#so their legacies are remembered as long as those artifacts remain

[kazz-brekker]

one interesting thing about having read the silmarillion before lord of the rings is seeing which characters get mentioned in the main books and which ones don’t. for example, feanor and celebrimbor both get several mentions but the sons of feanor have had none so far. of course tolkien can’t mention every elf who ever lived when he has a plot to get through as well but i do wonder if it has something to do with the fact that the legacies of both those characters involved leaving behind something they made which was lasting and important while the sons of feanor only left destruction.

[doctrinxire]

[ she/her, cis woman ] greetings to all of our listeners! we start today’s potterwatch with a long-awaited update on athena selwyn ii who was finally spotted alive just last night, wandering the streets of london. for those of you who haven’t tuned in before, they are a 27 year old pureblood (unregistered borzoi animagus) witch who is oddly reminiscent of a nape draped in blood stained pearls; self-made prisons of fading tombs and ink stained parchment; a revolving door of ideas, haunting every crevice of a shattering mind; the desolation that's born from a childhood brimming with competitive obedience; the slow ticking of a clock, counting down to an inevitable descent into madness, which makes sense considering their driven, calculative, dignified, reticent, vindictive, and withdrawn nature. you might know of them as the biological child of thaddeus selwyn iii and diana carrrow, and we’re sure that their family will be relieved to hear they’re safe and sound — or at least as much as you can be, in times like this. to all our listeners, if you catch a glimpse of someone who looks a bit like that muggle emma dumont, that’s them. before approaching, please be aware that they’re rumored to be affiliated with the death eaters, so best proceed with caution. these are dangerous times we’re living in. well, thanks for tuning in, folks. we’ll play ourselves out with how villains are made by madalen duke. [ kaya, 26, she/her, akst ]

P A R A L L E L S

wednesday addams ( the addams family ) , diana cavendish ( little witch academia ) ,  victor frankenstein ( frankenstein ) , the cheshire cat ( alice in wonderland )

T R O P E S

defrosting ice queen , family honor , the ace , in the blood , the mad scientist , kids are cruel , creepy child , even evil has standards , dark is not evil

S U M M A R Y

one of four children born to thaddeus selwyn iii and diana selwyn née carrow, doing anything else besides living up to the selwyn legacy was never going to be an option for her. the selwyn's have always been a member of the sacred twenty-eight, making a name for themselves within the wizarding community that had remained pristine and untouched for centuries. even decades after the famous list had come out, the family has managed to avoid having even the smallest of scandals, always shying away from any potential negative press as they came out with endless magical breakthroughs. while not the biggest powerhouse within the wizarding world, they were still a formidable player, one that expected nothing short of perfection from its members. before voldemort's rise to power, house selwyn had always been known for their unparalleled knowledge of the dark arts and objects with the family serving as a pool of wisdom for as long as anyone could remember. they've maintained a private collection of tombs and scrolls, preserving artifacts that past members have found within their searches of ancient ruins or a quick stroll throughout knockturn alley. while it hadn't been known where the family kept these items, the one thing that was known was that not a drop of taboo magic or literature had ever been found within their dufftown manor despite the numerous raids that were called upon them throughout the centuries. for families that were within their inner circle, it went unsaid that all their knowledge stemmed from more than just stories of the past passing down through generations. unethical experiments, located in an undisclosed location of eilean donan, has kept their information up to date and improving, allowing improved magical discoveries to be unveiled to the world although it was often questioned how these breakthroughs came to be in the first place. a child who had been sculpted in the family's image, her frosty expression is a direct replica of her mother's, diana selwyn, a pureblood heiress who had been in the early stages of her obliviator career at the time of the war breaking. since then she has made a name for herself with her time at the obliviators' outpost and her research expanding on the permanence, or lack of, with memory erasure. a socialite to the bone, she's always been a welcoming hostess, always inviting to those who enter her home, a saccharine smile radiating bright in the hopes of masking the darkness that seems to linger in step with her. whispers now follow her, wondering how someone could possibly feel so comfortable possessing a natural gift for taking memories away, not realizing how she spent her youth practicing on others until harmless gaps in the memories of others became common place whenever one spent a little too much time around her. never satisfied with her own success and always striving for more, thaddeus selwyn iii is left to blame for athena's eternal restlessness. originally working towards a seat within the international confederation of wizards before the wizarding world was reshaped into the image of voldemort, thaddeus wasted no time working up the ranks of the dark lord. starting in the fifth circle like the rest of his family, he made himself indispensable whenever the opportunity arose. like his father before him, there was no hesitance as he traded knowledge for power, bartering with a mad man despite the previous efforts of his ancestors to keep their legacy secret. now a member of the court of serpents, his ambitions know no bounds and athena has inherited that drive much to her own detriment. while power is not what she strives for, her research into the dark arts has seemingly possessed her, keeping her up all day and night as she tests hypothesis after hypothesis. driven by a thirst for knowledge and answers to a never ending list of questions, it's rare to find her doing anything not research related as she spends her past time locked up in her family's laboratory, spending endless hours with nothing more than pepper-up potions and her own thoughts for company.

Q U I C K  S U M M A R Y

house selwyn is full of mad scientists in the making. some are worse than others but primarily they all lack a specific code of moral ethics. athena is admittedly one of the worse when it comes to this and she's so caught up in her research that she's on the path of losing her sanity. she spends days without sleeping, instead throwing herself into her work until it borderline consumes her. unless forced away by the dark lord calling for her or some obligation she's been roped into, she steeps herself in dark magic especially with the dark lord's latest project of transferring magic between two beings.

this has been mentioned in amadeus's intro but one of her cousin's is a squib so the family is high key in a frenzied "all hands on deck" when it comes to researching how to transfer magic from a muggleborn to a squib. athena in particular is passionate for this project since she has spent enough time with orpheus to realize how bright he is when it comes to magic theory and she believes it's a full on tragedy that he lacks the ability to cast. growing up she had idolized his mind and work ethic despite his inability to cast himself and if she has the opportunity to help him succeed, she’ll do everything in her power to make sure it happens.

she has two older siblings, thalassa and thaddeus jr, and they're twins. while both degenerates in their own right, the two of them can't be anymore different. where thalassa is ambitious and inherited her family's drive for knowledge, thad is basically a wizarding chad who wastes away gambling and drinking. he can typically be found in nox during most hours of the day whenever he's not sewing chaos with the rest of the sixth circle vigiles

where thad is useless and can't be trusted to do more than terrorize others, thal's ambition had taken her to heights that made thaddeus sr proud. a member of the third circle, she's a wraith who spends her time spying on the order, originally gathering info to be given to the death eaters. but as of the last few months, something has shifted within her and she's been spending less time at home, more specifically away from her legilimens mother, and more time in the field. unfortunately she's destined to be a traitor and the fallout from that... pour one out for a real one

both athena and her younger sister, aletheia, are members of the fifth circle but their passion for it couldn't be any more different. whereas athena throws herself into her research, aletheia couldn't care less and instead acts more like a research assistant for her various family members than a scientist herself. all she really wants to do with her life is create art and she does, but it's something her parents consider a hobby meant for her spare time and not something to consume most of her time during the day. ( think barbie rapunzel but if rapunzel was actually a mean girl )

grandma clarissa selwyn and thelonius selwyn, father of amadeus, are also members of the fifth circle alongside diana. thaddeus sr used to be in the fifth circle until he was promoted to the first circle, becoming a member of the court of serpents alongside his father, dacian selwyn. thaddeus' eldest sister, callidora vulcanova née selwyn, is actually a member of the fourth circle, bringing esteem to the family where elphias selwyn, the second youngest of the five siblings, could do nothing more than be a warden in the seventh circle. elphias is the original thad jr except he lacks brain cells and so you can't even expect banter out of him.

thaddeus sr had a twin sister, theodora selwyn iii, who ended up dying in 2007 when the order had infiltrated the court of serpents for the magical birth registry of britain. now her ghost haunts the grounds of the selwyn estate and her portraits were forced to deal with athena forever asking her questions and never leaving her ghost alone if she was ever spotted.

in my head thaddeus sr is a combo between tywin lannister and rick from rick & morty and i'll let you imagine what i mean by that

she has a pet kneazle named mortem that she's had since childhood but her heart def lies with her family's pack of gytrash ( the english version, not jk's ) that she's helped raise throughout her life

when she's not being a hermit she’s always playing mental games??? like studying people’s actions and seeing what domino effect one action can cause. def treats life as a game of chess and it shows

she craves knowledge above else and can never have enough of it *alexa play satisfied from hamilton*

right now she's full immersed in transferring magic from one being to another but her true passion project is to study death and figure out a way to preserve a soul in an immortal sense but not like a horcrux. she one day hopes to be able to fiddle with time and has endless ideas and theories that can at times make her sound a lil crazed if she ever chooses to explain her ideas to someone

personality wise athena is pretty reticent and withdrawn, keeping to herself and watching from afar. when she does talk to others she typically keeps her cards to herself, never truly giving away her deepest thoughts and opinions unless to give a cutting remark or opening up to the few people she keeps within her own inner circle. she’s pretty vindictive and even the smallest of slights will be remembered, even if it means she doesn’t take action against you until many years later. queen of playing the long game, the consequences of anything that might have happened during her hogwarts years will probably be showing it’s head soon.

those who went to hogwarts will recall that athena, as well as thalassa and thad jr, were members of the dark lord’s protégés. the three of them excelled at the night hunts and the final trials, becoming branded with the dark mark upon their graduations. despite typically remaining within her own company or shadowing the other protégés, around hogwarts she was typically composed when interacting with the rest of the student body and at times might have come off as condescending to others.

H O U S E S E L W Y N L O R E

at the age of fourteen, it is tradition for all selwyn children to go through the process of being illegal animagi. even now with everything going on in present time, athena, her siblings, and her cousins were able to continue this tradition with the exception of her squib cousin, orpheus.

considering their dabbling in the dark arts and the stain it leaves on one's soul, it comes to no surprise that most of the selwyn family are incapable of producing a patronus. however there are a few members who have been known to produce one, including athena's grandmother, clarissa selwyn née jorkins. athena's sister, thalassa vi, has been able to conjure the occasional patronus although this fact remains secret from the rest of her family.

if you ever wanted to go to a wizarding zoo, the selwyn’s are the closet thing you’ll get to one. despite being a secret, their eilean donan location hosts a variety of magical creatures ranging from harmless to dangerous. the only creatures you’ll find on their public manor in dufftown are thestrals, granians, and gytrash.

a family primarily made of slytherins, it wasn’t unheard of for a ravenclaw to pop up in every generation. gryffindors and hufflepuffs were a rarity though, often facing ridicule from within the family and added pressure to exceed expectation as seen with thalassa selwyn iii, a hufflepuff who eventually wrote a book titled flesh eating trees of the world. other notable non-slytherin’s include athena selwyn i, a gryffindor who created the curse that would eventually fall upon marvolo gaunt’s ring.

known for their brilliant minds, most members worked at the ministry. while potioneers and unspeakables were the most common occupations within the family, there were quite a few curse breakers, magizoologists, and dragonologists. however, there were a few who stepped out of the family’s mold, pursuing careers not usually seen within the family. elphias selwyn and thalassa selwyn v were two cousins who went on to be healers for St. Mungo’s, with thalassa discovering treatments for blood malediction and making progress towards a cure. unfortunately, she passed away from her own affliction before finishing her research. even those who married into the family have had the following occupations: unspeakable, potioneer, magizoologist, herbologist, magical theoretician, minister's advisor, obliviator, daily prophet reporter, and wizengamot members.

at hogwarts the family’s accomplishments used to be able to be seen in the trophy room. whether they were a quidditch captain or head prefect, their names and faces had been scattered around the castle. some of the more recent titleholders include slytherin quidditch captain, thaddeus selwyn iii, and head girl, theodora selwyn iii.

the family has a secret laboratory that also doubles as zoo of magical beasts and creatures although some are illegal like their zouwu and wampus. as a child athena had dreams of maybe one day becoming a magizoologist but with how the wizarding world was being reshaped, her dreams ended up going into a different direction. that being said, she isn't a tin man and does have a heart at least when it comes to magical creatures.

even before voldemort took over, the selwyn family had been experimenting on humans for decades so the dark lord's rise made their previously secret endeavors public 

L I N K S

statistics page: here

pinterest: here

spotify: here

[dimdiamond]

Bagginshield fic list

Yeah, I decided to make one too because there are enough to cause me headaches and I'd like to have them somewhere organized. Please look at the tags before reading them!

Fix-it fics

Desperate magic by BeautifulFiction: Bilbo is left to tend Thorin as he hovers on the brink of death after the Battle of the Five Armies. Is love enough to save Erebor's king, or is this the last farewell?

Lay your troubles down by Avelera: An extended version of "the acorn scene." Bilbo sees his chance to snap Thorin out of his madness, and takes it.

The Riven Crown by BeautifulFiction: The aftermath of war is no laughing matter. Those who died must be honoured, those who are wounded must be healed, and those who remain need food and clothing, peace and sanctuary. With Thorin's life hanging in the balance, it is up to Bilbo and the rest of the Company to rule the rag-tag remnants of Erebor in his place. Then there is the matter of the gold... Can Bilbo save both king and kingdom, or is Erebor destined to fall deeper into ruin?

The Color of Possibility by lindoreda: When Bilbo puts himself between Thorin and Azog's blade, his mithril shirt protecting them both, it isn't long before some dwarves whisper that 'Oakenshield' might not be the best epithet for their king anymore. But for Bilbo, barred from Thorin's sight since the battle, this new epithet only adds to the sting. Spending his days caring for the recovering princes, Bilbo wonders how much more of this he can take, not suspecting his place at the center of a silent divide in the company.

Homesick by Margo_Kim: Five years after they've reclaimed Erebor, Thorin is sick of home, Bilbo is just sick, and neither is handling the situation ideally.

The Road Delivered Us Home by keelywolfe: In the years since Bilbo left Erebor, he has lost his respectability, gained a nephew, and gotten on with life at Bag End. He'd left aside adventure for the comforts and peace of his little Hobbit hole, and for the love of a child who needed him. Though perhaps, adventures can yet find him.

Notices in the Paper by YamBits: Bilbo returns to the Shire after his adventure, newly married, and newly homeless, after his two year absence allowed the Sackville-Bagginses to obtain Bag End. Bilbo and Thorin go to the Tooks for help, and find newly orphaned Frodo Baggins, also looking for a home.

A Royal Guardianship by ladyoakenshields: When Bilbo and Thorin return to the Shire for a sabbatical during Yuletide, they find a reason to retire the throne in Erebor sooner than expected.

The Shire's gems by awkwarng3: Thorin, Bilbo, and Frodo move to the Shire after raising Frodo in Erebor, and Frodo makes a friend.

Time travel fix-it fics

An expected journey by MarieJacquelyn: For years Bilbo has written about his adventures and told stories about his dealings with dwarves and dragons. To most it seemed like fanciful nonsense but to Bilbo it was all very real. A weight followed him home from his travels, one called regret. Now in his final moments Bilbo has a choice to make – go quietly into death’s embrace or go back again and face all the fear and pain for the chance to make things right? Of course, change is a fickle thing and not everything can be done again as Bilbo is about to find out. In the end, it may not only be salvation that he’s fighting for.

Bilbo Baggins, warrior of the Valar by Pallalalo: Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “And you’ve come to the Shire to look for this someone? My, Gandalf, I wonder if you know Hobbits at all. They would tell you that adventures are nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. That they would make you late for dinner.” Bilbo recalled his own words perfectly. It had been something he and Gandalf had looked back on with bittersweet laughter. This Gandalf however noticed his exact words. “Would they now? And what about you, mhm? What would you tell me about adventures?” #The Valar send Bilbo back in time, to the day where Gandalf asks him to join in an adventure. After living a lifetime of regret and suffering, he vows to change things for the better. For Thorin. For Frodo. But will he succeed?

I'll die to care for you by thehufflepuffhobbit: His gaze landed on Mahal's eyes once more. "You did your best, Thorin." It was tempting to look away; he wanted to deny that with everything he had. It certainly didn't feel as though falling into Gold Sickness and then dying was doing his best. Mahal smirked, as though he knew Thorin's desire to contradict him, and pinched his cheek before walking over to a table. "Aye, I didn't think you would believe me. I'm not lying, it certainly could have gone better. More according to my plan, but I know you really did try." "Your plan?" He didn't know if he should ask, really. Knowing that his Maker had set a course for him, he didn't want to think about the ways he had done everything wrong. There were too many examples of mistakes in his long life, too many opportunities that he had missed that had probably been planned for him from the beginning. Or:Mahal feels like Thorin fucked up his legacy and gives him a do over.

Darker times ahead by Reach4theSky: Bilbo is sailing to the Undying Lands but wary of letting go of the guilt that has been with him for many decade. His most sincerest wish is to go back and change what was done. Before reaching the lands of peace and healing, he dies aboard the ship and finds that his wish is being granted, not because he is the one to wish it but because this is the dwarves last chance to escape a fate of eternal waiting. He finds that not only is he going to be sent back to his younger body, but so is the entire Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Time is a fickle thing and not all the members have their memories returned to them at the same time. The journey on becomes interesting as the dwarves slowly remember and fight for themselves and their kin, yet new hurdles are thrown at them when they realize that more people remember than expected...

Of an arcane binding by Salvia_G: An inexplicable magic ties Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire, to Thorin, dwarven prince of Erebor.

Legends by DomesticGoddess: The fellowship has set out on its noble quest to destroy the ring and put an end to the threat that is Sauron! Just set out really, barely left the gates of Imladris, but things are going smoothly enough so far. That is until the two most unlikely party crashers fall upon their little fellowship. Uncle Bilbo and the Legendary Thorin Oakenshield?! Frodo just wants to know what's going on but the two of them won't stop hollering at each other long enough for anyone to get a word in edgewise. Suddenly, their little group is joined by Frodo's two biggest heroes and he discovers there was a lot more to Uncle Bilbo's stories than he realized.

Beside myself by bliboboggins: "What are you doing? Just who do you think you are?" Startled, Bilbo turned around slowly. And there, in a familiar patchwork dressing gown, brandishing a fire poker wildly about, was... Bilbo.

Erebor never fell au fics

The hearth doesn't make the home by Moonrose91: For things Bilbo could not change, he was condemned to a life of isolation, with the belief that none could love him. And then a Dwarf came to Hobbiton.

Clarity of vision by Mithen: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.

Ghivashel by mdseiran: The last thing Bilbo expects when he stays up late one night is company. The strange dwarf and his companion crash into his life and prove unexpected saviours. But the dwarf seems to think he will be joining them on their travels, and Bilbo has no such intentions.

The Song of My Heart by DomesticGoddess: After a failed attempt of trying to carve out a new home in the Blue Mountains for his people, Thorin finds himself beseeching the Hobbit Thain and his council for a place for his people in their bountiful land. An agreement is struck and plans in the works for integrating his people into their land. The only condition being an arranged marriage between himself and one of their family heads. A small price to pay to see his people safe and well fed. Unfortunately, he’s to marry the most disagreeable hobbit in all the Shire who also seems to hold a personal grudge against him. If only he could figure out why his new betrothed hates him so much.

Oak and Mistletoe by HildyJ: After a life dominated by a strange form of sickness, Thorin is sent to the Shire to seek a cure only Bilbo Baggins can offer.

Karkûn shukula - A Cinderella AU by harrypanther: When the Prince of the Shire visits the Kingdom of Erebor, there is great excitement. There are hopes he will choose to marry one of the Royal Family, cementing an alliance that would secure food supplies for the dwarven Kingdom and gain new allies. All eligible dwarves are expected to attend a series of Balls. Unknown to the guests, there is a third royal child, manoeuvred out by his ambitious stepmother, for whom this may be his last chance of restoring his fortunes and escaping his fate…

Alone this Yuletide by Emsiecat: 'Alone this Yuletide? Irritated with prying and nosey family members? I am an out of work blacksmith currently trying to make my way by any means necessary that does not involve my resorting to thievery (prisons are most uncomfortable, I've unfortunate first hand experience). However, if you would like me to be your strictly platonic companion for any social function, but have me pretend that we are in a serious courtship, so as to torment your family and ward off unwanted suitors then I am more than obliging...' After becoming increasingly irritated by overtures of romance from various Shire residents following the death of his mother four years ago, Bilbo is more than ready to resort to desperate measures. That is, up to and including pretending to be in a serious relationship with a certain surly blacksmith currently inhabiting the Bindbale Woods. It's a good idea after all; all they have to do is pretend to be in love over the Yuletide period and Bilbo's family and suitors will surely leave him alone after that. It's perfect! And nothing can possibly go wrong, right? Certainly nothing as preposterous as falling for one another for real...

Modern au fics

Nothing gold can stay by perkynurples: Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an adventure?

Love-In-Idleness by perkynurples: Taking Bilbo Baggins, a successful movie actor who is only just getting used to the perks and intricacies of becoming A Face People Want To See, and putting him together with Thorin Oakenshield, with his very traditional (read: slightly backwards) ideas about what constitutes Real Art and Real Talent, might very well be viewed as just some clothead’s idea of a joke. But there are jokes, and then there are carefully calculated risks the size of controversial reproductions of classic Shakespearean plays - for Bilbo, it is the chance of a lifetime to prove himself to all those who have ever deemed him too one-dimensional to even attempt stage, while Thorin has the opportunity to get out of the rut that’s been hindering his career for so long now, and shine in a role worthy of his talent once again. That is if the two learn how to share the same space for more than ten minutes without wanting to tear each other’s hair out. The course of true love never did run smooth, after all…

Candid by northerntrash: Thorin wasn't entirely sure why there was a six-foot candid photograph of him hanging in this exhibition, but he was going to wring the neck of whoever had put it there. In which Bilbo is a photographer, Thorin an accidental model, and Gandalf just likes to make trouble for everyone.

How the west was won and where it got us by stickman: Bilbo is a harried 1st year British literature Ph.D. (early 20th century fiction) who happens to have an interest in spatial narrative structures, a lack of time-management skills, and a tiny apartment with a lot of books and very little furniture. He’s stressed, always, and doesn't quite know where he belongs. He tells himself that really, this is, in fact, what he wants to be doing. But sometimes, as much as he loves books, he gets an urge to do something with his hands. Thorin is a disgruntled M.Arch. 1 in his last year who can’t be arsed to shave and frightens his students, and, frankly, his profs, but his work is top-notch so no one can really say much. They can, however, bully him into running a hands-on design workshop on Saturday mornings, which is complete crap, because he’s used to drinking his Friday nights into oblivion so showing up at Milstein at 7:45 the next morning and trying to teach in a room of wall-to-wall windows as the sun rises is not at the top of his list. Besides, no one ever shows up. Except one morning, someone does. [graduate school AU]

Butterfly effect by eyra: Yoga wasn’t for him. Yoga was for interesting people. Luminous people; people who took gap years and spoke a foreign language. People who ate lentils and burned incense and had fantastic, colourful friends with fantastic, colourful lives full of travel and silent retreats and those baggy trousers with elephants on them. Yoga was decidedly not for people like Bilbo, who wore cardigans and ate beans on toast and whose linguistic capabilities stretched only as far as a rusty Spanish A-Level. Just your regular story of boy meets yoga instructor.

Remover of the obstacles by MistakenMagic: "Dis often chided her older brother for being a misanthropist. She did it so often it had become a term of endearment. It was true that Thorin struggled with people; he struggled to form and maintain relationships. Dr. Grey had diagnosed him with this and Thorin hadn’t the heart to tell him this wasn’t a symptom of his PTSD, it was a symptom of his personality. He exercised a sense of apathy with almost everyone he met… But Bilbo was different. Thorin actually found himself wanting to know more about him."

Color outside the lines by andquitefrankly: Kindergarten has just gotten significantly better. Just ask Thorin, who's got the biggest crush on the new kid in class, Bilbo Baggins. With the help of his friends, Thorin knows that he can take back the swings from the 1st graders, show up the K-1 class in the school pageant, and win the heart of one curly haired boy. Yup. Kindergarten is going to be a year to remember.

Bran' New Suit by pibroch (littleblackdog): Andrew's description had been sufficient to recognize him— a riot of honey brown curls, short in stature, a well-favoured face with expressive features— but it hadn't quite been enough to prepare Tom for the sharp, almost painful tug in his gut at the sight of the man. They had never met before, to the best of Tom's recollection, but there was something eerily and inexplicably familiar about him all the same.

Different species au fics

I've grown a hedge around my heart by pibroch (littleblackdog): "Thorin was the essence of so many Buckland oddities, distilled into one misfortunate young hobbit, much to his infinite embarrassment. Built like a stork, his father had said once, in an example of Thrain Brandybuck’s usual tactless humour. All beak and legs." Thorin Brandybuck, just recently come of age, still lives in his family’s smial in Buckland, with his parents and two younger siblings. Thorin is an odd duck amongst his relations and neighbours-- unsociable, grumpy, shy, and awkward. And beyond that, he looks rather strange even for a Bucklander, strongly favouring the thick, dark haired build of his Stoorish blood. It defies all sense and reason why Bilbo Baggins, an exemplar of all the respectable traits Thorin lacked, would ever desire a friendship with him. Bilbo, as Thorin discovers, is not always as sensible as he appears.

In which the dwarves are satyrs for reasons by HiddenKitty What the title says basically.

Bride of the demon king by DomesticGoddess: Thorin is King of the demons, a beast-like race feared by humans. Ever since the demons and humans formed a truce years ago, the humans have sent a young human every year as a tribute to the King of demons. Thorin is tired of having to deal with the tribute that has long since lost its meaning. The only tribute he'd be interested in is the boy he met fifteen years ago on the border of the demon and human realms. Despite his fantasies, Thorin knows the chances of ever seeing the boy again are slim to none, until they're not.

Lost He Wandered Under Leaves by serenbach: Thorin son of Thrain is a struggling blacksmith descended from a fallen line of kings. In an attempt to provide for his family over the winter, he reluctantly accepts an impossible sounding task - to hunt down an enchanted deer that lives in the Old Forest that borders the Shire, and make armour and weapons from its hide and antlers. He never expected to succeed. And he certainly never expected what he found to change his life so completely.

A Dryad's Tale by Bilbo Baggins by Moongazer12: Bilbo is a dryad (think little sibling to ents). Long ago a curse was placed upon him from destroying one of the rings of power. Whenever he touches someone with his bare skin he will make them insane. But despite this, he and Gandalf have gone on many adventures to help protect Middle Earth (What was the point to destroying the ring if something else destroyed it instead?) Gandalf has called on him once again to help on a quest, Bilbo just hopes that they read his amendments to the contract.

The quest but with a twist au fics

King, come at the red morning by Tawabids: Bilbo has heard fairytales of the lost prince of the dwarves, Thorin son of Thrain, who disappeared the day Smaug attacked the Lonely Mountain. But he does not believe in fairytales until he comes across the dwarf sleeping in the depths of Erebor, and kisses him back to life. Now Thorin - a hundred and fifty years out of his time - has to confront a world in which his city is empty, his people scattered, his baby brother Frerin is king, two nephews he's never met are missing in action, and a war is brewing right on his doorstep. And as if that wasn't complicated enough he's trapped in the body of an old man and falling stupidly in love with a gossipy, grudging little hobbit.

When the sun rises by Harry1981: Bilbo Baggins of Bag End was not a very respectable Hobbit. No respectable Hobbit had a sword and crossbow hanging in their home, nor did they have Dwarves as family. But Bilbo Baggins did, and all of Shire knew of his husband, blacksmith Thorin Oakenshield. When Bilbo comes home to find his Husband earlier than expected, he learns of a quest to reclaim Erebor. It is a death mission. Bilbo knows that Dwarves are stubborn creatures, and none more than Thorin himself. But nobody said that Bilbo himself was any less stubborn. So he will follow his dearest husband across all of Middle Earth, through plains and mountains and forests, all while hiding the true nature of their relationship (Dwarven politics never helped anyone), brushing off some old wounds (and getting new ones) and finding out new things about the dwarf Bilbo calls husband (and his extended family). Nobody ever said love was easy, after all.

Small, but fierce by DomesticGoddess: As a result of a magical mishap during the trip to the lonely mountain, Bilbo is reverted to a wee little hobbitling. Only in body, of course. His adult mind is still very aware of the indignity of it all (seriously! He doesn't need to be coddled, carried, and fed like a child). It turns out, dwarves love children and there is nothing cuter than Hobbit children. Bilbo soon realizes that he can get away with just about anything in his babyish form and starts taking full advantage of it. Even the grumpy brooding king can't deny the angelic little creature anything he desires (and Bilbo's going to milk that for all it's worth).

Your song like a home in my heart by Nennvial: In Middle Earth, all creatures have a soulmate. Not all have some, but if they do, it is a bond nothing can break, not even death. The more famous story of such a bound was the story of Bren and Luthien, who even defied detath. The way someone can find out that the other is one’s soulmate is through song: when they meet and hear the voice of the other, a song sings in their heart, which feels like home and makes them complete. They may refuse it if they wish to do so, but they hence risk a life of bitter looniness. Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins are soulmates, but they must admit it to themselves throughout their journey to Erebor.

To Dungeons Deep (And Caverns Old) by KingUndertheMountain: Bilbo Baggins was not your average hobbit. Of course, he had the wonderfully groomed and well-taken-care-of hairy feet like every other one of his race, yes, but he was not like other hobbits. He was cursed. Or, as the witch who gave him the enchantment put it, was “gifted”. She had given him the “gift” of obedience – whenever there was a direct command given to him, for example “cook a large meal” or “take a walk”, he could not disobey. Not without a lot of pain and eventual submission.

Chocolate candy one-shots

The world is sleeping (my world is you) by katheneverwrites (mandolinearts): I asked Persephone, “How could you grow to love him? He took you from flowers to a kingdom where not a single living thing can grow.” Persephone smiled, “My darling, every flower on your earth withers. What Hades gave me was a crown made for the immortal flowers in my bones.” - Nikita Gill ---“What do you mean, my friend?” There is a line of thought that surfaces in Gandalf’s mind, but he drowns it before it can take root. Surely not. But Bilbo’s chuckle sets him on edge. The small, gentle god of harvest, nature, and flowers sits up straighter, and in his crown of flowers there is a wire of strong metal, his cloak is suddenly not colorful anymore but the deepest black and he is terrifying, horrific, powerful - “I married Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the World.”

Of seasons by northerntrash: As far as he could tell, he had been kidnapped, which in itself made this week more than a little unusual. In which Bilbo steals away the Lord of Death, and Thorin can't quite bring himself to stay angry about it.

Warm up by paranoid_fridge: On one of their walks, Bilbo tumbles into a stream. They make it back to Bag End and Bilbo demands Thorin warm him up.

Royal Blue And Crimson Red by Mistofstars: Here's what happened before and after Bilbo accidentally eavesdrops on Gandalf and Elrond at night in Rivendell, as they discuss Thorin's quest and his family's history. Oh, and Thorin and Bilbo share a room, of course ;)

I was young when I left home by Margo_Kim: There was a pity clapper somewhere in the third row. Thorin finished his fourth song to polite applause from the people who noticed that the song was finished, but within the smattering of claps was someone beating his hands together like he was trying to rhythmically kill a fly. There was usually one of those, the kind who notices that no one else is paying attention and so is determined to compensate for that regardless of how they feel about the actual music. Thorin ignored him. It was easy to do so—he'd always hated looking at the audience when the singing was done.

A matter of buttons by StupidFatPenguin: “Your shirt,” says Thorin, quite out of the blue, and Bilbo looks down his front to see if there is a spot of tea or jam or anything equally embarrassing spilled on it. He is relieved to find nothing of the sort and looks up at the dwarf with an eyebrow raised in question. Thorin sits mute, his still-smoking pipe forgotten in his hand. He looks on for long moments still, seems almost lost to a thought before he shifts and lifts his gaze to meet Bilbo’s inquiring face. “It is familiar to me. Did you not wear this on the eve we met?” In which Bilbo and Thorin re-enact the evening they met.

The ladder by Milliethekitty27: Inspired from a post made by wheeloffortune-design on tumblr. Tired of his lonely kitchen in Yavanna's Garden, Bilbo Baggins wonders if the dwarven love of being underground is true in death. If so, maybe his dwarves are living (ha ha) under the very land Bilbo is weeding. With that thought, Bilbo goes and asks Hamfast for a shovel.

Love hobbit by HybridOwl: Bilbo Baggins considers himself a bit of a cock up, all things considered. He never made it out of his small highway adjacent town, can't seem to stop chain-smoking, and overall has more to talk about with the plants in his shop than 90% of all the rest of Middle Earth. So when he's reading the morning paper and a love note that can't be for anyone but him pops up, he's pretty sure - almost positive, really - that he's being made fun of. "TO the chain-smoking little stud who collects two metros from Gamgee's Goods every morning, will you be my love hobbit? - Bearded Biker." (heavily inspired by tumblr posts)

Fusion with other fandoms au fics

The Second Time by authoressjean; Sebastian Moran can't pull the trigger on John Watson to save his own hide, and what the hell is it with the doctor, anyway? Then Gandalf shows up, meddlesome wizard, and reminds him none too gently of his past life: as Thorin Oakenshield, leader of a company that had once included a small hobbit named Bilbo Baggins. One that looked decidedly like John Watson. And this would be the perfect chance to make things right with Bilbo the way he really hadn't been able to before he died, and that's when Gandalf tells him John doesn't remember being Bilbo, and to leave him alone. Right. Like that's going to happen.

And sow a star divided in us by MistakenMagic: Short summary: Gays in space! Longer summary: After his first successful solo mission, Jedi Knight Bilbo Baggins, trained by High Council member and full-time nuisance, Master Gandalf, returns to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. During an excursion to the sparring arena, he meets a group of Dwarven Jedi from Ered Luin, a mountainous planet located in the Outer Rim. Young padawans, Fili and Kili, are full of curiosity at this strange, barefoot Jedi, but Master Thorin, who appears to have the personality of a rancor and mental shields like blast doors, is less than impressed.

Comics you should definitely check

Every work by rutobuka, seriously they're criminally cute and they're not still favored by everyone without reason.

Retelling the Hobbit by Mellow_Comics: Bilbo has never been good at telling the "true" story of what happened on his journey to the Lonely Mountain. Now he's trying to turn the tale of his quest into a lighthearted children's book-- a bedtime story for his young nephew Frodo. But what really happened on his journey? And how did it actually affect him? This is a comic adaptation/retelling of the Hobbit! It's framed as a bedtime story that Bilbo is telling a younger Frodo.

For now these are some of my personal favourites! However, I'm sure my list will grow since my reading list has some gems still waiting for me to read, so be certain that there will be a part 2 of this list!

[leiainhoth]

Summery: Luke and Din wake up on their first day in Mos Pelgo, but a disturbing vision forces the Marshal to make a decision … Luke woke with a start, his heart racing. The blankets were twisted about the bed, and he was startled, lost and confused. Where was he? He fell back against the headboard with his head in his hands as he tried to catch his breath. The room he was in was strange to him, but as he blinked and settled, it came back to him in a wave. He was on Tatooine; his ship was still on Tython. Maker, he was stuck here. Stuck without a comm, without any way out. They had two more days until the caravan left for Mos Eisley. This wasn’t a sticky or even unpleasant situation to find himself in, comparatively, but still. It was Tatooine! He thought he’d never come back here again. He knew that they wouldn’t be for long; with any luck, he and the Mandalorian would be able to hire a transport of some kind when they returned to civilization and then they’d leave this dustbowl for good. Luke flushed suddenly, strangely, as his mind unhelpfully provided a possessive pronoun as he considered his companion. The Mandalorian was good company; after so long being recognized in the rebel alliance, being anonymous on his homeworld was… strangely welcome. Whatever the Mandalorian had done other than killing a krayt dragon to gain the respect of these people was unknown to him. Luke had surmised that the curious and unprecedented treaty between Mos Pelgo and the Sand People had been negotiated by both the Marshal and Mando. But it rested steadily, on firm ground. The day before, Luke had watched the town carefully, using both the force and his intuition to ascertain the mood of Mos Pelgo. He wasn’t surprised exactly to find it perfectly amicable, friendly, even. Luke had never seen the massiffs of the Sand People, but they were in town, sniffing at the feet of their masters as they moved through the street. Children petted their reptilian hides, and Luke watched carefully, nonetheless, aware of his personal experiences with the Sand People clouding his judgement. He had no qualms with them, not really. But he had been raised to see their kind as an enemy, and it was hard to move past his instinctual fear of the unknown to accept them as they were. The light from the slit beneath his door was dark; it must be very early. Luke had risen with the sunrise and slipped out the door to meditate before his companions woke. The horizon was indigo and azure, and the world was still. Luke was barefoot, and he walked slowly, mindful of the cool stone and sand, the sound his heels made as they struck the earth. It was early enough that even the miners of Mos Pelgo remained in their beds, and Luke took a deep breath, trying to stay mindful and calm in the early morning hour. Luke often meditated in the morning; even when he was living on Chandrila, he had risen with the sun, often losing track of time as he calmed his thoughts for the day ahead. There was much to consider, so many paths that he could take. The universe was open to him, now. So far as he knew, he was the last and indeed the only Jedi master left in the galaxy. What others had done in the past, their mistakes and triumphs were his alone to bear. Luke was their legacy; whatever it was to be a Jedi would be told through his eyes. Much of his time was spent looking for Jedi artifacts, scouring what little remained in the Coruscant archives, hunting rumour after rumour at the promise of surviving force-sensitives across the galaxy. What did it mean to be a Jedi? How did one come to be a master? How could Luke remain faithful to the Jedi legacy while addressing the bigotry and close-mindedness of the past? He often conferred with Obi-Wan and Yoda’s force ghosts, usually in the late evening or early morning. Their advice grew stale with time, both reminiscent of the Jedi order’s greatness when they were young. They warned Luke to not fall prey to his feelings, lest they lead him into the darkness. As he grew older, Luke found it harder and harder to justify absolutes. There could be no absolute darkness, no absolute light. There were always cracks in the glass, slivers of joy and peace and contentment, even if one’s heart had soured with the ways of the world. Could a Jedi truly have no attachments? Possessiveness, Luke could understand. A lover or a friend is not an object one can covet exclusively, hold in the air against one’s will. Love is reciprocated, love is open hands; love is the realization that another’s happiness is equal to your own. Love was not love when it was exclusive. Love is what Luke saw when he saw the child and his father. Luke couldn’t claim to know or understand what his companion thought or felt. He was stoic and silent, speaking only when necessary, and then most often to his child. Love flowed out of him like a flood, bursting forth without thought or restraint. He loved the child desperately, with a heartwarming affection that stemmed from loss. Luke knew better than to press; whatever he had witnessed on Tython was a desperate thing. His companion had been of the heart and mind that he would lose the child forever if Luke took him. It had shocked and deeply disturbed him. What had happened to make the Mandalorian think that Luke, a perfect stranger, take a child away from his father with no hope of return. It was devastating, and that was before Luke knew the child. Grogu’s love for his father was profound, deeper perhaps than any love Luke had ever known. Grogu loved unconditionally, desperately; his whole soul was wrapped around that of his father. And it was reciprocated. Din protected the child, and the child loved him; they were tied in the force; together. Even if he was able to, even if Luke wanted to, he’d never be able to breach it. What the Mandalorian and his child had, Din had never seen anything like it. They were family together or parted. Bound together in ways Luke could never understand. He had had his aunt and uncle, and later Leia and Han. But a mother, a father; Luke would never have what the child did. He might be a Jedi Master, a general, a grown man , but a part of him would always be an orphan on Tatooine, unsure of who he could be. Unaware that great things were awaiting him. But Grogu didn’t need greatness; he already possessed it. The child’s strength in the force was extraordinary; he would be a Jedi knight if he wanted to be. And he was so pure, so young, his force signature was bright , dancing on the edge of his consciousness like the light of the setting suns. Luke wanted to train him, wanted to see how they could learn from one another. Grogu had told Luke about his time in the Jedi temple on Coruscant, about the masters and padawans before Order 66. That part of the child’s consciousness was clouded, murky. It was clear to Luke that the child had been forced to hide his abilities; even now, he restrained himself. Meditating made it easier for Luke to feel the child and understand his past to progress into the future. And his father, holy Hoth, Luke didn’t know what to think of Grogu’s buir. He was intimidating, tall, bound in impenetrable armour. He rarely spoke, but the child had told Luke about him through their force bond, telling Luke about their ship, their time in the market, the frogs he had eaten playing with his friend Winta by the ponds. He told Luke about his bantha toy, his fish and his durasteel knob his buir had given him. Luke remembered the joy in the child’s eyes the night before when Grogu showed Luke his new tunic. It was made of red fabric, and even though Grogu hadn’t fully understood what ad meant (which was fair, considering Luke hadn’t either), he understood the significance. This meant something to his buir, and Grogu was honoured to have been trusted with it. The tunic was carefully sewn, its seams even and straight, and Luke thanked the child both verbally and mentally for telling him. Luke had begun constructing the first tenuous threads of their force-bond, connecting Grogu to him in the way that Obi-Wan and Yoda had taught him all those years ago. As he meditated on it, Luke couldn’t help the feeling something already established was a bond that he couldn’t explain. It felt… strong , reciprocated. The Mandalorian had told him that he wasn’t force-sensitive, but Luke was starting to think that it wasn’t true. There was a thread connecting father and son, a force bond that couldn’t exist without communication coming from both sides. Maybe the Mandalorian didn’t know; it was possible. Some force-sensitive beings had hidden their abilities, or more often still, had no way of comprehending that which they had. Luke suspected that Grogu’s father fell into the latter category. It was strange, but not unheard of, for Mandalorians to have the abilities of the Jedi. Luke wondered if his companion knew. But he had to, Luke reasoned with himself. He was smart enough to have realized that something strange was happening. There was something extraordinary in their bond between the boy and his father. Grogu was delighted, and Luke smiled, thinking about how much joy and happiness the child exuded when his father was nearby. Luke took a deep breath, sitting cross-legged in the sand beside the house. The Jedi meditated for any number of reasons, but as Luke closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, he could feel it. The force sang to him, whispered about him like an early morning breeze. It tangled itself in the sand below his body, in the wispy clouds far above him. The force dipped and swirled across every grain of sand, every house, every person. Luke let his hands fall to his knees and just breathed, becoming one with all that was around him. The early morning air was cool but warming with each passing second. Luke took a breath and imagined all his thoughts lining up in a row and dismissed them one by one. His missing X-wing, his lost droid. The worries of his sister and friends on Chandrila and his inability to contact them. He took another breath and continued down the list. Jedi do not covet; Jedi do not possess. Thoughts are vapour and memory, and Jedi are above them. Jedi are above the common and unbroken; Jedi are the peacekeepers of the galaxy. But what it meant to be a Jedi was up to him, now. This path was his to take alone. He thought of Boba Fett, the bounty hunter Han had tossed into the sarlaac pit by accident all those years ago. He thought of his ship, the strange gyroscopic interior, the worry of the Mandalorian hanging thick in the air. He thought of the rocks and the sand, the air and the binary suns of Tatooine, and slowly, he let them go. Feeling them fade to mist and vapour and float into the air. Luke felt warmth on his eyelids and blinked his weary eyes open. The suns were rising, the lesser first, but the latter was rosy on the sandy horizon. It had been months since Luke had allowed himself the luxury of watching the suns rise. There was something peaceful in their inevitability; time never stopped, it never stood still. Until the suns burst into supernovas and faded from the sky, they would rise, peak and set. Not even the Jedi could prevent the inevitable. Luke heard a disturbance behind him and lowered himself back to the ground, feeling his feet dip into the warming sand as he landed. The Mandalorian must be up, Luke thought with a small smile. The child must be wanting breakfast. The eager and soft force imprint of the child danced around the doorway, and Luke grinned fully at the sight of the child cooing in his father’s arms. The Mandalorian held the baby securely, not surprised to see Luke as he entered the house. “Good morning,” Luke said pleasantly, walking over to the caf machine. The Mandalorian acknowledged him and nodded, settling the child on a chair before rising. “Did you sleep well?” “Yes,” the Mandalorian said, walking over to the icebox. Luke never had been one for idle chatter; words lost their meaning when used in excess. He appreciated the direct nature of his companion, even if the silence could be confusing at times. Luke punched in the code for a singular cup of caf before turning to his companion, gesturing to the rumbling machine. “Would you care for a cup?” “No, thank you,” the Mandalorian said stiffly, retrieving the bowls of stew and vegetables and feeding them into the heating element. Luke nodded, not exactly perturbed, but dancing on a knife-edge of curiosity. He tried to tune out the child’s repetitious calls for sweets, one he wasn’t sure his companion had noticed if his stiff posture was anything to go by. Luke hesitated in calming the child with their fledgling force bond, mindful of how invasive an unexpected presence could be. The child cooed and babbled to himself, his thoughts fluttering quickly from one to another. The pendant Luke had noticed the day before was around the child’s neck, the cord taut on the back of his tunic as he gummed on the Mythosaur’s tusks. He was so small, so innocent. So deserving of attentive care, so worthy of a father who loved him. Grogu caught his father’s gaze, and his force signature was sunshine, bright golden beams that illuminated the world around him. Luke let himself be swept away in the flood of warmth the child offered his father, unsure if the man could feel it, wondering if his companion could sense how much the child loved him. “Here,” the Mandalorian said softly, a plate of warmed leftovers placed in front of Luke. He turned to look at his companion, a smile dancing on the edge of his lips. “Eat, I need to speak to Vanth,” “Vanth?” Luke inquired, watching the baby cuddle closer to his father. “Yes,” the Mandalorian said. “The Marshal. Can you take the little one?” “Yes,” Luke said, reaching up for the baby, smiling as the child relaxed into Luke’s arms. The Mandalorian ran a hand over the child’s head and left without a word. Luke adjusted the child in his arms, looking down at the meal the Mandalorian had prepared for him. It was the same meal as the day before, but Luke was touched, just the same. A bowl full to the brim of bantha milk pudding sat beside his plate, and Luke raised a spoon with a surge of happiness. It had been years since he’d had it; certainly, there were better things to eat, and not many in the core worlds enjoyed it. Bantha milk had been a staple of his childhood, a cheap and plentiful thing that had been at every breakfast of his younger years. It was plain but sweet and filling. Luke had struggled to contain his excitement the night prior when he noticed it, and his companion must have noticed. The last scrapings of the bowl were on the table, neatly divided into two bowls. He took a bite, letting the familiar taste warm him up. The baby giggled, one clawed hand dipping into his bowl and lifting it to his mouth. “Do you like it, Grogu?” The baby grinned a toothy grin, and Luke felt an influx of images. His father, the plush toy he had cuddled with the night before, a woman in armour he didn’t recognize. He felt joy, contentment. Without words, the child had communicated a clear message, whatever it was that Luke was to this family of two, he was becoming a part of it. The child shared his life with Luke, his joy, happiness, and the love he shared with his buir. Luke took another bite but dropped the spoon before it reached his mouth, his mind swimming with an abrupt influx of information. A man with a blaster and a masked face broke through a door, the sunlight harsh and jarring in the dark space. A woman was below him, also heavily armed, looking down at a pale blue Twi'lek woman, struggling against chains. The woman shot the bracers away and nodded as the Twi'lek fled, her torn manacles rushing against the stoned floor. Luke watched, askance, as the man turned his attention to the bulbous Twi'lek on the throne. He heard the man’s nervous welcome to the masked figure and watched with horror as he was shot where he sat, pushed away from the throne. It wasn’t until the man sat that Luke recognized him. The paint was new, but the armour was painfully familiar. Boba Fett had retaken the syndicate on Tatooine. Luke gasped, pulling himself from the vision with difficulty. His breath came hot and fast, and he scooped up the baby and ran towards the door. continued

[sith-renegade]

Hope for a Fallen Sith

An end to an era, that’s what this was as the ripples through the force continued to come. A Jedi’s death every second, every minute and every hour. Maul couldn’t think of anything better or satisfying, if only he had been the one pulling the strings. But no, he had been cast aside, left to rot like unwanted trash.

A bitterness grew within the former Sith Apprentice as he snarled, tightening his grip on the vessels control panel. Fueling himself with all the more hatred for what had occurred to him and no one else.

His minds eye sought only one thing, Obi Wan. Revenge was at his heart and it was all he could care to think of, but alas he feared the worst. Now that the orders had been given and every Jedi alongside padawan, was presumed dead by now. If any survivors they would be snuffed out by the darkside no doubt about it.

An emptiness filled Mauls heart as he looked at the flickering stars and blue hue of the sky while still stuck in hyper space. For the first time in a long time he truly felt alone, with no true course and no one to tell him what to do. Meanwhile the overhanging threat that took hold of the galaxy created more problems. Maul knew he would have to be much more careful from here on out.

All of his crime syndicates had gone into hiding, there was no point in trying to reach out to them with such a new threat now looming over the galaxy. Even using the force would need to be limited for fear of Darth Sidious discovering him again, or worse his new apprentice, Darth Vader. 

Finally coming out of hyper space, Maul looked down at the crimson planet that he had set his course for. Dathomir. it was his only place to go, the only place he felt he could feel even remotely safe on. For however long that safety would last that is.

Not only that but it was never under the control of the Republic and seemed to far off for the new Empire to take control of the planet that had little to few civilizations on it. 

Perhaps it was his legacy, his inheritance calling him back here to this very place he should have called home. Alas it was just instinct to return back here. Soaring his ship in slowly to the worlds atmosphere, Maul was reminded of his last visit here. Talzin...His birth Mother. Although he knew almost little to nothing of her, he certainly would take advantage of such a title as her son. Landing the ship in the thicket of the forest, his yellow eyes glanced around from the safety of the ship as if he was prepared for another ambush.

Last time he had been here, there had been nothing good that occurred and he was sure Sidious had taken over the area. Yet no signs of life seemed to be out there. Nothing but the horrible crimson hue of the planet. It took Maul several minutes before his paranoia set aside and his pride finally kicked in.

The idea of taking over his former home and the place he did wish he had grown up in. Sure Sidious had shown him the side of a jedi, the side to be a hero, but as a nightbrother? As the son of Talzin? The nightbrothers and nightsisters were not known for their friendly and comforting ways. Perhaps if things had of been different, Maul could have grown up just as strong and powerful, maybe even more powerful, then he had as a Sith.

For it was not the comfort of family or his Mother, let along his past brother, but rather the comfort in knowing that whoever was left here was going to die by his hands and he would rule alone in the temple Talzin had built. There were no nightsisters left to protect this place, only ghosts of the past and the past was long forgotten to Maul. For now at least.

Moving from the comfort of the shuttles chair and lowering the ramp, Maul exited the ship with a cautious stride. One hand was itching to grab the hilt of his lightsaber that was now lost to him. 

“ We’ll keep our eyes out, sir “ a voice echoed from within the darkness of the foliage. 

It was robotic, following orders like a good little solider. Maul knew all too well who it was, just a bunch of droids. It was possible that Sidious had foreseen Mauls escape and wanted to ensure that Maul did not survive this purging. 

Instantly Maul snarled as his instincts almost turned primal, he had enough of these pests getting in his way and their stupidity. Without thinking Maul grabbed for his ‘lightsaber’ only to grasp at the air. Inwardly cursing the fact he had lost his saber when he had been captured and was now left with nothing but the force. Again.

Feeling through the force, Maul knew his enemy was maybe a few hundred feet away, so a much more stealthy approach was perhaps better, or he could do what he is truly good at? Cause some Chaos. 

Through the force he did not sense Grevious, a good sign for him. With little to no care Maul walked with a much more faster and eager stride as he wasted no time in doing what he loved most. 

Unaware of the loom threat, a small group of droids remained within the area. Their orders were crystal clear. Remain in the area, survey the environment and ensure Talzin was not brought back and no Nightsisters such as Ventress returned. Snuff out the last hope for those that might just try to revive something that could possibly rival the Sith other then the Jedi.

The platoon consisted of at least 20 or so members. All of which had set up a suitable camp within the area. After all the others had been taken to the battle of Coruscant with Grevious. Taking samples and artifacts for both Grievous and Sidious as had been ordered. However it didn’t matter how many there was or how good the camp area was, they had never fought a Sith and even though Maul was no longer an apprentice he still followed the principles and teaching of a Sith.

Using the force, Maul savagely dragged a droid closer to him before crushing its head with the force. The others became alarmed and began their formation attack. The crushed droids became a weapon as Maul hurled it towards others, knocking them down. Moving through the blaster fire without being hit, Maul grinding his teeth and with all that primal rage that had built up inside of him over the past few hours, Maul decimated the droids.

The fight didn’t last very long, what was left was nothing but smoke and debris from the fight. Maul made quick work of them all, thankful he did not have to encounter any droidekas. Ensuring that all laid in pieces of rubble, Maul finally set his crimson gaze upon the temple Mother Talzin had left behind. Ruined by the previous and recent fights that had occurred. Leaving behind nothing but old scares and fresh wounds. Maul softly hummed, appeased with the destruction he had done to a small faction of nothingness.

With a deep breath in, Maul narrowed his eyes on the open mouth of the statue before turning his gaze towards the sky. Night was beginning to set in, and he best be prepared for whatever lurked in the dark besides himself. 

Entering the dark dank temple, there was nothing but stale air and remnants of the former fights. The sight of artifacts spiked an interest in Maul. He had to admit his time on Mandalore deserved to be remembered, perhaps Maul could add to these artifacts with his own time and rule.

Before he can do such a thing thought, Maul knew he had to re-establish his connections and mind. By now Maul had been made Lord of the criminal syndicates out there. Perhaps it was time for a new one. 

“ Crimson Dawn...Sounds ideal “ Maul muttered to himself as he took a seat on the cold floor, crossing his legs and appearing to meditate. Yes he could still be a lord while in hiding, he could still be powerful without Sidious finding him.

A low and primal grunt came from Maul. For this would be a new era for him as well. One he believed he was destined to rule. And while he would grow to be the leader behind Crimson Dawn, he knew he could and would use his crime syndicate to find him! Kenobi!

[sepublic]

Part 4 of Bionicle: RaE

           The Shadowed One is dead- And yet Makuta still lives.

           Through a combination of luck and sheer force of will, the Mask Hoarder has clung to life, now taking the form of a revenant, a phantom made up of his own, vile soul’s energy.

           And though the leader of the Dark Hunters is dead, his legacy lives on, even brighter than before. Thanks to him, two worlds so different, and yet in some ways so alike, are together. The gap between the two worlds has been bridged, and now the islands of Xia and Okoto are right beside one another.

           Conflict between two such polar-opposites is inevitable. There are those Xians who greedily want to take advantage of Okoto’s rich, abundant plethora of resources and exploit it for their own. But some Xians are merely curious, hoping to scout out this new island ahead of them, and perhaps make a new life and opportunity for themselves.

           Meanwhile, the Okotan Alliance is scrambling. Not only has the survival of Makuta shaken them to their core, but the Toa are now gone, reduced back to their original forms as stars in the sky. For better or worse, there’s even a seventh star now, and in the face of so many potential threats, how will the Toa return? There is no Mask of Time to power the Inika this time…

           The answer is in the Elemental Deities; They remember dearly how the Toa went to their aid, in their dark times of need. Uxar remembers her friendship with Lewa, and Ketar recalls how Pohatu had forsaken the Mask of Control for her own life. The Deities originally intended to cease taking sides after they had returned to their original power, only returning when all of Okoto was threatened by The Shadowed One.

          But… in lieu of what the Toa did for them, perhaps it’s time they repay the favor. Thus, the Elemental Deities use their combined power to temporarily reactivate the Inika, summoning back the Toa; But excluding the Seventh Star, for fear of what it may provide. Some things are better left in the cold vacuum of space…

           But some things are present now, on this planet; Some Okotans want to be open to the new tide of Xians. Among them are those who have seen first-hand the hardships of the lower-class, and are sympathetic, believing proper support and a new chance at life will help make a difference. But some Okotans are naturally un-trusting of Xia and its greedy aristocrats and corporations, and that distrust has spread to the rest of the island’s population as a whole. Already, many Xians are polluting portions of the recently-healed Okoto, plundering its resources and gluttonously harvesting whatever they can find. They’ve heard the horrific stories, and now get to see them first-hand; How can they trust Xia? Perhaps Okoto should be adamant about separating itself from that cursed land…

           The situation becomes even more complicated, as amidst Anti-Xian sentiment, unrest is growing in Xia’s own society as well. With Okoto’s civilization as a blatant example of a good life that is fully possible, many are beginning to revolt against the Powers That Be. And in lieu of both a growing resistance, as well as Xian workers who are leaving their authority, six individuals emerge;

           These ancient warlords fought over one another for control of Xia in the past, only to come across something, a secret within the island’s core; The Codrex, an ancient machination of infinite energy. Through the Codrex’s power, these six warlords became immortal beings and have since ruled Xia from the shadows, collaborating to fuel its industrial revolution.

           They are the Barraki, conquerers who have long-ago taken over Xia. But in face of a new world with even richer resources, old passions flare to life. Now in the open, the Barraki hope to not only quell the uprisings against their authority, but also participate in a long-awaited conquest upon the island of Okoto! A Xian-Okotan War is on the horizon, and already beginning as Nature clashes with Technology, and two worlds so different and yet so alike meet one another. Will they realize the similarities, or the differences? Maybe even both…

           Knowing the threat of the Barraki, an organization once-hidden in the shadows, dedicated to leading the Xian revolution, has emerged as well; The Order of Mata Nui, a secretive organization led by the ancient Helryx! Its members include Axonn and Brutaka, the latter of whom has emerged and allied with the Brotherhood and Barraki, hoping to take advantage of the multi-faceted conflict for his own ends. The Order of Mata Nui is a ruthless organization that will sacrifice anyone in the name of the greater good, leading some Okotans to wonder if they are trustworthy, or morally-worth supporting.

           But that isn’t all- A new, powerful player is emerging onto the scene. Kralta, a native of Xia, has donned the Mask of Shadows, becoming Umarak’s Kaita and the Toa of Shadows herself! She leads the Kraahl, a group of darkened beings who were long-ago trapped in the Para-Realm; The dark counterpart to Okoto.

           Legend has it that in the Time before Time, there existed Light and Shadow; Two alignments of Life itself that fought with one another. Umarak was of Shadow… And the Deity of Light was named Nuva.

           Time and time again they fought and clashed, with Nuva achieving victory each time, banishing Umarak to the Dark World. But eventually, the aggressive, hostile Nuva became overzealous and went on a rampage, threatening to scorch all of Okoto with her burning light. The Deities of Okoto collaborated together and weakened Nuva, causing her to revert into the Mask of Light before that mythical artifact disappeared from the face of the island…

           The Elemental Deities want the Okotan Alliance to help them ravage the Kraahl and their leaders, Kralta and Umarak. But Takua is uncertain if conflict is necessary- She has seen into Kralta’s heart and knows that she isn’t evil. To complicate matters, the Brotherhood of Makuta has begun to join the fray as well. Not only are they supporting the Barraki’s conquest of Okoto through their own agents, ranging from the likes of Sidorak, to the treacherous Roodaka… But they also have sights on the Dark World as well.

          With the return of the Kraahl, beings of Light and Shadow who can travel between both worlds as a result of this dual-nature, Makuta hopes to make a new army, one identical to his son Yagavo, an army of Night Wraiths; Orbs of energy made from Light and Shadow, able to travel between the Light World and Para-Realm at will and access the world of dreams. The Night Wraiths are an intrusive, unstoppable enemy, capable of breaching any location, and to get the dual-nature he needs for his army, Makuta is harvesting the Kraahl to create his Night Wraiths!

          Takua knows the familiarity of this plight- Makuta also harvested the Okotans with his Skull Spiders, and still does. If she wants to help Kralta and Umarak save their people, then perhaps she needs to resolve the ancient conflict between Light and Shadow. Perhaps it is time to recover the Mask of Light, and fight off others who are also in search of it, such as the dreaded Zaktan and his fellow former Dark Hunters. Zaktan and his group have defected from the mercenary organization, which has now reorganized itself under a new leader; The sharp and cunning Lariska. The ‘Neo-Hunters’ hope to use the chaos to their own ends, and can be both an enemy and an asset for those involved.

          While hostility remains on both sides, there are those who see the blatant, fundamental similarities between one another and want to reach out. The history of Light and Shadow is one mired in opposites and the resulting conflict. A clash is inevitable between two separate, polar opposites, but can resolution be found? Xia VS Okoto, Toa VS Brotherhood, Barraki VS Order of Mata Nui, Light VS Dark, Nature VS Technology… Multiple conflicts will converge in Part 4 of Bionicle RaE;

          Twilight.

[litho-graphy]

A Brief Forward

To chart the beginning of the demise of the Jadellian Imperial State is, to many, a challenging and fruitless endeavor. So beset was the later imperial government that to blame one fault or another is beyond the point. The faults and trials of the state overlapped and fed upon each other in making the whole enterprise both inevitably and spectacularly doomed. To point at one event is to deny another- and that is even when the effects of one action are agreed upon. There is yet vigorous debate over the 3429 Governance Decree under Emperor Jarek III, which saw the outlying systems of the empire gaining greater independence over their own planet side affairs. Now, even some three hundred years after the fact, academic circles ponder whether this decision fostered allegiance from the petty nobles who made up those star clusters, or if the lack of central oversight permitted the Barren Insurgence to come about even sooner than it would have done otherwise. The matter is not helped by the fact that many of the records kept by the imperial government and its latter successor states are fragmented at best, and deceitful at worst, with each power that emerged justifying its own existence in these histories- whether they be factual or not. So the circumstances of the Jadellian demise are hotly contested, but the outcome is obviously apparent: the Purple Throne has laid vacant for over two centuries, its former planets under new management, and the last squadrons of the August Defense Force have long since been driven from the skies. Yet the effects of Jadellian Imperial rule still remain apparent today, and perhaps even more specifically, the lack thereof; for one of the great legacies of the empire, beyond the standard military and technological achievements that came from ruling such a vast and powerful state, was the devastation it not only wrought upon its neighbors and the quadrant as a whole, but also unto its own peoples- the stories of which are so often forgotten in talking on the subject. And even still here there is debate over the nature and scope of this domestic devastation: as many have pointed out, the Jadellian state was just as calculating as it was cruel, its leaders just as much after the pursuit of material wealth as bloodshed. Even those monsters, some may argue, could see that a living populace is more profitable than a dead one; and thus some consider the records of the imperial state razing and destroying entire planets en masse are but Jadellian propaganda- an effort to keep its increasingly unruly subjects docile and content with the knowledge that it could be worse. Even so, planets were destroyed, their peoples killed, the futures of any person- good or bad, great or terrible, caring or cruel- were rendered moot in one fell swoop. Many are forgotten for no one is left to remember them, nor does anything exist to remember them by- and those instances where there is indeed a story to tell are sidelined by the tragedy and terror of the empire at large, treated merely as footnotes and evidences to a larger picture. The adding of a single planet or star system ultimately did not matter in the grand scheme of things. Its newly acquired citizens did not tip any scales nor make any efforts more or less plausible. Ultimately such peoples were just as easily lost as they were gained- especially if they did not hail from one of the core worlds. One could in fact be forgiven if they were to merely diminish these fringe settlements and planets to the back of their mind- plenty have done so before, and many contemporaries still do. Yet there still exists those who may trace their ancestry to such worlds, and may even possess their fragmented histories. It in fact may even be possible to compile such artifacts into a complete narrative.

[detectivejigsawpines]

North by Northwest Conspiracy-Finale (Alea iacta est)

Seeing the look on Old Man Northwest’s face after stuffing the piece of paper into his mouth made the experience of sacrificing the money it would have given him totally worth it.  Stan gave it another vindictive chew, wondering if he could make it into a good spitball like in high school.

Funny how he doesn’t even seem surprised at the possibility of his family legacy bein’ a fraud as much as he is interested in tryna cover it up.

...Unless he knew that was the truth all along.

Well, he did say that stuff about the town needing someone ta look up to...

Geez, what a jerk .  He’s worse than the kid.

As he pushed the wad of paper into his cheek with his tongue, his eyes landed on Preston, still standing meekly behind his father.  The boy was staring at them in bug-eyed disbelief, probably not used to people defying his Old Man this blatantly, if at all. Stan waggled his eyebrows at him; to his surprise, for a half second the kid looked like he was trying to smother a giggle, as if there was a real human soul in that suit.

Finally Old Man spoke, in tones of sharp, clipped rage.

“If you bring this story to the press, you will regret it.”

“Oh yeah?  Why?” Ford challenged.

Old Man’s eyebrows did a little dance up and down his forehead.  “I wonder if you’re aware, Stanford, of the amount of trouble your brother has gotten himself in with the law during the years before he came here.”

Ford rolled his eyes.  “Yes, I already know about that, we’ve been through this already-”

“But do the people around here know?”

Old Man Northwest’s air of superiority returned.  “How safe do you think they would feel, knowing that that cabin in the woods not only harbors an eccentric mad scientist, but his hardened criminal of a brother?  Someone who’s spent time in prison, and has several false identities on his record?”

Stan felt his gut clench and burn with anger-but also with a touch of fear.

Old Man went on, “Of course, it wasn’t for anything serious, like murder, but who knows what crimes he committed that he wasn’t convicted of?  Or what he might be up to right now?”  He stepped closer, staring down his nose at them despite being barely an inch taller than the Pineses.  “Like those large amounts of gold that you’ve been taking to the city and selling in different pawn shops every few weeks-where do those come from, I wonder?”

“It’s nothing illegal!” Ford interrupted.

Probably, anyway, Stan hoped.  He wasn’t exactly up to date on whatever statutes there might be regarding sales rights with supernatural creatures.

“That’s what you say, of course.  But I wonder; I really do.  And of course, in a small town like this, if they’ve been stirred up against one small person, or group of people-” he clicked his tongue.  “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Stan stepped up to his brother’s side, readjusting his grip on the handle of the sword.  Old Man’s eyes flicked towards him, looking for a moment like he feared he might actually use it.  Stan just asked in a flat tone, “You really think people’d get as worked up about my petty crimes as they would about all the crap your family’s pulled?”

Old Man shrugged.  “Perhaps not...but the fact remains that if you attempt to bring destruction on my family, rest assured that I will do as much to you.”

Ford looked positively incensed that he would dare to misquote Sir Arthur Conan Doyle at them.  He was opening his mouth, probably to correct him on the parts he didn’t get right, when Old Man turned away and stalked towards his car.

“Come, Preston-we’re going home.”

The boy slinked after his father.  As he got to the door, he hesitated for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something to them-but then he just climbed in.

****

For a minute, the little group silently watched the fancy car drive away.

At last Stan spat out the spitball and said, “Well, we uncovered the truth about a major conspiracy in Gravity Falls, but it’s gonna be difficult for us ta do anything with what we know.  On the other hand, it means that if they try ta dig up the dirt on us we can expose them too. I think that’s what they call mutually assured destruction, right?”

“At least you didn’t take his Judas money,” Dan growled, as he resumed dragging Ghost Eyes and his buddy to the car.  Trembley, finally paying attention to what was going on, sprang down from his perch on top of the tombstone and wandered over with interest to see what this strange “horseless carriage” was.

Stan’s shoulders sagged.  “Sorry, Sixer. Looks like I messed things up again.”

Ford’s head whipped around towards him.  “What-? No-this isn’t your fault, Stanley.  You shouldn’t blame yourself. And even if we didn’t get the end results we expected, we still found some fascinating-artifacts!”  His eyebrows raised in sudden realization. “We need to close up that entrance so they will be safe until we can bring them home! So go do that.”

Stan managed a smile, and a mock salute.  “Aye aye, Captain.”

“We’re not at sea, Stanley-you don’t say ‘aye aye’ when you’re on land.”

“Whatever.”  And he headed back to that part of the cemetery.

Just in case, Stan went down and checked inside-thankfully the rooms still had all the stuff as far as he could tell, and there was no one else down here, so once he got outside he returned to the angel statue and pressed her finger down into place.  The stone slab slid seamlessly (try saying that three times fast) back over the stairs.

“See ya later, gorgeous,” he told the statue, and then returned to the car.

********

Trembley spent the drive to the hospital marveling at their speed, and that their lungs weren’t collapsing from “going over thirty-five furlongs per jiffy.”  Stan had long since given up trying to figure out what he was talking about.

At the hospital, Dan dumped out the hench-teenagers in front of the door, with a note attached to Ghost Eyes’s shirt reading, “Please make sure we don’t have concussions or anything like that.  Thank you.” Despite his and Stan’s objections, Ford tucked a wad of cash to pay for the hospital bill into his pocket. Then they quickly drove away before anyone could see them.

When they arrived back at their home, Trembley hopped out.  “Gentlemen, I am needed elsewhere-”

“...Where?” Stan asked, confused.

“-but I will return when America needs me most!  Until then, remember that I am right here-” he put a hand to his heart...that turned out to actually be reaching into his coat pocket.  “On the negative twelve dollar bill!” He handed it to Ford.

“Um...thank you.  I suppose.” Ford looked at both sides with a critical eye.

“And for you, other Stan, I have this!”  He handed Stan his President’s Key. Stan suddenly felt a little better about how this day had gone.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Dan grumbled.

“Oh, of course!  You are now an official congressman, brave giant!”  Trembley produced a folded top hat, which he popped open and placed on top of the lumberjack’s head (he had to stand on tiptoe, but he managed it).  Then he raised his arms, and yelled, “Trembley away!”

Before they could blink, the former president leaped backwards, landing on a horse that they suddenly noticed standing by the side of the house.  It reared briefly, and then galloped off into the forest (with Trembley still sitting backwards on it).

“Remarkable!” Ford said, staring after the retreating figures.  “I think that was a genuine Coinci-Horse!” He pulled out his journal and flipped through it.  “I know I wrote about them somewhere…”

Stan gave Dan a look.  “How much do ya give his chances for survivin’ the twentieth century?”

“He seems pretty adaptable,” Dan mused.  “On the other hand, I think he’s ridin’ right into Kill-Billy territory.  So the odds’re maybe about fifty-fifty right now.”

“We’re going to have to make a closer examination of that peanut brittle!” Ford announced.  “I need to find out where it came from-if it was created here in Gravity Falls, and perhaps that gave it its life-sustaining properties, or if he put something in it, or-”

Dan gave a resigned sigh.  “I’ll get my truck-it’s got more room in the back.”  He set off for his cabin.

********

Unfortunately, Auldman is pretty good at playing dirty. So now the Pineses have made a mortal enemy out of the most powerful family in Gravity Falls; and the Corduroys were already their mortal enemies, so Dan doesn't feel very affected, but things could always get worse for him somehow. What a lovely way to end the day.

Of course, once they get all the stuff back to the house and stored safely in the basement, Ford starts considering possible actions they could take should the Northwests really try to use Stan's criminal history against them or find out where they're getting their gold from. He definitely doesn't want Auldman to find out about the creatures living in the forest-he can just imagine him trying to capture, exploit and/or destroy them to satisfy his own greed. During his classes about humanity he warns his students of the possible danger, and devises a plan for everyone to go into hiding should the worst occur. Dan, whose family does apocalypse training every year instead of Christmas, is all too happy to help with this. On his tours, Stan takes the assortments of cryptids by the Northwest mansion so they can thumb their noses at it, and forces himself to resist the temptation to use his key so they could sneak in and loot the place. Even when he learns from Dan about how his ancestor was killed building it, after being banned from the celebratory party. Instead, he looks into possible curses that they could place on the Northwest family. So far he hasn't found one that seems like fitting enough punishment.

[knifeonmars]

Capsule Reviews - May 2020 - The Cape Stuff

I read a lot of comics in May. Here’s what I thought of some of the superhero and superhero-adjacent comics I read.

Arms of the Octopus

A nostalgia pick, the collection of several annual issues containing a crossover between Superior Spider-Man, The Invincible Hulk, and the All-New X-Men. It is an artifact of a very specific and bizarre time in Marvel Comics, when Doc Ock was Spider-Man, the Hulk worked for SHIELD, and the original five teen X-Men were stranded in their own future. For a pure, relatively straightforward crossover romp, it's quite enjoyable. Spider-Man is a jerk, the Hulk fights a robot, the X-Men are befuddled by the present, all of the major beats for that particular moment in the Marvel Universe are there, and it's got some really great art. Jake Wyatt, during his regrettably short-lived stint with Marvel and the great Kris Anka unfortunately overshadow the other contributors, but it's all very good, if not the most accessible comic.

Maxwell's Demons

I came to Maxwell's Demons having heard a lot of critical buzz and with my expectations set rather high. I did not care for this book at all. Ambitious is the best word for this series, and that's not a bad thing. It's got ideas, about the craft, about the genre, about philosophy in general. It never quite manages to carry things off though; it's not as smart as it wants to be, and the high-minded ideas are never incorporated in particularly elegant ways. Three of the story's five chapters are essentially extended monologues in which the main character rambles on about some glorified shower thought for 20-plus pages. The first and second chapters are the exceptions to this pattern, and are quite solid as far as pointedly derivative superhero riffs go, even if the second chapter's riff on "What if Miracleman #17 was significantly less intelligent" is more than a little shameless in its lack of originality. The fourth chapter, by contrast, is the nadir of the series, easily the most embarrassing Manic Pixie Dream Girl tripe I've seen played straight in literal years. I'm reminded a lot of Translucid, another superhero pastiche, which essentially sought to do for Batman what Maxwell's Demons seeks to do for Lex Luthor. I warmed to Translucid significantly on my second read and I wonder if the same will end up being true for Maxwell's Demons, but I find that Translucid simply did a better job of incorporating original ideas and stating its themes in ways less stupefyingly clunky than Maxwell's Demon's ever manages. I hate to call a book pretentious, especially an ambitious one, but at present that's how I feel about this book.

Twilight

Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez and Howard Chaykin's Watchmen-for-mid-century-space-heroes epic. It's good. Fabulous art, some really interesting ideas and a great premise. It's also more than a little Chaykin-y, with most of the male characters having fraught but amiable relationships with their much-too-good-for-them-and-they-both-know-it ex-wives. It has this particular brand of low grade misogyny that idealizes women but in doing so denies them interiority and, ultimately, humanity. Leaving that aside, though it is a major point to leave aside, it’s story of humanity rotting over eons of immortality, mad space gods, and humanity’s proclivity towards colonialism and genocide, it's great. It’s not an altogether pleasant book, it can be nasty and strange, in ways both intentional and unintentional, but it’s original and engaging and decidedly well made. Something of an overlooked classic of that era’s DC output.    

Green Lantern: Earth One

Literally the only one of DC's Earth One graphic novels that's worth a damn. Where most of the other Earth One books choose to start things off in a world resembling our own, Green Lantern starts off in a scifi future resembling something along the lines of Ad Astra or The Expanse, with Earth controlled by an only alluded to totalitarian government, humanity colonizing and mining the solar system, and Hal Jordan as a spacefaring roughneck who dreads the prospect of returning to Earth. Earth One is the rare Green Lantern story that manages to make Earth as interesting as the rest of the universe. The bulk of the action leaves this behind to focus on unearth the lost legacy of the Green Lanterns and refits their mythology in a clean way which will be unsurprising for anyone with a passing familiarity with the original comics but is still satisfying ad fresh. Fabulous art, fun take on the mythology, I'm left both wanting more and being satisfied with what we got.

Spider-Man: Life Story

In a just world, Chip Zdarksy, one of Marvel’s best writers these days, would be writing both Spider-Man and Fantastic Four, instead of having been relegated to shortlived spinoffs. Because life just isn’t fair sometimes, instead he was given this admittedly ambitious project, his all-encompassing take on the Spider-Man story as played out in real time. In the end it’s bold and engaging, but more than a little clipped in execution. Each issue is a snippet of Peter Parker's life as we catch up to him in a new decade so readers only get a quick glimpse of the action and are left to fill in the substantial gaps by drawing on our knowledge of continuity. The obvious comparison is John Byrne's Superman/Batman: Generations, but where that story really only took the broad strokes of those characters' continuity into account in writing its decades spanning story, Spider-Man: Life Story is dedicated to the remixing of Spider-Man's publishing canon. So it can’t just take an archetypal view of Spider-Man and play that out to its logical conclusion, instead it’s stuck trying to incorporate version of prominent Spider-Man stories like Kraven's Last Hunt, Venom, and Civil War. The result means that there’s a ton of exposition in each issue, and frequent use of shorthand to gloss over things which have happened since the previous issue, and it never manages to explore the series’ original ideas in detail. Also, I'll die mad that Michel Fiffe, the genius behind COPRA and one of my favorite cartoonists, public pitched basically this exact story a year or so before this project was announced, and even if Marvel didn't actually steal the idea, I'll forever pine for Fiffe's take on this premise.

Star Wars: The Crimson Empire Saga

Long before the Disney's take on Star Wars, with their codified takes on the mythology and careful curation of the franchise, there was the old Star Wars Expanded Universe, where seemingly anyone could tell any story they wanted using the mythology of Star Wars. While it resulted in some good stuff, like Timothy Zahn's fondly remembered Thrawn books, the vast majority of it was workmanlike or even bad. Crimson Empire falls firmly into the category of bad, a dumber than dirt story about an extremely cool space guy and his code of honor. It's the kind of story where multiple characters say "He's just one man!" right before or right after seeing their legion of anonymous flunkies getting demolished by the hero. It's got an inexplicable and bad love story. In the three miniseries collected here it spends about two pages total dealing with the idea that maybe, just maybe, the fact that it's main character is dedicated to the lost honor of Emperor Palpatine, a space fascist, maybe his code of honor is completely fucked. Of those three miniseries, only the first story is anywhere near something that could be called good. I wouldn’t called Crimson Empire utterly abysmal, but it’s not unironically good. If the name Kyle Katarn means anything to you, you might get something out of this as a nostalgia trip, but otherwise it has no redeeming qualities.

Deathstroke: Legacy

The first of the New 52 Deathstroke stories, which was never well regarded until Christopher Priest took it over with Deathstroke: Rebirth, I was driven to read this by a conceptual fondness for this era's Deathstroke basically looking and acting like an action figure. Through that lens, it's quite enjoyable. It's not as obviously in on the joke in the way that the classic Taskmaster: Unthinkable is, but it's over the top, has fun designs and baddies, and Joe Bennett (years before his career best heights in Immortal Hulk) provides consistently good art. As a pure action comic, it's good.

Wolverine MAX: Permanent Rage

Here's the thing about Wolverine: There are very few good Wolverine solo stories. Wolverine is a genuinely good character, but most of his solo stories are dumb action affairs, and there's literally never been a Wolverine comic that's even halfway as good as the Logan movie. Permanent Rage, the first storyline from the Wolverine MAX series though, is actually pretty decent. It plays out a lot like you might imagine a Wolverine movie made around 2004, with no superheroes, a Japanese setting that allows for some distracting orientalism, unrelenting violence, and a noir-inspired storyline. The present day storyline is all well and good, not great, but solid and relatively low-key, but what makes the book is the presence of Sabretooth as the main villain. His relationship with Wolverine, fleshed out through flashbacks drawn by some really talented artists, is probably one of the best takes on that relationship that Marvel has ever put out. The casting of Wolverine and Sabretooth as two lonely immortals, bound together by hate and the knowledge that they are each other's only true companions, absolutely makes this book. Is it great? No, but it's got enough interesting things going on that fans of dark superheroes stories would probably find something to enjoy. Subsequent volumes of Wolverine MAX moved even further from the character’s superhero trappings and supporting characters, which is a pity, but this one remains readable and enjoyable on its own.

Marshal Law Omnibus

A collection all of the non-licensed and non-text-only Marshal Law stories. It's weird, it's punk, it's violent, it's sick of superheroes but self-aware about it own silliness in a way that Garth Ennis' work like The Boys has never been (Incidentally, the fifth story contained here, Super Babylon, is just every self-righteous complaint Ennis made about superheroes in The Boys but presented with a modicum of good humor). It's quite fun as a mean-spirited anti-superhero romp, but anyone who is particularly invested in the moral rectitude of, like, the Flash, might find it an unpleasant read so I would advise avoiding it if that's you. It's also not perfect, even for what it is: it's approach to sex work and kink is very dated, it relies on sexual violence a little too much, and by the time you get to the final story, Secret Tribunal, it's come to revel in its previously ironic fascist and misogynist imagery and characters just a little too much. The third installment, Kingdom of the Blind, is for my money, the strongest of the lot, featuring both the most straightforward premise and the most incisive satire the collection has to offer.

[davidshawnsown]

MESSAGE IN ANTICIPATION OF THE 75TH DIAMOND JUBILEE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THE JAPANESE DECLARATION OF UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER TO THE ALLIES AND THE CONCLUSION OF HOSTILITIES IN THE ASIA-PACIFIC THEATERS OF OPERATIONS

Ladies and gentlemen, to all the people of the United States of America and Canada, to all our remaining living veterans of the Second World War of 1939-1945 and of all conflicts past and present and their families, to our veterans, active servicemen and women, reservists and families of the entire United States Armed Forces, and to all the uniformed military and civil security services of the Allied combatants of this conflict, to all the immediate families, relatives, children and grandchildren of the deceased veterans, fallen service personnel and wounded personnel of our military services and civil uniformed security and civil defense services, to all our workers, farmers and intellectuals, to our youth and personnel serving in youth uniformed and cadet organizations and all our athletes, coaches, judges, sports trainers and sports officials, and to all our sports fans, to all our workers of culture, music, traditional arts and the theatrical arts, radio, television, digital media and social media, cinema, heavy and light industry, agriculture, business, tourism and the press, and to all our people of the free world:

For it was on this day in in 1937 the Nationalist Chinese Air Force came victorious in the first aerial battle of the 2nd Sino-Japanese War and of the 2nd World War as a whole after bringing down 6 Imperial Japanese Navy bombers.

It was on this day in in 1941 the Atlantic Charter aiming for preparing for the events after the Second World War, was signed, just paving to way for the later creation of NATO in 1949.

It was on this day in 1945 when the people of Vietnam, urged by the Viet Minh, began to plan for a series of general protest actions and the creation of a national government for the country by beginning to occupy public buildings under Japanese pressure, clearing the way for a national revolution of independence against both Japan and France that would begin in days’ time just as the war was about to close.

It was on this day in 1947 when the independence of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan was declared and on this day in 1959 the National Football League was officially founded.

And today, in the midst of what has been the one of the greatest crises the world has faced in recent memory – the current COVID-19 pandemic that has claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands and affected millions all over the world, and nearly cancelled all public events and sports activities, we, the millions of people all over the world, await from our homes and workplaces the dawn of the 15th of August, paying vigil not just to honor the millions who perished in this long war as well as to honor the heroes of today who are fighting for the healthy, safety and well-being of millions around the world but also to reflect on the historic statement of Emperor Hirohito of Japan 75 years ago declaring the acceptance of his country, government and people of the Allied wishes for the unconditional surrender of the armed forces of the Empire,  days after the twin American atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as well as the declaration of war against his country by the Soviet Union, signalling the end of all combat operations in the Pacific and China-Burma-India Theaters of Operations and the beginning of the final countdown towards the conclusion of a long and painful 6 years of international conflict that 8 decades ago began in the Asia-Pacific with the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese World and that soon burst into a global war, first in Europe 71 years ago and 69 years ago later in this part of the world with the Japanese attacks on Pearl Harbor, a long and bitter war that would cost the lives of millions all over the world, destroyed industries and cultural artifacts, and affected millions more, which would lead to the final victory over the Axis Powers, first in Europe and northern Africa, and later on, exactly 75 years ago, in the countries of the Asia-Pacific region, bringing to a close this tragic but memorable period of human history.

It’s been 75 years since this historic declaration formally began the conclusion of years of a long conflict that will forever be in the history books, a bloody and dangerous war that was fought in almost every part of the world that involved millions of active servicemen and women of the armed forces of the Allies, a war that will forever glorify them as the greatest generation ever to live on this earth. In these 6 long years, the world was forever changed, and the sacrifices of millions finally put to an end the evil ploys of the Axis Powers to push thru their ideologies and programs for the domination of the human race. In a span of such long years millions became heroes for their service in both the battlefield and the home front, determined at the cost of their lives to defeat the enemies of freedom and independence and to defend the poor and weak of society. Their sacrifices in the victory we all anticipate with great joy will never be forgotten.

We cannot forget too the entertainers and athletes as well who offered their lives in service to the cause of the long struggle against the Axis Powers, and the young people who prayed for the safety of their parents as they worked to win this long war. And most of all, we recall the millions who perished in the battlefield and the concentration and labor camps in enemy territory,  military, paramilitary and civilian.

For today only a few remain living among the millions who served in the ranks of the victorious armed forces, paramilitary organizations, law enforcement and emergency services of the Allied Powers who served up till this very day of the victory won by their hands against the Axis aggressor, and risked their lives to accomplish this very goal all over the world. In anticipation of this historic anniversary we thank them once more for their services to the cause of freedom and independence against the menance of the Axis powers and brought fourth the end of an old era and the beginning of a new period in human history.

That day of the beginning of the conclusion of the war is about to rise, a memorable day that will forever remain etched in our memories, as a day of great joy and celebration marking the end of all combat operations in the Asia-Pacific and the day peace came into the world after six long years of war. In the spirit of the heroes and martyrs of both the past and the present, let us all, as one united people, live the legacy of the victors in our lives and forever carry on the memories of those who risked their lives for the freedom and indepdence of our world, onwards toward the goal of a better world for our generations to come.

As we await the dawning of the day of the 75th year anniversary of the termination of hostilities of the Second World War in the Asia-Pacifc, may the legacy left behind by the victorious men and women of the Allied forces be remembered all  the more today and for all generations to come!

ETERNAL GLORY TO THE MLLIONS OF THE FALLEN AND THE HEROES AND VETERANS OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR IN EUROPE AND THE PACIFIC FROM 1939-1945, WHOSE LEGACY WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN BY ALL THE GENERATIONS TO COME!

ETERNAL GLORY TO ALL THOSE WHO GAVE THE ULTIMATE SACRIFICE FOR THE FREEDOM AND INDEPENDENCE OF OUR WORLD AGAINST FASCISM, NAZISM AND IMPERIALISM IN THE FIELDS OF BATTLE, THE CONCENTRATION CAMPS, AND IN THE HOME FRONT!

LONG LIVE THE VICTORIOUS MEN AND WOMEN IN THE SERVICE OF THE ALLIES OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR IN EUROPE, NORTHERN AFRICA AND THE ASIA-PACIFIC!

LONG LIVE ALL THE ALLIED MILITARY VETERANS OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR!

LONG LIVE THE INVINCIBLE AND FOREVER VICTORIOUS PEOPLE OF THE FREE WORLD AND ALL OUR SERVING ACTIVE AND RESERVE SERVICEMEN AND WOMEN AND VETERANS OF THE ARMED SERVICES OF ALL THE COMBATANT ALLIED COUNTRIES THAT HELPED WIN THIS GREAT WAR AGAINST FASCISM, NAZISM AND IMPERIALISM, AS WELL AS ALL OUR ACTIVE AND RESERVE SERVICE PERSONNEL, CIVILIAN EMPLOYEES AND VETERANS OF THE POLICE, FIREFIGHTING, FORESTRY, BORDER CONTROL, CUSTOMS AND RESCUE SERVICES AS WELL AS OUR YOUTH OF TODAY AND THE CHILDREN OF OUR TOMORROW WHO WILL CARRY ON THE LEGACY OF ALL THOSE WHO HAVE GONE BEFORE THEM, ESPECIALLY TO THE MILLIONS OF MEN AND WOMEN WHO TOOK PART IN THIS GREAT WORLD WAR!

LONG LIVE THE GLORIOUS 75TH YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THE END OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR IN THE PACIFIC THEATER OF OPERATIONS AND THE GREAT VICTORY OVER THE FORCES OF THE EMPIRE OF JAPAN AND THE AXIS POWERS!

GLORY TO THE ARMED FORCES OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, CANADA, THE UNITED KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN AND NORTHERN IRELAND AND FRANCE, TOGETHER WITH THE ARMED SERVICES OF THE OTHER VICTORIOUS COMBATANT COUNTRIES OF THE ALLIED POWERS, GUARDIAN DEFENDERS OF OUR DEMOCRATIC WAY OF LIFE, OUR FREEDOM AND OUR LIBERTY AND GUARANTEE OF A FUTURE WORTHY OF OUR GENERATIONS TO COME!

TO THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA AND CANADA AND TO PEOPLE ALL OVER THE WORLD, A VERY HAPPY 74TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE TERMINATION OF HOSTILTIES OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR IN THE ASIA-PACIFIC AND VICTORY OVER JAPAN DAY!

And may I repeat the immortal words of the Polish National Anthem:

Poland has not yet perished, so long as we still live!

CURRAHEE! AIR ASSAULT! ARMY STRONG! SEMPER FI!

Ooooooooooooooooooraaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!

   1730h, August 14, 2020, the 244th year of the United States of America, the 245th year of the United States Army, Navy and Marine Corps, the 126th of the International Olympic Committee, the 124th of the Olympic Games, the 102nd since the conclusion of the First World War, the 81st of the beginning of the Second World War in Europe, the 79th since the beginning of the Second World War in the Eastern Front and in the Pacific Theater, the 75th since the battles of Iwo Jima and Okinawa and the victories in Europe and the Pacific, the 73rd of the United States Armed Forces and the 53rd of the modern Canadian Armed Forces.

  Semper Fortis

JOHN EMMANUEL RAMOS-HENDERSON

Makati City, PH

  (Requiem for a Soldier) (Honor by Hans Zimmer)

(Slavsya from Mikhail Glinka’s A Life for the Tsar)

(Victory Day by Lev Leshenko)

(Last Post) (Taps) (Rendering Honors)

[salvatoreschool]

Julie Plec Tells Us How Hope's Finale Twist Will Affect Legacies in Season 2

[Warning: The following contains spoilers for the Season 1 finale of Legacies. Read at your own risk!]

Legacies did the unthinkable in its Season 1 finale, and now we're not sure whether Hope Mikaelson (Danielle Rose Russell) is dead or alive or hovering somewhere in between!

The finale saw the Salvatore School under attack from Triad Industries, and the confrontation eventually left Josie (Kaylee Bryant) in mortal peril. After she jumped in front of a bullet made from Malivore mud intended for Lizzie (Jenny Boyd), the poison slowly started to eat away at her. Only Hope's blood managed to save her, but we're wondering whether or not that will end up being a great thing considering she found a magical device in Alaric's office that could eventually release a pretty huge baddie — more on that later.

As for Hope, after facing off against this week's monster (a headless horseman, of all things), Ryan Clarke (Nick Fink) got the best of Hope and Landon (Aria Shahghasemi) and threw the final artifact into the Malivore pit, raising his father from banishment. Knowing she couldn't allow the monster-eating golem to return to Earth and use Landon's body as a meat suit, Hope killed Landon (temporarily, obvi) and threw herself into the pit along with Landon's brother. As the tribrid of the three species that created it, Hope realized she was the only thing that could destroy it, finally giving her loophole existence a purpose. Girl, you are too noble for your own good.

So, is that the end for Hope, especially now that no one even remembers her? And what does her "death" mean for everyone else but especially Rafael (Peyton Smith), who might now have to remain a wolf forever? TV Guide spoke to showrunner Julie Plec about this huge finale and where we go from here when Season 2 picks back up.

So Hope is officially erased, but are all traces of her really gone? Or can we hope to stumble across some clue to remembering her and getting her back in Season 2?

Julie Plec: There is hope, and there is an actual pitch for that, so your brain is in the right place, creatively.

Is Malivore dead now or did she just prevent him from rising?

Plec: That is the question, I think, that we're left with at the end of the season, which is — technically if she had destroyed him, would she be destroyed in the process? Maybe not. So the fact that no one remembers her might mean that there's still a blackness out there that is keeping her captive. And since we've already seen a glimpse of how s---ty that is, I hope that's not the case.

Can we expect to see a Hope-shaped hole in the lives of everyone left in Season 2?

Plec: That's exactly what we can expect to see. What's fun about it, and sad about it, is we'll be able to realize just how much impact Hope had in these people's lives without them even realizing what they're missing. And just understanding that they all feel individually like there's something that doesn't feel right and that they're struggling with this feeling of not being complete somehow. It just feels like such a universal experience, especially for teenagers. I'm looking forward to having each of those characters act out on that feeling.

If feels like Raf is the one most affected by her loss, since he's kind of stuck as a perma-wolf?

Plec: Yeah, Raf is screwed. Raf is a perma-wolf. Look, when Hayley (Phoebe Tonkin) on The Originals was turned into a wolf all that time, that really did a number on her, and Raf is a new werewolf, who is still a teenager. So to be stuck in your most primal and feral state for God knows how long, if he's ever even able to get out of there, that will be catastrophic.

Landon did learn that he was intended to be a "meat suit" for Malivore to let him procreate, but does he even remember that? And if not, is that still a looming threat in Season 2?

Plec: I think that's a good question. What, if anything, of his experience and all the information that he learned about Malivore will he remember? Even more so, what does it all mean now that Malivore doesn't appear to be functional anymore? So Landon is going to have a lot of questions moving forward, and a Hope-sized hole in his heart, as you've said.

I love the chemistry between Hope and Landon! Every time they're on-screen together, you just can't help but go, "Awww!"

Plec: Thank you! It's so pure; I think that's why I love it so much. It just feels really innocent and honest and pure in a way that you don't get a lot in relationships in movies and television. So I think that's why I really like it.

Will Triad Industries play a role moving forward, considering most of their staff was just killed or consumed by Malivore?

Plec: We may have seen the last of Triad for now in that I think M.G. (Quincy Fouse) made it very clear with his mother what role he expects her to not play in his life moving forward. I certainly don't think the organization is going anywhere, so they will be out there lingering in the shadows and maybe our heroes will cross paths with them another time.

The twins seem to have found the Ascendant, which The Vampire Diaries fans will recognize as the key to a prison world. How worried should we be about a visit from evil Uncle Kai (Chris Wood) if they start messing with that?

Plec: I think when a key that would open the lock that is keeping evil Uncle Kai imprisoned shows up on your screen you should always be afraid ... and also super, super psyched — which, by the way, is not me saying that Chris Wood has agreed to come back because I have not gotten any answers out of him yet, but I would love nothing more.

Will we be seeing more of Penelope in Season 2?

Plec: Penelope was a very successful character for us, and we always love the villain that ultimately finds a way to redeem her wicked, selfish, evil ways over the course of the season and leave us all crying and wanting more. Certainly my hope is that she remains in our universe and she, in spite of being in Belgium with her family, may make an appearance again. I can't make any promises, but I certainly would love to see her.

Can we also hope for the return of Clarke? Because I was really digging the revival of the whole supernatural brothers thing!

Plec: There's going to be a hole in the marketplace right now for supernatural brothers. We have not necessarily seen the last of Clarke. Certainly wherever Hope is, it seems to be that he is there as well. It depends on where that is and what that looks like and if we want to tell that story.

So if we want Hope back, we might have to get Clarke?

Plec: Exactly. Two for the price of one.

Are you looking to introduce a new big bad for Season 2 or are you hoping to stay invested in this Malivore storyline?

Plec: We are going to take a page out of Harry Potter and hope that Malivore can be an ongoing threat, much like Voldemort was able to be over the course of all the books. That is the goal and we will see how long we are able to do that.

And are you planning to keep the monster-of-the-week format or lean into more serialized storytelling.

Plec: I think our emotional and character stories will always be deeply serialized like The Vampire Diaries, but the structure of the monster of the week or a monster that can span a couple weeks has been a lot of fun for us, and we've really enjoyed it. So we'll definitely be continuing down that road.

Are there any plans to return to monsters we've seen and spared before like that gorgon who was getting flirty with M.G.?

Plec: There's absolutely opportunity for any of the monsters that we've seen before to come back again. I know my personal favorite is the necromancer. We've got some competition... people who loved the dryad, the gorgon — if we can figure out a way to make snakes cost less in visual effects, [it] has a better shot at coming back when technology can catch up to what we want to achieve. That was a "learn the hard way" kind of character.

Alaric's (Matthew Davis) position at the school has been left up in the air, so what can you say about the impact of potentially removing him as headmaster if that's how the council votes?

Plec: I think that for a man whose last decade-plus of his life has been committed wholly to his daughters and this school, if he wakes up one morning and is no longer the headmaster, that's going to be a big dramatic shift for him and I'd wonder how he would make it through that.

[spuekyblue-blog]

The Beckoning of Obgerrah

The first story I’ve written in my current setting.  It tells the tale of the monstrous reptile-people who live in the southwest nation of Etria, known as Obgerrah.  I hope you like reading it as much as I loved writing it.  Enjoy!

     No sunlight shone into the chamber, save for a single ray. Plunging down from a crude hole in the ceiling, it illuminated the surface of an ancient, blood-stained altar.  From the shadows all around the room, cold, reptilian eyes watched the surface of the pedestal and the small basket filled with bloodied organs which sat upon it.  Hearts, the onlookers knew.  Those of their own kind.

     The hepaoku priestess descended from her podium and began laying torches all around the circumference of the altar with her long, scaly fingers, magically lighting them ablaze as she went.  Her sonorous chant drifted through the temple: praises to Sarneiros, the god of knowledge, who had so graciously brought these brave souls back home from their final battle so that their legacy could be reborn even after death.

     While the common folk were captivated by the celestial cleric standing before them, Sakires’ eyes were fixated on one of six young warriors kneeling before the ritual, her head in a low bow before the procession and her tail curled into a spiral as a sign of reverence.  She and the others were donning heavy, ceremonial armor in anticipation of the gruesome rite. They had waited their entire lives for this moment: the day they became more than mere children.  Throughout their youths, they had displayed extraordinary strength, speed, and perception as hunters.  Now, they would finally be granted the most revered title in Obgerrah: Arytissi warrior.

     Gradually, the priestess’s chants grew louder, the anticipation in the room rising with her voice.  The makakiri gatherers ferociously stamped their feet against the earth, sending tremors throughout the temple.  Her hands tipped the basket over, spilling its contents all over the ground in front of the warriors, and in an instant, they lunged toward the hearts.  Reaching out with their long claws, they tore them to pieces and devoured what remained on the floor.

     The young warrior who Sakires had been eyeing finally stood up, letting loose a bellow of victory, soon followed by the others.  Blood drenched her black scales, and her eyes gleamed with purpose.  Although yesterday, many had fallen in the last conflict, Sakires and all of the makakiri knew that they were not lost forever.  Their courage and sacrifice would live on through these young fighters, and after their deaths, it would be passed on to the next, through the feasting of their hearts at the foot of the sacred altar.  Sakires was pleased; Ktalar would make a fine warrior, perhaps more so than himself one day.  On top of her ruthless nature, Sakires sensed something else extraordinary in her every time she fought: a passion for battle and thirst for justice unlike any student he had ever trained.

                                                        ~~~

     From the corner of the chamber stood another warrior.  She remembered the day she participated in this ritual, the day she became one of the Arytissi.  On that day she was much like these young ones: eager, determined, full of zeal.  What had changed her?  Why did it seem that she was the only one who stopped to question the ideals of the great hepaoku, who called themselves demigods and prophets?  And how many great warriors, like the ones being devoured here, had died defending a cause they didn’t know why they supported?  Etachil would not be like them.  She couldn’t die serving mad seers and a so-called god of knowledge who never revealed anything in his archives to his own people, let alone his face.  And yet she could not bring herself to leave her home of Obgerrah, the forest nation where the reptilian makakiri dwelled.  It was not unheard of for the makakiri to leave their homeland to pursue other ambitions; their honor would be stripped away, and most likely they would not be welcomed back with open arms.  But these things meant little to Etachil.  

     No, there was something else holding her back.  Etachil wasn’t afraid of Obgerrah.  She was enraged.  It wasn’t relief from this lifestyle she sought, but retaliation against a religion that had turned her and countless other noble warriors into slaves.

     And for what?  The goal of the Arytissi was clear: defend the world from its darkest secrets and artifacts, hidden away in the underground archives of Irthos Troth for millennia.  As a youth, Etachil, like all Arytissi in training, was taught by the hepaoku that if anyone were to let loose the terrible magic in the archives, it would spell disaster for not only the forests of Obgerrah, but for the entire world.

     This all made sense to Etachil, and indeed she had lived by these principles for many years.  In more recent times, however, she had been considering the Arytissi’s position in this task.  The makakiri were forbidden to enter the archives they dedicated their lives to protecting, lest they find what resides there desirable and use it for selfish purposes.  But what was the alternative?  Were the Arytissi meant to be no more than mindless pawns for Sarneiros?  What god of knowledge keeps his chosen people in the dark forever?  

     At this point, several other makakiri had withdrawn from the celebration to carry on with their daily activities.  Etachil wasn’t ready to leave yet.  She glanced at the parade of scaled creatures funneling out of the gaps in the temple’s walls, picking out faces she knew.  

     She watched Sakires, her old mentor, walking alongside Ktalar, one of the new recruits.  Although Sakires was very old, his body had only become more powerful since his youthful days.  His scales however, which were once black as pitch, had faded into an unpleasant green as the years passed, and the rich brown of his eyes had begun to fade into a dull grey.

     There was once a time where Sakires favored Etachil, but as he discovered her heretical values, he came to look upon her with contempt.  The two of them had seldom spoken to each other over the last few years, mostly because Etachil tended to avoid his presence whenever possible.

     In a few minutes, the temple was empty aside from the priestess and herself.  Etachil had no interest in hunting with the other warriors, although she doubted anyone would invite her anyhow.  Her beliefs were no secret anymore; at this point, she was accustomed to being ostracized by her fellow warriors.  

     The priestess hadn’t noticed her shifting uncomfortably in the corner of the temple yet.  The senses of the hepaoku were not as sharp as those of a makakiri.  Contrarily, Etachil heard every word the priestess uttered under her breath as she packed away her holy items and pots of blood and oil.  Even after the conclusion of the ritual, she continued to pray to her god, and for the success of the young warriors.

     In contrast to the enormous makakiri warriors, the hepaoku were slender, although they stood at roughly the same height.  Their scales were soft and green, like the leaves of the jungle trees at the beginning of summer.  They were born pupilless, but with the symbol of Sarneiros branded upon their eyes, marking them as his children and oracles.

     Etachil’s gaze pierced into the back of the cleric’s head.  Since the hepaoku spent most of their lives underground, their presence was uncommon in times of peace.  This was only the ninth time Etachil had seen one in her seventeen years.  And yet she was expected to interpret everything they said as divine truth.  But now, Etachil was getting ideas for how to uncover the reality of her world.  She felt a tug on her senses coming from the tunnels: ever so subtle, but irresistibly strong.  Today, she would retrieve what had been lost in the archives.

     The priestess, as she finished gathering her things and began to proceed deeper into the dark corridors of the temple, contemplated the events that had occurred these past few days.  How generous Sarneiros was to have granted Irthos Troth such mighty and valiant guardians!  The makakiri weren’t by any means magically or technologically advanced, but their keen senses, their fury in battle, and their ability to kill without remorse were enough to quell the ambitions of the deadliest sorcerer.

     Unable to perceive her stalker in the darkness, the hepaoku effortlessly navigated the familiar maze of twisting halls beneath the temple.  She had spent all three centuries of her life in the tunnels of Irthos Troth, visiting the surface for a few days every four years or so to preach to the makakiri and the other folk who dwelled in Obgerrah’s harsh jungles.  If she had known she was being followed, she would not have been so careless.  The law of Sarneiros only granted the hepaoku the right to enter Irthos Troth, along with a few select Arytissi veterans who he had hand picked to guard the entrances.

     Etachil’s mind was bubbling with excitement and fear now.  Never had she dared to set foot in Irthos Troth, lest she get lost in the dark, treacherous caverns, never to return home.  But this immaculate guide in front of her opened up a world of possibilities.  Yes, she despised the hepaoku, but if she could use this one to enter the interior of the cave, and then get past the rest of them undetected, she could confirm or disprove her suspicions about Irthos Troth.  If she was wrong, she could continue her life as an Arytissi, free of the burdens of ignorance.  But if she was right, and she suspected she was, everything would change.

     The sounds of the forest overhead disappeared as Etachil pursued the priestess.  She took note of every turn she took, knowing she would have to use her own sense of navigation to exit the caverns once she had the knowledge she desired.  

     Torchlight began to fill the caverns with a somber glow, and she could now see in full detail the elaborate carvings decorating the stone walls.  Never before had she looked upon such masterful artwork; the makakiri had little regard for aesthetics or expression.  She saw thousands of faces gazing at her from the bas-reliefs on either side of her: makakiri, hepaoku, and other creatures she had never seen, ones that lacked scales but stood on two legs, held unfamiliar weapons, and conjured flames from their hands.

     Her attention must have slipped as she looked upon the beautiful masonry surrounding her.  When Etachil finally turned towards her unsuspecting guide, she realized she had been seen.  The priestess gasped in surprise as she discovered the black-scaled warrior tracing her path, blades in hand and her maw hanging wide open.  They saw each other for a moment, and Etachil, as startled as her guide, instinctively sprung forward.

     Before she knew what she was doing, Etachil’s bone dagger had dug itself deep into the priestess’s gut.  The hepaoku’s frightened ramblings came to a sudden pause as she looked down to see white ichor pouring out of her wound.  The creature tasted death in the back of her throat, and slumped to the ground, motionless.  

     Etachil darted back, instantly realizing the magnitude of what she had done.  She could not deny that she took satisfaction in seeing the cleric lying on the ground, life fading from her eyes, but if her fellow warriors found out about this… The murder of a hepaoku was an unforgivable crime.  And yet here Etachil stood, standing over the lifeless corpse with none to bear witness to the killing.  

     She must have stood there motionless for over a minute thinking about what to do next before spotting a towering silhouette emerge from the opposite end of the corridor.  No doubt one of the makakiri who guarded the uppermost portions of Irthos Troth.  If they found Etachil, it was over; the Arytissi didn’t take executions lightly.  She could be stoned to death, confined until she died of thirst, pierced by the venom of a blade viper and left to die in the forest, or worse.  

     But she hadn’t been noticed yet.  The priestess had barely made a sound when she died; perhaps she could slink back into the shadows and escape accusation.  But Arytissi were skilled trackers and were blessed with acute senses.  Or, if he didn’t find her, then he would bring more warriors to investigate the area, inevitably spelling her doom.

     Etachil was small for a makakiri, standing just under six feet, but she held the advantage of surprise.  Before the warrior approached, she leapt behind a stalagmite and wiped the pearly ichor from her blade.  As soon as he came forward, she would lunge from her hiding place and sink it into his throat.  A single, clean blow, and he would be dead; Etachil would be safe.  But the closer he came, the more her hands shook.  The morality of the deed didn’t bother her remotely; makakiri were born to kill without remorse, not to mention she had already committed a crime that would see her executed.  It was the sheer size of the savage creature that stunned her with fear.  He stood at nearly eight feet in height, and his colossal, heavily-muscled arms gripped an enormous wooden club with extreme ease.  Etachil worried that she wouldn’t be able to get past such a wide range to swing her comparatively tiny weapon at his vital areas.

     She would have to use her more slender form to her advantage.  This one was a brute, and his heavy club would have a hard time keeping up with her nimble blades.  He had already reacted to seeing the priest’s body and was now searching the area for any evidence of the killer.  Etachil waited for the perfect moment to lash out, but it never came.  They made eye contact.  He let out a gargling howl to signal more Arytissi to the area.  She had waited too long.

     Etachil took the opportunity to dart behind him, putting her in a more advantageous position, but he was quicker than she thought.  He swung his club diagonally at her, missing, but only inches away from crushing her skull.  But Etachil had fought opponents larger than this one before and knew their disadvantages.  The momentum of the club carried his arms to the other wall of the corridor, his weapon colliding against the stone walls with a colossal thud.  Before he could regain his balance, Etachil was on him, slashing into his throat with unbridled fury.  But unlike the priest, he didn’t die quietly; his death throes were violent and frenzied, and his shouts rang throughout the caverns.  Hardly the clean kill she had been hoping for.

     By now, several Arytissi must have heard the commotion and would be here momentarily.  To run back the way she had come would be a fool’s errand; the Arytissi would see her, and she was far too exhausted from the battle to take one warrior, let alone an entire patrol unit.  She had dug herself into a ditch, and the only way to go was down, deeper into the caverns, toward whatever strange secrets Sarneiros kept so thoroughly hidden.  If fate had planned it so, perhaps she could find something to save her within the archives of Irthos Troth.

                                                           ~~~

     Hours had passed since the ritual had concluded.  The rest of the ceremony had been brief; the priestess gave her blessings to the graduating students, and they were congratulated by their friends and mentors.  Now, as was customary for such ceremonies, the newest Arytissi warriors, and a few others, prepared to embark on a grand hunt through the jungles of Obgerrah.

     Ktalar had doffed her heavy, bloodstained ceremonial attire, and was now equipping her lightweight combat armor.  The Arytissi covered themselves minimally on such hunts.  This made their movements faster, quieter, and more graceful, and spared them from the intense heat of Obgerrah’s jungles.  Arytissi armor was made of wood, bones, hide, and whatever metal the scaled folk could salvage from the caverns.  Although the specific pieces of armor they wore was based upon preference, they commonly covered parts of their shoulders, forearms, legs, and chests.  Some warriors also donned animal skulls as helmets, not for protection, but to display their ferocity to their fellow hunters, or the rare sentient enemy they came across.

     The signature feature of Arytissi armor was the spines they decorated it with, usually made of bone or bronze, or sometimes iron.  The spikes were most prevalent on vital areas such as the chest, and were effective for grappling.

     The weapons the Arytissi wielded were also based upon preference.  Ktalar acquired a bow and a leather quiver, as well as a crude spear: a large branch with a sharpened gharm fang tied to the end.  She fancied attacking from a distance, preferring to optimize stealth rather than brute force.  Finally, she pocketed a small pouch of light yellow liquid.  Her instincts told her she would need it today.

                                                           ~~~

     The further Etachil proceeded into the depths of the tunnel, the more she felt it.  Something calling out to her, promising retribution against her enemies.  Cold, damp, and dark, it resonated with something within, writhing in pain as it was burnt by the flames of discontent: the essence of her hatred and anger.  

     Truly, the events that had taken place today were not the result of chance.  Fate had brought her down here for a reason.  She was to meet the source of this malign energy, and it would save her from the agony she felt living alongside the monstrous Arytissi.  It would defend her from the dissatisfied gaze of Sakires.  The biting words of the hepaoku.  The inescapable presence of Sarneiros, the avaricious god who hoards limitless power and knowledge to keep it from a world he deems too weak to wield it.  The darkness of Obgerrah would fall into ruin, and a new era of truth would rise from the void.  For the first time in years, Etachil had a purpose.

     She had become so lost in thought that she forgot about her surroundings.  She dove into the maze of lightless caverns under Obgerrah, and as if guided by divine instinct, took all of the correct turns toward her unknowable destination.  Etachil no longer needed eyes to see.  The vile one guided her every step, its influence pulling her into the depths, like a carnivorous plant luring insects to its hungry maw with its sweet aroma.

     Her eyes caught a glimpse of light.  Not light as she knew it; not sunlight or the light of a flame, but a repulsive, black light that imbued the tunnels with malice.  The air tore at her lungs, making every breath an effort, but she continued on in a corpse-like trance.  Ghastly images of sinister gods were carved on the walls all around her, and the scent of death became stronger with every step she took.  She took no notice of these things.  Her entire world was centered on the ancient black casket in front of her.  

     Without thinking, she removed the lid on the container to reveal a small object wrapped in linen and caked with dried, black blood.  Etachil’s claws reached down for the artifact.  It was cold to the touch.  As she felt her senses coming back to her, she could feel it subtly pulsating in the palms of her hands.  The vibration was accompanied by a deep growl, barely audible to the ears of even a makakiri, but resounding through Etachil’s mind.  The determination she had felt dissipated as the seeds of horror and repugnance sprouted in her heart.  This never should have happened.  She never should have gone deeper into the caverns.  She would have felt far more at ease being tortured to death by the Arytissi right now.

     Etachil wanted to leave.  She wanted to dash out of this repulsive cavern as quickly as she had come.  Sakires, the hepaoku, the Arytissi, who made her into an outcast… she had tolerated them for years and could keep doing so for many more.  But this, whatever vile thing she held in her claws right now, would kill her if nothing else did.  Despite this, she couldn’t bring herself to drop the thing into the casket and leave.  It was now like a part of her consciousness, and although it lay limp in her grasp, it clutched onto her fear and frustration and wouldn’t let go, try as she might to shake it off.

     She couldn’t bear to stay here any longer.  Etachil used every ounce of her willpower to force herself outside of the strange chamber and began running back through the winding tunnels the way she came.  The thing was a parasite, gnawing through her mind and sapping her willpower.  It would feast on Etachil’s psyche until she was nothing, and it would finally have the power to plague the rest of the world with its disease.  The scaled warrior could try to flee, but she was already lost the moment she laid her hands on its old wrappings.

     Through the dark tunnels Etachil stumbled, her mind a whirlwind of terror and regret.  After several long, desperate hours of helplessly clawing against the stone walls in search of the way back home, she navigated to the surface without running into any of her kin, but did so clutching the vile one’s host in her arms.

                                                           ~~~

     Ktalar lay motionless on the ground, concealed by the thick jungle foliage, hardly breathing.  Any other creature would dismiss her for a boulder sitting behind a tangle of vines, but her sharp eyes would have sensed the presence of the tiniest rodent passing by.  She couldn’t afford to keep track of how long she had been waiting, lest her concentration slipped.  It could have been minutes or hours; she paid no attention.  Nor did she notice how hungry she was, or the thorns she was kneeling on, digging into her scales.  She forgot herself.  All she knew was her surroundings, her senses completely entwined in every movement that occurred here.  Such was the acuity of the Arytissi.

     The hunting trip had gone well thus far.  Ktalar and her peers had encountered a Gharm, an enormous scaled beast with devastating strength and uncanny fortitude.  These creatures, although they lacked the cunning of the makakiri, were considered to be their greatest foes; they were gluttonous things, and had a particular taste for the flesh of the makakiri.  The battle was short though, and it ended with the new warriors sitting triumphantly upon its bloody body.  Such a kill would be celebrated for days.

     Not long after, however, a messenger had come back from the village bearing news that a hepaoku and an Arytissi warrior had been found dead in Irthos Troth.  They deduced that a fellow Arytissi had betrayed them to seek the cursed treasures that lay inside the underground chambers.

     Ktalar and the rest of her patrol had promptly spread themselves within a mile’s radius of Irthos Troth’s entrance.  In time, the traitor would have to emerge from the caverns, and if they were skilled enough to get in, these warriors would have to be attentive to make sure they didn’t get out.

     Ever so slowly and quietly, Ktalar drew an arrow from her quiver and soaked its tip into the pouch of yellow liquid on her belt: the venom of a blade viper, one of the most treacherous and deadly creatures in Obgerrah.  Once her arrow hit its target and the poison entered the traitor’s bloodstream, it would only be a matter of time before they collapsed from the pain.  Ktalar’s ammunition was loaded into her weapon and ready to fire at the flick of her thumb.  Adrenaline pumped all throughout her body.

     Some time later, she heard the first sign of her prey.  A rustle in the branches overhead, and the falling of leaves.  The pressure on her bowstring increased as her eyes scanned the understory above her head, searching for the indicative black scales of a makakiri.  

     The moment she saw movement, the pressure was released; her arrow soared through the air and dug itself into flesh.  Her target’s gasp of pain was almost inaudible through the branches, but Ktalar heard it crystal clear.  Indeed, it was the voice of a makakiri.  After sitting motionless for so long, Ktalar sprung to her full height and drew her spear.  Her target was wounded.  Ktalar no longer had need for stealth.

                                                          ~~~

     Just as she was beginning to believe she could escape, Etachil’s thigh erupted with a deep, cold pain.  Her balance was thrown off, and she nearly tumbled through the branches below her.  The sensation was unmistakable.  She had felt it in her youth, while hunting with Sakires.  

     Back then, her foot had been caught on a dead branch, and she had tumbled into a shrub.  The despicable creature had sprung out at her before she knew what was happening, its fangs digging into her scales and injecting its cruel venom into her veins.  The blade viper, the same creature whose poison the Arytissi applied to their arrows to make their sting even more lethal.  If the initial impact didn’t kill the target, then the venom would, or at least slow it down long enough for the hunters to land the decisive blow.

     Etachil cursed and peered through the branches below her to see a young Arytissi warrior standing with her grisly weapon in hand, pointing its tip toward her.  She didn’t recognize her at first; for her face was concealed by a bone helm.  Knowing very well that these could be her final moments, Etachil desperately tried to climb upward through the branches of the forest, but the venom was already rapidly spreading through her body.  She thought about the item she found in the archives.  She prayed that it would free her from this agony, so that she might escape death, even for a few more days.  It was in vain, of course.  Etachil had already fulfilled her purpose, and the vile one had goals far more complex than the scaled folk could begin to fathom.

     Ktalar was already in hot pursuit.  She was as skilled at climbing as Etachil, if not superior.  The layers of branches did nothing to slow her down.  A vehement battle cry burst from her throat, stirred by her desire to draw blood today.  As Ktalar drew closer, Etachil could now see the eyes of her killer.  She wore the same expression she had earlier that day at the ceremony: ravenous bloodlust, and determination to feed her pride.  Etachil was to be killed by Sakires’ favorite pet.  

     Etachil knew her life was over, but in her final effort, she drew a shortsword from its sheath and plunged it into Ktalar’s chest with all of her weight.  The bronze spines on Ktalar’s armour impaled Etachil’s wrist, but she could no longer feel any pain.  The vile one had already made her into an empty husk, unable to feel anything but anger and fear.

                                                            ~~~

     As the thief dropped from the branches and drove her blade into her flesh, Ktalar realized she had let her attention slip in her impatience.  Etachil carried her weight onto her body, nearly snapping the branches beneath her.  Ktalar struggled to push her off, grabbed her prey by the tail, and threw her onto the forest floor below.  Etachil tumbled through layers upon layers of branches, and felt several of her ribs snap as she hit the forest floor with a deep thud.  Her scales were soaked in blood now, and she felt her breath weakening as her body began to fail her.  She couldn’t find the motivation to try to get up, much less put up a fight.

     Blocking her wound with her forearm, Ktalar climbed down from the forest’s branches.  She reached the bottom and spun her spear at the traitor’s throat.  It was one of Sakires’ former students, one that had fallen out of his favor many years ago.  

     “Etachil, “ she spat.  “By your actions you bring shame to your allies, your god, and your mentor.  What have you to say in your defense?”  

     Etachil did what she could to draw breath into her lungs and replied, “Nothing”. 

     Silence filled the air between the two warriors.  

     Ktalar began again, “Do you have anything to say to your fellow warriors?”

     Again, she replied, “No, nothing at all”. 

     “What about to Sakires?  To the hepaoku?  To Sarneiros?”  

     Etachil shook her head.  As she lay in a puddle of her own blood on the muddy rainforest soil, she felt the poison destroying her insides, her spirit fading from her body.  

     “I have nothing to say to them.  But to you young Ktalar, I have one request.  After my death, cut out my heart so that I may live on in the next generation of warriors.”  

     Ktalar cocked her head and responded, “You believe you have the right to pass your spirit along after what you have done?”  

     Etachil’s gaze shifted to the clump of bloody linen lying under a shrub inches away from her face.  

     Her words slurred by exhaustion, she shook her head and muttered, “I have no right to ask this of you, but it is my dying wish that I become an Arytissi warrior once again.”  

     She wanted to warn Ktalar about the vile one, but couldn’t find the words before she passed.

                                                          ~~~

     A telltale howl rang through the hunting grounds of the Arytissi.  The eyes of several warriors, hidden in the jungle’s foliage, turned to see Ktalar, wounded, but triumphant.  

     “I have killed the traitor, “ she roared.  “You may reveal yourselves.”  

     One by one, the warriors emerged from their hiding spots and approached Ktalar, congratulating her for her flawless victory.  None of them, least of all Sakires, were surprised nor troubled to hear that Etachil had been the traitor in question, nor that Ktalar had been skilled enough to find her and strike her down with a single poisoned arrow.

     That evening, Ktalar and the rest of the hunting party set up camp in the wilderness, feasting on the flesh of the Gharm they had killed, raw and bloody of course.  Although Ktalar made sure to act with pride, she could not help but be restless from her encounter with Etachil.  Sakires had raised Ktalar under the notion that anyone who stole from Irthos Troth was vile and beyond forgiveness, and so the sincerity of Etachil’s words had caught her off guard.  She tried as best as she could to push these thoughts aside, at least for today.  Sakires passed her the largest leg of the fallen beast, crowning her as the honored participant of today’s hunt.  She accepted it with gratitude.  

     But as she lay down to sleep that night, her head was filled with questions.  Were Etachil’s words sincere?  If so, what had she seen in Irthos Troth that had humbled her?  And above all, what was Ktalar going to do with the makakiri heart concealed in her quiver?

[detroithistoricalsociety]

I’ll Be There For You, When You Can’t Find the Door?

Nestled within the archives of the Detroit Historical Society are a pair of surprising pop culture artifacts–copies of the draft lyrics for both the theme song of the 90s T.V. hit Friends, and for the Pointer Sisters’ 1984 single “Neutron Dance.”  The Detroit connection for these two songs may not be readily apparent to many, but if you check the sleeve of your well-worn copy of the Pointer Sister’s album Break Out, and pay close attention to the end credits of Friends, you’ll find the common factor is proud Detroit native Allee Willis.  Willis’ signature works may be her collaborations with Earth, Wind, and Fire, including their funk classic “September.”  However she has worked with a myriad of other artists, ranging from Bonnie Raitt to DMC, and Patti LeBelle to the Del Rubio Triplets.  In fact, you very well may have recently joined Willis as one of the 5,000 Detroiters who contributed their voices to her recent anthem for the city, “The D,” which she recorded over the course of five years at various events across the area, including stops at both the Detroit Historical Museum and the Dossin Great Lakes Museum.  Willis, hot on the heels of being honored with a Distinguished Detroiter award at the 2018 Detroit Music Awards, agreed to answer a couple questions for our blog about the draft lyrics, her creative process, and her other works.

On page 20, the chorus to “I’ll Be There For You” begins to shape up.

Across 27 typewritten pages, the lyrics to what eventually would become the 45-second Friends theme, “I’ll Be There For You,” reveal an involved process.  Willis began by working directly from the show’s pilot; “I watched the pilot and wrote down every characteristic of every character and then tried to make up lines about them.”   From these concepts flowed a litany of possible frustrations felt between the characters—ranging from dealing with the smells of second-hand aroma therapy to the tolls of freeloading roommates—contrasted with the now iconic affirmation of support expressed in the chorus.  Willis explained, “when you’re writing for something so specific as a TV theme you try every possible permutation of every line that you like. The only thing the producer of the show told me was that the title was to be ‘I’ll Be There for You.’ So I had at least 25 different choruses to sing for the producers with that line in it and at least 50 verses when I presented it to them.” About these unused lines, she continued, “if a line is really great and doesn’t get used in a song I catalog it and usually end up using it in something else. But the Friends lyric had to be so specific and so simple that I didn’t save any of those lines for further use.”

With Willis’ lyrics to set the tone, Friends drew millions of viewers each Thursday between 1994 and 2004.  Image courtesy imdb.com.

Reading the drafts today, there’s almost a sense of inevitability each time one of the final lyrics first appears.  Willis describes how these breakthroughs played out during the writing process; “The first line I got that I knew was a keeper was ‘Your job’s a joke, you’re broke, your love life’s DOA.’  I always liked internal rhymes, especially on long lines.  And the ‘A’ in ‘DOA’ is a great syllable to hold if the note is long. Second one I got that I knew was a keeper was ‘Well it hasn’t been your day, your week, your month or even your year.’  Something was falling apart in the lives of all the characters and I liked making a play on a common phrase.”

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In her notes, Willis mentions performing early versions of the theme for the show’s producers on the studio lot.  While reading the lyrics, it’s tempting to attempt to sing along yourself to see how these early drafts might have sounded.  When asked if these nascent versions of the theme followed the now familiar final melody, Willis responded, “The melody, written by Michael Skloff, remained the exact same from the time it was written to what we ended up with. I usually write both music and lyrics but I needed one more song to fulfill my publishing deal, which I was eager to get out of. So I agreed to just write the lyric. I never expected it to be a hit.”

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Willis’ “Neutron Dance” is widely remembered for scoring the chase through the streets of—appropriately—Detroit near the beginning of the 1984 classic Beverly Hills Cop.  However it was originally conceived for a very different movie, Walter Hill’s cult “rock & roll fable” Streets of Fire.  Befitting that film’s bleak yet musical retro-futuristic setting Willis bridged the concepts of 1950s doo-wop with nuclear devastation, and brought in a bit of her own experiences.  Willis elaborates, “I hadn’t seen Streets of Fire before writing the song but was told that people were trying to escape a nuclear holocaust. So I knew that the hook line had to have something to do with fire, explosion, or nuclear something.”

Even within that premise, Willis made the song’s themes personal and easily relatable.  She reveals, “The entire song was written in under an hour. It was very autobiographical. It was the first time in years that I had gone without hits and I wanted to write a song about not giving up and that if your life isn’t working it’s up to you to make a change. Someone could push the button tomorrow and we’d all be up in smoke so get off your ass and do something—i.e. Do the Neutron Dance. When we (co-wrote with Danny Sembello) finished the song in 58 minutes we had everything but the title.”

Willis brainstormed a series of concepts evocative of nuclear war, before settling on “Neutron Dance.”

Among the photographic reproductions of her handwritten notes, Willis included the page where she brainstormed possible titles; “As a working title we had ‘I’m just burning on the barbecue.’ I knew the ‘I’m just burning’ was right but knew ‘barbecue’ couldn’t stay, especially because the song wasn’t about barbecue. I kept wanting to use the word ‘neutron’ and was driving down the 405 freeway in LA one day and the words just popped into my head like a glowing neon sign. ‘Neutron Dance’ seemed appropriate as it got the burning point across but added some fun with the use of the word ‘dance’.”  Willis explains that the song was “thankfully rejected” from Streets of Fire, and instead recorded by the Pointer Sisters.  It was this version which made its way onto the Grammy-winning Beverly Hills Cop soundtrack.  Perhaps as an auspicious sign, in that movie, Eddie Murphy’s Axel Foley sports a t-shirt from Mumford High School, Willis’ alma mater.

Beverly Hills Cop opened with a chase through the streets of Detroit set to the Pointer Sisters’ “Neutron Dance.”  Image courtesy imdb.com.

Of course, I also had to ask Willis about the endearing legacy of “September.”  Every September 21st, the song leaps back to the forefront the popular consciousness, making its presence known both over the radio waves, and in recent years as a trending topic on social media.  Was this annual relevance by design?  And just what was the significance of that date anyway?  Willis explained, “The only thing I knew about September when I started writing it with Maurice White, who had already started the music with the Earth, Wind & Fire guitar player Al McKay, was that he wanted ‘September’ as the title. We wrote it the first day we met. We tried singing every date of the month but the 21st felt the best. I only found out a month ago from his wife, almost 40 years after the song was written, that September 21st was the due date of their son. But at that time as far as I knew it was just the date that sang the best.”

Along with the lyrics, Willis also donated copies of several records that she worked on, including this 45 of Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September” from 1978.

Last month, ahead of schedule, September became a topic of hot debate when Taylor Swift released a fiercely maligned country-tinged cover of the funk classic.  Willis was initially supportive of news of the cover, but her response became more measured upon hearing it.  Willis has promised to address the controversy in her upcoming performance, “Allee Willis Loves Detroit,” at the City Theatre on May 18th and 19th.  When asked for a hint as to how she’ll be tackling the Swift situation, Willis shrewdly responded, “For that you’re going to have to come to the show! No teasers. I will just say that the show is very very funny, stuffed with hits, filled with detailed stories about how the songs were written, I auction off stuff from my vast pop culture collection, and I guarantee it’s unlike any other songwriter show you seen before. And I talk about Taylor Swift. Prepare for a wild evening!”

I’ll Be There For You, When You Can’t Find the Door? Nestled within the archives of the Detroit Historical Society are a pair of surprising pop culture artifacts--copies of the draft lyrics for both…

[the-redmane-family]

The Deaths of Emelye Nesterova, Part 3

[ Though it’s taken me slightly longer to complete than I initially imagined, Emelye’s introductory story concludes with this final part! Enjoy!

Link to Part 1: http://the-redmane-family.tumblr.com/post/172997503680/the-deaths-of-emelye-nesterova-part-1

Link to Part 2: http://the-redmane-family.tumblr.com/post/173295139370/the-deaths-of-emelye-nesterova-part-2 ]

For what seemed like an eternity, the priest and the ranger sat in silence. The memory of Emelye’s final moments hung between them like a thick tapestry, thicker still than the partition that now separated them in the rotted wooden confessional. She sat unbreathing, held in what seemed to be a duty-bound pause, until the dark bishop spoke again.

“And so, for a time, your mind was lost to the Scourge, your soul ensnared by the icy grasp of the Frozen Throne.”

“Yes.”

“But it was not so forever. She found you. She set you free.”

“Yes.”

Another paused followed from the deep voice. When next it spoke, there was a hushed reverence to it. “As it was with all of our people. Yes… the Shadows have chosen her to lead us unto that dark horizon.”

“It is as you say, bishop.”

“I digress, Darkmar. Tell me again of the killing of your brother. It was some time after your joining the Forsaken, was it not?” The air between them held an ominous charge, as if the man who now urged such recollections knew of the emotional weight they carried, perhaps even relished the chance to bring that sentimentality once more into the light—and once more to smash it to pieces with the hammer of Forsaken justice.

“Yes, it was,” she replied simply. “Neither my brother nor I much cared to reflect on our newfound freedom. I guess we’ve just never been ones to let our thoughts get in the way of our actions. So we found work to do. There was plenty to be done, and he soon found himself among the Royal Apothecary Society, while I joined the Forsaken military. It was an easy choice because it was duty. And duty has always made sense to me.”

“A credit to your father’s legacy. Even in death, his daughter remains steadfast.”

Emelye smiled bitterly, a smile that her confessor could not see. It was gone by the time she spoke again. “Me, yes. My brother, not so much.”

“Tell me of his crime.”

“He kept his misgivings a secret—even from me. Always he told me of things when we were younger, but being among the undead… being undead ourselves, it changed us forever. We both felt it. I accepted it, but Kegan… Kegan couldn’t handle the experiments that the apothecaries engaged in. Even having apprenticed with an apothecary in his life… of course, I didn’t find any of this out until later. After I was sent to hunt him down.”

“And why were you dispatched on such an errand?”

Emelye gave another brief pause before she continued. At last, the moment was upon her. The killing. Another chance to snuff out the unlife of the baby brother she’d once sung to sleep when the drafty loft of their home woke him from his tender rest. Safe in the loving hands of his sister. Hands that were fated to take the very life they once safeguarded.

“An apothecary reported a break in at the Society’s vaults. Kegan was clumsy, and didn’t take care to cover his tracks. None of his companions thought to dispose of the witnesses, either. They were on a mission of morality, and to kill anything was unthinkable to them.” She frowned. “But I’d have rather him killed fellow Forsaken than what he did next.”

“What did he do?”

“He went to the Alliance.” The chainmail-clad woman uttered the word venomously. “There were four in total—my brother, a woman called Alina, and two other men, Ricter and Dermot. Ordinary citizens who had joined the Society and, by chance, happened upon a collection of artifacts that set them on edge. The bloodstones.”

An audible shifting sounded from the other side of the partition. “Go on.”

“I still don’t know what power lurked within those stones. I’m not a mage, or a scholar. But whatever the bloodstones were capable of, it scared my brother. And apparently he wasn’t the only one frightened.” She grimaced, recalling the cold feel of the stones in her satchel as she had transported them back to the Forsaken magus—a formless malice that scratched at the corners of her mind, yearning to be let in. But she had ignored it then, as she ignored the temptation to dwell on it now.

“So, he convinced the others to help him. They stole from the Forsaken. They stole from the Dark Lady. And they fled south, to Hillsbrad, where they willingly turned themselves over to the humans at the Lordamere Internment Camp, to the warden who oversaw the installation. Belamoore was her name. It didn’t take long for our agents to track him down… and when they did, well.” The woman fell silent for a moment. “Well, the magus charged with their retrieval sent for me.”

“Wordeen Voidglare.” The brooding priest spoke the name disinterestedly.

“He saw an opportunity,” Emelye continued. “An opportunity to test me. To see if disloyalty ran in the family… to ensure that, one way or another, he wouldn’t have to worry about the Darkmar siblings ever again. You see, I’d been working out of Tarren Mill as a scout for some time, assisting the Deathstalkers in probing for weaknesses along the outskirts of Southshore and the Hillsbrad Fields. Before they were blighted into oblivion.” The ranger furrowed her brow, her face twisting into a hard, determined stare as she studied the decrepit floorboards of the confessional. “So Voidglare sent for me. And he instructed me to kill Kegan, to kill his companions, and to return the bloodstones to him.”

Silence followed from the other side of the small booth. After a pregnant pause, the deep voice sounded again. “How was the manner of his death? How did your brother meet his fate?”

“Like a coward.” The reply came without pause. Emelye lifted her eyes to study the far wooden wall, her voice tinged with bitterness as she spoke. “It was easy enough to slip through the camp’s perimeter. Just me and two others. That was all we needed. In and out, silent as the shadows. We found Alina, Ricter, Dermot, and disposed of them one by one. The Alliance fools hadn’t even taken the bloodstones from them. It was twice the reward for half the effort: the Dark Lady’s artifacts retrieved, and the traitors who stole them snuffed out.

“Then we found Kegan. The last of the four to die, fittingly. I remember every detail. The look on his face when he saw me enter. Recognition. Acceptance. Resignation. The fight had gone out of him—the light in his eyes that I remembered from so long ago. The first day he came home from his work at that apothecary in Stratholme,” Emelye said as her voice grew softer, “and the day that I drove a sword through his heart. I stared at him, disbelieving, and said ‘Little brother… what have you done?’” The ranger’s voice was barely a whisper now as she repeated the words, her face still set in a look of determination. “‘Little brother… what have you done?’ I’ll never forget his reply, just as I’ll never forget when father said goodbye for the last time. He said, ‘Remember father, sister. A choice between what’s right and what’s easy. This is right.’” The ranger stopped for a moment. “I had never hated him more. To invoke father like that. As if doing my duty was easy. Loyalty is right. Stealing is easy. Duty is right. Fleeing is easy.”

“He knew the price of his misdeeds. None can long elude the justice of the Forsaken.”

Emelye seemed not to hear him as she continued. “He was clutching the red, oval-shaped gemstone in his hand when my blade pierced his chest. Sometimes I wonder if he had intended to defend himself with it… to use it against me, somehow. But I don’t think he did. He would rather have died than be Forsaken any longer. He would rather have died than harm me.” The ruminative tone quickly evaporated. “He was weak. And a coward.”

“And yet, he was your brother.”

“Yes.” She paused. “He was my brother.” The final words of the woman’s confession echoed the first, signaling an unannounced end to the shadowy bishop’s methodical, meandering interrogation. For a moment longer, she sat in silence until the sound of creaking wood came from the other side of the partition.

“Come, Darkmar. We have work to do.”

Emelye stood wordlessly, moving with a soldier’s grace as she stepped out of the confessional and into the relatively small back room where it was located, her footsteps thudding dully on the wooden floorboards. The tall priest stood with his hands folded behind his back, peering down at her out of sickly, aged yellow eyes.

“I have an assignment for you, my shadow hand. It is an errand of great importance.”

The ranger mimicked the priest’s posture, straightening her back and standing with her armored hands clasped behind her, over the dark cloak she wore. “Yes, bishop. What do you require?”

Her confessor narrowed his gaze, his bushy eyebrows knitting together as the sallow skin on his face creased with lines of age and undeath. “The time has come for you to take up your brother’s place within the Royal Apothecary Society. I have worked among their ranks for some time, observing the apothecaries, assisting with inquiries, steering the wayward sheep from… seditious proclivities.” He continued, his low voice seeming to fill the space of the small room with its authoritative timbre. “And now that your duties have brought you back to Lordaeron, I ask that you continue the work of the Shadow in the halls of the Apothecarium. Learn their craft. Assist them with their weaponry and their constructs. Protect them in the field. Bring a steady hand and an equanimous mind.”

Emelye offered no protest, but the look on her face did little to hide her apparent surprise at the bishop’s instructions. The thought of joining the very organization that her brother had served years ago was one she hadn’t considered until this very moment.

“Understood, bishop. What of my work with the Forsaken military?”

“You will continue there as ever you have ere this meeting,” the man replied. “And therein lies your inherent value to the Society. The disparate entities that exist to protect the Forsaken must be inseparable. Doubtless you will find that much of the work overlaps… for the same blight created by the apothecaries is also deployed on the field of battle.”

“The Stormheim strain was quite potent,” Emelye said. “The wreck of the Black Rose in the Cove of Nashal had a remarkable effect on the wildlife. It was impressively destructive… to understand the subtleties of blight chemistry…” The ranger pursed her lips, slowly working her jaw in thought.

“You will be assigned to Branch 27-B, under Grand Apothecary Thaddeus Seenwood. I have sent a missive to the high apothecary of Testing and Deployment, Ethyl Plagueguts, regarding your imminent arrival. I would also have you speak with the branch’s chief of security, the warrior known as Helskorn.” The towering bishop squinted at her. “He, too, participated in the battle against Greymane’s forces that took place in Stormheim. A deathguard aboard the Black Rose, and a peerless fighter with as much reason to hate the worgen filth as any true Forsaken.”

Emelye nodded solemnly. “It will be done then, bishop. I will join the Royal Apothecary Society, offer them my assistance, and await any instruction from you.”

The dark priest grimaced. “You will be my eyes and ears, Darkmar. With the preparations for war well underway, the Cult must be rallied once more. The Forgotten Shadow will drive the heart and soul of our people as the Forsaken war machine heralds the dawn of a new era, and we shall ride the approaching storm to the bereavement of our enemies. I go hence to make such spiritual matters my foremost preoccupation, returning only as I am needed to assist the Forsaken government.”

The armor-clad ranger bowed her head respectfully, and then the bishop placed his hand on her shoulder, the dark cloth of his glove resting on the layered chainmail pauldron.

“Draw your strength from the aphotic divine that dwells inseparably in every soul. You will need to be fortified for the times ahead.”

“May the Shadows ever guide our way,” she replied, and as Maerlyn removed his hand from Emelye’s shoulder, her yellow, undead eyes burned with intensity. Then she spoke again, her light, almost delicate voice taking on a tone of stern authority. “It is as the Dark Lady has said. We will go forth and strike down our enemies, and once they have been vanquished, we will rebuild Lordaeron to its former glory.”

[vieuxnoyesrp]

It has been whispered throughout history that winter is a punishment, the death of the earth as punishment for the sin of avarice, wanting for your own what is not yours to have. Winter has fallen upon the Crescent City, La Nouvelle Orleans, and it has no intentions of being kind.

Three magical vortices are putting pressure on an already unstable fabric. The magical threads that weave together New Orleans are in danger of unravelling, a fate that would leave not only the magic of the city in shambles, but the city itself. Such a fate can be stopped, but not without blood. 

                                                      ⚜  ~ T H E   F A L L E N ~ ⚜

Beneath the cut, you’ll find an extensive summary of the character-specific plot drops that will occur during our event.

Please note that while we have laid out this guide,  we are open to changes and suggestions if anything doesn’t sit well with a player. It is up to the individual roleplayers to decide when and how to start these threads. In order to do so effectively, please makes sure to read or at least skim each other’s threads on the dash, so as to make sure your character jumps it at the right time (in the case of a three-way para, for example) and doesn’t interrupt the flow/chronological order that is roughly set out in the summary below. Also, please read ALL of the plot under the cut; not just the section that pertains to your character. This will become increasingly significant as the event goes on.

The event will take place in two stages. Before moving onto the next stage, a post will be published on the Main. Open/casual starters are permitted aside from the plot-threads listed below, though please manage your time accordingly so that the plot-threads are completed by the end of the event. Note that not every character got a role in this event. We tried to fit as many people in as we could, but it wasn’t possible to fit everyone (for those roleplayers having multiple characters). If you see an opening for one of your characters, you are welcome to propose it to us so they can be fit in, but remember, activity is doubly important in a coordinated event, and no one will be penalized for prioritizing event-related characters. 

Please tag your starters with VNFallen and VNStarter! If you have any questions, ideas, or concerns, please do not hesitate to message the Main! We know there is a lot going on and a lot left vague, but we are here to help!

Most of all, remember to be inclusive to as many people as possible (without biting off more than you can chew), get creative, and enjoy!

~ The Admin Team @ VN

The Ancestors have watched from beyond the veil as their warnings went unheeded, and the magic of the Harvest Children wreaked havoc on the city. They won't have to wait much longer; one way or another that magic will return to the earth. Davina Claire has long suspected her time was running out, and she's not wrong. Sophie Deveraux has come to collect, using a spell to track the currents of magic in the quarter. Her magic has located three hot spots, and she knows one of them is the little traitor she seeks. She just needs to choose the right one. Helping her with that errand will be one Damon Salvatore. An old fling and a reliable weak spot, Sophie hopes to use Damon’s love for his brother Stefan, who she’s... incapacitated for the time being, to get him to help her find her lost Harvest child. She’s got eyes out for Isaac, and has Mercy right where she needs her. The only one left is Davina. 

Two other witches are stirring up the arcane on this unseasonably cold night. Estranged sisters, Freya Mikaelson and Jennifer Blake each seek power, one the power of blood ties, the other the power of blood sacrifice. Freya Mikaelson has learned of the missing Mikaelson caskets, containing the two siblings who had an affinity for the craft. Kol, she's never met, but she's heard stories. Finn, though, Finn was the playmate of her earliest memories, the only true sibling she has ever had. Using the benefit of her current anonymity, she's collected an artifact from her three other blood-siblings. A single strand of long white-blond hair from the collar of Rebekah's jacket, saliva from the glass of wine she had shared with Elijah, and a smear of bloodied canvas, acquired from the studio Klaus painted in. Using the power of her siblings' DNA, along with her own, she seeks to send a message to her remaining brothers. You have not been forgotten, I am coming for you, help me find you.

Jennifer Blake, however, has less noble intentions. With the influx of supposed kin running amok in the quarter, she'd like to pay them tribute and make clear what her thoughts are regarding her "sisters." Though not originally part of the plan, Jennifer has decided to add a category of sacrifices to her cause: the traitor. Lucky for her, she has the perfect candidates in mind: Allison Argent, for turning her back on her family legacy, for being a sympathizer with animals, Lydia Martin, for turning her back on her family's elders, for letting her grandmother wither away while she lived in splendor, and Cora Hale, for turning her back on her family in flames, for leaving them to die in the smoke while she breathed clean air. The three teens were easily incapacitated with an hex on the assignment she handed out for homework, and brought to the attic of the LaLaurie Mansion. Home to intense lingering emotions and rumors of malevolent spirits, Jennifer plans to sacrifice all three traitors together, increasing her magic a hundredfold, plenty enough to avoid detection in the manhunt that will no doubt follow.

Unfortunately for Jennifer, her traitorous teens are not without friends of their own. Both Malia Tate and Stiles Stilinski have noticed their friends missing. In an effort to locate the teens, they recruit the help of Tyler Lockwood, hoping that he might have information about his step-sister’s whereabouts. It just so happens that he had received a location ping from Lydia (who had texted a record seven times since their parents had gotten married), and had figured it had been a mistake. Hayley Marshall Labonair and Derek Hale both follow their instincts, feeling something wrong shiver through their respective pack bonds. Hayley gets a call from Tyler, and she and Derek separate to figure out who is attacking their packs. 

Mary Sibley has felt the tears in the fabric of the magic which blankets New Orleans. Between what she has learned of this “Harvest” ritual, and the careless destruction wrought by Rain’s ward, she can tell that disaster is imminent. The magic of the city is so fragile that it threatens to burst. The catastrophic implications of such an event are beyond even her wildest imagination. She has locked onto the same three vortices of spell-work that Sophie has located, and she tracks down the nearest, only to find her long-lost eldest sister, Freya Mikaelson. She has no choice but to fight her for control of her spell. She will prevent this catastrophe from occurring, even if it puts her in the regrettable position of magical custodian. 

Meanwhile, Marcel Gerard and Elijah, Klaus, and Rebekah Mikaelson have gathered in a last-ditch effort to save Davina. Davina Claire attempts to channel Klaus' vitality in order to purge herself of the excess magic, using the Paragon diamond hidden in the Claire family tomb. Davina struggles to complete the spell, and is interrupted when all three siblings are hit by a massive wave of magical energy, and fall unconscious.

Unknown to the king of the Quarter, his home base is under attack — kind of. Chris Argent has had enough of playing the waiting game and decided to take things into his own hands. Innocent or not, Kate is his sister, and he doesn’t trust the vampiric equivalent of justice. If anyone is going to decide what to do with her, it’ll be the hunters she turned her back on. 

Frederick Egrid has had his ear to the magical floor, trying to find the pulse of the Coven of New Orleans. He's learned from Sophie about the night of the Harvest, and done his research. It had been mere chance to spot the boy Sophie had been searching for lurking in the alley behind Egrid's shop, perhaps intending to dumpster dive for dinner. Isaac Lahey was a staunch advocate for constant vigilance, but he hadn't been prepared for the ice cream man's icy spell. Egrid intends to bring Isaac to Sophie at Lafayette Cemetery. Luckily for Isaac, his not-quite-nemesis Jaxon Whittemore had been attempting to follow him. Out of sheer curiosity, or a more genuine intention he doesn't care to examine, Jaxon had spotted Isaac and decided to tail him. When Isaac is taken down with what seems like some seriously fucked up Elsa shit, Jaxon finds himself embroiled deep in witchy politics.

Jaxon isn't the only one intending to play savior. Elena Gilbert seeks the help of John Alden in order to save her aunt Jenna from Klaus’ clutches. Unfortuntely for her, John happens to be in the midst of training her younger brother when they come to seek out his help. Refusing to sit on the sidelines this time, Jeremy Gilbert joins the team, and they set off for the Mikaelson Estate, only to find the place deserted when they show up. No sign of the infamous siblings, nor Jenna. Not willing to waste an opportunity, they raid the place for clues to her whereabouts.

[dragonsofdominia]

Dragons of Renown: Ramos

Stuck on the plane of Mercadia, the Weatherlight crew struggled to find a way to fix their ship. Mingling with the natives, they learned of myths that told of an ancient and powerful being, Ramos, who brought his people to Mercadia. Soon they learned that they need his artifacts to fix and improve the Weatherlight.

Upon reaching Ouramos, they learned of this being's true origins. A rumbling came, and from the ground rose a giant, metallic dragon who spoke to them: Ramos himself.

Dragon Engine

Ramos, Dragon Engine by Joseph Meehan

Ramos is a being revered by several Mercadian peoples, appearing in several origin myths. In reality, he is a Phyrexian dragon engine reprogrammed to protect and save people from the Brothers' War.

Millennia ago in Dominaria, the Brothers' War ravaged the continent of Terisiare. Urza repurposed one dragon engine to protect and carry people away from the chaos. The dragon engine took merfolk and a ship loaded with humans with him. Slowed down by the weight of the refugees, the dragon engine did not outfly the blast, and the blast brought him back to Phyrexia. Knowing that his charges won't survive there, he went through a planar portal to Mercadia.

As he arrived on Mercadia, he saw that some of those he carried had already died. His heart, which would later be known as the Power Matrix, fell into the ocean. Before he crashed, he dropped those who were still alive along the way - into the oceans, the nearby beach, the forests, and then the dead among the marshlands. He crashed into a city, killing everyone and levelling his surroundings. Five shards broke away from his core, and he did not move.

The dragon engine stayed inert for a while, but life eventually returned to the crash site. He built an altar for those who died, and the five shards became known as the Bones of Ramos. The survivors eventually built their own cities, becoming the Cho-Arrim, the Rishadans, and the Saprazzans.  Remembering a faint memory of a certain savior, they revered Ramos as such, with their own myths surrounding him.

When the Weatherlight crash-landed on Mercadia, their ship was taken by the Cho-Arrim, who believed the ship was the body of Ramos. While among them, Orim, the crew's healer, learned of the Cho-Arrim origin story and prophecy - that of a battle between two gods, Ramos and Orhop, with Ramos emerging victorious. Saddened by the ruin he has wrought, he brought the people of his world into a better one but was struck down on the way, breaking up their ship in three and scattering the people throughout. According to the story, Ramos will return once all three pieces have been united - soul, body, and mind - and his people will be united as well.

Among the Saprazzans, the crew learned of yet another myth regarding Ramos - that of a bright king whose reign extended to all but the stars. In his obsession, he started neglecting his duties, and his kingdom was divided. Ramos confided with artificers, and in a fateful night, when his people had enough, he revealed himself transformed. Ramos burned with light, holding the Power Matrix and absorbed the light of the stars. He rose upward and filled the night sky, taking his people with him beyond the skies until he unraveled into five pieces - the Bones of Ramos. The people were scattered among the lands of a new world, and where the merfolk and the Power Matrix fell, Saprazzo came to be. Should the Bones and the Matrix be united, Ramos will rise again and return with his people to their old world.

The Bones of Ramos lay in Ouramos, a large bowl-like crater surrounded by forest. The crewmembers of the Weatherlight were attacked by dryads who lived nearby and guarded Ouramos. After pacifying the dryads, one of them shared their knowledge of Ramos to Gerrard Capashen. Possessed by this knowledge, he revealed Ramos's true origins: he was a Phyrexian creation stolen and tasked by Urza to save lives, and then arrived at Mercadia and brought the refugees there. As they proceeded to the altar where the Bones lay, a rumbling came and Ramos burst from the ground. They discovered that he was a dragon engine.

Ramos knew of Gerrard and why they have come here. He wouldn't allow his Bones to be taken, but Gerrard argued that the Bones can fulfill the Ramosians’ hopes within the Weatherlight, bringing the Cho-Arrim, Rishadans, and Saprazzans together again. In the end, Ramos gave the stones to him, but warned that they will lose their power when they leave Ouramos. What Ramos said did come to pass; however, they found that the dryads can help revive the stones. During the dryads' song, Ramos cried out and joined in, imbuing the Bones with his essence. Even though the stones glowed weak after, their potential remained.

Much later, above Mercadia City, the upgraded Weatherlight was about to land a breaking blow against Volrath's skyship, Recreant. They stopped abruptly upon seeing Ramos approach. Not wanting to lose his ship again, Gerrard let it seem as if Ramos destroyed the Recreant. Recreant crashed into the fields and the Weatherlight retreated upward as Ramos drew nearer. He circled above the city and landed, the Ramosans rejoicing that their Uniter has arrived.

Ramos is a colossal creature, measuring a hundred feet from the ground up. He has a beaked head with reptilian eyes and two curved horns. He has a long neck, narrow wings with a wide wingspan, and a tail several times longer than his neck and body combined. His body appears segmented, with sets of metallic plates covering what appears to be a glowing core body of energy.

Pieces of a Whole

Legacy Weapon by Terese Nielsen

The planeswalker Urza had a life mission: to defeat Yawgmoth, Father of Machines and Lord of Phyrexia. For this cause he assembled a collection of artifacts that, when taken together, accomplished this goal. Together, they were  called the Legacy.

This collection grew during the Skyship Weatherlight's travels, the skyship itself a part of it. Several other components of the Legacy were, to name a few: Gerrard Capashen himself, a product of a eugenics program started by Urza; the Mightstone and Weakstone, Thran crystals that can power and weaken artifacts, stones that replaced Urza's eyes; Karn, the silver golem created by Urza for time travel experiments, later the focal point of the Legacy; the Skyshaper and Thran Forge; the Touchstone; the Thran Tome; the Null Rod; and the Juju Bubble.

The Bones of Ramos and the Power Matrix were incorporated on the Legacy and Weatherlight during the crew's stay in Mercadia. Infused with the essence of Ramos, the Bones allowed the fusion of the ship engine and the Matrix, providing the ship with much more power than before.

Dangers

Dragon engines were the mightiest artifacts in the age of the Brothers' War. Armed with them, Urza and Mishra fought until the land of Terisiare sank beneath them. (from Mercadian Masques by Francis Lebaron)

Ramos is a dragon engine - a war machine. It can be assumed that he has a devastating breath weapon and tremendous physical strength and endurance, capable of tearing through enemy lines with ease. He is agile and can fly at high speeds despite his size. His Bones and Power Matrix, when taken together, produce an abundance of energy.

Despite these, while seemingly hostile at first, Ramos is actually one of the more benevolent dragons of lore. Since Urza's repurposing, his actions have always been concerned with protection and aiding. His mission was to save anyone he can, and he pursued this goal even after being badly damaged by the blast. Seeing that he didn't accomplish it fully, he was filled with sorrow for those he cannot save. He even made a shrine at Ouramos as remembrance for the fallen.

Ouramos and the surrounding Deepwood Forest is Ramos's dwelling. He has always been there since the time he crashed onto Mercadia. Since awakening from dormancy, he had sought to restore everything he had destroyed, gathering the dryads and reanimating the dead that came with him as his guardians. However, with his Bones torn away from him, he cannot fully use his potential, and while Ramos did dream of healing all the damage he has wrought on Mercadia, he didn't. He had sat lonely, sorrowful, and without purpose throughout the centuries.

Perhaps Gerrard was successful in convincing the dragon engine with the his impassioned speech. For the Ramosians, the Weatherlight signaled the arrival of a Uniter capable of bringing them together and uplifting them. And indeed, Ramos gave his blessing and powered the Bones with his essence. The Weatherlight had indeed united the Ramosians, rising up to Mercadia City. In the end, Ramos returned as a magnificent god above Mercadia City, and answered his people's hopes. 

He was dormant for centuries since his arrival at Mercadia and became active when he appeared before the Ramosians. What has become of Ramos now? Who knows. Then again, having people to protect and the power to do so, it is easy to imagine him still thriving in that corner of the Multiverse surrounded by his charges' descendants.