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ph0enix-12 · 3 months ago

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Ichorverse- Chapter 2

~ Flaming perseverance ~

It’s Killer’s turn this time.

The amount of trouble this chapter gave me isn’t even funny anymore, I was stuck on it for a good 3 months and in those months I managed to write up to chapter 8.

So, everybody, THANK YOU @thevoidfairy . She helped me write a good chunk of this ch you will see a lot of author notes in this one, because I am still very salty.

CW cults, burning at the pire, burns

<- Chapter 1 . Chapter 3 ->

He was given quite the weird name. Afterall, not everyone names their kid “Killer”.

He didn't have parents, most children in the colony didn't and they may never know why that was.

He grew up like any kid in a cult, working to kill gods, of course. (note the author's sarcasm)It was a dumb and unrealistic expectation to give to a bunch of orphaned children, everyone knows that gods cannot be killed. And yet, the elders of Killer’s colony were certain one of the children would be able to with enough training and finally gain favor from the Titans, ancient creatures from the first generation of the world.

The child would only learn later in his adult life the truth about the treacherous Titans, truths the elders refused to see even when right in front of them. Their hatred for the six gods was blind. No matter how much good they did for the world, for the elders, they were only golden traitors that destroyed the old world.

All children with the “destiny” to dethrone the gods were kept away from the rest of the colony, hidden in tents close to the wooden wall so that others would not distract them.

Yet, they couldn't keep KIller’s curiosity at bay for long.

As soon as the mortal child could walk, he found ways to sneak away to the wall, built out of full and sturdy tree trunks that Killer could climb like an agile cat, he was small enough anyway. He would climb up the wall and let out a gasp every time he saw the far away capital and the giant palace on top of the sea, he was mesmerized by the white waves crashing gently against the rock and protecting that marvelous place.

Of course, seeing the outside was strictly forbidden, and yet he couldn't help showing the other children as well.

They were found one night as they climbed back down. They were terrified as they stood in front of the elders, knowing punishment would not be merciful even if they were children. Something happened to Killer that night, something burned inside him and for some reason- as his soul shaped on the outside of his chest- he stepped forward, taking the blame himself for the whole ordeal.

His soul burned bright in the shape of a target, making the elders gasp in shock.

This, somehow, spared him from the harsh flogging ahead, even if what would happen in the following years would be an unofficial and somehow worse punishment.

He was moved away from the other children and trained personally by the elders.

He was their answer, the one that will finally take down a god. And not just that. Killer was expected to find heretics and bring them to the pire

Killer loathed being alone, he couldn't take it for much longer. He would spend his days alone, watching the other members walk by, listening to everything they said. He wished he could talk with them, wished so desperately to have connection…but the most interaction he was allowed was to drag the heretics to the pire. (What joyful conversations)

He hated it, he hated with all of his fucked up soul the way his people screamed in the flames, the way the others looked at him, knowing anyone of them could be next if Killer decided so.

He felt himself start to break over the years, one death after another, making him wonder at night whether what he was doing was right. He began to wonder if killing the gods was worth it, or if it was a delusion made by man. He wasn’t sure…if he could take it anymore.

Only a year later, he hit the final straw. One of the children he had first looked over the wall with, had claimed the cult leader was crazy, that the gods can’t be killed. Killer shook, looking down at the ones he had called a sibling and they looked back, eyes filled with rage, they yelled at him, how he was a hypocrite for doing this, he had been the first of them to look over the wall.

He didn’t say anything back then, he knew they were right, he was the one who should be burning, not them. He couldn’t watch as they burned at the pire, knowing their eyes were boaring into him as they died.

That night, he didn’t sleep (not that he did most nights) but this night was different. He wasn’t laying in bed, he was outside looking up at the stars ...the ones the gods made, well, Nightmare made, the god who was first on the list, who he was to end. He...wasn't sure he could do it anymore.

When he looked at those little lights in the sky, he felt calm, happy even, something that was rare for Killer, actually, feeling much of anything was pretty darn rare for him. After everything he has done, he didn’t feel like he deserved to feel, but the stars...they whispered otherwise. Calling him to do something drastic, something that would change his life…to become one of the heretics he had helped burn.

Not like he had anything to lose anyway, the other members of the cult didn’t see him as a person, they saw him as a thing who would kill them or their children if they stepped out of line. The elders saw him as a thing, something for them to use to get what they wanted. None of these people cared about him, nobody loved him here.

All he was, was a thing.

That’s all he was, all he ever would be, he didn’t want to live like this anymore, so there really wasn’t a reason not to finally tell the elders what he thought. The morning after he saw the stars, Killer decided would be his last. He knew he was going to burn that night, but it didn’t stop him from screaming at the elders in front of everyone at meal time, telling them they were fucking crazy, how no one could killer the gods, not even one of them. Like his sibling had done.

He didn't even really have proof- but how can someone that made something as beautiful as the stars, ever be what they described?

Of course, they didn’t particularly like that, having to get some of the men to drag him off to the pire. But it was Killers last day, he had no intention of going out quietly, yelling about how everyone was delusional, scratching, biting and clawing even while he was being restrained. And like the many times he had seen before, he was hoisted up on the pire, people throwing logs under him quickly even as he kept clawing and screaming every profanity he had in his vocabulary. However, he wasn’t immediately burned, no, he was left on the pire until the evening.

During that time he was just...alone like always, no one looked at him, no one spoke to him, but he was used to that.

Just before evening, one of the elders approached him with a frown, glaring up at the pire he was tied to. Killer couldn’t stare at him in the eyes, knowing the look the elders were giving him. One of disappointment and hatred.

It was almost like a dream when people started to gather around, it was so unreal to not be in the crowd, not being the one looking up at the pire, but the one looking down at the people. It was all hazy for Killer after that, the fire was lit. It slowly crept up around him, nipping his legs, then arms. And then all he felt was hatred, pure and unbridled.

He didn’t hurt anymore, the smell of his burning bones no longer affecting him. Anger filled him, and it started to drip from his sockets, his eyelights disappeared within his hate, his morality disappearing in that moment.

Rage and pain flowed from his eyes and he tore his way out of the ropes, the fire still burning his clothes as he lunged at the elder who looked at him earlier, tearing him apart as the others ran. He tore into anyone who dared approach him, just like they had taught him to do.

And in that moment he was no longer just some toy, the flames bending to his will and spreading to burn everything, just as they burned him. The whole village turned to a inferno of flames and screams.

The things that the cult members had said about him were true now, he wasn’t a person, he was a force of nature, inevitable as their death. Well, they were the ones that asked for a murder machine. But you can’t live in the flames forever, at some point you shall burn as well, and Killer was no exception to that rule. He felt the pain again, and his screams joined the ones of his once family, who had cast him aside.

He ran blind into the night, under the stars that had encouraged this, he stumbled, leaving the fire behind, leaving himself behind. The boy who had bent to the will of others died in that fire and now a man walked out, one who would never let himself be taken advantage of again.

__________

Somehow, he wasn’t dead by the time he got to the local town, stumbling his way into the first building he saw and pretty much immediately everyone freaked out, (what else would you do when you see a half dead man walk into your favorite restaurant afterall?) They got him bandaged up the best they could and tried to heal him as well. But Killer was stubborn now, stubborn as a mule, and he left once his wounds were wrapped, not accepting anything from anyone.

He didn’t need charity.

Luck however, was sprinting away in the other direction of Killer as fast as possible, leaving him to fend for himself in a world where he didn’t know the rules. He had no idea what coins were, he didn’t know what any of this shit was. So he did the only thing he knew how to do, sneak around and take things.

Like in his village though, there were a lot of guards here, always looking and watching for people like him. Soon enough he figured why not get his hands on one of their weapons then, to defend himself (because he obviously wasn't JUST curious, of course) . Turns out, stealing from a royal guard isn’t a good idea at all (who would have guessed, Killer) a miscalculation on Killer's side, the guard quickly noticed and he was promptly cuffed and dragged away. He swore he could hear lady Luck snickering at him.

Now, in a cell and very much angry at everything once again, he tried to get out, wiggling the bars, hitting them, he even bit them at one point, but nothing worked- until he remembered he could use magic (what a genius, people). Deciding it was his best bet, he summoned a few flames and threw it at the bars, surprisingly, it worked and the bars melted because of the heat. He smiled smugly to himself, squeezing through the hole he made to make a run for it.

He wasn't sure what to do now as he looked around, cursing at his burns again, so he walked up the stairs he found in a hall he found himself in….and kept walking up the stairs….and more stairs…. Why were there so many fucking stairs.

He decided then, he didn’t like stairs. But as he walked, his angry mumbling was interrupted by their ending (about time). He smiled even more smugly, he had gotten out and no one had even noticed! He walked a bit more, getting distracted by how big the place was, wandering his way straight into- the king himself.

He looked at the king and the king looked at him, both slightly startled to see the other.

Killer backed up a little, almost falling down the stairs behind him. The king backed up as well, almost screaming out for help. Killer practically jumped, closing his mouth just in time, “no no no!” He pleaded, looking scared, “please don't yell!”

The king smacked his hand away, almost looking offended. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't “ he crossed his arms. Killer wanted to reply in a snarky way, since the king was giving him attitude, but he was petrified for a moment.

This was Nightmare. The king- no, the god he grew up learning about. He had to get this right the first time “I uh-” black tears ran down his cheeks as he thought up a totally clever excuse, “I am the cleaning lady-?”

The king looked at him unamused and completely stone faced. “Really? That is the best you had?”

Killer shrugged, “I gave it my best shot. You have to admit, it was pretty good for a desperate attempt.” The king still looked unamused, ready to call for the guards or Horror- but then his eye was caught by the burns on Killer’s arms..and his soul melted a little.

The god sighed defeated “...just come in”

~~~~~

I am very very salty still even if I got it done, Killer will probably be bullied often by me because of this stupid chapter.

Once again THANK YOU FLORA

(Killer doesn’t get an illustration cause he gave me problems and I’m salty)

#ichorverse #undertale au #undertale #original fanfiction #original story #ao3 fanfic #cross posted on ao3 #killer sans #flaming perseverance #chapter 2

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whencyclopedia · 2 months ago

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Wyatt Rebellion

The Wyatt Rebellion of January-February 1554 CE saw Sir Thomas Wyatt the Younger lead a group of several thousand Kent rebels in a march on London with the primary aim of preventing Mary I of England (r. 1553-1558 CE) from marrying Spain's Prince Philip (l. 1527-1598 CE). There was, too, the secondary aim - never openly declared - of replacing Mary with her younger half-sister Elizabeth Tudor (b. Sep. 1533 CE). The rebels were also motivated by the fall in living standards in England caused by inflation, food shortages, the decline in trade (especially of cloth), and several waves of deadly epidemics. The rebellion failed thanks to Mary's armed response and a general lack of support from the people of London. The leaders, including Wyatt, were executed and so was Mary's cousin Lady Jane Grey (b. Oct. 1537 CE) just in case she became a figurehead for future rebellions. For the same reason, Elizabeth was detained in the Tower of London. Mary then went on to vehemently persecute her enemies whom she identified as Protestant heretics, thereby earning her lasting nickname 'Bloody Mary'.

Mary I's Succession

Mary I of England had succeeded her brother Edward VI of England (r. 1547-1553 CE), although she had almost been the victim of a coup d'etat in July 1553 CE when John Dudley, the Earl of Northumberland (l. 1504-1553 CE) tried to install Mary's cousin Lady Jane Grey (1537-1554 CE) as queen. Lady Jane was Protestant and Mary Catholic so that each represented the interests of the two sides which had split England ever since Mary's father Henry VIII of England (r. 1509-1547 CE) had separated the Church in England from Rome and the Pope. As it turned out, the vast majority of nobles and the commoners preferred to honour Henry VIII's wish that Mary succeed Edward if he were without children. Legitimacy and direct ties of royal blood triumphed over any religious considerations. However, Mary convinced herself that her initial popularity was because she proposed to return her kingdom to Catholicism by reversing the English Reformation that had been ongoing under her two predecessors, starting with the First Act of Repeal of 1553 CE; she had, thought Mary, been chosen by both the people and God. However, the air of optimism that had surrounded Mary's succession was soon to become fouled by the treacherous stench of rebellion.

#History #Catholic #EdwardCourtenay #ElizabethTudor #WHE #[#]

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cablyunkataplum · 3 months ago

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Stanford Filbrick Pines

Words: 4,524

Summary: He was so small next to him, he could fit in the palm of his two-dimensional hand and peel millimeter layer by millimeter layer to do whatever he wanted with the raw materials and waste. Previous enjoyment, at this moment repulsion for what is felt.

Written Curse: What can I say, saw someone suggesting it on Tiktok and I did it, Descriptions of insanity and more insanity, suicidal behavior, manipulation, paranoia, kind of religious trauma, self-harm (thoughts and action) depictions, and maybe more sensitive topics, please be aware, MDNI. it's kind of different from what I'm used to writing in some aspects but I enjoyed iy Seeeeeee yaaaaaa darlings!

Versión original-español

I walked through the mists of a gloomy limbo… If such a vague description makes sense, I paid attention to every step I took but I didn't feel it, almost as if it were a dream until my attention it was redirected, something was heard in the distance and I wondered what it could be. It carried with it a sinister air, perverse dyes that dripped phlegmatically, the forbidden, the temptation, the sin that, as its passage, seduced me to approach, thus, little by little, it was not only an unusual song but also a particular smell, a sensation that made one's skin crawl but as everything here was far from comprehending.

Time was distorted and my mind fell into a spiral that I didn't even know I had entered until seeing me in a dreary reflection a realization revealed, it was me.

That smell, that sound, everything… It was nothing more than my own body, that empty and rotten container that wanders aimlessly waiting for an end but even if I succumbed to the clutches of mortality, I know that my corpse would be nothing more than poison for this earth that now curses my existence. I beg for mercy even if I am not deserving and as a heretic I receive cruel punishment that lurks in the depths of my being, which from the beginning eats away at me, what led me to this state.

A simple act like the sliding of curtains felt so treacherous, he was turning his back on him and leaving him adrift. He deserves it, after all he did it was absurd that he thought he would receive any defense from him. He placed the reminder of the freshly made wound in the trash and tried to fall asleep but at no time did he blink, the minutes passed ignorantly to his situation and emotions so overwhelming that they seemed to mock without decorum. He had found a motivation that vanished at the same speed with which it arrived, he had to find another goal, a purpose, something that would give him what he had always longed for.

The days passed without anything remarkable, a blind and tired routine between corridors, living rooms and his bedroom with the irregular change of going to the library or chatting with his roommate, with whom he shared certain hobbies. He was about convincing that he enjoyed it, that despite being an unexpected result, he could take advantage of it and prove to himself that others were wrong, that he was better.

When he made the decision to live in Gravity Falls, it was as if that little flame struggled to remain incandescent and wanted to get bigger. It could be taken as an escape from home in a certain way, miles and miles away from his parents which doesn't make much difference from what it was in Backupsmore.

Everything was different, a new life that he would not let anything or anyone spoil. And so it was for quite some time, there was no day or night in which he did not find something fascinating, a distraction and a temporary relief to his thoughts that dejected him the most, but then, like a rose, it began to wither and the petals fell. Leaving a voracious appetite again.

And what happened when the snake approached him? He fell for the deception. So desperate for a shred of recognition, acceptance… And what person could resist a being greater than their own existence? It was an honor to be the favorite of such a sublime presence, a powerful being who did respond to his prayers, to his doubts, where he believed he was walking on the same floor as this one and not below as he was for so many years with his kind, he was finally an equal.

A nosedive into veneration.

The night was paler than the moon itself, its emanations were blunderbussed as they passed through the stained-glass windows with motifs that I distributed with my own free will throughout my cabin. Immersed in my inscriptions, Bill prowled in the same space and chatted about things that I didn't pay enough attention to since I was used to his actions. When I finished my last stroke I placed the pen aside and closed the bottle of ink to let it rest and therefore dry the contents of the page.

"Hey, Sixer" I turned my head and the first thing my eyes met was the triangle reflecting my appearance, I raised my eyebrow until he continued "Look, someone with science of humor" he laughed to return to his color, he snapped his fingers and pointed at me "Did you understand my pun?", "Of course I did, It's a simple enough thing not to" I adjusted my glasses before closing my journal, getting up from my chair and walking over to put it on the shelf next to the other books in my collection.

"You demean yourself a lot, don't you think? Give yourself some credit" he turned around as he moved forward with me, "I do credit myself but I know when things are easy, Bill" I rolled my eyes and left the room, on the stairs he was behind me "That's because you're very intelligent and perceptive, not everyone would have understood it the first time or the second" At these words I smiled but not for much since the day had exhausted me enough to use my muscles. The cabin was as lonely as the day it was finished, on one hand it was reassuring not to have to deal with those noises resulting from annoying habits of other people but on the other hand I couldn't help but feel more lonely… at least I had Bill by my side, even if I got desperate but very rarely. Maybe I should make a statistic about that.

"It's better as you are if you ask me," I heard his voice again but this time I didn't look at him, I went down step by step until I finally reached the floor. "What are you talking about?" I really had no idea, "Nobody deserves you, Ford" that confession intrigued me now in the kitchen where I didn't turn on the light bulb and only opened one of the drawers in the cupboard for a glass. "I mean, just look at you, six fingers; attractive, intelligent, funny, organized. You're out of their league, much better than all of them" he stood in my field of vision and crossed his arms, "And I doubt very much that you would settle for that anyway".

The circumstances that led to such a fatal encounter…

I closed my lips and remained silent, his words like gasoline for thoughts and speculations to nest in my head "We'll never know, they're counterfactual events and hypothetical situations" I drank from the glass I had previously filled with water "Besides, it makes me sound like a narciss-", "Hey, hey, stop your car, friend" Bill pushed and pulled his arms in the space between him and me "I don't say that with those implications, you're very humble Stanford" he moved his body in such a way that it gave the impression of shaking his head, he raised his arms "Everything you're doing will benefit humanity, for me that's not being selfish, quite the opposite" he approached and placed his elbow on my right shoulder.

"What I mean is that you're better off like this" with the open hand of the other arm he pointed at me, moving up and down, to emphasize his point. "You're happier than you could have been" I was still with my eyes on him without speaking "I'll show you" he moved away a little to extend his arm. "You trust me, right?". It was a bit strange to me that Bill used to ask about my trust in him as often as he did, but I always assumed that being someone with his powers was normal, after all it was logical that when he gave me knowledge and his friendship he needed to know that I would not misuse his generosity.

"Of course I do" I took his hand, his eye curled "You can always trust me, Sixer".

The cabin began to crumble and suddenly the environment changed to an impeccable construction that I did not recognize, at least not immediately, laughter and chatter filled my ears while my eyes ventured to get used to the interior, the sound of some open doors made me spin slightly where I saw something that squeezed my heart, in front of seats and more seats there I was, walking on the stage with a toga, I received my title and it was clear. I was graduating from West Coast Institute of Technology.

It was something unreal to see myself in this situation, to see how my face reflected true enthusiasm and happiness at achieving one of my many dreams that I had as a teenager. My parents were there, Stanley was there and his face was a mixture of pride and joy for me; disappointment, loneliness and doubt in those small details. It continued with a family celebration until the scene changed for the second time where I now worked as an inventor in a company of sorts, I knew that time moved forward thanks to the fictitious calendar, which at first filled the Stanford in front of me with motivation, now it filled him wit sadness. It caused him misery as he was limited by his contract, he no longer had time for his own projects or the family with whom he maintained contact.

And everything changed again, I was on Backupsmore and another possibility unfolded, I met someone and we developed feelings for each other and then, we get married? That would be a waste of my research time and even more so as I watched how we both settled in Gravity Falls and then started a small family, with similar results I gradually fell into the same thing: misfortune, sorrow, and suspicion due to the dissatisfaction with the life I was leading. I separated from my spouse to try to have some serenity but nothing, I constantly saw my other self immersed in the memories and torments of his decision, of the intensity of those discussions; about what was said or not said.

When I turned to the other side, my eyes widened when I found myself in front of the same person, they were talking or rather vociferating, it had taken me a moment to process that change so that their words made sense. "Who is going to want to be with someone like you, Stanford!?" Their face was like a slap that burned even before it landed aggrievedly on my face, but I couldn't mutter so shocked by the constant receipt of information "You're a damn selfish man!" they pointed accusation at me while they continued with their argument. Each syllable only served to sharpen the stake and in the end when it stuck in my heart I looked down, it seemed it could never escape me. Something I never asked for.

Then I knew that my insides were questioning and mortifying. Love is such a complicated concept for a mind like me, I have witnessed finite ways to demonstrate it and I can't seem to fully understand it, from my childhood until now, I still think that it is nothing more than frivolities that everyone pretends to know and handle. and then judge those who try to reach it with simplicity.

On many occasions I had witnessed my father's demonstrations towards Stanley and much more aware when they were for me. So many times I heard the expectations, his disappointments or simply his thoughts about us and each time I felt the need to relieve him but without leaving my brother aside, I wanted to be the one who was deserving enough to let me into his vulnerability and let him know that just as he loved me, I loved him. His words...they hurt , they made me feel insufficient and had the same effect on my brother but... I guess it was his way of showing that we were important, that he knew we could be even better.

That's how this person vanished and windows surrounded me to show hundreds of other situations, no matter how different they were, they all ended in disappointment "Do you see what I mean?" Bill finally decided to make his presence again and with an irritated attitude. He stayed in front of my eyes without the windows stopping rotating around us "They wouldn't appreciate you, six fingers. They are the selfish ones, the fatuous ones who couldn't stand someone as genuine as you" with his hands he enlarged one of the windows that remains motionless to show the image "Even before you moved here" my mother appears, then my father, Stanley and other people with whom I once crossed paths "They hurt you but expect you to give everything for them without complaining" he sighs "And that is why this is better for you".

"You have me by your side, I have seen what the others have not" now we moved to the usual space and he made me sit down, a cup of tea in hand "And I feel very lucky that it was you who called me and not a trashy scientist or something like that" he rolled his eyes and I just laughed, I adjusted my glasses with a little push of my index finger and sipped the liquid "I'm the lucky one, Cipher. It is not an everyday occurrence that such an intriguing and wise being decides to respond to my call" I thought the conversation would go to a more pleasant one immediately but Bill just looked at me "You are very important to me, Sixer" I didn't know what to do or say. because of the seriousness with which he said it "I need you... I would love to be in your dimension to spend more time with you, you know?" I stood up to finally be able to say something until his laughter was the next thing "I mean, at this point you are like my family and that is what all those corny things do to someone" I smiled and nodded, amused at his choice of words "Do you also need me as much as I need you, six fingers?"

"I need you, Bill".

Years later, standing on the bow looking out over the vast sea, he meditated while the other Pines was resting. The waves combined with their reflections induced a peaceful state but a hollowness different from the others persisted. The movement reminded him of thoughts and internal debates at his worst, where he let himself be dragged into the darkness and suffer in it.

If he jumped, it was likely that he would find the sense to live, hewas barely visible due to the stars that saw themselves still, the wood under his feet did not creak or seemed to recognize him, a ghost in pain that wanders in the icy night. He took a step closer to the edge but didn't take anything off, the weight would do. But with half his feet suspended and the other half still on the dock he stayed like that. How long did it take until his heart even beat? When he regained consciousness he was in his bed without a shirt or any clothing for his torso, mere soaked socks the only fabric on his body other than the blankets that maintained an acceptable temperature.

The next morning he left the cabin and walked unconsciously into the forest. Some creatures that he had already studied looked out timidly when they saw the afflicted figure of the man, who acted with the nature of a magnet. He arrived at an area where the trees contained peculiar lines that kept following him. Murmurs began to greet him and say nonsense. When he tried to ignore him, he realized where he was standing and froze. Thousands of eyes stared at him without blinking, they did not have an iris so the blackness of the pupil made him more gloomy and as if they were reading his thoughts, they began to manifest throughout him until he was no longer but a cluster of these organs.

He had come to consider removing his eyes, the simple fact of remembering that he had those orbs caused the most unpleasant reactions in his body, the immediate rejection of a similar object in a metaphorical or literal way, in any information format, just like the other geometric figure. What was once a paradise in their home now behaved like hell. His knuckles were still in limited recovery but his mind was an uncertain omen.

Or he would see his wrists that palely denoted something that he had come to hate and he would think that perhaps, with the help of some instruments he could manage to remove those ropes from his entire body, no matter how long or how painful it meant that Bill would not be able to use him never again. And he tried. What did it matter, if he was already alien to any humanity. His mania for sharp things was not discouraged, if there was the possibility of being there, it was, but; of not, did it by force. Like that time, one of the many times.

It was a moment like the other, he was wandering through the forest, now the ardor flamed between the distances from one flora to another, the aberrant calm. His body rocked because his swollen feet tried not to feel his condition, as well as making himself sick until he couldn't take it anymore and sat down against a tree. He removed his glasses to rub his eyelids with the impression of not being lucid. When he opened them, he realized that the tree in front that reached to the heavens was no longer a tree, a block splintered in its place surrounded by other thorns as a replacement. He knelt before standing on his feet and walking until the tips of his shoes touched the messy roots and he got back on his knees, his hands resting on the edge of this circle, how could he see in such detail without his glasses on?

There was no room for that question because he hunched over and brought his face closer…closer…even closer. His skin instinctively repelled his face but the word is there, instinct. Macabre allusion when the fine fabric did not hold for long and spilled on the wood until its anatomy prevented it from breaking, he moved away with complicated motion as some tried to continue in him, and at a slightly considerable distance. Whipping. And the snap didn't take long. Paralyzed it oozed with more current, the thorns appropriated the rest until they swallowed the last piece.

He hurriedly opened his eyes and sheltered his head to check that everything was still together to get out of there without waiting. It was just a dream.

Few interactions with other people made his delusions worse, strangers who were crafty, stupid, lacking in judgment, narcissistic, filthy... he was 100% sure that they reeked of Cipher. But he would not make that 'knowledge' evident, with his hands and elbows on the table he turned his back to the costumers and workers, he knew that they were watching him with that damned smile and those devilish eyes. Disgust to the one who touched his shoulder, his left imprisoned the outer wrist but what he saw was fear in normal pupils and a short circuit occurred within his logic, his face became grim when the woman began to laugh.

Another woman followed a few tables in front, so that like an infection all the faces would lengthen. Without control he imitated, the sweat reflected the terror that the experience gave him, his right hooked half of his face. His nerves had jammed as well as his vocal cords with the same sound quality as a phonograph. At the windows, palms slapped against this surface, their eyes moved quickly and in the opposite direction to the complement of their pair "I still have my eyes on ya, Stanford" they spoke in unison "Too bad you won't have any!" and some of the limbs that were hitting the windows passed through them and lunged at him, with specific emphasis on his eyes. He bent down and pulled the woman so he could leave the establishment.

Was it a good idea to have sent that postcard? It made him an easier target, he didn't know what Bill's supposed henchman could do to find him but if he was under his orders it was common sense that he already knew his location. There was no way to know what tactics he would be able to use. It could even already be at his house and he wouldn't know it.

He was so small next to him, he could fit in the palm of his two-dimensional hand and peel millimeter layer by millimeter layer to do whatever he wanted with the raw materials and waste. Previous enjoyment, at this moment repulsion for what is felt. When he turned the handle and the door gave him permission to enter, everything contained his essence, from the rugs to the money he carried with him. With his chest almost touching one of the tapestries, he wrapped himself up and inhaled the intoxicating fragrance, pressing it to his ribs. and began to rub his face against the fabric. As he raised his head, it was now suspended by his semi-extended arms, he looked at the ceiling and tears flowed. He still needed him.

"Wow" Bill spined his cane while he continued to see me in the mirror "It looks great on you, tiger" I arched my eyebrows without stopping smiling "Really?" I turned my body while taking my eyes off the mirror and adjusted my coat "Do you call me a liar?" he made clicking sounds and helped to adjust the garment "Come on, man…you're pretty much the definition of romantic, Beethoven would be jealous" this made me laugh and I restated my posture now with my fingers adjusting my neck, I had to admit that the costume was quite refined and just as I expected a period costume to feel.

"Ready to go?" he bowed and took off his hat that I reciprocated with another bow, we walked until we reached the place of the event where the most outstanding intellectuals of all time waited with cocktails in hand and chatting with each other. When I entered I had a drink and went to talk to a small group with Bill's company, even with the magnitude of the revelation I did not feel nervous, in fact, I was sure of myself and deep down I did not care what opinions they would give me as soon as the curtain came off.

When the time struck we both took the lead and gave a speech, his jokes were not lacking. When I pulled the curtain and the portal was in sight I heard exclamations, there was a silence until everyone began to applaud and ask its mechanism, my smile was so big that Cipher pushed his elbow against my arm and we only smiled before addressing the others to answer their questions.

When I woke up I didn't wait to stand up and go to work in the portal.

He remembers when his palate caught the improper corroded and pulled his upper lip that showed his red teeth in the mirror, he ran a finger to clean them but did not investigate further, convinced that Bill, by using his body got into a fight and that this was a mixture of his fluids with those of others. There were several times that it was repeated and that he decided to accept his explanation. How much had he done while using his body? For God's sake, the photographs showed him but he was a piece of something bigger, what repulsive things that being must have been capable of.

During the 30 years out of his dimension the thirst for revenge never paled, on the contrary, it grew stronger with each day that he felt his blood boil at every mention of his name. He lived for that, he had to… to see the day when Bill Cipher ceased to be a threat to reality.

But he never expected his defeat to happen in the circumstances in which they occurred. Seeing his brother with his head down and now empty as him, added to his guilt and afflictions, Stanley was always strong, determined and confident in his eyes. The other side of the coin.

The days went as the whole family and even Soos or Wendy helped Stan regain his memory and with that he tried to get his life back, which he now knew Stanley didn't take from him but Bill.

He used to think that he had to give everything to receive the minimum, but when he returned and got forgiveness… love… It was difficult to accept it at first but the night he found old photographs as well as home videos from his childhood that the brothers reminisced about, something changed.

"I can't believe you actually did that," he put his hand on his stomach and laughed, Stanley only crossed his legs and arms before extending his last ones with a failed attempt to look annoyed at the comment "It's pure comedy! A brainiac like you wouldn't understand my developed sense of humor" a blow landed on his twin's shoulder. "It drives ladies crazy" "Oh, I don't doubt it, completely crazy," he nodded mockingly in his way of doing it.

Stan hit him again "Idiot" Ford rubbed himself before returning the blow with greater force, to be fair "Nerd". After a while sleep began to come to them, Ford put his head on the shoulder of his hand while his held the bowl on his lap, and on the verge of succumbing to it he heard "I love you, Ford" a long second passed until the words came out of his mouth "I love you too, Stanley."

People could love him for who he was, not for how deserving he could get that affection.

He continued with his eyes on the wide sea remembering the details of his whole life and with that voice that told him that he was still broken. "Ford, the children are calling us!-- Stan shouted on the other side of the Stan O' War II, "Coming!" so he made his way, but not before stopping and turning to see the sea again, with an inhalation of the salty air he whispered, "I don't need you."

"Hurry up, Poindexter or else I'll throw you overboard" the sound of the seagulls, he pushed his glasses higher and resumed his steps. "Greetings children, how are my favorite kids of all dimensions?", "Uncle Ford!".

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #stanford pines #ford pines #gravity falls stanford #Stanford fanfiction #trauma #bill cipher #bill gravity falls

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lorraineofcominantes · 2 months ago

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How do you come home to a place that no longer exists?

I got lost in the sauce of Heinrix nostalgia and ended up worldbuilding a whole planet.

The moment Heinrix stepped on Dargonus, he had been struck by a sense of nostalgia so powerful it would have brought a lesser man to tears.

Okay, apparently someone does wonder what's going through my head with this fic. For me and for them, here we go.

From Talavera, With Love is momma's most self-indulgent fic yet. And I have Heinrix's Starseeker longfic nostalgia to thank for it. What does it mean to want to go home to a place that you can never go back to? Not just physically, but the idea that that home may have changed and is no longer your home because that home exists in the past. A.k.a the diaspora whiplash of reverse culture shock and Nick Joaquin's lamentations in the Woman with Two Navels.

Sometime between June - August, I got completely overtaken by Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo brainworms while obsessively playing and taking screenshots of WH 40k Rogue Trader. In Noli Me Tangere, a young man returns from Europe only to discover that his father is dead after his political enemies conspire to imprison him for challenging the abuses of Dominican friars (Hello Rogue Trader surprise ascension, hello Kunrad oust plot, hello Ecclesiarchy drama with Incendia Chorda) and he spends the entirety of the novel trying to do an Iconoclast playthrough in a game that demands he play Dogmatic. In the end, he is labeled a heretic and has to escape. Fast forward to El Filibusterismo, the opening chapter is on a fucking ship that is used to show the division between the Upper Decks (Upper class society) and the Lower Decks (Voidborn, hello!).

Which is how ya girl ended up here.

The Love Letters to the Philippines

The Maw and the Embocadero: The Maw is equated with the Strait of San Bernardino, one of the most treacherous passages of the Manila-Acapulco galleon route.

Folk Catholicism and variances on the Imperial Cult: Calligos Winterscale's lucky charm, the Talaveran (Guisorn III) cult to Sta. Rosalina de la Soledad who is associated with sea-faring because of Nuestra Señora de la Soledad de Porta Vaga, the Lady of the Manila-Acapulco galleon trade who is the patroness of Cavite, a region that used to be a Spanish military base and the shipyard that produced most of the galleons for this route.

The cult of St. Drusus v. Sta. Rosalina: The age old rivalry between the Dominicans and Jesuits in Manila. The conflict between local "Filipino" priests (at a time when Filipino really meant insulare, a Spaniard born in the colonies. Rana and Heinrix, if we want a real 1:1, would count as insulare) and peninsular priests after the opening of the Suez Canal. More below.

Geography: The high sierras of Talavera are a nod to the Alhambra (This city is a bride whose husband is the hill), The Sierra Madre of Mexico, and the Sierra Madre of Luzon, the island home to the Tagalogs. A lot of the place names in FTWL's Dargonus are chosen based on whether they exist in Spain, Mexico, and the Philippines.

The Temerian phoenix: Initially a silly reference to Ibong Adarna's mystical bird of Piedras Platas. By chapter 8, equated with Calligos Winterscale. A wild beautiful bird that is forced to become a feral beast for bloodsports. Also, just the irony in cockfighting being one of the surviving pieces of native cultures in a lot of colonized places even though it's a sport that kills.

A Mixed Bag

What does it mean to be one of ours?: Tagalogs keep it simple. If you are born there and raised there, you're one of theirs. If you assimilate fully, you can belong too. Rana genuinely thinks Kunrad should be Rogue Trader, despite him stepping away because of the Life Changing Commorragh and Epitaph fieldtrip, because he is Dargonus native born and raised and she writes Abelard off for the same reason. None of the conflicts in FTWL are linked to race (that's for the Drukhari and Aeldari), but to cultural assimilation. Nick Joaquin's Question of Heroes is a window to a point in time when being part of a people moved from "we look like each other" to "we share the same culture". A lot of Filipino ethnic groups apply this logic quite consistently. When in Rome, do as the Romans do and if you do not do as the Romans do, do not call yourself a Roman. Gaining your local "punto"/accent is a "Wow, you finally assimilated!" between the many Tagalog regions, just to name an example. Tagalogs can also be... quite xenophobic for the same reasons. The whole "Sandara Park is more Filipino than Vanessa Hudgens" national agreement after the latter was made a tourism ambassador.

The Hate Comments for the Philippines

Language: Talavera as a rediscovered Imperial world develops its own language. Heinrix's derogatory attitude to Dargonian creole (brought over by the first Lady von Valancius) is a nod to Filipino native hispanophone attitudes towards the Ermitense, Caviteno, and Zamboangueno creoles.

Calligos' sideye at Dargonian culture: Calligos is a native of the Koronus Expanse and so is Incendia... but so are the natives of the von Valancius protectorate. That said, they have a varyingly hostile relationship with Dargonus, a nod to how "indigenous" in the Philippines doesn't mean "native", it means you come from a culture that has never been Catholicized or hispanized.

Rana's side eye at Incendia's insistence on adopting a more familiar and widespread cult and culture: "When Manila sneezes, the Philippines catches cold." or so Joaquin writes. Rana's resistance to Incendia is a combination of personal trauma and a mash-up of the rest of the Philippines' resentment of "Imperial Manila" (The Tagalog, catholic, hispanized culturally and politically centered ethnic group), the complicated relationship between Folk Catholicism and the Vatican.

The Dinner Party: Incendia argues that Sta. Rosalina's cult and Dargonian culture are too foreign and not well-known to subjects outside of Dargonus. Rana argues that St. Drusus and Calixian culture (Incendia's camp) are just as foreign to the Koronus Expanse as she is. A nod to the demonization of hispanic creole cultures in the Philippines in the wake of 70s... after the Philippines wholeheartedly embraced Americanization. This isn't even about colonization, this is about loss of identity. There are a ton of unused "Filipino" words that came out of the nationalist movements of the late 1900s that were meant to replace loan words that were naturally adopted into local languages. The removal of Spanish from the curriculum while English is retained. The portrayals of colonization in history books as "bad colonizer and good colonizer" (as if there is such a thing LMAO) by comparing Spain to America, with the argument that the former was far far worse and could never be "ours". Never mind, of course, that after 300 years of colonization and the Filipino panuelo birthing the Manton de Manila (a Chinese creation based on the former and spread world-wide through the galleon routes coming out of Manila), the creolized cultures of the Philippines are a conversation between native culture and Spanish/Mexican culture, or that a lot of the Virgins of the Philippines absorbed ancient worship practices for older gods, or that the friars --- so often the villains of this story --- are responsible for the preservation of the Baybayin script and local languages (Why does the Philippines not speak Spanish? Aside from resistance to Old World disease, the friars who were wary of Muslim influence creeping up from the south in Mindanao just LEARNED the local languages and went crazy because that's what happens when you're fresh out of the Reconquista and your new colony, which is litered with sultanates, is discovered in the mid 1500s).

So, how do you come home to a place that no longer exists? FTWL Heinrix refuses to embrace change much like the "nationalists" who insist on creating an exoticized orientalism lite pastiche of Filipino cultures (much to the annoyance of actual IPs), clinging to a vision of distant Talavera (Guisorn III) that only exists for him. He mourns it while Rana celebrates a rebirth of it on Dargonus where Talaveran culture has creolized with the local Koronus Expanse culture. For Calligos, who has never had a real home or family, coming home is adopting a home and he embraces the cultures of the Rykad system in their entirety.

#posts from the trenches #lorraine's logs #from talavera #filipino culture #noli me tangere #el filibusterismo #von valancius #heinrix van calox #ultimately #i just wanted a telenovela but try telling my brainworms to reel it in #momma said go ham cram in everything you love #which apparently means telenovela tropes like love triangles #and whatever the fuck this is #wow was i really carrying that in my traveler's heart the wholetime #crazy

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vigilantkilliforniakatholixxx · 14 days ago

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…error and truth do not mix !! the modernists/satanists want you to treat them with tender apathy sweet soap and kind caresses but they should actually be beaten fiercely w/fists. in a duel you don't count or measure the blows no - you strike as you can and strike violently. the mighty Catholic Church is many things but tolerant ( Tolerance is not a Christian virtue. Charity, justice, mercy, prudence, honesty; these are Christian virtues tolerance is a false dream.) of demonic treacherous heretical apostasy hell bent on destroying her and killing her off it is surely not. CHRIST even said i have not come to bring peace but a sword!! most seem to have a long way to go before comprehending the one true Catholic church - it was never meant to be a beta male weakness haven . remember - a church incapable of inciting fear within it's followers as well as it's opponents is an obsolete institution set for decay and oblivion and unworthy of it's own legacy. the scum that infiltrated the Catholic faith and instituted vat2 knew this. this a war.

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paragonrobits · 9 months ago

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Lae'zel is young when she first reads forbidden words, and it is a long time before they mean anything to her.

They are heretical; as much as any githyanki would care to call it. These are words at the heart of a forbidden figure, the arch-traitor (in the eyes of Vlaakith, and then Lae'zel has no reason to think anything but that her will is law). Then, she thinks the proscribed thoughts, and feels the proscribed hatred of him.

The gith who, at the precipice of their victory over the illithids and over all that was not gith, all that might pose a threat to them and their absolute security, had split their people into two.

Once, the gith had stood under one sky. And then he spoke, and they stood under two skies. No longer was there simply gith; they were the loyalists to Gith herself, the githyanki. And then there were the githzerai, the followers of Zerthimon.

So. They are instructed not to read the words of the githzerai. Lae'zel is told, in such ways does heresy creep in.

She reads it, nonetheless, as she destroys the records. They are gone, from the world. But later, she realizes, the words remained.

The words were a part of her now.

They were not spoken by Zerthimon. But they were spoken by a githzerai who followed him; who was chained in slavery through words and the false promises of a treacherous monster, and through many lifetimes that githzerai suffered the indignity of those chains.

The monster died, again and again. And where once there was cold ruthlessness, something else woke up. And the githzerai came to know the friendship of a tormented immortal, who vowed to free him from the chains of promise. And so, that githzerai vowed to meet death with his blade, and together they came to a fortress made from regrets and sorrows. And there, that githzerai met his death.

It was not his final death. He rose again. But his first death was against impossible odds. He knew he would die; he knew what was coming. He met it anyway.

Now, Lae'zel's nostrils flare. Now, she breathes in the air, and she thinks that now, she may meet her own death.

Vlaakith comes. Now, Lae'zel thinks that all she has heard of the githzerai and Zerthimon has come from Vlaakith and those who speak her lies, and she remembers those words from a githzerai himself, untainted and sincere.

Now, she repeats the words that githzerai spoke. It feels right to do so, and suddenly she feels a surge of kinship; to one who may well have counted her an enemy, but for a moment she fancies journeying to the plane of Limbo, and opening herself to the danger of the githzerai, if that also means she may open herself to what wisdom they have, that could never live in githyanki philosophy.

Now she wonders if her people, chained by deception and obedience, have ever had philosophy. Was there ever anything for them but Vlaakith's chains?

She breaths out again. She greets what may be her death.

She speaks, and now she speaks the word of that githzerai, whose heart seems to echo her own. She thinks of the chains of words and false promises.

The wings of red dragons come closer. "I may be bested in battle..."

She readies her blade.

Beside her, the movement of her allies (her friends) stand close. They are with her, to the end. If she dies, she thinks, she dies with them, and she will die with honor.

"But I shall never be defeated."

And, for a moment, two skies became one again.

#balder's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #lae'zel #dak'kon #queued

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sleepyfan-blog · 4 months ago

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First Mer-Introductions

Author’s note: Thank you to @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for allowing me to borrow Jophiel and thank you to @egrets-not-regrets for letting me borrow Erriox, Mara and Lenora! First. Previous. Next

tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Warnings: mild panic, poor coping mechanisms

Summary: Jophiel talks Cedric into meeting his mom and not-dad.

"They are both really kind and good to me. And I've spoken to both of them about each of you. They want to meet you." Jophiel cajoles, a small and hopeful smile on the young Librarian's eyes as he peers hopefully at his brother-cousin.

Cedric sighs a little, shifting a bit as he looks briefly over at Jophiel, before returning to the task of grinding together the ingredients he had foraged. The two of them were sitting on a beach, their tails regularly awash with the waves as he ground together the components of a medical paste that helped wounds to heal properly, while also keeping potential illness and parasites away from the wound in question. "Harpies are often quite wary of Astartes, and for good reason. I am glad that you have found a family, but..." He sighs a little, shaking his head a little "Historically, Sons of Dorn and Sons of Perturabo have very rarely gotten along, even before The Heresy. I don't... I don't want to cause friction between you and the Firstborn Cousin who's... Who you've become close to." He didn't want to make Jophiel choose between himself and this Erriox. The presence of the older mer in Jophiel's life was a markedly positive one - and it did help soothe his worries that the other was a Loyalist.

Things were very different here on Ancient Terra, but Cedric could not bring himself to even try and begin to extend trust to the treacherous heretics. The thought of willingly cooperating with them for longer than was absolutely necessary made his blood boil and he could practically hear the way that his mentor would bellow at him for being so foolish and naive. Moments before the fiery and stubborn older Apothecary charged whichever Chaotic fool was watching Cedric get scolded for being a foolish pup and stabbed until they either died or fled for their own safety.

Jophiel watched him with Big, Sad Red eyes, his lower lip wobbling a little as the other swum closer to Cedric "Please... At least meet them once? If it goes badly, I won't try and press you to go again. I can arrange for you to meet mama first, even! Older Brother Erriox frequently goes on Hunts, and I'm sure that mother would understand why you would feel a bit uncertain meeting her in their nest! Ooooh, I could take you to where the Gannet Aunties are! They're the ones who showed me how to use my wings properly in the water, and the ones who helped me create this lovely pattern on my wings." The young Primaris Blood Angel explained, shifting a little to show off his osprey-pattern painted wings.

Cedric really was glad that Jophiel had finally been able to not just reconcile with the fact that he had been gifted wings like the Holy Primarch Sanguinius, but that his wings were in fact a gift. A blessing, and not a curse or a shameful secret to hide. But the idea of being around even more strangers to him who were very important to one of his brother-cousins was... Incredibly stressful. While he wasn't the most awkward son of Dorn... Cedric was keenly aware of the reputation that the wild populations of his firstborn brothers had cultivated when one heard that there was a Black Templar Astartes mer nearby. He ducks his head a little and asks "They... They won't mind that I am a Black Templar?" While none of the mortal humans had been attacked by the Black Templars with lethal intent - at least not with the Templars inciting the incident once the Realization had come that they were on Ancient and Holy Terra... The magical creatures who lived alongside the humans, and especially the harpies and other kinds of magical creatures who were known to be hunters of humans... Were not given the same sorts of distant protection and reverence, despite also being natives to Holy Terra as well.

Jophiel paused for a moment, clearly considering his question and the implications he meant by it "Well... No! Of course not. Not unless you try to attack them first for some reason. They know better than to assume all astartes of one chapter are the same, of course. Also..." The young Librarian gestured to Cedric "You don't... Exactly look like a standard Black Templar."

"That's because I'm an Apothecary, Jophiel. All Apothecaries have our primary colorations fade to white during the training into becoming Apothecaries, with the occasional bit of original coloration left to identify which chapter or legion we belong to. It's something that happens to all Apothecaries. Just like how all Chaplains primary colorations shift into black or a near-black color with only hints of other colors to identify which chapter or legion they belong to. It's how the Emperor created us to be." Cedric points out with a sigh, shaking his head a little. He flicked his almost snow-white and black striped tail deliberately, splashing his brother-cousin as he finished grinding the ingredients into paste.

Jophiel squawked and splashed him back, careful to aim so that the water wouldn't accidentally splash into the mortar and pestle Cedric was using and ruining the batch of wound-binding poultice he was creating. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Sooo are you gonna meet mama and older brother Erriox or not?"

Cedric sighed, pausing in his task to check to see if the poultice was at the correct consistency by smearing it a little around the sides of the mortal, rolling his wrist and getting back to grinding it into a finer paste "If I say yes and do my best to make a good first impression, will you stop begging me? When did you want me to meet them?" He'd rather meet them one at a time, but he suspected if Jophiel was truthful about his gene-lineage, the Iron Warrior would insist on meeting him first, or alongside his mate, as was his right. Not that Cedric intended someone who made Jophiel so happy and clearly loved him and cared for him harm. But ancient grudges were not something easily overcome. He'd need to make a proper greeting gift, but what?

Any sort of medical poultice or potion could be seen as an implied threat - that one or both of them might need what he was giving them. A gift of food could be seen as an insult to Erriox's - or Lenora's for that matter - ability to hunt and forage food for themselves. Nest building materials would be presumptuous and a possible implied threat as well. Shells might work? Especially if he checked to make sure that there wasn't anything living within them first. That had been a surprise that could have ended poorly, but Geoducks were delicious, especially once roasted and wrapped in sea asparagus.

"As soon as possible! I'll go ask mama when and where she'd like to meet you! Don't worry, I'll remind her that you're kind of shy." Jophiel reassured Cedric before swimming off excitedly, diving off into the waves.

"I AM NOT SHY! HOW DARE YOU?!" Cedric spluttered at the top of his lungs, sulking at the very notion. He was cautious, not shy!

Three days later and after hours of carefully going through his stash of pretty rocks and neat looking shells, he had settled on a small handful of each to offer Jophiel's adoptive mother and Firstborn Older Brother, should things go well. Jophiel had told him that he was going to be meeting both of them along the shoreline near where the Gannet Harpy flock who Jophie referred to as Aunties were roosting, as a more neutral spot then Cedric being led to where the two of them made their nest. Which Cedric felt was an entirely fair and reasonable thing to do, despite the unhappy pout on the Blood Angel's face as he had told Cedric this.

Cedric swum up to the designated strip of shoreline near Gannet Rock and activated his ability to swim through the air, which was a more elegant way of being able to move, rather than dragging his tail behind him as he pulled himself out of the serf by his arms. He hummed quietly to himself as he fidgeted a little with the two pouches he had brought along with him. If he had put the rocks and shells together, the rocks would break the softer shells into a fine powder which could be used in a number of useful applications that included but were not limited to increasing the amount of calcium in a dish, but was not what Cedric had intended the shells for. The young Astartes was keenly aware that he had arrived early to the spot that Jophiel had promised that he would meet Miss Lenora and Cousin Erriox. Cedric had been tempted to call the meeting off... But he was a Black Templar, damn it. He would face this trial head on, and hope that it went well.

"Good afternoon, Astartes." Called out an older feminine voice from above and behind Cedric.

This caused the young Black Templar to startle as he twisted around to see who was addressing him. She appeared to be an older Gannet harpy, from the lines on her face and the faded colorations on her wings. "Y-Yes?" Cedric called out, uncertain as to why she was addressing him.

"Is there a particular reason why you are lingering on this strip of beach, so near where my family roosts?" The elder Gannet harpy asked bluntly, looking him over. Cedric had been brought to Ancient Terra without his armor or weapons and hadn't brought any of the makeshift weapons he had created while on Ancient Terra with him to this meeting.

"Uhm... I'm supposed to be meeting a couple of beings here? Per the request of one of my brother-cousins. Jophie said that it was fine..." Cedric explained, feeling horribly uncertain now. This was the correct day, if not quite the right time, yes? And Cedric was fairly sure he was at or near the correct spot.

"You know young Jophiel?" The elderly Gannet Harpy pressed, her eyes widening a little as she looked him over more assessingly "I've never seen an Astartes with this much white in their scales. Which pod do you belong to?"

Cedric squirmed a little from where he sat in the surf. "I... Ah... Haven't really joined up with one of the established Astartes Pods after arriving on Ancient Terra, actually. Though I do have some contact with a couple of my firstborn brothers!" Not that brother Roland or Brother Arnault knew that. He was pretty sure one or both of them would scold him for it. "But that doesn't mean I'm not part of a pod! I'm with a group of five of my fellow primaris brother-cousins! As far as any of can tell, I was the first to be brought to Ancient Terra, and I've been the one who found the others, usually. Though Claude did find Catius, I think."

"I see. Is there a reason why you haven't sought out an established pod of Astartes?" She inquired, looking him over again, a small frown appearing on her face "Are you perhaps concerned about the reaction that your coloration would provoke in your firstborn brothers?"

Was she... Was she referencing the fact that Jophiel had been - and to a lesser extent still was - wary about approaching firstborn Blood Angels and their descendant chapters because of his wings? Oh dear... "I... Ah. Though my primarily white coloration does mean something specific among Astartes, it's unlikely that I would get a bad reaction, if I was spotted by a group of Firstborn brothers... Though they would probably chase me down and try to catch me if they spotted me. My specialization is fairly rare, haha... Though not quite as rare as say, Ramiel's or Jophiel's."

"Specalization? I had not known that Astartes coloration denoted specialization. Would you care to explain?" Mara pressed, floating a little bit closer to Cedric as she asked.

"Oh, uhm sure. Jophiel's hood denotes him as a Librarian - a magic user. Most fully trained librarians also either carry a staff or a long-handled primary weapon as well. Ramiel's mostly black coloration and the skull-mask of his helm denotes him as a Chaplain. Specifically a Justicar, which is a Primaris Chaplain-in-training. My primarily white coloration marks me as an apothecary. A healer." Cedric explained "If you're curious about Jophie's wings... They're a rare expression of his gene-seed. A rare and precious gift, although it's been difficult to get Jophiel to accept that. You have my deepest gratitude and eternal thanks in getting him to fully accept himself as he is." He hasn't had to treat Jophiel for accidental injuries to his wings in months. A fact that he attributed to both Miss Lenora and the Gannet Harpies helping him become more comfortable in his skin and wings.

"Fascinating, I hadn't known that... You didn't answer my question when I asked why you were avoiding joining your older brothers in a pod. Is there a reason why?" The older Gannet harpy pressed, her eyes narrowing a little.

Cedric cringed a little. He had many reasons why he didn't want to formally join a Black Templar pod. Many of them were cowardly in nature...Besides... Neither Brother Arnault nor Brother Roland were part of a proper Astartes pod and they seemed fine! They were both really happy with their bonded humans and seemed to at least tolerate his and the other primaris brother-cousins presences well enough. "I come from a particularly migratory chapter, ma'am. Trying to find a pod of them on this world without proper communication equipment would be really difficult." Which is the easiest answer he has. He really hopes that she doesn't notice the way that he's shaking at the thought of joining a Black Templar pod... It's possible he could join an Imperial Fist pod, but they would immediately clock him as a Black Templar, and would likely arrange for him to meet with Firstborn Black Templars and he... Cowardly though it was, had no desire to meet any Leading Black Templars right now.

Besides... Cedric also nursed the hope that the other Primaris Black Templars who had been killed for the crime of existing while their Firstborn Brothers were angry and could take their temper out on them would be sent to Holy Terra in this time as well. That he would be able to save them, as he hadn't been able to in the 42nd century. But being able to do so hinged on him not being monitored and potentially stopped by nosy older brothers when he received the distress call. "Am I not allowed to try and figure out who I want to be, without the pressures of my firstborn brothers pressuring me into the mould they want me to be? Being brought to Ancient and Holy Terra has allowed me opportunities to help my fellow Primaris brothers I hadn't been able to have back where I taken from." He couldn't quite look her in the eyes as he said this, but his chin was tilted upwards in defiance. His entire body was shaking a little with the effort, but... But he was trying, damn it! He hoped she would accept this answer and back off.

The elder Gannet Harpy hummed in response to that, seemingly accepting his words. "Very well. Lenora and Erriox should be arriving soon. Have a good day, young one." With that she took off in a flurry of movement and shifting feathers.

True to her prediction, it did not take long after Lady Mara left for Cedric to spot an Osprey harpy flying towards him. Cedric squashed the instinctual desire to shift into a defensive posture, perhaps grab several of the nearby rocks to arm himself for a fight. From the descriptions that Jophiel had given him, the Osprey harpy circling into land was Jophiel's adopted mother - and sure enough, Cedric saw the large venomfin emerge from the waters. He suppressed the desire to arm himself as the firstborn astartes approached him. He cleared his throat a little before calling out "Greetings, Cousin. Greetings Miss Lenora." He placed his hands in his lap, doing his best to keep them relaxed, a visible show that he wasn't armed and wasn't reaching for a weapon.

The Firstborn Astartes called out "So you're Cedric, huh? Where's your squad, Scout?"

"... The chapter I am from don't have Scouts. We have aspirants and neophytes who are then taken as apprentices as older brothers, though we are sorted into squads for missions based on ability, specialization if any, and mentor preference." Cedric responded back, pouting a little in the older Astartes' direction. "I am the only one here, as far as I know." He technically did have a squad! He even had a fellow Primaris Black Templar! Not that he was going to tell the Iron Warrior that. But the others were off on their own missions and far from here."

"Hmmm...." The Older astartes rumbled, looking him over carefully "I'm surprised that your pod let you out without a minder, little Apothecary."

"I'm not little!" Cedric huffed, barely able to restrain himself from pouting more or sticking his tongue out at the older Astartes, as that would be far too immature and childish of him. Even if part of him was tempted to do something so ridiculous. "I'm larger than you are."

"Maybe in terms of bulk, but you're young. That I can tell, also from the stories that Jophiel has told us about you. You're Cedric, correct?" Cousin Erriox asked, looking him over carefully "You certainly look the part of a young apothecary."

"... Of course I am young? I am a Primaris Marine. What else would I be? As far as I know, no one has been taken from much further in time than I and my fellow Primaris brothers, and we have only recently been sent to our firstborn brothers to aid in... Things." Cedric responded, catching himself as miss Lenora landed. It was part of The Rules not to talk too much about Where You Were From while around the natives to Holy Terra of this timeline, for fear of doing irreparable damage to the timeline.

"Erriox please stop teasing the fledgling, he hasn't done anything to antagonize you." Miss Lenora called out as she landed gracefully on the sand, walking her way over to where the two large mer were sitting, sending a censuring stare the Iron Warrior's way.

Erriox grumbled wordlessly for a moment before huffing out "Jophiel neglected to mention that any of the Primaris Marines he'd found here on Ancient Terra were sons of Dorn. Though, you're surprisingly not-shouty for a Black Templar."

Cedric hunched in on himself a little, biting back the first response that came to mind. He didn't want to cause friction between Jophiel and his adoptive parent and older brother, so he would do his best to be Polite and deliberately chose his words as carefully as he could manage, despite the irritation prickling at him "Would you rather I have charged you, calling you a heretic while trying to tear you apart with my bare hands?" He was aiming for dry sarcasm, and hoped that he managed it.

"Hah. I am a loyalist, which I am certain Jophiel has already told you. Still, I'm surprised that we aren't being menaced by your pod for being this close to one of their not-Scouts." Erriox hummed, a small smile gracing his scarred face.

"I am here to meet the two of you for the first time. What I do in my spare time as long as I don't deliberately put myself in danger is no concern of my older brothers." Cedric sniffed. Not that he had a proper pod who he belonged to. Nor had he told Brother Arnault nor Brother Roland he was doing this, unsure as to what their reactions would be. He was... Sixty-percent sure that Jophiel had told the two firstborn Templars about Erriox in enough detail for them to know that he was a pre-heresy Iron Warrior, but he couldn't be entirely sure.

Erriox actually chuckled at that, eyes shining with mirth "I'm sure your older brothers would protest that. You're a handful of mischief, just like Jophiel."

Cedric flinched at that, ducking his head a little, realizing that he had been silently challenging the other by too much direct eye-contact. He couldn't help but grind out a sullen "And?" despite himself.

"That's not a bad thing." Lenora called out, much closer than he'd thought she was moments ago. He shifted to look at her, while keeping Erriox in his field of view. She slowly reached out and ruffled his short white hair "It's wonderful to meet one of the brothers who Jophiel has spoken so much about. He loves you all very much."

"And I know I speak for the others when I say that we all love him very much. Jophiel was decanted a couple of weeks after we were. Despite protesting that it doesn't make much of a difference, it really does." Cedric hummed, a small smile appearing on his face. They did occasionally tease Jophie about being the youngest of their group, but he made it so easy sometimes. He froze when he felt her touch, his eyes going wide as he tried to process the gentle touch being given to him by someone who wasn't a fellow Primaris Marine.

"Who was decanted first?" Lenora asked, stumbling over the word a little, sending an unreadable look at Erriox who shrugged in response.

Cedric didn't immediately answer, the warmth of her hand and the light, pleasant scratchy feeling of her claws on his head had completely derailed whatever he was going to say. He was keeping very, very still as he tried to figure out whether or not he was enjoying himself or he was going to try to figure out how to politely ask her to stop touching him right this very minute.

"Mmm, I think you've short-circuited him. Sons of Dorn are stubborn as hell, but give them an unexpected friendly touch and they freeze up. They're not great about expressing or receiving affection. Like at all." Erriox, the bastard accused him of.

The young Apothecary made a small sound in the back of his throat. He had attempted to growl at the older marine but had failed miserably. It was somewhere between a purr and a squeak. "We do not! As for your question earlier, Ramiel and I were decanted within minutes of one another. Rami likes to argue he was first, but he's wrong. I was." Cedric answered, attempting for playful confidence... though from the way his voice shook, he'd failed spectacularly.

"Uh huh." Lenora hummed, smiling as she pet his head again.

Cedric leaned into her touch, a rush of complicated emotions that he was doing his best to Ignore and shove in the Feelings Box in the back of his mind, a whisper-soft purr starting to rumble from his chest. He understood why Jophiel liked Miss Lenora so much. She was warm and kind and just the right kind of stern when the situation called for it. Her scent was soothing as well. If he thought she would let him, he'd curl around her and beg her to keep gently touching him like this. It was so comforting and he was trying to blink back tears. They weren't angry or terrified tears, but they were still stinging his eyes, though he had yet to let them fall. "I am... I'm the oldest of the five of us. Not only in terms of decanting, but in how long we were each in the there and then before being brought here. Catius got lost in the Warp during the Primaris rollout. Calude would have been killed by being crushed to death by a flying tyranid he killed. Jophi... Jophiel won't tell me what happened just before he got sent to Holy Terra. And Ramiel... Ramiel died in my arms years before I was sent here." He desperately hoped that the other Primaris Marines who were killed by the... Capriciousness of their first-born brothers would be or have been sent to Ancient Terra, and that they had survived or would be able to survive with help... Or maybe even on their own.

"... What the actual fuck did the Mechanicus do to you pups?" Erriox grumbled, a growl low in his chest.

Cedric flinched and shifted so that he was physically between miss Lenora and Erriox. His mind reminded him that the two of them were mates and it was vanishingly unlikely that Jophiel would come to care for and trust the Iron Warrior if he had shown habitual cruelties towards his mate... But long years of experience with firstborn brothers had taught him that that kind of growl coming from one of them always, always meant pain and suffering was sure to follow. Usually immediately. "Arch Magos Bellisarius Cawl along with his team of mechanicus priests and trainers created and trained us before we were sent off to our chapters, on the orders of the Imperial Regent, once he learned of us. Some of our trainers were Iron Hands, and others were -" Cedric shuddered, keenly aware of the very harsh training methods that the silver and grey astartes whose chapter name was never spoken of. Their power... Their psychic might and viciousness with which they punished any signs of hesitation or weakness. "I don't know what they were called. We were not to speak of them when they weren't present."

"... But none of these trainers are here, in this time?" Lenora asked, one hand still petting his hair, the other drifting down to rub soothing circles into one of his shoulders.

Cedric gave into the shameful urge to bury his face into her belly, the tremors wracking his body getting more violent "N-no. N-not as far as I know. I haven't seen or heard of any of them. And I would have heard of them, at least by the bloody wake they leave in their path. They... Really... don't like Chaos Marines. Ancient Terra or not, I don't think that any of... Any of them would tolerate the presence of chaos marines on Holy Terra, previous agreements by other loyalists be damned."

"Father's balls I don't want to meet whichever chapter scares a Black Templar this much." Erriox rumbled, sounding much closer to him and miss Lenora than he had been before. A marine sized hand came to rest on the shoulder that Miss Lenora wasn't massaging. "Ancient Terra is safer than the hell you managed to escape, young one. You're safe here with me and my mate."

"Thank you sir." Cedric mumbled into Lenora's belly, his body slowly stopping trembling. "M'tired all of a sudden."

"Yeah. Lots of high emotion will do that to someone. Especially traumatized Scouts. Rest well, we will guard you." Erriox rumbled, gently squeezing his shoulder in reassurance.

"Thank you, sir." Cedric mumbled again, relaxing into the Harpy's warm touch, sleep pulling him under sweetly.

He could hear them talking as slumber took him, Erriox's voice rumbling. "We should take him to the nest. He'll be more comfortable there, and our other pup will be glad to see one of his chosen brothers there."

"Alright… Please help me carry him? He weighs more than you do."

"Of course, love." A chuckle "He's bigger than I am."

#celestial seas au #oc: erriox #oc: lenora #oc: mara #oc: jophiel #oc: cedric #warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #my writing

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spinchboli · 1 year ago

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(Reupload)

"You're an angel, I'm a dog

Or you're a dog and I'm your man

You believe me like a God

I destroy you like I am

I'm sorry I'm the one you love

No-one will ever love me like you again

So when you leave me, I should die

I deserve it, don't I?*"

Live laugh love mitski and her new album UGHHHH

Treacherous traitorous wyrm and akatoshs last holy vessel tainted by the corruption of the blasphemy of a depraved heretic. Serpent offering the fruits of knowledge to the deceived, the condemned and forsaken.

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inquisitor-apologist · 2 years ago

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Reason 552 Barriss should’ve been (Fulcrum) in Rebels: how much harder the Luminara episode would’ve hit if she’d been there.

Barriss had never expected to see her master alive again. She'd lived with her death for a decade and a half; Barriss had felt the Purge, and so few had survived. But she'd never been sure, and the scant hope she'd kept alive for so long had desperately wanted to believe that Trayvis's info was good, that Luminara lived, that she could find her master again. And she had. Imprisoned in a cryogenic coffin, fifteen years gone and dead, her once-master. Luminara Unduli, Knight of the Jedi Order, General of the 71st Elite Corps, Master to a traitor and heretic. Dead, just like the Republic she'd defended.

They'd put her in a force-damned sarcophagus and used her bones as a beacon, tempting survivors to their deaths. Barriss wanted to cry, to scream, to be sick. It wasn't right. Jedi burned their dead. Barriss should--what? What should she do? What could she do? There was no fuel for a pyre, no Masters to preside, no one left to mourn. No one but Barriss, and Barriss was a traitor. She could not give her a proper funeral. Luminara was dead, and still, Barriss failed her. That was all she could ever do, it seemed.

She rested her head against the cold transparisteel of the casket. It was all so wrong. She remembered her last conversation with her master in a cold, featureless visitation room of Coruscant High-Security Republic Penitentiary. Luminara had told her that the Jedi had managed to get her execution date permanently postponed, and Barriss had cried. She'd told her she was being deployed to Kashyyyk, and Barriss had cried. She'd told Barriss goodbye, and Barriss had cried. She'd done that a lot back then. It seemed she was getting back into the habit.

Tears froze on the cold surface of the coffin.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but what she meant was, could I have saved you? If I'd been there, if I'd never Fallen, if I was still your student, would you be safe? Could I have taken the blaster bolts for you, let you get away? Is there a world where our places are inverted? "I'm so sorry, Master. I don't... I can't..."

She remembered Luminara’s smile. Her gentle, firm presence warm and welcoming even when Barriss had been at her lowest, screaming her hatred from behind cell walls. “It does not matter what you have done, Padawan,” Luminara had told her when she had finally seen the truth of the Temple bombing, sobbing on the floor of her cell. “All that matters is you see the light, change your ways and make amends. It does not even matter if you fail along the way. The dark road is treacherous and difficult to climb out of. What is important is that you try.”

Barriss Offee was not a Jedi. The Temple was destroyed, the Council murdered, the Code abandoned. She could never call herself Jedi again and know that it was truth. That did not matter, not now. What mattered was that her Master was depending on her one last time. She could not hold a proper funeral, but that didn't matter either. She would try.

She stepped back from Luminara's coffin.

She ignited her lightsabers, one white, one blue.

She slashed through the transparisteel, careful not to let the blades touch her Master.

Cold white steam materialized as freezing, fifteen-year-old air leaked out.

Luminara's corpse fell forward, into the gouged transparisteel, with a small thump.

Jedi funerals were short, simple affairs. The body was ritually cleaned, then laid out on a stone slab. Any who wished to pay their respects could come to mourn. The ceremony was held exactly three days after death and lasted perhaps fifteen minutes. Afterward, their lineage would hold a small party, remembering the fallen's life and celebrating their memory. The dead were free, released to the total harmony of the Force. There was no need for extended grief periods or complex rites. A life was to be remembered, missed, honored, not held on to.

Barriss breathed out, composing herself.

There had been so many funerals in the war; Barriss knew precisely what to say and do. Her lips moved, almost on their own.

“There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There is no death, there is the Force.”

She cried, and a small, blue flame ignited in her palm. She continued.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. You are one with the Force, as all things shall be. May you find justice; May you find peace. May the Force be with you.”

Her body shook with uncontrollable sobs. The flame in her hand grew larger and brighter. She cried as she pressed her hand against her Master’s cold, dead corpse and watched the fire take hold. The Force Fire left no smoke; it ate through Luminara’s body, dropping her ashes on the cell floor.

Luminara was free. It was too much. Barriss collapsed to the floor and wept.

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songoftrillium · 1 year ago

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Ghost Council (J.F. Sambrano Edition)

The following is the fourth draft copy of Ghost Council as written by J.F. Sambrano was submitted to Paradox. This is reposted from J.F. Sambrano's patreon with their permission:

Ghost Council

By J.F. Sambrano

Who are the Ghost Council?

The first-born of the Dawning Tribes, the Ghost Council, or Elder Brother as they are known amongst themselves, always steps into the unknown first, braving its dangers for the protection of their siblings. The Ghost Council seeks to know, first and foremost, so that they can then teach those who come after what is prudent and what is treacherous. The Ghost Council seeks knowledge in dark places, and wisdom from the dark and alien. The Ghost Council knows that not all of their siblings are ready for this perilous method of education, but they are, and someone always has to walk into the darkness first. Let it be us, they say. Let us keep our cousins unblemished. (See the rest below the cut)

Despite this commonality in approach, there are many disparate perspectives within the Ghost Council. The most common philosophy is that which they are most famous for--the Ghost Council studies the enemy in order to best understand it, because in understanding lies the key to victory. No Tribe engages in the study of Grandmother Serpent with the conviction and determination that the Ghost Council does. Yet there are others who say that the answers lie within the Garou people themselves--and the Garou are children of the Wyld. These members of the Ghost Council instead throw themselves into the frenetic, chaotic, and even explosive techniques of the Wyld--seeking understanding through “crazy wisdom” and unpredictability. These Wyld Children are often seen as dangerous and incomprehensible to other members of the Tribe. Likewise, there are those who insist that the secrets to understanding the cosmos lie within the madness of Grandfather Spider, who has played his great trick on Grandmother Serpent. These Web Walkers cling to the Scars and embrace the power and knowledge of Grandfather Spider’s brood, and although their expertise and power is undeniable, even their own Tribal members consider them heretical Urrah.

Gaia’s Howl

When Great Mother cried out, the power of her pain dislodged many spirits--and many powerful Banes which the Banetenders of the Ghost Council held trapped for centuries. This is one of the greatest fears that the Ghost Council has, and in these last days, they have come to pass. No Tribe has the knowledge or wherewithal needed to hunt down and bind these spirits once more. The Ghost Council has made it their priority to do this work--no matter the cost.

The Ghost Council believes that the secret knowledge required to address Great Mother’s pain lies beyond the Gauntlet. Some say that it is the beginning of the Seventh Sign, but the Ghost Council has always questioned the validity of that prophecy. The severing of the Umbra and the Tellurian has only incited more and more of them to devote themselves to Umbral exploration in order to find the source of Great Mother’s pain.

The Ghost Council has never been satisfied only courting the power of the spirit world--even though they are unquestionably masters of it--but with the source of this power increasingly difficult to access, many of them are turning to cultural and traditional sources of power, enriching their acumen through their communities. Their embrace of belief systems and folk magic which stray from the animistic outlook of the Garou as a whole is yet another reason that the rest of the Tribes look at them askance, not just with concern, but with fear.

The Malady

Unlike their more temperamental brother, the Ghost Council learned long ago to seek outside of themselves for kinship and family. This is not to say that they are not concerned with their growing sterility, but they have no qualms with looking further and in darker places for Lost Cubs to bring within their fold. They are still quite discerning, however, and choose to limit their searches to the cultures and communities which they consider their own--oppressed and marginalized communities which have suffered from the erasures and genocides brought forth by global colonial attitudes.. They seek those who know how to walk between, to understand and respect both worlds, a knowledge necessary for the quest given to them by their Patron, the River Serpent.

The Ghost Council concerns themselves more with the afflictions being suffered by other living things. It was the Ghost Council who first recognized the sickness as one of the spirit--and who else? But that is only an answer that offers more questions.

Kinfolk

The Ghost Council has usually held their Kinfolk in high respect, but have also been known to leave them behind in pursuit of secrets and dangers where they cannot go. The Malady has forced them to respond to this oversight in one of two ways. There are many among the Ghost Council who have chosen to focus on building up their communities, made up of disempowered folk such as Native Americans, Black folk, and other Indigenous and impoverished communities across the world, who are always on the front lines when the impacts of the Urge Wyrm Kimoti and Great Mother’s pain are concerned. They act as guides and cultural leaders, even to the point of creating zealous, cult-like followings. Others members of the Ghost Council have decided that in these last days it is time to trust and empower their Kinfolk--always the most likely to show the ability to manipulate the world through medicine and sorcery alike--to walk with them on their dangerous path, and choose to take them along on their journeys into the dark, even if they were not built to survive the hidden horrors within.

River Serpent

At home in the darkest depths and hidden fathoms, River Serpent goads and guides its children along perilous paths and dangerous journeys. River Serpent does not act so much as a representative or a guardian as other Tribal Patrons do, but rather a negotiator of forbidden wisdom and unique mysteries. The Serpent-That-Swims-Beneath eschews warm supervision for the stark and cold protocol of spiritual transactions. The Serpent is a dealmaker, a soultaker, and counts every bead owed.

Harmony

Harmony is a matter of balancing the spirit. Members of the Ghost Council hunt down and annihilate spirits that are out of control, or they scour the dark places for secrets of the mystical that are as of yet unknown, or they influence the spirit courts in a way that will change the world for the better. They are always at council with the ghosts, be they the courts, their ancestors, or even the malevolent undead. Whatever method or technique an individual of the Ghost Council uses, it is always about the balancing of spirit. Even the Banetenders, warped with the corruption of Grandmother Serpent, know the importance of this.

Ghreena

The Ghreena of the Ghost Council is the The Lure of the Wyrm.

It is a common Ghost Council philosophy to study the secrets of the Wyrm, both to use it against Grandmother Serpent’s agents, and also to find what corrupted things might be brought back into balance--but sometimes those secrets are too tempting to use.

These Garou will willingly ally themselves with Banes whom (they believe) they can control. They will use Gifts taught to them by Wyrm spirits and use corrupted Fetishes, claiming that they give them the power necessary to fight for Great Mother.

The Ghost Council are not unknown to invoke the most powerful spirits to aid them in their duties, but when lost to Ghreena they will carelessly invoke spirits that could take control of them or others, essentially fraternizing with dangerous and malignant spirits, and giving themselves over as hosts. Even worse, when other Tribes encounter these horrifying, twisted versions of a Ghost Councilor, it only confirms their worst fears about them.

Archetypes: Sorcerers, spiritual envoys, spirit-hunters, keepers of stories and songs.

#world of darkness #werewolf: the apocalypse #world building #werewolves #ghost council

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