#they might not technically be deity in their own right. but the connection and remnants of that power is still Very Much There

[blaiddraws]

For the Worm!Ingo au, are the worms technically legendary or mythical Pokémon, or are they just normal Pokémon? I’m sorry if this has been asked before, but I’m super curious. Your art is amazing by the way!

they are technically legendary/mythical pokemon! since the difference between those two categories is vague at best, and doesn't exist sometimes at all at worst, I'm. probably gonna call them both at times kdhskdhskhdkd

[shardclan]

Lutia had to have known they were there. While she might not have heard them over the roar of the Sundew Falls, it was impossible to think she wouldn't sense them. Yet she didn't so much as tilt an ear.

Ashes and Arcanus stood side by side, wary and ready and hoping this could be done peacefully.

"Lutia," the old brother said stonily. "We've come for your tome."

"...Oh?"

"The Lightweaver mandated that all Arcane paraphernalia not occupationally or religiously related be removed. We thought you would be covered as an Arcane Archmage. Turns out, Her Luminance knows what you keep in that book."

“I’m sure she does. And I’m sure you must as well.” Lutia stood, and there was a grinding noise that set both brothers on edge. "So do you really think I'll give it up so easily?"

"Lutia, we are living under the Lightweaver’s grace."

"So we are. And yet this book is my property. I will not let anyone, even one of the Eleven, tell me that I may not keep it."

Ashes' nostrils flared. He gripped his coral pendant. "To think you were such a spoiled shit this whole time, Lutia."

The words took both the Archmage and Arcanus by surprised, but Ashes didn't stop. He had avoided so much as looking at Lutia ever since they arrived. Now he was forced to see her on official business, and her stubbornness cracked every dam he had.

"Stop acting like you're the only one who knows suffering, out here moping on the edge of this cliff all day. You haven't even apologized, you haven't even bowed you head! And you have the gall to act like you are owed this one thing when you owe so many others!"

He pointed accusingly. "If you want to act like a child, fine! If you want to be a bitch, fine! But don't knowingly endanger the clan's standing with the Lightweaver! If your coward’s tongue can’t even manage ‘I’m sorry’, then at least don’t actively damage our attempts to settle!"

Arcanus had his hand on his sword. He hadn't expected his brother to snap like that, and he couldn't take Lutia in a fight. But he was ready to die if that's what it took.

Lutia pulled her hood back. There were glowing, starry cracks around her eyes, and the faint impression of a spiraling galaxy on her irises, with her pupils at the centers. They were remnants of her extended connection to the Chalcedony Circle. She had mastered it, as many had tried and failed to do, but it left its mark on her.

"You've gotten mouthy, student."

"I'm not your student," he hissed bitterly. "I don't mean anything to you. I don't think I ever did."

A flicker of hurt touched Lutia's eyes, but it was momentary. "Believe that if you want. Your queen is responsible for ensuring your good standing with your new deity. Tell her to come for it, if it must be taken."

"I'm here."

The two males parted, allowing Telos to pass between them. Her gown was not so grand, but the way she wore it she might as well have been a glittering Light Sprite coming on behalf of the Lightweaver to handle business. There was no fear in her stride or on her face as she stood before the Archmage.

“I suspected you might make this difficult,” Telos said calmly. “So I didn’t let them come alone.”

“How nice of you to finally face me, your majesty.”

“Is the implication that I was hiding? I’ve been in the same spot on the Promenade since we came to this land, you know.”

“I was thinking more that you were avoiding me. You’ve sent so many people to come see me after all.”

Telos’ face blanked. When expression came back to it, it was rife with pity and no small amount of disgust. “You were that type, hm?”

“What type is that, now?”

“The immature type who will twist things that might make you examine yourself while you are upset. That has to be it, because you cannot possibly expect me to believe that you think so little of your family that you would believe I sent them to try and comfort you.” Telos shook her head. “Unexpectedly childish.”

“You’re calling me childish? You only have the memory of being old, Telos, you’re a fraction of my age.”

“And you’ve only a fraction of my ability to cope like an adult.” Telos held out her hand. “The tome, please.”

Lutia unclipped the book from its belt, and placed it in Telos’ fingers.

Telos wasn’t surprised to find Lutia’s grip vice-tight and entirely unyielding when she tried to take it.

The two locked eyes. A faint swirl of pink static crawled over the book.

“Something you want to say to me, Lutia?”

“I want you to remember that you’re queen because I allow it. And if you do anything to hurt this clan, I will wipe you out.”

Telos’ gaze hardened until she could have shattered diamonds with you. “Is that the stone you want to throw Lutia? You remember the part where your outburst destroyed our home, directly killed one of the coven, and indirectly led to deaths in the field right?”

“That’s that. This is this.”

The sparks over the book grew brighter.

“No. You don’t get to draw that arbitrary line. You were the first to hurt this clan after Opal, and you passed judgement on him. If you think you’re fit to pass judgement on anyone else, make sure you do it in order and deal with yourself first. You’re not helping me re-organize or rebuild, so don’t fucking threaten me. Who’d run things if not me, Lutia? You? No, you’d still be the same petulant little child content to do none of the hard work and take no responsibility.”

“You have no fucking idea--”

“There you go again! Acting like you’re the only one hurt. Saber was your best goddamn friend and I sat in meetings with him discussing the treasury for days and at least once per day he would get choked up discussing inventory. Have you spoken to him? Have you said anything to your best friend about his dead child?! Or have you been too ashamed to even think that you might have led to her death, so you do what you did with Willow and tell yourself it was her fault for taking an unsafe path when she was fleeing in terror from YOU? Would you have told yourself that same foul,self-serving lie if Ashes had--”

“SHUT UP!”

Both of them were fizzling and crackling with magic energy that seeped into and around them. The symbol on the tome was flaring, and both their knuckles were white from the pressure of their grip.

Telos leaned in. Her teeth bared, her eyes stormy with contempt. “I have grown used to be out of my league, Lutia. I was with Opal. I was when all this responsibility suddenly fell to me. I was when I met Dreamweaver at first and they were angry and wary and dealing with hurts of their own. I am finding out every day that I am out of my league regarding all the politics and logistics and little tiny details involved in getting this clan back on its feet. But I have risen to all of those challenges, while you have cowered before the simple task of accepting your part in all this. Over my dead body will I fear you, Lutia. And over my dead body will I let this clan live in fear of you, thinking that even I cannot bring you to heel.”

“Either take the leap and kill me in cold blood right here and right now, or give me the godsdamned book.”

Lutia roared. Arcanus and Ashes leaped to their queen’s defense, and found themselves repelled bu a barrier. Between Ashes’ technical knowledge and Arcanus’ practical ability, the broke through it in a matter of seconds, but by then it was already over.

Lutia’s hair stood out in a giant fearsome mane of ringlets radiating wisps of Arcane magic like steam. The vapor caused by her sudden magical discharge cleared. The cliff edge had been vaporized right up to wear Lutia had been standing. Under her feet, the open air filled with water, the edge of the falls suddenly altered and spilling in a wider spray than before. She was breathing heavily, from emotion rather than exertion. She looked at Telos’ hand, still holding the book. Blackened as through coated in soot, but unharmed.

“Nullification?” she muttered.

“Your former student is quite good at discreet runes.” Telos glanced down as well. “You definitely would have hurt me, but it seems you lacked intent to kill me. So let’s have it.”

Lutia sighed, and released the book.

“Thank you. From now on, you do as I ask without this unsightly display.”

The Archmage curled her legs up, sitting on air as she usually did when meditating. “No. You are their queen, not mine. Even if I can’t kill you, that doesn’t mean I accept you.”

“That’s very nice, Lutia, but you have it wrong. I’m not your queen or their queen, I’m The Queen. Whether you accept me or not, you’re living as one of Clan Aphaster’s number. So you stay and do as I say, or you leave my territory.” She handed the tome gently to Ashes, flipping through to check that its contents were as expected. An unexpected softness came to her as she saw her husband’s name. The last entry. The last Shard. Born five eons ago now. Had it really only been three that she got to spend with him?

“I’ll give you more time,” she murmured sympathetically. “Ashes was right. You are still a child lashing out because you are hurt and angry. You can barely control your own grief, much less deal with the grief you have caused to others.”

She dared to rest a hand on Lutia’s shoulder, even though it meant wading into the fresh mud of the new bank. “But a day will come when the clan needs you, Lutia. And when I will demand better of you. I hope you have healed and found a way to forgive yourself by then.”

[dieverdediger]

Are Christianity and Buddhism the Same? - G. K. Chesterton

Oftentimes Chesterton had something to say about Buddhism. This was one of those times. From the book, Orthodoxy. 

The great example of this alleged identity of all human religions is the alleged spiritual identity of Buddhism and Christianity. Those who adopt this theory generally avoid the ethics of most other creeds, except, indeed, Confucianism, which they like because it is not a creed. But they are cautious in their praises of Mahommedanism, generally confining themselves to imposing its morality only upon the refreshment of the lower classes. They seldom suggest the Mahommedan view of marriage (for which there is a great deal to be said), and towards Thugs and fetish worshippers their attitude may even be called cold. But in the case of the great religion of Gautama they feel sincerely a similarity.

Students of popular science, like Mr. Blatchford, are always insisting that Christianity and Buddhism are very much alike, especially Buddhism. This is generally believed, and I believed it myself until I read a book giving the reasons for it. The reasons were of two kinds: resemblances that meant nothing because they were common to all humanity, and resemblances which were not resemblances at all. The author solemnly explained that the two creeds were alike in things in which all creeds are alike, or else he described them as alike in some point in which they are quite obviously different. 

Thus, as a case of the first class, he said that both Christ and Buddha were called by the divine voice coming out of the sky, as if you would expect the divine voice to come out of the coal-cellar. Or, again, it was gravely urged that these two Eastern teachers, by a singular coincidence, both had to do with the washing of feet. You might as well say that it was a remarkable coincidence that they both had feet to wash. 

And the other class of similarities were those which simply were not similar. Thus this reconciler of the two religions draws earnest attention to the fact that at certain religious feasts the robe of the Lama is rent in pieces out of respect, and the remnants highly valued. But this is the reverse of a resemblance, for the garments of Christ were not rent in pieces out of respect, but out of derision; and the remnants were not highly valued except for what they would fetch in the rag shops. It is rather like alluding to the obvious connection between the two ceremonies of the sword: when it taps a man's shoulder, and when it cuts off his head. It is not at all similar for the man. These scraps of puerile pedantry would indeed matter little if it were not also true that the alleged philosophical resemblances are also of these two kinds, either proving too much or not proving anything. 

That Buddhism approves of mercy or of self-restraint is not to say that it is specially like Christianity; it is only to say that it is not utterly unlike all human existence. Buddhists disapprove in theory of cruelty or excess because all sane human beings disapprove in theory of cruelty or excess. But to say that Buddhism and Christianity give the same philosophy of these things is simply false. All humanity does agree that we are in a net of sin. Most of humanity agrees that there is some way out. But as to what is the way out, I do not think that there are two institutions in the universe which contradict each other so flatly as Buddhism and Christianity.

Even when I thought, with most other well-informed, though unscholarly, people, that Buddhism and Christianity were alike, there was one thing about them that always perplexed me; I mean the startling difference in their type of religious art. I do not mean in its technical style of representation, but in the things that it was manifestly meant to represent. No two ideals could be more opposite than a Christian saint in a Gothic cathedral and a Buddhist saint in a Chinese temple. The opposition exists at every point; but perhaps the shortest statement of it is that the Buddhist saint always has his eyes shut, while the Christian saint always has them very wide open. The Buddhist saint has a sleek and harmonious body, but his eyes are heavy and sealed with sleep. The mediaeval saint's body is wasted to its crazy bones, but his eyes are frightfully alive. 

There cannot be any real community of spirit between forces that produced symbols so different as that. Granted that both images are extravagances, are perversions of the pure creed, it must be a real divergence which could produce such opposite extravagances. The Buddhist is looking with a peculiar intentness inwards. The Christian is staring with a frantic intentness outwards. If we follow that clue steadily we shall find some interesting things.

A short time ago Mrs. Besant, in an interesting essay, announced that there was only one religion in the world, that all faiths were only versions or perversions of it, and that she was quite prepared to say what it was. According to Mrs. Besant this universal Church is simply the universal self. It is the doctrine that we are really all one person; that there are no real walls of individuality between man and man. If I may put it so, she does not tell us to love our neighbours; she tells us to be our neighbours. That is Mrs. Besant's thoughtful and suggestive description of the religion in which all men must find themselves in agreement. And I never heard of any suggestion in my life with which I more violently disagree. 

I want to love my neighbour not because he is I, but precisely because he is not I. I want to adore the world, not as one likes a looking-glass, because it is one's self, but as one loves a woman, because she is entirely different. If souls are separate love is possible. If souls are united love is obviously impossible. A man may be said loosely to love himself, but he can hardly fall in love with himself, or, if he does, it must be a monotonous courtship. If the world is full of real selves, they can be really unselfish selves. But upon Mrs. Besant's principle the whole cosmos is only one enormously selfish person.

It is just here that Buddhism is on the side of modern pantheism and immanence. And it is just here that Christianity is on the side of humanity and liberty and love. Love desires personality; therefore love desires division. It is the instinct of Christianity to be glad that God has broken the universe into little pieces, because they are living pieces. It is her instinct to say "little children love one another" rather than to tell one large person to love himself. This is the intellectual abyss between Buddhism and Christianity; that for the Buddhist or Theosophist personality is the fall of man, for the Christian it is the purpose of God, the whole point of his cosmic idea. 

The world-soul of the Theosophists asks man to love it only in order that man may throw himself into it. But the divine centre of Christianity actually threw man out of it in order that he might love it. The oriental deity is like a giant who should have lost his leg or hand and be always seeking to find it; but the Christian power is like some giant who in a strange generosity should cut off his right hand, so that it might of its own accord shake hands with him. 

We come back to the same tireless note touching the nature of Christianity; all modern philosophies are chains which connect and fetter; Christianity is a sword which separates and sets free. No other philosophy makes God actually rejoice in the separation of the universe into living souls. But according to orthodox Christianity this separation between God and man is sacred, because this is eternal. That a man may love God it is necessary that there should be not only a God to be loved, but a man to love him. 

All those vague theosophical minds for whom the universe is an immense melting-pot are exactly the minds which shrink instinctively from that earthquake saying of our Gospels, which declare that the Son of God came not with peace but with a sundering sword. The saying rings entirely true even considered as what it obviously is; the statement that any man who preaches real love is bound to beget hate. It is as true of democratic fraternity as a divine love; sham love ends in compromise and common philosophy; but real love has always ended in bloodshed. 

Yet there is another and yet more awful truth behind the obvious meaning of this utterance of our Lord. According to Himself the Son was a sword separating brother and brother that they should for an aeon hate each other. But the Father also was a sword, which in the black beginning separated brother and brother, so that they should love each other at last.

This is the meaning of that almost insane happiness in the eyes of the mediaeval saint in the picture. This is the meaning of the sealed eyes of the superb Buddhist image. The Christian saint is happy because he has verily been cut off from the world; he is separate from things and is staring at them in astonishment. But why should the Buddhist saint be astonished at things?-- since there is really only one thing, and that being impersonal can hardly be astonished at itself. 

There have been many pantheist poems suggesting wonder, but no really successful ones. The pantheist cannot wonder, for he cannot praise God or praise anything as really distinct from himself. Our immediate business here, however, is with the effect of this Christian admiration (which strikes outwards, towards a deity distinct from the worshipper) upon the general need for ethical activity and social reform. And surely its effect is sufficiently obvious. There is no real possibility of getting out of pantheism, any special impulse to moral action. For pantheism implies in its nature that one thing is as good as another; whereas action implies in its nature that one thing is greatly preferable to another.