#unidentified goddess

[tsalmu]

Terracotta plaque of Unidentified Deity (Goddess?) Emar / Tell Meskene, Syria c. 1200 BCE

[sw5w]

The N-1's Soar Out of the Hangar

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:47:35

[puddleorganism]

I love how Pearlescentmoon designs are always either:

The most beautiful, resplendent goddess you’ve ever seen

Or, the half-drowned unidentified creature you pulled out of the river with a stick that stared at you wide-eyed through the trees afterwards

[thewisecheerio]

Elden Ring Caterpillars

It's Elden Ring, but every character is a caterpillar. STARRING...

Ranni the Witch as Pseudosiobla excavata

Praetor Rykard as Phyllodes imperialis

General Radahn as Orgyia Vetusta

Mohg, Lord of Blood as Citheronia Phoronea

Morgott the Grace Given as Troides helena

Post-black knives Godwyn the Golden as Brahmaea wallichii

https://australianbutterflies.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/Picture1-1.png

Malenia, Goddess of Rot as this unidentified Saturniid (Automeris, species unknown)

Miquella the Unalloyed as Apatelodes torrefacta (they also come in a pale gold!)

Messmer the Impaler as Eacles imperialis

Melina, Kindling Maiden as Pyrrharctia isabella

Queen Marika the Eternal as Euploea midamus

Radagon of the Golden Order as Hyles lineata

https://allofnature.blogspot.com/2013/10/white-lined-sphinx-moth-and-caterpillar.html

Fia the Deathbed Companion as Citheronia brissotti

The Loathsome Dungeater as Rhanidophora ridens

Goldmask as Estigmene acrea

https://bugguide.net/node/view/988678

Miriel, Pastor of Vows as Charadra deridens

The post that inspired it all, The Elden Beast as Eudocima phalonia

https://www.reddit.com/r/Eldenring/comments/uey6s1/the_common_fruit_moth_caterpillar_looks_a_bit/

[shy-blue-blossom]

Goddess

Record of Ragnarok

"Who invoked Ragnarok?" 

The gods froze at the voice. Some shrank into themselves while others tried to find where the voice was coming from. The Valkyrie stopped dead in their traps. Both Brunhilde and Zeus paled. Poor Goll looked at Brunhilde surprised as she had been going up against the gods and defying them, yet the individual behind this voice could knock her back along with the 'Grandfather of the cosmos'. Mankind was baffled that a single individual could send nearly all the gods into a fanzine. They were terrified of that fact. Goll turned to see if she could find the owner of the voice but screamed when she saw a black shadow behind Brunhilde. She disappeared before Goll could warn her. 

"Zeus, behind you!" Goll could only shout to him when she saw an unidentified individual behind him. 

"I shall ask one last time," Zeus turned his head slowly along with Hades, who had shown up not long before. Both physically paled when they saw who the voice belonged to. Brunhilde was standing stiff with her head downwards next to the individual. 

"Who invoked Ragnarok?" The voice demanded as they were stared down at. 

"My lady," The Colosseum went silent. "I did," The one who spoke up as they bowed towards them.

"Hermes," He stood back up straight to see her watching him from the side of her eye. "I do not appreciate being lied to." 

"I invoked Ragnarok," Brunhilde spoke up after silence hung in the air. She flinched when she was turned upon.

"Why Brunhilde?" There was no emotion in her voice as the question was asked.

"I thought it was the only way to save mankind," Brunhilde looked up. "They were going to wipe them out." She let out the truth as she gestured to the gods. 

"Oh," She finally said after being quiet, trying to hold in how she felt. Zeus finched when she turned to him. He jumped off his chair and knelt in front of her. 

"Forgive me Lady y/n," Gaspe went throughout the Colosseum. Not only had Zeus apologised and kneeled for her, but it was Y/n, Goddess of All. Whispers began. "They were destroying the earth, seas and life overall. To be fair we would have made it quick and simp-"Zeus stopped speaking when he noticed her glare.

"Let me make one thing clear," Y/n's voice projected around the Colosseum as she spoke. "Mankind is not yours to judge. You do not guide the ones who follow you," Many gods finched. 

"If this compaction continues, it will be until one cannot fight anymore. If any of you have any objects you can face me." Silence followed before mankind rejoiced at the relief of not being in danger. Y/n disappeared from where Zeus was still on his knees to the middle of the Colosseum. Three individuals stood behind her. 

She nodded and they made their way to the side. Not even two seconds later, a god attempted to attack. She watched this lesser god as he came from the side with others hiding behind him. She let a sigh out as she raised a hand. Y/n caught his weapon and pushed him backwards, along with the other gods. They all crashed into the wall of the Colosseum. Noticing no one else attempted to engage in a fight, she turned and began to make her way towards a seat. 

"Where were you when we lost Hercules and Poseidon?" Y/n stopped and looked towards the individual who spoke.

"What did you say?" She questioned them.

"Hercules and Poseidon are gone forever because you only just showed up," The ones watching her closely saw her hand twitch as she walked towards the god who spoke up. "You obviously don't care-" His words cut off when she stood in front of him. 

"I would choose your next words wisely," Y/n demanded as she glared at him. "I only knew about this foolish thing when Budda told me. I came as soon as he did. Zeus knew what he was doing when he kept this from me. The only one who does not care for his life is you."

Her seat was then taken after she turned from him. The rounds that followed continued until a fighter could not continue. The winners were decided.

"Brunhilded, Zeus," Y/n voice cut through the air. Everyone turned to her. She lifted her head from where it rested on her hand as she spoke to them. "If you were given a wish what would it be?" No one was expecting her to ask this. 

"More power, no. More women, no. More fighting opponents?" Zeus kept going through things he would ask for and Y/n scoffed in disgust at this. She looked at Brunhilde. 

"I would wish to see everyone again." Brunhilde watched a smile grow on y/n's face along with the three individuals standing beside her. 

"Turn around Brunhilde," She did as told and saw Lu bu and his army, Adam, Poseidon, Hercules and the Valkyrie, her sisters. Goll throws herself at her sisters before at Hercules, crying the whole time. Everyone was gobsmacked but soon started celebrating their return.

"How did you?" Brunhilde asked in disbelief as she watched everyone. 

"I'm Y/n Goddess of All," Was the response she gave them. "It was a wish from the bottom of your heart. However, it helps that it was not their time to go." 

The gods realised how powerful she was. 

The end.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist

[winterpower98]

After watching season 5, I've made some adjustment to the Cursed AU. None of these are final and I'll probably have to change something else down the line, but for now, this is all I could come up with.

- How is Ao Lie in the AU

Ao Lie is still in the AU and his body is still made out of the Samadhi Fire. But much like Red pointed out during Season 5, Mei does still have some leftover power after having the fire for her entire life. So after helping Red deal with his little experiment, she gets trained by both Ao Lie and Red to try and fan the flames of her new powers while also making sure to keep it under control.

- Ba and Beng return and Ma and Zan’s backstory

- Ba, Beng and Bai He

Season 5 happens after this point

- Inky in the AU

During the events of Season 5, Macaque and Wukong have reconciled a bit and are still together, but after what happened with Azure Lion and what they both saw in the scroll things become tense again between the two immortals so they start bickering and fighting again.

Macaque looks into who could have manipulated Azure into overthrowing the Jade Emperor while Wukong keeps training and (failing) to talk to MK. But he also uses Inky to help figure out what memories he's missing since he got 'brought back' by the Lady Bone Demon. Neither of them is happy about the arrangement, and Wukong doesn't even know about Inky's involvement until they are captured by the 10 kings and Inky freaks out about being trapped in Diyu (Macaque had kept them in a jar hidden in his hanfu).

- The arrival of the Eclipse

The Eclipse Twins will still be part of the AU but their arrival will be different.

They were inside Li Jing's pagoda, the celestial had captured them when he was moved to power to make sure that none of Lady Bone Demon's "loose threads" would cause problems.

Macaque met them while he was trapped and the three stayed together to better survive against the 100 Eyes Demon.

After they were all freed from the pagoda, the twins ran away from the group and hid away for some time.

Nuwa in the AU

After the stones get shattered and the power to hold the pillar gets shared, the Goddess is free from her confines and she goes out in the world. She's worried at first that everything is going to collapse again, but after a few weeks spent in the human realm, she slowly accepts how things have settled and even starts to enjoy walking around the mortals disguised as a human.

She wasn't originally going to look for MK since her main worry was the existence of everything she had created, but after watching him fight the demon of the week he decided to go talk to him. Mostly to let him know she was in the real world now and to compliment him (in an unidentifiable way) about how he handled the situation.

She was going to just leave after that, see what else she had missed in the eons she wasn't alive, but MK was the one to suggest she stay Wan Qian Cheng (part of it was the kid's good heart, but part of it was also his desire to connect with the being that had created him).

Obviously enough, the rest of MK's friends weren't too excited about that, but it's not like they were going to argue against the Goddess of Creation.

[breelandwalker]

Red Flag Checklist

Okay witches, let's have a round table.

When you're reading or contemplating the purchase of a book on modern witchcraft or paganism, what are some red and green flags that you look for?

I'll start.

Red Flags:

Disreputable Author - If the author is either a known source of bad information or bad behavior, or one of those "house names" that certain companies use, that's a no for me.

"New Age White Witch" Syndrome - If a text has a more-than-incidental or very deliberate focus on culturally appropriative practices ("Use this exotic voodoo doll ritual to hex your ex"), outdated terminology ("black magic," that G slur we don't use, etc), antisemitic bullshit (Lilith is not a pagan goddess), or anti-science rhetoric ("Essential oils are better than pills!") And yes this means the ever-expanding list of racist dogwhistles too.

Poor Understanding or Misrepresentation of History - If someone's repeating Murrayisms or insisting things are ancient that definitely aren't (POTATO GODDESS), that says to me that either the author didn't bother to do their research or they don't know what they're talking about.

Insistence on One Correct Way - If I encounter anything resembling "this is the only TRUE way," the book's going out the window. The more so if the author is citing their personal opinions or UPGs as fact.

Insistence on Gendering Everything - If a book insists on assigning a binary gender to everything (outside of citing a historical context), or is boomboxing ~*SACRED WOMYN'S WOMB MAGYCK*~ throughout, or even if it's just overly preoccupied with fertility and childbearing as part of the "natural" life cycle, I'm immediately putting it down. (This is more of a personal one, in a way? But it's a red flag for TERFy things too.)

Lack of Sources - If there's no bibliography, no works cited, no recommended reading, or just a really flimsy list that's rife with internet links or problematic titles, that's not a good sign.

Green Flags:

Inclusive Language - If the author refers to the reader or an unidentified person as "they" or "them," that's a good sign. Double points if it's in a context that you'd normally expect to see gendered elsewhere. There's always room for gendered language when it's appropriate, but to me, it's refreshing when an author doesn't assume the reader identifies as female.

Health and Safety Warnings - If there are notes for safe handling or harvesting of potentially harmful herbs, or warnings about health hazards (i.e. keep this away from persons who are pregnant or nursing), or reminders to be careful with fire and glass and the like, this is a good sign. To me, it means the author has a practical mindset and is at least keeping real-world limitations in mind.

Lots of Sources...and GOOD Sources - If the book has a nice fat bibliography, especially if there are mundane sources as well as magical ones, and if those sources are solid? A+. Double points if there's an index or footnotes and citations throughout the text.

Lack of "Guru" Mindset - If the author encourages the reader to take what they've learned and continue to do research on their own, that's a good sign. Encouragement of critical thinking is excellent, and also the admission that there is more than one way of Doing The Magical Thing. (Hi Lee)

Good Formatting - A book should be visually appealing, but it should also be easy to read and formatted properly, in a way that makes sense. I like to see clean margins, good spacing, and clear text. Page decorations and pictures and fancy title fonts are fine, so long as they don't make the book difficult to decipher.

(Okay, your turn!)

[talonabraxas]

Babylonian prayer to the Gods of the Night pullulū rubû wašrū sikkūrū šīrētum šaknā ḫabrātum nišū šaqummā petûtum uddulū bābū ilī mātim ištarāt mātim Šamaš Sîn Adad Ištar īterbū ana utul šamê ul idinnū dīnam ul iparrasū awātim pussumat mušītim ēkallum šaḫūrša kummu adrū ālik urḫim ilam išassi u ša dīnim ušteberre šittam dayyān kinātim abi ekiātim Šamaš īterub ana kummīšu rabûtum ilī mušītim nawrum Girra qurādum Erra qaštum nīrum šitaddarum mušḫuššum ereqqum inzum kusarikkum bašmum lizzizū-ma ina têrti eppušu ina puḫād akarrabu kittam šuknān šumūšu ikrib mušītim (TRANSLATION) The princes are closely guarded, The locking-bolts lowered, the locking rings placed, (Though previously) noisy, the people are silent, (Though previously) open, the doors are locked. The gods of the land (and) the goddesses of the land, Shamash, Sin, Adad and Ishtar Have entered into the lap of heaven. They do not render judgment, they do not decide a case. The night is veiled. The palace, its chapel, the cella are obscured. The traveler invokes god, but the one (who offers) a decision remains asleep. The judge of truth, father of the impoverished girl, Shamash has entered his cella. The great ones, the gods of the night, Bright Girra, Warrior Erra, The Bow, the Yoke, Orion, the Furious Serpent, The Wagon, the Goat, The Bison, the Horned Serpent, May they stand by so that, In the extispicy I am performing, In the lamb I am offering, You may place the truth Alan Lenzi. Reading Akkadian Prayers & Hymns: an Introduction. Society of Biblical Literature. pp. 71-82. Plate with Cuneiform Script: Pray to the Night Gods. Place of origin: Ancient East, Babylonia Date: Early 2nd millennium B.C. Medium: Clay

This is an extispicy prayer that used to be recited when performing divination at night. Its logic follows that, as the city’s activity declines for the night, the main gods retire as well, which makes sense as nighttime was probably very dangerous in ancient times. So instead one ought to seek the guidance of the ilī mušītim “gods of the night”. Here the term refers to the stars and constellations, plus fire god Girra (also called Gibil) and the fierce war-and-plague god Erra (syncretized with Nergal).

The constellation the Babylonians called the Bow, qaštum, is probably part of Canis Major, and the Yoke is Boötes. Orion was called Šitadarrum, Šitadallum or Šidallum, often spelled using the Sumerian logograms SIPA.ZI.AN.AN, meaning “the true shepherd of heaven”. The serpent is Mušḫuššum, one of the 11 chaos monsters reared by Tiamat, but tamed by Marduk and made into his pet in the Enuma Elish. It possibly referred to the Hydra constellation. The Wagon is famously Ursa Major and the Goat is Lyra. The Bison and Bašmum, “horned serpent”, however, are still unidentified.

The appellation “gods of the night” also appears in another prayer as part of the Maqlû (burning) rituals, a series of exorcisms and uncrossings performed in the small hours all the way until dawn.

This prayer unfortunately isn’t that useful for the modern pagan, as it’s a bit too specific, but one may find some use still in the lines rabûtum ilī mušītim / nawrum Girra / qurādum Erra / qaštum nīrum / šitaddarum mušḫuššum / ereqqum inzum / kusarikkum bašmum/ lizzizū (“The great ones” down to “may they stand by”) in nightly stellar invocations for whatever maybe-not-quite-licit matters you may want to perform.

(If you plan on singing or reciting this, please remember that “š” sounds like the English “sh” and “ḫ” is guttural)

May the gods be praised!

[baddreamland]

Fragment of basalt clepsydra (water clock); on the exterior surface are representations of Philip Arrhidaeus offering to the deities Min, Sekhmet, and an unidentified goddess; Hieroglyphic text.

clepsydra

[theic-manic]

Pasithea as the wife of Hypnos, god of sleep and dreams, may have been envisaged as the goddess of hallucinations and hallucinogenic drugs. Her name is difficult to translate--the prefix pasis can be translated equally as "all", "possessed" or "acquired" and the suffix thea as "sight", "seeing", "contemplation", "goddess" or "divine".

Translating it as "Acquired-Sight" may suggest a goddess of hallucination, however, in the story of the Iliad, where Hypnos acquires her from Hera in exchange for certain favours, the "Acquired-Goddess" meaning is quite apt. The name pasithea was also given to some unidentified "magical" plant, perhaps even an hallucinogenic. Hypnos was himself associated with poppies and opiates.

Source:

[tsalmu]

Unidentified Goddess - Astarte? Atargatis? Ishtar? Allat? with Tyche Palmyra, Syria c. 150 CE? Source: The Pantheon of Palmyra by Javier Teixidor, 1979 Inscription reads: [ASh]TRA T.BTA, which Teixidor translates as "The Good Goddess". (see p.79 for more discussion)

[sw5w]

Battle Droids Firing Back

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:48:06

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

Personal QSMP design hcs and interpretations (PART 2)

9. q!Maximus

human. probably.

more or less the CC in the blockman-cubito's clothes

Ordo Theoritas symbol is on his headband he usually wears

a friend and follower of Sapo Peta, through him learning the ability to charm people into perceiving him differently (Biden) as well as perform minor shapeshifting (Valentina). This comes with the price of occasional possession by Sapo Peta himself (see JuanaFlippa trial)

has tattoos that mark this connection that glow whenever he exerts significant stress. can only otherwise be seen under blacklight (like in Las Casualonas!)

Max paints matching markings on Trump everytime they see each other to bless his son with protection. After Trump's death, he permanently marked his son's gravesite.

Actually he has a habit of doing this to things dear to him. He has debated placing said markings on SOFIA but decided against it just in case

keeps dandelions in his pockets in honor of Trump

Has sustained scars after being attacked by the binary entity

10. q!Philza

quite literally an angel of death. one of Goddess Misstrixin's many dedicated servants. in this universe they're in an open marriage

winged humanoid. has pointed ears, kaleidoscope irises, and a voice he can magically augment and shift to his will (speak w/ increased reverb)

he wears those beachy, vacation silk kimonos in his signature dark mint green color, alongside a matching bucket hat. under that is a sleeveless black swim suit with enchanting table embroidery

his wings are bird-like, black with a few iridescent feathers that glow red when he goes full angel. he's had carved emerald piercings placed on them for decoration and tribute to a friend long gone after getting clipped. if he cant properly fly for now, he might as well indulge a little

magical carved rubies are all over his person, shaped to resemble hardcore hearts. these glow when he fights or is about to do something powerful

Chayanne has one of these hardcore heart rubies and has incorporated it in his wear to match his papa

11. q!Forever

humanoid of unidentifiable species. perceived as human

Looks human minus the pointy ears and visible canines. Also demonstrates superhuman stamina and endurance, so uh

Dyed his hair blonde for the cosplay, with brunette roots showing

He has a rainbow of beach shorts and casual slippers to wear

very hairy man, refuses to shave

has an organic and extensive skin care routine; Richas likes the hugs from his soft skin

his tears are full of glitter and taste like soda pop

12. q!Baghera

anthromorphic duck person; the vibes are disney ducks crossed with big bird from seasame street

has a large messy feathery floof on her head stylized to resemble the CC's own hair

MC skin's hat + matching athleisure fashion. she is always drippy

some of her feathers are dyed to match the colors of her hat as accents

smells like the artificial fruit smells found in candy

Gave one of her feathers to Pomme as a token of remembrance

13. q!Missa

player equivalent to a skeleton. is a mismatched arrangement of regular bones and wither skeleton bones.

the mismatch is why he can be quite clumsy

under those robes, he is being held together by raw magic and wither rose vines. he has short black hair.

his bones have flower and butterfly engraving that glow aurora borealis colors under blacklight or when he's about to fight

fond of somewhat street hoodies and sweaters over draping robes.

there are sneakers under those robes, wander over yonder style

a lot of the drapery is held together by armor, an aesthetic Chayanne picked up for his own wear

the spaces between the bones double as extensions of his natural inventory space; they make good spots for hiding secret weapons!

14. q!Fit

human man who has seen it all. a mortal with the soul of an immortal

he is covered in scars from his previous adventures in 2b2t

currently in his clean shaven era, which includes not only being bald but shaving the most of his body hair to the point where his muscles sparkle like his head

A practical dresser but is a slut for fancy animal furs. Ramón shares this love for furs as well

Works out in his gym and is visibly getting more swole by the day

Loves showing off, especially if it involves Ramón's own work

15-16. q!Tazercraft (q!Pac & q!Mike)

Both human. Do not separate!

Pac and Mike are soul-bonded but they forgot they about it upon coming onto the island. (they also forgot the magical perks that come with that) This doesn't negate their package-deal relationship in anyway

Experimentation in the QSMP Chume Labs has made them increasingly susseptible to Murphy's Law for some reason. The island itself is not helping either

Pac likes to dress up while Mike will literally pick up the nearest piece of clothing. On occasion they will swap clothes

Despite the above, Mike is usually in safety gear more often than Pac during labwork, especially after the sting of Richarlyson's first life loss

They both have a picture of Richas in their pockets to look at whenever they're at work

They have telepathic communication powers but only with each other. Sometimes they can be caught just staring at each other when they are really arguing in each other's heads

17. q!Etoiles

anthromorphic cucumber!

the pattern of green on his body is composed of tiny little stars that are galaxy-like

has hair, a beard and glasses cartoon character style. He also has rubberhose limbs that can muscle up when he's fighting

under the glasses, his eyes are smudged over with a smoky powder that extends to resemble a blind-fold bandana mask thing. The eyes glow white during fights

wears the clothes of the blockman-cubito + armor

His armor is engraved with star shapes and space imagery

While in love with the thrill of adventure, he loves talking culture with Pomme just as much

part 1!

[amateurenjoyer]

Consequence

Consequence, Chapter One (?)

Astarion x The Dark Urge In my first playthrough, Astarion did not ascend, and when I finished the game I became deeply preoccupied with Astarion's relationship to all those vampire spawn. I also wondered how his still fresh relationship with my Dark Urge (Kryn--a name I didn't realize already had meaning in the D&D Multiverse) might fare under new stressors. So, I began writing this fic, which is truly my first piece of fanfiction. It has since evolved into a separate project of its own, but I've decided to post (some of?) the handful of chapters I worked on, because I like them, and because the new project only barely resembles this one. Perhaps I am just trying to give myself permission to return to this fic in the future? We shall see. This was written before most of the story/dialogue patches were rolled out, so it begins right after the scene on the docks, and deviates from the end of game content from that point on. I don't really know who this is for, but maybe it is for you? WC: ~2900 CW: BG3 Spoilers, Blood, Physical Injury, Immolation, Death of a Child

Fires still rage in the Upper City, casting their light toward the sky and leaving all in a suspended, crimson twilight. It is night, I think, but I am in no state to risk testing that assumption. The ashes of burning patriar estates—a notion both enthralling and perhaps a little heartbreaking, if only for the destruction of so many grand and beautiful things held within their walls—coat the broken skyline and city streets in grime and soot. Illithid bodies pile up in squares and on street corners as Flaming Fists sort through the dead. Sinew from shattered Nautiloids hangs from rooftops and towers, and where the ships were not sundered into pieces, city blocks and their former inhabitants lie crushed beneath their weight. Chaos reigns Baldur’s Gate.

A weary Manip in armor stained with red and silver blood alike rallies precious little sympathy for some frantic, baby-cradling father, explaining that they haven’t found anyone matching his wife’s description, not yet. Unsatisfied, the man pushes his way past her, lurching toward the mass of long, shiny skinned corpses stacked waist high beyond the Fist’s impromptu barricade. Two other officers stop him. The man twists and shakes himself away from their grasp, moving with such reckless desperation that I am momentarily convinced that he might lose hold of his child and drop it head first on the cobblestones. Hungry, that brutal thought overwhelms me. I can nearly taste the mineral earth of the road mingling with blood, and my hunger begs the man to continue his carelessness. Perhaps the child would be better off. It’s mother’s fate was certain—the man and the Manip knew this as much as I, but they were too cowardly to accept it: her life had been cut short by a violent transformation, every piece of her identity shredded in an instant as a mind flayer emerged from the soft cocoon of her body. She died a monster, unidentifiable and soulless. A horrifying end, and one seen all across the city today, again and again and again.

The baby’s cries turn into a painful ringing in what remains of my ears, and with great effort, I roll my head away from the scene playing out on the street.

The Illithid threat had been thwarted, at least; the mind flayer’s body snatching was put to an end by a cohort of unlikely and utterly strange allies who, up until a few hours ago, had counted me amongst their number. We had been traveling and fighting together—questing, truly—for a season, infiltrating the cult of Absolutists that had grown around the Netherbrain at the center of the invasion. The cultists thought that they were hearing the voice of a new goddess, the Absolute, a divinity that would see the remaking of the world. It was our band of misfits that discovered the truth: like every other divinity, the Absolute was a disappointment, a monster in god’s clothing. Nothing more than an Illithid on a mission of conquest.

I suppose that in the long book of history, or indeed on the pages of next week’s Gazette should it ever come to print again, our actions will come to be lauded with the same enthusiasm and reverence as any of the Sword Coast’s mightiest heroes. The Saviors of Baldur’s Gate. Laughable praise, if laughter wouldn’t crumble my lungs into dust just now. I was never motivated by such lofty ideals, and save one or two of my companions who harbor more saintly notions of self-delusion, the same can be said for the rest. We were survivors, it was as simple as that. Even Kryn, our de facto leader, sought freedom from the forces working to control us above all else. The ambitious conspirators who had set this whole ordeal into motion had threatened our continued existence with their squirmy little parasites, turning each of us into a living incubator. Well, some of us were doing more living than others. Thrust together by circumstance, we did little else than search for a solution that would prevent us from sprouting tentacles and getting ripped apart from the inside by a mind flayer. Heroism had been a by-product, and one that I certainly would not be reaping any benefit from.

If future generations of Baldurians try to imagine the pomp and parades that greeted us in the days following our heroic deeds, they should do so with the understanding that the vampire spawn was absent for such celebrations. That Astarion Ancunín was instead treated to a slow, final death in some dark Lower City alley, wretched and alone.

Where is Kryn?

How pathetic I must look, slumped here, waiting for strength I know will not return. I test one hand, moving slowly. The sight of my skin—now papery ash and cinders, flaking away in tiny particles, floating through the hot air around me—well, it isn’t a comforting sight. Radiant pain greets me with every effort, and though I know my face fares no better than my hands, I cannot help but touch my ruined fingers to it. The spot sears at my touch, my cheek is like charcoal, and my finger the charred end of a smoldering branch, scratching. Underneath the brittle, peeling mess of my skin, I can feel my muscles tense and pulse, urging me to act, to run, to find the one spot in this city consecrated to my name and dig until I find solace. But I cannot meet my body’s demands, so I remain hideous and limp, hand falling to my side.

Gods, it just isn’t fair. Why should I be suffering again, alone in the dark? I had fought alongside the heroes of the day, and whatever uncountable number of lives that had been ended here in this city, I was part of the reason that number was not infinitely larger. Wasn’t I?

I try to be very still. If a passing rat mistakes me for a real corpse, I might be able to catch it.

Cazador would have loved this. As my master, he always took great pleasure in my agony, particularly when it was administered directly by him. But this? This was my own doing, and that would have been another kind of delight entirely. The irony would have given him tremendous satisfaction. Of course, he is no longer of this world, having been rendered into a fine dust at the end of my dagger, but that seems less of a victory now that it was all but certain that I’d be stuck here until the sun rose again and finished me off.

I had known that our collective decision to command the Netherbrain to eliminate itself would end my time in the sun, that the parasite which had somehow protected me from many of the afflictions of my curse would shrivel once it’s master was no more. I was prepared to make the sacrifice. I had Kryn by my side, as devout a partner as I could have ever hoped for, and the prospect of a sunless life seemed more bearable so long as they were willing to share it with me. Even so, as we recovered on the docks, the sun beginning its descent over the horizon, I had half-hoped that perhaps something would intervene on my behalf. Maybe the little worm behind my eye would endure, maybe some divine entity was finally paying attention now that I had done the world a good turn—several thousand good turns, really, if we’re counting. Maybe Kryn and I could have a chance at a life without any more sacrifices, the kind of life we were owed. Weren’t heroes meant to be rewarded for their do-gooding?

I had stood there, and hoped, and was reduced to ash. It did not feel like a reward.

Were my companions looking for me? Kryn surely organized a search, but the Lower City is dense and winding, and I had stumbled my way well beyond the open air of the docks, desperately outrunning the sun at my back. If anyone had been paying attention to the elf flailing helplessly through the streets of the Gate, I’m sure they would have found me to be quite graceless. Pale and frantic, I careened into shadows hoping to find one long enough to keep me safe until night, but they all seemed to slip toward me, shifting unhelpfully, and my mind was too ablaze with panic to trust that these little shadows would remain on my side. I ran wildly, darting from thoroughfare to side street, seeking some place smaller, darker, narrower, where time and shadow would ally with me. All the while, I burned, lit by some invisible flame. My energy spent, my body crumbling, I finally spied a sliver of proper darkness in the form of a narrow and bent alley, and hurled myself into it, slipping over my boots in the process. The tumble took more from me than I realized, and half-destroyed as I had become, I knew there was little chance of me getting up once I hit the ground. I had vigor enough to prop my shoulders against the wall, keep some sense of my surrounds, maybe snap at some mostly dead pest, but it now seems that I have burrowed myself a little too safely, and will be found shriveled under tomorrow’s noon sun by some stranger before anyone comes to my rescue.

Time stretches strangely as night sets in proper—still lit red-brown by the burning city—and the street beyond my alley empties. Bodies are carted away, Fists get new orders, and fathers with their babies get escorted elsewhere. The city still churns with chaos, the night punctuated with shouting and wailing, grief and mischief, but the sounds slip further away the longer I remain here.

My hunger keeps me company, at least. It is greedy, but this is nothing new. A vampire’s hunger cannot be sated, not in the way mortals understand their own appetites. It might be brought to heel by will or a master’s command, but when one is weakened, hunger’s aching thrum can grow so loud it drowns out all other thought. This greed, this intensity, is not without purpose. Though I am too far gone for blood alone to save me, enough could give me the strength to get to the little cemetery on the border of the Upper City, where a grave bearing my name waits to be put to use once more, a bed of ancestral soil for some healing rest. As I watch barely there stars struggle against the smoky sky, it is my hunger that keeps me alert, focused on the potentiality of this one task, ready for the last chance at saving myself. I wait for life to chance upon me.

A shuffling sound snaps my focus to the darker end of the alley, opposite from the street, where the shadows are deep and spill around a corner. There, in the crook, a creature hunched on all fours, stalking. It is all elbows and bony limbs, spine arched high above its head, which it holds at a painful cant. The creature has seen me, and pauses, holding itself tightly as it waits to see if I will run. It does not know that I, too, am a predator—though perhaps not in this particular moment. Two red eyes, small but bright, cut through the darkness. The sight is a familiar one, and though the face is unrecognizable, the wave of undeath scent that follows it confirms my suspicion. Another spawn, like me, but smaller, wilder. A child, and feral at that. The ache at my core grows dense at the realization.

The thing had been one of Cazador’s. Another sibling, of sorts. A tenday ago, it had been locked in a cell under the city, waiting to be sacrificed by our master. I had saved it from that fate when I destroyed Cazador, but it was not supposed to be up here. I had sent them all away, thousands of them, to—well, to some place safe from the sun at least. Why aren’t you with the rest? Why didn’t you go?

I try to make a sound, but only manage to wheeze out a dusty cough, losing more of myself in the process. The spawn is not deterred and draws closer, until its face is level with my own. It twists its neck so that our eyes are aligned, bones cracking as it moves. Gods, was I ever such a beast? At last, I manage a warning, some kind of pained hiss, my fangs bared, but I am too ruined for the thing to comprehend what it is seeing. It does not yet know what variety of horrors may befall our kind, so it does not recognize what I am, or what I am not. It mirrors me, drawing its lips back to expose its own fangs, all putrid yellow and rust. A horrid smile, tense in the wrong places. Dried blood, days old perhaps, is smeared across its mouth and nose. It has been feeding.

It slinks across my body, arms and legs bent like a spider. Pain screams through the spots where its body brushes against my own, but I cannot cry out. The little corpse hovers above me as it searches, sniffing for blood like an eager hound. It could feed from me, but it would not be fed. Vampires cannot sustain each other. Nothing to be gained, save a little violent delight to occupy its time. Why doesn’t it know? The creature cannot find a hint of living flesh on me, but it senses that I am some kind of being, something that might be consumed, and looks into my eyes again, assessing. Had the beast any sense it would move on, and through my gaze I do my best to urge it to leave, to find better prey. There was plenty of it crying in the streets.

It mightn’t smell life in my veins but it sees the intelligence in my eyes and that will be enough. A whiny growl spins up in its throat and the tension in its posture releases at last, as it springs toward my neck. I summon the last dregs of my strength to roll us both before it can make contact, pinning the small thing under my weight. I feel a crack in its sternum, and it screams out, a terrible sound. Not the sound of a monster, but of a child. The kind of sound that by design summons even those least willing to rush to an innocent’s aid. I make myself as heavy as I can and try to smother the thing, frantically trying to quiet it, but it will not be tamed. Its nails, thick and long with neglect, dig into my ashen face, carving out pieces. The pain is hideous, but I will not be ended by this wretched little pest. I pull back, one hand pressing its face into the ground, the other planted on its broken chest, and bear down on the beast’s neck with my fangs. Its throat is so small that even with only a thread of my vitality remaining, I crush it with a single bite. Its blood tastes sour, turns my hunger wrong, and I let go, spitting. Something that feels like silence fills the alley as the two of us go still, the child’s blood, thick and slow, pooling with the cinder ash remains of my own flesh.

I am catapulted off of the little corpse by quick, successive blasts of force rocketing into my side. The world is upended and everything spins into true darkness. I feel my body crash into one of the stone walls that had been sheltering me, but I do not feel any pain. Nearly all sensation falls away, as I spiral away from awareness. There are voices shouting, how many I cannot say. The voices float through the darkness, far from me, distant tethers I cannot grasp. Only one comes through with any clarity, a panicked, hoarse whisper, half-familiar, “Shit, shit, shit.” It drifts by me, out of reach.

Several moments of interminable length pass. Then I am flooded by something iron and sweet, buzzing with power. Voracious, my hunger snaps taut, pulling my mind back toward my body. I remember my fangs, and beneath them I feel the warm press of skin, delicate, with veins and tendons pulsing. A quickening heartbeat. A wrist. Kryn’s, smelling faintly of rain.

They’re saying my name, I think, but I am lost to the stream of blood, bright and warm as the dawn. The most sensational taste I have ever known. I am biting down hard, chasing the thread of life that beckons from Kryn’s heart, a loving invitation. I am being asked a question. It is difficult to hear. I am so parched. They are asking me for help. Help? But I am so weak. The buzzing intensifies, and I feel resistance. My fingers tense, I am begging Kryn not to pull away. "Don’t leave me." The wrist is wrenched away from my fangs, but some of Kryn’s kindness lingers on my tongue. "Godsdamn it! What do I do? Astarion!" They sound so desperate. How remarkable, that they summon such emotion for me. I should try to remember. There’s somewhere I should go.

[inspofromancientworld]

Isis and Osiris and its Ancient Origins

By English School/ Unidentified painter - http://www.historicalportraits.com/Gallery.asp?Page=Item&ItemID=695&Desc=Edmund-Spenser-%7C--English-School, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16569312

Edmund Spencer was an English poet who lived from about 1552-1599. He was born in London, England and attended Pembroke College, Cambridge as a sizar, one who receives some type of aid. He married around 1579 to Machabyas Childe and had two children. In 1580, he went to Ireland under the Lord Deputy Arther Grey, 14th Baron Grey de Wilton. with Walter Raleigh and was at the Siege of Smerwick. He remained when Lord Grey was called back to England. He later had an estate in North Cork. There was a tree near there that had been called 'Spenser's Oak' that was destroyed by lightning in the 1960s. The legend about the treat is that he wrote some of The Faerie Queene under it. In 1590, he returned to London to publish the first three books of the Faerie Queene, for which he was awarded a pension of £50 per year from Queen Elizabeth I. He hoped to secure a place at court, but the inclusion of Mother Hubberd's Tale offended William Cecil, Lord Burghley, who was the queen's principal secretary, so he returned to Ireland where he was the center of a literary circle. By 1594, his wife died and he remarried a 'much younger' Elizabeth Boyle, which inspired several works. During the Nine Years' War, which was from 15593-1603 in Ireland, Spencer was forced from his home in 1598. He traveled to London in 1599 where he died 'for want of bread', according to Ben Jonson, though this is doubtful because of Spenser's pension. He was buried near Geoffrey Chaucer in Westminster Abbey.

The Faerie Queene is an epic poem that is over 36,000 lines, 4,000 stanzas, and was published in 6 books. The poem explores themes of religion, virtue, politics, and explores myth and history in an over arching story that could be read literally or for the metaphorical. Each of the six books is focused around a particular virtue: Holiness, Temperance, Chastity, Trust, Justice, and Courtesy.

By Jeff Dahl - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3248602

Osiris was an ancient Egyptian god who was first mentioned in the Fifth Dynasty (between about 2494-2345 BCE) and was appeared in the Pyramid Texts. Given this, he was likely worshiped before then given that one of his epithets, Khenti-Amentiu, 'Foremost of the Westerners', appeared in the First Kingdom. Ancient Egyptians associated the West with death since that was the direction that the sun set. During their lives, pharaohs were associated with Ra, the sun god, during their lives and with Osiris after death. Within the Pyramid Texts is the story of Set conning Osiris into a box that is then sealed with lead. Set threw the box into the Nile. Later, Isis found the box in a tamarisk tree in Byblos, Lebanon. Isis was able to remove the box from the tree, though Osiris was dead. She was able to briefly revive him, long enough to conceive a child. After that, Osiris was the god of the underworld, death, and resurrection. In the Greco-Roman era, he was folded into the god Serapis, who was the consort of Isis, though there was a cultic center in Philae that continued until at least 450 CE.

By Jeff Dahl - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3252750

Isis was the ancient Egyptian goddess who was first named in the Fifth Dynasty and appears in the Pyramid Texts but was likely worshiped before then. Within the Pyramid Texts, she was an active participant in the drama between Set and Osiris, lending her a more complex character than other goddesses. Within the texts, she expressed sorrow, anger, and sexual desire after the death of Osiris at the hands of Set. She used these emotions to aid in the revival of Osiris and they allowed the conception of Horus and guarantee Osiris an afterlife. She aided dead souls in returning themselves to wholeness, as she did with Osiris. She was seen as the goddess of protection over the pharaohs, as the wife and mother of them; the goddess of wisdom and magic, seen as 'more clever than a million gods' because of her ability to revive and protect Osiris and Horus; goddess of the 'Nile in the sky', as rain was called, and the 'Lady of Heaven'; and a universal goddess, one who held power over the sky, earth, and Duat, the afterlife. Her worship continued into the Greco-Roman world, reaching Rome probably in the second century BCE, reaching a peak in the late second and early third century CE.

In Book V, Canto VII, there is a section dedicated to Isis and Osyris (as Osiris is spelled in the poem), describing him as 'of the race/Of th' old Ægyptian kings that whylome [formerly] were;/With fayned [glad] colours shading a true case/For that Osyris, whilest he lived here,/The justest man alive and truest did appear.' The next stanza continues, describing '[h]is wife was Isis; whom they likewise made/A goddesse of great powre and soverinty,/And in her person cunningly did shade/That part of justice which is Equity'. With the gods, there was 'a crocodile was rold [rolled],/That with her wreathed taile her middle did enfold.' Isis is shown with '[o]ne foote was set uppon the crocodile,/And on the ground the other fast did stand;/So meaning to suppresse both forged guile/And open force: and in her other hand/She stretch forth a long white sclender [slender] wand.' The focus is likely more on Isis than Osiris because of Spencer's focus on writing something for Queen Elizabeth I as well as following the journey of a female knight, Britomart.

You can read the referenced part of the poem here. You can read the entire poem here. You can listen to the poem here.

[grtmnick]

Commander Kathryn Janeway puzzled over the multitudinous conflicting readings coming from her tricorder. The device was standard issue StarFleet kit, save for the modifications she'd made to bring it up to her standards as Chief Science Officer. Unfortunately, it seemed as though she might have made one alteration to many and damaged the device's inner-workings, as it was now insisting to her that temporal particles were spontaneously manifesting themselves just above her current position.

She tore the steel grey of her focused gaze away from her tricorder and upwards towards a waveform characteristic of a sonic boom, as it was created by a suddenly appearing unidentified object that was rocketing at terminal velocity towards the surface of the dwarf planetoid.

Echos of the numerous bleeps and bloops of her possibly malfunctioning device faded into the background of her perception, so inexplicably intrigued was she by whatever was hurdling ground-wards a mere twenty meters from her position.

The pulse of sound reached her just as the object smashed itself deep into the topsoil, knocking her back so that she was forced to square her stance and balance on the ball of her reward placed right foot.

As the cloud of debris dissipated, Cmdr. Janeway gasped as the source of all the commotion was revealed.

In the exact center of the newly created crater, was the tightly coiled nude form of a human woman. She was bent fully forward, curled in such a way that she was wrapped around her knees and with most of her bent body hidden by cascading curls colored sunflower blonde.

Janeway's already opened jaw hit the floor when the woman began to unfurl her body, and reached the full hight of her impressively towering self.

Despite Janeway's befuddlement, her scientific mind couldn't help but to notice the many cybernetic implants that were posited in several places over the blonde's pale skin.

"Commander Kathryn Margaret Janeway, I am Seven of Nine," announced the goddess fallen from the heavens. "I have traveled through time and space to save you. It is imperative that you accompany me." As the stranger was speaking, she'd confidently strode forward, seemingly utterly indifferent to her state of undress.

Before the rose cheeked Commander could gather herself enough to attempt communication, or question the bizarre request, a strange metal covered hand gently began to wrap itself around Kathryn's forearm.

Just as the stranger's fingers entwined, trapping the Science Officer within their firm steely grasp, the blonde promised, "resistance is futile."

The effect of the phrase stole the very breath from Kathryn's lungs, and so was she ensnared by the beautiful woman from tomorrow.