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song-of-asystole · 4 years ago

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Crime and Punishment - Soukoku oneshot

Summary:

A demon once whispered to him of crime and punishment. He hadn’t paid it much mind – how trusted can a demon be?

His crime, among others, was betrayal.

The only aspect of the crime he left overlooked turned out to be the most crucial one – the punishment.

And the demon stays amused by the most pathetic Raskolnikov in existence – Dazai Osamu.

The author being an absolute nerd for Dostoyevsky and overanalyzing Soukoku’s relationship. Enjoy Dazai’s late-night thoughts!

TW: death, implied suicide

Author’s note:

I’m taking a break from my usual writing (which I’m super insecure about), so I’m writing this little fic because I hope you will be kind to me. Also, I just needed some comfort and BSD is my go-to place for that.

There’s a couple of references scattered across the fic: the obvious one about Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, as well as The Brother Karamazov and The House of the Dead. Yes, I’m aware I’m a huge nerd.

I actually got really carried away and I wrote 2 more chapters which I’ll post on AO3. Of course, this chapter will be up there too, I’ll put a link down below, so please give feedback. :D

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30342828

Enjoy!!

A demon once whispered to him of crime and punishment. He hadn’t paid it much mind – how trusted can a demon be?

Dazai Osamu’s crime, among others, was betrayal. He betrayed the miserable life he had led in Port Mafia, the life that had devastated him on the days he remembered he had heart under that cold, colorless ribcage of his. This life, if one may even call it that, deprived Dazai of a childhood, of innocence, of cleanliness: his hands stained crimson red and his thoughts painted pitch black. Would letting go wash away those dark colors, reveal the truth underneath, which was unknown to him? He did not know, but something had to change.

And so he escaped, with the night cradling him and the smoke of a burning car covering his treacherous silhouette. He had fled the winter of his life, days of bloodshed and sin out of sight and out of mind, looking forward to a promisingly bright spring. Betrayal is an ugly thing, but he had never cared much for looks.

The only aspect of his crime he left overlooked turned out to be the most crucial one – the punishment. Never had he dreamed he would feel guilty.

What am I really even guilty of? Wanting to see the light? Wanting to do good for once in this wretched life I lead? The days I spent swimming in the dark waters of despair deserved to see the end. Am I a monster for wanting happiness?

Hard as he tried to reason with his guilty consciousness, it never left him. It just kept gnawing at his thoughts, making him remember what, nay, whom he tried to forget.

The red-haired calamity.

The manipulator of gravity.

To Dazai, the giver of life.

Nakahara Chuuya.

At the time, Dazai could’ve never fathomed the concept of missing the redhead. Sure, Chuuya was important to him – as much as a person who knew everything about you could be. The two knew each other from the tip of the head to the end of the toes.

He could never not be important. Such noise is rarely ignored, Dazai mused jokingly.

Chuuya was what brought him life. The constant cheating, stealing and killing tramples the soul until you cannot make anything of what’s left. It’s what makes Dazai long for death – he’s seen the depths of this cursed city that squeezed his heart to the point he wanted to throw it away. However, Chuuya – just saying his name made Dazai feel warm – he saw it too. He felt it the same way Dazai did. He might act harsh with all his stomping, yelling, and destroying, but underneath all that is a gentle, nurturing nature that he hides. It’s a detriment in his line of work. Having someone understand meant a lot to Dazai. Maybe their partnership was even built on this silent understanding, among other things.

However, Chuuya was not nice. Don’t ever mistake Chuuya’s sensitivity with kindness. Sugar and spice was not to be in the same sentence as his name. He has always been… rough. Sometimes it served as a wake-up call to Dazai. It helped put things into perspective, but it also helped put things into bad perspective. Not a single morning did these two share without a fight – verbal or physical. Dazai didn’t mind it much at first. After all, teasing Chuuya did work like a drug for him. With time, however, the blade of their words never became dull. It only sharpened. Words like poison flung around the apartment, sentences like spider-webs sitting in hidden corners of the bedroom. Love – they never dared call it that, but, oh, what a burning love it was – love, the most sacred of all emotions, was a chore until it became a war. Eventually, Dazai couldn’t find his peace even in the arms of a lover.

So, his craftiness started turning wheels again and – he escaped. Not a word in the evening, not a trace in the morning, only confusion and hurt spelled over Chuuya’s heart.

Dazai knew it was cruel. He never felt right about it. He loved Chuuya, after all, so the best thing to do, he concluded, was to forget.

The demon laughs. Punishment has been passed.

Presently, Dazai Osamu spends his night awake, staring at the dirty ceiling of his room, as the most pitiful of the world’s Raskolnikovs.

Why can’t he seem to forget a man he once loved, a man he soon grew to hate, a man he betrayed in order to find happiness? What twisted force of nature is dragging his thoughts back to the time he was at his lowest? Why is it that now, when all hope of reunion between the lovers is lost, he finds himself longing for the infamous Port Mafia executive Nakahara Chuuya? Why did the ashes find their way back into a flame after he committed the worst of all sins – betrayal of trust and love?

The demon chuckles once again and in a sing-songy voice he says, I told you, Dazai-kun. To love thy neighbor is impossible. The man himself is the ugliest of all God’s creations – how could anyone love such a creature up close? Even the Father won’t cast a glance at him. It takes distance, Dazai-kun, and you’re not exempt from this rule of human nature.

It is irksome, yes, how right the demon seems to be. It is certainly irksome, Dazai feels, as the demon’s words carve into the left chamber of his stone cold heart. What even was it that made Dazai hate Chuuya? Hate Chuuya… it used to seem so impossible and yet, along with Odasaku’s death, it drove him to plan and execute a high-scale betrayal of the entire Port Mafia.

It would take years before Dazai could understand the intricacies of his past with Chuuya at Port Mafia. What mattered now – truly, the only real thing in this world – was the fact that he actually loved Nakahara Chuuya.

Oh. There. He thought of it. For some reason, he didn’t want to think of anything else but that. It wasn’t scary, as he thought it’d be, all those years ago. He finally broke the lock in his lungs and there it was: all that air he never let himself breathe. What was it about that mere word that made two Port Mafia executives shy around it, avoid it like the authorities, dance around it as if it was bonfire in the festival night? Why had they never let the simple four-letter word into their little sanctuary when it so obviously belonged with them? The fear he once felt seemed foolish to him now.

I guess we do learn as long as we live, he whispers in the dark room to no one in particular.

He felt a rush trying to sweep him up, make him stand. However, where would he go? To Chuuya? As if. He hurt Chuuya in unspeakable ways even during the time they spent together. He has no right to show up at his doorstep or in his life. Ever again.

Even if he did, how would that end? They squeezed each other’s hearts dry and called it love. Every day felt like torture, but they swore it was sweet. Why, why, why did they cause so much pain? Was it truly the only method to make them feel alive in the house of the dead? Did the right answer slip between their fingers at some point?

The question Dazai had been stuck on was, Is there any way he could forgive me? If, once in the future, I looked him in the eye and told him the truth – would there be salvation pouring from his lips? Or would he rightfully convict me for my crime?

Thus, Dazai fell into slumber, like every other evening for the past four years. The bed will never feel comfortable to him because it always seems to be missing something, but Dazai will keep denying it. His little room doesn’t even look like a home, but Dazai will tell you that he just can’t be bothered to unpack and decorate. His heart, cold like a Russian blizzard, has not known warmth in a while, but he will tell you it’s incapable to do so.

Those are the only three lies Dazai Osamu tells people and himself – until the night comes again and unlocks a little door in his brain.

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the-red-jenny · 4 years ago

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“Tell me you don’t care.”

“I can’t”

“Tell me that I was just some casual dalliance so I can call you a cold hearted son of a bitch and move on”

- - - -

Even in his dreams, he could hear her words echo through him. He could feel her hurt and sorrow, as well as own. Fendhis, he muttered. Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes and looked around to see the soft glow of the torches in his room. He had fallen asleep at his desk again. He shifted and was surprised to feel a blanket draped over his shoulders. She had been here he thought to himself. He let out a long sigh.

It had been only a few weeks since he left his heart in Crestwood, for fear of what would happen if he didn’t. He couldn’t let his heart rule his head. He couldn’t forsake the hundreds of thousands of lives on his shoulders. There was too much at stake. How could he justify being happy when it was his fault things were this way? He had to fix it, no matter what it cost him.

Solas had been trying to be respectful in those days following Crestwood, but he still felt her eyes lingering on him whenever she passed him by. He had heard her being comforted by Dorian, and Leliana, and ... the Commander. He could feel the unspoken words in the air.

How could you?

He was a traitor once again. He knew he deserved all of it.

Of course, he still stole glimpses of her smile when she spoke to everyone else, but him. The gleam of joy in her eyes when she beat Varric at Wicked Grace or mastered a new technique in the courtyard never failed to leave him breathless. It was enough, he thought, to see her happy from afar. It was all he was allowed to have.

He was stunned on the day she cut off her hair. Her dark, charcoal hair had been long enough to caress the arch of her back, but was now barely grazing her chin. She was still as beautiful as ever, but when let his eyes rest on hers, and saw her staring back, he quickly retreated into his study.

After that, he couldn’t understand why she still asked him to accompany her on missions. He supposed it was good to keep someone with an extensive knowledge of healing spells handy, but she never spoke to him. Instead, she threw herself into every battle, twice as hard as she ever did before. The grace he had once complimented her on was now being used to swiftly and brutally cut down each enemy in her path, without a care for her own safety.

Was this his punishment? To heal every wound she took upon herself because of her anger?

The roar of a Hurlock Alpha quickly snapped him back to attention. The creature’s talons tore into his back, leaving several deep gashes. Solas quickly realized he had run out of mana and Lyrium potions, and cursed at himself for being so careless. Solas quickly cast Barrier, praying it would be enough for him to last long enough to see this fight through.

“Solas needs help!” He heard the Inquisitor yell. Even with the gashes in his back, he still felt his chest ache hearing her call his name. She quickly lept in front of him driving her daggers deep into the neck of the Darkspawn. With one last terrible cry, the creature fell dead on the floor.

Solas looked at the Inquisitor, bathed in Darkspawn blood and ichor. Gods, she was beautiful, he thought. Her breaths were heavy as she wrenched her blades free. He could feel the chill in the air as she passed him by. He wondered briefly if she regretted saving him.

“Good one, Boss!” Iron Bull exclaimed. The Qunari then handed Cora a health potion and turned his attention to his Tevinter companion. “Whaddaya think, Dorian? We’re ready to take on a dragon!”

“Take on a Dragon? Oh, no. If it's all the same to you, I’d rather take on a bath.”

Cora smiled at the two, clearly more than just friends. It was nice to see something good come of this, even now. She turned her attention to Solas, who was leaning a bit on his staff. He quickly turned his attention to his feet, not wanting to meet her gaze. He could hear her footsteps approaching him, and he braced himself for what he was sure was going to sting.

“Take this, Solas”

He looked up to see her offering the health potion to him. He wanted to respond, do anything other than just stare. He felt his legs fail him and he fell to his knees, still gripping onto his staff.

“Solas!” Cora exclaimed. Her voice wracked with worry. He felt Cora’s hands along the gashes in his back, carefully inspecting the wounds. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks with shame, as he chastised himself for even considering the idea that she would be any different. She was who she was, no matter the circumstance. It’s what he loved about her. She surprised him, even now.

“I’m alright, Inquisitor. The beast caught me off guard, and I ran out of Lyrium.” Solas explained “It won’t happen again in the future.”

“Its okay to rely on me in the future, Solas.” Cora pleaded. He could feel her hesitate behind him. “You still owe me an explanation when this is over, but I would never just abandon you. Can you please-”

“I shall keep that in mind, Vhen... Inquisitor.” Solas could bear no more and quickly got to his feet. Every step forward was more difficult than the last, but he endured. He must.

They walked in silence back to camp, and offered each other no more than a glance on the way back to Skyhold. After getting his wounds looked at by a healer, he made his way back to his part of the castle, hoping to disappear into some research.

Not long after another unsuccessful attempt at translating writings from an ancient Thaig, his door opened. Cora walked briskly through his study, towards the door leading to the barracks. To the Commander. She seemed... happy. Solas frowned. He had noticed that she frequented his office more recently than in the past, but he hadn’t considered why. Solas could feel the anger, like a pit in his stomach. He knew it was wrong, but couldn't stop himself before he spoke. “Cullen isn’t in his Quarters.”

Cora stopped in her tracks. “What?”

Solas cleared his throat, “I just assumed that's where you were headed since his is the only door in that direction. I thought I would save you the effort.”

A bemused smile spread across her face “Save me my effort for what, Solas?”

“I’m sure you have more important matters to attend to.”

Cora scoffed and walked back towards his study door. She muttered something he didn’t quite catch under her breath. From the inflection, he could tell it wasn’t positive. She took a moment before she spoke. “You lost the right to interfere with whom I speak to when you left me. You can’t expect me to wait until you decide I deserve to know why.”

“I didn’t expect you to wait, but I expected it not so be done so blatantly and without regard for-“

“You feelings?” Cora cut him off. “I was desperate to hear yours, and now that I’m not begging for it, it's an issue? Enlighten me, Solas. What would you have me do? Do you get off on me miserable and moping around Skyhold? Is that it? Cullen at least is honest with his emotions. I don’t have to wonder if he enjoys my presence, because he says so! I don’t have to plead for him to tell me the truth...”

Solas stood in stunned silence. Everything that he wanted to say and everything she wanted required more of the truth. The damned truth that she shouldn’t be responsible for. He had to get her to drop this. He took a deep breath.

“Cora, if I believed you wanted me to play the part of a cold hearted fiend so desperately, I would have made more of an effort. I expected that our time together meant more than what the Commander could provide quick comforts for. It seems I was mistaken. Now, unless you have any questions about Coreypheus, we should focus on the task at hand.”

Shocked at the amount of venom in his voice, he turned away from her. He was afraid of letting anything else slip, or worse, that his resolve would crumble if he saw her expression. He could feel the hurt and anger radiating from her like waves. He wondered if she would yell, or cry, or hit him. He wanted her to. It would be better than the silence. Instead, he heard her let out a long sigh.

“Everyone makes mistakes.” Cora said softly. “Don’t make this one again.”

She shut the door firmly behind her. Slowly, Solas slumped in his chair. From above he could hear Dorian whistle in surprise. He lamented at the lack of privacy the rotunda allowed. The whole of Skyhold would know about it within the hour, he was sure. He supposed it was his punishment for putting them both in this position. He would make everything right, when this was done. He just wasn’t sure how.

#dragon age inquisition #solas #dragon age #solas dragon age #dragon age inquistor #solas x oc #solas x lavellan #da solas #solas fanfic #inquisitor lavellan #Cora Lavellan #Spotify

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exorciseyourspirit · 5 years ago

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The Ghost Of You || Theo And Rebecca

We were meant to live for so much more.

Theodora had to fight herself not to spend all her energy racing to Rebecca’s home at once. It had to be her. She was strong. She had fought him off before. She would fight him and surface again. It had to be her. But as she neared it, reached to pass through the windows and reach for her, call to her, a fear coiled around her and she hesitated. There was no telling why the dybbuk would trick Blanche again, what he would gain from playing a long game when he enjoyed his own existence so very much. And--dear God in Heaven--she was there. She was using Theodora’s old kettle, nursing her ribs. And she looked so tired. It must be her, mustn’t it? Theodora hesitated, then pressed her hand to the windows, rattling them as if they were caught in a gale. If it were the creature, he would see her. He would be cruel. And she had to be careful, certain. Didn’t she? “I know you’re in there,” she said, uncertain of to whom she was speaking anymore.

Rebecca had been icing her wound when she’d decided that a nice cup of tea would help calm her down. She’d waddled into the kitchen, still limping from the pain, though it seemed to be getting better. She’d have to schedule a doctor’s appointment, she wasn’t sure the demon had done so. It would be alright, in the meantime, with tea and ice and ibuprofen. She sighed, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water, sighing as she set it on the stove and clicked it on. She remembered her visions of the home, of the flashing clock on the stove. It wasn’t flashing now. It wasn’t beeping. Suddenly, the windows shook, a chill up her spin. Rebecca jumped, pulling out her ward. “Who’s there?” Limped over towards the window, when the voice filtered through. No. She-- she must’ve been hearing things. Backing away, she turned away. “Whoever you are, go away. I don’t-- I’m not who you’re looking for.��

Theodora passed through the glass as Rebecca backed away. The dybbuk would have no need to be afraid. He was too confident, surely. And he would see her. Mock her. Rebecca, on the other hand— “Darling?” She called softly. She knew Rebecca’s tired looks intimately. The way the creases around her eyes seemed to deepen, the droop around her mouth, the way her hair dropped with neglect. Hunting a dybbuk, even over the span of years, was hardly conducive to good rest. And it was all the same, now as ever before. “It is you, isn't it, darling? Rebecca?”

Rebecca turned, clutching the counter until her knuckles turned white. She’d finally lost it, was what this was. That voice, so familiar. She was back in that place again, wasn’t she? That must be it. This couldn’t be real. But the chill in her bones, the way her flesh tingled-- she knew it wasn’t just her imagination. Her lip quivered. Maybe if she ignored it, she’d go away. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be back, couldn’t be here. Rebecca had only been able to pull through because she knew Theo was in a better place, knew that she was no longer suffering-- but now? Accepting this? “No,” she said, moving away from the energy radiating by the window. “No, you’re not-- you’re not here. Just go away, please,” turning her back to her again. Because if it was her, she didn’t want her to see the anguish in her face, the defeat.

“Rebecca--” Theodora called, drifting slowly towards her. She couldn’t mean it like this, surely. After all the time it had been, and the weight of these weeks knowing she was drifting alone in the black while the dybbuk mocked her existence, that the alternative was a cursed existence, pulling against a tide she could not fully control. If Rebecca knew it was her, surely-- Theodora brushed her hand through her hair, wilting as she realized that Rebecca might do just that, if she were alone enough, and hurt enough. The worst fights they had were the ones where Rebecca pushed her away when Theodora most wanted to be with her. “Don’t let’s do that cruel dance again, my love,” she said. “It really is me. And I’ve come all this way just to see you again, for true.”

“That-- it--” Rebecca stammered, shivering as something brushed across her skin. She screwed her eyes shut, pulling away again. How cruel could the world be? To give her her lover back like this? As the things she hunted? The things she had come to only feel, to hear, but not see. Never see. She cast her head down, arms wrapped around herself. Tears welling behind tightly shut lids. “It’s not fair! You can’t-- you shouldn’t be here. I’m so sorry. Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here. Go, please, go. Move on. Be happy. Please,” she begged, breath wheezing. The hurt in her ribs was now nothing compared to the hurt in her heart. The ache that clenched at her. She wished for so long during that year alone to see her lover one more time. To speak to her, one more time. And never had she thought to come back to White Crest. Never had she thought Theo would have been here, been around. And it hurt all the more, knowing that she could’ve known her this whole time. That she could have had her like this, the whole time. But her stubbornness, her pain had kept her away. And she only had herself to blame. “You can’t be here.”

“As if I could ever rest, knowing you were in pain?” Theodora asked. “Knowing I hadn’t done enough to protect you? After all my other failures, and all my other wanderings?” She lifted the hair that fell over her face, twisting it round in her grasp, such as it was. “Would you really deny us this, my love, after two long years? Haven’t we suffered enough apart? Must you punish us again?” If she could have only but summoned solid hands through will alone, the ability to pull her up, shake her, make Rebecca look at her and see her-- Oh, but that would have been too easy. Whatever sins Theodora was atoning for, she had obscured herself from such a blessing. “It’s one thing never to visit your wife, but another to cast her out of your home. And this is not the time for running, Rebecca,” she said, voice firm.

“This isn’t-- this isn’t your fault, you know that, I told you that,” Rebecca pleaded quietly, shivering again when Theo’s ghostly hands passed across her. She looked up, bewildered, wishing now more than ever that she could see her-- cursing now more than ever, that she couldn’t see ghosts. “You should be able to move on, my love,” she said quietly, her voice strained as she fought back her tears. “You shouldn’t be here suffering with me.” The pain swelling again in a frantic sob, aching ever more thanks to the fracture in her side. She moved through the spirit in front of her, through the kitchen, and to the living room. There was a photo of Theodora on the mantel and she picked it up, knowing she’d followed her in, hands caressing her face in the photo. “I couldn’t bare to visit the place where I’d lost you. Where’d I’d failed everything in my life,” she confessed quietly, “my ultimate failure. Losing you.”

Theodora followed, peering over Rebecca’s shouler and passing her arms through her body, as if she would press her close, Rebecca’s back cradled by her chest. Some evenings, when Rebecca’s fear pulled and stiffened at her, it was the only way she could bridge the awful silence between them and hold her at all. If she could just take shape for even a moment, she thought. Even with hands of death, to feel anything-- “Oh, my darling,” she sighed, her voice shuddering. “It wasn’t your fault at all. I dove for him. I just wasn’t fast enough. That was my blasted foolishness, not yours.” She skated her ghostly hands over Rebecca’s. It was just a chill, Rebecca had told her. Like a pocket of icy wind. She did not know how it could comfort, but she hoped that from her, with her voice in her ear, it might for even a breath of a moment. “Is marriage not a sharing of suffering, anyway? I think I’m rather entitled, don’t you?” Her voice lilted softly upwards, hoping to soothe with a touch of levity.

Rebecca shuddered again, but it wasn’t an adverse reaction. Somehow, the chill of Theodora’s touch was a comfort. Perhaps it was her voice, or perhaps it was just knowing that that was what she was trying to do, but Rebecca didn’t turn away this time. She could feel Theo’s presence behind her and felt the longing inside of her to hold her and touch and her and felt the unfairness of the fact that she couldn’t. It felt like a physical ache in her arms that could only be quelled by Theodora’s touch, but she would never again feel it. Even now, with her here. “We never made it official, you know,” she said quietly after a moment. She turned around, looked up-- she couldn’t see Theo, didn’t know exactly where she was, but she could see her clearly in her mind. Standing there with her sweater on, that look in her eyes-- so soft, so caring. Like they could look into Rebecca’s own soul and pull out all the bad and make everything okay. With just a look. “I want to see you,” she whispered, “let me see you.”

“Not officially, no,” Theodora chuckled. “But we did a lot of married things in the eyes of our gods alone. It’s close enough. I told Blanche I was your wife. So at this point, who’s the wiser, really?” Rebecca turned to her, her soft face open and bright. There was a sparkle of hope in her watery blue eyes, that resilient seed that carried her through so many dark nights. Theodora passed her fingers through her cheeks. She dug deep into the core of her soul, just in case there was any strength within her that could summon to make herself solid again. Even a moment, a flash of contact, however soft. But she could not wipe Rebecca’s tears from her cheeks. She could not draw her close and fold her up in her arms away from the world. “Oh, if I only could, my love,” she said. “It is so good to see you after so long. I have missed you so very much. So very much. If I knew how, I would--” She could not bring herself to continue. It seemed too cruel, to speak hopes that had no promise of coming true. “But I would stay with you tonight, and every other, for as long as this lasts. I will help you, however I can.”

Rebecca lifted her left hand. There was a pale band around her ring finger. “I haven’t put it back on in a long time,” she murmured, curling her fingers in slightly before stretching them back out again. “It didn’t seem right. I was worried he might--” Take it. Break it. Destroy it. Destroy their symbol of love. She knew it sounded stupid, but she couldn’t bare the thought. She knew that their love was always going to be in their hearts, undead or not, no matter what. Even if Rebecca wilted away and her soul was torn from this world. She shuddered at the thought and clutched the picture to her chest, sinking into the couch. “Staying seems almost cruel,” she muttered, “how cruel is the world to give you back to me in the one form I can’t see you.” She looked up again, eyes worn, tired. “I want you to stay, but I can’t ask that of you. What if he comes back while I sleep? He’ll kill you, he’ll take you from me and I already lost you once, I can’t-- I won’t,” she set the photo down on the table in front of her. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Theodora. I’m lost.”

Theodora turned her attention to the photograph. Despite being only a year before her death, the woman in there seemed so much surer, stronger, than how she felt. Perhaps she was simply more corporeal. But lacking a reflection, Theodora found a strange sense of heart in the person she was. However damned she was, she had been a woman who could bear anything. The cruelty of loss. The rejection of the world. The breaking of her own body, over and over from one night to next. She could bear this too. And perhaps at the end of it, if she succeeded, she might uncover the misdeeds of her soul, might even find her way to absolution and peace. But what was heaven without Rebecca? The thought was meaningless, too selfish and small as to dissipate faster than smoke. Theodora knelt before her, hands cooling on her knees so she would know where to look. “Whatever you will of me, I will do it,” she said solemnly. “You wouldn’t be asking me to stay. You need only tell me you want it again and I shall. I would like to stay with you too. Comfort you, if I can at all, and to damn the risk. I can dissipate faster than he can reach for me like this. But If it will only cause you more grief and worry, I will go. I have places to stay. I’ll be alright. I won’t even be alone. Perhaps don’t think about this one overmuch, if you can help it. You needn’t ask at all, only say what you feel.”

Cool hands on her knees that she could almost feel, Rebecca looked down at where she knew Theodora was. She could picture her so clearly, kneeling in front of her, green eyes sparkling. Tears welled behind her eyes again and she let them fall freely this time, too tired to fight them off anymore. She wished she could see Theo, she wished so badly for the thing she’d worked her entire life to be proud of not having. Becoming an exorcist despite her inability to see ghosts had been one of her proudest accomplishments, and now, all she could do was curse the world for denying her this gift. “I can’t say it,” she finally admitted, her voice a hoarse whisper, “I need to know I’m me first. I need to know it’s safe, first.” She wrapped her arms around herself against and pretended they were Theo’s arms, sinking into her grasp like the safety blanket it had always been for her, from their first embrace to their last. “I need to feel safe again.”

Theodora was glad Rebecca could not see her then, for in two years of being invisible she had lost all habit of schooling her face to hide any emotion she didn’t want to surface. She hung her head and would have dug her fingers in with longing, with a silent plea, if she had anything to touch. She wanted to stay. After two years alone, torturing herself with memories, she wanted to stay more than anything. But the wishes of the dead and damned were of no consequence. Theodora was quiet for several moments, however, before finally saying, “Alright. Then I will go. I’ll return soon, though, to see how you are.” She withdrew from her, gliding away towards the door. “I hope at least that much is alright with you.”

Rebecca’s heart tugged because she could feel exactly what Theo was-- she knew exactly the look on her face. And though Theodora was here, she was so tired of having to just imagine things. To imagine what her lost love was doing, feeling, looking. “Wait!” she said, a bit desperately, “stay for a little longer. Please,” she asked, hoping her eyes were glancing in her direction. “I-- just a little longer.” She stood up, struggling, her side prickling with pain. “I can finish making us tea,” she said quietly, hobbling towards the kitchen again, “and...maybe you can tell me your favorite poem again. And just...maybe for just a little bit, you can stay…” she paused in the doorway again, looking around the room, wondering if she could simply reach out and feel her. “Please?”

Theodora wanted nothing more than to do all of those things with Rebecca. Just another evening near her, even if they couldn’t touch or meet eyes. But if such and evening was what she had really wanted, she would have said so. This gesture, however earnest, could only have been given out of love for her. And oh, how Theodora had missed being loved at all. To be offered something so simple, so kind, for no other reason than because Rebecca saw her and cared. If she could truly claim to love her in return, however, she would honor her first wish. The one she had made before she knew how thin Theodora’s skin had become. “No,” she said. “It’s alright. You should feel safe, first and foremost. No need to take on any shame about it.” And Theodora believed this, with all her heart, but she could not avoid the bitter sadness she felt. She had always failed at compartmentalizing cleanly when it came to Rebecca. Why should it be any different in death? “It is good to have you back, my love. Even like this,” she said. And before Rebecca could call to her again and change her mind, she was gone.

#chatzy #chatzy: theo #theo #dr jekyll #the ghost of you #//i wanted srs titles but i guess this chatzy #is just an homage to emo 00's songs #blame olivia and kat

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incomplete-nano-stash · 4 years ago

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Mneme the Forgetter Chapter 1

Footfalls. Breathing. The only sounds coming to the young man’s ears as he frantically rushed through the brush back to the village were the sounds of his own body in panic mode. He crashed through bushes and trees, barely cognizant of the brightly lit sky, the moon hanging high overhead.

Run, boy, or you are finished. The one thought pouring through his mind. Run. Survive.

The dense forest began to lighten, the surest sign that he was approaching the village he called home. Desperate to reach safety, he clung to his satchel, the one thing the beasts had been after, with the passion of a drowning man thrown a rope. His breathing became ragged and quicker as he saw familiar buildings … a smithy here, a residence there … the market roundel where the crop workers brought their harvests …

Where would be safe to hide? Who would hide him?

His senses suddenly became aware of another sound invading his personal space, the loud roar of creatures pursuing him, dragging themselves and each other to push their party faster to catch up. The young man caught a glimpse behind him, catching a quick count of his assailants.

Fifteen. Heavily armed, and all greedy and wanting what he had.

He stumbled, regained his footing, and ran into the closest building, the village inn. Rumor was that zomroll bandits would not go inside human-made constructs. Right now, he prayed that rumor was true.

“Alec! Boy, you know the rules!”

The innkeeper’s booming voice echoed above the din of the assembled crowd within the inn’s modest pub. Slamming down a pint tumbler on the bar, he scowled at the young man.

“Sorry, Theric, but it’s an emergency, and I need to get away.”

Theric, slapping his bar towel over his shoulder, crossed his arms suspiciously. “Sure. So was the last time, when you said you got chased by wolves. I’m not buying it. Are any of you?”

Laughter, derisive and biting, chimed from around the room. Alec was keenly aware of his reputation in the place, knew that it would take a lot of talk, a lot of convincing, to prove his case. His eyes scanned the occupants of the place … many of them were field hands, all of them locals, all of them knew him and wanted nothing to do with him.

Wait, there was one figure that he did not recognize. A slumped figure at the bar, fully cloaked, the only visible part of their body being a single, gloved hand which kept motioning for drinks. Occasionally a silver lock of hair dropped from the cloak’s hood.

Theric quickly passed his eyes between Alec and the stranger, then back to Alec. “No. Don’t even think about it.” He leaned closer to the younger man. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to generate foreign custom in these parts? I’ll not have you chasing my first out-of-town guest in five years away over your blasted issues.”

Alec swallowed. He looked over the stranger carefully. The shape under the cloak was slightly slender, but seemed too muscular to be someone not wearing some sort of armor. A long lump along the figure’s spine seemed to confirm it for the man. This person could help him. He shrugged off Theric’s warning and made his way over to the stranger.

“Alec, what wild stories are you telling today?” A mocking voice bellowed from the back of the room. “Dragons? Orcs? Fairies?” More roaring laughter.

Alec slowly made his way to the shrouded figure’s position, taking the stool next to the mystery individual. He faced the bar, trying not to seem conspicuous, in case the person wouldn’t …

“Seems that the custom here has an issue with you and your actions in the past.”

The enigma’s words interrupted Alec’s train of thought. He jumped slightly at the sound. The mystery figure had an androgynous, neutral voice.

“They don’t understand me. I am pursued by many of the creatures that inhabit this world, and for no reason I can calculate I am meant to be their prey.”

The figure nodded their hooded head slowly. A gloved hand raised. Alec, this close, could see the glove was ringed with plate armor: a gauntlet. “Publican, more mead. And one for my companion here.”

Theric grumbled, but dutifully poured two tumblers of mead, bringing them over to Alec and the mysterious figure. As he set them down, he leaned close to the enigma. “Are you sure about this, my friend? Alec is a well known liar in this town, he makes up stories and sets up panics left and right.”

The gloved hand dismissively waved Theric away. He glared more daggers at Alec … a dirty look that clearly said “don’t bother the clientele” in non-verbal terms … and returned to cleaning up the opposite end of the bar.

“You entered the inn with great urgency,” the enigma continued, catching Alec’s attention again. “Like you were being pursued.”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell who was pursuing you?”

Alec sighed. “You won’t believe me even if I tell you the honest truth.”

The enigma chuckled. “Try me.”

Alec cast worried looks around the rest of the room, at the disapproving looks of the other occupants. None of them gave Alec as much as the time of day any other time in the village, and those that did bother would only give it if it meant they could accompany the information with a clap to the back of Alec’s head. Many felt he was touched, not right mentally. A few questioned his family.

The young man bore up his fears, took a deep breath, and responded. “Zomrolls. A bandit party of fifteen.”

The room’s temperature seemed to chill as soon as the words left his mouth. Alec watched the enigma’s shoulders jump upward. The figure raised up from their slouched posture, taking up their mead tumbler and chugging down the contents in a single swallow. The empty vessel clattered to the bar’s surface, and the figure reached their gauntleted hands up to drop their hood.

She, Alec decided. Definitely she. The stranger’s eyes focused on Alec with fiery intensity. “Fifteen, you say?”

Alec nodded, suddenly struck mute by the woman’s intensity. He picked up his mead tumbler and shakily took a sip to calm his nervousness.

“Very well. You have my sword. We will discuss payment later.” The woman dropped four coins on the bar counter, as Alec finished his mead. “Publican, a little extra for your trouble.”

She stood up, having struck the entire room silent with the revelation of herself. She turned toward the assembled group of rowdies.

“Good villagers, I understand the problem you have had in the past with this young man … what is your name, boy?”

Alec cleared his throat. “It’s Aleciares, but most folks here call me Alec.”

She nodded. “Alec it is, then. I intend to investigate young Alec’s claim of trouble, and if it is proven to be false I shall be dealing with him post haste. If it is proven to be true, however …” Her eyes narrowed and grew more intense. “If his claim is proven true, then all here had better beg his forgiveness, or I shall be hearing of it.”

The collected men in the room looked around at each other, confused. One finally chimed up. “Milady, what puts you in position to back up a bold claim like that?”

She had heard this all her life, it seemed. She pulled the cloak behind her and drew her sword. “I am the slayer Mneme, bane of dragonkind and destroyer of zomrolls. I will come to this man’s aid, for if he speaks truth then your village is soon to be under assault by the zomroll hordes, and may your gods be merciful if that should come to pass.” She motioned toward Alec. “Come, boy, take me to the trouble.”

Mneme strode confidently through the crowd in the inn, many of whom had forgotten about their drinks on the tables, simply to watch her move through their midst. She sheathed her sword on the move and, after making sure Alec was following her, pushed the door of the inn open and walked into the darkness.

They walked quietly through the streets of the village until they reached the outskirts, where buildings became sparse, before the silence was broken. Mneme turned around to her new companion. “Where were they?”

Alec was startled by the woman speaking to him, lifting his face up to hers. “Oh … yes, they were here, they chased me to this point at least. I saw them following me.”

Mneme cleared her throat. “Why were they following you, anyway?”

Alec clutched his satchel closer. “Well, to tell the truth I’m not sure why. I have been foraging all day, there’s really no reason for it.”

Mneme looked back at the village, then back at Alec. “Foraging? You live in a village, why do you need to forage?”

Alec shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I’m not the most rowdy and social person in town.” He sighed deeply. “I don’t have a field position, I don’t have an establishment in town.”

“No income, eh?” The woman sighed. “That explains some things.” She turned her attention back to the thick woods.

“I do odd jobs around town, and I’m generally just the kid people call when they need someone to abuse.” Alec sighed. “It’s my lot, that’s all.”

Mneme’s eyes focused intently. She motioned quickly behind her to quiet Alec down, crouching lower to the ground. Her eyes narrowed, her hand went quietly and smoothly to her weapon. In the distance, a clatter arose, making the woman prick up her ears gently.

“Is it …?”

“Shh!” She planted her hand on Alec’s mouth. The commotion approached faster, the sounds of marching boots and battle cries. Mneme growled. “I hate barbarians, and I hate zomrolls more.” She ground her teeth, unsheathing her sword and coming out of concealment. Alec stood behind her, approaching slowly as she rose to her full height.

The zomrolls, for their part, finally noticed the woman standing up to them. The largest one, clearly the leader of the party, brandished a battle axe and hunched in a threatening pose. He stepped forward and bellowed at Mneme with a scratchy voice. “Woman, you better run if you know what’s good for you!”

Mneme growled. “This village is out of bounds to you and your party.” She assumed a two-hander posture, raising her sword. “Approach at your own peril. Turn back or die.”

The leader’s eyes took on a yellow glow, illuminating the sickly skin of his party, peeling and sallow and rotting. His voice took an even more hellish timbre as he responded. “Woman doesn’t know when to run. Time to die!” He raised his axe and broke into a run toward Mneme, the rest of the party on his heels.

Mneme raised an alarming cry, raising her own sword and rushing toward the fight. The clash of the two weapons reverberated around the field, loud as a thunderclap.

The commotion roused some of the people of the village, one of which approached Alec. “What’s going on, boy?”

Alec turned and pointed toward the battle. The villagers assembling around him turned their attention toward the fight, as Mneme launched herself deep into the party of zomrolls. Weapons clanged, their reports filling the air with the symphony of violence. Soon the screams started.

Screams from the zomrolls.

Mneme was oddly quiet as her sword started cutting through one zomroll after another, as their limbs flew away from the battle site, separated from their original hosts by the woman’s sword. The zomrolls were nowhere near as quiet, emitting howls of anguish as the woman cut through them with little resistance. Blood flew into the night air, the scent becoming heavier the more damage the zomrolls took.

Finally, the only remaining adversary was the leader, cowering at Mneme’s feet. He had no hands, having lost them far earlier in the fight. “Mercy, great warrior, please!”

Mneme glared at the leader, taking in his pathetic display, his kneeling and prostration before her. She crouched down to his eye level, narrowing her own eyes at him. In the moonlight, they seemed to take on a glow of their own.

“No.” The whispered word hit the zomroll like a gunshot, quickly followed by the woman’s sword running through his skull, pinning him to the ground until his body stopped thrashing. When she was satisfied with her work, Mneme withdrew the sword, wiping it gently on the zomroll’s tunic before returning it to her scabbard. She stood completely upright, turning back toward where Alec had been waiting for her.

Alec now had a large crowd of villagers surrounding him, watching the action along with him. Consternation flashed on every face as the woman approached, breathing deeply to relieve herself from the tension of the fight. The glow in her eyes subsided, her breathing deepened, and she slowly approached the assembly.

“They will not be a bother to you any more. To be safe, though, I would recommend taking two of their heads and piking them at the entrances to your village, just to keep others away.” Mneme approached Alec. “Thank you for alerting me to their presence, boy.”

Alec swallowed hard, nodding in acknowledgment. Behind him, though, Theric scowled. “He got lucky, that’s all. I swear, boy, if this had been any other time and another of your stunts …”

“But it wasn’t, right?” Alec challenged Theric directly. “The danger was real, and it’s lucky for us Lady Mneme was here to …”

“Yeah, lucky.” Theric narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Why are you passing through here, warrior? This is a peaceful village, we have no need for this kind of trouble …”

“This trouble came to you. I am hunting it.” Mneme’s calm, neutral voice belied the violence she had been participating in just minutes before. “Perish the thought that those zomrolls were allowed free rein in your village, there wouldn’t be a village left in that case.”

Theric grumbled. He turned his back on both Mneme and Alec. “I think it’s best that you leave by morning, milady. Our village does not need your brand of trouble here.” He began walking back into the main part of the village, with several of the other villagers following him. The crowd dwindled until simply Alec and Mneme stood at the scene.

Mneme looked over at the lone young man. “And you? Are you going with your village?”

Alec sighed sadly. “It’s not my village. Not anymore.” He turned back toward the woman. “Let me come with you, Lady Mneme. I can make myself useful to you, I swear.”

Mneme sighed, picking up her cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders once again. “I’m afraid that the life I lead is not one for men such as yourself. I would be upset if you were to come to harm at my aid.”

Alec scoffed gently. “And the way the village treats me doesn’t cause me harm? I’m the village bastard, how much worse can being with you be?”

Mneme shook her head. “I’m afraid my answer is still no.” She placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “Thank you for your assistance tonight, my friend, but I must ask that our affiliation end here and now. At morning’s light I will be gone.”

Alec let out a sad sigh, nodding. “As you wish, Lady Mneme. You have my thanks.”

Mneme gave an encouraging squeeze and what looked like the beginning of a smile to the young man before making her way back toward the village inn. Alec took a deep breath, looking back toward the moonlit battlefield, where the dead zomrolls remained piled where they had dropped.

“There must be a way.” Alec steeled himself for the gruesome task ahead, and marched over to the pile of zomrolls.

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #mneme the forgetter

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thereisnoneinhere · 4 years ago

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𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂

𝓫𝔂 𝓖𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓾𝓼

The 23rd ward was filled with horror, the screams and shouts for help roared in her ears as well as the clashing of quinques and kagunes. She loathed it. Even as a child she was already seeking peace. Just one moment for herself sitting comfortably marveling the moon as the stars beautifully scattered on the night sky and the wind whispering incoherent comforts in her skin. A moment of tranquil will suffice.

Eto Yoshimura planned the strike for tonight, they’ve attacked one of the hostile territories of the CCG– Cochlea. The detention center for ghouls. It was a bold move yet we are talking about the Aogiri Tree, the strength of this group is as much as a battalion of man-eating creatures. The aim is to get Kaneki Ken to reconcile with Aogiri and to exterminate the White Reaper. Kishou Arima is her mission.

The CCG’s Death God, ghouls are terrified of him. They rake in fear just by the mere mention of his name. He is the downfall of her kind. Arima’s duty is to eradicate all flesh-eating beings. They are labeled as monsters. Thus they didn’t choose to be one. Was it their fault being born as ghouls? Their diet is human flesh, how can they refrain themselves feeding with them? Above all, was it her fault being experimented and been bestowed with an ugly destiny? And so they are hated for existing.

From the rooftop of the tall skyscraper, she watched the scenery below, it was like a slaughtering house. Corpses and blood on the ground. Howls of pain and laughs of maniacs resounded in the location. Sighing she sat on the edge of the building swaying her legs. The moon is present tonight as if giving her the peace she wanted. The stars as well scintillate in the vast dark ceiling, it was a rather comforting scenery to witness.

She smiled upon sensing his presence. Took him a while to reach her. It’s been years huh? Years of pain after everything that had happened. She was someone else before her fall. Before destruction and darkness consumed her. Before that wrenching incident that made her what she is today. Years had passed between the two of them. They simply ran out of time or they are running after it. Chasing circles, holding on with what is left.

“Miyuki Akiara, the Grim Reaper,” he said with an impassive tone. Not really impressed meeting the one-eyed ghoul.

“Aww at least you still remember me and they gave us matching aliases, isn’t cute?” sweet giggles vibrated on her throat. Silenced is all he replied. How long has it been again when he last heard that gentle voice? Her optimistic personality that brightens the headquarters. Her little stunts put everyone in the organization clutching their stomachs with laughter. Her smartness that many admire. Good old days slowly becoming a blur and eventually will vanish.

He’s heard of the Grim Reaper. A she-ghoul who devoured her own to stay above the food chain. A triple S rated monster who gave doom to both humans and her kind, thus her nom de guerre. But the thing is, he couldn’t believe that the name of the mentioned dark reaper would be the girl whom he assumed already rested above with the celestial gems she forever loved, a little bit too soon that she became one of them… but did she? He cannot seem to fathom the feeling gushed in his system that day. Anger? Disappointed? Confused? He spent sleepless nights after assimilating the information. Much more here, right at the moment, his former subordinate or safe to say a long lost friend, in flesh.

“I would like to say ‘surprise’ but I know you knew I’m alive.” She glanced at the Special Class Investigator who’s standing mightily behind her still showing no emotions. “I have missed you Kishou, don’t you feel the same? Oh, such a destiny intertwining us once more.” Standing up whilst swinging her scythe-like quinque. The only thing she retrieved after The Rose incident. The only thing that’s holding her from the past. A gift from the great Death God of CCG. Looking directly in his eyes she threw the scythe off the building. An indication of goodbye.

“Truly it’s been a while. How compromising seeing you again.” No hint of sarcasm nor any sign that he is pleased to reunite with the woman.

“Try smiling Arima, if I just don’t know you any better I would feel really sad with the lack of sincerity in your voice.”

His cold gaze lingering on her system, although he as well couldn’t comprehend her emotion due to the fancy black mask made of fine glass sculpted into an image of a wing with silver gems on each feathers covering half of her face.

“Such formalities are not needed anymore, I supposed. You have your mission.” Pulling out his Ixa from the attaché case as he tried plunging the weapon to her stomach that she swiftly dodge releasing her chimera type of kagune. A kokaku kakuhou that resembles a wing of a fallen angel with shards like feathers and a rinkaku kakuhuo with two dark clawed tentacles attacking the investigator.

Both with fast phases seemingly impossible to catch one another. Their movements are like the speed of lightning almost unseen. His Ixa and her kagunes colliding nonstop. Motions are all calculated and accurate. Finally penetrating a strong blow to her stomach she almost fell to the ground. Hence she regenerates quickly composing her position.

Once again, he successfully thrusting the quinque deep to her flesh whilst slicing her spectacles causing her to whimper. He didn’t stop attacking until she met the cold floor. Her breathe hitched with the damages she received, growling with pain. Regenerating will take time with her wounds. What a weakling, she said to herself. After all these years, he is still undefeatable. She already expected that.

His Ixa was pointing directly at her. Him patiently waiting when to pierce sans remorse to the ghoul. Chuckling with her situation, she removed her mask tossing near where his feet rest. From the ground, she stared at the handsome man whom he once cherished. Maybe it didn’t falter. The same thumping of her heartbeat is still there just like years ago. The war inside her stomach is still present until now.

“Only avoiding and shielding the strikes I see. You do not have plans on fulfilling your task am I correct?” Instead of answering the question she just continued studying him.

“The moonlight always looks perfect on you.” The gentleness in her voice didn’t slip his ears. It’s like hearing the soft-spoken old Miyuki Akiara once more.

They are both haunted with the past, those vivid dreams who kept on bugging their minds waking up at the devil’s hour. Their dreams cascading into beautiful ones to terrifying scenes. In the end, she will wake up screaming with tears in her face. The cry was not because of fear, it was something else. Something painful, broken and vile. Him, well he will be left in thoughts of what-ifs, tormenting himself of those possibilities he could have changed everything. That he could have saved her from the abyss of demise. In his most private daydreams, he hoped to hear the sweet girl who brightens up his bland world one last. She just kept on gleaming every time she smiles and he couldn’t keep himself wanting for more.

“You are not her, she died years ago,” his grip tightened on his single arsenal. “Her fall was my fall and her death was mine too.”

“She didn’t die Arima, just half of her. The girl is still enduringly waiting for her god to finish her meaningless existence. Her stay is excruciating and so she wanted to be part of the night sky and rest.

You are her god...

End me.” A plead of mercy. A beg of the half-deceased star.

Both felt the agonizing ache of what they struggled to escape. None is the well-composed Arima Kishou anymore, now kneeling in front of her with his head bow down hiding the growing emotion carving in his cover. Reaching his hands, and leaning her forehead to his. They silently prayed for what’s impossible. Her free hand consolingly stroking his snow-white hair.

“Kishou. My Arima Kishou,” she whispered painfully. “Everything will prevail just alright love.”

A smile was attached to her soft lips albeit the harsh charge straight to her heart. He held her fondly in his arms as if holding his dear life, although brutally slipping away.

Her last three words of affection are spoken tenderly almost serene that will eternally annihilate him. They are both reaped out of mortality. Violently tore the hope and faith they beseeched.

One fading and the other will perish for a lifetime suffering from the damnation he casted to himself.

And so the god shed tears for his now slowly dying star, her shine perishing. Gone her brightness. Burying her above the heavens.

---

I AM CERTIFIED KISHOU ARIMA'S HOE🥺

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the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years ago

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In Mind of Misery: Manipulation, Part 5

[ And so the journey begins. Three Separate stories to tell here all happening Simultaneously. Attacking from three fronts, is this the beginning of the end for The Nine? Please Like, Share, and Follow us! We are hoping to get new people coming our way, and could use the love! Thank you everyone!!!!! ]

Cast:

[ L.K ] - Lazarius Kashebahl, Marseille, Raelyndia Duskhollow

[ P.K ] - Kretus Dark

[ V.D ] - Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin

[ J ] - Jursol, Jimba, Mawa

[ T ] - Talisin aka The Boy

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[ J ] Jursul was pleased as some started to wake up, see the damage and run. The hunt was on. Her prey ran for their lives, with her and the raptors close behind. There was no hiding from these hunters. No mercy.

The raptors screeched and made god awful sounds as they hunted. Screeching and screams filled the air more as one, two, three met their end to them. Raptors were hungry.

One poor man ended up being caught in a deadly tug of war. His body ripped in two by the beast. Jursol used her clawed scaled hand to rip the heart out of one. Holding it up in the air as she laughed, squeezing it tightly till it burst.

Reaching to grab the dead body with her strong arms, she then tossed it into another one. Her screams seeing her dead heartless friend sent a wave of fear though her. Jursol snarled as she pointed a finger at her. Before the poor women knew what was happening, the larger raptor was on her. It’s claws ripping her cloths and flesh. The more she struggled the more the raptor enjoyed the kill.

Once all seemed dead, Jursol sent the raptors to sweep the area again. Making her way back to the others. Jursol could hear the last of the scouts scream as the raptors gleefully ate most of their flesh. They returned to her side making what seemed to be purring sounds.

[ V . D ] They all truly had come a long way from what was originally the worst day of Pames life. Now she felt more at home than among the apostate hunters society; Though even then home and comfort was in the company of her brother. So where she lacked in kin, she found friendship.

A strange concept, but it helped Pame break away from a mold she was forced to fill out; Isn't it funny how the worst thing to ever happen to her ended up making her more conscious of the lives around her?

A man she once would have intended to slaughter without so much as a greeting was a man she craned her neck for, to gently bump her forehead against his in a show of respect-- Whilst consciously pointing her blade backward so as not to drip blood onto the Inquistors traveling attire or boots.

Once he released her and moved away to bellow for the zandalari -- whom Pame would look out for to determine if she was in need of aid -- the woman straightened herself and cast a wary glance to the top of the hill where last Verzatea lay in wait.

After considering the well being of those three, Pames silver irises leer from beneath her dark hood toward Marseille. With strictly her lips being the most visible aspect of her facade, she'd offer the shaldorei a small smile before bending low to clean her blade off on the robes of the last individual she beheaded.

“I'm fine," she remarks briskly, though her tone wasn't harsh.

After such statement the woman stands at her full height and sheathes her sword, a hand coaxing her hood to pool around her broad shoulders whilst reviewing the area for any other threats.

The distant screeches of raptors and their play things roused Verzatea to stand, her arms slipping beneath the legs and back of the boy she'd been requested to guard.

With some struggle -- and a lot of panting - the woman manages to stand at full height whilst carrying her unofficial student in her arms. The tall lanky woman wasn't much in the ways of strength, she was an agile fighter who manipulated her opponents strengths and weaknesses while also using the environment of their brawl to her advantage; Strategic and calculated.

Her stamina was her greatest ally now, clutching the child close whilst watching the woods around her. She'd make haste to cross the distance between her and her companions, flustered in the cheeks by the time she does. But certainly not defeated.

"An entire spire, Lazarius?"

Tea muses slyly, shaking her head, soon to eye everyone once she was closer. It was then her concern would pull forth, the destruction surrounding them much more severe than it looked from afar.

"Is everyone well? Must we stop to recuperate?"

[ L. K ] “...an entire spire Lazarius?”.

He turned his attention to his dear Verza and offered her a grin despite the blood that was splattered across his face from Pames executions. He would watch the Huntress as she and her companions hunted, and then motioned for Marseille.

“Take the boy..”.

And of course the shade would move toward the confessor to relieve her of her burden. Easily taking the boy and shouldering him once more.

“No, no rest. When the Shadowhuntress returns we move. We are close to the lair now I can feel it...”

[ V . D ] With the relief of not having to carry anyone Verzatea would excel a shaky breath, her grateful smile most genuine. Gently she smooths her robes down and smooths her hair down, her eyes soft whilst admiring the handy work. Morbid as it may be, a swell of pride always filled Tea when she looked upon the horrors and havoc reaped by her kin; Such a magnificent force of devastation.

"Perhaps we could salvage goods from this camp, unless tainted by the poisonous touch of the Old Gods."

Pame lifted her eyes to review Verzatea, the woman's words rousing curiosity in the kaldorei as she turns to marvel what was left of the camp. In truth, many tents that were further from the fallen spire remained standing. A possible treasure trove laid before them, ripe for the picking.

"Well," Tea falters, "If you don't mind being a grave robber.”

"Its only grave robbing if you're stealing from the honorably laid to rest,"

the apostate hunter snorts, kicking aside a slain bodies arm to clear the path for Verzatea as the Confessor began to wander through the camp.

[ L. K ] “Anything we take from here would be a waste; we have more than we can carry as it is...”.

Lazarius said motioning to the stalwart Shaldorei who was busy carrying their new baggage.

“Besides, we have hit two...three if you count our guest; delays already. I - want- this - thing - off...”.

His words were punctuated by his desire to rid himself of the eye on his side. Lazarius wouldn’t humor the idea of looting when it was made and slowly kicked through the beheaded enemies and burning piles of what remained of their homes.

He was cross, and equally not getting any more pleasant the longer this went on.

“His mind is heavy; weighed down by the burden he carries...if you would like to stay and look I will follow him...”.

Marseille said as he shifted the boys body on his shoulder and peered toward both Pame and Verza.

[ V . D ] Lazarius's haughty attitude drew the attention of both sindorei and kaldorei, the two women watching the Inquistor closely now with different levels of concern. Pame knew Lazarius to be ill tempered in high stress moments, she knew that from the hours he'd spent torturing her and breaking down her walls when she was a prisoner.

But Verzatea saw Lazarius's temper in many different lights, in many different situations. Pame remained silent, the unspoken command to remain true to their course had shook the Kaldoreis curiosity. Straightening her posture the woman resumes with reviewing the distant horizon, searching for anything of concern.

Verzatea, too, had been effectively silenced. Her desire to rifle among the junk and find what diamonds lay in the rough was abandoned, along with her spirited smile. Twisting atop her heels the woman marches back to the group, her eyes sweeping the area for Jursol and her hungry hungry raptors.

"Then we must move swiftly. Anything that stands between here and there will be dealt with swiftly. Stop for nothing."

[ L. K ] The group would remain silent for the rest of the mission as they trudged on heading toward their destination; an unknown laboratory that was somewhere on the western coastline of the one rich and fertile lands of Quelthalas. The Ghostlands to be more precise. This place was hidden to even the original Council of The Nine when they were formed centuries ago, and now even to this day; Lazarius had no idea what to expect going there.

The only reason why he even came across it was because during his hunt for information at the former Kashebahl Estate; he had located some information leading to its discovery. Thus, they were here. The dark sky above them loomed with the sounds and sights of hundreds of worm like beings and tubular creatures that were hunting. Hunting for them no doubt.

But this was not something they could prevent at the moment; they needed to address the true problem here; and that was Lazarius' cryptic message from Raelyndia that manifested itself as a great and powerful eye on his body.

Along the coast line they would find many things that would give them a fair warning of the death that was always near. Boats and their crew that had shipwrecked and been devoured by undead; plenty of animals that were never lucky enough to make it, and even sea creatures that had beached themselves due to the insane amount of old god tainted beings that were popping up all over. They walked on though; their destination nearly in sight.

"It should be somewhere near here. . ."

Lazarius said as they reached the edge of the mountain range that would lead into the Plaguelands and on the opposite of that was Stratholme.

"The ledger wrote about 'where the land and sea no longer kiss' and 'having to do with the . . .'"

Lazarius paused as they came to a complete stop along the beaches.

"It's here. . ."

He said suddenly and his eyes began to dart along the area above them. He would peel his vision toward the coast, then back up to the mountains as if he was hearing something that wasn't there; but no, it was his brain going into a frenzy.

"Its here. . .right here. . ."

Lazarius began to pace back and forth with his foot dragging across the ground in a pattern like he was trying to trace over something. He would cease for a moment while he looked toward the mountains once more.

"There. . ."

He said pointing upward toward a rock face that seemed to be in the shape of a leaning hand pointing. His eyes would follow it over and he would begin walking toward the area that was on a forty five degree angle from it and the sun.

Converging on where his position would be he peered around. It was on the part of the grass where the beach and the shore line were almost as one. What was there? Nothing of coarse; he was just standing on a pile of sand looking down at it. Until he began to roll up his sleeve, past his elbow to get to the part of his flesh that was exposed.

Once he was above the bandages he would draw the part of his razor blade ring across his arm and pinch on both sides of the cut trying to pool some blood to the surface. Only a drop or two would spill out due to its thick coagulation, but once it fell onto the sand a sudden surge would begin to quake below them.

As the thick blood slowly pooled against the sand; it would begin to stretch and grow as if it was being pulled in several directions all at once. The circumference of the circle that it was forming was nearly as large; if not larger than a standard Mages tower. Woven across the center and face of the circle were several strands that branched out like small webs while others began to form word like shapes, clearly in Shath'yar.

All of this from just two little drops and soon the entire ground was covered in his blood as it formed this elaborate work of art which was summoning something. Slowly the ground that was shaking would begin to cave in, revealing unto them a great staircase that seemed to spiral down deeper and deeper into the earth without any rhyme or reason.

It was as if it was slowly going down into the depths of the earth below without anyone knowing what was down there or where it could go. Lazarius peered at the stairwell leading into the depths; then back at the rest of them.

"Well. . .I suppose we should let ourselves in. . ."

[ V . D ] Whilst Lazarius endlessly searched and mapped out the area with his eyes and cryptic rhyme, Pame remained fully alert-- quiet ever still. She'd not speak unless spoken to, her insertions of tid bits and remarks was an unnecessary waste of breath in her eyes; Thus she made use of herself through further observation of the area. She'd be searching for runes or spell booby traps every step of the way, her inquisitive silver eyes burning with concentration.

Being an ex-apostate hunter required being vigilant around enemy territory, abandoned or not. Even the most dormant of hidden locations could be the most dangerous, and from everything she gathered on this Raelyndias woman... They needed to be fully alert, or they were doomed from the get-go.

An unspoken agreement between Pame and Verzatea, it seemed, given the latter watched closely as Lazarius brilliantly solved the riddle and, with such minimal effort, unleashed the grandeur display of everyone's mortal enemy. "Stairs,"

Tea breathes out, chuckling wryly before moving to stand at the edge where the steps meet sand, leering into the ominous darkness with great uncertainty. She had never missed her wand more than now-- there was always great certainty in her abilities when she had her wand and magic at hand without restraints.

Her swords were equally effective in protection, but charms and counter spells to protect her kin were a better bet when it came to an equally damned sorceress like Rae. Alas... They'd all have to brave fate.

[ J ] Jursol seemed to not mind the risk they were about to take. Her and her raptors silently stood looking and watching. This was not something they see every day! Jursol was a bit excited after everything. The hunt and the kill make her thirst for more. Plus she may have taken a few, samples, off some of the victims.

One can never have enough blood samples now can they. Looking down at the stairs as she peered to the others. She was well aware there could be traps still active. That was a risk she was willing to take for the Nine. Her eyes had a determination in them at this point. Her life has become far more exciting now with them in her life. She liked this very much.

“We must do as we must. Dis be our time, no one else. We be strong together. I not be leaving dis elf to suffer any longer. We end dis now. Answers await is in dis place.”

She said nodding as she waited for orders to enter.

@siidaraykashebahl

@zandalaridruidofgonk

@frompage112

@whatadarkbitch

@pyravari-kashebahl

@thebladeitself

@miss-irascible

To be continued in “In Mind of Misery, Manipulation, Part 6″

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frederickwiddowson · 4 years ago

Text

Exodus 23:20-33 comments: a comparison between ancient Hebrews and modern Christians

Exodus 23:20 ¶ Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared. 21 Beware of him, and obey his voice, provoke him not; for he will not pardon your transgressions: for my name is in him. 22 But if thou shalt indeed obey his voice, and do all that I speak; then I will be an enemy unto thine enemies, and an adversary unto thine adversaries. 23 For mine Angel shall go before thee, and bring thee in unto the Amorites, and the Hittites, and the Perizzites, and the Canaanites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites: and I will cut them off. 24 Thou shalt not bow down to their gods, nor serve them, nor do after their works: but thou shalt utterly overthrow them, and quite break down their images. 25 And ye shall serve the LORD your God, and he shall bless thy bread, and thy water; and I will take sickness away from the midst of thee. 26 There shall nothing cast their young, nor be barren, in thy land: the number of thy days I will fulfil. 27 I will send my fear before thee, and will destroy all the people to whom thou shalt come, and I will make all thine enemies turn their backs unto thee. 28 And I will send hornets before thee, which shall drive out the Hivite, the Canaanite, and the Hittite, from before thee. 29 I will not drive them out from before thee in one year; lest the land become desolate, and the beast of the field multiply against thee. 30 By little and little I will drive them out from before thee, until thou be increased, and inherit the land. 31 And I will set thy bounds from the Red sea even unto the sea of the Philistines, and from the desert unto the river: for I will deliver the inhabitants of the land into your hand; and thou shalt drive them out before thee. 32 Thou shalt make no covenant with them, nor with their gods. 33 They shall not dwell in thy land, lest they make thee sin against me: for if thou serve their gods, it will surely be a snare unto thee.

Here is an important doctrine regarding what an angel is, a spiritual representative, the presence of someone, in this case God. God’s name is in the angel.

Isaiah 63:9 In all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them: in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; and he bare them, and carried them all the days of old.

Judges 2:1 And an angel of the LORD came up from Gilgal to Bochim, and said, I made you to go up out of Egypt, and have brought you unto the land which I sware unto your fathers; and I said, I will never break my covenant with you.

Verse 24 reinforces God’s disgust with worshipping gods, little g, and idols. They are either figments of man’s imagination or devils.

Deuteronomy 32:17 They sacrificed unto devils, not to God; to gods whom they knew not, to new gods that came newly up, whom your fathers feared not.

Do not think that because you don’t worship Thor or Kali that you are not worshipping a false god. Any time you think, “an education will make me successful,” or, “having that man or woman will make me happy,” or, just constantly wanting something other than what you have you are creating idols, not much differently than ancient people. You are one step away from giving your dependence on education, sex, or material possessions a name, an identity to worship. Anything we place as more important than obedience to God and faithfulness to Him is an idol. We are to do right, to do our best, and to trust God only for our success and happiness. Education is a good thing, intimacy between a husband and wife is an honorable thing, and we need food and shelter but we must not depend on them rather than God.

For instance, in regard to wealth, Paul warns Christians;

1Timothy 6:6 ¶ But godliness with contentment is great gain. 7 For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. 8 And having food and raiment let us be therewith content. 9 But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. 10 For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.

And Jesus admonished His disciples using the Syriac word for the personification of money.

Luke 16:13 No servant can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.

With regard to sex as an idol the ancients had goddesses like Ishtar, the goddess of immigrants and prostitutes, a version of which we have in the harbor of New York City also called the goddess Liberty, popular among the Enlightenment thinkers like James Madison, the so-called Father of the Constitution, along with Providence, a reference to a vague universal power but certainly not the God of the Bible. The Greeks and Romans of Paul’s time had Venus and Aphrodite, goddesses of sex, who were worshipped in temples like those of Acrocorinth in Greece with short-haired priestesses, the reason why the Corinthian Christians demanded that their women have long hair which Paul approved while stating that it was not an issue in other churches. See 1Corinthians 11.

Idolatry is and has been one of the prime sins of man against God throughout history. This has been the cause of the perverted, sexualized religion of the ancient world and the decadence of mankind. Idolatry results in sexual perversion and it is the byproduct and result of idolatry.

Romans 1:19 ¶ Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath shewed it unto them. 20 For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse: 21 Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. 22 Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, 23 And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things. 24 Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves: 25 Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen. 26 For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: 27 And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet. 28 And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient; 29 Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, 30 Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, 31 Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful: 32 Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.

In that passage we can see why society decays and who is responsible for its decay. God gives delusions and permits our more decadent natures to take preeminence.

Whether our idol is the flag or Constitution, which Mormon Joseph Smith convinced patriots was divinely inspired by God, or whether it is money, sex, or education idolatry is one of the prime reasons that American Christianity is so powerless to impact a dying world in any way other than providing humanistic drivel to control a congregation under the guise of fundamentalist, right-wing or liberal, left-wing preaching.

Thou shalt not bow down to their gods, nor serve them, nor do after their works: but thou shalt utterly overthrow them, and quite break down their images.

God is promising these physical, literal Hebrews coming into a physical, literal land blessings and prosperity and protection and the written words of God are a vital part of those blessings. By the way, don’t let some wicked preacher tell you that if you attend church whenever the doors are open you won’t ever get sick or have trouble in your life. We cannot apply literal, physical promises to the Jews before Christ to the Christian as they are not promises made to us under this dispensation. For all of your slavish devotion to a fundamentalist preacher’s will and whims you will have trouble in your life and you will get sick at some point and you will probably have a child that goes astray, etc. etc.

Joshua 1:8 This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success.

While Christians were not promised an earthly country we would do well in life to honor these admonitions and warnings that God has given. Idolatry will destroy your walk with God and make you a caricature of a person of faith to the unsaved, a cartoon, a joke. You cannot uplift an idol in one hand and God in the other without looking stupid, a hypocrite, or just plain evil.

Even though Christians do not have a country on this earth the historical principle laid down in Romans, chapter one, applies to nations as we know them. Let me give you a brief religious history of America to show you how idolatry can be poison. America’s self-worship as idolatry has its roots in the country’s earliest times. The good thing, which was the belief and faith that this new land was to be a nation set apart by God for a divine purpose was a common thread preached throughout. However, a specific millennial belief, that Christ would set up a kingdom on earth without being present Himself to last for literally a thousand years or with the millennium as just representing a long time was the standard, evangelical Christian view until the 20th century. This is called Postmillennialism, with Christ returning at the end of the thousand years. With a few exceptions it was believed that Christ would rule through His church. But there was no doubt that America would be the location where this period would begin. Men like John Cotton, Ephraim Huit, Increase Mather, John Davenport, John Eliot, Samuel Sewall, Cotton Mather, and Joseph Morgan preached an imminent millennium and Eliot, combining the fervor of what was called Fifth Kingdom Monarchyism prevalent in England, was especially hopeful that the New Jerusalem of the Book of Revelation would descend upon America itself.[1] Sermons were preached before Congress that said that America was the Promised Land and that the events of Revelation would take place here before we converted the world and established Christ’s kingdom for Him.[2]

An actual, historical Kingdom of God was expected, with the millennium, a thousand years of Christ’s reign through His church, coming soon.[3] Jonathan Edwards, the Congregationalist preacher so important to the series of revivals in 1700s America called The First Great Awakening, viewed the millennium not as Christ physically returning to save a ruined world, but a gradual process where righteousness and the control of Godly men became prevalent as Christ ruled through His church.[4]

Millennial ideals were also preached during the time of and after the American Revolution pointing more and more to America’s God-chosen role in the bringing in of Christ’s Kingdom, linked to evolutionary progress. President of Yale College Ezra Stiles said;

It may have been of the Lord that Christianity is to be found in such greater purity in this church exiled into the wilderness of America, and that its purest body should be evidently advancing forward, by an augmented natural increase and spiritual edification, into a singular superiority, with the ultimate subserviency to the glory of God to converting the world.[5]

The nineteenth century was an era in secular and religious thought of a progress that was inevitable.[6] In Protestant evangelical faith, Postmillennialism, that mankind would create a millennial kingdom without Christ’s physical presence, was, “the commonly received doctrine,” of the century.[7] The documents, the speeches, the sermons are available for you to read, mostly free. Don’t take my word for it. During this period this doctrine was the intellectual compromise between the devastation of God’s judgment on the world portrayed in the book of Revelation in the Bible and the evolutionary theory of constant movement upward to better and better times, and a utopia.[8] Liberal religious thought in collusion with the growing atheism of science brought about a weakening of the hopeful, religious viewpoint of a coming golden age created by Christians dependent upon their own righteousness but it was the nightmare of the Civil War and the calamity of World War One that drove the nail into the coffin and, “it became a relic of a lost world.”[9]

But, at the time of the Civil War’s commencement most evangelical Christians in America believed that the United States was God’s Promised Land and white, Anglo-Saxon Americans His chosen people, destined to bring in a ‘golden age’ of peace, prosperity, and righteousness as Christ ruled the earth for either a literal thousand years or for just a long period of time, represented by the word millennium, through His church. Lincoln himself referred to America, not Christ, as the last best hope of earth.[10]

It was not unusual for nations with a state church to view themselves as God’s chosen people. England, Russia, and Germany were notorious for this view. German sermons during World War One even likened the German Army to the Holy Spirit moving in the world and ‘God With Us’ in German was on the belt buckles of soldiers. Glorification and even deification of the state was one prime motivator in the half-century of war.

President Woodrow Wilson’s mentor at Johns Hopkins University, Richard Ely, put the thought of the elite and great planners whose government was God’s agent on earth or His replacement even like this;

Now, it may rationally be maintained that, if there is anything divine on earth, it is the State, the product of the same God-given instincts which led to the establishment of the Church and of the Family. It was once held that kings ruled by right divine, and in any widely accepted belief, though it be afterwards discredited, there is generally found a kernel of truth. In this case it was the divine right of the state.[11]

But worshipping the state as a “Christnation,” as the Redeemer Nation of the world, was America’s undoing. With the leadership making government God’s agent on earth rather than God’s people and with the common Christian expecting that we could create a perfect world without Christ physically present we had this great religious expectation that was blatantly false.

That’s why today so many think that they are electing a pastor or a messiah when they vote for a president and then try to Christianize their candidate if elected to make him look like something he is not. It all boils down to state-worship.

World War One, the Jazz Age, the automobile, the sexual revolt of the 1920s, the triumph of evolution in science, the growing importance of the Entertainment industry all figured in to God’s judgment on the nation for its idolatry. As an example, where women who wore makeup were derided as ‘painted city women’ before the war, with strong suggestions of immorality, the demands by boys returning home that their women look like French girls has resulted in the fact that Christian women wouldn’t dare leave home without makeup on today. In addition, the lax morals produced by boys and girls being able to go off alone in a car and listening to Ragtime and Jazz watching Hollywood movies glorifying decadence was a chilling reminder that something was very wrong in America. We had the Great Depression, remember? Then, another devastating war and a so-called Cold War for 50 years pounded away at our families and our institutions. Look at today. Do you not doubt we are under God’s judgment? Look at Israel in Kings and Chronicles. Don’t you see America in every page? Ancient Israelites, like Americans, believed that they were special and by virtue of their exceptional place in God’s ordained world they deserved peace and prosperity, both of which were taken away over time for their idolatry.

Fundamentalism came about in the early 1900s because America, under God’s judgment, appeared to be descending into chaos and darkness. The King James-only movement came about in 1964 because fundamentalism had gone crazy with regard to its denial of the Bible we had in front of us. The problem, fundamentalists wrongly assumed, was non-Christians polluting God’s country. The actual problem was Christian idolatry and not venerating God’s word above our ambitions. This is how idolatry, in this case, worship of one’s country as a god on earth, can do horrible damage.

We are held to the same standard as everyone else and we have been found wanting. I refer you to the passage I quoted earlier from Romans, chapter one, again to find out why things are the way they are.

But, it must be said, unlike the Hebrews assuming control over an area of land the promise to Christians is an eternal inheritance. We don’t get a utopia here, a millennium without Christ’s physical presence, but we can get an awful mess.

It is interesting in Verse 28 how God promises to use creatures to drive out the inhabitants of the land He has promised to the Hebrews slowly. God has used many naturally occurring events as weapons. Remember the plagues of Egypt?

Compare what ancient Israel was to be with what America was to be to see a difference dispensationally. Israel was not to permit idolatry in its borders and was to drive out the idol-worshippers lest they pollute the Hebrew religion, which their existence did, as we can see by reading the Bible. America is a pluralistic nation with many different religious traditions or no religion at all. We cannot remove everyone from the land who does not believe exactly what we believe or how we believe, no matter how much you would like to do that. The Hebrews didn’t do that either, but it was their apostasy that garnered them God’s wrath.

I think it is important to realize that every Christian now is a type of the nation of Israel then, as the children of Israel then were a type of every Christian today. Our land is a spiritual land and our Canaanites are our sins. God promises us that He will drive out our sins if we obey Him as He promised the Hebrews He would drive out the wicked, child-sacrificing, bestiality practicing, temple-prostitute patronizing Canaanites if the Hebrews obeyed.

But, having said all that, I would go on to say that if Christians themselves would repent and turn from their sins and obey God in the best way they know how, believing His word, they would not be deceived by lying, gutless, and corrupt politicians and their land would not be given over to the perversion, violence, and decay that is so prevalent. God honors obedience, not obedience as defined by some fundamentalist whack-job preacher or evangelist who just wants to control them but obedience and righteousness as defined by the Bible. The problem with America is not homosexuals, left-wing demagogues, drug-dealers, or liberal judges. The problem with America is the faithlessness of Christians who regard the Bible as a type of Emily Post’s book on etiquette to be observed if convenient and who regard God as more of a concept or idea than a real, living entity who controls every aspect of reality from their living room to the edges of the universe.

[1] David E. Smith, “Millenarian Scholarship in America,” American Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 3 (Autumn, 1965), 539. http://www.jstor.org/stable/2710907. (accessed 10.28.2015), 539.

[2] Fountain E. Pitts, A Defence of Armageddon or Our Great Country Foretold in the Holy Scriptures In two discourses, Delivered in the Capitol of the United States, at the request of several members of Congress, on the anniversary of Washington's birthday, 1857, (Baltimore: J.W. Bull Publishers, 1859), 90.

[3] Ernest Lee Tuveson, Redeemer Nation: The Idea of America’s Millennial Role (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1968), 29.

[4] Ibid., 30.

[5] Ezra Stiles, “The United States Elevated to Glory and Honor,” in The Pulpit of the American Revolution, or, The Political Sermons of the Period of 1776, John Wingate Thornton, ed., (Boston: D. Lothrop & Publishers, 1876), 405, 472.

[6] Tuveson, Redeemer Nation, 52.

[7] Henry Boynton Smith,”History of Opinions Respecting the Millennium,” The American Theological Review (Boston: Charles Scribner & Son, 1859), 642. https://books.google.com/books?id=hWrUAAAAMAAJ&vq=millennium&pg=PA642#v=snippet&q=millennium&f=false (accessed 11.14.2015).

[8] James H. Moorhead, “The Erosion of Postmillennialism in American Religious Thought, 1865-1925,” Church History Vol. 53, No. 1 (Mar. 1984), 61. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3165956 (accessed 11.14.2015).

[9] Ibid., 77.

[10] Jean H. Baker, “Lincoln’s Narrative of American Exceptionalism,” in We Cannot Escape History: Lincoln and the Last Best Hope of Earth, James McPherson, ed., (Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1995), 42.

[11] Gary M. Pequet and Clifford M. Thies, “The Shaping of a Future President’s Economic Thought: Richard T. Ely and Woodrow Wilson at “The Hopkins,” The Independent Review: A Journal of Political Economy 15, no. 2 (Fall 2010): 262, 266.

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years ago

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Devil’s No 1(7)

Chapter 7: Abundance

Loki x fem!Reader, Bucky x fem!Reader

Theme: The definitions of devils, angels, demons etc. are twisted here in this world. But some things remain the same.

Series: Will contain violence, death, destruction, softness, fluff, smut, everything that my mind can conjure, really.

Chapter warnings: None... is a kink a warning?

A/N: This was written two years ago (I think) on @phantomrose96 ‘s prompt/situation of a shy girl summoning the devil to be friends with him (and something else that he does but I’ll leave that part out for you guys to have fun with). But I- being thirsty for tragedies- twisted things a little.

Word Count: Work tomorrow. ugh! Sundays always make me feel lonely. So lonely. I need a hug.

MASTERLIST in bio, love. Tags are open

credits to @russian-hiddlestoner for the picture

It was a journey. Through a tunnel, maybe? Or something deeper in the ground. Well, that's what it felt like. Like when you travelled in a train and passed a junction, or where the tracks met, maybe even a tunnel there! That was how you were feeling. Or rather, your conscience was feeling? Or should we call it your soul?

Let's just skip to the part where you felt it all and woke up.

...

WAKE UP!

A loud gasp rose from your lungs as your eyes threw themselves wide open.

"There you are," you heard the dark honey voice of the devil himself from somewhere around- hopefully he isn't still inside you, "I was worried about you."

By the layers in Loki's voice, you could clearly tell how he was mocking you but your brain was on too much of a spin to even consider registering that idea right now.

"Ughh," you responded, trying to get up from the sofa. "What happeuuh-" you barely stood straight before feeling yourself falling down again if not for Loki breaking your fall, catching you in his slender but surprisingly strong arms.

"Woah! Now, now. We haven't even had proper drinks yet."

You took the support of his arms- which were eerily stone-like under all that expensive fabric that he was wearing- and scrunched your nose as you stood up, this time slowly. "We had freaking Jagër didn't we?"

"And that's got you so blurry already," he announced, sitting down, and took you by your shoulder with him, causing you to look at him with a bit of a diluted and confused rage, "we really need to work on your drinking capacity."

You don't know who you shared a look with- God, an angel or any entity that was invisible right now- but you were certain of the age-old fact that the devil was not a good influence on you.

"That's the only way I get that thing out of your system."

Now hold on. What was that?

"What? What thing?"

Hmm...maybe not as bad an influence?

"That thing inside you make you all-" he flayed his hands like an English noble while scrunching his nose just a bit- "so depressing and boring."

Your neck hurt having to turn to look at him but your ego was taking none of it. "Excuse me?"

But did he show any empathy for you? Unless that devilish smirk- that was meant kill thousands of weak-hearted earthly creatures when gazed upon- was his way of showing you how he felt for you, he clearly wasn't anywhere close to 'e'.

Oh, what am I even expecting! And from whom?!

Loki turned to you and relaxed into the sofa, his back being supported by the arms of your comfortable furniture.

"So, humans don't count being saved by the devil from a demon empathy?"

The broken harp inside you made the worst possible sound any instrument could.

"Please stop doing that," you begged, turning away from his face, heat radiating from your cheeks from the embarrassment.

"Why?"

"Those are my private thoughts," you tried to stress but your voice broke.

Loki got up and leaned a little closer to you, making you shift a bit to the other side- never stopping him from leaning closer. "Oh but I like hearing how irresistible you find my form," he nearly moans into your ear.

Holy Buddha! Lord of mercy!

"Aw," he pretended to groan- quite seductively though- in your ears, "don't take his name," whispering while moving your stray strands of hair away from your face, "he always kills my party mood by giving me his eerie smile and asking me how I'm doing. Like he cares."

He nearly spat out the last sentence and you sat there with raised brows, wondering what choice had you made that brought you straight in the arms of the devil while he narrated his dislike for Buddha.

"It was a Wednesday and you had your exams that week," Loki began, still playing with your hair.

"No, stop!" You shifted to the other end of the couch, raising your leg over the sofa to block his body, "stop telling me what I chose wrong. Stop telling me how excessively great Buddha is and definitely stop reading my thoughts."

The rims of Loki's eyes light up in a fiery-green glow, looking at you with a tilted curiousness. "Are you ordering me, darling?"

Great. Now he brings his powers in play.

"I am requesting you," you stress, folding your hands in front of him, "this is really uncomfortable and my head hurts and...wait." The tone of your voice changed, so did that pleasing colour in your eyes that Loki was loving till you dropped it wear a hint of confused blue before turning into a suspicious grey. "What exactly did you do inside me?"

"Woah," Loki raised his brow, "I didn't know you were into those kind of...kinks."

You looked like a sad confused potato till it dawned on you how of context the devil was taking your words.

"Seriously? I am dying here from this unending pain and all you can think of is sex jokes," you nearly shout with whatever energy you have left inside you.

Loki flicked his finger and within seconds there were vines coming out of the floor, wrapping around your limbs like snakes ready to devour you whole. "Stop," you said with a hint of rage but the vines only grew tighter, beginning to dig into your skin. "Loki, please," you begged this time, watching them force your hands behind your back.

"Loki," you cried softly with just the right amount of fear burning in your eyes. Exactly what Loki wanted.

And so, he finally shifted, fixing his arms around you as his hovering figure came to a stop above you, blazing eyes looking at you with the intensity of burning everything between your skin and his.

"Do not forget, pet," he cooed, too close to you, "that I am the one who holds the chains to your life. And if I want, I can yank them as hard as I please because in the end, your cries will only deliver me pleasure."

You should have been afraid. You should have been shivering in fear and panic; your heart should have been pounding for watching death right in the eyes. But this scorching sensation that you felt inside you did not seem fear like. The shiver was definitely not because of panic or your nerves feeling this unhinged tide. And all you could do was look at him while blinking with visible stupidity, gulping down something to moisten your dry throat while Loki's eyes seemed to shift.

"See?" He nearly sang, "Now that's the colour I love to see." He inhaled your essence in, moaning as he felt it register inside him, making you question his senses- and for this one very discreet almost 'invisible in the darkness of the moonless night' reason, made you question yours. "Smells like the right amount of fear," he chuckled, "with a hint of something I can't really put my finger on."

Her kink of being tied up and aroused by you! Your insides shouted.

Shut up! Shut up!

"Hm," Loki looked at you with fresh eagerness, nearly killing you with the intensity of embarrassment about to explode inside your head, "I have to say you seem interesting to play with without your thoughts too. So, I'll keep this thing off till as long as I like."

He finally got up and away. You were relieved.

Danggit, your inner voice didn't seem, though, I thought he'll finally kiss you without context!

Awesome, you hit back at her, just the person I want you to be rooting for!

You know if she had a physical form, she would be rolling her eyes at you now because both of you knew you had felt something glow inside your chest- and heat up inside your legs- at the mention of being at his mercy.

Shaking your head, you tried to bring yourself to reality.

No, I am better than this. I have to be.

"So," Loki chugged a glass of your Jager, "what do you want to do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm not going to wait for you to decide on getting drunk and all that because I know the moment you hit the limit you will be crying your eyes out and I am not in the mood to ruin my suit for pent up tears tonight," he declared, letting his hands show you the piece of work layering his body, "more critical tears of underpaid labourers and cattle have gone into the making of this."

You shared that look again, with no one, in particular, being done with the devil for the night and yet knowing that there were still so many more hours to go.

"Fine," you got up, realising the vines had long since vanished, leaving barely any scars on your wrists and ankles, "we can go somewhere then? Uhh...someplace you'd like to visit? There's a pizza place here that's open at this time of the night."

You went on and on while Loki's concern for you modified into a chuckle transforming into laughter. "Oh, you poor human. You are about to die in five days and you are still worried about the things I want to see? Honestly, woman, who died and made you the queen of ethics? Wait, is there a course for such things now?"

He wasn't wrong. Because he admitted it right now, it all started to seem more real. You were going to die in five days. He was going to take your soul to hell and God knows do what all with it. Peter's disappearance and your state then had created such a perfect picture for it to make sense but now...

"Are you having second thoughts, darling?"

His words broke you out of this nauseating spell that you cast upon yourself and you found yourself standing in the kitchenette with your shot glass in your hand looking down at the floor where broken glass lay in a puddle of water along with one of your ceramic angels. You picked up the ceramic figurine to look at, a familiar old ache replacing whatever little glow had risen inside your chest.

The angel seemed to be looking at you, begging you not to do this.

"Yes," you finally declared, throwing the figurine in the bin, "I'm sure."

The angel on the watch sat by the lake on the lone bench, going through his device, looking at various statistics while someone hummed in the back somewhere, going about its own business.

"And another one and another one and another bites the dust..."

The humming was not as serene for the angel at work as he wanted it to be, but he was trying to get through it somehow. It was a really special person after all. One couldn't just tell him to stop humming.

"Would you stop humming," the angel announced, "I am trying to work here, Peter!"

Everything went silent, letting the angle heave a sigh of relief and go back to his tablet.

The tree behind him rustled before Peter popped out of it upside down. "Whatcha dooooooin', Happy?"

"Tryna' work."

"Can I help?"

"You've helped us already."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. No go cuddle spiders...or something."

"Well, technically our friend did. You know, that woman who goes by the name-"

"Peter I just want a few moments of silence to track down what exactly does Tony want from that stupid-"

"Bad word."

"Excuse me?"

"You said stupid, put some of your essences in the swear jar."

"Yeah, right. That's not gonna happen. Now please just shut u-"

"Oh shoot! Happy-"

"Aha! Now you take out your essence young man and put them in the swear-"

"No, Happy, look!"

The angel followed Peter's gaze to the lake as he watched a figure soaking in it coming out with scars and wounds being healed by the water. The figure- a man, apparently- was heaving for breaths, his glass eyes searching for someone, anyone.

"Hello!" he shouted, the tiredness in his voice abruptly changing his pitch. "Is there anybody there?!"

"Should we let him in?" Peter asked in a whisper.

"Hello! Mr Stark?" he shouted again, catching Happy and Peter's hundred per cent attention, "it's me, Scott. Can you please let me in? There is some very very important news I have to share with you."

Happy turned to his device to open the gate of mirage.

The man, still tired as he was, lit up on seeing Peter and Happy standing in front of him.

"Oh! Thank God!" he almost cried, putting all his energy in his legs to walk towards, "thank you! Thank you so much! I need to s-speak to Tony Stark."

"Identification please," Happy announced, earning a confused stare from Peter.

"Happy, he can barely walk."

"I don't care. Whoever has to meet Tony has to go through me."

"But Happy!"

"It's okay," the man smiled at Peter, still breathing heavily, "it's okay."

"My name is Scott. Scott Lang. I'm Y/N's guardian angel," he declared before falling on the ground and losing all consciousness.

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writing-anomaly · 6 years ago

Text

Torn

Fandom: Jojolion

Summary: Yasuho’s life is tearing at the seams. The volatile Rokakaka trade is catching up to them and when Josuke unravels, Yasuho is pushed to her limit. She’s left more vulnerable than ever as she struggles to protect two men who barely know her.

This a story in which the protected must become the protector.

Chapter 6

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Trigger Warning: References of suicide in this chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Excuse me. I'm looking for Kaito Yamada."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No. I'm his....daughter."

Yasuho practically choked on the words. She made a note to bleach her mouth out later; she needed to purify herself from uttering such a blasphemous statement.

She walked the short distance to the hospital for the sake of appeasing her mother. The building was midway on her route to class so she passed by there regularly. For her own sanity, she usually preferred to walk on the opposite side of the street from the medical facility.

Focusing on the birds singing amongst cherry blossoms helped to keep her mind from reliving memories she'd rather forget. Yasuho had been a patient there only once that she could remember.

..When she'd tried to commit suicide as a child, after her dad left home.

The divorce had wreaked havoc on her heart. During the separation process, her father tried to visit regularly in an effort to maintain her a sense of normalcy. Her heart lit up every time he came. But when he left...her fire would die down into a pile of ash.

So every time he came, Yasuho did her best to make it a special occasion.

Dressing up was a must.

On one of her school outings she even bought an expensive hair clip, hoping to earn one of her father's compliments. It was beautiful cast of gold with pink crystals near the center. Yasuho was sure he'd love it. Everyday she wore it in anticipation of her father's arrival only to suffer mental attacks from what she later realized to be a Rock Animal disguise. The memory of that occasion burned her soul like a block of dry ice.

When Yasuho closed her eyes,

she could see her father seated at the dining room table with his usual cup of tea. The bright morning sun made him glow like the savior she always knew him to be. The hero who would save her from her unruly mother; her sadness; herself. After she finished checking herself in the mirror, she ran to greet him. With every step she could feel his strong arms embracing her, holding her in place when every other aspect of her life was falling apart faster than a pillar of sand.

But, before she could open her mouth, he turned to her with a smile that broke her heart as he said, "I can't see you anymore. I have a new family now."

Strangely, any feeling of safety or wholeness began to disintegrate along with her father's image. His love, his security, became nothing but specs of dust, drifting within a fleeting breeze.

The whole ordeal had been a stand attack, of course, but she didn't know it at the time. Her hair clip was a Rock Animal, and it had defiled the only refuge she had ever known.

Yasuho's thirteen year-old mind was unable bear the weight of his rejection.

It broke her.

Numbness had taken over when she made the decision to slit her wrists. She carefully laid herself in a half-filled bathtub to make the clean up easier for whoever found her. It ended up being her mother who rushed her to the hospital she was currently standing in.

The University Hospital of Morioh.

Yasuho turned her attention back to the elderly woman behind the help desk.

She was currently on the phone trying to fact check her claim of being Kaito's child. The woman seemed skeptical as she squinted up at her from behind the black marble countertop, scratching at the coarse black hair, stuck awkwardly on the left side of her wrinkly chin.

After a few moments the younger worker sitting next to her whispered, "Yamada-san mentioned he had eloped recently. This must be his new step-daughter.

Yasuho interjected. "I just need to drop something off for him. He forgot his key."

The elder woman's expression lightened, "Ah, I see. Well, Dr. Yamada is currently tending to a patient but you may sit in his office until he returns. I'll just need a copy of your photo I.D."

The woman accepted Yasuho's card with a shaky hand, printing off a guest pass before handing both items to her. "He's located on the 6th floor, near the back end of the ICU. Have a nice day!"

Yasuho returned the woman's smile with one of her own and a curt bow, before making her way toward Kaito's office. The complimentary surgical mask she put on did nothing to protect her nose from being filled with the strong smell of alcohol and ammonia. White walls, white floors, white lights; it was a visually sterile environment. Not much personality or color to speak of.

... and another reason why Yasuho hated this place.

The halls were crowded with patients, doctors, and visitors alike. All consumed in their own little worlds, bumping into others without much care. Wanting to avoid the masses of people, Yasuho clung to the walls and away from the center of the walkways. After passing through a security check at the entrance of the intensive care unit, she was directed to the end of the hall where she found a door labeled, Dr. Kaito Yamada.

She knocked, as a curtesy.

When no one answered, she quietly let herself in and closed the door behind her.

His private office was white like the halls and moderately sized; big enough to easily fit four people comfortably. Mounted on the walls were shelves filled with a wide assortment of medical publications as well as anatomical books. A life-sized skeletal model was propped up on a stand near the far corner of the room. The exam table, she assumed, was for sleeping on; it was unusual for a doctor to invite a patient into one's private office.

Yasuho plopped onto a stool she pulled from under his computer desk, spinning in it like a hyped up toddler. Yasuho giggled, taking pleasure in the dizziness that made her head feel like a cloud. It was an immature act, but the privacy of Kaito's office allowed her to be indulgent. Settling into a quieter state of mind, she listened to the muted sounds of life going on beyond the closed door. Her ears twitched to the hurried shuffling of feet, fragments of a serious conversation, and the soothing sounds of a soft purr.

"The radiator must be old." Yasuho thought aloud.

After ten minutes, her inquisitive nature took control and she began to snoop around Kaito's belongings. His black bomber hung on a hook, mounted on the door.

"Bingo!"

A small smirk appeared on Yasuho's face as she dug his wallet out of the coat pocket. She had no intention of swiping cash, she simply wanted to know more about him, for her mother's sake.

Thumbing through its contents, she found his practicing license.

Kaito Yamada

Tokyo University

Specialization: Neurological Surgery

"Hmm..ok, Mr. Big shot.." Yasuho softly mocked.

At least he hadn't lied about his job..

If there was one thing her mother couldn't stand, it was a broke liar.

Next, she reached the album section of his wallet which held three photos. The first image was of his graduation from medical school. Kaito stood alone, no family or friends with whom to celebrate the occasion were present. Regardless, his face held a familiar glee that said he was ready to conquer the world.

Next, was a couple's photo of him and her mom taking a selfie on the beach. They looked genuinely happy as her mother laid down next to Kaito's sand covered body. She had tastefully sculpted him a set of boobs from the sand.

Reluctantly, small giggle escaped Yasuho's lips.

Her eyes widened as she recognized the girl in the last photo.

"She really gave him my picture..." She couldn't decided on whether to feel flattered or livid. Neutral is where she stayed, considering her mother didn't try to keep her a secret prior to the elopement.

Sighing, she placed the wallet and all its contents back into its appropriate pocket.

Click!

Yasuho panicked when she heard a loud sound behind her.

"I'm sorry, this isn't what it looks like!" She pleaded, afraid of being caught red handed, snooping in the doctor's coat.

After a moment, Yasuho paused.

The only entrance to the room was the door on which the coat hung. She had been facing it the whole time, and it hadn't moved at all from what she could tell.

"What is going on?" The words that escaped her lips were hushed by the fear of an answer. Yasuho, felt something big nudge into the small of her back and push her chest into the wooden door.

She screamed.

The surprise of having her body pinned made her tears fall in full panic.

Is this a stand attack?!

Another deep voiced purr emanated from whatever creature had caught her in its grips, sending a soul-shaking chill to the very core of her being. Her body trembled violently as she felt a hot breath work its way up and down her spine.

Unable to turn around, Yasuho activated her stand.

"Paisely Park!" She commanded from where her cheek was smashed against the door.

What appeared to be Yasuho's shadow sprouted from underneath her, taking on a 3 Dimensional body as it lifted from the wall. Its form was as curvaceous as hers and adorned with markings patterned after the map of Morioh. Her stand intersected her body, overlapping it within a pink luminescent mist as it recorded what Yasuho was unable to see.

Closing her eyes, she focused on her connection to her stand.

She saw what it saw.

Felt what it felt.

Expecting the worse, Yasuho inwardly prayed to whatever God was out there that she'd be able to make it out alive. Then she opened her mind's eye to solidify the connection.

What she saw was indeed something one would expect to purr.

A large cat-like creature was rubbing its head into her back. Its anthropomorphic form, built like a bodybuilder, was as tall as her chest even when crouched on all fours. Every sinewy muscle, rippled with just a minor movement of its powerful limbs.

"Omg, its a stand!" She squeaked in a voice she hope was quiet enough not to alarm the large beast. She winced as its large, leather-gloved, hands gripped her ankles; its sharp claws pierced in to her soft skin with ease. The cold trickle of blood gliding into her white socks made her woozy.

Yasuho closed her eyes again, in an effort to calm her pounding heart. Gathering her resolve, she stretched a hand back as far as it would go, extending her finger tips to catch a hold of the back of its hairless head.

She scratched.

Lightly, of course.

Yasuho bit her lip, peaking one eye open to check if she had just sealed her fate.

To her relief, the creature let go of her legs, its head leaning more toward her hand which was scratching it with as much affection as she could muster. Turning around slowly, she saw that it was a perfect mix between cat and human. Its large ears, which protruded from the top of its head, twitched playfully along with her fingers.

She suppressed a fearful giggle. Cuteness ended at the point of being able to tear a man in half. Yasuho knew better than to be a cause of alarm.

Caution was key.

The strange stand continued to purr enthusiastically, until her tired hand stopped scratching.

Its angular eyes shot open to regard her every movement with the intensity of a fearsome lion. Thin pupils were fully exposed, calculating in a way that made Yasuho gulp reflexively.

She then decided her fingers were, in fact, not too tired to keep on scratching.

The whole situation was unsettling to her.

If a stand was here, where was its user?

She could not shake the feeling that something was very wrong here.

From its appearance, Yasuho could feel the overwhelming power rolling off its form in waves which meant it was most likely a close range stand. Its owner had to be within a radius of 10 meters.

Slowly, Yasuho kneeled until she was face to face with the creature.

"Are you Kaito's?" She asked softly.

Her body fell back against the door, as it bared its fangs, closing in on her small form. It growled ferociously caging her body into place when it straddled her in a crouched position, never touching her, but not backing away either.

She took it as a 'no.'

Yasuho looked up at her at her own stand, willing it to dive into the computer system on her step father's desk. It may not be Kaito's stand but he had to know something about it.

She could feel her consciousness merge with Paisley Park, yet again as she began to free fall within the virtual world. The hospital's security system was top notch, but Paisley Park was made for infiltration. Energy surged through her body with each security level she breached. Neon blue tracks lined the walls like hieroglyphs scaling down a seemingly endless pit.

Countless doors appeared before her.

There wasn't a need to open any at random, she knew intuitively what they led to. Insurance records, bills, blood tests, Yasuho was aware of them all. It was the closest to being omniscient, that she could imagine; the ability of knowing everything, all at once, and being able to sort through it all. She was limited only by the range of the computer's network.

Before she knew it, she had reached the end of Kaito's files, disappointed when nothing stuck out to her. She flipped her body so that she landed feet first on the hard surface of the virtual floor. A wide circular wall encompassed her space. Yasuho looked up at the countless levels of doors and data she broke through to get to her current location.

"There has to be something in here.." Yasuho took in the last level of files. These doors held Kaito's personal information; his family registry, internal training results..

"No good." There was nothing out of the ordinary from what she could tell. Maybe if she could get a closer look at the lines of circuitry on the walls.

She took a step toward the wall, surprised when she felt a strong draft push her body backwards slightly. Unprepared, Yasuho lost her footing and hit the ground hard.

That's never happened before..

Curious, she squinted her eye to get a closer look at what had assaulted her. Barely visible, in the crease between the wall and the floor, was a vent. Hissing sounds emanated from it, as it pushed red embers into the air. She reached a finger, tentatively, to a glowing light that flew in front of her face, dancing like a fire fly on a summer's night. While other lights died, this one remained.

It held a warmth to it that drew her in.

When it landed on her index finger it, popped. Sparks flew in every direction, causing her to guard her face with her forearms reflexively from the wave of unexpected energy.

When she peaked her eye open, text floated in front of her like a phantom.

Human

That was odd. She hadn't asked for any information. Usually, her data grabbing powers only worked when she actively sought to penetrate an archive..

Yasuho touched another ember, this time prepared for the small explosion that came with it. Again, more abstract information floated in front of her.

Age: 29

"It's a trail.." Determined, Yasuho made her way to the source of the embers. Pushing past the onslaught of exploding embers, information was thrown at her like balls of hail in a thunderstorm.

Marine Surgeon

Male

There was no way to guard herself completely as she felt sharp stings on her legs, arms, and abdomen. It was the best she could do to guard her face. Every step she took was met with resistance. Crouching to lower her center of gravity, Yasuho practically crawled, digging her fingers into cracks in the floor in order to stop herself from being thrown back.

"So close.."

Her limbs were beginning to ache. She'd never been met with so much resistance...which meant the vent was exactly where she needed to be. It was obvious that wherever it led to, was not a place she was wanted.

When she became close enough, she thrust her fingers between the metal dividers within the vent to lock herself in place. Turning her head did nothing to stop the embers from flying into her face. Each pop emitted a light that might as well have been a solar flare. She dug her feet into the ground and spread them as she crouched.

Reaffirming her grip on the vent, she pulled with all her might.

It didn't budge.

A certain knowing washed over Yasuho and she relinquished control of Paisley Park's form. Suddenly, her fingertips sprouted like roots from her hand, delving into the depths beyond the metal shades of the vent. She wasn't sure what her stand was searching for, until a growing light leaked from the the gaps.

The image of a young man began to materialize in her mind. Dark wavy hair, complimented by full lips and a delicate, almost feminine nose that made Yasuho's heart skip a beat. There was something familiar about the person she saw. It was only a glimpse and she couldn't see his eyes, but even Paisley Park seemed drawn in by him as her fingers dug more desperately, prodding for any lock that would break the barrier between Yasuho and this peculiar man.

"O-ouch!"

A burning sensation singed her fingertips.

But Yasuho knew the pain was not in vain when the vent lifted from the floor.

Gauging the hole, she was just small enough to...

A loud siren went off.

Before she could react, she was hit in the chest with a force strong enough to split her consciousness from her stand.

Yasuho opened her eyes in a state of shock.

All the colors of kaito's fluorescent light split apart in a circular wave of rainbow swirls.

Her head hurt.

Her legs hurt.

Her face hurt.

Everything hurt.

Yasuho leaned heavily against the back of the office door as she caught her bearings. Red blotches covered her pale body like a case of measles; some were blisters. That explained why her body felt like she had been doused with gasoline and set ablaze.

Yasuho's eyes shot up as she remembered the dangerous situation she was in.

Where was that cat stand?

To her relief, only Paisley Park's form crouched over her, it's large singular eye blinking, like a child in need of direction.

Yasuho cupped her stand's cheek affectionately.

She felt a tinge of sorrow as she realized its body was just as damaged as her own. To be honest, she was surprised to feel so much pain, through her stands body. Damage taken by long range stands weren't supposed to affect the user's physical body.

She'd have to be more careful in the future..

"Well, we tried.." It felt like she was speaking to a daughter, as its form closely resembled her. It even had her signature ponytails and decorative barrettes.

Nodding, Paisley Park stood up and pointed to the back wall of the office, where the cat-like stand creature was scratching. It looked as if half the wall had slid two inches to the right and opened a portal within the time/space continuum.

A bit dramatic?

Yes.

But the whole situation was disorienting for her. Yasuho felt like she was starring in an episode of her favorite mystery cartoon, Scooby Doo. She'd stumbled upon a trail of clues that seemed to lead toward something important.

Back in the computer's main frame she felt something break. Looking at the faint blinking light beyond the wall, she was beginning to realize what it was.

Yasuho retracted her stand, not paying any mind to it fading out of existence as she walked passed it. Whatever was behind the wall held the key to what Kaito was hiding. There was no other choice, but to investigate.

Fear escaped her as she boldly approached the wall at the back of Kaito's office. Her eyes were fixated on what laid behind the barrier. She ran a hand lightly along the head of the cat-stand, which drew back onto its hind legs to look at her expectantly.

This must have been what it wanted all along..

Whatever was waiting for her had to be related to the man she saw in the virtual plane. The information she downloaded came rushing back like a waterfall, taking over her vision as all the text reappeared before her eyes.

29 years.

Human male.

She gripped the opening of the wall.

Blood Type: O

Yasuho pushed all her strength into the opening, not surprised when it slid open as if lubricated with butter.

Stand user

A small amount of light spilled over from the main room into the opening.

Killer Queen

The cat-like stand scurried past her to a bed stationed near the back end of the hidden room, just out of reach of the light.

She followed.

Her heart pounded in her ears, as she watched the cat creature jump onto the bed and nuzzle into someone who had no reaction.

She could hear a series of machines; swooshing, beeping, grinding in an orchestra of mechanical rhythm. An IV lay to the side of the bed, filled with an unnamable yellow liquid being fed through a venous line straight into his arm.

Fear caressed her heart as the he last word of her data dive appeared before her...

Deceased.

..because the body in front of her was still breathing.

Her breaths became labored with uncontrolled emotions as the gravity of the situation took full effect. Strength drained from her legs and she collapsed at the foot of the bed.

Yasuho barley suppressed a sob.

After a few moments, she wiped the blurriness from her vision.

Swallowing nervously, she reached for the small strip of paper tied to the man's toe by a string of elastic.

In small black text, she read the name.

Yoshikage Kira

To be continued...

#Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #rock humans #university hospital #rokakaka #josuke higashikata #jojo #kira yoshikage #yasuho hirose #josefumi kujo #killer queen #jojo stands

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jahaanofmenaphos · 5 years ago

Photo

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

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QUEST 03: LET SLEEPING GODS LIE

QUEST SUMMARY:

Jahaan stumbles upon a newly excavated chamber, one that a charismatic young stranger claims to be where Guthix resides under the earth. However, once this knowledge becomes commonplace, many different factions come to a head, either to protect the sleeping god, wake him, or destroy him…

CHAPTER 3: BUT WE CAN FIGHT

In the first storage room, Thaerisk and Chaeldar stood ready, determination biting back any fears they had as to whom might be charging towards them. From the sounds echoing throughout the chamber, whomever was coming towards their wing was very big, and very slow. It sounded like they were using their immense strength to force their way through the rock. Perhaps they didn’t have the intelligence to try any other way.

Stomp

Thaerisk and Chaeldar kept their guard up, waiting.

Before long, the wall broke down as a giant green-skinned beast broke through, shoulder first, the large animal horns on his sturdy helmet being some of the first things to enter the room. He wore a necklace of skulls, with more being attached to his belt, and any clothing he wore was crudely crafted from something dead. Standing at ten feet tall, this was General Graardor, leading a small group of goblin foot soldiers.

“Turn back now,” Thaerisk ordered, his voice a blade. “You will go no further.”

The ogre-like beast laughed. “Graardor turn back? Tiny human has tiny brain! Puny balance god stop wars returning. Bandos - almighty war god - desire battle, so Graardor create it. Graardor smash Guthix skull with mighty fists! Graardor be best general of almighty war god! Squishy human and others will not stop me! Attack!”

Despite being a druid, Thaerisk had been trained in magic from a very early age. Against the brute strength and lumbering combat coming from the goblins and even Graardor himself, magic was an incredibly effective strategy. Using the runes in his possession, he cast a fearsome earth-based spell that knocked the general back for six. Meanwhile, Chaeldar dealt with the goblin forces. Even though she was vastly outnumbered, Chaeldar's size meant that she could move very quickly, making her well-suited against a slow enemy, like goblins were. Her weapon of choice was a small spear.

Meanwhile, in another storage room, the sounds of a manic scuttering suggested that there were multiple enemies trying to break through, and the foul stench of the undead could be smelled.

Before long, Zemouregal forced his way into the chamber, with skeletons and zombies behind him, his mindless legion.

Jahaan spoke calmly, with a strange glint in his eyes. “Zemouregal. You're late. Graardor is already in the process of being slaughtered by the Guthixians. You’d be wise to turn tail before you follow him.”

Zemouregal roared a laugh. “Hah! General Graardor… I wouldn't be surprised if the lumbering fool skewered himself on his own weapon. I would suggest you stand aside so I may get to Guthix sooner, but I think I'd prefer to destroy you and your weak companions first. A little payback for your intrusion in the Ritual.”

With an evil smirk, Zemouregal raised his hand, causing his undead minions to charge forwards, and the battle commenced.

As he was slow and fragile, Cres himself was no fighter. Therefore, he used his creations to fight for him, replicas of the creatures Jahaan had encountered earlier. Summoning an entire troop of automatons, Cres readied himself for the impending battle.

When Commander Zilyana broke through and an entire troop of white knights and Saradominist warriors followed, he felt his chances of victory slip away quite fast. Nevertheless, he was prepared to fight to the end, for Guthix.

“Step aside, creatures,” Zilyana ordered. The woman was an icyene, an ancient race of winged beings, and the leader of Saradomin’s army. “The glory of Saradomin demands it!”

Creaking his limbs into an offensive posture, Cres stated, “Your god’s ‘glory’ matters nothing here.”

Eyes narrowing, Zilyana drew her thin sword and held it aloft. “So be it. For Saradomin!”

One should underestimate the Valluta due to her appearance at their peril. Her shell was near impenetrable, and she had a surprising amount of speed and agility for someone of her size and build. Fiara too, was a fiery opponent, her far-reaching legs and insect-like tail all coordinated into a perfect rhythm, a dance of melee prowess.

The ones to break through and into their storage room were an Armadylian troop, led by Kree'arra, a graceful avatar of Armadyl. Kree'arra was a majestic winged being, feathers of pearl and gold that shone like fine silk even in the low-light of the cavern. He was a powerful ranger, armed with a formidable crossbow. Just as well the two tallest fighters were the ones to battle the ones that could fly.

Kree'arra settled on the ground, his small band of warriors behind him. “You should not be here, creatures of Guthix,” he warned, his tone soft and solemn. “It is not safe. Please, leave now.”

“We cannot do that,” Fiara replied, her voice measured. “Who are you? An aviansie of Armadyl, I gathered, but why are you defying your god’s code of justice and peace in favour of your intrusion here today?”

Exhaling a heavy, weighted breath, Kree'arra responded, “Believe us, bloodshed should always be the last resort… but Guthix is preventing Armadyl’s return. He… he has been missing for so long now. I find myself unable to recall his face to describe him.”

The Valluta declared, “I know of your kind, friend. You do not have to continue here today. Leave, and uphold your god’s principles. It is what he would want.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause, and even the avanasie warriors behind him actually believed Kree’arra was considering it. Alas, instead he withdrew his crossbow and steadied his gaze. “I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be… for Armadyl…”

It didn't take long before Jahaan could coax Zemouregal to fight on his level; knowing he was at a slight disadvantage battling magic with a couple of swords, he goaded the Mahjarrat into duelling with him on his level.

“You think that your blue toothpicks stand a chance against me?” Zemagoural had challenged, summoning a black and steel two-handed blade into his palms.

Granted, Zemouregal was a skilled swordsman with great prowess, but he was a better mage. Now, Jahaan had a fighting chance.

While Death focused on the undead army, Jahaan did his best to keep Zemouregal at bay. Much to his relief and, frankly, surprise, he was succeeding.

The two of them leapt forward, their swords connecting with a fearsome clash. Zemouregal managed to have the strength advantage against Jahaan, pushing him backwards and gaining the upper hand almost instantly. Jahaan rolled out of the way as the black sword struck down into the space he'd occupied almost a millisecond ago. Each strike of sword on sword roared with a pugnacious applause.

The two clashed for ages, Zemouregal growing increasingly furious at his inability to land a killing blow on Jahaan. Unfortunately for him, this led to reckless attacks, misplaced swings and lunges that were far from the mark.

Zemouregal swiped for Jahaan's neck, but the young man caught it with his two smaller blades and twisted the sword from Zemouregal's grip. Using the momentary shock to his advantage, Jahaan sliced a deep cut into Zemouregal's thigh, causing the Mahjarrat to crumble to the ground. Before he knew what was happening, Jahaan had one sword trained at his throat and the other raised directly above his chest.

"Wait!" Zemouregal cried out as Jahaan went to drive the blade into his heart. Fighting for composure, Zemouregal took several deep breaths. "Fine. You win. Your precious God of Balance can live another day."

Jahaan smiled, smugly. “Nice seeing you again, Zemouregal. Let’s do this again sometime.”

“You can count on it, mortal.”

Death escorted him to the next chamber, where he could teleport away without the magic restrictions surrounding the current wing. As soon as he was comfortable at seeing him retreat - feeling the pride that comes with small victories - that happiness was cut in half with the sound of a crash and then a great many footsteps clattering into the main chamber. Quickly, Death and Jahaan hurried in to see Commander Zilyana and her Saradominist forces engaging the druids, Chaeldar and Thaerisk in combat.

“The Bandosians were a piece of monkfish!” Chaeldar declared, nimbly weaving her way between a Saradominist’s attacks. They came a little too close for comfort; she resorted to blocking with her blade, but physical strength was not on her side. “These critters, not so much.”

Juna added, “Thank goodness you made when you did.”

Charging forward to lock swords with one of the Saradominist soldiers, Jahaan remembered that Cres was defending the wing that had been breached, and imagining the worst, worriedly inquired, “What of Cres and his creations?”

Kaqemeex was tending to a wounded druid when he replied, “My druids are tending to him, but being made of stone and bark instead of flesh and blood, there is little we can do to help him…”

“And the Void Knights?”

“Still fighting the aviansie,” Juna informed.

Jahaan ordered, “Death, go assist the Valluta and the Void Knights with the aviansie. If they break through as well, our chances are practically nothing.”

With a nod of his faceless hood, Death charged into the chamber, scythe at the ready.

The battle raged on for who knows how long. Jahaan got lost in the combat, fighting anyone in white armour with a star on their chest. Before long, Death and the Void Knights returned to the chamber, having driven the aviansie into retreating. The playing field was becoming much more level at this point.

Jahaan took a stab at Commander Zilyana, but before their clash could begin, a small explosion rocked the room, emitting from the direction of the western wing.

Into the chamber emerged only three figures, but they were among the most fearsome the Guardians had encountered as of yet. The first, Nex, a name derived from the Infernal word for ‘murder’. She was one of Zaros’ most powerful weapons of war, and one of the most featured creatures in all of Gielinor. Skin red like lava, she was covered in jagged horns and spikes across her chest and back, sharp enough to skewer anyone that came close enough to her. Atop her scaly head were five long horns, curling behind her like waves of hair. Her wings were a gradient of crimson and ashen black, tattered and torn at the edges, yet with bones in them strong enough to snap a mortal in two. The second, Char, a fire enchantress in the service of Zaros. While she was humanoid in figure, her wild hair defied gravity, shaped in curves and spikes, and her eyes glowed fire. Her palms were still glowing from the remnants of a fire-spell she must have recently cast.

Those figures Jahaan had only heard about from legends told to him. The third, however, Jahaan knew personally, as did Commander Zilyana, who disengaged from her fight to approach the three Zarosians. “Azzanadra,” she looked down her nose at the Mahjarrat. “I should have expected you Zarosians to lurk in the shadows, afraid to face those stronger than you.”

Nex hissed, “You watch your tongue, Zilyana, or I will rip it from your mouth.”

“You presume to speak to me, Nex?” Zilyana challenged. “You, who has been locked in your icy prison for thousands of years. Do you feel ready for a real battle again?”

“It seems you are outnumbered, Zilyana. It would be wise to back down,” Azzanadra advised, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “After all, had you not been so desperate to reach Guthix, I'm sure you would have noticed us shadowing your steps. Perhaps you would have thought twice before destroying half the defence, kindly clearing our path.”

“You dare-!”

Igniting her palms again, Char growled, “Oh, we are wasting time, Azzanadra. Let us just kill her and be done with it!”

“Calm, Char,” Azzanadra eased. “It is all in hand. It is no use fighting anymore, Zilyana. It appears we have a friend planted closer to Guthix than any of us could ever be. Jahaan, would you be so kind as to lead us to Guthix?”

Upon seeing Commander Zilyana square up to Azzanadra and the other Zarosians, Jahaan had picked his battles closer to the confrontation, interested as to how the two volatile parties would react. When his name was mentioned, he kicked the Saradominist soldier to the side, badly slicing the man’s arm as he did. “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, Azzanada.”

Juna shot Jahaan a surprised, troubling look. “You’re acquainted with a Mahjarrat? After all they did to your people?”

“It was a long time ago,” Jahaan explained. “I’d been enlisted to find a treasure inside one of the Kharidian pyramids. Finding Azzanadra was an… unexpected by-product. He told me his side of the story; I decided not to hold an aged grudge. Why should I?”

Disappointment evident in her tone, Juna shook her head and replied, “I did not see you as one to betray your principals so easily, human.”

At this, Jahaan swung around. “Hey, I’ve been risking my life to defend Guthix with you. The God Wars are long since over, and I’d be a stubborn idiot to hold onto the supposed ‘rage of my people’.”

“Thank you, Jahaan,” Azzanadra smiled in appreciation. “Now, while I would like to continue discussing our ideologies and histories at length, I’m afraid there are more pressing matters at hand. Guthix must first be awoken.”

“Ah, now THAT I can’t let you do.”

Azzanadra crinkled his brow. “We do not wish to kill him, Jahaan. We Zarosians believe that Guthix can be reasoned with, allowing the edicts to fall long enough for our master’s return. Besides, think of all we could learn from such a being!”

Commander Zilyana snorted in disgust. “Ignorant fool. You really think Guthix will be reasoned with? No, we must kill him - only then can the TRUE lord, Saradomin, return to Gielinor.”

“No, Guthix must NOT be disturbed,” Juna maintained, fiercely. She turned to Jahaan. “What say you, human? Please do not tell me you will side with the Mahjarrat once more.”

Pointedly ignoring the undertone in the snake’s hiss, Jahaan firmly replied, “Guthix must not be awoken, and definitely not killed. That’s where I stand.”

Azzanadra’s shoulders sagged. “Jahaan, surely not…”

“I'm afraid so. It’s the only way.”

“This saddens me greatly. I considered you a friend, Jahaan. However, Guthix must be awoken, for Zaros. As much as it pains me, if this means challenging you then… that must be the case.”

“Azzanadra, you sentimental fool,” Char spat. “If the human stands against Zaros, then he stands against us. Any obstacle must be destroyed in flame and fire.”

Suddenly, the ground began to shake violently, ripping everyone from conversation and combat.

“What's going on?” Kaqemeex tried his best to steady his stance, but ended up falling on his back. A Saradominist soldier tried to take advantage and strike him down, but ended up stumbling forwards and toppling to the ground instead.

Chaeldar cried, “The wall! Look!”

While everyone else was distracted, the door on the tableau wall had lit up before breaking open. However, no-one seemed to be close to it.

“That’s the pathway to Guthix,” Juna hissed, quietly, so only Jahaan could hear. “Go! Defend Guthix! We will keep these forces occupied.”

As soon as she finished talking, Juna lunged at Nex, but the demon was too quick and slashed her ferocious claws deep into Juna’s body, blood pouring from the wound instantly. The druids and the rest of the Guardians fought harder than ever before, Chaeldar challenging Char herself, knowing they were the last line of defence now.

Quickly, Jahaan raced through the hole in the door, sprinting through the chambers as fast as he could. He tightly clutched onto both of his swords, blood dripping from the edges as he ran, creating a crimson trail.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#runescape #fan fiction #sliske #the world wakes #guthix #zemouregal

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missmarquin · 6 years ago

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Found(ry) It wasn’t the first time that humans had left things for him. Totosai had lived on this volcano within the Western Lands, since before humans had ever settled there. And when they had, they had thought him some sort of God. They weren’t so stupid now-- they had grown and learned-- but they still feared whatever wrath that he might bring down upon him. It wasn’t so much that he could control the volcano, but they didn’t know that. They thought that the Volcano was alive, and paid fealty to it as such. And so, years melted into decades, and then centuries, and they still left him gifts, like it would stop the volatile nature of the land around them. And usually they were baskets full of the things that he liked. Sweet breads and candies. Lengths of beautiful silk and large rugs that he liked to decorate his hut with. Cast iron skillets that he didn’t need, but used nonetheless. What good was it to waste such charity? But this year had been different. It had been scorching and so dry, that the crops dried up with whatever moisture had left the earth. Nothing that they tilled took, and days only breathed hotter and hotter as the season wore along. And the volcano rumbled. It always rumbled, with a slow and steady growl, but this was more pronounced. You could feel it shake the ground sometimes, if you were still enough. Totosai had been there long enough to know that there wasn’t a fear of eruption yet-- he’d give it another half-century or so. But the humans were new to this land in the grand scheme of things, and they did what they always did when things didn’t go right. They blamed the Gods and then tried to fix it. And so when he pulled off the cloth covering from the basket, he was surprised to find a baby, no more than a few months old. Fat and reddened cheeks, with a cloth diaper wrapped around its behind. His mouth went dry. This was new, this was something that he had no knowledge of. Sure, he knew that humans elsewhere sacrificed their young, but to him? What had he ever done to incite such fear into the villagers down below? There was a momentary pang that blew through him; he’d meant to do no such thing. He kept to himself, tinkering away in his forge and he forged weapons for the youkai of old. And then he thought rationally, remembering that even though they weren’t stupid anymore, humans held the base instinct on blaming nature upon creatures such as himself. He didn’t know what he was more sorry for-- that they had fallen into times so bad that they felt the need to sacrifice their children, or that he couldn’t do anything to fix it. The child was awake, watching him curiously. It was quiet, too quiet. Weren’t babies supposed to cry? He distinctly remembered a certain Western Lord, and his pup of a child, hollering horrifically as his father held onto him while he tried to place an order. He held his finger towards the child and it reached out, catching it in a small fist. And then it hiccuped and cooed and smiled at him, and Totosai’s heart melted. He was in trouble, so much trouble. Carefully he lifted the child, trying to support its head. Trying to remember what Touga-san had taught him, right after Sesshoumaru-sama was born. Many youkai were rough with their kin, but you couldn’t be with humans. One squeeze too hard, and the child could be snapped into two, effortlessly. But the baby didn’t wail, which Totosai took as a victory. He stuck a finger into the diaper to pull it away, chancing a look. A girl, a little girl. Some poor, poor family had given up their child, for a better harvest. Weather. Life. A lesser youkai would eat it. Totosai would do no such thing. He shifted the child to lay against his shoulder, before kneeling to pick up the basket. He would come gather the rest of these gifts later. For now, the little girl was his sole focus. And so, he turned on the trail to head back up the mountain. The little girl didn’t cry once. ...... Rin, the parents had named her. You weren’t supposed to name a child until they were a year old, but this family had broken tradition. He was also fairly certain that you weren’t supposed to write a letter to whom you sacrificed your child to. His fingers smoothed over the thin vellum, tracing the carefully inked letters. He found himself surprised that they could write, since many humans couldn’t. There were splotches where water had dripped onto it, smearing the words slightly. Tears, he realized. Volcano-san, We find ourselves without option. Breads and sweets, and our works have not appeased you. The days grow longer and hotter, and the soil dry and parched. Perhaps our life’s greatest work will finally appease you. Her name is Rin. It wasn’t signed. And Totosai was glad that it wasn’t. He didn’t want to know their names, he didn’t want to place their faces. He glanced at the little girl, who lay quietly in her basket. He had rolled up a small cloth, tying it off in the rough shape of a doll. Enough to keep the child occupied. She snuggled into it, dozing quietly. They expected him to eat her. He couldn’t, not that it would have made a difference if he had. He can do a lot of things, but control a volcano and nature itself, wasn’t upon that list. A day had passed, and he needed advice. Totosai packed the little girl up and took her to an old friend. .... “Keep her,” Bokusenou-san said to him simply. Totosai wasn’t sure why the thought had crossed his mind before that moment, but it seemed to be a logical thing. But… still… “A forge isn’t a place for a young child,” he replied with a sigh. “Her parents didn’t want her, correct?” Totosai wasn’t so sure about that-- he was still convinced that they had been forced into sacrificing her, but he said no such thing. “It would be cruel to throw the child away,” the tree continued with. “What would Touga-san have done?” “That old dog has nothing to do with this,” Totosai groused. “Of course not, but what would he had done? That old dog is a stellar example of how youkai should act. Humans don’t understand it, but we were created by the Gods to protect them.” “And so the Gods threw a child at me,” Totosai huffed. He could barely protect himself. There was a reason that retreating was one of his best talents. If Bokusenou-san could have shrugged, he would have. Instead there was only the slight rustling of the leaves above them. “I don’t pretend to know what they are thinking, Totosai-san. No one truly knows their nature.” “Hmm,” Totosai hummed, tapping his knee thoughtfully. Rin was nestled gently into the basket within his lap, and he looked at her. She still didn’t cry, only cooed with a toothless smile, as she wriggled slightly in her blankets. He reached out his finger to her, and she latched onto it without trouble. “I suppose that it has been lonely in the forge.” Not to mention his little hut, at the top of the mountain. Mo-Mo, his faithful ox, had been his only family for centuries. “Then there, perhaps, is your reason.” The tree sounded almost bored. “There is a complication though,” the old smith muttered, as he played with Rin. “I know nothing about caring for human children.” At that, Bokusenou-san’s lips twisted into a wide smile. “Luckily for you, there is something that would be more than pleased to help you.” Totosai cocked his head to the side as he thought, and when he realized, he stood up abruptly, holding the basket tightly to his chest. “Absolutely not!” he snapped. “I refuse to ask her!” But the tree just laughed at him, and he kept laughing even after the smith left his clearing. .... Despite his vehement vow to never contact her, he ended up writing to the Lady Izayoi anyhow. It wasn’t that he disliked the woman. No, he adored her. She had wit and creativity, and the sun shone wherever she went. The moment that Touga-san had introduced her to him all those years ago, he had instantly known what drew the old dog to her. She was also the reason that his old friend was dead. Touga-san had made him promise that he would protect her in his absence, and the best way to do that was to never contact her. It was one-half responsibility, one-half hatred-- even if he could never fully hate her. But after three days of barely getting the child to eat something and rather unsuccessful diaper changes, he had given up hope. He had penned a short letter and delivered it by a raven youkai, fully expecting her to not answer at all. He couldn’t remember her exact age, but she wasn’t a young girl anymore, and humans only became frail as they got older. They gave me a child, he had written to her. And I have no idea how to care for her. And so he waited. She ate what he gave her, but unhappily. He managed to change her diapers, but made a mess of it. And he still had no clothes for her. And despite it all, the baby hadn’t cried once. And to his surprise, the raven returned to him the next day, with a short reply. I’m on my way. ..... The Lady Izayoi wasn’t dressed in the finery that he used to see her in. She had shed her intricate junihitoe for an informal haori and hakama set. “Easier to travel this way,” she told him, climbing down the side of Ah-Un. Touga-san had left her the dragon upon his death, and despite her attempts to set him free, the youkai was as loyal as ever. Her hair was pulled into a simple bun, and gray streaked through the black strands. Her face was youthful, but carried the lines of her age. Totosai was struck by how time passed differently for her, than him. She had been so young what seemed like only yesterday. It had been almost three decades since they had last met face-to-face, and the change to her was astounding. She swept her gaze around the mountain, her eyes passing from his little hut, towards the cave where his forge was built. “This place hasn’t changed a bit,” she said with amusement. “Neither have you, Totosai-san.” “You’re as lovely, as the last time that I saw you,” he said, bowing slightly. She tutted slightly, waving the thought away. “Nonsense. I know that I look ancient to you. Now then--” She paused, a conspiratorial smile spreading across her face. “Where is the girl?” So much like Touga-san, even now. He waved towards his hut and led her there. .... The knowledge that Izayoi imparted to him was invaluable. She couldn’t teach him everything in the day that she spent there, but she had told him the basics, and suddenly he didn’t feel like a bumbling fool when it came to things. The most valuable wisdom that she gave him was when she left. She had swung her leg over Ah-Un, settling across his back comfortably. “Before I leave, Totosai-san, I will say this-- there is no right or wrong, when it comes to raising a child. You will learn as much, as you teach them. Never forget that.” And as he watched Rin grow, he came to realize that she was right. With every year, new challenges were added, as old lines were crossed. Parenthood was a constant learning experience, and Rin taught him something knew with every day. By the time that Rin was four, he loved her with every fiber of his being. ..... Rin was six, the next time the Lady Izayoi came to visit. This time her hair had transformed from black into a beautiful silver sheen, sparkling under the sunlight. Rin was tall for a girl, already past Totosai’s hip, and she regarded the woman carefully. Warily, even. “Rin-chan, you know how you have clothes sent once a year?” he said, patting her head gently. Rin’s face scrunched up slightly as she thought. “Izayoi-san,” she said. He had been teaching her how to read, and he had started with the letters that the Lady sent with her yearly packages. “This is her, Rin-chan,” he said to her. The girl’s gaze swept from him, to the Lady, her expression morphing as she realized that she was a friend, not a foe. She ran to her, stopping right before Ah-Un. Lady Izayoi scrambled down his back with grace, but there was a stiffness about her now that Totosai couldn’t ignore. He frowned slightly. “Hello Rin-chan,” she said with mirth. “This isn’t the first time that we have met, but it’s the first time that you’ll remember for sure. The last time that I was here, you were only a baby.” Rin thought about her reply carefully, and then she said, “Thank you for the clothes. And the books,” she added as an afterthought. Then the girl paused. “May I hug you?” Lady Izayoi laughed and knelt to the ground, holding out her arms. “Of course, Little One.” And Rin hugged her, and the Lady hugged her back. Totosai knew that Izayoi was thrilled, because the girl gave the best hugs out of anyone in the world. ...... In the blink of an eye, Rin turned thirteen. Totosai hated it. He hated how they lived on different life lines, how all he had to do was close his eyes for a moment, and the years have passed for her. He hated that he would outlive her, and then what? He’d be alone again, and it wasn’t like he could just find someone else. Rin could never be replaced. “Totosai-san, what is wrong?” she asked him, having caught him staring. They sat at the simple table in the kitchen, eating a simple stew. His hand was clasped gently around the bowl, frozen while he was lost in thought. “Nothing, Rin-chan,” he said, pulling the bowl to his mouth for a sip. “Only of how much you’ve grown.” At that, Rin made a face and he laughed. “Rin, we never did celebrate your birthday.” It wasn’t so much the day of the birth that they celebrated, but rather the day that she was gifted to him. He had long since stopped seeing it as a sacrifice. He didn’t care for the day in truth, but Rin did, and so, he counted the days until the next year so she would be happy. “What is it that you want? I could send for the Lady Izayoi, if you would like to spend some time with her.” The woman was into her sixties now, but fit enough to handle the girl, if Rin wanted it. Rin thought, twisting her lip slightly as she did so. It was a little tell of hers, and Totosai thought it adorable. “Can you teach me to smith?” she finally asked. At that, he almost dropped his bowl. “I… er…. What?” “I want to learn,” she said simply. Then her brow furrowed, like she was afraid that she had said something wrong. “Is that… is that alright?” Of course it was, he just never thought that she would have been interested. She spent hours at a time with him in the forge, just watching, but he had always assumed that it was because she was bored. There wasn’t much to do on the mountain top, and she had read every book that Izayoi had sent her, ten times over. “Of course it is, Rin-chan.” At that, her smile widened and she said, “I love the colors of the fire, and it’s warmth. Spending a day in the forge, is like going home.” At that, Totosai grinned. He hadn’t even taught her anything yet, and she was already a head above any other apprentice he had ever taken. ..... They started with basic shapes. Then Rin learned how to make knives. And then horseshoes, which they delivered to the village down below. They never did so personally-- the stabler ventured up the mountain once a month to pick up an order. She was sixteen now, and a young woman, and men were now interested. And they were curious about the woman in the mountains, who lived by herself. They had never seen him, and such assumed as such. Totosai had told her to never say her name, and so she never did. Eventually, she made a sword, and it was beautiful. Perfect in its balance, the steel hardened to perfection. Totosai took his hammer and tapped along it, listening to the ping of metal carefully. He wasn’t sure that he could have forged anything better. Rin wasn’t an apprentice anymore, it seemed. And when he told her as such, she only grinned back, forcing a tight hug on him. He hugged her right back. ..... She was one year shy of twenty, when she finally asked him the dreaded question. “Totosai-san, where exactly did I come from?” He had never lied to her. She knew that he was a youkai, and that she was a human. But despite all of her curiosity, she had never asked. He vowed to tell her the truth if she ever did, but the question had never come. That night, they were in the forge. Rin hammered away at a red-hot billet, filling an order for a simple kitchen knife. And Totosai sat on a rock to the side, puffing at his beloved pipe. Rin didn’t smoke one, but she loved the smell of the tobacco. He thought about his words carefully, listening to the rhythmic thump of her hammering. “What brought this question?” he finally asked. Not in anger, but curiosity. “Keneda-san said something peculiar, when he picked up the order for this month,” she replied. Keneda-san, the stabler. Totosai had never quite liked the man. Rin paused in her work, reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief. She wiped at her forehead, smearing soot and sweat. “He always asks for my name, and I always tell him that it doesn’t matter,” she continued with, “To which he said, ‘But if I don’t know your name, how will I court you?’” Rin made a disgusted sound. “Could you imagine? He’s old enough to be my father.” Totosai wasn’t surprised. Despite the lean muscle that Rin carried, she was pretty enough under all the soot and ash that constantly covered her. “And what you say?” “That I wanted no husband,” she huffed. She turned and leaned against the anvil, looking at Totosai seriously. “He went on about how it was improper to live up here by myself. Improper! Ha! What about the impoliteness of wanting to court a woman that you barely know?” And then her face fell sightly, the her edges softened by a meek sadness. “But then it got me thinking, how it was that I ended up with you. It’s never mattered, honestly but--” “There’s no harm in wanting to know,” Totosai said to her. “I’ve never hidden it from you, nor do I ever want to.” He puffed at his pipe for a long drag. “You came from the village, though I doubt that’s a surprise. For centuries they’ve left offerings, and I’ve always taken them. I suppose that’s why they know me as Volcano-san, even if we’ve never met. There was a bad year though. The weather was harsh and they felt the volcano responsible, because humans always have to blame something.” Rin watched him carefully, and he could tell that she didn’t like where this was going. “They felt that their offerings were insufficient, so they sacrificed you.” The girl chewed on her lip for a moment. “What on earth did they think you would do with me?” “Eat you? Throw you in the fires? I have no idea, just like I had no idea what to do with you. Bokusenou-san told me that I should keep you.” “The Old Tree?” she laughed incredulously. She held a fantastic relationship with the tree, often harvesting his branches or bark for specialty projects. A fair trade for conversation, the tree would tell her. “I was out of my depth, and so I called upon Izayoi-san. She taught me some valuable things.” “I miss her.” The last time that she had seen the woman was almost three years past. The Lady was into her late seventies now, and it was near impossible for her to travel. Rin had to go to her, which was easier said than done. “That is how we ended up here though,” he said, taking another drag from his pipe. “I wonder what they were like,” she said. “The ones who threw me away.” Threw her away. At that, Totosai moved from his seat and set his pipe down upon the ashtray. He told her that he would be right back, and went to the hut. Under his bed, there was a box full of trinkets. One of them a small square of folded up vellum. When he returned to Rin, he handed it to her. “They didn’t throw you away.” He watched as her eyes scanned the parchment. “Her name is Rin,” she said quietly. “They named me.” “They loved you.” “You love me too.” “Of course, but they loved you first, and that’s why I kept you. You were a gift.” She ran her fingers over the words, careful not to smear them with soot. “This is why you told me to never tell them my name.” No doubt the village would know of the girl named Rin, sacrificed to Volcano-san. “It was a selfish request.” Because he feared them taking her from him. “I want nothing to do with them,” she told him. Her expression made it clear that she was very firm in that thought. “This old man knows,” he said, leaning against the anvil next to her. “But this man also knows that humans are unpredictable.” Rin reached out, pulling Totosai into a tight hug. He fell into it, hugging her back. She always gave the best ones. “Thank you, Totosai-san,” she said. “Thank you, and I love you.” “I know, Rin-chan,” he said, pressing his hand against the back of her head. “You love me more than they did.” “It isn’t a contest.” And it wasn’t. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that they still loved her just as much. Rin was young and didn’t understand. Maybe she never would. Rin didn’t cry though, she never cried. Not once, had she ever shed a tear. She just held onto him tightly and thanked him over and over, for everything. And he just hugged her back. ..... Rin was almost twenty-three when his back started to hurt. Totosai was old, and while he didn’t like to think about it, it was getting harder for him to forge. As of late, Rin was taking on more and more of his projects. His youkai clients didn’t know such a thing, for they would never come back. Humans had always assumed it was her work to begin with, so it didn’t matter to them. But it mattered to Totosai. He leaned on his rock, puffing at his pipe, watching as Rin worked. The lean muscles of her shoulders rippled, as she struck the molten steel with the hammer. This wasn’t a woman that men wanted to marry, he thought. She lacked that soft curves and roundness that they liked. A human her age would already had several children. She was a spinster. Once, he asked her about it. She just laughed and said, “Do I look like a woman who wants to be married?” No, she didn’t, and that was okay. “That is the sword for Ryukotsusei-sama, yes?” “Yeah,” Rin grunted, sticking the metal back into the forge. “Is it nearly done?” “Not one bit. His list of requirements is quite extensive.” At that, Totosai smiled. “I would love to see what you would have said about Touga-san’s list of requirements.” The Old Dog used to put his skills through the wringer, requesting the most and ridiculous things. He had never once failed to deliver them though. “The Lord of the West?” she asked, wiping at the sweat on her brow. “Izayoi-san’s husband?” She took the tongs and pulled the metal out again, setting it against the anvil. “He was a man of unique taste, I promise you.” Rin only hummed in response, setting back to work with her hammer. The next day, she met Keneda-san at the fork in the path, halfway down the mountain. Totosai hid himself, always watching from the side. It wasn’t so much that Rin couldn't protect herself, but he couldn’t ignore the protective instinct that flooded through him. He had complained about it to Izayoi-san once, and the woman had laughed at him. That’s what being a father is like, you stupid old ox. Mo-Mo was the ox, not him, but that wasn’t the point. “Keneda-san,” Rin said amicably, reaching out to shake his hand. The stabler took it, and after shaking it, flipped it over to survey the skin. “Truly my lady, you shouldn’t have such callouses.” His tone was almost mocking. Rin frowned at him. “It’s never stopped you from reaping the benefits of such callouses.” “Ah but--” “You are married now, Keneda-san,” she said to him. “How is Emiko-san?” His wife had journeyed with him last month, to see the eccentric Rin who lived on the mountain by herself. She didn’t delight in being a sideshow act, but she had said nothing, receiving the woman with friendship. And really, Emiko-san wasn’t half-bad. “Worried about you, you know. You shouldn’t live up here alone,” he said. And to his credit, he sounded genuinely concerned. “I’m perfectly fine up here,” Rin said, beginning to load his orders into the cart. “She has this friend,” he started with. “A very nice man--” “Keneda-san, as always, I’m not interested. Not to mention I’m too old.” “He’s your age and interested,” Keneda-san said. “If you would just tell me your name, I could--” “My name doesn’t matter. I’m perfectly fine,” she told him, “Volcano-san is the perfect companion. He provides for me and never asks nosy questions. He never tells a woman that she would be more, with a man by her side.” Totosai smiled at her words. “I wasn’t implying such a thing,” Keneda-san said, but his genial tone seemed forced. Rin hefted the last bag of his order onto his cart, patting it slightly. “Keneda-san, that’s the last of it. I’ll see you next month.” “But--” “Next month,” she repeated. At that, Keneda-san snapped his mouth shut. “Of course, Ladysmith. Next month, then.” He climbed into the driver’s bench and hoisted the reins. “Know that you are always welcome in the village though, even for a day.” Rin shot him an incredibly rude gesture, and the man scrunched his lips into a disapproving frown. A moment later, he had spurred his horses into action, and was heading back down the trail. Once out of sight, Totosai left his hiding spot. “Ladysmith, huh? That’s a new one.” “I suppose I’m not dainty enough for ‘ma’am’ or ‘my lady’ anymore.” Rin waved the thought away. “Trying to pawn me off onto another man, the nerve!” “Ah well, perhaps he means well.” Rin grunted at that. “He would do well to leave me the hell alone.” At that, Totosai laughed. “Come Rin-chan, let’s go make dinner.” He slipped his arm around her shoulder and they began to walk the path back up to the mountain. He was lucky, he realized. For over twenty years, he had not eaten alone. This little girl, now woman grown, had been thrown into his life, and against all odds, they had made it work. No one knows their nature, Bokusenou-san had told him once, when talking about the Gods. The forge is lonely. Then perhaps, there is your reason. His forge wasn’t lonely anymore. Perhaps our life’s greatest work, will finally appease you, the letter had said to him. She had. Totosai thanked the Gods for Rin that day, which was quite unlike him.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902277

Here we have the prologue for my new story, The Ladysmith! Hop on over the AO3 to check it out? :D

#inuyasha #inuyasha fanfiction #rin #sesshoumaru #rin/sesshoumaru #rin and sesshoumaru #sesshomaru #Sesshomaru and Rin

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forksofwisdom · 7 years ago

Note

What do you think witches and mermaids would have been like in the Twiverse? Do you think SM should have included other species?

Despite being a very pragmatic person, I am obsessed with mythologies of any kind, and I loved this idea so much that I took the time to do some research! And BOY did it get out of hands!

Note that I’m not a professional and most of my knowledge comes from scouring the internet, which is fraught with misinformation and I barely scratch the surface for the sake of brevity. I do mention things from my own culture - Icelandic folklore to be exact - but I encourage you to tag onto this post if you have something to add or want to make a correction! :D

I think SM kept a very narrow scope because she never intended Twilight to be anything more than a teenage romance between Bella and Edward. I for one am happy that she didn’t branch out beyond vampires, wolf-shifters, and the Children of the Moon because she was already on thin ice with her appropriation of the Quileute Tribe’s creation story.

I also think that including more too many species and characters would have overwhelmed SM. Her side characters have spotty backstories, and I have a feeling that she wrote most of their history as an afterthought. Why else would SM have only mentioned Esme’s past in the Official Guide and not included the crucial information that Esme met Carlisle while she was STILL human in the story?

If I’m honest, I would have loved to see different ending for New Moon and have SM do more character development in Eclipse. Bella’s quick recovery from her crippling depression was unrealistic in my opinion and her desperation to spend the rest of eternity with the Cullens seemed so shallow considering the fact she knew next to nothing about them and their past.

That being said, I still have some headcanons now that you got me thinking about this. I’m fascinated with the idea that some myths and legends around the world were born from encounters with real supernatural beings.

Shapeshifters

Based on SM’s idea about the Quileute spirit warriors, there should be more types of shifters in the Twiverse since the Quileutes weren’t the only ones who founded their belief on having descended from wolves.

Therianthropy is the mythological ability of human beings changing into animals via shapeshifting. This concept has been around for centuries, dating back so far that there are cave paintings that depict the transformation of men into animals. (x)

One of the most popular types of shapeshifting seems to be changing into wolves, and subsequently, there are a LOT of werewolf myths or The Children of the Moon as SM refers to them. (I’ve already written an entire post dedicated to them so I won’t talk about them here.)

I won’t go much farther into Origin Stories than I have above since it’ll take over the entire post. There are so fricking many different tales, especially about randy gods - seriously, it’s wild - that it’s difficult to decide what would lead to becoming a Shifter and what would be considered fables in the Twiverse.

For the sake of clarity, I have made a short list below which includes a few types of shapeshifters from different cultures that people may be familiar with:

· In Chinese Mythology, it is believed that all things are capable of acquiring human forms through shapeshifting. There are the Huli Jing, which is a nine-tailed fox spirit, from which the Japanese derived their Kitsune (any fellow Naruto fan here???) and the Korean Kumiho.

· Selkies are a favorite of mine (Please watch Song of the Sea - I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried during that movie) since they sometimes feature in Icelandic myths. Selkies are primarily thought to be women who live in the sea as seals but shed their coats and turn into humans on land. They aren’t able to shapeshift without their coats. Most of the tales aren’t happy and are about men who steal the selkie’s coats and hide them to coerce the woman into marriage.

· Nāga from Indian religions are thought to sometimes shapeshift from snakes, most often King Cobras, into humans.

Witchcraft

Witchcraft is tied to many religions, but as an atheist, I only have a layman’s knowledge of the practices that are still in use today. I’m highly skeptical when it comes to spiritual healing in real life, and I’m not at all a fan of the cult cultures that frequently surround religion.

Here’s a brief history lesson:

Witches were the women who served the goddesses in the earliest centuries of human civilization and were revered throughout their communities. In the ancient civilizations of the Middle East, priestesses trained in the sacred arts and partook in the holiest of rituals. They were seen as benevolent, and wise women who helped deliver babies, and saw to people’s health.

What’s interesting about them is that they are so clearly understood to be positive figures in their society. No king could be without their counsel, no army could recover from a defeat without their ritual activity, no baby could be born without their presence. (x)

The fear of witches stems from the deep-seated misogyny born from male-centric and monotheistic religions such as Christianity and Judaism. The panic spread to Europe and spiked to a level of hysteria with the outbreaks of plagues. (x) Witch-hunts, especially in Central Europe, resulted in the trial, torture, and execution of tens of thousands of victims. About three-quarters of whom were women. (x)

Witch-hunts still claim thousands of lives every year, especially in developing countries that have an inadequate education system. (x) I recommend watching this documentary if you’re interested in learning about a Tanzanian witch-hunt that happened in 2017.

Keeping this gruesom history in mind, I think there would be hidden communities of witches and warlocks in the Twiverse. I’m not here to dictate what sort of magic they would use - I’ll leave the world building up to the writers!

Here are just a couple of examples of witchcraft:

· Shamanism is a practice that involves a practitioner reaching altered states of consciousness to perceive and interact with a spirit world and channel these transcendental energies into this world. (x)(x)

· Druidism is a spiritual or religious movement that generally promotes harmony, connection, and reverence for the natural world. (x) You can learn more about modern Druidry here: (x)

· Wicca is contemporary witchcraft and is one of the fastest-growing religions in the Western world today. (x) Wicca spirituality is earth-based enlightenment. Note that not all Witches are Wiccans. (x) I’m not a practitioner myself, but I quite like the idea of being more in tune with yourself and nature. You can take a test here if you’re curious to see whether Wicca would work for you.

In Iceland, we had what we called Völva (seiðkonur or seiðkarl, depending on the gender) who were seers. Most of their practices were based on herbalism and the use of runes.

For those of you who are curious about Norse Mythology which hasn’t been altered by the likes of Marvel and Hollywood, I recommend reading Völuspá, which literally translates to Prophecy of Völva. It’s the fundamental source for the study of Norse Mythology because it tells the story of the creation of the world to Ragnarök (end of the world). You’ll also have the chance to learn some freaky shit about Loki - like that time he gave birth to a eight-legged horse - and see that he wasn’t really that much of a dick compared to the other gods *cough* Óðinn *cough* - also Þór once gatecrashed a wedding by dressing up as the bride.

Mermaids

· Mermaids are sometimes associated with perilous events such as floods, storms, shipwrecks, and drownings. In other folk traditions, they can be benevolent or beneficent, bestowing boons or falling in love with humans.

The Little Mermaid (the H.C Andersen version) happened in the Twiverse and that is a fact!

· Sirens! (You thought I could go through an entire post without mentioning Greek Mythology??? Think again!) They were beautiful but dangerous creatures that lured the sailors with their beautiful voices to their doom, causing the ships to crash on the reefs near their island.(x) This connection to the sea is why many confuse them with mermaids when instead they were believed to be a combination of women and birds.(x)

I can totally see them chilling on Greek islands singing their songs and luring horny sailors to their demise.

Miscellaneous

· Huldufólk (hidden people) played a crucial part in Icelandic folklore. They were the spirits of the land and shouldn’t be confused with fairies. Huldufólk wore normal Icelandic clothing and used the power of words to cast spells on people - either blessing or a curse, depending on how they judge the person’s behavior. They lived inside the stones. To prevent any naughty behavior, it’s said that Huldufólk would kidnap infants and replace them with wizened old elves that pretended to be normal children. They would behave like wild brats, kicking and screaming, and nothing but a good beating could bring back the human child.

These oral tales were used to prevent many children from wandering away from human habitations and instilled fear and respect for the harsh powers of nature. (x)(x)

Contrary to popular belief, Icelanders don’t actually believe in the existence of elves, or anything tbh, we just like to mess with foreigners. So if you’re a tourist then “YES, I am a believer in elves. HoW DarE yOU qUeSTioN my FAith! You dare sit on our precious boulders? Tainting the sacred houses of our elves by touching them with your filthy behind!”

· Tröllskessur (mountain trolls) are usually female, hence skessur. Trolls turn into stone if the sunlight hits them and their tales were used to explain the natural phenomena in Icelandic nature, f.ex. a stone caught between two pillars or the outlines of a face on the side of mountains. (x)

Tröllskessur are extinct in my headcanon but I just think it’s nifty if these stories were true in the Twiverse.

· DRAGONS!

Don’t fight me on this!! I have no idea how they would be kept hidden in the Twiverse but they’re out there!

· Spirits (as in the soul) and Yōkai

I’ve watched Spirited Away too many times to leave them out of the Twiverse. They’re probably out there chilling somewhere in a Supernatural Spa Resort…

This was a fun question to answer, anon! Thank you for sticking with me to the end of this post! The sleep deprivation got to me in the end… ಥ∀ಥ

#THIS TOOK ME WEEKS I AM SO SORRY!#anon #ask #the twilight saga #my headcanon #mythology #my answer

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zippdementia · 7 years ago

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Part 32 Alignment May Vary: The Beginning of the End

This is the post that will take us to the very final moment of the campaign of Tomb of Haggemoth. A year ago, I found this campaign by reading a number of forums online, looking for something adventurous and seaworthy to fill some time while I prepped Red Hand of Doom. I was originally looking for a simple set of one shot adventures with time gaps between them, but once I read the final room description in Haggemoth, I was hooked, and thus began a nearly year long side quest which has taken my players, moment by moment, up through the levels. Because we are nearly at the end and I want to catch up with them, I’m going to gloss some of the final level of this dungeon. The big events come at the end, and that’s where my focus will be.

To start us off, we found the dirge Tyrion sang for Samuel and Biggs, the fallen comrades of Twyin and Xaviee:

Homeward Bound:

A Dirge to Fallen Soldiers Bright shines the sun over the morning crest, A scattering of rays glistening as sparks in the valley below. The soldier’s arms capture the light, imbuing them with the power of the stars. Humble mortals, handed the keys of greatness.

The road home, the road home! Always out of sight around the corner. The singular soldier wanders a quiet path Which always leads home. Whether above the ground, or below.

We call their names, Biggs! Samuel! Their presence the eager tear through the dark. With them, we feel keenly their passing. Without them, we’d feel nothing at all. The soldier’s life holding true to burden.

For no soldier stands alone. Each is a brother, in a line of brothers For whom the plight of a one is a plight of all. A wolf pack! A pride of lions! An army of ants! One should fear the gathering of these men against them.

We bid farewell this day to two brothers in arms. Without you, we must carry on. Our homes aboveground lie, Our battles not yet ended. But Samuel and Biggs have found their home, here. And take thy rest.

Long ago, Haggemoth the dwarf mastered the arts of his ancestors, perfecting and in fact improving on many of their designs for armor, weapons, musical instruments, and artifacts. Then, still thirsty to learn and create, he began studying magic. His brethren discouraged him in this pursuit but Haggemoth’s curiosity soon turned to infatuation as his quick mind picked up the intricacies of first one school of magic and then another. When he began studying the school of necromancy, his tribe had had enough. Banished from his homeland, Haggemoth wandered the world, continuing his studies. He never had trouble making money, for he still knew the secret arts of his people and could make powerful magical weapons, which he sold to the highest bidder, following wars around the world like a wolf chasing sheep. His beard had been shorn off as part of his banishment and he determined never to regrow it, wearing his bald face as a sign of pride. Eventually, as grew his power so too did his reputation. He did great things, and terrible things, in his pursuit of power. He befriended great wizards, too, and his closest ally became the elf Udo the Grey, who sought to control the weather of the world.

After many great adventures, Haggemoth began to grow old and in his old age his heart began to yearn for the one thing his power could not grant him: a return to his home and acceptance by his people and gods. Determined to make amends, Haggemoth began a long and difficult process of cleansing his soul. It would take a lot: a lifetime of sins against his gods had brought him much of his knowledge, and a simple attonement spell would not save him. And so Haggemoth took on his greatest challenge: the challenge of erasing sin.

Removing himself from the world was his first act in the process. He needed time to think and to plan and furthermore he wanted to isolate himself from having any further impact on the world. Rori Rama was the perfect location, a vile jungle island at the edge of civilization. Using powerful magics, Haggemoth raised a reef in front of the island to serve as his “wall,” eventually people would come to live here (these would become the ancestors of the natives which took in Rayden after his doomed journey came to an end) but no one ever came to live on the island except for Haggemoth.

The island was isolated, but more importantly it was geothermically active. The whole island was an old volcano and Haggemoth built directly over its source, harnessing its power to build his fortress, his tomb, his sanctum, and his sin-erasing contraption. The inner sanctum was his only home during these long years. He only had a single visitor, and that was Udo the Grey, who came once at Haggemoth’s behest, to take from him a silver key and use it to lock Haggemoth forever inside the sanctum. Udo the Grey would be the last humanoid to ever see Haggemoth alive.

Still, Haggemoth did not live in discomfort. His sanctum was equipped with a magical kitchen so that food would never run out. His rooms were spacious and the furniture had been enchanted to be his servants, brooms and dustpans cleaning up after him, chairs rearranging themselves to his liking, and tables setting themselves for his repasts. Above all other treasures, Haggemoth valued knowledge and his library was filled with histories and philosophies, tales of ancient heroism and future musings. He captured the power of the volcano to light his lamps, an early form of electricity, and to heat his baths. A veritable zoo was kept in his lower dungeons, the creatures there all in some way essential to his work: an otyugh dispensed of his waste, and a cockatrice provided rare alchemical and magical supplements. A grey ooze, carefully contained, put off a chemical that was particularly useful for making magical weapons and armor. One creature roamed the sanctum more freely: a clever phasm named Lhouee whom he mostly kept trapped to talk to and keep him company.

There were also darker things down there. Haggemoth had long ago achieved the highest level of power that could be gained through study, and so he had then turned to more infernal means of acquiring it. A Herzuo demon lay trapped in his sanctum, bound so that it could never claim the soul that was promised it in exchange for its power. There it sat, roaring all through the days and nights until Haggemoth moved it outside of his sanctum into a hidden hall and cast a spell of silence over it, then locked it away, forever.... or so he thought.

With the demon bound and locked away, Haggemoth continued his work. Some of it was yet done for pleasure, works of carving and mosaics and painting, but most of his efforts were put to use at his grandiose forge, creating the things that he hoped would set his soul free. And there was the treasure, too. A lifetime’s worth of it, the accumulation of Haggemoth’s wealth both ill-gotten and good, that Haggemoth intended to put to a final use. Worth well over a million gold pieces, it was, enough treasure to buy a kingdom (or break one), to establish a line of heirs going far far into the future, enough to outlast even the most voracious spender. Or possibly, just enough to save a soul.

Day after day Haggemoth worked, forging first a set of massive scales, then gears, then a huge chain which he put runes on to make it susceptible to lightning. He ripped his soul from his body, setting it into a phylactery, and this became the very focus of the object he was building. Last he made a forge hammer, imbued by days of ritual casting with the power to activate his machine. And then the day came when it was done and he prepared to free his soul, once and for all.

But on this day, misfortune struck. There are beings known as the Inevitables, constructs built by the gods to have divine insight and truly neutral perspective, to be able to properly judge the world. Three of them, there are, and they represent the realities that all men must face. The Inevitability of Fate, that all must face the consequences of their actions. The Inevitability of Justice, that upholds divine contracts and the general laws of nature that govern the world. And the Inevitability of death, which all men must face. When a person attains such power that they are able to break these inevitable truths, these constructs activate and seek to right the wrong done.

In this case, Haggemoth’s demon was his undoing. For in breaching this infernal contract, Haggemoth attracted the attention of The Inevitable of Justice, who descended upon his sanctum via magical teleportation and sought to forced Haggemoth to free the demon that Haggemoth had imprisoned. A great battle was waged in the sanctum, then, as the Inevitable chased Haggemoth through his lair, each of them casting powerful magics upon the other. The battle destroyed the main halls and released the monsters from the dungeons. Haggemoth moved defensively, working his way back towards his final creation. He summoned Earth elementals to cover his escape, but the Inevitable nimbly darted around them. Haggemoth used a golem to attack the Inevitable, but the Inevitable had the upper hand, even when weakened. Finally, Haggemoth used a powerful spell to turn the hard rock around the Inevitable to mud and then back again, trapping the celestial inside a prison of stone.

The Inevitable let loose one final spell as it was trappeed and the cavern they fought in shook with the force of its command. Stalactites freed themselves from the ceiling and fell to crush Haggemoth underneath. Pinned, with his left side crushed and trapped. Exhausted and already gravely injured, Haggemoth could not survive the blow. He made one attempt to command his golem to help him before expiring. The golem made it to him but with its master dead, it simply knelt by his side and waited, still executing his last clear command: Expell the Intruder.

Meanwhile, the sanctum slowly filled with the creatures Haggemoth had kept for his work. Trapped here, they fought over what territory was available to them. The Cockatrice settled in the bedroom, turning Haggemoth gorgeous bed into their nest. The ooze ate the creatures too stupid to avoid it and then settled into a hibernative state. Rust Monsters ate much of Haggemoth’s forge and stash of metals, growing large and bold in the process. They dug tunnels that lead all through the sanctum, though none find their way up to the surface. A strange intelligent mold grew rampantly in its keeper’s absence, consuming the old monster cages and killing anything that dared return there. The Otyugh fought a grand battle for the magical kitchens and eventually set itself by the enchanted pantry, screaming every moment for food to fill its insatiable hunger. Eventually it grew to such bulk that it could no longer move. Filling one corner of the massive kitchen, it lived in its own excrement and filth and eventually the magic of the place became corrupted, spewing forth only maggot infested or rotted food. Lhouee the Phasm was worst off: more intelligent and self aware than the others, it recognized its predicament for what it was—an eternity trapped in a dungeon. For a while it amused itself by transforming into furniture to mock and mimic the enchanted furniture that still sought to tend to Haggemoth’s lair. When it grew tired of stomping around as a comfy armchair, It tore through Haggemoth’s books, seeking some spell or power that could free it. But his greatest books had been given to his device, and Lhouee could not reach that, as it was still guarded by the earth elementals and the golem. So it despaired, and slowly grew strange and gloomy in its solitude.

The demon, meanwhile, still raged against his prison, his screams falling silent against the spell that held him still. His contract was not completed. The Inevitable had failed. Haggemoth was dead, but his soul did not pass on, trapped as it was in the phylactery he had set in his grand device.

And there his soul waits, still, for a group of adventurers to find it and pass final judgement.

Critical Success

This large vaulted chamber is ringed with braziers that flicker with the glow of unearthly fire. At the north end is an imposing set of massive Stone doors, reinforced with Iron and covered with runes. A complex locking mechanism holds them closed.

The adventurers use the silver key they got from DenDen (Rayden), which originally was given to Udo the Grey. It unlocks the great double doors and they enter Haggemoth’s sanctum, the end destination of the journey they began months ago. Each comes with their own story, a story that has developed over the course of our adventures together.

Abenthy, Aasimir born and once a great innocent, has switched alleigance from Lawful Good to Lawful Evil, believing himself to be the ultimate arbiter of justice, in service to his father, the fallen Angel I’afret. His once pure white wings have broken and rotted, becoming skeltal husks... though, ironically, the rest of the party has yet to see this, due to a comic level of irony. They have all been knocked out each time Abenthy has triggered his new true form, and thus are mostly unaware of their friend’s changed nature. It is worth noting that Abenthy is not a common lawful evil villain. His transformation began with self doubt at the beginning of this adventure. He put up his sword many a time rather than strike down a foe, for fear of straying from the narrow path he walked. But much death has occured on this adventure. He has lost allies, seen innocents harmed, and seen how villains will go unpunished. In this, he found the strength to strike without question—little thinking that perhaps the questining was his true strength and not his weakness.

Karina began this quest seeking answers. Instead, she has found only pain and more questions. Rayden’s mind is lost to her, forcing her to think on what her destiny might be, if not revenge. She has become hardened over the course of the adventure. Indeed, she is the only survivor from its start, back on the prison ship. Her original team was murdered by the Demon Pirate on the Moonsea and she carries the burden of survivor’s guilt. Whereas Abenthy has questioned less and less, more and more she finds her thoughts plagued with uncertainty. Was this worth it? Should she turn around? Will others be hurt because of her actions? Beginning as a Chaotic Neutral character, she has begun the slow but sure road towards Good. She is also becoming a legend: the legend of the Seeker of Callax, whose right eye shines brightly with the jewel given to her by the giant of Friezorazov. Each scar on her body tells a story that she knows the telling of, but not the ending of.

Tyrion’s change has been drastic. Once a well spoken dandy, he has morphed into a foul mouthed cantankerous lech, hungry for power, abandoned by his college, convinced by what he has survived with this party that he is destined for greatness beyond what others can offer him. The demon that he has taken inside of him fuels this desire and feeds in him an inner rage and disappointment that questing has not been as romantic or as heroic as the songs say it is. Determined to shape the world the way he shapes music, Tyrion has lost his originally Chaotic Good alignment and shifted into Chaotic Neutral, not caring for the world around him or the cosmic battle for good and evil as much as for how to best gain power. Ironically, this is the very path Haggemoth walked, perhaps why the demon that Tyrion inherited from Haggemoth has found him such an appropriate vessel (and letting him multi-class as a bardic warlock). The demon will continue to push for him to fall into evil, though Haggemoth’s Sanctum may contain the very thing Tyrion needs to cleanse his soul and remind him of the purity of music that first set him on his quest.

Xaviee, too, walks with them, a man who went from soldeir to shipwrecked to found. Xaviee has been through a hellish trial: everything he thought he had lost forever was given to him again, then snatched away, this time with a note of finality. Tywin is dead. Samuel and Biggs are dead. All that remains to him now is to survive, to serve, and to one day cross again the Dragonfang mountains to return to the land of his birth and reclaim in the name of those who are slain the old fortress of Vraath Keep, where his life first took a tragic turn.

As these companions make their way through the sanctum they encounter many of the creatures Haggemoth kept here. Lhouee escapes in the guise of a armchair, goofily making his way past the bemused players who, not understanding his true nature, let him go without much fuss. He escapes to the surface world, perhaps to be seen again in another story. The cockatrice they leave well alone, but the Otyugh they engage in combat, Tyrion actually leaping inside of it and cutting it open from the inside, pushed on by the power (and insanity) of the cursed Battleaxe of the Brave. They restore the ktichen to somewhat working order, using Purify Food and Drink to restore the magic to the pantry, and take the magical lid to the pantry with them for possible use in the outside world. There is even some emotional growth for the party, as during a long rest in Haggemoth’s library in which they are interupted and nearly killed by the Grey Ooze, Karina grows closer to Abenthy, huddling next to him for warmth and comfort as Tyrion snores away and Xaviee stoically watches the entrance to the library.

But there are dangers, here, too, and the longer they spend in the sanctum, the weaker the party grows. They quickly discover that the weapons and armor they took from upstairs is fake and are thus left a little more defenseless and a little less powerful. The cursed weapons Karina and Tyrion weild are strong but Karina has a tendency to roll either critical failures or successes and each one now leaves her blinded by bloody tears. Tyrion, too, though made very strong by the Battleaxe, now rushes into combat headfirst and often goes down quickly. His health is detiorating rapidly as well due to a mysterious unidentified illness, his hit points dropping permenantly after long rests and leaving him with a bloody cough that worries them all. The rust monsters decimate their armor even further before being pushed away in an action-heavy battle which includes this wonderful scene:

“Tyrion!” Abenthy shouted. “There are more coming from your left!”

Tyrion spun at Abenthy’s words, spinning the battleaxe with his momentum, grunting as the blade cut through the legs of the Rust Monster leaping at him. The flea-like monster was mid leap as its legs were cut from under it and its final jump carried it over Tyrion’s head and into one of its fellows attacking him from the other side. They were everywhere, and he couldn’t now remember why it had felt like a good idea to rush into their midst alone. Yet he was oddly glad to be here, with the smell of blood and battle around him. Now if only they would stop chewing on his damn armor.

Behind him, Abenthy raised a fist skyward and the black gauntlet around the Assimir’s wrist began to glow red. With a roar, Abenthy spun and punched the Rust Monster closing in from behind him square in the face. The beast went flying backwards.

Karina, meanwhile, was behind the rest of them, still making her way onto the battlefield. She was just now squeezing through a gap between the two rooms, pushing past a narrow space left by a hole in the wall.

“Are you all still alive in there?” she called out. Her answer was a squeal of pain as the Rust Monster that Abenthy had punched flew into the wall in front of her, then comically slid to the ground on its back, legs pumping furiously in the air.

“Nevermind,” she shouted again, drawing her rapier and burying it deep in the monster’s exposed belly.

The biggest disaster comes in the battle with Haggemoth’s modified Earth Elementals. Two guard the chamber leading to where Haggemoth met his end and they nearly TPK the party, rolling exceptionally well and smashing through the players’ weakened defenses. With their ability to move through the stone walls and pillars of the chamber they quickly gain a tactical advantage and surround the party. In the end, it becomes a game of Karina healing Tyrion, getting knocked unconscious, and then Tyrion healing her before being knocked unconscious, with this keeping one of the elementals occupied long enough for Abenthy to reveal his true form and take out the other. Abenthy himself goes down before Tyrion and Karina can come aid him (again missing his true form because of him falling unconscious). It’s a constant game of attrition and one they only barely win. It chews up their resources and leaves all of us feeling uneasy about the Golem that still awaits them. They find out about the Golem by sending Moonglum alone into the next room, where he promptly fails a dodge roll and is crushed to death in the Golem’s massive fists.

Inevitability

I go into the Golem fight a little concerned. The Golem is a CR 10 and nothing to scoff at. It rolls a +10 to attack and hits for an average of about 25 damage a strike. It’s immune to many attacks, resistant to magic, and has an incredibly powerful ability to slow the party, drastically reducing their effectiveness. In addition, Tyrion is bound by his curse to charge it, Karina’s arrows will have little effect, and everyone is badly armored and fairly hurt (though they take a long rest after the elemental fight). I never know what will happen in Dungeons and Dragons but I know that there is a possibility for a TPK here and it would be a shame so close to the end. I have a plan in mind in case the party dies in the Sanctum to keep us in the story for a while, and I think tonite will be the night to use it.

Except I end up not needing to. Not only do I roll abysmally, but Karina comes into this fight on fire (not literally). She uses Chill Touch, which bypasses magical resistance, and ends up with a nat 20 on her first roll. As her magical skeletal hands tear at the Golem’s eyes for somewhere close to 40 damage, her curse kicks in and she started to cry tears of blood, blinding her for a couple rounds... ironcially, just as Abenthy lets loose with his skeletal wings. Yup, as fate would have it, Karina yet again missed his transformation. Tyrion sees it: but Tyrion is deep in battle rage at this point and barely takes notice. He and Abenthy move in close. The Golem opportunity attacks as they come and... totally misses, despite only needing to roll an 11 to hit either of them. It tries its Slow spell next and both of them roll 18s for their saves. Karina is stumbling around blindly but decides to take another pot shot despite her disadvantage and... rolls a nat 20. Using inspiration dice to get rid of the disadvantage the attack counts as another hit and, yup, she’s blinded some more. Abenthy and Tyrion start beating on the Golem and for a while they trade blows. But the Golem is much stronger and when Abenthy and Tyrion miss four attacks in a row, I mentally declare the battle over. The Golem fells Tyrion with a single blow and turns to finish off Abenthy.

Only Karina’s blindness has worn off by now and she rushes in behind to take advantage of sneak attack and flanking and pulls her cursed scimitar free to do battle. And Nat 20s again. With sneak attack.

The battle doesn’t last much longer than this. The Golem tries to once again rally and use its slow ability to buy it some reprieve, but the lowest save roll comes back 17 and so again this plan is thwarted. It retreats, to try and put some distance between it and the fight and Karina uses Chill Touch on it as it goes...

... and once again Nat 20s. Two skeletal hands emerge from thin air, wrap themselves around the Golem’s head, and crush it with one decisive movement, into a fine dust.

The extreme variable is one of the selling points of the D20 system for me. It doesn’t work as well for gritty realistic games, like Shadowrun or Fallout, but for a fantasy setting it gives those nice heroic moments or massive party killing disasters that the things of legends are made of. I know my players will remember this fight and Karina’s crazy rolls during it.

Speaking of legends, a while ago I gave my players a crystal orb that can show them the past and all throughout the dungeon they have been using it to keep track of the decades old battle between Haggemoth and The Inevitable. They have seen the Inevitable, a tall mechanical figure weilding a large blade and wearing a dramatic cloak, but they have not been able to recognize it for what it is. Only Abenthy has come close and then only because he grew up in a monastery, where stories of such things are common. Even so, he doesn’t realize what is trapped in the huge boulder in this room, the one that keeps shaking and moving as if it has a will of its own.

Exploration of the rest of the area reveals that Haggemoth was working on something big. The party finds giant molds for making humongous gears. They find large chains inscribed with reactive runes, causing them to explode and disintegrate upon contact with lightning. In Haggemoth’s skeletal hands they find a magical forge hammer, imbued with the power of lightning.

While Karina and Tyrion are focused on the mystery of what Haggemoth was building, Abenthy turns his attentions back to the boulder. Using his extra-ordinary senses, he perceives that a Celestial is trapped inside the rock and suddenly he puts two and two together. Not telling the rest of the group what is going on, he approaches the rock and uses his helmet of telepathy to reach inside and find the mind of the Inevtiable.

The voice that booms inside his head is beautiful and terrible at the same time. It prods at his memories, touches his fears, digs deep into his concsciousness to pull free thoughts Abenthy didn’t know were his own. And then it addresses him...

“I was sent to bring Haggemoth to justice for his crimes,” the Inevitable tells him, his voice booming inside his mind. “Release me, so that I may finish my task.”

“What has Haggemoth done that has decided his judgement?” Abenthy sent back. “I also am a follower of justice. Perhaps I would understand.”

The feeling that struck him gave Abenthy the impression of mockery, that he was being derrisively laughed at. “You? You do not understand, cannot understand. You were not built for such understanding. You think you can deliver justice? You are wrong.”

“I deliver justice,” Abenthy protested. “I have many times, in the name of my father, I’afret.”

The voice inside his head hissed like an angry cat. “You follow false gods and mete out flawed judgement. You cannot see the way I do. You think you are above the pettiness of mortals?” Images flashed suddenly inside Abenthy’s mind. He saw himself murdering pirates, sending their souls to his father. He saw himself taking patches of skin off the pirates and wearing them as badges of honor and of fear. He saw himself keeping Tywin’s blood soaked rags. He saw himself sending Targaryen to his father. He saw Verrick die as he fell from the bridge, and heard Karina’s scream of dismay again, and smiled because now he could claim her for his own.

The images slowed suddenly, and the voice returned, full of confidence and judgement. “I can see all that you have done. Even you doubt yourself. So how can you judge another? Release me, so that I may do justice.”

“No,” Abenthy responsed, his mind filled with cold clarity and a deep sense of purpose. “You are the old way. I am the new. You are obsolete. I am the new arbiter of justice. I will leave you here, old creature, and I will take your role as the new Inevitable. The world does not need your justice anymore.”

And then he cut the connection and turned, leaving without a backward glance or a word of explanation to the others, who had only seen him with a hand on the boulder, the boulder which now shook violently as if it would tear itself apart. But it did not, and Abenthy did not stop, and the world continued to turn.

On a Grand Scale

Past the golem’s cavern there is a cave lit by a red glow. The players step into it and finally I get to read the words I’ve been waiting a year to read, that first intrigued me about this adventure:

A 10�� wide stone bridge arcs into this enormous subterranean space. A mighty river of lava roils violently through the cavern 60’ below, and the roof can only dimly be seen 60’ above. Situated in the middle of this river is a significant hunk of dark, glassy stone, and upon the stone is what appears a colossal set of balance scales. The scales are a complex mass of huge gears and pulleys, but instead of rope they are threaded with sturdy metal chain, and the entire device is covered in faintly glowing runes and magical symbols. From either side of the massive apparatus, the chains support circular platforms of iron-braced marble, each 20 feet in diameter. The entire artifact is ornamented with appointments of silver, gold, and adamant, and sitting on the balances are huge piles of treasure: weapons, magical artifcts, great tomes and books, jewlery, chests of coins and gems. Too much to count, the worth must well exceed a million gold pieces.

The stone bridge extends over the lava towards the center of the scales, where a mighty anvil appears to have been built into the device. A crystal set into the top of it glows brightly, and branching out from the anvil’s sconce are bridges allowing access to the two hanging marble platforms.

This is, of course, what Haggemoth was building—a grand set of scales to balance his soul (currently resting in the phylactery in the anvil) and erase his signs. The entire device is inscribed with powerful magic, making it in essence a massive attonement spell. The treasure is the key to the spell: each side balances the other, one with magic and knowledge the other with forge items and cunning of the hands (though it also includes magical weapons). The scales need to be in balance to work—if at any point one side exceeds the other by 40lbs, the scales begin to tip. Tipped too far, the scales will rip themselves apart.

To activate the magic of the scales, the anvil must be struck with lightning magic (like the forge hammer Abenthy claimed from Haggemoth’s corspe). If in balance when this happens... well, that’s for my players to find out.

The treasure here is truly tremendous. All of the weapons are ungodly strong, the spell books go up to level nine with rare and powerful magics, and probably the pinacle gamebreaking item is the Staff of Power tucked into the magic scale—a +2 to everything (including AC) weapon that can expend charges to do massive spell damage—which in Tyrion’s warlockian hands would wreak havoc on enemies. It’s amost too much to actually put into the game, but hey they’ve earned it. Now they just have to go get it.

Of course, there is more than just treasure here. Haggemoth’s soul hangs in the balance, too, and that in itself is a prize (albeit more of a roleplaying one) to certain members of the party...

The group knows none of this, of course. They see the scales and the treasure and are smart enough to piece together the purpose of the device, but only experimentation will tell them how it works. Karina begins using mage hand to lift items off of the scales. She gets one of the powerful spell books, a book of histories, and a jeweled harp for Tyrion (who begins to cry at the sweet heartwrenching sound it makes) before the scales tip out of balance... and also we remember that mage hand cannot lift more than a few pounds and Karina suddenly cannot cast the spell anymore today. Oops.

By now, Tyrion is walking towards the balances, a hungry look in his eyes. He halts himself just before reaching the one holding the magical items and shakes his head as if to clear it. Something inside him was yelling for him to rip, to tear, to destroy. He pulls back, suddenly disconcerted. But the hunger inside him does not go away: it shifts. He begins to think of the phylactery. If these items are the work of the soul entrapped there, then how powerful might the soul itself be?

Karina was watching him, her sweat cold despite the heat of the chamber. “Do not move any further!” she warned, gesturing towards the balances. “They have fallen out of balance. I don’t know how much more they can take. We have to balance the other side.” She looked at the balance and the thin bridge that led to it, and the 60′ fall into the lava below. Crossing would take concentration and willpower. But without her mage hand, what choice did she have?

So focused was she on the task of moving forward that she did not see Abenthy behind, standing by the anvil and staring down at the crystal phylactery, its blue light casting eerie shapes and shadows over his face. She did hear him, though, as he placed a hand on the crystal and spoke a name: I’afret. The name of his father.

A chill went through her and she turned, the plea on her lips, but Abenthy had already raised the forgehammer and, with the scales yet unbalanced, he brought it down on the anvil.

What happens next we will discover next post.

#dungeons and dragons #Role Playing #playthrough #journey log #Tomb of Haggemoth #DND 5e #Campaign Journal #Fantasy #Story

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shooter-nobunagun · 7 years ago

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Unseen Village: Yahar’gul [Bloodborne AU]

//At last we explore the “forgotten village” proper, Yahar’gul. Spoilers abound for the latter half of the game, especially after the events of the blood moon!

Note: I ended up writing waaay too much (was wondering why this chapter never seemed to be any closer to being done) so I split it. I gotta pace myself better...

“This place...what happened?!” Once again they stood before the bloody moon, only this time the sky seemed to have changed with it as well. Gone were the murky clouds and dim sky, now replaced with a garish streaks of purple and yellow and the color of fire. Sio hadn’t seen much of the actual village during her first trip here, but it seemed like perhaps it was for the better. “The moon...it’s so large now!”

“And that color...I don’t like it.” Hunter shook his head. “This must be the blood moon that Rom an’ everyone else is talkin’ about...though I’m more worried about those things.”

“What things—oh...” Her gaze turned upwards and suddenly it came into view, sitting like a monstrous human spider, its body an alien blue-grey and a head that appeared more like a rock. It sat there, hanging off the spire with its too-long limbs and many-fingered hands, the numerous eyes constantly opening and closing in rapid succession. Sio felt her frenzy growing rapidly as she continued staring at the terrible creature. It wasn’t until she nearly burst did she finally tear her gaze away, panting and gasping as her frenzy slowly dissipated.

“Oy, Sio...you all right?” Adam’s worried gaze peered at her, but she simply nodded, leaning against him for a few seconds to regain her senses. “Careful; those Amygdalas are everywhere now, it seems...”

“A-Amygdalas...that’s what they’re called...” Groaning, she rubbed her temples, trying to will the headache away. Was this another symptom of her blood sickness? Sio felt a sudden sense that there was something she should be trying to figure out, in this strange world of blood moons and unnatural skies and filled with creatures beyond her imagination. But for some reason the more she tried, the less she seemed to understand.

“Sio...will you be all right? If you’re not feeling well, you should head back to the dream and get some rest.” She and Adam were trailing a bit behind the group, partly for safety (so a large-scale attack wouldn’t wipe them all out at once) and also because she sensed that Adam was trying to keep her away from those who might use her condition against her. “There’s nothing to be gained by pushing yourself too far.”

“N-No...no please, I’ll be fine. Trust me,” she searched his eyes, and he could only sigh and nod. “I’ll be all right...after all, I have you and Hunter to help me out.” A pause, before he gently placed a hand on her shoulder as if he was about to say something but instead he just rubbed the junction slightly, before nodding wordlessly.

The Amygdalas. Where did they come from in the first place? From what she’d heard the others talk about, there were suspicions that they’d been there all along, but for some unexplained reason, weren’t visible until now. Vidocq was insistent that the blood moon had something to do with it, but Sio felt there had to be something else, either triggered by the blood moon or maybe it was what she’d heard from Rom...

‘When the blood moon rises, the line between man and beast will become blurred...’

She shuddered slightly and tried not to think too hard about what those words specifically meant. There was no doubt what the end result of her blood sickness would entail: victims became the very beasts they hunted, stripped of all reasoning and humanity and replaced with a lust for blood and mindless killing. Already she could feel the primal urges increasing, especially when they fought; at times the frenzy was so strong it was all she could do to focus it on their enemies, rather than her fellow hunters. Swallowing thickly, she tried her best to catch up with the rest of the group, as they approached what appeared to be a deserted plaza.

“Careful...remember what we encountered las’ time, those blasted chime maidens—”

“Sshh, you’ll give our position away!” Geronimo gave a severe frown at the surgeon, who only returned it with equal fervor. “I think I see her; against that stone wall? Trying to blend in, eh? Cheap tricks like that don’t work on me...” Without another word, the crow hunter dashed forward with her axe raised, but before the killing strike could be dealt—

SSCCHHWWWWWIIINNGGG—

An intense beam of blue light, similar to the one they’d encountered in Byrgenwerth and against Rom sliced the ground in half, a trail of flame scorching the rock as everyone dodged haphazardly to the sides and alcoves.

“God damn it, what the hell was that—”

“—It came from the Amygdala—but why would it attack us now?”

“Nevermind that, get that chime maiden before she summons anyone!” Adam barked at the other hunters to get back on their feet, but it was too late; already a hulking troll and several hunting dogs were materializing, followed by a crowd of insane villagers, all of whom were more than ready to tear them to pieces. “Blast it all to hell! As if we don’t have enough to deal with...!”

Whining was for losers however, and as soon as he could get a clear path Adam dashed towards the ghostly maiden and sank his stake into her body. Now there was just the matter of getting rid of her minions...and that alien creature. Adam cast a wary glance upwards, trying to fight off the brick troll while watching for the next time it decided to fire that magic beam. “Umph—” His side exploded in pain as the troll swung a particularly brutal left hook as he barely sidestepped the fire, sending him face-first into the stone ground. “Fuck...”

“Adam!” He heard the sound of her gun before she came into view, the spear ripping into the troll’s body as she pulled off another spectacular visceral attack, tearing out its guts with a gleeful smile... Wincing, Adam blinked a few times, trying to convince himself that the girl hadn’t actually grinned like she enjoyed killing and bloodshed; it was probably just the angle that he saw her at, and the light...had to have been, after all Sio was just an ordinary girl caught up in something so much larger than all of them combined...

“Adam! Adam, are you all right?” The face that appeared now was frightened and worried, but determined. “Hold still, you might’ve broken a rib or something—”

“—Let’s get out of the open, first—that Amygdala, it seems to be firing whenever it sees anyone,” he grunted, limping around to a half-ruined gateway with Sio’s help. “Thanks for that, back there; shouldn’t have gotten sloppy like that...” he coughed up a few bloody strands of saliva, Sio carefully checking his torso for any broken bones as she gingerly touched each rib. “Ughn—”

“Sorry! But, it’s here...” Taking a small knife from her pouch, she quickly sliced away at the fabric, revealing a mass of bruised and bloodied flesh. “O-Oh...that looks pretty bad...”

“Tell me about it...sure as hell feels broken,” Adam hissed through his teeth as Sio cleaned it the best she could with some alcohol, before attempting to bandage it without hurting him any further. “Where’s Hunter?”

“Uh, last I saw he and that Tell guy were trying to get rid of the last of those dogs, down the steps...” Sio glanced around nervously, peeking at the Amygdala that was still curled around the rooftops. “Do you want me to go get him?”

Adam shook his head. “No, there’s no sense in running out there and putting yourself in danger just for one person; we’ll regroup with everyone after the battle. ‘Sides, you’ve gotten pretty good at this,” he ran a hand over the bandages, nodding in satisfaction. “This’ll do for now. Can’t be wasting blood vials for every little scrape.” Grunting, he rearmed the Stakedriver, but Sio noticed his movements were more hesitant.

“But...Adam...” Despite her worries, she knew he was right; it would be easier if they got rid of the remaining enemies first, and then find a place that would shelter them from the Amygdala’s gaze. Steeling herself, she followed him out from their hiding place, making sure to take the lead in clearing their path and warning him whenever she heard that peculiar sound of magic. ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to defeat that Amygdala...not from here, at least.’ She’d fired off a few bullets just to see if it could be dissuaded, but they only bounced off its skin harmlessly. Besides, every time she merely glanced at the creature she could feel the frenzy boiling up; if they didn’t get out of its sight soon, who knew what other difficulties they’d have to deal with.

It took a few seconds for her to recognize their chosen “hiding” spot, but after the others started commenting on that broken lamp, Sio suddenly realized they were back at the top of the Hypogean Gaol, where she’d first arrived after being knocked unconscious and dragged around in a dirty sack. “Th-this is...” Unconsciously she shuddered, gripping her weapon so tightly it felt like even the spear’s shaft would snap in two.

“Easy there lass, there’s no need t’ fear. We’re all here now, an’ yur much stronger than before, ye?” Hunter gave her a kindly pat on the back, though Sio was only slightly reassured. “Mind ye, doesn’t mean we should let our guard down...”

“No...we need to get ready,” William Tell was sighting his bow off into a dim corner. “We’re not alone...”

Nobody said a word, but all gazes turned to the direction of the bow’s aim. Three figures in the dim light, standing there but Sio knew the second they got their attentions, they would be in for a fight.

“There’s three of them, I’m fairly certain...” Tell lowered his bow and it changed back into a single blade. “Since we’ve a large group as well, it makes sense to split up and face them separately. We’ll have a much better chance of success than tackling them when they’re together.”

“A spear, cane whip, and...what are those, claws of some sort?” Sio was looking through her own monocle at their foes; the first two hunters wielded fairly standard weapons that one could easily find, but the third... “He’s all crouched over...like a beast itself...”

Before she could make more sense of it however, the others were already assembling into three teams. “Ogura, you go with Hunter an’ Tell; you’ll be taking on the whip wielder. Vidocq’ll be with Jess and Mirza against the spearfighter, and I’ll take the last one with Geronimo.” Adam’s tone left no room for discussion, and so she could only nod in agreement, despite the fact that he was about to take on the unknown hunter with only one other person for back-up—and it wasn’t her at that. Though she hated to admit it, she was slightly miffed that he hadn’t asked her to team up with him—but after having been with him all this time, something told her that it wasn’t because of personal reasons. ‘But still, did he have to ask Geronimo of all people? I thought they disliked each other...’

“No need fer the green-eyed monster, lassie. I’m sure Adam’s got his reasons...” Hunter gave her a slight nudge, after she kept turning around and staring at the other two. “‘Sides, Geronimo’s too professional t’ be stickin’ her beak in others’ businesses.”

“I-I—wha—I didn’t say anything!”

“Ye don’t hafta; yer eyes say it all, Miss Ogura,” Hunter teased, but got serious soon after. “Anywho, ye can chew ‘im out after ‘f ye want; but fer now, let’s figure out how the hell we’re gonna deal with this mess.”

“Have either of you had any experience fighting against this type of weapon?” Tell split the bowblade apart, turning the single blade into a formidably-sized bow. “I’d rather keep my distance of course, but if need be, I can do melee-combat...”

“A threaded cane, similar to what Vidocq has; it was contrived as part of the original Workshop, and fairly common among hunters. You can use it as a bladed cane, or split it into the whip for crowd control. ‘Concealing the weapon inside the cane and flogging the beasts with the whip is partly an act of ceremony, an attempt to demonstrate to oneself that the bloodlust of the hunt will never encroach upon the soul,‘ or so they said... We’ll have to time our attacks carefully, it’s probably best to strike when he’s switching between forms.”

Though Tell did not say anything, his eyebrows raised slightly at the girl’s impressive description; not only on the weapon’s detailed background but the strategy to fight against it, as well. “...You are Ogura, correct? And according to the others, this is your first hunt...?”

“A-Ah, yeah...I’m not exactly experienced, so...” Sio rubbed her head sheepishly, suddenly keenly aware of how much younger she seemed compared to everyone else.

“That doesn’t matter; clearly, you are much more knowledgeable than even some of the most veteran hunters.” He gave her another peculiar look, not threatening but curious. “Are you perchance from a family of hunters...?”

“H-Huh? O-Oh no, no no no—I’m just your average girl from a regular old family, I guess...” Well all right that, wasn’t quite true, otherwise she’d still be back in her village and not about to face a deadly enemy in the middle of an abandoned prison. “I...I’m an only child, but I never had much friends...so I just mostly kept myself busy, studying weapons and strategy...a-ah, n, not that I hated it! I actually found it quite fascinating...”

“Hm. Fair enough. Perhaps you will become one of those they speak of in legends...” Tell sighted his bow once more, as the others started heading down to separate their quarry. “Careful; we’ll have to move quick so they don’t try and rejoin each other.”

The spear was now engaged in combat with a Kirkhammer, Vidocq’s whip-like blade cutting through the gloom with a silver gleam while Mirza worked to parry the blows. Their opponent headed towards their corner as well, Sio switching her rifle spear into its trick mode and Hunter separated his blades in two. Tell was off on his perch, firing shots when the opportunity presented itself, but even while dodging the serrated whip and striking back, she noticed that the third hunter, and Adam and Geronimo for that matter, were nowhere to be found.

“Where did those two go? This place is only so big...!”

“Focus on the battle at hand, lassie! Those two can take care of themselves!” Hunter grimaced as he nursed a gash on his cheek. “Knowin’ them, they probably took the fight outside...where there’s more space.”

Although she knew it was logical, and that Geronimo was honorable enough to not try anything, somehow the very fact that those two were out of sight didn’t sit well with her; Sio didn’t recognize this strange burning in her chest, but she knew she didn’t like it. ‘Am I really that jealous...? Even though I trust Adam, and Geronimo wouldn’t...she wouldn’t do anything to him, right?’ Not just those illogical feelings of possessiveness, but the uneasy fear that Geronimo wasn’t someone they could trust completely.

Her anxious feelings translated into an increased frenzy on the field, the bloodlust growing as she lunged straight down at the hostile hunter, effectively splitting his spine in half as she landed on the bloody corpse with a ‘thump’. Neither Hunter nor Tell said anything much aside from the usual acknowledgements, but she could sense that both of them were viewing her with a sort of feared respect. Elsewhere, the other trio had also finished their fight, and was now in the middle of salvaging and weapon repairs.

“...I’m going to go look for Adam and Geronimo; they’re still not back, and it was only the two of them.” Without even waiting for a response, Sio armed her weapons and headed out the entrance, with Hunter and Tell looking silently on. --- “Watch it! He’s transforming...already more beast than man!” Adam dodged the claw’s swipe, countering with a ferocious thrust as the man-beast howled in fury.

“Hmph, that’s not a problem...” Licking her lips, the Crow Hunter neatly blocked the monster claws with the blunt side of her axe, before firing a shot and nearly decapitating the mad hunter. “Muirhead!”

“Don’t even need t’ ask.” With a grin, the Stakedriver plunged into the beast’s chest, Adam ripping out the insides with a visceral attack that was not unlike the one Sio had pulled off earlier.

“Well, we managed to make a pretty good team, Muirhead,” the other woman drawled, pushing aside the remains with the end of her giant axe. “Sure you don’t want to change your mind about changing partners?”

“Hn. Thanks but no thanks; besides, don’t you work alone? Why are you still hangin’ around? The beckoning bell’s effects ended a while ago.” Adam didn’t even bother looking at Geronimo, instead more concerned with studying the mangled, mutated body and those claws. “I wonder...if this weapon accelerates the beasthood process...”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t consider the prospects of teaming up...especially with a strong hunter like yourself, we could do a fair bit of damage...maybe even end this scourge, and prevent more hunters from becoming beasts...” Before he knew it Geronimo had gotten much closer than he liked, those dark eyes narrowed into a enigmatic smile as she brushed the bottom of his chin—

“—Adam! Oh...” He pulled away immediately, but not before he caught sight of the petite huntress’ expression: shock, a slight embarrassment, and...anger? “...Geronimo, Muirhead. We’re uh, all done inside...so...”

“Sure.” Geronimo slipped by cooly, as if nothing had happened at all except for a whisper—

”—she’s an interesting one, isn’t she, Muirhead? Very interesting...”

And then Adam was staring at that cape of black feathers, the Crow Hunter whistling casually as Sio slowly trudged forward.

“Sio...you all right?” The air was thick with some sort of unspoken tension, but Adam had enough sense to know that this was not the time nor place to sort it out...whatever it was. “Everyone else all right?”

“...Yeah...” She was definitely upset; her single-word, callous answers notwithstanding, the girl was deliberately not looking his direction, instead adamantly pulling her hat lower and stalking back to the Hypogean Gaol. Great, just what he needed to deal with in a realm that was already more dangerous than usual: emotions. Not for the first time, he questioned the wisdom of attempting to pursue a relationship with the girl. Even though Hunter had more-or-less given them his blessing, Capa’s warning, and his own inner doubts, continued to sit with him.

Don’t fall for her; she’ll just make you cry, in the end.

The emotional turmoil did not make it any easier as the group trudged through the abandoned town, making their way across an especially precarious tower that was filled with foes both human and inhuman. More Amygdalas seemed to have made their home here, as well, but unlike the one they faced earlier, these seemed content to just leave the group alone. Still, he kept a close eye on the girl, who hadn’t said much since they left the crypt; for some unknown reason, the Amygdalas were making her condition worse, even when they weren’t engaged in combat. Hunter had cast a dark glance back more than once, especially after Sio nearly stumbled for no apparent reason, most of the group just shrugging it off as fatigue but Adam didn’t miss the way Mirza’s eyes kept watching her. Gently he tried to reach out to her, to tell her that she didn’t have to push so hard and that...thing with Geronimo hadn’t meant anything at all, but she coldly shrugged it off, only saying that she had tripped and would be fine.

“Leave ‘er be, Muirhead. She’ll be fine.” Hunter said lowly, not wanting to attract attention. “This has something t’ do wit’ Geronimo, don’t it? The lassie wasnae too pleased ‘bout it...” The silver-haired hunter cast as irate a look as he had in a long time, leaving Hunter frantically trying to mollify the other man.

“Piss off,” Adam muttered, though his tone was more resigned than angry. “...Are you seriously accusing me of...underhanded actions, even after all...that?”

“Of course not,” the lanky surgeon hastily replied, “I meant it when I said I trust ye, Adam. I figured ye had yur reasons...but I’ll admit, I’m curious meself. I thought you detested the Crow Hunter?”

Adam snorted. “Beast huntin’ ain’t exactly a profession for the choosy. The woman’s a fair enough fighter...if she could just stop actin’ like this is all some kind of grand game. Of all the hunters in this group. she’s probably the one I’d want t’ avoid going toe-to-toe with the most...’

“That’s fair, but why her? You think none of the others can match you?”

“...That hostile hunter we faced. You saw his weapon—hell, even the squirt pointed it out herself. Beast claws,” he added, and Hunter’s face dawned in understanding. “I was afraid...if she got too close, and with her already like this...”

Neither man said anything more, Hunter now visibly broodier as they pushed their way through mobs of creatures, each spawned by a hidden chime maiden. Yahar’gul may have been abandoned, but it certainly wasn’t dead; it seemed like every corner was filled with some sort of hazard, even compared to memories of his previous hunts—and it was anyone’s guess as to what made the Amygdalas attack, if at all. It wasn’t until the road opened up to some sort of open street did they get a chance to breathe...somewhat. A hissing noise before a gush of vile liquid arched through the air, just missing the group as it landed on the stone walkway, where it proceeded to sizzle and smoke, seemingly burning through solid rock. Sio lept back in shock, before tracking the venom over the side of the wall to the streets below.

“What’s th...th, th-that?!” She didn’t even have any words for the horror that had spat the vile liquid: what appeared to be a tangled mass of half-rotten skeletons, somehow all fused together and shoved into a casket that was much too small to fit them all, forcing the hideous creature to spill out and writhe onto the cobblestones. The many arms and hands clawed and pulled every which way, and what remained of the bodies squirmed randomly as each individual seemed to have its own mind. The creature’s contorted movements and twisted designs left Sio feeling nauseated, and before the group had even decided on how to deal with these monsters she heaved, a puddle of vomit splashing right next to the poison itself.

“Easy there now, lass. Here, drink some water,” Hunter kindly patted her back as Sio emptied the last of what remained in her stomach, breathing hard. “Those cramped caskets probably rank as one of the ugliest sods out there...as dangerous as they are ugly, to boot.”

“H-How...wh, why...” Those large maroons open wide with fear and just plain confusion; she knew that Yharnam was home to nightmares that were indescribable, but this was just too much. “Why is it so...terrible?”

“...If we knew the answer t’ that, we wouldn’t be here.” Adam answered quietly for her. “Chin up, Ogura. We’ve ground to cover.”

She was a little surprised at how civil he was towards her, despite the cold shoulder she was giving him. Which, now that she thought about it, was probably just a bit too childish of her, especially at this point. ‘I guess I really am still a kid,’ she thought bitterly, though when her mind flashed back to that single moment when he and Geronimo were so close...a flash of heated anger flooded her senses, and she wiped her mouth and forced herself to stand up.

It was decided that they would move as two groups; the street was too dangerous to just go waltzing about in the open, and splitting up would allow them to deal with several threats at once. Morbid as the caskets were, Sio discovered they could be tricked into a lit fire, making it easy for her to get in several visceral attacks on the flaming mass of flesh. The streets were littered with what appeared to be stone statues...and yet, as she gazed upon their faces, frozen with fear and something else... No, they couldn’t be real humans. It just wasn’t possible... A sudden roar, before she was pushed roughly against these stone figures and narrowly missed getting sprayed by that poison. “Keep your guard up, Ogura.” By the time she managed to right herself, Tell had already sliced up the monstrosity using the blade form of his weapon.

“S, Sorry...” She shook her head to clear it. This wasn’t the time to be solving the mysteries of this world, though Sio knew that wasn’t the only thing that was distracting her. This tension between her and Adam...it was getting unbearable, even before Geronimo decided to pull that stupid prank. It wasn’t the same as when she was seeking his respect and getting irritated with his put-downs, no...this kind of feeling was closer to seeking a type of satisfaction, to quell this strange desire she was feeling...

Like when they almost kissed that time; her cheeks became hot and she forced herself to pay attention to the battle. ‘Now is not the time to be thinking this, Sio...’ If this was what it was like to fall in love and all that romantic, mushy crap she’d heard so many of the village girls gossip about, Sio wasn’t sure she wanted it. It was very distracting, for one, but it was also frustrating that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to detach herself from it.

“Lass, you alright?” That strongly-accented voice cheered her up slightly, especially now that the streets were slightly-less-deadly than they had been. “C’mon, let’s find the others.”

“Right...how’s everyone else?”

“Eh, nothin’ fatal. By the way, nice work figurin’ out how t’ lure ‘em into th’ fires.” Hunter nodded in appreciation. “Seriously, findin’ you was like a single blessing in this wretched place.” Sio blushed at his comments, and wondered why Adam couldn’t be polite and caring like the surgeon.

“Hunter. Ogura...” Speak of the devil. She gave him a single nod as he said her name, not sure yet how she wanted to act towards him. In any case, they were currently in the field of battle, so it would be understandable for her to be all business-like...right? “There’s a plaza of sorts coming up; I think we know what that means...”

“...There’s something there.” There was no proof yet, but after all these hunts, they knew from experience that coming across a seemingly-deserted area usually meant something dangerous lurked nearby.

“Here, there’s a shortcut. We just need to use this as a stepping—” Adam’s voice cut off mid-sentence as the rotting carriage gave a violent shake, muffled cries coming from inside. “...Or, not...”

“...Right then. I vote we look for an alternative.”

“But, we’d have to spend more time looking for one...and there’s no guarantee it’ll be any safer,” both men looked at the girl with a slight surprise. “If we’re fast enough...it should be fine...”

At least she hoped so; Sio didn’t want to admit it, but the rattling carriage was terrifying her to no end. Just knowing how things were, it was bound to burst open the second she stepped foot onto it...and yet, it was the quickest way down, perhaps even the only way. “...Worst case, there’s three of us...we should be able to handle anything...”

“Can’t say I’ve much faith in meself, but I’ll trust yer instincts lass,” Hunter shook his head gravely, but got up anyway, despite the fact that he was probably the least courageous out of the entire group. “Well, no use in puttin’ it off...”

“I’ll go first,” Sio volunteered the lead, after all it was her idea to go forward, despite the high risk. Steeling herself, she gingerly landed on the carriage, trying not to think about the vibrations underfoot and the awful moans as she cautiously made her way across, Hunter landing not too far behind.

‘Here it goes,’ she gulped and then leapt down, wincing a bit from the height but otherwise it seemed all right, nothing was broken and no monsters were in sight. “Hey, it’s all—”

The sentence wasn’t even out of her mouth before the carriage windows shattered violently, and the whole thing seemed to topple over as the what appeared to be an endless stream of mutilated corpses were disgorged. Sio briefly heard Hunter and Adam cursing as they fought for their footing, before the whole thing was drowned out by the cries of undead bodies as they seemed to cave in on her; she herself too shocked by the sight to do any but just watch through her fingers as she vainly tried to shield herself.

“Sio! Sio! Dammit, get off her you bastards!” Growling, Adam plunged his way through the seemingly endless number of flailing limbs and half-melted bodies, but he couldn’t risk just recklessly stabbing the pile, lest he accidentally hurt her. “Sio! Hang on!”

“Somehow I knew this was gonna happen,” Hunter bemoaned, but plunged straight in as well. The two men worked with a sort of possessed fervor, Hunter not even flinching as a wailing corpse tried to reach out and grab his neck.

“Sio! Can you hear me? Sio...!”

#documentation #hunt or be hunted #//updates the most recently last updated #//what #//i know i'm bad #//sorry #//AND IT'LL PROBABLY BE UPDATED AGAIN B/C I WRITE TO MUCH AAAHH

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