#the beast of the fortress (imagery) //

[dee-writes-anime]

Chapter 2: A Caged Beast

FEATURING Ryomen Sukuna x Witch!Reader

SUMMARY The King of Curses sits upon a throne carved from fear and death, his gaze sharp enough to unravel the soul. In the labyrinthine halls of his estate, survival is not granted—it is earned, one calculated step at a time.

CONTENT WARNINGS Includes detailed descriptions of death and mutilation, particularly during Sukuna's execution of the villagers, heavy focus on the oppressive atmosphere of the estate and the power dynamics between characters, vivid imagery of bloodshed and carnage in the aftermath of Sukuna's actions, includes themes of survival, control, and intimidation within a menacing setting.

PLAYLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

The estate loomed like a shadow carved from stone, its presence oppressive even before it came into view. The path to it was not one meant for the living; it was narrow and twisted, lined with jagged rocks that jutted like broken teeth. The trees here grew too close together, their gnarled branches entwined as though conspiring to keep intruders out—or to trap them within. The air hung heavy, damp and cold, carrying the faint scent of iron and decay. 

And then the forest fell away, abruptly and without warning, as though the earth itself had recoiled from what lay ahead. The estate rose from the ground like an ancient wound, its black stone walls gleaming faintly under the pale light of the moon. It wasn’t a place built by hands; it was a place wrenched from the very bones of the earth. Its architecture was jagged and imposing, with towers that clawed at the sky and windows that stared like hollow eyes. 

The wars had left their mark here too. While the estate stood as an unshaken monolith, the scars of conflict lingered in its edges. The gates were wide open, though they looked as though they had been wrenched apart rather than designed to welcome. Their iron bars were twisted and blackened, warped by some unimaginable force—perhaps a battle fought long ago, when those foolish enough to defy Sukuna brought fire and fury to his doorstep. The ground beneath the gates was scorched, as if fire had swept through here and left the earth scarred, unable to heal. 

Beyond the gates, the courtyard stretched vast and empty, its cracked ground littered with ash and faint traces of what might have once been bones, ground to dust by time and tread. It was hard to tell where the battles had ended and where time itself had simply worn the place down. The wars had not only bled the land dry; they had carved themselves into every stone and shadow here. And yet, the estate endured—unyielding, unbroken. A testament to Sukuna’s power. 

The air here was thick, almost viscous, pressing against the skin like a warning. It carried no breeze, no sound save for the faint hum of something unseen, something alive. It wasn’t silence—not truly. It was the absence of life, a void that swallowed sound and left only the pulse of the estate itself, thrumming faintly beneath the surface like a heartbeat. It was as if the estate itself had been forged in the same crucible as the wars—a place that thrived on conflict, not peace. 

The walls of the fortress were smooth and seamless, their dark stone interrupted only by red banners that hung limply in the still air. Their fabric was tattered, fraying at the edges, but the sigil upon them was unmistakable: the mark of Ryomen Sukuna. A jagged, curling symbol that seemed to writhe when looked at too long, its meaning as ancient and unknowable as the man who bore it. 

The entrance to the estate was grand in its simplicity, a single arched doorway flanked by carved statues that stood twice the height of a man. They were grotesque figures, twisted and monstrous, their faces contorted into expressions of agony or rage. Their stone hands gripped weapons dulled by time, yet they seemed to watch with an intensity that made the air feel colder. Perhaps they had been placed there to guard against the very wars that had once ravaged this land—or perhaps they had simply borne witness to them. 

Inside, the estate was no less imposing. The corridors stretched endlessly, their walls lined with torches that burned with a strange, unnatural flame—pale and cold, their light casting shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. The floors were polished stone, dark and reflective, and the faint echo of footsteps seemed to linger longer than it should, as though the space itself remembered every movement within it. 

The air was heavy with the scent of something faintly metallic, mingled with the bitter tang of incense that burned from tall braziers placed sporadically along the hall. The smoke curled upward, clinging to the vaulted ceilings like restless spirits, their shapes shifting and twisting in the flickering light. 

Every corner of the estate whispered of power. It wasn’t just the architecture or the opulence, though those were undeniable. It was the way the walls seemed to hum with energy, the way the very air seemed alive with something unseen but undeniable. This was not a place untouched by time or conflict—it bore the weight of both, layered into its very foundations. It wasn’t simply a home. It was a monument to survival, a fortress forged by war and steeped in death. 

This was not a place that housed a king. This was a place that devoured one. 

The corridor leading to the throne room was unlike the rest of the estate. Where the halls before had been wide and echoing, this one narrowed, the walls pressing closer together as if funneling everything toward a single point. The torches lining the way burned brighter here, their pale flames casting sharper, deeper shadows that danced with the flickering light. Each step forward felt heavier, as though the very air were growing denser, pressing down with a palpable weight that made it harder to breathe. 

The door at the end of the hall was massive, towering high enough that it seemed to scrape the vaulted ceiling. It was carved from dark wood, its surface etched with intricate patterns that twisted and coiled into shapes that defied logic—symbols that seemed to move if looked at for too long. In the center of the door was a sigil, larger and more ornate than any I had seen elsewhere in the estate. It pulsed faintly, as though alive, the light within it shifting between deep crimson and molten gold. 

The guards stationed on either side of the door were statuesque, their faces obscured by black iron masks. Their armor was angular, sharp enough at the edges to cut, and their weapons glinted faintly in the torchlight. They didn’t move as we approached, their stillness unnerving, but the energy emanating from them was unmistakable—a warning, a promise of violence should the boundary be crossed without permission. 

Elder Kazu faltered, his steps slowing as we neared the door. I could see his resolve unraveling in the set of his shoulders, the tremor in his hands as they gripped his staff tighter. But he didn’t dare stop. Not now. 

The doors creaked open with a sound like grinding stone, the sigil at their center glowing brighter as they parted. The light spilled inward, revealing the throne room in all its terrible grandeur. 

The space was cavernous, its sheer size making it feel more like a cathedral than a room. Tall, narrow windows lined the walls, their stained-glass depicting scenes of violence and chaos. The light that filtered through them was muted and blood-tinged, casting streaks of red across the black stone floor. Thick pillars rose to the ceiling, their surfaces carved with grotesque reliefs that seemed to writhe and shift when caught in the corner of the eye. 

At the center of it all, raised on a dais of blackened stone, was Sukuna’s throne. It wasn’t crafted with beauty in mind; it was a thing of raw, brutal power. The base was a jagged mass of dark rock, its edges sharp and uneven, as though ripped straight from the earth. The seat itself was polished smooth, its surface gleaming faintly like obsidian, and behind it rose a tall, curved back adorned with spines that arched outward like the ribs of some great beast. 

The throne room wasn’t silent—not truly. There was a hum here, low and constant, vibrating in the very air. It wasn’t the hum of life; it was something darker, more primal. It was the resonance of cursed energy, so thick it felt almost tangible, curling against the skin like the touch of an unseen hand. Every breath carried the faint metallic tang of blood, a taste that lingered long after it was drawn in. 

Sukuna sat at the throne’s center, his posture deceptively relaxed, as though the very act of ruling required no effort at all. His robe of black and crimson pooled around him, its edges trimmed with gold thread that caught the faint light. His head tilted slightly as his gaze swept over us, his four eyes narrowing with something that was neither approval nor disdain but something in between—a cold, calculating curiosity. 

The air grew heavier as his attention landed on me, the weight of his gaze pressing down with the force of a thousand hands. He didn’t speak, not yet, but his silence was as sharp as a blade, cutting through the nervous shuffling of the villagers behind me. They bowed low, their foreheads nearly touching the ground, as though proximity to him required submission. 

I stayed standing. 

“Is this what you bring me?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the air, sharp and low, dripping with disdain. He didn’t bother hiding the edge of mockery in his tone, his words rolling out slowly, as if he were savoring each one. His four eyes fixed on me—two half-lidded, bored, and the other two razor-sharp and assessing. His grin, faint at first, curled into something more menacing, exposing teeth that gleamed just a little too brightly in the muted, blood-tinged light. “This... is the great danger that plagues your pathetic little village?” 

Behind me, Elder Kazu’s knees hit the ground with a dull thud, his forehead scraping against the stone floor as he groveled. “My lord,” he rasped, his voice trembling, “she is a witch—a blight upon our village! She curses the land, poisons the air, and brings death to our children. The sickness, the famine—it is her doing! We beg for your judgment!” 

Sukuna didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on me, unblinking, dissecting. Slowly, he leaned forward, his lower hands gripping the jagged arms of his throne while the upper pair rested lightly on his knees. “A blight,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a near-purr. “You don’t look like a blight.” 

I kept my chin high, refusing to let his presence swallow me whole. “And you don’t look like a king.” 

The room stilled, the air thickening under the weight of my words. Behind me, I could hear Kazu’s sharp intake of breath, the shuffle of the villagers as they recoiled from what they thought might be my death sentence. Even the guards by the door shifted, their hands gripping their weapons more tightly. 

Sukuna chuckled. It was a low, sharp sound, empty of warmth. He leaned back in his throne, the motion casual yet impossibly commanding. “You’ve got a mouth on you,” he said, his grin widening. “That’ll make things more interesting—for however long you last.” 

I didn’t waver. “If you think that’s a compliment, you’ll have to try harder.” 

His lower right hand twitched against the armrest, his grin fading into something more predatory. “Do you know what you’re doing, little witch?” he asked, his tone softening—not with kindness, but with the kind of cold curiosity one might reserve for an insect about to be crushed. “Do you have any idea where you stand? Who you’re speaking to?” 

“I know what you are,” I replied evenly. “A monster who’s built his throne on the backs of cowards and corpses. A king only because no one dares to stop you.” 

The tension in the room crackled like static, and I felt the weight of his power grow heavier, pressing against my chest like an iron hand. The villagers behind me let out faint whimpers, their fear spilling into the stillness. 

Sukuna stood, his movements deliberate and slow, all four arms shifting with a grace that was almost unsettling. He descended the steps of his throne, the sheer size of him casting a long, looming shadow across the room. When he stopped in front of me, the distance between us was barely a breath. His eyes bore into mine, the lower pair gleaming faintly in the dim light. 

“And yet,” he said, his voice a low growl, “here you are. Tied up, dragged to me like an offering. And still, you run your mouth.” His grin returned, sharp and humorless. “Is it bravery, or are you simply that stupid?” 

“Call it what you like,” I said, forcing the words out past the pressure on my chest. “But I’ve seen what fear does to people. It makes them small. And I’m not small.” 

His grin faltered—not in anger, but in something colder, more calculating. He tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, like a predator deciding when to strike. His lower left hand moved suddenly, gripping the rope around my wrists. His fingers brushed against my skin, deceptively light, as though testing the strength of the bindings. 

“You’re bold,” he said, almost to himself. His tone carried no admiration, only observation. “But boldness without power is nothing but noise.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I have both,” I shot back, ignoring the sharp sting of the rope tightening under his grip. 

His laughter returned, sharp and biting, echoing off the stone walls. “You think so?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Then tell me, little witch, how long do you think that power will last? A day? A week? Will it keep you breathing when I grow bored?” 

I swallowed, the weight of his words digging deeper into the air between us. “That depends,” I said, my voice steady. “How long do you think you can keep me entertained?” 

The grin that spread across his face was almost inhuman, his sharp teeth glinting as his upper arms crossed over his chest. “Interesting,” he murmured, the word a quiet threat. He turned away from me, his lower right-hand gesturing toward the trembling villagers. “But you’re not the only one who needs to be taught a lesson.” 

Sukuna’s grin sharpened, the flicker of amusement in his expression fading as he turned his gaze from me to the quivering mass of villagers behind. The air grew heavy, suffocating, and I felt the shift before anything happened. It was like the world itself paused, holding its breath in anticipation of something inevitable. 

“You bring this mess to me,” he said, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the chamber. “You waste my time with your whining, your begging.” His lower right hand twitched, and the hum of power in the room spiked, crackling in the air like static electricity. “Let me remind you what it means to stand before me.” 

The shift was immediate. It wasn’t like a storm gathering—it was the storm itself, unleashed in an instant. The air seemed to implode, drawing in a soundless gasp before erupting outward with a force that made the stone walls tremble. 

The first scream was choked off before it could reach its peak. The elder nearest me—Kazu—was the first to fall. His body jerked violently, his hands clawing at his chest as though trying to hold himself together. Blood sprayed from his mouth in a thick, wet arc, splattering the stone floor in a dark, steaming pool. His knees buckled, and he collapsed face-first into the growing puddle, his eyes wide and glassy, staring into nothingness. 

The others didn’t fare any better. 

One man clutched at his throat, his fingers digging into his skin as if he could stop the blood from pouring out of the deep gash that appeared as if from nowhere. He let out a strangled, gurgling sound before his legs gave out, and he hit the ground with a dull, lifeless thud. 

A woman shrieked, stumbling backward as her arm twisted unnaturally, the bones inside snapping with a sickening crack. Her scream was cut short as her chest caved inward, the sound of her ribs shattering echoing through the room. She crumpled like a broken doll, her head lolling at an angle that no living body could sustain. 

The last villager tried to run, his legs pumping in a desperate, futile attempt to escape. But he didn’t make it more than three steps before his body jerked to a halt, suspended in midair by an unseen force. Blood burst from his eyes and ears in thin, crimson streams, trailing down his face as his body convulsed violently. With a sharp, wet snap, his neck twisted too far to the side, and he dropped like a stone, his body hitting the floor with a grotesque squelch. 

The room was painted in red. Blood pooled across the black stone, steaming faintly in the cold air, its metallic tang thick enough to choke on. It streaked the walls, sprayed in arcs that told the story of each gruesome end, dripping down to join the growing rivers at my feet. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hiss of cursed energy dissipating into the air. 

Sukuna turned back to me, his four eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction, his grin unbothered by the carnage around us. A single crimson droplet clung to the edge of his jaw, stark against his pale skin. He wiped it away with a lazy motion of his lower left hand, smearing it against the black and crimson folds of his robe without a second thought. 

“You see,” he said, his voice cutting through the stillness, “this is the difference between me and the rest of you. They beg. They grovel. They die.” He gestured to the broken bodies at his feet, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “You should be grateful. I haven’t decided to do the same to you—yet.” 

The room smelled of blood and death, the heat of the carnage still lingering in the air. My chest tightened against the oppressive weight of what I’d just witnessed, but I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him the satisfaction. 

“You’re not what I expected,” Sukuna said finally, his voice softening into something almost thoughtful. The grin that returned to his face was as sharp and cruel as ever. “Come, little witch. You’ll live—for now.” 

He turned and strode toward the corridor beyond the throne room, his steps slow and unhurried. Blood trailed in his wake, soaking into the black stone, as though the estate itself were feeding on the chaos he left behind. 

I hesitated only for a moment before following, my feet carrying me over the warm, sticky remains of what had once been my captors. My wrists ached against the bindings, but I felt none of the sharp pangs of guilt or pity that should have accompanied the sight of their mangled bodies. They had chosen this fate the moment they turned on me. 

The King of Curses was no savior. And now, neither was I. 

The corridor beyond the throne room was long and dimly lit, the pale torches casting flickering shadows that seemed to stretch and twist as I walked. The oppressive hum of power that had filled the air moments ago lingered, like an echo that refused to fade. Sukuna’s footsteps were silent despite his size, the only sound the faint rustle of his robes as they trailed across the stone floor. My own steps felt unnervingly loud in comparison, the echo of my bare feet against the cold floor following me like a second shadow. 

It was then that I saw them. 

They appeared as if from the darkness itself, stepping out from a side corridor so fluidly that I almost didn’t register their presence until they were fully in view. Uraume. The name struck something faintly familiar in the back of my mind, whispered in fragmented rumors I had heard over the years—a shadow that followed Sukuna, his most loyal servant, and something far more dangerous than they seemed. 

They were tall, though not as imposing as Sukuna, with an elegance that bordered on the unnatural. Their features were sharp and precise, the kind of symmetry that drew the eye and demanded attention. High cheekbones framed a face that was pale and smooth, almost porcelain-like, but their eyes—cold and calculating—were what held me. They were a pale, frosted hue, like ice over deep water, and carried a faint gleam of something unreadable, something dangerous. 

Their hair was long and white, pulled back into a single braid that fell neatly down their back, contrasting sharply with the dark, muted tones of their clothing. Their attire was simple yet immaculate—a layered robe of deep gray and black, trimmed with faint threads of silver that caught the dim light as they moved. It was the kind of clothing that spoke of authority and precision, tailored perfectly to someone who needed neither extravagance nor ornamentation to command respect. 

Their hands were folded neatly in front of them as they stepped closer, their movements smooth and deliberate, like water flowing over stone. There was no hesitation, no wasted effort—everything about them was calculated, controlled. Their presence wasn’t loud, like Sukuna’s. It was quieter, colder, and somehow just as oppressive. 

“My lord,” Uraume said, their voice soft yet firm, with an edge that suggested authority without overstepping. It carried a faint echo, as though the stone halls themselves reverberated with their words. “I see you’ve brought… company.” 

Their eyes flicked toward me, sharp and assessing, and I felt the weight of their gaze almost as keenly as Sukuna’s. Unlike him, though, there was no mockery in their expression, no grin tugging at their lips. There was only cold, quiet scrutiny, like they were dissecting every inch of me in their mind and filing the information away for later use. 

“She’ll be staying,” Sukuna said simply, not sparing them a glance as he continued walking. His tone was casual, as if declaring someone’s fate was no more significant than commenting on the weather. 

Uraume tilted their head slightly, their gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before they turned and fell into step beside him. “As you wish,” they said, their voice devoid of any trace of surprise or disapproval. It was a statement, not an argument, delivered with the kind of deference that came from years of servitude tempered by unwavering loyalty. 

Their hands remained folded as they walked, their steps matching Sukuna’s with practiced precision. There was something unnerving about the way they moved, as if they were an extension of Sukuna himself—silent, deadly, and ever-watchful. 

“You’ll want to prepare a room for her,” Sukuna added, his lower left hand waving dismissively toward Uraume. “Something… adequate.” 

“As always,” Uraume replied smoothly, their tone betraying nothing. They glanced at me again, their frosted eyes narrowing faintly. “Will she require supervision, my lord?” 

Sukuna chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a chill down my spine. “She’s bold, not foolish,” he said, his grin returning. “She won’t try anything—yet.” 

Uraume didn’t respond immediately, their gaze shifting back to the corridor ahead. “I will see to it,” they said finally, their voice as measured as ever. 

Though they spoke to Sukuna, I could feel their attention on me, subtle but unyielding. It wasn’t suspicion, exactly. It was more like the watchfulness of someone who had seen too much to be caught off guard, someone who calculated every risk and every outcome before it could unfold. 

They were unlike Sukuna in many ways—colder, quieter, less openly cruel—but their presence was no less commanding. If Sukuna was the storm, Uraume was the ice that followed, slow and creeping, freezing everything in its path until there was nothing left but silence. 

Sukuna slowed his steps, glancing over his shoulder at me, the faintest flicker of amusement still tugging at the edges of his grin. “I’ve seen enough for now,” he said, his voice low and dismissive. “Follow Uraume. They’ll see that you don’t get lost or... cause trouble.” 

It wasn’t a suggestion. The weight of his words pressed down like the snap of a chain, the finality of his tone leaving no room for argument. Without another glance, he strode ahead, his broad shoulders and flowing robes disappearing into the darkness of the corridor. 

Uraume stepped forward smoothly, their movements precise and quiet, the faint rustle of their robe the only sound as they gestured for me to follow. “This way,” they said simply, their voice cool and controlled, neither welcoming nor hostile. 

I hesitated for only a moment before stepping into place behind them. The air was heavy with the faint metallic tang of blood and the lingering hum of Sukuna’s power. My bare feet moved silently over the cool stone floor, though every step felt loud in comparison to Uraume’s, their movements so fluid and practiced they seemed to glide through the dimly lit corridor. 

The estate was a labyrinth. The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, its high, arched ceiling supported by columns of dark stone etched with faint carvings. The designs were intricate but worn, their meaning long since lost to time, though they seemed to shift faintly in the flickering light of the pale torches mounted along the walls. The flames burned unnaturally steady, their pale, ghostly light casting shadows that stretched and twisted like living things. 

“Your defiance,” they said suddenly, their voice breaking the silence without warning, “is not something we often see in this place.” 

I blinked, surprised by the observation. Their tone wasn’t accusing or mocking—it was observational, almost neutral. “I’m not here to bow,” I replied carefully. “That much should be clear.” 

They glanced at me over their shoulder, their pale, frost-colored eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s clear,” they said, their tone as cool as ever. “But clarity is not always an advantage here. Sukuna values strength, yes—but he values control far more. You would do well to remember that.” 

There was no malice in their words, but there was a warning, a quiet, measured truth that lingered in the air between us. I didn’t reply immediately, letting their words settle as we turned another corner. The halls seemed endless, each one blending into the next with their dark stone walls and flickering torchlight. 

“And you?” I asked finally, my voice breaking the stillness. “Do you value control?” 

Uraume didn’t answer right away, their head tilting slightly as though considering the question. “I value survival,” they said at last. “Control is simply a means to that end.” 

We turned a corner, the corridor opening into a vast hall that stretched upward into darkness. Massive banners hung from the high ceiling, their red and black fabric tattered at the edges but still bearing Sukuna’s jagged sigil in stark, unmistakable contrast. The walls here were lined with alcoves, each holding a stone statue of a figure twisted and grotesque, their faces contorted in agony or rage. Some clutched weapons, their stone blades dulled by time, while others seemed to reach outward, their hands frozen mid-plea or accusation. 

“This is the Hall of Conquest,” Uraume said as we passed, their voice steady but carrying the faintest note of reverence. “A monument to the victories Sukuna has claimed—and the warnings he leaves for those who think to challenge him.” 

The statues seemed to watch as we passed, their empty eyes hollow and accusatory. The air in the hall was colder, each breath forming faint clouds that lingered before dissipating. I kept my gaze forward, though the weight of their stares pressed against my back like a silent accusation. 

“Do you enjoy serving him?” I asked suddenly, the question slipping out before I could stop it. 

Uraume stopped, turning their head slightly to glance at me. Their pale eyes narrowed faintly, though their expression remained unreadable. “Enjoyment is irrelevant,” they said. “I serve because it is necessary.” 

Their response was calculated, guarded, but there was no hesitation in their words. It was as they had said, it wasn’t loyalty for the sake of devotion—it was loyalty for the sake of survival. 

We continued walking, the corridor narrowing again, the ceiling dropping lower as the walls grew closer. Here, the torches burned brighter, their light illuminating faint carvings etched into the stone. The patterns were intricate and chaotic, twisting and coiling like vines, though closer inspection revealed shapes hidden within—faces, claws, teeth, all blending into the design as if they were part of the stone itself. 

“This place is alive,” I said quietly, more to myself than to Uraume. 

“It is,” they replied, their tone matter-of-fact. “And it remembers. Every victory, every failure, every death—it’s all here, etched into the walls, the floors, the air. Sukuna ensures that nothing is forgotten.” 

We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, its surface dark and worn but polished to a faint sheen. It was unmarked save for a single carving at its center—a jagged, curling sigil similar to the one that adorned Sukuna’s banners, though smaller and less ornate. Uraume pushed it open with a single, fluid motion, stepping aside to let me enter first. 

The room was modest but far from unpleasant. A low bed rested against the far wall, its dark wood frame sturdy and adorned with thick blankets of muted crimson and black. A small table stood beside it, a single candle flickering atop its surface, casting faint shadows across the stone walls. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of incense, though its source was nowhere to be seen. 

“It’s sufficient,” Uraume said, stepping inside behind me. Their tone was as measured as ever, but their pale eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary, sharp and assessing. “You’ll rest here until you’re summoned.” 

I turned to face them fully. “You seem certain I’ll last long enough to be summoned again.” 

They tilted their head slightly, their expression still calm but unreadable. “That remains to be seen,” they said. “But should you prove capable, it would not be... unwelcome.” 

There was a faint weight to their words, a subtle shift in tone that made me pause. It wasn’t a promise or even an offer, but it carried a seed of something that might grow into respect if nurtured. 

“Do you always speak so carefully?” I asked, folding my arms. 

Uraume didn’t answer immediately. Instead, they stepped back toward the door, their hands folding neatly in front of them once more. “Careful words keep one alive in this place,” they said finally. “You’d do well to learn that.” 

With that, they turned and stepped out into the corridor. “The door locks from the inside,” they said over their shoulder, their tone carrying the faintest edge of warning. “Use it.” 

The door closed with a soft thud, leaving me alone in the flickering light of the room. The shadows cast by the single candle stretched and twisted across the walls, like echoes of the estate’s living memory. I sank onto the edge of the bed, the faint hum of the estate still pressing against my senses. Uraume’s words lingered in the air, their quiet warning and subtle weight weaving into the silence. 

Respect wasn’t given here, but perhaps it could be earned.

dividers by @strangergraphics

AUTHORS NOTE back at it again with another chapter of this series! I've been having fun finally getting this out of my head and into a doc. Fun fact though, I am not a writing god. Meaning I am not writing 10,000 plus words in two days, but rather, these posts are scheduled for certain days of the week! I only wish I was that fast at editing. T-T

TAGLIST @slutlight2ndver @surielstea @duhhitzstarr @arcanefeelings @numbuh666 @tejan-sunny

[elvhenfaer]

First off, thank you @chantry-scholar for posting these murals, but this one in particular.

I’m obsessed with this one. Ever since I found it in the game, I’ve loved it. At first, it was just the imagery, just a beautiful piece of artwork that I found particularly appeasing.

For those who may not recognize it, this is a wall mural in Skyhold, in the armory where Cass hangs out but up one more floor from here where there’s just a third story balcony with some benches and some rolled up carpets, it sorta looks like Cass sleeps there but it mostly reminds me of where me and my friends used to smoke weed in a little hippie alcove of their apartment.

Anyway, there’s no reason to go up there. Not a single one. So I found it after playing the game for months and just dicking around exploring. It got a little stuck in my head.

Because Solas is the painter of Skyhold. He’s the one doing murals and whatever. Now, we know that Skyhold was once his fortress way back in the age of Arlathan, so we CAN ask ourselves if this is old or new, but I just want to vomit my thoughts out real quick.

It looks like a bear at first glance, sure, but then I noticed the seven stars. Reminiscent of how the Dread Wolf is depicted with seven eyes, done in black, with the big ol’ claws, looking ferocious and ominous. The figure embracing this monster is depicted in white, a color representative of purity and wholesomeness. This figure has antlers and a flower crown, both things typically associated with Dalish elves.

IS THIS A FUCKING SOLASMANCER MURAL?

Does he think of his Dalish Inquisitor lover as this pure and ethereal person who is embracing him, the beast he knows he is? I mean, he knows he’s lying to this person who he loves, and that guilt has to be tearing him up, and he expresses that through his art that no one else would be able to interpret because they can’t recognize that monster as him. But WE can, because we know. I just feel like he would do that edgy sadboi shit.

And of course, the mural is there whether you’re romancing Solas or not, but it’s just… idk… it fits. Does anyone else have thoughts? I sorta thought it could be the Dread Wolf and Mythal but Mythal wasn’t really associated with the antlers, that would be more of a Ghilanain thing and I’m not sure a relationship between Fen’Harel and Ghilanain was ever referenced.

[sepublic]

Elsewhere and Elsewhen!

            …

         PHILIP IS BELOS PHILIP IS BELOS PHILIP IS BELOS-

         Why am I gasping?! I already knew that!

         Seriously though… Confirmation that Philip was ALWAYS like that and a messed-up narrator! He happily ‘sacrificed’ Blue Fang (AKA used him as a distraction/guinea pig) and then wrote himself as some poor sad hero, NO WONDER Belos left the diary there! He wanted to make his past self LOOK good!

         Also obsessed with the idea that Belos holds a grudge against Lilith because she broke his nose… And even after CENTURIES of dark magic, his nose is STILL broken! Bruh I fucking yelled for Lilith, GOOD FOR HER SHE PUNCHED HER ABUSER! Because let’s be real even if Belos didn’t recognize her as ‘Dirtrude’ he’d still treat her like he did Kikimora. The world is healing.

         BUT YEAH, Belos is confirmed to have gotten messed up because he carved glyphs into his body?! MY THEORY WAS RIGHT, Belos drew glyphs on his body and siphoned magic from himself, because he was JEALOUS of witches and their bile sacs, and refused to consider that he could just use glyphs! He was a puritan, a white colonizer after all… A part of it COULD be chalked up to his background and how witches prefer bile sacs, but it seems a lot of this really is this bastard’s fault.

         Also there’s an allusion to his brother, who is gone; May or may not have been ‘sacrificed’ at Eclipse Lake. Either way, I’m starting to think Belos doesn’t actually care for Hunter… Or it will turn out that even after all of this, HE STILL DOES. Which, the show foreshadows that Belos was working on the Day of Unity from the start, as Philip; And that he had to wait CENTURIES for the stars to align, hence why he didn’t act sooner! Just as I guessed… Also we know the Collector is a HE, and that he lives in the Titan’s skull?!

         Lilith said the skull was ‘sacred ground’, but how do we know Belos didn’t essentially trap the Collector in his own fortress, for when he can finally seize his power in the Day of Unity?! The Collector must also be known as such because he can collect things from the ages and even other worlds… Speaking of which, we saw the Stonesleeper! We’ve seen Hunter unconscious and he didn’t petrify, but uh… I have to wonder if its self-petrification has any connection to how Belos petrifies witches?! Also the Hecktaceous Era, nice; Some look at the corpse of the Titan when it was still warm and volcanic! Makes me wonder if this will connect to King’s island and his people, if they’re evolved from Stonesleepers…! Luz, give King a scratch behind his ear(?), see how he reacts!

         Also, as others guessed; THIS is what Belos meant when he said he can’t wait to meet Luz! He remembers how he met her for the first time… And he doesn’t want to break the time continuum because it’s a stable loop! But now that Luz has already done her part in her past, she’s infinitely less necessary… Obviously Belos still spares her because he doesn’t want bad publicity, but he no longer has to worry about preserving time. Which, I like how the show handled it, by making time portals extremely arbitrary and outright invisible, and difficult to detect without a special scanner; Explains why there aren’t more incidents! And it’s the result of coagulated Titan’s blood, so that stuff clearly has Space-Time properties.

         But yeah Philip stole a LOT of Palismen, and he’s also following up on that cave monster imagery I brought up since Season 1! What if the Collector cursed Philip with a mud monster, as retaliation and an attempt to humble him… But Philip refused to learn his lesson? That seems to be what the show is going for; Some Beauty and the Beast where he was attempted to be humbled. Or he opened one of the Collector’s scrolls trying to seize its power, and accidentally did it to himself; Freaking white man!

         LILITH! I love how Lilith has healed enough that she can pick up on Philip’s red flags as just that, as something that’s not super-great… And just THE FACT that she recognizes him but doesn’t know it?! Also turns out Flora D’esplora DOES show up, and she uh… Has interesting vibes… But yeah, given her triangle, I have to suspect Belos deliberately sent Flora to make Lilith feel insecure again and regress, under the hopes of luring her back to his side for approval; Or at least setting up Lilith to do so, if he ever needs her. And/or he’s still salty. What a bitch.

         I… Honestly feel so bad for Lilith that she was haunted and mistreated over this fact. You think Belos recognized her as a kid?! You think there was a moment when it dawned on him!? You think him forcing Lilith to do menial tasks was a reflection of his hatred of her?! THAT FUCKER… He ruined and tore down a woman’s mental health out of saltiness, and she only punched him because of what HE did to Luz and Lilith! Also Luz calling Lilith a cool aunt UNIRONICALLY, indulging in balusters with her! CALLING HER AUNTIE LILITH-

         (Also Luz just embracing being a Crab Maiden. There’s that creepy weird kid energy I love her.)

         We got to see Lilith’s palisman animated, but not get its name! Guess we really gotta go for Artemisia for now… And Dell! DELL, poor Dell; The Owl Beast didn’t just take out his left eye, it ravaged his entire left side and disabled it, ruining his career! No wonder Eda feels so much guilt… And it must’ve been BAD if even after all these years, healing magic can’t fix it! But his palisman… And Dell giving Eda some CLOSURE, an old man telling his kid to move on and plant seeds for the future, something she’s done for Luz; The palistrom seed, working with the Bat Queen, who still owes Eda a favor but lbr she’d do it even if there wasn’t a favor owed!

         Just… The THEMES, moving on from the past, being haunted by it; Belos is haunted by it AND his future! While Eda actually moves on and forgives herself… GOD I love this show, this is like Separate Tides where the A and B plot’s themes so impeccably fit together! Also, Steve; Steve is here and while I bet he’s passing it off as keeping an eye on Lilith and the gang to keep them from causing trouble, pretty sure he just admires Lily. Hope he doesn’t simp tho, she’s aro; But given how he’s gonna appear again, his attraction to Lilith might come up, which might invoke Lilith revealing that she’s aro in the show!

         Just… WHAT an episode! Philip having a beard was clearly a stylistic choice to obscure his features, but now it’s undeniable and I certainly wasn’t fooled! Guess he’s not a blonde, his hair is just a REALLY bleached brown, as someone guessed earlier; Because of the curse and all! Even so his hair isn’t even WHITE, which just goes to show how Belos has kept himself alive at a cost… Also poor Red and Green Fang, they were totally right to hate that colonizer. Can’t blame Luz for reading the situation wrong, she’s so empathetic… Also, I have to wonder if even after everything, Belos is still fond of her, or at least sees himself in her, hopes to convert Luz?

         Also… Philip saying it’s like the land DIDN’T want him to discover magic. What if the Collector is the Titan’s consciousness, or its son? Regardless, we basically have proof that THE TITAN HATES BELOS, and almost out of a petty revenge and necessity, he’s twisting its words around! He’s essentially held its heart hostage, likely; Preventing the Titan from lashing out and punishing him, because Belos is nuts enough to take it down with him if necessary! Meanwhile the Titan loves Luz, or at least isn’t trying to HIDE anything from her… Which kinda confirms that it shows glyphs to people who really want and need to look for them, for their own sake!

        I feel bad for Philip’s brother… Who might still be a Clawthorne ancestor, we don’t know! Also yeah, confirmation that Philip really did cut up his ears, what the hell. I’m not surprised but also I am; Why am I gasping, I already knew that? Also Philip’s bruise was more a BRUISE, but with how red it looked… We getting some blood in this show? Either way, LEGENDARY episode, impeccable themes, and the humor is top-notch! Thank you TOH crew.

[virlath]

environmental lore ~Dirthamen and Falon’Din

Part 1 - origins and the four armed statues Part 2 - their alliances

===

Part 3  - the origins of humans

This is getting to crackpot territory so byo tinfoil

Falon’Din and Dirthamen each have their own elven statue representations in the form of an owl and a raven, however they are also represented around Ferelden as hooded, almost human-styled figures. This is because I think there’s a strong possibility they themselves had a hand in the origins of humans and may have taken human form themselves.

In the Hinterlands, a statue of Dirthamen can first be seen at Calenhad’s foothold.

Note the artwork on the wall underneath this statue, which is repeated at the back of Blackwall’s stable in Skyhold.

Personally I think this artwork is probably related to the backstabbed, weeping Dirthamen statue in the Fade.

I’ve speculated on this previously, but I’ll reiterate again there is a lot of evidence Dirthamen, Falon’Din, and Fen’Harel were once close allies which makes this all the more interesting.

Hooded Dirthamen statues can be seen in the first camp you arrive at in the Emerald Graves. 

Falon’Din is also represented in the graves as a hooded, pointing figure. Both he and Dirthamen feature prominently at separate Inquisition camps, and interestingly, all these locations are guarded by wolf statues which also happen to depict Fen’Harel. 

Consider the fact Solas says “my people built a life here...it must have been something to see” right before Elgar’nan’s Bastion where the Din’an Hanin is located. This dungeon features an abundance of repeated imagery of Mythal, Falon’Din, Fen’Harel(gilded! so you know its important), and even June, further hinting at an alliance between all four. 

Even more interesting is the fact that Falon’Din’s statue points away from the path lined with Andrastian imagery, and that some scholars believe it to be an elaborate elven joke. 

Historians have been unable to identify the mysterious and cloaked pointing figure in the Emerald Graves. Some believe it a representation of the elven god Falon'Din, known also as the Friend of the Dead, or the Guide. Others believe it an elaborate elven joke, its punch line lost to time.

—From A Journey through the Dales by Lord Horace Medford, "Adventurer"

A statue of Dirthamen can also be found at the Citadelle Du Corbeau in the Exalted Plains, which was formerly an old elven fortress. 

 This mysterious hooded figure in Citadelle du Corbeau was nicknamed "the Raven" after the second Exalted March. The human forces - unfamiliar with elven iconography - saw the shadow the statue cast upon the courtyard, and imagined dark wings spread over the keep. Some years later, scholars of elven history hypothesized that the elves may have intended the sculpture as a representation of Dirthamen, the elven god of Secrets. 

The Exalted Plains is considered the dirthavaren by the elves- land promised to them by Andraste. Despite this I believe the meaning of dirthavaren can be traced back to the promise Fen’Harel made to his people- that someday they would be able to live in freedom on land they could call their own.

We can assume Dirthamen likely had an active role in Solas’ rebellion because a double raven standard is clearly shown within the weaponry at the elven ruins in Trespasser. 

The fact that Dirthamen’s statue features so prominently at the Citadelle Du Corbeau which is also guarded by several large Fen’Harel statues suggests he was also actively working in the Exalted Plains, possibly to help plan or direct settlements of rebels. 

However it’s clear something happened along the timeline that caused the alliance to fracture. It could be Mythal’s death or it may even have been earlier, perhaps to do with the Sinner and Dirthamen’s relationship with Ghilan’nain.

Dirthamen and Falon’Din’s actions in Ferelden are also muddied by one thing, and it is that their statues closely resemble human sculpture. Much like the human/elven ruins in DAO, I believe this is because these hooded statues are also of human and elven origin, suggesting that D+F’s followers were at some point in time, human and elven.

Dirthamen’s hooded statues are very similar in style to the Guardians of the Path landmarks in the Exalted Plains, which is clearly influenced by humans and Andrastianism.

The plaque on the statue reads: "Let the Light of Andraste lift your spirits"

The plaque on the statue reads: "Let the Eternal Flame purify your soul."

Not only do these statues mimic Dirthamen’s hooded pose (kneeling, holding aloft a brazier), these statues interestingly also echo each other alongside the path into the plains, reiterating the concept of D+F being two aspects of the same being. Knowing these gods walked the shifting paths beyond the Veil, ‘Guardians of the Path’ seems like a subtle nod (and perhaps even another elaborate elven joke) to Dirthamen/Falon’Din.

And if you compare these statues to the archer statues at the elven ruins, the difference is night and day. Elven sculptures seem more abstract and symbolic, whereas human sculpture is more figurative and has a more ‘human’ facial expression.

Much like the human and elven architecture found in DAO, this is further evidence to me that Dirthamen and Falon’Din had a significant history with humans, possibly even taking on the human form themselves.

To take it a step further, I theorise the human form was actually created or willed into manifestation by the elves to better survive the unchanging world. Much like how the elven form is more suited to the Crossroads-like worlds, the human form suited the physical world and ensured better physical survival.

The reference to the Guardian with regards to these statues is also interesting. The Guardian is a spirit from DAO who questions you and your party when trying to enter the Temple of Sacred Ashes. When questioned by Zevran on how he knows so much about their lives, the Guardian simply answers that “he is allowed” this information. Which sounds pretty similar to a spirit bound to the service of a god like Mythal’s well of sorrows...

These same Guardians of the Path statues are reused again at Suledin Keep after you claim it for the Inquisition. This in itself is notable, because no other claimed building in the game changes this much in scope and detail with regards to religious imagery. 

Based on initial detailing found within the keep, I think it once may have been Falon’Din’s fortress due to the prominence of the owl statues. After it’s claimed, it simply looks like Orlesians have taken over and dragged in their Andrastian symbolism. However, I think the environment change could also be a hint that the elven gods have a lot more to do with Andraste’s life and death than we think.

There are already many hints Mythal/Flemeth/Solas were actively influencing events during Andraste’s time. Throw in Falon’Din and potentially Dirthamen into the mix (I’m expecting the entire pantheon to show up in DA4 tbh), and it’s almost like the evanuris have been playing chess with each other and the mortal beings of Thedas are quite literally pawns in the evanuris’ constant struggle for dominance and attempts to one up each other.

Further evidence of Dirthamen and Falon’Din’s meddling with humans can be seen in DAO’s Brecilian forest ruins, through the very human like statues flanking next to the tainted eluvian. I believe these figures also depict Dirthamen and Falon’Din in human form.

I’m inclined to believe D+F took on human form before the veil, simply because Tamlen mentions the ruins look ancient and he suggests the architects definitely knew of the old elven gods. 

If the above winged statue represents Falon’Din (which is found directly opposite the eluvian), the two figures standing next to the tainted eluvian must also be of equal importance- particularly so since it is very strongly hinted at that it leads directly to the Black City. Considering they mirror each other like twins, it makes sense these statues also represent D+F.

Also remember, the eluvian in these ruins was active when Tamlen and the Warden discover it for the first time. This place was also only previously accessible by this eluvian, and the only reason it is discovered is because somehow a cave has magically opened up and a wall was broken into, probably by the darkspawn themselves.

This means the eluvian was unlocked by someone or something and darkspawn were probably using this eluvian and coming from the Black City itself. That someone or something could be associated to any one of these gods, considering they somehow managed to access the eluvian to their temple.

The same tainted eluvian design is also reused again in the Dragonbone wastes, where Morrigan makes her escape to the Crossroads to raise Kieran. 

The Dragonbone wastes was clearly a very significant site to the ancient elves because a varterral guards the entrance.

The varterral was supposedly created by Dirthamen, bound to protect elves from danger for eternity. 

In the days before Arlathan, there was a city in the mountains beloved by Dirthamen, Keeper of Secrets. Its people were wise beyond measure, thanks to his counsel, and the city flourished.

Then a high dragon settled in the mountains, and her hunger threatened the city. The elders cried out to Dirthamen for protection as the dragon's rampages struck ever closer, and for three days and nights, the people shut themselves in their homes and watched the skies in dread.

On the fourth day, Dirthamen heard them. He whispered into the mountains and the fallen trees of the forest gathered, shaping an immense and agile spider-like beast. It was the varterral. With lightning speed, vicious strikes, and venomous spit, it drove back the serpent. From then on, it was the guardian of the city and its people.

Many years passed. The gods were trapped by Fen'Harel and the people left to gather in Arlathan, but the varterral kept its everlasting vigil, guarding Dirthamen's city as it eventually crumbled to dust. To this day it stands there, watching over the rubble. Any travelers foolish enough to wander there find themselves face to face with wrath incarnate.

—From The Tale of the Varterral, as told by Gisharel, Keeper of the Ralaferin clan of Dalish elves

If this location is guarded by a varterral it implies the Dragonbone wastes is under the protection of Dirthamen himself. And given the fact that the eluvian at this location leads directly to the crossroads, it does suggest humans existed and helped created these ruins before the veil was created.

Entering the lair to the eluvian, two of these statues also guard the entrance. Notice the sealed mouths- they are very much like Dirthamen’s mosaic in DAI, symbolising secrets and Silence.

===

theory: humans were originally spirits/elves

Based on evidence outlined above, I theorise D+F had a significant role in the origin and affairs of humans and probably took on human form themselves. Like the elves, I think humans were originally spirits that manifested as humans to withstand the unchanging world.

Knowing that Falon’Din hungered for worshippers, perhaps gathering human followers ensured they would be able to stand up to forces beyond his control in the unchanging world - the world the evanuris declared was their “right”. 

When the veil was created, I think a schism formed between humans and elves because of differences in ability. Like the elves whose form allows travel through the Crossroads with ease, humans suddenly prospered post-veil because their form was better suited to the environment. 

I also think the veil had a large part to play in making everyone ‘forget’ the most significant parts of themselves and their connection to the fade, which is why no recorded history exists before the veil. 

In any case, I think it’s likely Dirthamen and Falon’Din are now playing the long game just like Mythal and Solas, and they have been somewhat successful because they're knowledgeable of humans. I also believe they are the masterminds behind the whispers of the old gods- Dirthamen as the keeper of secrets aligns with Dumat, Dragon of Silence, and Falon’Din, friend of the dead and master of the dark aligns with Lusacan, Dragon of the Night almost too perfectly.

Whether or not D+F knew about Solas’ plans for the veil remains to be seen, however I think it’s likely they had fail safes of their own regardless. And despite all the environmental lore suggesting a strong alliance once existed between Dirthamen and Fen’Harel, Solas says himself ‘only an ally can betray you’.

With the teaser images and foreshadowing of an encroaching darkness and darkness cloaking all realms, I think Lusacan will likely make an appearance in DA4 on ‘wings of death’. Ultimately, I think he’s so corrupted his ultimate goal may be to taint every living creature on Thedas to reinforce his/his and Dirthamen’s divinity (much like Corypheus’ own aspirations, he had to have gotten the idea from somewhere after all). The kicker in this is that it’s also likely **TN spoilers

Ghilan’nain is also tainted and amassing her own blighted army. It remains to be seen what she intends on doing with it, but I can’t imagine it’s anything good.

===

Part 1 - origins and the four armed statues Part 2 - their alliances

[khtrinityftw]

Honest KH2 Appraisal

Continuing looking at Kingdom Hearts II from a moderate standpoint, here is a post looking over all the good of the game's tumultuous narrative, because accentuating the negative as described in this post without looking at all the positives does it no justice. Here are the ten major things that went right with the game's narrative:

- The Characters: Even if much of the character writing is a downgrade from the previous two installments, one vital quality is still retained: you like these characters, you feel for these characters, you are interested in these characters and invested in where they end up. As this video points out, it's still a story about Sora and his friends, not about the increasingly incomprehensible Xehanort and his increasingly uninteresting followers. In fact, it's the story that ends the larger story they've been a part of ever since the original game. It's the true end of their journey, and you're with them all the way.

- The Emotion: I find that "melodrama" is something that is very unfairly maligned. It's bad in the wrong place, sure, but in the right place it is highly effective at going straight for our hearts and giving us something memorable, possibly even formative, that will last us our whole lives, more than more "seriously" written things do. And KH2 piles on the melodrama to superb effect, exactly in the way you would want and expect in a Disney JRPG. The convoluted nature of the plot falls by the wayside when you are wrapped up in the emotions - to paraphrase Ansem the Wise, you don't need to wrap your mind around things when your heart already knows them.

- The Balance: KH2 might just be the crowning achievement in the series when it comes to balancing Disney, Final Fantasy, and KH-original elements. Each receives more than their fair share of spotlight, and each is able to interact with one another in perfectly natural ways. So as out of sync as the forces behind the narrative were, the forces within the narrative have never been as much in sync. The KH universe has never felt as unified as this ever again.

- The Tone: Similarly to the unfair rep that melodrama gets, there are many who instantly judge the "early 2000s shonen anime" tone (meaning style, flashiness and Rule of Cool takes precedence over serious subject matter) that KH2 goes with, often upset either because they wanted the first game's tone again or they wanted something darker as suggested by the famous secret ending video from the first game. But there's so much that's good and fun about early 2000s shonen anime when it's done right, and KH2 is an example of doing it right. I honestly think that this tone really works for the series and wish it had stuck to it, rather than deteriorating into the bad, pretentious, self-important shonen anime style that it did.

- The Themes: While continuing the themes established in the prior entries such as hearts, connection of hearts, darkness within hearts and light within darkness, and the power of memories, KH2 brought several new themes to the table such as the nature of existence, what your place in the universe is, the importance of keeping the promises you make, and perhaps above all reunion with friends. And even if the story's writing was wonky, the themes always shine through and are explored and wrapped up perfectly. 

- The Visuals: Masaru Oka's lackluster Event Direction can't detract from how visually grand Nomura's story is, with the imagery on display still remembered by all who played the game even today. Of special note has to be the World That Never Was, which is positively dripping with atmosphere and filled with unique structures, doing full justice to what was glimpsed in KH's legendary secret ending.

- The Sense of Humor: As much as I harp on Nojima for his writing problems, I would be remiss to not praise his excellent sense of humor that he filled his scenario with. Nomura even confirmed a lot of comedic touches like Sea-Salt Ice Cream being a running gag that runs so long that it becomes an important plot point was Nojima's doing. Also notice how the Halloween Town stories are written in a hokey manner like a Christmas special - don't think that wasn't intentional, that's the whole joke and it's hilarious. In fact, a lot of famous "KH2 out of context" moments and lines like "we totally owned you lamers!" seem to be conscious, tongue-in-cheek choices, and done in a way that doesn't offset the emotional sincerity of the dramatic parts of the story. With the KH series often being unable to lighten up these days, this kind of comedic touch is sorely missed.

- The High Points: This story's high points aren't just high, they're goddamn iconic. "Looks like my summer vacation is...over". The Hollow Bastion war sequence and the battle of 1000 Heartless. The stories of Beast's Castle, Olympus Coliseum and Space Paranoids. Timeless River in its entirety. The tough, climactic boss fights against the members of Organization XIII, Disney villains like Hades, and powerful Heartless such as Groundshaker. And of course almost everything that transpires in the World That Never Was. I believe I speak for many when I say that the low points like Atlantica or that weirdo subplot with Cloud, Tifa and Sephiroth are entirely forgivable when high points of this caliber are packaged along with them.

- The Finale: Like I said above, the World That Never Was gives us one of the best finales in video game history. From going through the dark city streets, to the mental duel against Roxas, to scaling the Castle That Never Was and taking down the rest of the Organization, to seeing all the heroes reunite, to the verbal battle between Xemnas and Ansem the Wise before the latter’s heroic sacrifice, to entering a physical manifestation of Kingdom Hearts itself where you slice through buildings, dodge laser fire from a flying mechanical fortress, fight hordes of Nobodies and take down Xemnas, to the final boss fight against Xemnas in the Realm of Nothingness, and finally to the sheer perfection that is the ending sequence. Every character gets a moment, every plot thread is wrapped up in a bow, and the happy ending you've longed for since the first KH didn't have it is finally achieved. There are flaws, but in the grand scheme of things they're nitpicks. This is the most satisfying conclusion the KH series has ever given us or ever will give us. There's just no topping it.

- The Collaboration: Tragically, Nomura took the wrong lessons away from KH2's success and from the criticism its narrative received. Here is what he admitted after KH3's release:

By axing professional scenario writers like Nojima and collaborators beyond Masaru Oka since they get confused by his concepts and stories, Nomura has traded one style of narrative mess for a much worse one. With his name under the "Story" credit, the stories are now even more convoluted, pretentious and badly paced, and now with far less sharp dialogue, less humor, less balancing between Disney, FF and KH-original elements, less emotion and thus less emotional investment, and less characters to be interested in or care about. Just...less FUN. This old post nailed it. Kingdom Hearts III came as close as was possible under the circumstances, but when compared to Kingdom Hearts II, it’s still a noteworthy step down. Regardless of its faults, KH2 is clearly where the KH series peaked.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Lullaby of Howling Winds

Drifting in and out of sleep, the lullaby of howling winds never let him fully rest. Those winds carried sand over the wasteland. They carried sounds of creatures in the distance, of the clanking of metal from a faraway fortress-city occupied by orcs.

Cade sat in the shade of a jagged rock, tucked away in a spot that shielded him from those merciless winds sweeping past. His horse had perished from its injuries along the way. The snapping of muscles and the crunch of bones still echoed in his mind, grisly remnants of the imagery of him putting the loyal beast of burden out of its misery.

His weary legs had carried him this far, but he needed rest. The dry heat of these blasted lands had chapped his lips and he yearned for water, haunted by the hollow weight of the empty waterskin hanging from his side.

Pebbles crunched underfoot. In a flash, Cade gripped his sword in both hands in a trained reflex, blade out at the ready, pointing at the figure that had appeared in front of him, appeared from the darkness in between his eyelids opening and closing in his delirious haze.

A figure with limbs as thin as reeds, standing tall before him. Pointy ears like an elf. Eyes not black, thus a half-elf, Cade recognized through the delirium. The thin man tilted his head. A glint of madness flashed in his eyes. His mouth spread into a lopsided smile.

Cade returned a smile of his own. But inwardly, he was alarmed.

As night neared, the stranger had introduced himself as Harrokh and shared his water with him. Cade took careful sips from it, tasting no poison in it and trying to avoid the shock that might come from dehydration and drinking too greedily.

They had not spoken other than exchanging names. Cade took his time, studying the thin man’s every movement while he continued to recover, sensing he would need all his strength to survive.

Harrokh even made a small campfire for them to warm themselves against the unforgiving cold as it crept across the craggy wastes of the Cinderlands. Yet Cade read no shivers in the thin man’s motions, saw no sign of him being touched by the elements.

The fire was a mere gesture. A guise.

“Are you a crusader?” asked Harrokh.

“What gave it away? The holy symbol of Old Deadeye?” replied Cade hoarsely, ending with a pained grin and clearing his throat.

Harrokh smiled. Wider than before.

Hungrier.

Toothier. Cade maintained the smile upon his lips, using it to mask his disgust over the fever he sensed just by looking into Harrokh’s eyes. He could smell it on him. The rot of decay, the stench of unearthed corpses.

Ghoul fever.

“So, you hunt all abominations? Never suffer such creatures as demons and the walking dead?” Harrokh said, stoking the fire with a stick, causing embers to rise like fireflies.

“Something like that,” Cade muttered.

His trusty bow and a quiver of seven arrows rested on one of the rocks nearby, but he had no plans on using that. His sword rested against his shoulder, leaning not at the ready anymore, but also close enough that he might grab and raise it if the thin man made any hostile move.

He continued to study Harrokh’s features. Freakishly long fingers, sharp fingernails.

“Not very talkative for an itinerant priest, are you?” Harrokh asked. “Don’t make a lot of converts that way, I reckon?”

Cade chuckled, but it ended in a raspy cough. Cleared his throat again.

“We don’t make converts, friend,” he said, trying to utter the last word with as much sincerity as he could muster. “We serve the people in whatever way they need us to.”

Harrokh had no pack, no belongings other than the waterskin. A waterskin that rarely saw use, judging by how stale the water had tasted. The only other things he appeared to have on him were the ragged clothing on his back and a bronze skinning knife hanging by his side.

“Tell me a story, priest. What brings you to these desolate wastes? Do you not run into trouble with the Shoanti hunters? Or the orcs?”

Genuine curiosity. Harrokh stared into Cade’s eyes, something smoldering between them. Perhaps he wanted to know if someone might come looking for him.

“No trouble with Shoanti. I have an agreement with one of the clans out here. We hunted a demon together mere weeks ago,” Cade said.

Harrokh nodded slowly.

“No trouble with orcs, either. I can stand my ground. Unfortunately, Quentin didn’t make it out of the last encounter.”

“Friend of yours?”

Cade nodded, averted his gaze to focus on the fire, and swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

“Yes. Good horse. Fought well. We braved many perils together and his end was not dignified.”

From the peripheral of his vision, he noticed the twitch around the corners of Harrokh’s lips. The hint of a grin that the ghoul fought back down, wrestled under control.

Had he eaten Quentin’s remains back there? It might explain how he discovered him out here.

Harrokh broke the silence that Cade’s thoughts occupied, saying “Didn’t answer my question, though. What, really, brings you out here?”

Cade arched a brow, curious about the ghoul’s curiosity. He had never heard of these creatures being this talkative, this inquisitive. He had never heard of them being this sophisticated.

“I know that many cults hide out in the mountains out here, worshipping demons and summoning them. I was—I am on a quest to hunt them all. Learn of them. Root them out.”

Harrokh chuckled, but it erupted into a cackle, ending on a high and crazed pitch. The shrillness of it caused the hairs on the back of Cade’s neck to stand.

“Sounds like something personal, aye? Something—”

“Yes,” Cade interrupted him sharply. “It’s always something personal, friend. Nobody acts without motive, lest they are beast.”

Harrokh still smiled at him over the small flames of the campfire, dancing merrily in between them. This time, the crackling of burning wood filled the silence. This time, Cade broke it.

“Now tell me a story, traveler. What brings you out here? You’re not in any of those abhorrent cults, are ya?” Cade asked with a smirk.

This wiped the smile from Harrokh’s face.

“As late as the hour is, I respect that you will respect our shared hospitality around this quaint little fire,” said the ghoul. “I admit, I am disciple to the Lady Despair.”

Cade licked his lips and really began feeling the weariness in his own legs. He felt pins and needles in his feet but barely moved. His fingers twitched, ready to clutch his sword by the hilt and swing it around and run it right through this ghoul—but he decided to hear him out first.

Not every day that a crusader got to speak this closely with the undead.

Was this even a normal ghoul? He wondered.

“Did the Pallid Princess grace you with—did she make you what you are now?”

Harrokh licked his lips. His tongue was long and pointed, like a serpent’s. His fangs growing longer, and sharper. Teeth too numerous to resemble a normal man’s mouth.

“Of course. Some might argue an indirect rescue, but my faith and my path led me to it. My devotion to Her was what saved me from certain destruction,” Harrokh spoke.

The fire crackled and Harrokh stoked it with more force than before. Embers exploded from it, flitting away in every direction.

“This sounds like a long story,” Cade said.

“The nights grow longer. We have time, do we not?”

Cade raised a shoulder for a one-sided shrug, feeling the exhaustion still creeping up on him like cold hands caressing him, tingling underneath his skin everywhere now. In direct defiance of how alert he felt, how cautious he was. How ready he was to fight this creature.

“Yes, please. Humor me.”

“I was arrogant. Sought to show up the leader of our covenant by discovering the resting place of a Thassilonian God-King before her. Hoped to find great power there, with which I might have become the ultimate master of our faith.”

Cade just stared at him. Glared. Did nothing to interrupt him, silently urging him to continue. He marveled in the ghoul’s audacity. Did he really underestimate him this much? Or did this creature possess power so great that he simply did not care?

“Close to starvation, I reached that fabled place. Xin-Shalast. How exactly, I barely remember,” Harrokh recounted. His words trailed off and his gaze rested upon the fire, the focus leaving his eyes as his thoughts followed his words.

“There, giants walked, so large that their shin bones towered twice the height of a grown man. They stood watch over this strange city’s incredible walls, ancient structures older than anything I have ever seen, yet untouched by the sands of time. Standing strong and beautiful, despite the frozen wastes that surrounded the place. Other horrid monsters dwelt there as well.”

Cade scoffed. Harrokh either ignored him or was lost in his own memories.

“They feasted on the bones of the few pilgrims such as I who somehow managed to reach this place. Where a powerful miasma enclosed the valley, one that turns even shadows of the dead into wrathful spirits. I crawled like a cockroach, scurrying from hiding place to hiding place, until he found me.”

Cade arched a brow and interjected, “He? Who’s he?”

“He made me his slave, but he allowed me to subsist on carrion, to walk in his shadow, to hide and only strike out to help him and his other servants whenever their body and wit might be outmatched by the beautiful abominations that ruled the city.”

Fingers twitching again, Cade started weighing how much longer he would hear out this babble. He would need to sleep eventually and sleeping in the company of a hungry ghoul could only spell out one single outcome.

“My master—Mokmurian—he entered a tremendous palace without me. And when he emerged again—”

Harrokh paused. His eyes locked onto Cade’s. They glistened with a wetness that betrayed reverence and sadness.

“When he emerged from that palace, he wielded magic befit of a god. The disdain in his eyes, for me, and his other subjects—he felt like a god. He saw us as pathetic wretches, ready to discard us like broken tools. Some reveled in it. I felt only disgust. He saw it in me. Saw it in my eyes. Threw me off a cliff without second thought.”

Harrokh’s eyes sparkled with an insanity and despair that Cade could not fathom even if he tried. He wanted to say something, his mouth drooping half open, but no words came. Cade wanted to clear his throat, but something was wrong.

“I survived because I had feasted upon the undead. I had become one with Her curse. The fever took me, and I lived beyond life. Rearranged my broken bones, ignored my battered body. Could now regain my strength by feasting upon any blood and flesh, both living and dead. Could not so readily die of mere cold or thirst or starvation anymore.”

Cade had heard enough. Tried to grip his sword, but his strength failed him. His gloved fingers slipped past the hilt, barely gripped it, and a dizziness set in as he willed himself to rise from where he sat. Yet his body disobeyed.

“I sought for so, so long to find that city again. To return to Xin-Shalast. But when he cast me from that cliff, he ripped the memories from me! He discarded me like trash, and without my master to guide me, I have no chance of finding that beautiful city again,” Harrokh said. His voice trembled with reverence, fear, and desire.

The sparkle in his eyes wavered, making way for that previous glint of madness and hunger.

Cade struggled to move. The gravel and rocks beneath him crunched, cracked under the combined weight of his heavy body and armor. His limbs refused to do as he wanted. Something far worse than fatigue had seized his body.

“Erastil, you bastard—I will not,” Cade hissed, swearing at his god. It took all his strength to mutter more, “I will burn your damned mead halls if I die like this—”

Harrokh emitted another one of those shrill cackles. It sent no shivers down Cade’s spine. It only fueled the righteous fury welling up in his gut.

The ghoul rose and his fingernails began to enlarge, taking the form of talon-like claws.

“Who needs places, priest? All we need—is to eat,” Harrokh said with a sneer. “Now let the poison do its work. Close your tired little eyelids over that soft, delectable jelly that you see through.”

Cade gritted his teeth so hard until his gums started bleeding. Harrokh took a first, menacing step towards him, rounding the fire and closing in. His fangs glistened with reflections of the campfire’s light. His grin was hideous. Monstrous.

He lunged at Cade and his claws sank into the crusader’s flesh, slicing through metal and leather armor like needles piercing a thick hide with ease. Cade screamed out in agony, followed by a shout of anger and defiance.

Bones crunched and snapped as Cade yanked them around, for he had managed to swing the sword up just in time, in one last ditch effort, seizing his one and only chance. He twisted the sword’s blade with whatever ounces of strength he had left over, staring into the eyes of Harrokh, watching the unlife ooze out of them as he twisted the blade once more, breaking ribs and gutting the humanoid monstrosity.

The fire danced in the reflections cast upon the tip of the blade, sticking out from Harrokh’s back. His greedy hunger had driven him right onto Cade’s sword.

Cade yelled again in pain as he shoved the dying ghoul from him, and the claws cut through skin on the way back out. He kicked at the ghoul but delivered little force. The ghoul thrashed around one more time, flailing its arms, but Harrokh only scraped against rocks and the surface of Cade’s mail now.

Divine rage flowed through the crusader as he arched his back and managed to lift the sword one last time, bringing it down, crashing right into Harrokh’s neck as he lay prone.

Not enough force to sever the head, but enough to crack the spine and cut through most of the neck. Cade shouted again, channeling that rage and chopping Harrokh’s ghastly head off after a few more swings.

He then collapsed back onto the ground.

His strength had finally escaped him. At least, he reckoned, the ghoul lay dead beside him. Thick, tar-like mucus oozed out of the new orifices that Cade had hacked open in the abominable undead creature’s body. Harrokh’s claws twitched one last time, then the ghoul’s remains turned deathly still.

Cade panted and grunted as he touched the injuries that Harrokh had left in his own sides, not bothering to look at them beyond seeing his own blood upon his trembling gloved hands.

His consciousness was fading fast. The edges around his field of vision began to blacken.

The last things crossing his mind were that he would have to figure out what kind of odorless poison the ghoul had used. And how he had almost died without completing his quest. How he worried about the fire and it possibly attracting orcs, or other menaces like Harrokh. Or its absence, once it died out on its own, failing to keep predators and scavengers at bay.

He wanted to swear at his god, Erastil, again, but the poison forced slumber upon him.

Cade passed out, sleeping to the lullaby of the howling winds.

—Submitted by Wratts

[anamedblog]

The Rise of the Ottomans in Istanbul

By Mark Huggins, ANAMED PhD Fellow (2019–2020)

My entry on the ANAMED blog takes a look at the new Netflix docudrama: Rise of Empires—Ottoman, a second effort following on its last docudrama on czar Nicholas II Romanov of Russia (reviews of that series were mixed; the Guardian wasn’t kind (https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2019/jul/11/the-last-czars-netflix-historical-drama-that-the-whole-of-russia-is-laughing-at), but the Daily Beast raved (https://www.thedailybeast.com/the-last-czars-inside-netflixs-stunning-russian-answer-to-the-crown).

All 6 episodes of Ottoman were made available for streaming on Netflix this past Friday, 24 January. The reviews I’ve found published so far have been positive ( https://www.thereviewgeek.com/riseofempires-ottoman-s1review/, https://www.hitc.com/en-gb/2020/01/24/rise-of-empires-ottoman-netflix-narrator-charles-dance-actor/, https://www.thecinemaholic.com/rise-of-empires-ottoman-netflix/, https://readysteadycut.com/2020/01/24/rise-of-empires-ottoman-netflix-review/) and at least one ANAMED fellow was watching the series yesterday and seemed to be thoroughly entertained. Having watched the episodes myself, and being an enthusiast of period pieces generally, my opinion of the series is also positive overall. Each 45-minute episode addresses a particular theme/step in the process of Sultan Mehmed II’s (Fatih Sultan Mehmed) eventual capture of the capital of the Byzantine Empire, Constantinople. The series draws on both modern accounts and ancient, both Byzantine and Ottoman. The format is further supplemented by breaks in the historical dramatization to receive background information and explanations from scholars on the period.

Being a fellow at ANAMED this year has decisively influenced the way I viewed this series because over the last few months I have had the opportunity to explore this living treasure chest of past civilizations, and to the series’ credit, it is filmed on site here in Istanbul (though, of course, special effects and constructed sets are also employed). Generally, I’ve been fortunate; since I have studied in nearby Thessaloniki, I managed to visit Istanbul a few times before coming to ANAMED. Nevertheless, I never even scratched the surface compared to what I’ve experienced and learned now (and I certainly haven’t even scratched the surface this time, either, in relation to what the city has to offer). That being said, my time here has afforded me the opportunity to visit some of the monuments and sites mentioned in the series—of course, with the knowledgeable and pleasant company of other fellows! For example, episode 1 takes a look at Mehmed II’s bold construction (in 4 months!) of Rumelihisarı. I visited the site last October, currently located just north of the scenic Bebek neighborhood on the European side of the Bosphorus. Mehmed II’s construction of the fortress sent a message to Constantinople that he was coming.

image credits: Stavroula Valtadorou 

This by itself wasn’t enough to necessarily unnerve either Constantine XI, the reigning Byzantine emperor at the time (and the last one, of course), or any of his predecessors. As the series repeatedly notes, many armies had come and gone, falling either dead or else impotent at the impenetrable fifth-century Theodosian Walls. It had been common knowledge among Byzantine rulers for centuries that, when all else failed, Constantinople would withstand any possible attack. Hold the city and you’re emperor. This was what Mehmed II’s father, Murad II, had learned the hard way back in 1421. The Byzantines didn’t need superior forces (which was good because they hadn’t had any for a long time); their diplomacy was enough as long as the walls held, and a well-timed revolt or challenge to the throne was usually enough to make massive armies disappear. Murad II had better luck in Thessaloniki, which he captured in 1430. He immediately proceeded to convert the Panagia Acheiropoietos Church (built in late 5th century) into a mosque, and his seal commemorating his victory and thanking Allah can still be seen in the now functioning church to this day.

image credit: https://gr.pinterest.com/pin/510947520199763166/?d=t&mt=login 

The series does a good job of explaining Mehmed II’s motivation in taking Constantinople, as well as the factions within his own Court that sought to undermine him. Since his father, Murad II had failed, Mehmed II was determined to succeed. In order to do so, though, he needed superior technology, and this is precisely what he procured in the form of the legendary “basilica” canons, which did eventually manage to breach Constantinople’s famed defenses. In Edirne, capital of the Ottoman Empire at the time, a monument commemorates Mehmed II’s victory, complete with a replica of some of his cannon.

image credits: ANAMED PhD fellows Jeffrey Haines and Athanasios Sotiriou

The story that Rise of Empires—Ottoman tells is full of detail and vivid imagery, making it accessible to anyone (even Byzantinists (!), who are usually trained to stop thinking of anything past 1453…) All in all, this mini-series is enjoyable, engaging and, if you’re an ANAMED fellow, yet another reminder to get out there and explore this incredible city and country that is full to the brim with historical treasures everywhere you look. My stay at ANAMED has made this experience come alive for me like never before, interacting with both the place and the people, especially benefiting from the extensive knowledge of other fellows. The series by no means replaces the in-person, hands-on experience of the city, but for anyone not yet fortunate enough to have been here, perhaps it will provide the impetus you need to make the effort to visit and explore. I highly recommend the series, because, if for nothing else, it reminds us fellows of what we enjoy every day throughout these 9 months and may serve as an initiation for others to come and experience the same one day.

I am grateful to all the fellows who helped with this post by providing pictures and/or background information to supplement my (embarrassingly almost non-existent) knowledge of the Ottoman Empire: Betül Kaya, Ibrahim Mansour, Jeffrey Haines, Athanasios Sotiriou, and Stavroula Valtadorou (my fellow!).

[ohsweetsweetie]

I decided to type up a detailed-ish analysis of every AH tarot card I made since some of them get pretty weird with symbolism that can be lost without context. It starts with The Fool going in order until The World.

Also I apologize to mobile users. This stuff is all under a read more, but Tumblr mobile doesn’t care. :(

Here’s a link to the tarot deck tag if you would like to see all the cards!

The Kings’ Tarot

The Fool: The Fool is Jester Gavin, Royal Jester and best friend of King Michael the Righteous. This card is simple in its imagery compared to other cards. Jester Gavin is in the center looking at a white rose (above the roses around him) with his hand over his heart at the edge of a cliff and surrounded by a field of yellow roses with the sun high in the sky above him.

Gavin looks at the white rose with adoration and his right hand is placed over his heart. On the middle of his collarbone is King Michael’s family symbol, a golden bear paw embedded in ruby surrounded with a rope of gold, which shows his affiliation with the royal family. He is represented by the yellow rose (joy, delight, platonic love). The white rose in his hand is King Michael’s symbol as is the sun above him (Michael being The Sun card and Justice). His golden greaves were a gift from King Michael.

I The Magician: The Magician is Mad King Ryan (not to be confused with King Ryan or Dark God Ryan). He’s in his laboratory high in a tower, looking at a glowing magenta potion in a bottle with a smirk on his face. On the table are coins with the AH star, a gold sword, a silver goblet, and a wooden wand. Behind him is a bookcase with many old books. A vine of some kind has taken over the walls and is even spilling out the window. In the background and foreground are rose bushes covered in pitch black roses (death, beginning anew, drastic change). His crown is simple being only gold with 8 spikes as decoration though one of the spikes has snapped in two.

This is a scene more than a representation of the card itself. It is the moment the Mad King discovers his knack for dark magic. This is the moment he spirals out of control and eventually sells his soul to darkness to become the Dark God.

II The High Priestess: The High Priestess is Queen Lindsay, the wife of King Michael. Like Jester Gavin, she too has the symbol of King Michael’s court on the middle of the neckline on her dress. Behind her is a crescent moon (femininity) and a calm sea which takes up the entire background. It’s the last few minutes of twilight, the horizon is still a few shades lighter than the upper portion of the sky. Beside her are two pillars: one black with a capital B (Boaz “in his strength”) and the other is white with a capital J (Jachin “he will establish”). They represent duality of light and dark. In her hand is a parchment with the word “Tora” symbolizing a sacred knowledge which she keeps hidden from the viewer as only she has the power to read it.

III The Empress: The Empress is Achievement City itself instead of being an actual person. Wheat that is ready for harvest is in the foreground. In the middle ground is a field of green grass and an empty chaise lounge draped with a red velvet throw and an orange satin pillow. It seems as if no one has ever sat on it. Behind the chair is a dense forest and beyond that is the Altar of Pimps, a snowy mountain range, and King Geoff’s fortress. The sky is clear save for twelve stars arched above like a crown.

IV The Emperor: The Emperor is King Geoff the Proud. He sits atop a barren, rocky cliff during sunset on a throne of stone which is gilded with gold. At the top of the throne is a stone ram’s head (masculinity). The throne itself is broken and cracked with age and wear. King Geoff is dressed in shiny, intricate armor. In his hand, he holds a globe which contains the map of the original Achievement City (you can see the Altar clearly near the center). He was the first king, someone who kept the throne long past anyone should, and thus is remembered as the original ruler.

V The Hierophant: The Hierophant is King Jeremy the Lively. He sits on an intricate golden throne with violet velvet cushions. In the back board of the throne are carved cutouts of two crowns, making the one he wears the third above his head (ruling the conscious, sub-conscious and super-conscious). His hand is held up in a blessing. There are two pillars either side of him: law and liberty. Transparent violet curtains frame his throne and sit between himself and those who are below him to show he is removed from the common people. Two keys representing the keys to heaven sit below him in his throne.

The Hierophant involves a shared group identity and rites of passage which I thought fit Jeremy’s integration into the group well.

VI The Lovers: The Lovers is a simple card. A single white rose and a single yellow rose circle around each other in the middle perfectly, never touching. Below them is a field of deep red roses (love, longing, devotion, admiration). The Lovers can represent any kind of relationship, not just romantic.

VII The Chariot: The Chariot is once again King Jeremy. He rides in a golden chariot pulled by a black horse and a white horse (duality). It seems as if he is the one driving the chariot, but a closer look reveals he holds no reigns, just a wand (wisdom). This suggests the chariot move and turns to his will seeing as his expression is serene despite the circumstances. Above him in the violet velvet canopy are six pointed stars representing his connection to divinity. This and the crown carved into his chariot are throwbacks to his other card The Hierophant. Also Jeremy is a monster truck so of course he gets the chariot.

VIII Justice: Justice is King Michael the Righteous. He sits on an elaborate golden throne with red velvet cushions with his family symbol sitting above him. In his right hand he holds a double edged diamond sword (justice by force has consequences) and in his left a golden scale (balance) containing a human heart on one side and a yellow rose on the other about where his own heart would be. He sits in a garden of white roses on a stone and mortar path. Also his sword is see-through, check it out.

IX The Hermit: The Hermit is King Ray the Admired. He walks alone atop a snowy mountain, not a person nor creature in sight. He’s wary, but not fearful as he travels. In his hand he holds a lantern with a six pointed star inside to light the way (wisdom). The lantern only lights the close surroundings and thus he must keep walking to find the path he insists on following. The aurora above helps light his way though as if the world itself wishes for his success.

X Wheel of Fortune: The Wheel of Fortune is Matt, an alchemist. He holds a cracked stone wheel in front of him though not with his hands as it first seems. On the wheel is the AH logo, letters, and alchemical symbols. Clockwise, the symbols are mercury, sulfur, water and salt. These are the four alchemical building blocks of life. Clockwise, the letters are T, A, R, and O. They can be read a few ways. Tarot (as in the cards), tora (wisdom like in the High Priestess), and rota (Latin for wheel). Each corner of the card is decorated with a wing for the four winged creatures of the fixed zodiac (Taurus, Leo, Aquarius, and Scorpio).

XI Strength: Strength is a scene between Jester Gavin and Edgar the Minotaur. They are deep within Mad King Ryan’s stone maze. Gavin has the minotaur in his hands and although the minotaur is menacing, it is not attacking him as he’s using his inner strength to tame the beast (which he ends up killing anyway, but not yet). The infinity symbol chiseled into the wall above Gavin’s head shows his endless potential.

This scene is after the Mad King overthrows King Michael’s reign which leaves the king dead. Gavin, in a fit of vengeance, finds the strength within him to go after the Mad King by killing his guard minotaur and then by killing the Mad King himself. When Gavin thrusts his sword through Mad King Ryan’s chest, his blood is revealed to be pitch black having already pledged himself to the darkness and with his dying breath, he lays a curse upon Gavin knowing he will be next in line for the crown.

XII The Hanged Man: The Hanged Man is King Gavin the Foolish (not to be confused with Jester Gavin). He has been crowned as king though he remains unhappy having lost the person closest to him and as a result of the curse the Mad King had done. King Gavin is hanged by his own volition, his expression is somber as he punishes himself for what has happened. He still wears the golden greaves, but his crown is simple and silver, nothing like the extravagant crown the late King Michael wore. He sees himself as not being worthy of that crown.

He hangs from a birch tree (renewal, starting over) in the shape of a cross. On the tree hangs King Michael’s cape and family symbol. The cape blends in well with the tree itself making it seem like Gavin is hanging from the cape instead showing how “hung up” he is on Michael’s death (don’t kill me for my bad jokes). The surroundings are cloaked in twilight (his “sun” having set which parallels The Fool). There’s a single star twinkling in the sky which is the brightest star in the sky Sirius (part of Canis Major). The myth of the constellation Canis Major is about Laelaps, a hunting dog, who could catch anything who was tasked with catching a fox who could never be caught. The paradoxical nature caused Zeus to turn the two to stone and cast them to the sky.

XIII Death: Death is the Grim Reaper. This is a scene representing the death of the first king King Geoff. The reaper holds a scythe in one hand and an hourglass in the other. The hourglass is King Geoff’s life. All of the sand inside is black and in the bottom chamber to show his time has run out. In front of the reaper is Geoff’s crown which is upside down as another way of showing it’s the end.The background is gray and dull, the sky is cloudy and it’s raining which seems to not affect the Grim Reaper.

This card was originally going to have the crown of every king as a symbol of death being inevitable buuuuuttt….. That didn’t happen lmao

XIV Temperance: Temperance is King Jack the Humble. He pours water from one goblet into the another (the flow of life) with a square (the world, natural law) surrounding a triangle (humanity). He has one foot on land (staying grounded) and the other in the stream (to be in flow). It’s sunny and cheerful despite the human skull decorating his shawl. There’s a long path into mountains in the distance (journey of life) which ends at a glowing crown (staying true to your ambitions).

XV The Devil: The Devil is Mad King turning Dark God Ryan. He has given his life to the darkness for power and it’s starting to seep into his skin as ugly, tainted veins. His expression is unnaturally smug. Also every time I draw King Ryan, I make his pupil really small, have you noticed that?

In front of him is Edgar the Minotaur who has his arms around Edgar the cow and Ryan’s squire Kerry which represents the unholy transmutation of Kerry and Edgar into the Minotaur itself. The Minotaur is almost protective in it’s stance even though Kerry is so afraid. Behind them all writhes the dark magic that Ryan uses. It emanates off of him.

XVI The Tower: The Tower is the Tower of Pimps and is the most straightforward and symbol-less cards. The Tower of Pimps sits on a stone pedestal and is slightly dirtied though each block is intact. It sits in the middle of a forest and tells the world of the next to be crowned.

XVII The Star: The Star is the star from the AH logo. Underneath it are 7 eight pointed stars (the 7 chakras). It sits in a vast starry sky.

XVIII The Moon: The Moon is self explanatory. It’s the moon. Though the towers of trees are a nod to the tree towers created during the King Gavin let’s play.

XIX The Sun: The Sun is King Michael holding a diamond sword up. The sword glints brilliantly in the light and Michael is cast in a deep shadow.

XX Judgement: Judgement is knights Alfredo and Trevor. They are riding horses away from a mountain range and sun rise while looking up at the flag Trevor is holding. On the flag is a stylized Tower of Pimps, the flag of Achievement City. Above them is the silhouette of the late King Geoff with an intricate halo and far-reaching angel wings which shows that he still has an influence over the kingdom despite his death.

XXI The World: The World is a contrasting realistic space view of a planet and moon. The topography of the planet is the extended version of Achievement City (Xbox One version). Above the world is a loop in the shape of an infinity symbol representing the cyclical nature of the planet.

And that’s all I feel like typing! Everyone’s outfits are based on their Minecraft skins. Gavin is a creeper, Ryan is the man in a kilt, Lindsay is Kazooie, Geoff is Master Chief, Jeremy is the castaway skin with a Rimmy Tim influence, Michael is Banjo, Ray is a man in a tuxedo (or Tuxedo Mask), Matt is Jack of Blades, Jack is a Trials Fusion rider, Kerry is both the Minecraft cow and Juno, Alfredo is default Steve with a skeleton head, and Trevor is the iron golem.

There’s a lot left that I didn’t write though it’s mainly the card’s meaning itself for the most part. The meanings are the same in these cards as they are in the Rider-Waite tarot deck. Tell me if I missed anything you want to know about so I can elaborate!

[hiraeth-wayfarer]

Hiraeth Creature #870 - Muralundo

"The monsters who live in the primeval Land of Giants are often hunted down by the knights known as Shepherds, who watch over the entrance to their realm. They keep vigil from a grand fortress made from the remains of an ancient city, rebuilt from the first one that fell to the Giant's March generations ago. Though the most known and used gate to this land is along a narrow path that follows the stars, there appears to be a few other entry ways unmapped, as sometimes beasts escape by sky or sea. One of these beasts was once a nightmarish legend among sailors, who spoke of a rolling golden fog that spirited seafarers off their boats. Those who survived say the fog was brought on by a monstrous tower, reeking of old earth and made of the souls of those who drowned. The beast who could conjure such imagery is the Muralundo, a feathered behemoth who resides in the lightless swamps of the Land of Giants.

  They wade through foggy, deep lakes silently, their three boney legs and their soaring neck giving them such height that they can easily pluck away any prey that fits into their mouth. They also sometimes bend their neck completely underwater, slithering and wriggling it around to jab at prey from unexpected angles. Whether from above or below, their victims aren't usually aware they are being hunted until it is too late. Muralundo are opportunists who pick and choose their hunts, but if they feel if their prey is cunning or has a chance to escape, they will leak out a golden mist from their stomach and sometimes out the back of their head. This mist causes confusion and hampers mobility as it is inhaled, but it also grants hyper awareness-- victims often are aware of all the noises fluttering around them and even of the Muralundo themselves, though find they are unable to move from the encroaching horror. This mist is a deadly weapon, but thankfully it can be dispelled with fire-- enough flame may even cause it to burst in the air, hurting the Muralundo and giving travellers enough time to flee. Under the right circumstances, a Muralundo can take on a giant, their deadly beak being able to pierce and rip at the thickest of hides, but more often then not the giants out-muscle the rickety beast. The Muralundo's strange proportions, raw-looking visage and rusty breathing noises feels like it belongs to something emerged from the Deep Realm, but the Land of Giants proves itself to be the true realm of monstrosities." 

[tk-duveraun]

Title: Precipice Fandom: DA: Inquisition Rating: T for disturbing imagery and dark themes. Genre: Drama, Tragedy Summary: Orlesians were so foolish. They could never hope to reach true heights of dramatic tragedy without magic. Notes: Companion Piece to Adamant. Read that first. No really. Go read it. I’ll wait.

Fox couldn’t breathe. Not because of the sword in his chest, no that was just skewering his guts painfully, not obstructing his lungs. No, it was because before his very eyes Ela, his Béloved, had fallen to her death as the battlements collapsed from the false arch demon’s attack. It was like something out of a torrid Orlesian bodice ripper. He could practically see the page in front of his eyes. He’d clutch at the sword in his chest, give some hopelessly romantic last words and then die with her name on his lips.

Pity Orlesians were so afraid of magic.

In a blinding burst of force and creation magic, Fox ripped the sword out through his back and healed the wound enough that he’d live. For how long, he wasn’t sure, but it would hardly matter. Magical lightning crackled along his arms as he stood and curling wisps of purple smoke left his boots to slither along the old stone. He howled, a broken, wounded cry turned inhuman and piercing by Fear magic.

Around him, every fighter not actively under Erimond’s control fell to their knees clutching their ears with blood and tears streaming from their eyes. Fox whipped his arm out and his staff flew into his hand with a quiet swish of magic through air. Tendrils of fear scattered away from him with every step he took across what remained of the battlements. His pace was slow as his Fear magic stabbed hardened warriors through the heart and left them sobbing like babes in his wake, but it hardly mattered. Without Ela, he had all the time in the world to deal with these roaches.

With imperious gestures of his hands, Fox instructed his wisps of fear to pass over Inquisition soldiers, but most cringed and cowered regardless. The wisps caressed them like jilted lovers as Fox passed. He couldn’t hear the sounds of battle as he walked. The Veil weak and tattered from so many summonings and all Fox could hear was the chorus of promises from the demons begging to be given the chance to act on his vengeance. He ignored them. Demons weren’t creative enough with their torture.

Everything was painted over with faint purple from the Fear clinging to his face. Oh, it all looked very dramatic, but it was like looking through a sliver of Fade. Fox could clearly see which of the Wardens were under Erimond’s control and he could see the spells the mages and demons conjured before they manifested in the real world. This let him cancel incoming spells with concentrated blasts of Lightning before they even launched. The mages he countered surely begged for the irrational terror of the Fear wisps because that had to be better than their magic betraying them before they were sliced from ear to ear by the razor-sharp blade at the end of Fox’s staff.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaims. The commander was nearly white from his exhaustion and the sight of Fox.

Fox felt a pull on the Fade as the commander tried to smite him, but between giving up lyrium and the sheer outpouring of strength of will from Fox it had no effect. Fox lifted a single eyebrow at the commander, but between the wisps and his aura of magic, it looked like a grotesque shift of half his face.

Cullen visibly clenched his jaw and took several breaths to calm himself. Stiff, he turned to the runner at his side. “We need Seeker Cassandra. Now.”

“The Seeker fell with the Inquisitor,” Fox said, but his voice was buoyed by the whispers of the demons clawing at his control.

When the commander’s only response was a visceral flinch, Fox turned away and continued his solitary march through the battle in Adamant Fortress. Every step he took was measured, with his magic slithering away to lash out at everything around him. But his lack of speed was not for lack of purpose. He knew what he wanted. Magister Livius Erimond, the sniveling wretch, was in the center hall, but Fox wasn’t going to approach him directly. No, the magister would stand alone and watch as everyone he controlled and commanded fell under the weight of Fox’s wrath.

By the time Fox made it to the uncovered hall where Erimond was attempting his summoning, the demons were shouting their offers at a fever pitch. They’d loaned him power, strength, magic trying to earn his favor and attention of the others. His was a soul bloody, broken and ripe for the picking. Fox’s heart whispered to them that once Erimond had suffered enough, for some definition of enough, then it would be free to the demon that had most-pleased him.

“Faust! You! You’re a Sa’alle! What do you want? Sybil gone? I can make it happen. You’ll have her seat in the magisterium. Lauded as a hero. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you,” Erimond shouted. The magister’s voice broke on every third word as he glanced at the rift that was stubbornly not producing the demon he wanted.

No, the only demon was in front of him.

Fox bared his teeth and the Fear wisps writhed across his face until he bore the illusion of vicious fangs. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have your senses blacked out? Sight, gone. Hearing snuffed out. Smell burned away. Sensation numbed until you were only a miniscule wisp of consciousness trapped in your own mind? I have all kinds of friends that would like to help you stop wondering.”

With a flourish, Fox spun his staff, the demons cheering through the thin remnants of Veil, each vying for their chance. Lightning crackled in the air as Fox planted the blade of his staff in the stone.

But before magic could burst forth and cut Erimond’s hysterical scream short, the rift burst open in a scream of green magic. Fox ignored the angry screaming from the demons clawing at his mind and frowned at the rift. The demon being successfully summoned was rather a damper on his plans. He wanted years to torture to Erimond and he wouldn’t have the magic left to do that if he had to fight such a sizable foe.

The magic shifting and crackling around Fox disappeared in an instant, consolidating back into solid power in his chest, ready to break out and destroy the inconvenience so he could return to his plans of torture.

The rift flared again, sending green tendrils of magic across the length of the hall. It tore open with the scream of a thousand dying beasts and revealed a glimpse of pure Fade. But only for a moment before Cassandra leapt out.

In a single motion, Fox dropped his staff and lunged at the twisting, green magic. Whether due to prescience or serendipity, Fox made contact with Ela the moment she emerged from the rift. They fell to the stone floor sobbing. Heedless of anything else, they patted eachother down with desperate hands, checking for wounds and trying to confirm the sharp, brutal realness of the other.

Fox knew Ela was speaking, desperate, clawing, wounded words, but he couldn’t hear her over the disappointed wailing from the demons in the Fade. He tried to speak over them, profess his love for her until it was all they could hear, but his own sobs choked him and eventually he just held her tightly and pressed his face into her neck, throat too tight for words.

[aion-rsa]

Best Horror Anime To Watch on Netflix

https://ift.tt/3k6SXDC

Come every October, audiences can be guaranteed that programming will shift over to horror-centric content to fit with Halloween. With the litany of streaming services that now exist, it’s gone from being difficult to fill 31 days of content to it being a serious struggle to fit everything in. There’s horror programming everywhere at the moment and this is also true when it comes to anime. 

Netflix has built up an increasingly impressive library of anime content  that includes some moody horror selections that are perfect for the season (or anytime really). However, with so many titles out there it’s not always easy to know what’s worthwhile, especially when the names of some series don’t do much to help on the matter. Here’s a helpful selection of some of Netflix’s best and most frightening anime titles so you don’t have to dig through the herd.

Parasyte –the maxim–

How Many Episodes: 24

Sub and Dub

There are plenty of anime that feature unassuming humans who are suddenly paired together with a supernatural partner or even become a hybrid of man and beast themselves. Parasyte -the maxim-,however, is the only one that feels like it could be an unofficial sequel to The Thing. Aliens have invaded the planet with the goal to gradually subjugate the entire human race. Shinichi Izumi is a run of the mill highschooler who finds himself bonded with one of these parasitic monsters who takes up residence living inside his hand. Shinichi and his alien parasite try to root out and eliminate the rest of these predatory species and the result is an amazing hybrid of mystery and action with constant body horror thrown in for good measure. There are hundreds of different aliens featured in anime, but the threats in Parasyte will actually make stomachs churn. In addition to the disturbing visuals, Parasyte crafts a surprisingly emotional relationship between Shinichi and the alien living in his hand.

Devilman Crybaby

How Many Episodes: 10

Sub and Dub

The Devilman series has been around for decades in various iterations, but the most recent take on the material, Devilman Crybaby, feels special and like it’s trying to do something different with the property. Devilman Crybaby‘s plot isn’t overly complex. It features a world that’s at risk of being overrun by demons. Akira bonds with a demon in a way that turns him into Devilman, a hybrid between man and demon that’s the key to ending this war. Devilman Crybaby is dripping in carnage and it’s a series that trades in extremes. The legendary Masaaki Yuasa is the director and it’s the fluid ways that he plays with animation and color that makes Devilman Crybaby such a delight. Bloodshed and monsters have never been so visually beautiful.

Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress: The Battle of Unato

How Many Episodes: 3

Sub and Dub

Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress is like if Resident Evil and Snowpiercer had a baby. It’s one of the few genuinely creative takes on the zombie genre in years. The Battle of Unato is Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress’ movie that’s set six months after the events of the series and it features the humans’ united front to take back their world from the undead. The animation is on a whole other level and there’s such satisfying world building present in this broken steampunk society. Obviously a knowledge of the original anime is helpful here, but The Battle of Unato can still be appreciated by genre fans who are looking for something like Attack on Titan meets Frankenstein. It’s a smart combination of old-world technology with radical new forms of destruction. Netflix splits up Battle of Unato into three busy episodes, which makes this the perfect watch that won’t take up a lot of time and can help bring more people around to the preceding series.

Neon Genesis Evangelion

How Many Episodes: 26 and 2 Movies

Sub and Dub

Neon Genesis Evangelion may not immediately come across as a horror series, but there’s disturbing imagery that’s present from the first episode that only becomes more intense as the series goes on. Evangelion is a moody deconstruction of not just the mecha genre, but also human nature. The series elegantly meshes together provoking questions with incredible action sequences and gutting character drama. The anime stands out for its unique take on robots, monsters, and how it intertwines religion with it all. It’s an ambitious project, but few anime create the same sense of anxiety and dread as Evangelion. Neon Genesis Evangelion is still considered to be one of the most acclaimed and challenging anime even decades after its debut. There’s truly nothing else like it. 

Ajin: Demi-Human

How Many Episodes: 26

Sub and Dub

Ajin: Demi-Human is a horror anime that riffs on many of the themes that populate the genre. Kei Nagai learns that he’s an Ajin—a hybrid between human and demon—who have advanced regenerative abilities. Ajin can also create powerful ghost-like warriors to combat other Ajin, which is kind of like if Tokyo Ghoul mixed together with JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure. Ajin are hunted by the government and turned into science experiments, which makes Nagai and the rest of his kind determined to take out the corrupt organization and quell the conflict between human and Ajin. Ajin: Demi-Human is more interested in action and atmosphere than some of the heavier psychological issues explored in these other anime, but it’s still addictive and morbid fun.

Read more

TV

The Best Anime on HBO Max

By Daniel Kurland

TV

Best Anime On Hulu To Stream

By Daniel Kurland

TV

Best Anime On Amazon Prime Video

By Daniel Kurland

Culture

The Best Anime to Stream and Where to Find Them

By Daniel Kurland

Death Note

How Many Episodes: 37 

Sub and Dub

Death Note is one of the bigger anime to come out of the past few decades and it’s because despite the hyperbolized places that the story goes, it still presents a parable that explores the curious nature of man and the dark places that curiosity can go. Death Note is a brilliant exercise in perspective as it shifts between killer and detective with the titular and mysterious Death Note caught in between. There’s something deeply terrifying about the Death Note’s power to kill anyone whose name is written inside of it and how flippantly Light Yagami utilizes this function. Death Note has some provoking thoughts and it’s impressive that it’s able to mesh such exaggerated visuals and extreme elements into this disturbing character study. Part of the joy in Death Note is that Light makes mistakes from the start and only works himself deeper to the point of no return.

Erased

How Many Episodes: 12 

Sub and Dub

Erased is a fantastic mix of genres that wraps together elements of horror with science fiction and psychological thrillers. It tells a very different kind of story about the pursuit of a serial killer and plots a tight story that doesn’t meander within a lean 12 episodes. The anime centers around Satoru, a man who experiences a phenomenon known as “Revivals” that send him back briefly in time to help prevent accidents. Suddenly Satoru’s mother is killed and it looks like the culprit has ties to a series of crimes from nearly two decades ago. Satoru’s next Revival sends him back to his childhood with the opportunity to prevent these crimes and save his mother in the process. Erased isn’t interested in the mechanics behind Satoru’s ability and it instead focuses on powerful character dynamics and a mystery that’s actually suspenseful and frightening. Satoru’s efforts to solve this crime as a 10 year-old boy makes for a fantastic complication.

Dorohedoro

How Many Episodes: 12

Sub and Dub

Horror anime should primarily be scary, but one of the perks of the genre is that anime can animate terrifying visuals on a level that often surpasses standard American animation. There’s still a lot of debate on whether the increased presence of CG in anime is a good thing or not, but Dorohedoro is proof that it can be used effectively and stylistically to amplify the surreal nature of the story at hand. Dorohedoro is set in a wild gig-economy world where magic is rampant and the schism between humans and sorcerers creates crime and disorder. Most humans are subjected to crude magic and find themselves with bizarre heads as a result. Caiman, the main character, wakes up with a reptile head and no memories of who he is, which leaves him even more vulnerable than usual in this chaotic world. Dorohedoro is another excellent example of creative world building that mixes horror together with fantasy and crime in an inspired way. It’s the type of freaky meditation of identity and society that Bright wishes it had been.

Attack on Titan

How Many Episodes: 25 

Sub Only

Attack on Titan has grown into one of the most popular anime series of this decade and it’s incredible to see how the scope of the story has slowly grown over time. The anime takes place within a walled city where humanity has feared the gigantic Titans that roam the land outside their walls. The anime chronicles the population’s efforts to combat these monsters, but it also looks at the war that’s been going on for generations and the sordid history of how Titans originated in the first place. Attack on Titan truly rewards dedicated audiences and the betrayals, revelations, and character development is just as satisfying as the epic fights with hordes of Titans. Netflix only has the first season of Attack on Titan available, but it’s still a convenient way to get introduced to the influential anime before its fourth and final season hits.

The Promised Neverland

How Many Episodes: 12 

Sub and Dub

The Promised Neverland tells such an addicting, enigmatic story that there’s a reason a slew of horror films and even Stephen King have riffed on the idea that’s at its core. The anime is set in a broken version of the future and it looks at a number of young children who are confined to an orphanage. The orphanage’s charity seems to be a blessing in this harsh times, but it turns out that there’s actually something much more sinister going on with the orphanage and the people that run. The Promised Neverland tells a disturbing story that gets more intense with every turn. It’s not afraid to incorporate deadly creatures, but more than anything else it highlights how humans can be more evil than anything else. The second season of The Promised Neverland is on its way, so these excellent debut episodes should be mandatory viewing. A live-action adaptation is in the works at Amazon.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Other horror-centric or monster-based anime titles to check out on Netflix when you’ve scared yourself stiff from everything else: Black Butler, Blue Exorcist, Castlevania, Gantz: 0, Vampire Knight

The post Best Horror Anime To Watch on Netflix appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3nY04R8

[biointernet]

Albrecht Dürer and Hourglass

“The treasure secretly gathered in your heart will become evident through your creative work.”  ― Albrecht Durer Geometry is the foundation of all painting.”  ― Albrecht Durer

Albrecht Dürer and Hourglass

Qualia and Time Sense Qualia is sensitive experience Qualia and Time Perception

Qualia

Qualia are the subjective or qualitative properties of experiences Qualia is qualities of awareness

Philosophy of perception

The philosophy of perception is concerned with the nature of perceptual experience and the status of perceptual data, in particular how they relate to beliefs about, or knowledge of, the world.

Symbolism of Melencolia I by Albrecht Dürer

427-430 Melencolia I by Albrecht Dürer post stamps block https://www.myhourglasscollection.com/427-430-melencolia-i-by-albrecht-durer/ 1514 engraving by Albrecht Dürer The print’s central subject is an enigmatic and gloomy winged female figure thought to be a personification of melancholia. Holding her head in her hand, she stares past the busy scene in front of her. The area is strewn with symbols and tools associated with craft and carpentry, including an hourglass, weighing scales, a hand plane and a saw. https://www.myhourglasscollection.com/symbolism-of-melencolia-i-by-albrecht-durer/ More about Time Symbolism Sense data are the alleged mind-dependent objects that we are directly aware of in perception, and that have exactly the properties they appear to have. For instance, sense data theorists say that, upon viewing a tomato in normal conditions, one forms an image of the tomato in one’s mind. This image is red and round.

427-430 Melencolia I by Albrecht Dürer

See also:

Time symbolism, Time is…, The Full History of Time, Time in physics and time Science, Symbolism of Melencolia I by Albrecht Dürer, Time and Text, DADA Time, Text, Time, MHC, Extinction Rebellion – Time against Life, The End of Time, Hourglass and Death on St Thomas’ Church, Hourglass – symbol of Death, Death does not Exist, Hourglass and Skeleton, “Hourglass and Cards” Exhibition, Father and Mother of Time, Time Hub, Time Philosophy, Time synonyms, Qualia and Time Sense, Time perception and Sense of Time, The Hourglass of Emotions, Time Travel + Time Management = Time Travel Management, The Hourglass, Hourglass History, Hourglass symbolism, Hourglass Figure, Hourglass Tattoo, Symbols of Time, Beauty Bio-Net, Father Time Department, Father Time and Mother Nature, Lunar calendar and Moon’s phases, Time Management, Time Management tools MHC SM: MHC Flikr, MHC Pinterest, MHC Facebook, MHC Instagram, MHC YouTube, MHC Twitter 427 Melencolia I by Albrecht Dürer

Ritter, Tod und Teufel/Knight, Death and the Devil

Ritter, Tod und Teufel/Knight, Death and the Devil Knight, Death and the Devil (German: Ritter, Tod und Teufel) is a large 1513 engraving by the German artist Albrecht Dürer, one of the three Meisterstiche completed during a period when he almost ceased to work in paint or woodcuts to focus on engravings. The image is infused with complex iconography and symbolism, the precise meaning of which has been argued over for centuries. An armoured knight, accompanied by his dog, rides through a narrow gorge flanked by a goat-headed devil and the figure of death riding a pale horse. Death's rotting corpse holds an hourglass, a reminder of the shortness of life. The rider moves through the scene looking away from the creatures lurking around him, and appears almost contemptuous of the threats, and is thus often seen as symbol of courage; the knight's armor, the horse which towers in size over the beasts, the oak leaves and the fortress on the mountaintop are symbolic of the resilience of faith, while the knight's plight may represent Christians' earthly journey towards the Kingdom of Heaven. The work was mentioned by Giorgio Vasari as one of "several sheets of such excellence that nothing finer can be achieved". It was widely copied and had a large influence on later German writers. Philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche referenced the work in his work on dramatic theory The Birth of Tragedy (1872) to exemplify pessimism, while it was later idealised in the 20th century by the Nazis as representing the racially pure Aryan, and was sometimes used in their propaganda imagery. More on Wiki

Ritter, Tod und Teufel 10 things to know about Albrecht Dürer: Even as a 13-year-old, he was breaking new ground Dürer’s home city was one of the most important in Europe He is credited with bringing the Renaissance to Northern Europe He was a fine painter, and an even finer printmaker — perhaps the greatest there has ever been Between 1513 and 1514, he produced the three engravings known as his Master Prints He was the favourite artist of the Holy Roman Emperor His depiction of a rhinoceros is one of the most celebrated animals in art history He had one of the most famous signatures in art He was an author as well as an artist He was as feted in death as he was in life Details on Christies

Der heilige Hieronymus im Gehäus/Saint Jerome in His Study

Dürer «Saint Jérôme dans sa cellule» (1514)

Saint Jerome in His Study (German: Der heilige Hieronymus im Gehäus) is an engraving of 1514 by the German artist Albrecht Dürer. Saint Jerome is shown sitting behind his desk, engrossed in work. The table, on the corner of which is a cross, is typical of the Renaissance. An imaginary line from Jerome's head passing through the cross would arrive at the skull on the window ledge, as if contrasting death and the Resurrection. The lion in the foreground is part of the traditional iconography of St. Jerome, and near it is a sleeping dog, an animal found frequently in Dürer's works, symbolizing loyalty. Both creatures are part of Jerome's story in the Golden Legend (c. 1260), which contained fanciful hagiographies of saints. St. Jerome in His Study is often considered as part of a group of three Dürer engravings (his Meisterstiche), the other two being the well-known Melencolia I (1514) and Knight, Death and the Devil (1513). Together they have been viewed as representing the three spheres of activity recognized in medieval times: Knight, Death, and the Devil belongs to the moral sphere and the "active life"; Melencolia I represents the intellectual; and St. Jerome the theological and contemplative life. The composition is intimate, but the viewer has difficulty locating himself in relation to the picture's space. Thomas Puttfarken suggests that while the scene is very close to the observer, Dürer did not intend the viewer to feel present: "the intimacy is not ours, but the saint's as he is engrossed in study and meditation". Art historian Erwin Panofsky comments on the perspective: The position of the sight point, quite far off centre, strengthens the impression of a representation determined not by the objective law of the architecture but by the subjective standpoint of the spectator who is just entering – a representation which owes to precisely this perspective arrangement a large part of its peculiarly 'intimate' effect. More on Wiki DÜRER Saint Jérôme dans sa cellule lion chien tête de mort crâne sablier manuscrit encrier lustre Albrecht Dürer and Hourglass See also:

Symbolism of Melencolia I by Albrecht Dürer

427-430 Melencolia I by Albrecht Dürer post stamps block Read the full article

[nayrusfountain]

Have Faith

Beyond the pristine, welcoming shores of Great Bay Coast lies a dark foreboding secret that none ever live to tell, for it is a place of wickedness. To the north of the cape, the ominous stronghold that is the Gerudo Pirates's Fortress loom over the crashing waves, its intimidating size armed with an arsenal of canons and snipers. All who dares goes in never lives to make it out, and the bloody skulls of various Zoras victims were lurched onto spears as decorations across the citadel. Pirates invested the Fortress at every corner and the security is top notch, making it impossible to sneak in undetected. Behind the seaside structure is a lush vibrate jungle that stretch for miles, the steamy humidity rising from the moisten earth as the calls of tropical birds filled the treetops. In between the savage wilds and the unforgiving citadel rest an old coastal city hidden in the shadows of the Fortress. Once ruled by Hylians, the impressive stony settlement had been overrun by men of wicked hearts. The streets bustle with activity, humans of various species going about their business as they commit atrocities as if there were nothing wrong with them. Certain tattooed individuals inconspicuously roam the dirty streets selling illegal weapons and drugs, their breath reeking of cigar and alcohol. A couple people from the Wind Tribe drag a struggling Watarara carelessly across the glass ridden sidewalk, the poor bird squawking frantically in pain as he try to free himself of the net that held him. A Darknut dropped an emaciated Keaton into a small cage, the sick fox revealing to be bipedal as he strain himself to stand on two. A few Shiekah lash out at a terrified Hylian with vicious kicks, laughing as the person scream for them to cease. A scarred Lokomo hauled a thrashing Zora onto the city dock, struggling to keep the angry piscus under his control as she lash out and snap her teeth. She sneered, her eyes growing crazy, and she suddenly lunge at him with an evil bloodcurdling screech. The man dropped her as he jump back, narrowly missing her fangs as her teeth gaze his ankle. He curse profanities as he yank the offending Zora's tail roughly, yelling at her before hauling her into a metal crate. He slam her in with little care, and the Zora howl wildly as a few Shiekah and Cobble shut the crate and screw the lid shut. The metal box rattle and jerk violently as the Zora slam herself angerly from within, risking inflicted injury on herself. Feeling relieve that his job is done, the Lokomo wipe the sweat from his brow as he let them load the crate away onto a mini truck. He trudge through the sinful city, ignoring the criminal activities as nothing more then daily life on this city. Many Gerudo guards patrol the Fortress with an iron fist, having captured the city several centuries back. They dominated the entire town, operating it as a secret underground black market for their own benefits. Slaves, experiments, torture victims, live and stuffed trophies, sport fighters, whatever they deem fits that poor victim unlucky enough to be brought here will be bestow by them. The Lokomo man assemble into the old temple in the heart of the city, where he will await his next assignment. The Gerudo herd the several sea going people like him into the church like hoards of sheep, the room stinking of sweat and blood from attacks committed by sea life. Many were Lokomo like him. Some were Hylian. And a handful were a rare selection of Merpeople on wheelchairs. Few Gerudo stood at the stage as a projectile display images of Zoras in the white board behind them. The imagery flip through the various species of Zoras until it stop on a particular set of shark breeds. Sharks were present next to each type to represent the genetic relations between the Zoras and their animals of origin. The Gerudo at front pace to the back of the stage as she directed her attention to the board. "This month we are shifting our demands for something a little more dangerous." She said, using a ruler to point at the five distinct species of sharks and Zoras.  "The lamnidae group, more commonly known as Mackerel Sharks, are a family of beasts consisting the most iconic killers known to mankind. Each of you will be assign a particular species of these Zoras to target. Your task is to capture a few individuals of these savages and bring them back here. Our leader will take care of the rest from their on." The Lokomo study the images with interest, excited at the prospects of hunting these terrible beast. Lamnidae are the dominate apex predators among the Zora people. There are four different species whom evolved from four different sharks; Koreoip Zoras (Carcharodon Carcharias Zorillis) for examples are humanoid Great White Sharks. They are 15 ft or taller with dames being larger then bulls, built like a tank and their muscular frames are packed with raw power. They are black to bluish grey or silvery chrome colored, though snow white had been reported, brightly colored chest and belly ranging from lavender to sapphire, emerald, ruby or gold, sometimes black or dark grays. The Zoras have glowing blood red markings that looks like skulls, warning others of their poisonous blood. Two long antennae, which in reality are modified dorsal fins, grew from behind the head and half way down their tails respectively. These appendages are sensitive to the changes in water and can detect shifting weather forecast. These hulking beasts are feared by sailors for their destructive and territorial nature and are sometimes killed by pirates to avoid competition or for sport like him. They also favor bleak dystopian societies and will chase off or kill outsiders. Koreoips are often nicknamed "Black Death" because of their violent and tyrannical nature. Makiiekdo Zora (Isurus Oxyrinchus Zorillis) are 9 ft and torpedo shaped, shorter, solid colored Mako Shark people with poisonous spines on their pectoral fins to protect against their Koreoip cousins. Their markings only glow on Zoran bulls, and their scales have a metallic sheen to it compare to the mythical Zoran Heroes's bejeweled silkiness. But Makiiekdo evolved to resemble the fable Zoras from the stories, their erect fins giving the illusion of them being bigger then they actually are. This lend to misidentification for years, sailors confusing them for the more attractive Sylovaakien Zora, the true name of Zoran Heroes, and cause many hazardous confrontation with these hyperactive Zoras. There were two other Zoras he recognized, but the creatures evolving from Porbeagle Sharks and Salmon Sharks live in temperate and icy waters respectively, and thus are seldom seen in these tropical climates. Especially the Koreoip's sister species. These imposing Zoras had been known to put up bloody fights that sends his adrenaline skyrocketing. They are fun to poach, and he was glad that interest had once again resurfaced in regards to these creatures. However, as he absorb the information before him, something about the chart threw him off, and he clear his throat as he raise his hand. "Yes?" "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I think there was a mistake with the diagram," He said, his voice gruff with an edge of confusion. "Oh? And what makes you come to that conclusion?" The woman said with a sly smirk. She saw with satisfaction the baffle and quizzical expression that befell nearly all the participants throughout the room. The Mers, however, were the only ones who seem uncomfortable or weary of the imagery before them. "The creature in between the Koreoip Zora and the Makiiekdo Zora," He referred, pointing at a regal anthropomorphic mako. Up till now, the chart always display the four main Makerel Shark Zoras available for high bounties. This year however, a new, fifth species had been included into the diagram. This shark creature look like it could be an overgrown Makiiekdo Zora, reaching 12 ft tall and sharing the exact same appearance. However, it is much more athletic and sleeker in build, and the fins are the longest of any Zora in the entire family. The eyes are also larger and the brilliant markings glitter with captivating bioluminescence. And its scales shine like polished pearls. "Ah, I'm glad you've noticed, Nyko," the woman nodded smugly as she turn to point to the Zora in question. "This, believe it or not, is the legendary Zoran Hero and your new objective, the Sylovaakien Zora." Gasps filled the room as everyone exploded into hush mumbling. The guard next to her rang a shrill bell to recapture their attention. "For years these Zoras were consider nothing more then fairy tales to motivate children with important life lessons. For years many had rule them out as something only viewed by drunken sailors. But not anymore. Our scouts had discovered that the Isariaic Mountains, the home of the Makiiekdo, is deeper then science had previously estimated, and an ancient city was found in these twilight depths. This city is carved out of beautiful glassy stones and packed with treasure waiting to be taken. For the first, the Longfinned Mako Sharks been record swimming in the wild via camera. If that isn't already exciting enough, we discovered pictures and engravings of Sylovaakien Zoras in Temples and buildings, and bladed fins lay scatter across the seafloor in the surrounding area. Ancient magical technology is also present throughout the city, describe accurately like the old stories where they are deem to be an advance underwater civilization. You now have a new assignment. You must bring back a live Sylovaakien. Our captain is more then eager to pay a fortune in return to owning one of the rarest and most treasured Zoras on the planet." "Wait, where are we suppose to find one?" Nyko questioned, skeptical over his new mission. This too much. He has no experience hunting for such a Zora. The aspects of going after one could take years given how elusive they are often describe to be. "As far as we're concern, these things are a pain to find if after so many years they are only discovered now." "We Gerudo had become quite suspicious of the Indigo-Go's for quite some time since discovering the hidden city, mainly of their lead guitarist. He fits the description of a typical Zoran Hero perfectly, and after months of keeping watch our spies confirm that he is indeed a Sylovaakien Zora." The Lokomo stop to register what he just heard. After a moment, he facepalmed, cursing himself. He knew there was something off with that guitarist the moment he first saw him during a concert. Sure he looks like a Makiiekdo Zora (like the rest of his kind) but his size, coloring, and fins are all wrong. He could never put his finger on why, but suddenly it all makes sense now. "You mean to tell me that this entire time there was this extremely rare and valuable Zora right in front of us and we never once question it?" The woman smirked, enjoying the drama that broke through the normally patient bounty hunters as a chorus of bickering filled the room. "Precisely. And at the moment he currently hangs around the city of his origin with the lead singer. You shall snare this sneaky bastard and bring him to the fortress to collect your prize. Do you accept your new mission?" Nyko grin at the great fortune that may spring forth from the guitarist's capture. He look at the woman in the eye, feeling a spark igniting from within. "I'll get my gear ready."  

***

The twilight mist roll into the night as the curtains of blackness chased away the gold embers of dusk. Nayru is accompany by Fierce Deity tonight it seems, their respective moons glowing warmly in the celestial heavens. Normally, the Hylian War God's lunar body would often reside over dry land to keep watch over his subjects as they sleep. Tonight however it seems his massive silvery moon hovers over the lapping ocean next to Nayru's small azure white body. Behind them was an even smaller moon from another dimension, sitting quietly and far away in space. It has a tendency of appearing randomly all over Termina with little to no explanation, and a distinct mark of the Triforce was engraved in the middle of its golden form. Many rumors concerning the celestial body speculate that the lonely rock is in fact the moon from the mythical realm of Hyrule, rumored by many to be the afterlife. The Zoras themselves knows this to be partially true, and they are the only ones aware that the realm is a real land, for lost travelling Zoras had proven their Hyrulian citizenship to their government. It fact some Zoran species in Termina only exists in Hyrule. But for the sake of keeping the land safe, they lock the information away from the rest of the Terminian public. Mikau and Lulu relax on the grassy seafloor of a natural park near the Isariaic Mountains, watching the stars twinkly through the magical waves above. The whole undersea world is forested with large, tree sized corals with explosive colors and a luminescence glow, their branches reaching out for the twisting waters ahead accompanied with towering kelp. Star dust sprinkle from the heavens and snowed into the Ocean Realm, being whisk around by the soft currents. Some of the particles floated in place across the seas, blinking gently like they would in the sky. The watery world was filled with these lovely lights every night, providing a magical wonder as they loom around the Coral trees like fireflies in the purple tinted waters. "It is amazing how crystal clear the stars look under water; it was as if their were no surface at all," Lulu smiled as she nuzzle into Mikau's chest. The larger Zora couldn't be more happier with her by his side. Mikau nodded as he tight his grip on her, rubbing their noses together as he responded to her. "That's why I always prefer the night. The ocean has this mystical whim to it that you can't get during the day. Its relaxing, and the purple hue of the waters get is pleasing to the eyes, though to humans the nightly purples is almost pitch black in their perspective." "Humans are daytime creatures. With the exception of Mers, they have poor night visions unless they wear special goggles or something," Lulu commented, and she saw the larger Zora nodding at the information. Mikau would often have minimal contact with humans for his own safety, knowing that his species is at risk of poaching. Thus, he doesn't know as much about the species as he like to admit. The stars fade in and out of existence as they continue stargazing, occasionally spotting a shooting star whizzing through the galaxies. They remain on the seafloor for another hour, cuddling each other as the sounds of the waves lull them into a sleepless bliss. Far beyond, the silhouettes of Longfinned Mako Sharks, Mikau's ancestral brethren, crept along the shadows of the coral forest, vanishing swiftly. They as well as their Zoran equivalent, Sylovaakien Zoras, are often nicknamed "phantoms of the deep" by many Zoras for their elusive nature. They would occasionally brush Mikau affectionately, with the Zora tenderly petting their fins and gills. Some of the sharks nuzzle into them, engaging in small talk through telepathy as shark naturally lack vocal cords to speak like other animals. However, this is more of blessing, for it allows the animals to easily communicate with humans as well as not being restricted to speak to their related Zora species like so many vocal fish are forced to across Termina. Lulu giggle at the shark, letting one snuggle between her and Mikau. The Mako smile, getting comfortable as she allow the Zoras to stroke her. After what felt like hours of slacking off, Mikau sat up with a stretch, the muscles rippling as he crack his neck. He stood and held his hand out for Lulu, who took it gratefully and was help to her flippers. The sharks yawn lazily as Lulu giggled. "For a rebel you're quiet the gentlemen," she mused, playfully poking his gills. "I wouldn't say gentlemen. More in line of charismatic is more like it." 'Well, I'd say you're the charismatic rebel, Mikau,' a shark piped in, shaking the fine powdery sands from his silvery blue scales. 'I mean, you do have a tendency of breaking the rules and doing crazy stunts. I'm sure if Nicoda and Ruuna were here they would be so proud to know their son had gotten in trouble with the law enforcement for a bit after one of your failed schemes.' "Oh! They're proud of me all right," Mikau cooed as he gaze towards to skies beyond the surface. "My brothers and sisters were all chilled and simply adventurous; they never really done anything risky as far as I know, especially since our dad was a military leader with an obvious authority over our city. Don't want to make him look bad ya know? The worst anyone ever did was when my older brother Shoal accidentally impregnated a Makiiekdo Zora after she lied to him about being a full grown Sylovaakien. My parents' reactions were quite hilarious looking back at it. Honestly I'd think they wouldn't mind me spicing things for 'em. In fact, I think I'll pay them a visit." Mikau's fins lengthen to maximum size, sharpening into scimitar blades. They held the Mark of Nayru neatly engrave onto it by the Goddess Herself. With a flap of his mighty and flexible swords, Mikau blasted off towards the echoing moans of the waves. He twirl elegantly as his lean body twist with ease, his fins cutting the water to increase his speed. With explosive power, he breach through the waves, sending sprays of waters and crystallized stardust in every direction like a firework display. He soar 20 ft into the air, his swirling shades of purple markings, artistically gracing his entire snow white body, erupting into a shower of dancing rave lights as he back flips fluidly. Certain stars seem to brighten in response, and one of them shot through the cosmos in joy. Lulu poked her head out of the water, watching her friend preforming tricks in the air as he plummet back into the sea. He landed with a great SPLASH! and water once again flew everywhere. Mikau blasted through the surface again a moment later, spinning like a spinner shark with the same light display. The colors became a aurora of rainbows, blurring with his twirling motion as he released a joyous dolphin like squeak. She smile as she watch him playfully leap for the stars, clearly happy as he trill and chime all the while. However, Lulu spotted an ominous sight looming behind the jagged rocks protruding off the shore of a nearby island. The shine reflecting of metal hauls gave away the ship's position, and Lulu's eyes widen in horror as a sinister harpoon aim dangerously in Mikau's fleeting direction. "Mik-!" BOOM! "AH-!!!" The silver tip pierce right through scales and flesh as the Zoran Hero was struck back by the force of the impact. An electric jolt blast through his entire body, silencing the Zora as he briefly lost his senses and drop towards the buffeting waves. Blood spiral sloppily behind him as the Zora tumble clumsily towards the water, his whooshing fins slicing the air as he fell. He landed heavily, the force of the crash echoing across the vast oceans. The harpoon crackle again, and another discharge blazed across the water and both Zoras yelp in startle pain. The sharks bolted into hiding, spooked by the sudden disturbance as they flee for cover. Mikau seem to grow alarm instantly as he try to make sense of the situation. The distinct calls of excited men hooted into the night, and before he could speak to a frantic Lulu, he felt himself being yank back in the boat's direction. "What in the-?!" Lulu scream and rush over to his side, trying to pry the metal arrow from her friend as he jerk and thrash angrily. A chaos of turbulence stir from their erratic movements as a cloud of bubbles shored the struggling Zoras. The spear had cut clean through his shoulder, and blood pooled around them in a mystifying scarlet. Mikau and Lulu try to bite through the elastic neon cord that connected the harpoon to the boat, but each time they did so they were greeted with a painful shock that left their tongues feeling numb. Feeling desperation building up, she held onto Mikau for dear life, trying to think of any way to get the wretched spear out of her friend as she continue to try and churn the metal aggressively between her sharp teeth. Mikau bump his head against the side of the ship, earning an angry shout in protest from the offend Zora. Lulu felt a metal bucket striking at her skull as a Lokomo toss it as her while yelling something. The female Zora unintentionally release her grip on Mikau, holding her head as pain rang in her ears. Mikau was haul up via cord, a rain of blood trickling down his chest to sprinkle the water below. The Lokomo on board stare at the large Zora in astonishment as an eruption of red exploded across his brimming, luminescence markings in retaliation, sending rays of angry scarlet in every which way. The crew were surprise at how easy the outcome of the hunt turn out and were proud that their first day on the job had ended successfully. They reach for the livid Zora and reel him aboard. Instantly, Mikau exploded into a hissing ball of scales and fury, thrashing everywhere while he hook his claws into their flesh and gnash his shark-like fangs threateningly. The men grew startle and yell in a language he couldn't understand and they scurry about like pitiful insects as they quickly pinned him down by the throat and held his wrists above his head. He snarl as he squirm, and the pectoral fins grew and sharpen steadily in response to his distress. "Wow! He really is a Sylovaakien Zora! Look at those beautiful, bladed fins!" One shouted in Lokomo. 

Oh no. Language barrier. "That's amazing," another man agree as he prod the edge of one of Mikau's swords, much to the Zora's annoyance. He yelp as he pull his hand back and blew at it, a stream of blood cascading from the cut on his finger. "Woah, just by gently touching it it draws blood. I bet no one messes with this badass; he's basically a walking switch knife!" Nyko watch from a few feet as he marvel at the frustrated shark man before him. Beforehand, he never once bother meddling with the Indigo-Go’s to avoid having his name pandered all over the news. Zoras are already murderous enough if one tries to mess with one; the scars he has gain over years of hunting them is proof of their animalistic savagery. And harassing an important and well respected individual of their race is basically a death sentence. Some risks were simply not worth it, he would tell himself. But tonight, as he study the pissed off guitar yelling curses at his captors in Zoran, a sense of pride overwhelmed him.  He order his crew to fetch some handcuffs and magically enhanced chains to restrain the Zora, removing his cigar to release a puff of smoke as he gaze smugly at his biggest catch. The Gerudo will be so pleased with him, he'll be living large for the rest of his life! Mikau glare at the humans gawking at him, hissing not unlike a snake as he try to yank his wrists free. He gaze up at the starlit sky; the biggest of them, a white hot ball of spikes who knew was his father, seem to blaze intensely in response to his predicament, but Nayru's Moon bathe him with warm silvery light while Fierce Deity cast him a rare, calming glow, also mellow and at ease. The Gods were completely calm, not at all concern at their caress him with their ghostly hues. It was at that moment that Mikau understood their silent message, and a sly smirk grew on his snow white face. He completely relax, watching the excited men closely as he sung a shrill, whistling tone akin to a whale's song. Down in the water, Lulu perk at the chime emitted from the boat. Shaking her sore head, she glance up at the ship and spotted Nayru silently looking down at her. A chill shot up her spine as a haunting feminine voice echo in the back of her subconscious. "Jump." Lulu huff knowingly, understanding what she must do to save the Zora she loves from the iron clutches of men. She duck under the water and dove deep into the inky abyss, a spark of neon bubbles gurgling towards the surface behind her. She turn to face the now distant waves, and with a burst of speed, Lulu blazed through the water, passing the worried Longfinned Mako Sharks as she climb higher and higher. In a blast of liquid crystals, she flew out of the water and became airborne, shimmering dewdrops trending from her fins. The men turn at the sight of her and gasp in shock, but she didn't care as her gaze landed on Mikau. He smile at her, knowing that he had set his faith in her, and seeing that silence boost of encouragement and trust was the strength she needed. Her heart nearly melted at the sight of him, but she had to stay focus. With gravity claiming her the Zora rush towards the vessel, dive bombing into the fray.

She struck a man with outstretched claws, cutting deep into his adornment as she drag them through his skin. The deck exploded into chaos, men and women rushing to seize the intruder. The people still holding Mikau lessen their grip accidentally from the confusion, and the Zoran Hero rip his arms free and swung his sword at the man holding him by the throat. The Lokomo wheezed as he fell to the deck withering in agony, blood pooling out from the wound on his neck. Mikau twirl swiftly to his flippers swinging a kick at an oncoming bounty hunter, sending them flying overboard. With all his might, he grip at the harpoon still holding him and yanked it hard from his chest, holding back a yell as he flung it straight at a approaching renegade. The spear struck into his heart and he drop like a rock dead upon impact. Lulu duck a metal pole as it swoosh over where her head had been seconds ago, and ram her attacker with teeth clashing, shaking her head as she bite down hard. She quickly darted about the deck, the pointed eared humans chasing after her from every which direction. Her claws rake at a assaulting thug's face, earning a scream as she succeeded in gashing into his eye. She rolled from an oncoming sword dropping onto her from a swordswoman, and bit into her ankle. She toss the rebel towards an charging maniac, watching as they crash into a heap on the floor. Mikau dance his way over to her side, winking charmingly at her. Lulu beamed, happy that to see that characteristic charm still radiating from her best friend... More then a best friend. "I knew you'll come, Angel Shark" Mikau said as his tail wrap around her protectively. They stood back to back as anger Lokomo advance menacingly towards them. "You never failed me before. And with our combined courage, we can overcome anything as long as we stick together." "Oh, Mikki," Lulu cooed, mirroring his steps as they slowly back themselves to the edge. "I'll fight with you to the bitter end, no matter what happens. As long as I am by your side, I am more then happy to be by your side." Mikau smile warmly at her before turning his fiery blue gaze back at the mob of Lokomo. The crew grew hesitant, unsure of how to approach the Sylovaakien Zora without getting decapitated. Nyko watch the display with blazing golden eyes, anger boiling his heated blood as he rush into his quarters and for grab his pistol. Loading the projectiles, he rush out and aim it for Lulu's head, his finger pulling the trigger. Mikau spotted the man's action, and with quick reflexes he shoved Lulu into the floor as a bullet roar over the Zoras. The wound in his shoulder protested with fury, but the Zoran Hero knew he had little time to meddle in his misery. Mikau charge head first into Nyko, the Lokomo panicking as he fire another round. Lulu yell at him with her hand outstretched, begging for her beloved "friend" to cease his assault in fear of being shot. Mikau felt the projectile grazing his arm, but that did not stop his rampage. Determine to eliminate the source of the problem, he press on, his sword fins catching the glow of the moons. Nyko slam the gun away and swipe the Zoran Hero across the chest with his scimitar, hoping it would slow him down. Mikau seem unfazed by the pain however, and with an animalistic roar that rattle the ship, the Sylovaakien Zora spun his blades in his socket, turning the point forwards, and thrust the fin into the Lokomo's stomach. Nyko gasp a silent scream, shakily reaching his hands to remove the sword. Mikau gave him a stern kick and he slid out of his blade, crumbling to the floor. Nyko squirm a bit before going still, his eyes glazing over. Mikau pants, licking his fangs as he turn to glare back at the rest of the crew. The Lokomo squeak in sudden terror at his murderous stare, and scatter to hurry into hiding as they bolt to safety. Lulu shakily stood, watching the dead Lokomo with a startle wide eyed expression. Mikau sigh as he trudge to her side, putting his hand on her shoulder. He gave a weak smile as he spoke in a soothing whisper. "Sorry. It had to be done. He would kill us both if I didn't stop him, and possibly more innocent Zoras would be in danger if he lives." Lulu calm down, nodding silently as she held his hand. She knew he was right; scums like him will often go around hurting innocent people for petty reasons, and it is his job as a Sylovaakien Zora to eliminate these sinful men before they spread more destruction. Without another word, they leap over the edge and into the ocean below, barely making a sound as they put as much distant from them and the ship as possible. They swam for many miles, and soon the colorful blinking lights of their home capital, Zothora, came into view. It nestle comfortably in the undersea valley, surrounded by lush, beautiful coral forests breathing life into the marine ecosystem. Millions of nightly fish flock everywhere, filling the water in positive activity as the first sighs of nocturnal Zoras darted in and out the "trees", catching prey as they swim along. Mikau slowed down considerably until he can to a stop, not escaping Lulu's attention. He grin, chuckling warmly with his thoughts as she watch him quizzically. "Oh Mikau. What is it? Are you hurting from your injuries?" "No," the Zoran Hero smile, trapping the female Zora in a light hug. Lulu tremble as the male rest his weary head atop her crown. "I just want to say thank you. You always stuck by my side no matter how bad things get. You are not afraid to put your life on the line, and your courage to face life’s hazards had been my source of many songs I write with Japas. You are strong willed and loyal, always putting others first. You're the best...friend I could ever have, and I couldn't be happier with anyone else. So thank you for being the greatest person in all of Termina, Lulu."

Lulu sense the shift in his voice as he user out the word "friend" and her heart flutter in her chest. Deep down, she knew all too well he shared feelings with her, and being by his side is the motivational boost of strength she needs to remind herself to right the wrong. Nayru glowed proudly high above, and the three moons lined in a neat formation to shower the Zoras in their heavenly light over their triumph . 

"Well done, my children," whispered Nayru, a turret of water carrying sea shells whisking around them in celebration.  

Lulu smile, nuzzling into the nape of Mikau’s neck as she recall her moments of heroism. The lights of the underwater city bloom in the background, turning their forms into silhouettes. As long as she and Mikau trust in Nayru, nothing can tear them down, and her spirit burns strong in her heart.

“You’re welcome, Mikau. And thank you too, for always believing in me.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thanks for reading! I had to rush the ending to meet the deadline, but I’ll edit it so it’ll have a better conclusion later on, probably over at Fanfiction.net. I hope you enjoyed my short story. More to come in celebration to Lukau Week!  Also, there might be mistakes here and there since I was force to rush this. I’ll keep an eye out to edit them when I get the chance. I hope you enjoy this. 

Happy Lukau Week!

[early-ripe-early-rotten-blog]

Knight, Death and the Devil (German: Ritter, Tod und Teufel) is a large 1513 engraving by the German artist Albrecht Dürer, one of the three Meisterstiche (master prints) completed during a period when he almost ceased to work in paint or woodcuts to focus on engravings. The image is infused with complex iconography and symbolism, the precise meaning of which has been argued over for centuries.

An armored knight, accompanied by his dog, rides through a narrow gorge flanked by a goat-headed devil and the figure of death riding a pale horse. Death's rotting corpse holds an hourglass, a reminder of the shortness of life. The rider moves through the scene looking away from the creatures lurking around him, and appears almost contemptuous of the threats, and is thus often seen as symbol of courage; the knight's armor, the horse which towers in size over the beasts, the oak leaves and the fortress on the mountaintop are symbolic of the resilience of faith, while the knight's plight may represent Christians' earthly journey towards the Kingdom of Heaven.

The work was mentioned by Giorgio Vasari as one of "several sheets of such excellence that nothing finer can be achieved". It was widely copied and had a large influence on later German writers. Philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche referenced the work in his work on dramatic theory The Birth of Tragedy (1872) to exemplify pessimism, while it was later idealized in the 20th century by the Nazis as representing the racially pure Aryan, and was sometimes used in their propaganda imagery.

[hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff]

IN HIS INTRIGUING and playfully fun new hitman thriller The Plotters, Un-su Kim imagines a world where South Korea’s murder-for-hire industry is both benefiting from a recent economic boom and already in steep decline. No longer are the choicest jobs given to the best tradesmen. They are instead being farmed out to the lowest bidder: people and organizations that don’t care about quality, who take no pride in their work, fly-by-night operations that spring up and disappear themselves without anyone noticing.

The hero of the book is Reseng, a young man operating at the peak of his powers near the top of his chosen profession, as an assassin. In Reseng’s case, chosen profession means a profession he was chosen for at a young age. As an orphan teased as having been “found in a garbage can in front of a nunnery,” he was raised in a library overseen by Old Raccoon, one of the last holdouts from the (relatively) old days, a keeper of traditions and secrets. He is Reseng’s alternately cranky and concerned mysterious father figure, sad and withdrawn in the way sage old-timers are supposed to be in this kind of fare, dismayed by the way their world is changing.

That change is personified in Hanja, a contemporary of Reseng’s and former pupil of Old Raccoon’s who has struck out on his own to modernize their archaic ways of doing business. Hanja’s making a figurative killing and choking out his business rivals, absorbing the strongest and killing off the weakest among his competitors, leaving Old Raccoon’s organization (nicknamed The Doghouse) his last major challenger for the contracts that come from the plotters.

No one knows who the plotters are, but everyone fears them. They are the masterminds who devise the downfall of various targets: businessmen, politicians, gangsters, generals, or seemingly random citizens whose reason for being worth all the trouble and expense of an elaborate hit their killers can only guess at.

In The Plotters’s opening chapter, Reseng is on the job and at a personal crossroads. He spies on his latest target, a high-ranking military officer, from the cover of a forest behind the man’s cottage. He watches the mark play with his own prized loyal hunter, a handsome and fearsome mastiff who chases down thrown toys and retrieves them for his master without ever wondering why they were thrown. Maybe Reseng sees something of himself in the beast, also a killing machine that is frightening and beautiful and loyal to a master whose mind is an unfathomable mystery: “The ferocious mastiff that had once hunted lions had been reduced to a clown.”

Or perhaps Reseng is beginning to tire of killing. Whatever the reason, he tells himself that the moment is not right and decides to wait.

He wasn’t sure why it wasn’t the right time. Only that there was a right time for everything. A right time for eating ice cream. A right time for going in for a kiss. And maybe it sounded stupid, but there was also a right time for pulling a trigger and a right time for a bullet to the heart.

Reseng is discovered by his target sleeping in the woods and claims that he is camping and hunting to explain the rifle that he carries. Neither Reseng nor the reader is entirely certain that the flimsy excuse is believed, but Reseng next finds himself a guest of the man he is there to kill. The officer opens his home and treats his guest — and designated assassin — to food, drink, and engaging conversation, and it is only after getting to know him that Reseng feels the time is right to finally kill him.

Throughout The Plotters, Reseng’s character develops and evolves through intimate conversations with the people he kills: the officer, an inconvenient prostitute, another assassin who still appreciates the old ways. Through his interactions with each of them he works out his plan for the rest of his life, and how he will choose what to do next: go down with stubborn Old Raccoon’s out-of-touch ways or embrace the new late-capitalism-entering-early-cannibalism stage of the industry and all of its lucrative opportunities by throwing in with Hanja.

Ironically, the overthrow of three decades of military dictatorship, a return to democratically elected civilian presidencies, and the brisk advent of democratization led to a major boom in the assassination industry. […] The boom really took off when corporations followed the state’s lead in outsourcing to plotters. Corporations generated far more work than the state, and the contractors’ primary clientele shifted from public to private. […] The principles of the market hadn’t changed since it first sprang into being. Whoever provided a better service at a lower price was the winner. Hanja […] transformed the once-messy, free-for-all plotting world into a clean, convenient supermarket.

After a couple of Reseng’s closest friends and colleagues are killed under mysterious circumstances, each murdered by a highly skilled assassin with a predilection for knife work, Reseng is shaken by Old Raccoon’s stoic reaction to the news. The perceived coolness in the old man as he prepares their bodies for cremation awakens the first seeds of doubt in Reseng about what he is doing with his life.

[T]here was no retaliation, no punishment, no investigation. Old Raccoon didn’t even get angry, even though Trainer had stood by him for three decades. He’d simply washed Trainer’s body, with its multiple stab wounds from what had clearly been a vicious battle, and quietly cremated him in Bear’s incinerator. It was a gloomy funeral: Reseng had been the only mourner with Old Raccoon, who had silently scattered Trainer’s ashes from the top of a windswept hill.

“Aren’t you going to do something about it?” Reseng had asked.

“That’s how it is for assassins. You can’t knock over the chessboard just because you lost a pawn.”

That’s how it is. Those were Old Raccoon’s parting words for the man who’d stood by his side for thirty years.

After a brief attempt at a normal life — a mundane job and a bout of young love — Reseng returns to the only role that makes any sense to him: a loyal killer at his master’s side in The Doghouse.

Animal imagery is used throughout The Plotters, which is populated with characters named Old Raccoon and Bear (who disposes of the trade’s dead in the ovens of his cover business, a crematorium for pets). One character believes that “people should emulate whales,” noble giants who accept death when their time comes, but laments that instead “people had grown as small and crafty as rats, and that the days of taking slow, huge, beautiful strides had vanished. The age of giants was over.”

After the opening image of the mastiff, dogs also return. At one juncture, Reseng tells his best friend Chu (who resents Reseng’s ability to and love for reading books — a passion also discouraged by Old Raccoon, who tells him, “Reading books will doom you to a life of fear and shame”) about one of the classic tomes in Old Raccoon’s library, The Blue Wolves.

“It’s the story of eight of Genghis Khan’s warriors. Plenty of animals like you in that book. It took the Blue Wolves just ten years to build the largest empire in the world.”

“What happened to them after?”

“They moved into a fortress and turned into dogs.”

A finer point is put on the imagery later when Reseng is asked why the library that Old Raccoon uses to dispatch his killers from is named The Doghouse.

“[W]hat kind of name is that for a library? The Doghouse? Are you trying to insult humanity’s noble world of the mind?”

[…]

“Perhaps we need to start with your prejudiced notion that books and dogs don’t belong together. […] You might even say this library is the spiritual heart of dogdom — the canine Vatican, if you will.”

Reseng considers his place at the center of a shift in his profession. He knows that Old Raccoon��s archaic mess is being swept away by Hanja’s clean and efficient machinery, that the noble wolves who built an empire are beginning the demeaning process of domestication (turning into dogs). And it is only now that Reseng’s self-awareness during the process and ability to read and reflect may actually doom him to that life of fear and shame.

If all of the allegorical and philosophical stuff makes the proceedings sound like a drag, don’t worry, The Plotters, translated from the Korean by Sora Kim-Russell, is a lot of fun. Criminal underworlds are the playground of writers and filmmakers of every brow level, and Un-su Kim’s is a wild tour. Rumors, legends, and weird traditions hint at enough lore to fill its own Tolkienesque historical tome, and with its elaborate alternate reality, The Plotters’s first convenient comparison may be to the ever-expanding John Wick movies, but a closer match would probably be Michael Winner’s 1972 Charles Bronson vehicle The Mechanic (a.k.a. Killer of Killers), with its global secret society of professional killers and slightly less cartoonish action.

The action though. It’s worth noting here.

For fans of 21st-century Korean crime films, one of the distinctions that make them stand out from their Hollywood counterparts is the scarcity of guns and a heavy reliance on sharp and pointy objects to get deadly. In many of the best examples of the region’s genre offerings, most of the violence is committed with knives and hatchets — and that marks it as savagely special. For readers familiar with (and fond of) films like Hong-jin Na’s The Yellow Sea (2010), Jee-woon Kim’s I Saw the Devil (2010), or Hoon-jung Park’s New World (2013), the moment in The Plotters when knives finally come out may elicit a thankful “right on” to the deities that govern the stabbiest crime films being made today.

Another fun touch in the book concerns Reseng’s post-kill routine. After the successful conclusion of an assignment, he goes on a strictly observed week-long beer bender, shut inside his apartment. During this time, he wallows in no particular emotional state, but the glut and purge, the allowance to get absolutely messy inside a tightly controlled time and space, is important.

The trope of training and conditioning passages and montages in books and films about specialized danger-man vocations is expected, but sidestepped and subverted here by presenting a skilled professional of high intelligence fully developed on page one whose routine is explored, but only on the back end. The come down is fleshed out with the loving attention to exacting detail usually reserved for cardio conditioning, one-handed pushups, or blindfolded weapons breakdowns and assemblies; here are the supplies you’ll need and why, what kind of space is best, how much time should be allowed. Also, the punishment to the body, the abuse of the temple, the reversing of all of that hard-won mastery over mind and body in favor of raw emotive exploration and devastation is a refreshing take on familiar ground.

And it is during one of these beer weeks that the central mystery at the heart of The Plotters gets its jumpstart. During a regimented session of vomiting, Reseng discovers an explosive device planted inside his toilet. Was it meant to kill him or warn him? And who would leave it? After a lifetime dedicated to violence and surrounded by professionals who deal in death, how good are the chances that he already knows a friend or colleague who will eventually be his own killer?

Reseng is determined to find out. His mission, the first taken on his own, will cost him a fortune and will probably kill him in the end. And the truth, if discovered, will almost certainly not make him happy.

The Plotters walks in the traditions of the noble detective and the samurai while spinning some new chewy bits probably best not mimicked. By the end, heroism rises out of the carnage to trump the nihilistic capitalism in a rousing climax.

¤

Jedidiah Ayres is the author of Peckerwood. He writes about crime fiction and film on the blog Hardboiled Wonderland.

The post Exploration and Devastation: On Un-su Kim’s “The Plotters” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2OB5bW7

[honest-lee]

#NEWMUSICFRIDAY ::scroll through for previews:: igloo two's first release, [ep], remixed by some of the DC area's best djs and producers.  Featuring remixes by @astronautjonesmusic @thelanternsees @honest_lee @faded_eyez @alan.prunier @djtrev_ski @ozkerdc @vincentallenrado Echoes and imagery ooze from deep within the frozen fortress that is igloo two. Through this re-imagined menagerie of sample-based creatures, a new hybrid is born – part man, part beast, part machine. The trip hops from jangly soulful beats to blissful brainwave vibrations to the edges of insanity, but always lands safely on a dense bed of bouncing rhythm that defies even the stiffest neck to remain still. This is the kind of music that may feel strangely familiar, as if you once heard it in a dream or coming from a distant window as you walked down the street. An ethereal nostalgia combines with futuristic experimentation in this infinitely listenable, danceable or just chillable collection. The opening track, knife fork, interlaces a windy, watery world with tingly threads of virtual reality. The closing track, drive around, conjures images of the bright lights and daily drama of an insect metropolis. The rest of the ep spans all the space inbetween. Grab a handful of whatever sets your mind at ease and prepare to embark.  growroom.bandcamp.com/album/ep-remixed #analogelectronic #instrumentals #hiphop #leftfield #dub #reggae #yachtwave #kicks #snares #chillout #dcmusic #electronicmusic #washingtondc #growroomproductions