had, unknowingly to this child, lost everything and everyone he had ever loved – and ask him a question. So, who would he be if he didn’t take the time to answer? Thus, Korbin would kneel down, put on his best fake smile, and wonder why this young boy – let’s say boy in this scenario, as in the other it was a girl – is asking him something like that.

Does he look that messy? Does he look as though he’s been working with steel all day that he is sweating? Or is this child simply confused? And when the young boy answers him, and telling him that he asked because he smelt like fire and brimstone, and the scent has managed to cling itself to his clothing…

…Well, that would be enough for Korbin to make his choice to leave Cyrodiil behind him. If the fact that the scent, the memory, and the regret of what he had done within those damnable Gates of Oblivion still linger even after a week of traveling from the Imperial City to Bravil… then he needs to move on somehow.

His smile would falter, he would pet the boy’s head, and tell him that no, he’s not a blacksmith. He’s just a very dirty, very messy man, who has made so many bad choices that it’s about time that he did something to clean himself up.

And at first, his thoughts lead down a much more darkened road, to where he wishes he could simply find the nearest cliffside and end up reuniting with his brothers one way or another, but when he leaves Bravil and he sees a glowing door in the distance, that is when his choice is made for him, and the pieces start to fall into place.

But in the Revised Timeline? When everything is a touch better, and his brothers are alive and well, and he does not have the guilt he carries from his mistakes of the Original Timeline? He would be in considerable better spirits.

He would laugh with the young boy, asking if he truly looks that messy, and if he should consider leaping into the nearest lake to bathe himself properly! Is this why his brothers seemed to sneer at him lately? Because of the way he smelt? Dear sweet Sithis, he should do something about this, and stat!

He would shake his hair, playfully state that – oh no, now the young boy is just as messy as he is whatever shall we both do! – and then pick the boy up and spin him around for a moment. Saying that perhaps the two of them should head home to their families and get themselves a nice bath before they are scolded from their lack of personal hygiene!

And when the young child walks off with a large smile on his face, and hopefully a giggle to match that smile, he would return to what he was doing with a smile as well.

But for a more secret reason.

After all, he knows that the scent of Oblivion still lingers on his clothing, and possibly even on his own body, and perhaps that scent will never actually leave – no matter how many times he bathes himself or tries to wipe it clean. But Korbin doesn’t mind too much. Even though it is a reminder of everything he had tried to forget, every horror, every Daedra, every flame, or burn, or injury from the depth of those Gates, he takes it all in stride.

Because he survived those Gates. He survived the Crisis. He is alive, even when he thought he would lose his life so many times before, and his brothers are alive just as well.

All three of them are alive… and if the scent of Oblivion has to remain on him for the rest of his life somehow, then he will simply accept it, and look at it as a reminder of something better. A better outcome, a better life, a happier existence, and one where he will share with his family at his side. And honestly, all things considered,Korbin truly doesn’t think that’s all too bad of a trade~

…Oh, my goodness, that wound up turning out way longer than I first planned for it to be! Looking at my word count at the moment, it’s nearly four thousand words, and I am still in the process of going! I’m so sorry that this ended up being quite the ramble, and thus quite the read for you to sit through, but I loved both yours and my dear Mistress Sis’ question and scenarios so much, that I would have honestly felt so bad if I didn’t take the time to try and give you the answer that you both so rightfully deserved!

If you both managed to get through this massive read, then I mostly certainly want to applaud your devotion and desire to learn a little bit more about Korbin and his interactions with children!

My dear Sis, I’m so sorry that I took forever to get around to replying to your question properly, and I’m sorry that I kind of had to end up combining things together in the end, but I hope that you don’t mind! I hope that you like the young Argonian girl that Korbin partially adopted, as well as the scenario and information that I posted above about her and his interactions, and that it somehow managed to put a smile on your face!

I know that you aren’t that big of a fan of Elder Scrolls, but truly – and I’ve probably stated this so many times over in the last little while – your support and care for Korbin always warms my heart. I’m so glad that you like my boy, his story, and the things that he creates. I always cherish and adore your questions, and I look forward to answering the rest of them soon! Thank you again, darling!

And, dear Lady La Luna! Let me just say that it truly means a lot that you enjoyed my work so much! Seeing the wave of activity in my feed just made my entire night, and your support, your curiosity, and your questions means more than you will know, and I hope that my given answer for your scenario will be something that you will end up enjoying by the time you’re finished reading it over!

And not only that, but I hope the upcoming things that I have planned for Korbin and his tale with his adoptive siblings will be something that you will enjoy the further it goes on!

In any case, I know that this is long, and has been filled with tons of emotions on both sides, but I just wanted to say thank you again. You guys’ support, and desire to hear, learn, and know more about Korbin and his story is what keeps me going even when my creativity decides to take a break at times!

So, I appreciate, love, and adore each and every single one of you! And Korbin does just as well, I promise you that! Thanks again for the great questions, and the wonderful support, and until the next time I decide to ramble on about a silver haired boy and his silly siblings! Hugs and kisses all around! ♥

#lady-la-luna-of-the-omniverse #jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear #The Knight The Emperor And The Assassin~#Korbin Redd Related Things~#Is This Not Korbin~#Ponnie Rambles~#Long Post~#Very Long Post~#This wound up ten times longer than I first expected it to -- but considering that I haven't really had a chance to discuss Me'elni before #and I've been doing my best to create a fair amount of side characters to Korbin's story -- I thought it would be the perfect moment #to go all out in terms of details and just try and explain as best I could and hope that everyone who is reading it genuinely enjoys it!#So yes that's why it's incredibly long and filled with tons of feelings -- both good and bad -- but I really had fun with this reply #and I honestly hope that you guys have a good time reading it over!#I can't wait to tackle the rest of the prompts in my messages and get back into the swing of things in terms of original content #with Korbin and the boys -- as well as the rest of the side characters -- so I dearly appreciate the curiosity and the wonderful questions!#They're awesome and amazing and you guys are awesome and amazing.#Thanks so much again for sending these my way and thanks for reading this over!#You guys are fantastic and I love you all!#Kisses and hugs from me and the Elder Bros~! ♥

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violetsystems · 4 years ago

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#personal

I finally wrapped up most of the damage from 2020. Among all the pain and suffering I had to deal with from all sides, the financials were the most ambiguous. I read all these thinks pieces about the lasting damage it has done to the American economy. And then there’s the situations I find myself in that I am left to embrace alone. The reality is that most people seem to think there’s nothing wrong with me. Kind of like when I go to the dentist year after year and nobody ever says anything about fixing a crooked tooth. They floss around it. I feel them flossing around it. I apparently wear the defects so well that they become me. Whatever chunk was taken out of my life still keeps biting. There are no shortage of victims in this day and age. I’ve often had to read into the fact that nobody wants me to identify that way. For some reason based on what people think they know about me there’s a judgement placed without my knowing it’s due process. I’m laughably somewhere in the middle of everything through survival. Getting into arguments online or in the street to prove points for yourself is a losing battle. I have to realize the mindfuck of it all either way. I’m constantly playing damage control in a world that shoots itself in the foot to feel alive. If I look back at how long I’ve survived on this planet, I can admit to myself I’ve seen worse outcomes. To think a year ago, I was in a stable job with a stable amount of debt I couldn’t quite escape the gravity from. It was always me alone grinding to try and do that. And to this day how many ever stories you’ve heard about me across the world don’t really pay the bills or encourage people to treat me like a human being. I deal with people following me around and trying to communicate in ways I never consented to daily. Everybody’s vampiric instinct for some sort of intelligent connection is at my footstep every ten feet when I go out for groceries. People overstep the boundaries so much I’ve had to rewrite them for myself for protection. Now I’m boxed into cheap rent with no guarantees and everybody’s opinion about me on eleven. It’s the type of shit that would make anyone go nuts. Let alone everyone struggling for pieces of your power so they can have the upper hand in terms of social dominance. I get it. Almost too much. I live in a city where egos flare up every day. There’s no shortage of people spray painting gang symbols in pink all over my alley because somebody made the mistake of getting it fucking twisted. I have to walk through that aftermath and know it all. That everything I say or do is watched, taken out of context, manipulated to start shit because somebody feels some type of way about shit they do not know the repercussions of. People get shot in my city every day. I walk alone. Sometimes I take the bus when somebody is up in my face with something to prove on an abandoned street. My imperfections of which there are many aren’t ever going to save me. My brain does. And of the most sexy things in this world beyond my greying hair, my coffee stained imperfect dentistry or my pockmarked skin, I am human too. I live in a country where everyone envy’s the ability to speak freely without being taken to the stake for it. That’s always been a lie. I live that lie and dodge it every day. And there are no real door prizes for second place in that battle except dwindling health care benefits and a lump sum pension.

On the other hand, through all this I continue to make magic happen. I’m sure people can romanticize how it feels. There are times when it feels like I’m worth it. Everybody wants to roast you out here to feel better about themselves. I’d rather have girls show off their makeup tutorials in safety around me than deal with your petty online hierarchies. And this is what happens on a very hyperlocal level. People out here know what I’m about for better or for worse. It’s called the internet. People all over the world seem to have an opinion about what makes me tick after I’ve spent over three years writing my heart and soul in three paragraphs on the internet. And yet I’m still the enemy. I’m still someone you don’t quite trust. Someone you more than often throw under the bus because I can take it. Or there’s something I haven’t been through yet that makes me less threatening. To break me first so you can control me. And yet here I am out here with the remote control to my own life boarded into a fiscal cage. I’ve gone from worrying about money to worrying about when to switch to single payer healthcare. I’ve gone from holding down the fort to wanting to pack up my cat and leave completely. And I will have nothing holding me back. No hurt feelings. No vampiric lust for revenge or closure. No desire to be understood or seen. People abuse me every day in public and online as their own personal punching bag because they don’t have the strength or the will to practice on the real enemy. The same enemy I’ve been fighting up close and persona for years. Does this make me a beast? Yes. It makes me far more powerful than anybody would ever know. And yet I know the reality. I’ve lived it in my own city for years. People do not want people to be strong without some sort of failsafe device. Some secret way to cancel their mutant powers. Some word or phrase to break them when they fear the freedom and power running through their veins. Most of the time when that happens I’m paying my bills on time while holding back endless waves of childhood trauma living and growing up weak, smart, and awkward in America. And here I am still awkwardly unaccepted unless I submit. Unless I show some sort of weakness I haven’t already conquered. I’m defective just like you. But somehow it’s inconvenient for you to approach the reasons you can’t see that. You’d rather lump me in with everyone else and throw your shot. You take the hail mary play I’ve seen time and time again from people who secretly are uncomfortable with me winning. You try to make your bluff at the poken table and I have the winning hand. Soon I just realize it’s not worth my time playing. I find another table to saunter off to that doesn’t reward on house rules. And here I am out here again winning in spite of all the shit you people constantly talk on your secret club house forums. You might even take away bits and pieces of my own arguments over the years and use them against me. And where do you end up? In the same pitiful and tired argument over and over again. Nobody is going to lift you up from the graves being built around you other than you. This is what I have learned and have to process every day. The last eleven months have been barren at best. And yet I have no hope of it getting any better. I’m hurt, A pain that I’ve been able to manage by removing myself from culture that pokes and prods the scars. Like they’re doing you a favor while they watch you sink. Throwing rocks at the body floating down the river. Me playing dead long enough to run away.

If you want me to be honest, it pisses me off how worthless it is to argue anymore. To jump into this week’s political thought piece. To argue what a bunch of rich people vote on and why. To feel like you are part of any sort of people’s revolution that literally plays a ranking game in terms of suffering. America is good at valuing things. We take it to the extreme and drown everyone out in the process. The whole world is learning from us. And yet America and Americans are a diverse bunch. About the only thing I can tell you about America that is working right now is the IRS. That and my bank investigating just how many times I’ve been a target of fraud.. You’d think after all these words typed out into the internet that someone would realize I’m just as much of a victim as some people. Maybe not in the same way. But people would rather nitpick and point the finger to divert the attention from themselves. And the eye of fucking Sauron is always on me. Not you. You do not understand the weight of that statement that I live with everyday. Everyone has a fucking problem with me now. I have to walk through that brutal street catwalk every day in a city that would rather shoot you than discuss it’s feeling about the situation. And yet I’m supposed to feel sorry for everyone first. I’m supposed to watch my tongue for the secret internet and cultural police that control who wins and who loses. Did I forget to mention I live in America? The country everyone lauds as being the freest place in the universe. I’ll give you a hint. It is. I fucking live it. I talk and write about it too. And my voice is heard around the fucking planet without anybody having the least respect for how it plays out in my life. I could have died many times over because somebody had to use my life to prove a point. And it’s collapsed into a void in which I am trapped while everyone continues to throw stones. Everyone except the people I love. And the people that love me back. I’m being real with you. I stick my neck out every waking moment to live the life I believe is real. And there are no guarantees. No expectations. No hope or clearly worded rules or communication on how to progress. And week after week. Tooth after chipped and crooked tooth I speak my mind. I walk with accountability while people stare at the fucking ground. I live in a loneliness so deep and intense that ghosts still speak volumes. Things will never be forgotten no matter how silent I become. And yet people talk over it like I’m already dead. They stop at nothing to invade my life and defile every chance for me to not fade away. What in these three paragraphs to you defines me as the enemy? Because I have more power to make my dreams come true? Do you want to put yourself into the hell of walking in my shoes? Do you want to wander these streets without a weapon other than your kindness and patience? Do you lie awake at night thinking you will die alone without anyone having the reading comprehension to know what it is you are going through. I will answer this for you. No you don’t. Because you will see the exact hell that I know very well. No one saves you in this life but you. No one will pick you up out of the hole other than you. Nobody will tell you when you look in the mirror alone that you are beautiful other than you. To live with that knowledge and to take it out on other people is fucked. To judge other people you don’t even know who exhaust themselves to explain is a losing battle for attention. You should already know the simple fucking answer. Because I’m worth it. And I’m sick of beating myself up for people who think they are the only ones in pain. I’m dying here. Mostly from lack of open space and personal freedoms. Sounds like any other country you know other than America. Home of the free. I’m going to go exercise my freedoms on these weights. Because gravity holds pity on noone. And it’s easier to fall than to rise. That takes works regardless of how you were born into this world. Let’s stop fighting each other and pay more attention to the planet. You’ve already caused enough damage biting off more than you can chew. <3 Tim

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elitexlumiere · 7 years ago

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I am Yazidi by: Selina Page The day after I received the Peace Prize in Oslo, my body was taken to meet some of the media crew. To be honest, this was the first time I appeared in public after a long time of hiding in Dohuk. One by one, the media crew from various magazines and newspapers – both international and local – began entering the room that was quite spacious. The room was decorated in a very elegant and simple way. The windows, with its net curtains in a touch of earth tone that matched the color of the furniture, also created a warm atmosphere.

It was strange that I liked the sensation of meeting people of different ethnicities. Maybe, it all happened because I felt that the interviewers who came have always implied their admiration for me. The eyes could not lie and I saw their eyes glow, resembling the lights in downtown Oslo. It made me feel comfortable to be around them because my presence was appreciated.

I answered every question they asked briefly and in a calm manner. I did like conversations that were not long-winded since I was used to leading a battalion with resolute determination. What was more, they were the media crew. We all know, they were clever at playing with words although the questions they asked were mostly similar, starting from asking about my name and my feelings after receiving a Peace Prize, to the things that motivated me to continue to fight for the dignity of Yazidi women. I answered it all without a hitch, until finally, there came one of the representatives of the print media – which was reportedly – famous for its critical questions, especially among politicians and state officials.

The interviewer sitting in front of me this time was an adult woman. Her face has a distinctive blend of Middle Eastern and European. Her skin was clean, no marks of scars or even mosquito bites, a contradiction if you compared her skin to mine. I have lots of scars all over my body, scars on both my arms and the whipping ones on the back. The real result I gained from the struggle of self-liberation in a dark and misleading world.

We looked at each other and smiled. She showed me no awkwardness, a real professional. It did not take long for the woman to break the silence between us. She started asking me general questions like my name and where the village where I lived was. A question after question passed, until we came to a question that could silence my mouth. The woman loudly asked, "Noor, do you have any idea about the fate of the Yazidi women who are still trapped in there now?"

This was a question that drew my memories of all the anger on the universe and God. To be honest, I knew – I knew exactly how they were in Ar-Raqqah. How could I not remember it? Even though I was just a 14-year-old village girl at the time, I could still remember everything I experienced clearly - one by one.

My village, Mosul, was located in Sinjar District, Northern Iraq. We lived in a village that was very peaceful and rich in livestock. The majority of the society’s religious belief was Zoroastrianism, although there were still some Muslim and Christian heads of households. However, despite our beliefs, we all lived in harmony and did not question religions. We even celebrated the festivals together. We were all very happy, no matter how hot it was during the day and the coldness of the night wind when bedtime came.

Nobody would have thought that all the fun and peacefulness had to end when, in an early morning, our village was awakened by the sound of trucks coming from the west. They, very suddenly, waved the black flag proudly on our land. They burned all the houses we lived in, shot dead our cattle and separated us from our families.

I saw it with my own eyes. My father and my brother were beheaded after they were separated from me and my mother. The men were tortured before they were eventually killed by the militants. Yes, I remembered that many of them were massacred during that dawn. While the women were tied up, blindfolded, and forced to walk away from our village. We all cried, some even became hysterical, but none of us could fight.

Thousands of women and girls had to walk towards the Syrian border. It took us a long time before we stopped at a big camp. We even had to give up some women who were executed in the middle of the journey for trying to escape or died because of exhaustion and dehydration.

I sat on the ground. One of the soldiers, who covered part of his face with a black turban, checked the number of women remaining from our village. Then, for some reason, my arm was forcibly pulled by him. I struggled. I tried to fight with the remaining energy. But he threatened me with his foul-smelling breath, "If you want your mother to be safe, obey me."

I turned back, I saw my mother nodded and let me be taken by the stocky man. If only had I known that it was my last day to be with Mom, I would have kissed her feet, hands, and cheeks lovingly. However, I could not even look at my own mother's face which was so devastated by the event.

"If I'm not mistakenly heard, the last time I received the information, their condition is still the way it was, being treated indiscriminately like animals." I answered honestly to the question posed by the beautiful woman. She just nodded and wrote something on her little notebook before she went back to look into my dark eyes.

It was true that Yazidi women were regarded as animals. After I was separated from my mother, I was merged with other women my age. There were small children who were also victims. You need to know that we were sold by the militants. We were slaves for the militants – or to be precise – we were their sex slaves.

At that time, I had been bought by one of the militant commanders in an area I did not even know the name. I was forced to take my own clothes off in front of him. I need to say that his appearance was like a beast – giant, shaggy and ugly. He tore my clothes, forcing me to lie on a hard mattress and open my legs before tying me to the bedpost. He thrust his manhood inside as he watched each part of me being destroyed, horrifyingly hurt. That very night, I lost my pride as a woman – I was raped.

He made me a slave to indulge his lust, threw me back to the ground, and I was then picked up by another cruel man. I lost the right to my body and it went on until they realized that my body was not as beautiful as it once was. I once tried to escape from that circle. Unfortunately, I was found and tortured for fighting. I was beaten, whipped by a machete until I begged them for forgiveness. As if it was not enough of the lashes I received, I also had cuts from refusing to have intercourse.

My body was broken. My body was filthy. I really hated my body.

Can you imagine how I cried every night? How I tried to clean my body with clean water, yet still felt filthy like garbage? Can you imagine how I tried to clean my body with sand and mud, yet still felt so much lower than animals? Every time I finished having intercourse, I would cut my hair five centimeters short, and then I would dump each piece into the flowing river. What was the value of my hair lying long and loose if my whole body was worthless?

"Noor? Commander Noor?" The beautiful woman called my name. My thoughts and eyes were back to the present as I tossed a stiff smile at her. "Yes? What did you say?"

"Do you believe that their fate will change?" The woman looked back at me with confidence as if I was the only person who had a big influence over the fate of Yazidi's women.

When you talked about destiny, there were so many things to ask. One of them was, did the women still believe in that? To be honest, there are times when I tried to commit suicide and ironically, I was not alone. I have seen many women like me who burned themselves alive because they could not stand the disgust of every inch of their skin.

I once was furious at God. I shouted under the night sky, calling out His name and asking justice for my life. I questioned His form, did God really exist or was He just a concept created for human beings to be committed into something? Why should I be religious if I did not feel any change in me praying?

I once believed that there was no good destiny for me. I used to be a non-believer when I reached the lowest point of my life until finally, I ventured again to escape the damn land. At that time, the fate and the God that I had been questioning showed His power to me. While I was tired of walking without direction to save myself from the militants, I was saved and hidden by one of the Muslim families who pitied my shabby body.

"I believe..." I shook my head, trying to pull myself back to reality, "we believe they are strong women. We believe that hope is always there for those who continue to survive as we strengthen our troops. Destiny can change. That is one of the things that has been proven and they know it because we are real. We promise to keep trying to save them." I replied confidently.

"You do believe that they know the existence of your battalion. But, do you guarantee that your life will be peaceful after freeing them all?" Asked the woman back.

I took a deep breath. This woman really drained my mind and did not give me a chance to simply have a casual conversation with her. "Apparently, you have to feel it yourself, how it is like to live in the land of Iraq." I chuckled.

"As a citizen of Iraq, you do not even know when you will be attacked. You may have to carry a gun when you go to the lavatory. I do not know what kind of “peace” you mean. But we, the survivors, are aware that peace is created when we feel secure. Therefore, we will continue to save and secure them at Dohuk."

"Interesting." The woman replied with a nod. Her delicate fingers fiddled and she tied them to one another. "One more question." Her body leaned against the chair. She looked relaxed while supporting her chin on her hands. "Regarding today's topic, what would you do if one day you caught the men who bought you?"

I paused. My eyes glanced at the watch that the woman was wearing. Fifteen minutes had passed but my mind was still pulled by the shadow of the past. Although he covered some of his face with a turban at that time, I still saw the scar on his temple that extended to the cheekbones. The hair on my neck stood up, recalling every rough touch of his hand around my body. I touched the nape of my neck which was a little sweaty, then, I looked at her. "You're hoping," I smirked slightly, "that I'm going to kill him, right? Unfortunately, it will not happen."

"I was trained to save people, especially the Yazidis who were enslaved by the militants. I will not kill them because it is not my authority though I will meet the men who once touched me. If I can be honest, I wish I do not have to meet them. I refuse to meet those monsters. There is no use in meeting and venturing to past emotions. It will not return what they have taken away from me. I do not want to see them again." I say firmly. The woman nodded and, again, wrote something on her little note. I did not know the intent of her nod. Did she agree with me or was she just nodding because that was the only response that looked natural?

Soon after that, the woman stood up. I – sitting in front of her – also stood up as a reflex response. She stretched out her beautiful hand and I shook it gently. We both smiled at each other before she embraced my shorter body. After a few seconds of patting me on the back, she let me go and said, "Be thankful that your wings are not hurt." I just smiled at what she said while wacthing her walk out of the room, a graceful and confident walk that reflected a strong woman.

***

After all the interviews were finished, I asked permission to open the window in the room. I applauded the sky of Oslo that afternoon. The sky was blue and very clear. There was a little orange color painted since the sun had come down from its throne today. This sky was different from the sky that I often saw in the land of Iraq although both were on the same earth. I looked at the shady trees in the garden, listened to the wind-soothing friction of the leaves. A pair of butterflies crossed the flowers, dancing beautifully although there was no music played between them. For a moment, I remembered the words of the beautiful lady. "My wings?" I said as I squeezed my shoulders.

END

Bibliography Ensor, J. (2016). Commander of all-female Yazidi battalion: 'We fight Isil and protect womankind'. Retrieved from The Telegraph: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/05/25/commander-of-all-female-yazidi-battalion-we-fight-isil-and-prote/Pasha-Robinson, L. (2017). 'I was raped everyday': Yazidi girl speaks of horrors of being held as Isis sex slave. Retrieved from Independent: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/middle-east/isis-sex-slave-yazidi-girl-northern-iraq-rape-sexual-abuse-experiences-a7857246.html

#Selina Page #Elite #ELITEIV #WLB

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