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jacquelineelainegomez · 5 years ago

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Chief Seattle's speech

"Yonder sky has wept tears of compassion on our fathers for centuries untold, and which, to us, looks eternal, may change. Today it is fair, tomorrow it may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the stars that never set. What Seattle says, the great chief, Washington [1], can rely upon, with as much certainty as our pale-face brothers can rely upon the return of the seasons. The son of the white chief says his father sends us greetings of friendship and good will. This is kind, for we know he has little need of our friendship in return, because his people are many. They are like the grass that covers the vast prairies, while my people are few, and resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain. The great, and I presume also good, white chief sends us word that he wants to buy our lands but is willing to allow us to reserve enough to live on comfortably. This indeed appears generous, for the red man no longer has rights that he need respect, and the offer may be wise, also, for we are no longer in need of a great country.

"When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces with black paint, their hearts, also, are disfigured and turn black, and then their cruelty is relentless and knows no bounds, and our old men are not able to restrain them. But let us hope that hostilities between the red-man and his pale-face brothers may never return. We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain. True it is, that revenge, with our young braves, is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives, but old men who stay at home in times of war, and old women, who have sons to lose, know better.

"Our great father Washington, for I presume he is now our father as well as yours, since George has moved his boundaries to the north; our great and good father, I say, sends us word by his son, who, no doubt, is a great chief among his people, that if we do as he desires, he will protect us. His brave armies will be to us a bristling wall of strength, and his great ships of war will fill our harbors so that our ancient enemies far to the northward, the Simsiams and Hydas, will no longer frighten our women and old men. Then will he be our father and we will be his children.

"But can this ever be? Your God loves your people and hates mine; he folds his strong arms lovingly around the white man and leads him as a father leads his infant son, but he has forsaken his red children; he makes your people wax strong every day, and soon they will fill all the land; while my people are ebbing away like a fast-receding tide, that will never flow again. The white man's God cannot love his red children or he would protect them. They seem to be orphans and can look nowhere for help. How then can we become brothers? How can your father become our father and bring us prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness? Your God seems to us to be partial. He came to the white man. We never saw Him; never even heard His voice. He gave the white man laws, but He had no word for His red children whose teeming millions filled this vast continent as the stars fill the firmament. No, we are two distinct races and must ever remain so. There is little in common between us.

"The ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their final resting place is hallowed ground, while you wander away from the tombs of your fathers seemingly without regret. Your religion was written on tablets of stone by the iron finger of an angry God, lest you might forget it. The red man could never remember nor comprehend it. Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors, the dreams of our old men, given them by the great Spirit, and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people. Your dead cease to love you and the homes of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb. They wander far off beyond the stars, are soon forgotten, and never return. Our dead never forget the beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its winding rivers, its great mountains and its sequestered vales, and they ever yearn in tenderest affection over the lonely hearted living and often return to visit and comfort them. Day and night cannot dwell together. The red man has ever fled the approach of the white man, as the changing mists on the mountain side flee before the blazing morning sun. However, your proposition seems a just one, and I think that my folks will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them, and we will dwell apart in peace, for the words of the great white chief seem to be the voice of nature speaking to my people out of the thick darkness that is fast gathering around them like a dense fog floating inward from a midnight sea.

"It matters but little where we pass the remainder of our days. They are not many. The Indian's night promises to be dark. No bright star hovers about the horizon. Sad-voiced winds moan in the distance. Some grim Nemesis of our race is on the red man's trail, and wherever he goes he will still hear the sure approaching footsteps of the fell destroyer and prepare to meet his doom, as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching footsteps of the hunter.

"A few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of all the mighty hosts that once filled this broad land or that now roam in fragmentary bands through these vast solitudes will remain to weep over the tombs of a people once as powerful and as hopeful as your own. But why should we repine? Why should I murmur at the fate of my people? Tribes are made up of individuals and are no better than they. Men come and go like the waves of the sea. A tear, a tamanamus, a dirge, and they are gone from our longing eyes forever. Even the white man, whose God walked and talked with him, as friend to friend, is not exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers, after all. We shall see.

"We will ponder your proposition, and when we have decided we will tell you. But should we accept it, I here and now make this the first condition: That we will not be denied the privilege, without molestation, of visiting at will the graves of our ancestors and friends. Every part of this country is sacred to my people. Every hill-side, every valley, every plain and grove has been hallowed by some fond memory or some sad experience of my tribe. Even the rocks that seem to lie dumb as they swelter in the sun along the silent seashore in solemn grandeur thrill with memories of past events connected with the fate of my people, and the very dust under your feet responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours, because it is the ashes of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch, for the soil is rich with the life of our kindred. The noble braves, and fond mothers, and glad-hearted maidens, and the little children who lived and rejoiced here, and whose very names are now forgotten, still love these solitudes, and their deep fastnesses at eventide grow shadowy with the presence of dusky spirits. And when the last red man shall have perished from the earth and his memory among white men shall have become a myth, these shores shall swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children's children shall think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway or in the silence of the woods they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night, when the streets of your cities and villages shall be silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled and still love this beautiful land. The white man will never be alone. Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not altogether powerless."

#film #chief seattle #thewholeearthisashrineisanaltar

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daebakinc · 5 years ago

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I Still - Pt 2

Pairing: Jimin x Reader/OC Genre: Fairytale AU, Angst, Romance Word Count: 3.9K Summary: Jimin’s punishment for offending a goddess is confinement to the Garden of Loneliness. Doomed to spend all eternity there, alone and hidden behind a mask, only Fate herself can intervene to aid his redemption discover him: his one true love. A/N: Inspired by The Untold Truth by BTS. Parts: Prologue, 1

All the books you had read could not have prepared you. Nor all the love songs ever sung, nor the stories of true love told by the generations. No human creation could ever encompass or convey the spark of power held in a single kiss. That simple press of soft lips against soft lips set a tingle through your nerves, set them ablaze. If one could drink lightning, you imagined it would still pale in comparison. You felt alive.

Although you had never kissed a man in your life, you knew you were ruined for any other. Although you did not know him, did not even know his face, you knew this man was as much yours as the ruins you found him in. There was no other truth in the world but this.

As suddenly as he kissed you, Jimin pulled away as if torn from you. His chest labored to rise and fall and those miserable eyes held only shock. You could only imagine your face held some kind of the same dazed look. How else could one look when their world was turned on its head, never to return to the ignorant innocence of how it once was.

“I-” his tongue flicked out of his mouth to lick his lips, “I always know her creations. They’re cold. They have no warmth. But you…”

Your hand reached up to graze your quivering lips. How could a single kiss affect you both so? Was it the magic of this place or something more? You leaned against the tower, your legs too weak to hold you upright any longer.

Jimin stepped closer again. His voice was unsteady with wonder. “You… you are warm. You are human, are you not?”

You nodded.

Jimin yanked you from the tower to enfold you in his arms. The mask was cold against your shoulder where your cloak had slipped to expose it. Jimin pressed his face closer, all but burying it in your skin as a child does to his mother’s in the wake of a nightmare. Without conscious thought, your hands found his back, anchoring him against you. As your mother did when she still showed you tenderness, you ran your fingers delicately up and down his back. Slow strokes to draw the trembling from his skin and the desolation from his heart.

For how could there not be when he clung to you so after learning you were a daughter of Eve. How long had Jimin been alone for him to react as if you were the dearest person in his heart? How long had he been tormented by the silence and an isolation so complete it would starve the soul and reduce the mind to the delirium of speaking of thousands of years and inhuman creatures of cold?

“Jimin,” you whispered. “Who did this to you?”

When he did not answer or stir, you shifted to try to see his eyes. Jimin’s grip tightened, an animal whimper escaping his lips.

“I’m not leaving, I promise. But Jimin, who did this? They must be punished—”

“No.” Jimin stumbled away from you. His eyes were wild, holding the same mindless panic of a spooked horse. “We cannot speak her name! She must not find you here! She will punish us both! Go!”

You reached out to him, your own heart infected with Jimin’s palpable terror. “Jimin, what—”

“Go!” Jimin scrabbled at your shoulders, pushing you towards the outer wall. “However you came, go back! Do not return! Leave before she finds us!”

“Who?” you shouted back, whipping around.

But all you saw is Jimin’s back as he fled into the tower, melting through the wall of sand.

“Wait!” When you tried to follow, the tower wall rebuffed you, solid as the stone surrounding it. “Jimin!”

The window at the top of the tower remained dark and not a sound but your own breath and heart broke the stillness. No rush of storm or attack heralded the immediate coming of that or who Jimin so dreaded. Indeed, all was just as it was in all its strangeness.

You circled the tower, searching with your hands and eyes for another entrance, but it remained as obstinate as you. No door or window appeared, no weakness beneath the churning sand. The mystery of the man and this place did not allow you to give up so easily, but even though its golden threads had not pierced the sky, dawn had to be fast approaching. You had to return; the penalty for being caught out of bed during hours no respectful lady would be about would be confinement to your room for a week. More if your parents were not in a forgiving mood.

Stepping away from the tower, you shouted, “I will be back tomorrow! I’m not afraid of anyone!”

The door into the tower was just as you left it. As you crossed over its threshold, you looked back over your shoulder. The unearthly flowers still glowed, the tower and statues still stood. You could not hope dearly enough that it was not all a dream.

“I’ll be back,” you promised yourself. You would.

Cutting two strips from your petticoat after you closed the door, you tied one to the handle. The second went around a bough of wisteria above the door. In such a place, you could not be sure if it would let you find the door twice unaided.

With quick steps, you raced back through the forest and into the village. It was as you left it with not a soul awake or about. The hearth was still cold, not yet awoken from its sleep to provide the meals of the day, when you passed it. You hid your clothes beneath your bed, slipped your discarded nightgown over your head, and crawled into bed. As you rolled over to settle in for the few hours of sleep you could steal, you glanced out the window. And froze.

The moon should have been sinking below the horizon in meek deference to the day. But she had not moved. She still hung high in her nightly reign, scarcely moved since you escaped your home. As if time had stood still the entire time you were in the garden.

Goosebumps crept across your skin despite the down blanket cocooning you. Jimin’s words arise and ring in your mind.

The door was sealed thousands of years ago. As I cannot leave, no one may come unless by her will….

Could you truly have encountered… magic?

The ghost of Jimin’s kiss lingered on your lips when morning finally came, Sleep having withheld her blessings. Yet you could scarcely believe it to be real for magic did not exist in the world. Not in yours…

You waited until your father had ridden to his office and your mother went to call on the other town matrons to enter the kitchen. After your mother had deemed you no longer a child and instead a young lady, it was forbidden territory. No need for gentry to mingle with the help. In fact, quite the opposite.

But you preferred it to any other room in the house. Herbs hanging from the rafters and lemon water used to clean filled the air with a welcoming earthy smell, the kind that instantly sets all hearts at ease. There was no fussiness, nothing that had to be kept clean and polished and perfect. Everything had its place and function, beautiful in its simplicity and value.

When you were younger, you played under the table, pretending to be a hungry dragon, kept at bay only by the sweet scraps slipped to you. The stool is where you sat with a cup of tea, sniffling as your scraped knees were tended to. To you, it is everything a home should be.

In the center of it was Noemi. Your nursemaid, your teacher, your mother more than the woman who bore you. Although you were now too old for a nursemaid, she had been retained as cook and head of household. She was the one who asked after your day, encouraged your zest, showed you what love could be. One of the very few.

“Not even midday and you look like a nymph,” Noemi smiled, waving a flour covered hand to wave you over. She wiped her hand on her apron before gently plucking at your hair. “Wisteria? I didn’t see you go out into the garden.”

“I walked around the house,” you lied, eyes on the purple petals in her hand.

So last night might not have been a dream. The tower in the garden… the man in the mask… Jimin… the kiss.

“Unescorted?”

You rolled your eyes at the teasing twitch in Noemi’s smile. Sitting at the table, you carefully avoided the flour and took an apple slice from a bowl. “I don’t need someone to escort me around the garden within my own walls. Mother’s being ridiculous.”

“She’s just worried about you looking the part of a proper lady so you can make a match. I’ve heard tell your father is looking about for one for you.”

“He can look all he likes, but there’s no one around here rich enough for him. I’ll end up an old maid.”

The apple started to taste sour in your mouth. Other girls your age were already wedded and bedded with flocks of children, this you knew. But you had far better plans, much more to do before you were willing to be tied to a man, let alone one you did not love.

To change the topic, you asked, “Noemi, do you know of any stories about a man cursed to live in a tower for eternity?”

The older woman did not stop kneading the pie dough. “You devoured my myths when you were younger, but what has you interested in them again all of a sudden?”

“No reason. Simply an odd dream I had.”

Noemi paused thoughtfully. “A man locked away in a tower. Now that’s not the sort of thing you hear every day. I can’t say I have heard of it.”

“Oh. Well, it was only a dream.”

That night, you ran faster than you had ever before to your ruins. They appeared unchanged, giving no indications anything had happened the night before. No tiny bejeweled bird darted from the flowers and vines as you tiptoed around the central enclosure. At the bend, you hesitated with your toe just out of reach of the moonbeams. Your heart pounded, dropped into your stomach. You could not tell which caused its unease: the possibility you had indeed dreamed a fantastical dream, or that that dream was an actuality.

You stepped forward, turned your head, and there they were. Your two strips of petticoat marking the door to the garden. The Garden of Loneliness, Jimin had called it.

Your fingers trembled as they wrapped around the handle. Dangerous hope wound tight round your chest. What if the door would not open? What if the space beyond was a normal garden and the tower within a decaying ruin like the rest? What if Jimin was not…

The door swung open on its own, pulling you along with it, deeming your spiraling thoughts intolerable and making the decision for you.

Just as the night before, the same sight greeted you. A blanket of flowers shining with their own light surrounding ghostly statues and in the center of it all, the tower of sand. But tonight, a light was in the high window. Your heart jumped involuntarily. He was there.

The light moved then faded, like a lantern being lifted and carried away.

You jumped behind a battered statue of a youth with a billowing cloak, pressing to its chilled side, and waited.

An arch opened in the tower, sand peeling away in a curtain of diamonds. Jimin, clothed and masked as he was before, stepped out into the moonlight. You stopped breathing, worried the sound would give you away.

A little longer, you would wait. You needed to speak with him, find the answers to the questions that slept like hot coals in your soul. But if he ran away again, you might not have the chance.

“Goddess?” Jimin called.

You ducked your head in alarm. He had seen you.

Looking down, you searched for the stray edge of cloak or dress that gave you away. You saw none. You were completely hidden behind the expanse of the statue.

“I know you can hear me,” he said, his voice roughening with impatience. “Goddess!”

His bootsteps moved away from you. You risked a peek around the statue’s shoulder.

Jimin stood on the edge of the garden in a patch of open grass just large enough for his feet. He was looking up at the wall, or perhaps up at the muted heavens.

“Is this some new trick of yours? Making me dream you sent love to me at last? Is it?”

He grasped at the vines that formed a mass of woven branches stretching towards the sky. Against your bated breath, they held his weight.

Jimin called to the goddess again as he climbed. It was not a cry of devotion or supplication. His voice dared demand an answer from the gods, cracking in its anguish.

You dared not move from your place even as Jimin climbed higher and higher, beyond the height of his tower.

“Goddess, you have taken everything from me! I have nothing left!” Jimin screamed, sobs choking his words that plummeted down to your ears. “Why can’t you just let me die?”

He reached for the topmost vine that curled over the wall in its escape from the garden. It broke as his fingers closed around it. Jimin fell, his cloak billowing beneath him like the useless wings of a silenced songbird shot down from its perch.

Heart in your stomach, your feet ran though you knew you were not fast enough. “Jimin!”

He landed with a nauseating thump in a thick bed of roses. The flowers’ heavy perfume burst to life in the air and their delicate petals had not yet finished alighting on Jimin’s body when you crashed to your knees beside him.

He could not be dead. Yet he laid unmoving and noiseless.

Careless of the thorns that pricked your skin through your skirts, you moved closer. Your hands fluttered over his chest, useless in your hesitation to cause him pain. “Jimin? Jimin?”

Jimin’s eyes were closed beneath his mask that miraculously remained on his face. But as you reached to remove it, his lips moved.

“What?” You leaned your ear to his mouth, holding your breath in the hope of feeling his on your skin.

“It did not work,” he murmured. “She still keeps me here.”

“The Goddess?”

Jimin’s eyes bolted open. They fixed upon yours that were so close. His eyes reminded you of earrings of tiger’s eye stone you saw in a traveling market. The darkest of umbers streaked with flecks of unearthly copper like captured stars.

“You?” Jimin scrambled away. He stood, quaking. You prayed he wouldn’t leave again. “You… came back? How?”

“I said I would. I walked through the door on my own two feet as I did last time,” you replied. You sat still as you would when approaching a wild animal despite the trepidation in your own legs fighting to make them flee. You saw people die from falls a third the height, yet Jimin lives. “How can you be standing right now? You fell…”

“I cannot die,” Jimin said, bitterness weighing down his voice. “I could fall from that same height a thousand times and not suffer the least injury. I am cursed with immortality.”

“That’s impossible.”

“You saw with your own eyes. I do not lie.”

“Magic, or whatever this is, doesn’t exist!”

Jimin laughed and spread his arms. “This place does not exist! The Garden of Loneliness exists outside of Time itself. It has no anchor to anywhere in the earthly world.”

“Then how did I get here twice?” you retorted.

His lips pursed and his gaze lowered. “I don’t know. It should be impossible.”

You rose to your feet, but Jimin did not notice. His eyes seemed fixed on the roses. You looked down and sprung back with a racing heart.

Where they had been flattened by Jimin’s body, the flowers grew straight and whole without a petal missing. Perfect.

“Did you do that?” you asked, thankful your voice did not shake.

“No. Things don’t change here. Watch.”

He snapped a rose’s head from its stem and as you watched, a new rose grew, the exact twin of the one pillowed in Jimin’s palm. Your lungs could not remember to breathe. An illusion, your mind said, but the pain of the rose’s scratches on your legs and hands prickled unlike any dream injury you could remember.

“Nothing changes, nothing dies,” Jimin said softly. “From inside this tower, I watched my friends, my family, age and grow gray with it, and die. I watched them live. They laughed and wept, found new families and friends. Without me. All without me while I stayed here unchanged and alone.”

Common sense told you to run from this madman, but you did not move. “Who are you?”

He dropped the rose and met your eyes. “I told you. I am Park Jimin. I am the man foolish enough to deny the Goddess of love and thus condemned by her to a life without love of any kind in the Garden of Loneliness for all eternity. After all you have seen, do you doubt me still?”

Words desert your dry mouth and leave your tongue heavy. Be practical, do not believe in the fantastical for it cannot be true: that is the lesson beaten into your being with word and hand. Dreams and magic of all kinds are for silly children. And you were not to be one.

But here magic was standing before you, surrounding you. Wonder at your fingertips if you only extended your hand to touch Jimin. It invited you to believe as you so wanted to in your most secret of hearts. The same heart that clutched to the memory of Jimin’s kiss with the fierceness of a lioness.

In their dark recesses, Jimin’s eyes begged you to believe in him as well.

Jimin’s gaze dropped to your hands held tightly together in front of you. His mouth popped open. “You bleed.”

You looked down to find droplets of blood, robbed of their scarlet color by the night, trickling down the backs of your hands. One drop traveled to the tip of your ring finger, hung, then fell to the grass. It landed on one of the flowers, a dark spot on the glowing petal. A breeze like a sigh drifted through the garden.

Jimin’s eyes went to the sky, scanning the stars like a rabbit inching from the bushes searches for the hawk. He darted closer to you and drew a handkerchief from his cloak, rending it in half. Rings of twisted silver twinkled on his fingers as he wound the fabric round your hands.

“You should go,” he whispered urgently. “I do not know why the Goddess has not come, but if she does and finds you, she will kill you.”

“She did not come last night and I see no goddess now,” you replied. The tiny sparks flowing from your hands whenever Jimin’s fingers brush your skin emboldened you. Goddess or no, he was yours. “Come with me. Out of this place.”

Shadowed by the mask, you could not see his eyes, but his tone was final. “I told you I cannot leave.”

“You also said no one could enter.”

Denying him the time to counter, you wrapped your hand around one of his and ran towards the open door. Blood roared in your ears with the unknown as you neared it. Elation sang in your bones with your first foot over the threshold.

Then it shattered when an invisible force wrenched your body to a halt. You turned. Jimin still stood in the garden, those tiger eyes blank in their resignation. No. You did not admit defeat so easily. Gripping your own wrist with your other hand, you pulled and heaved with your heels digging into the soft earth. Praying to whoever heard, you willed Jimin through the door, saw him walking with you on the road to the village and his freedom.

“It’s no use,” Jimin said when you at last gulped for air after wiping the sweat from your forehead, muscles weak from fruitless exertion. “See?”

He pointed behind him.

You followed his finger. A delicate rope of silver that began within the tower of sand stretched taught through the air. It ended in a loop tight around Jimin’s ankle like a suffocating snake. How you had not noticed it before escaped you.

“That?” you panted. If that was all…“I’ll make short work of that.”

No barrier thwarted your reentry into the garden. Still clasping Jimin’s hand, you knelt at his feet and pulled your pruning knife from your skirt pocket. You trapped one end of the rope beneath your foot and with a practiced movement, slid the knife beneath it and jerked the knife upward. The rope caught on the curved tip of the knife and snapped.

Warm with triumph, you smiled up at Jimin. A corner of his mouth lifted upward in a sad cousin of yours. He shook his head. You looked back down and cold drenched you.

Just as the revived rose, the rope shackling Jimin to his prison was once again whole.

“No.”

You cut again, and again, and again, hacking at it with movements driven wilder and wilder with each frustration until you threw your knife with an infuriated cry.

“It isn’t your fault,” Jimin said soothingly. Beneath the sudden tenderness was an ancient defeated submission, the kind that destroys the hearts of the strongest and those who witness it. “What are the powers of a human compared to the enchantments of the gods? Go. Forget this place and live.”

Forget me, his silent words said. Forget me as all others have while I always remember you.

Jimin’s grip on your hands loosened. But you did not allow him. You gripped his hands tighter and straightened so quickly you forced him to take a step back.

“I won’t forget you, Park Jimin,” you proclaimed passionately, staring into his widened eyes. “I will come back every night—”

“You cannot—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I cannot do.” Too many people dictated your actions in the past, but not in this. You refuse. “I don’t care what god or goddess keeps you here. I will come back every night until I determine how to free you from this place. I promise!”

Jimin stared at you like you were a creature he had never seen before and one he did not know if he should be glad or feared of. For all that his face is hidden behind the vacant white of his mask, you saw the struggle in the tightness of his mouth and the storms in his eyes. The punishment of a god battling one of the most treacherous forces known to man: hope.

His hand hovered over yours before lightly laying on top of it. Hesitantly, he brought them to his lips and branded your fingers with his second kiss. “Come again tomorrow. If she does not strike you down then, perhaps she truly has forgotten this place... and me.”

#kpopwritingnet #kwriterskollection #kwritersworldnet #jimin scenarios #bts scenarios #jimin au #bts au #park jimin #bts jimin #bts

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o-craven-canto · 2 years ago

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Possibly related:

Why do the Aztecs need such a horrible mythology with so many apocalypses? One of my sources suggests it was a natural reaction to living in Mesoamerica, an area that combined an impossibly ancient history - three thousand years of civilization by the time the Aztecs came around - with a total failure to invent written history. The Aztecs were surrounded by the ruins of colossal cities - Tula, San Lorenzo, and most of all titanic Teotihuacan. An Aztec warrior in the 15th century couldn't fling a stone from an atl-atl without hitting a godlike ancient city that had been mysteriously destroyed. Eventually you just start thinking in terms of civilizations arising and then being destroyed by angry gods leaving only mysterious stone ziggurats as a fact of nature.

Or imagine you're a medieval European, and you suddenly stumble across the ruins of Rome, having only the barest of legends that such a place even existed. Your first thought might be something like "What happened to them? And how many people do I have to kill to make sure it doesn't happen to me?"

Given that monumental building go back 11 or 12,000 years, over twice as old as the earliest writing, there must have been plenty of ruins inspiring myths of global collapse and decay.

Karen Armstrong, The Great Transformation:

A few elements of the old Minoan and Mycenaean cults remained: there was, for example, a sacred olive tree on the Acropolis. But the thirteenth-century crisis had shattered the old faith. The Greeks had watched their world collapse, and the trauma had changed them. The Minoan frescoes had been confident and luminous; the men, women, and animals depicted had been expectant and hopeful. There were apparitions of goddesses in flowery meadows, dancing, and joy. But by the ninth century, Greek religion was pessimistic and uncanny, its gods dangerous, cruel, and arbitrary. In time, the Greeks would achieve a civilization of dazzling brilliance, but they never lost their sense of tragedy, and this would be one of their most important religious contributions to the Axial Age. Their rituals and myths would always hint at the unspeakable and the forbidden, at horrible events happening offstage, just out of sight, and usually at night. They experienced the sacred in catastrophe, when life was turned inexplicably upside down, in the breaking of taboos, and when the boundaries that kept society and individuals sane were suddenly torn asunder. We can see this dark vision in the terrifying story of the birth of the Greek gods.

These chthonian powers, who lived in the depths of earth, dominated Greek religion during the dark age. In the ninth century, people believed that it was they, not the Olympians, who ruled the cosmos. [...] The Erinyes never entirely lost their hold on the Greek imagination. Long after the dark age, Greeks continued to be preoccupied by tales of men and women who murdered their parents and abused their children. [...] However powerful they became, the Greeks never truly felt that they were in charge of their fate. As late as the fifth century, when Greek civilization was at its peak, they still believed that people were compelled by the Fates, or even by the Olympian gods, to act as they did, and once a crime had been committed, it inflicted untold woes upon innocent human beings who simply happened to live in the polluted environment.

The original formulation of Golden, Silver, Bronze, and Iron Ages by Hesiod (note that there are two Bronze Ages, one simply full of murder and violence, the other coresponding to the age of mythic heroes):

First of all the deathless gods who dwell on Olympus made a golden race of mortal men who lived in the time of Cronos when he was reigning in heaven. And they lived like gods without sorrow of heart, remote and free from toil and grief: miserable age rested not on them; but with legs and arms never failing they made merry with feasting beyond the reach of all evils. When they died, it was as though they were overcome with sleep, and they had all good things; for the fruitful earth unforced bare them fruit abundantly and without stint. They dwelt in ease and peace upon their lands with many good things, rich in flocks and loved by the blessed gods.

But after the earth had covered this generation — they are called pure spirits dwelling on the earth, and are kindly, delivering from harm, and guardians of mortal men; for they roam everywhere over the earth, clothed in mist and keep watch on judgements and cruel deeds, givers of wealth; for this royal right also they received; — then they who dwell on Olympus made a second generation which was of silver and less noble by far. It was like the golden race neither in body nor in spirit. A child was brought up at his good mother's side an hundred years, an utter simpleton, playing childishly in his own home. But when they were full grown and were come to the full measure of their prime, they lived only a little time and that in sorrow because of their foolishness, for they could not keep from sinning and from wronging one another, nor would they serve the immortals, nor sacrifice on the holy altars of the blessed ones as it is right for men to do wherever they dwell. Then Zeus the son of Cronos was angry and put them away, because they would not give honour to the blessed gods who live on Olympus.

But when earth had covered this generation also — they are called blessed spirits of the underworld by men, and, though they are of second order, yet honour attends them also — Zeus the Father made a third generation of mortal men, a brazen race, sprung from ash-trees; and it was in no way equal to the silver age, but was terrible and strong. They loved the lamentable works of Ares and deeds of violence; they ate no bread, but were hard of heart like adamant, fearful men. Great was their strength and unconquerable the arms which grew from their shoulders on their strong limbs. Their armour was of bronze, and their houses of bronze, and of bronze were their implements: there was no black iron. These were destroyed by their own hands and passed to the dank house of chill Hades, and left no name: terrible though they were, black Death seized them, and they left the bright light of the sun.

But when earth had covered this generation also, Zeus the son of Cronos made yet another, the fourth, upon the fruitful earth, which was nobler and more righteous, a god-like race of hero-men who are called demi-gods, the race before our own, throughout the boundless earth. Grim war and dread battle destroyed a part of them, some in the land of Cadmus at seven-gated Thebe when they fought for the flocks of Oedipus, and some, when it had brought them in ships over the great sea gulf to Troy for rich-haired Helen's sake: there death's end enshrouded a part of them. But to the others father Zeus the son of Cronos gave a living and an abode apart from men, and made them dwell at the ends of earth. And they live untouched by sorrow in the islands of the blessed along the shore of deep swirling Ocean, happy heroes for whom the grain-giving earth bears honey-sweet fruit flourishing thrice a year, far from the deathless gods, and Cronos rules over them; for the father of men and gods released him from his bonds. And these last equally have honour and glory.

And again far-seeing Zeus made yet another generation, the fifth, of men who are upon the bounteous earth.

Thereafter, would that I were not among the men of the fifth generation, but either had died before or been born afterwards. For now truly is a race of iron, and men never rest from labour and sorrow by day, and from perishing by night; and the gods shall lay sore trouble upon them. But, notwithstanding, even these shall have some good mingled with their evils. And Zeus will destroy this race of mortal men also when they come to have grey hair on the temples at their birth. The father will not agree with his children, nor the children with their father, nor guest with his host, nor comrade with comrade; nor will brother be dear to brother as aforetime. Men will dishonour their parents as they grow quickly old, and will carp at them, chiding them with bitter words, hard-hearted they, not knowing the fear of the gods. They will not repay their aged parents the cost of their nurture, for might shall be their right: and one man will sack another's city. There will be no favour for the man who keeps his oath or for the just or for the good; but rather men will praise the evil-doer and his violent dealing. Strength will be right and reverence will cease to be; and the wicked will hurt the worthy man, speaking false words against him, and will swear an oath upon them. Envy, foul-mouthed, delighting in evil, with scowling face, will go along with wretched men one and all. And then Aidôs and Nemesis, with their sweet forms wrapped in white robes, will go from the wide-pathed earth and forsake mankind to join the company of the deathless gods; and biitter sorrows will be left for mortal men, and there will be no help against evil.

An overwhelming theme of Greek mythology seems to be that things used to be better and everything sucks now. Which makes sense when you realize that the Mycenaean Greeks stopped doing big society for whatever reason and their great big palaces were left to crumble and the Greeks of the dark age didn’t know exactly why those were there but they did know that they used to be full of people.

And when they lost their trade routes, they lost their access to tin and couldn’t make bronze anymore and had to use iron instead.

Hesiod coined the term Iron Age. He claimed truly he was living in an age of iron but he meant this as a bad thing. Bronze is prettier than iron. We now know that iron is harder and better in many ways but they didn’t know that. Bronze was just better in their minds.

But by the time the Greeks had started writing down their opinions about all of this, life had started to return to a similar level of impressiveness to the way it used to be. Great big walked city states were created. Culture and trade in the Mediterranean began to be awesome again.

But still in the mythos and the literature was that feeling hanging over everything that the current day and age sucks in comparison to the far past. So when almost every Greek myth ends in tragedy you have to wonder if this was just the natural order of things to them. Things get worse.

In reality things don’t universally get worse, not do they inherently get better with every generation.

And is this an age of iron? And if it is, what does that mean exactly? Are we all doomed by the narrative or not?

#quotes #history #mythology #greek mythology #longpost

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loz-untold-myths · 1 year ago

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Linktober Days 5 & 6: Species/Race + Mask

Link cares very deeply about his family. :)

I went with Stone Fate again! The koroks are so cute, I'm so happy to have an excuse to just doodle a ton of them! ^^

Do NOT repost!

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courtorderedcake · 6 years ago

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@captainswanbigbang & @captxinswans present:

RIPTIDE by @courtorderedcake Beta’d by the wonderful @ultraluckycatnd

An Enchanted Forest AU where the dark one was never released into the world in a vessel, thus causing a massive shift in timelines. The ogre wars have ravaged kingdoms, untold destruction spanning continents, rulers displaced. Even as the wars sputter to ash, the safest place to be is at sea, and that’s not very safe at all - as Emma and Killian find out, fates intertwined against all odds.

Rated: E/X - heavy content : warnings of assault, rape, noncon, just everything, I feel like the rating says enough. It’s something.

WARNING: READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Read on Ao3 HERE .

Chapter XIII : Spyglass; An Epilogue

Thomas Harriot is known to have turned a spyglass on the Moon, though with only three powers, he was unable to correctly discern neither crater nor mountain. Such a feat would require five to six powers, or higher.

-The History of the Spyglass

Time passes and tongues wag to fill quiet spaces.

The captain of the Gilded Wing, in his wisdom, decided piracy was not for him. With his bonny bride and an assortment of ex-privateers, they become a well respected merchant vessel and tradeship. Some said it was his charming and silver tongued demeanor, while others swore he was the gruffest man they ever traded with. Either way, his coffers were that of a king. If anyone asked about the haggard blonde and dark haired man with one hand juggling two wide eyed babes, they received no answers. Silence was a deafening warning.

The Jolly Roger is rumored to have sank in a battle with the Gilded Wing, the reckless captain duo of pirate lovers, Hook and Swan, finally finding a watery grave; together even in death.

Sightings of a glowing ship flying their flag are whispered among slave ships and crooked pirates who deal in innocent blood. It appears out of a dense fog, a ghostly enchantress with blonde hair whipping in the wind with her eternal love at her side, coat flapping and hook raised. Demons who leave no survivors except those bound in chains or held in a brig. Ghosts who steal back treasure that was taken wrongfully.

Or, as Emma calls it, 'date night’.

More children join the twins on the timbers of The Wing. Snow unexpectedly going into labor with her son Leo six months after the twins are born. Luckily, Whale and Tink had decided to stay on. David loses his mind with worry at not being prepared, but Snow breezes through the delivery right into motherhood.

“I didn't even get morning sickness, and I really didn't gain much weight. I'm lucky I didn't do anything crazy, or my labor might have been earlier and rougher,” Snow confides in Emma, as they nursed together in the sunshine of the deck. Leo latches easily, Snow smiling serenely. Emma has a foot in her face and both of her beloved children have fistfuls of her hair.

“Well, aren't you special,” Emma grumbled.

Maggie watches their twins with joy, bouncing them on her knees and singing to them while letting them eat as much pie as their small hands can grab. She quilts them beautiful blankets and knitted toys. Her shy husband even makes wooden toys for them, and does small magic tricks. Emma realizes that the shy bearded man is the tallest dwarf she’s ever seen slightly too late, and he laughs it off without worry. “i used to get grumpy about that sort of thing, but up here? I’m dreamy,” Leroy tells her, and he comes out of his shell completely.

Some of the crew leaves, as is expected when things change. They say goodbye to Rory and Phillip first, as the call comes that they can return for the throne of their homeland. Rory starts to send letters to them with her full name, Aurora, detailing palace life and asking for advice on policy. Emma finds it dreadfully boring, but David, Killian and Snow have vigorous debates on the shaping of the country.

Graham and Ruby leave to start a pack in unclaimed territory of the Enchanted Forest, gathering lone wolves and setting up rules that soon become a permanent structure. While there is still an ogre problem, the pack is strong and faces the danger head on.

Mal and Z return to the dragon lands together, slipping away quietly and without much notice. Killian can only laugh as he watches two dragons on the horizon disappear into the sunset.

Graham and Ruby return to say hello now and then when The Wing docks in The Enchanted Forest. Eventually, they rejoin the crew, the risk of Ogre attack while Ruby raises their litter of three beautiful boys deemed too dangerous by Graham. Hunter, Willow, and Forrest all have the same dark brown shock of hair, heavily taking after their father. To Graham, his small pack is everything, and Ruby feels the same; they'll forego the change to raise their young with no regrets. Emma happily brews them a Lunar Stasis draught, and they fall into the routine easily, Ruby complaining about constantly having a babe to her breast while the other women nod and bounce her other triplets.

Mal and Z do not visit. Instead, they extend an invite to show off their egg. The entire crew doesn't know what will be inside, until they get a bans stating, ‘It’s a girl! (Dragon, but currently unable to transform). Please welcome Lily.’

Snow notes the design is lovely, irregardless of the strangeness of the message.

Regina and Robin welcome a beautiful dark haired girl around the time the twins see eighteen months, and a once hardened Regina softens completely. They name her for a powerful enchantress in another realm, Lucinda, or Lucy for short.

Snow and David welcome a blonde tufted girl to the world soon after Regina’s daughter is born and Leo turns one, David immediately finding himself wrapped around his daughter's finger. They name her Ruth after his and Emma's mother. Leo is insanely jealous, but makes do by going through a shrieking stage.

Merida and Fa finally get married, the ceremony a complete hodgepodge of both of their cultures that somehow not only works, but works well. Plaid tartan and silk floral prints drape a verdant forest glade, a bamboo archway placed where they exchange vows. There's a tea ceremony followed by knotting their hands in a complex golden rope. The reception is visited by Merida’s estranged brothers, who finally accept she is not after their claim to the throne.

Emma dreams, or more appropriately, has nightmares of a dark castle that crumbles and rots. Something slithers and its claws click and scrape on the moss covered stones. A man calls out, his eyes burning behind brown irises, blood on his hands as he feeds a golden monstrosity. Willing herself to wake up, they look at her and she swears the scaled creature smiles, not a man but a beast, next to another pretender of a lost boy in the guise of a man and warlock. The warlock looks at her hungrily, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he surveys her body. The creature only glares. Together they are a golden eyed man who chases her in the recurrent night terror. Somehow she knows they are a portent of doom, but the dreams fade fast as she wakes up thrashing, soothed by Killian.

Smee's lap is a source of argument amongst the rowdy lot of toddlers, especially as he reads stories aloud. He always has a knack for getting a hold of rare items - and by rare items, he means sugary sweets that have been the bane of his old captain’s existence. Luckily, these days, the Captain is a dear friend and his Missus is in on Smee's trade. The Twins lead the pack at two years old, Emma and Killian no longer running ragged but instead, thriving in a new sort of chaos.

Killian still hooks yarn together, darning socks and making less lumpy blankets for anyone who needs them, and constantly making socks for little feet. With a little finesse, he’s able to make a few rudimentary stuffed toys, until suddenly he has made an assortment of soft toys. Esper is fond of a jellyfish the color of lilacs, while Ian chooses a shark, making roaring noises that rattle the timbers of the deck. Leo chooses a lion, his father beaming, Ruth clinging to a plush ginger kitten. Lucy chooses a frog with a giggle, Killian’s handiwork clear as the frog has a curled tongue in its mouth. It becomes a tradition for him to make something for new crew, and he frequently gets requests.

Jefferson and August finally decide to be more than just an occasional fling that happens more than just occasionally. They depart after the space becomes crowded and August expresses interest in traveling down many different rabbit holes. They are only seen on big holidays, bringing the most ridiculous gifts from their travels. Killian eventually bans any gift that makes ‘extravagant and unnecessary noise’ after a teapot given to Esper keeps singing off tune and nonsensical nursery songs at all hours.

After a particularly intense night of freeing slaves, Fa finds a small wide eyed girl clinging to her belts. Merida is immediately in love with the ginger haired child with stormy gray eyes, and no one bats an eye when suddenly, a young, wild haired girl is leading the pack of children across the decks. Not given a name, Fa coaxes her to choose one whenever she is ready, her quiet voice soothing as she stroked the girl's hair. Fa tells her stories, and Merida tells her tall tales and myths. She eventually chooses the name Rowan for its strength, just like her mothers.

Rory and Phillip send word from their kingdom that they have a daughter, naming her Rose. The crew attends the announcement ceremony, happily greeting their long time friends: Jasmine and Aladdin, now rulers of Agrabah; Tiana and Naveen, happily avoiding royalty in their restaurant; the vibrant ex-mermaid Ariel and an ecstatic Eric. Esperanza takes to Ariel, who despite being in what Emma refers to as 'the 200 months pregnant stage’, keeps her two and a half year daughter entertained. Ian, like his father or mother (depending on the day and who you asked), made trouble by slipping a tray of pastries under a skirted table, sharing his loot with his cousins, and inducing a glorious sugar crash.

In the brief moment of peace, Emma and Killian disappeared into one of the quieter roped off parts of the palace.

“We have to -” Killian's mouth met hers, demanding and hungry, intimacy not in short supply but not frequent either, always having to be carefully planned. Spontaneous escapes like this were rare if not unheard of. “Be quick,” Emma moaned as he nipped at her collar bone, hiking up her skirts.

“Bloody hell, I don't want to be quick,” he murmured against her throat, licking a trail to her ear. “I'd love to taste you, mark you -”

“For now.” She palmed him through his trousers and he hissed. “This. I need to feel you inside me.”

Another crash of their lips, her hands finding his belt as he pushed her against a wall, fingers pumping inside her wetness until he was freed. Moaning into his mouth as he thrust into her in a smooth motion, Killian grabbed her leg to pin her tightly between the wall and his body.

While it was fast and hard, it was also passionate. Emma clawed at him and they moaned together, savoring the heat that sparked every time they connected. They came together, each other's names sweet in their mouths. Sneaking back to their seats, only David narrowed his eyes with a shake of his head. Killian gave him a cocky nod and a wink.

Will and Belle had almost given up trying, but finally welcomed a tiny baby girl into the world. They named her Victoria, and Will finally got his comeuppance for teasing his fellows about crying when their children were born. He sobbed, holding his baby for the first time, her small hands making his look so large. Belle lay sick after they birth for several weeks, Will reading to her and rocking their babe as the crew took care of her, the day she wa finally able to come up on the sunshine of the deck with her small baby girl celebrated.

Whale gave in to Tink’s demands, accepting a steady stipend paid for him to stay on board to provide care for the children he delivered and their mothers. His bedside manner did not improve but deckside, Uncle Vic was a delight to as many children he could chase as they pretended he was a monster.

The Gilded Wing was alive with activity and noise from dawn until dusk, tired parents staying up when they had the energy to make conversation or nodding at each other in shifts as they groggily bounced or rocked children back to sleep in time with the ocean’s sway.

Emma found herself on deck more often than not. Esperanza was still a sickly child who needed the fresh night air. The Twins were almost three, talking non-stop and inquisitively taking in the world. It was exhausting. Luckily, Ian slept like the dead, his wild running throughout the day leading to a blessedly quiet wind down. Esper fought sleep, longing for starlight and the moon, Emma whispering constellations gently in her dark hair until Killian joined them on deck or she joined him in their bed.

Laying a finally sleeping Esper down in her bunk above Ian's, Emma made her way through the quiet corridor, slipping into bed and her waiting husband's arms.

“I love you,” he murmured in her ear, and when her answer didn't come in return, he cracked open an eye. “Love?”

“When was the last time I bled?” she whispered, facing away from him.

“I figured two weeks ago; you were moodier than usual and I let you be.” Killian replied drowsily. Her hand guided his to her stomach, a familiar swell against his palm jerking him awake. “Emma?”

“I didn't put the pieces together until a week ago. I should be just about four months along or so, maybe five. That’d be Rose's announcement ceremony. I haven't felt kicking yet -” Rolling her towards him, he captured her lips in his, grinning.

“You are a marvel, Swan. A bloody marvel. I love you so much. How do you feel? You're so small, I wouldn't have guessed...” Kissing her breathless, she pulled back laughing.

“Thank the Gods above and below, I believe there's only one this time. I'm fine. Tired, but fine.” Killian pressed a kiss to her forehead, blue eyes dancing as he looked down at her.

“Are you sure you can't make it two or three? David's lot is catching up to us, and if we get a nice lead -”

“Oh, shut up.” Smacking his chest and ignoring the salacious eyebrow wiggle he gives her, she doesn't ignore the steady beating of his heart as it lulls her to sleep.

Emma's second labor is easy, a chubby girl who is absolutely determined to prove her lungs work well. The name is long planned in advance; his mother’s name. Alice. She is fair haired and light eyed, a lighter shade of blue than Killian's own when they finally finish their change.

Liam's eyes, Killian tells Emma in the quiet still of the night. A reminder that even in all of this love, there are still scars and quiet pain they all share. Her arms around his neck is a soothing balm; each of them having a source of relief from old nightmares. Emma finally relents, and they spend some time in the small cabin on the cliffs he owns. She finds it’s not as terrible as she imagined and enjoys the quiet, or swinging on the creaky porch watching their children play. Not enough to give up the sea, or the ship, but enough to take reprieve when things get to be too much.

Killian reminds her that they’re old, but not that old. He reminds her frequently, until she tells him that she has suspicions that his reminders have ended in a well intentioned accident. Emma feels the movements earlier this time, hasn’t been as sick as her first pregnancy, but it’s still rough. Killian sits through a delivery that feels so much like when he almost lost her, so much strain and struggle, but Emma beams at him when it’s done.

“William?” she whispers softly, tucked into Killian’s side. He’s holding their last child and crying with her, arms wrapped around them both in the quiet before the rest of their children wake.

“William,” Killian agrees, pressing kisses on her sweaty forehead, making Emma chuckle. “Liam for short.” Her head lolls, exhaustion setting in although she fights it and the pain she's in with a grimace. When she shifts in the bed, Killian watches her with an ache in his chest as she swallows back whimpers and curses.

There’s no question about how close to leaving him she came again as her screams echo in his head, but Killian changes bloody sheets, and tells her after he’s sent their children off to play on deck that he loves her more than anything - That the thought of not having her sends him reeling. Pressing soft kisses to her pallid forehead, he cried into her hair, holding her tightly. Regina visits later with a potion that ends any worry for them, which thrills Killian even if it means his wild oats have ended their run.

Their children grow, and Piracy loses its appeal all together as raising them turns out to be much more terrifying and complicated than anticipated. Emma and Killian barely survive, the world around them changing rapidly, threats rising and danger around every corner.

Why wouldn’t it change, when someone finally let in a golden crocodile to their soul with open arms?

But that’s a story for a different time.

#Riptide #Finale #CSBB #CSBB 2018 #captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #Courtorderedcake

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writingnocturne · 1 year ago

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✨ LoZ Writing on Ao3 Master Post! ✨

My AO3:

Featured:

Please note, all long-fics below are WIPs. This is because I haven't had a platform to share my writing until rather recently, and life happens - so I am trying to catch up with all the ideas I've come up with and haven't been able to share.

Long Fics (WIP):

Post-TotK - Origins of Calamity (SPOILERS)

Post-BotW/TotK Rewrite (SPOILERS) – Call of the Forgotten ( + Returning Memories (Bonus One Shots) + An End to Calamity (One Shots between BotW and CotF))

Short Multi-Chapters

Post ALTTP/LA (4/8) - Forget Me Not

Original Zelink (ZW - 7/7) - The Princess’s Heart

Zine Writing

🌊 Across Time (LA) - Dreaming Of You

Fangame Fics (see @loz-untold-myths)!

Untold Myths – The Mage's Lantern

Untold Myths - Stone Fate ( + Falling into Place (Bonus One Shots) )

Untold Myths - The Princess’s Heart

One-Shots

Skyward Sword – By Your Side for Eternity, To Be Born of Many Hearts, Past Love, From the Sky

A Link Between Worlds – Clumsy with Secrets, Borrow Your Courage, Hilda's Lonesome, Stay, Still Life

A Link to the Past/Link's Awakening – At the Shore of Reality, Warm & Sweet

The Legend of Zelda/The Adventure of Link - For You, Princess

The Wind Waker/Phantom Hourglass – Unsettled Tides, A Lazy, Old Pirate's Advice, A Change in the Wind

Spirit Tracks – A Phase

Ocarina of Time/Majora's Mask – Always Cruel, A Name to Navigate, The Moon is Still in the Sky, Tulip

Twilight Princess – What Are We? , The Coming Spring, The Setting Sun

Age of Calamity – Away with the Words

Breath of the Wild - I Might Be In Love, First Snow, Oats

Tears of the Kingdom – A Glimpse Into the Past and Future, The Scent of Nostalgia, Immortal Spirit, Remnant, My Sun

Tumblr Links

(Some are found only on Tumblr, for now).

The Legend of Zelda (1986) – Unseen Hero

A Link to the Past – Warm Smile, At The Shore of Reality

I'm always updating, so keep an eye on this!

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keevansixx · 7 years ago

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Et Tu...Elohim?

Ahh, welcome welcome...do have a seat...I'm so very pleased you accepted my humble invitation, and i'm quite certain you have millions of questions floating around in you head that will be answered in the course of time, but for the interim, I will start by saying this....

Someone, glancing up at the heavens in distant longing, once penned the phrase "We are all made of stars.." never realizing how close to the ancient truth they truly were. And if they were ever privy to what really happened those many tragic millennia ago, the burden of that knowledge would surely drive anyone to madness. and a slow debilitating self inflicted death.

That's why human rationalization came up with all the stories, tales, myth, and legends. Not as an entertaining tool to while away a long winter's frigid spell, or frighten young children into eating their sprouts and greens, but as a way to remember those old truths long since dead and buried...

Sadly, the old ways have been filtered down throughout the ages by untold countless orators, each handing a story down from eldest to youngest through the passages of time, until the original truths, that were such basis of those stories, were buried under the fanciful machinations of each speakers time, or frame of reference to such a degree, that any such ancient wisdom to be gleaned was long since altered from it's original intent, into fanciful flights of creative imagination that serve now more as a guide to future humans, a bit of entertaining fluff with moral lessons, than as a warning of things to come, or what has been, and ever shall be again.

What I am about to tell you is of utmost importance to prepare you for what is yet to come. You may call them prophesies, soothsaying, mad unhinged ramblings, or whatever terminology you may deem fit to interpret as you see best, and to create a frame of reference that your mind can somewhat comprehend (or at least reasonably accept to some degree) and hopefully, somewhere in this exchange, you will find the resolve to see the great work fulfilled, and finally close the last chapter of this story for good.

Ahh, I see your puzzled expression, and assure you everything is quite alright for the moment, be at peace...no need to fret just so yet...all is well...but first, as all ancient decorum dictates, needs must come an introduction, followed by an explanation, a choice, and finally...if all goes swimmingly...hope.

Who am I?, you ask. Well...lets just say, for simplicities sake, that I have existed for a very very long time. Far longer than you've known recorded history to exist, and if I were to divulge the actual truth of the matter, you would think me insane, and most likely storm off in a flurry of self righteous indignation, then report me to the nearest psychological institution as a raving lunatic who needs saving from itself afore someone gets hurt. Let me assure you, I'm neither insane, going insane, nor inclined to prance naked through the gardens at midnight during a full moon (though, I would highly recommend trying the latter exercise at least once or twice in your lifetime as it is highly a soul cleansing liberating experience to free oneself from the constraints of polite society every now and then.) and am most astoundingly sane, given my personal knowledge of events that have transpired before, and one day, shall be again.

If I had to place a label on my existence (as the human animal is often want to do) I would say that I am a watcher....the last man on the wall, the keeper of the arcane, the wise old bastard in the shadows, that old person sitting on the street corner with the little small dog...with the hat on the pavement and the tiny sign begging for change, the alchemist, the weaver, the dreamer, the wordsmith, the alpha, the bard, the Sassenach, Oracle, doomsayer, destroyer of dreams, the original nightmare, the balance, the harlequin, or any number of descriptive titles they've used to understand the knowledge I possess down through the ages....but for simplicities sake, for the time being....you can call me Adam....

Now that the introductions are formally met, it is high time I explain to you the nature of why you are here, how you came to find me, and hopefully....a choice.

It all starts with a simple phrase told throughout history from the oldest to youngest with the magical incantation...."Once upon a time...."

Once upon a time, before things became written down, and the stories altered beyond what was true, there was a little blue gem of a world orbiting a small star. Nestled in the outer regions of a young galaxy at war with itself, this tiny world became the nexus of a great conflict.

Oh, it never started out as such...for a long time, it simply existed. Turning from a fiery amalgamation of dust and stone, to a lush living world capable of supporting life in all it's splendor. As time passed, the young world was visited by beings from afar, and as each one came and went, they left their small marks upon the young earth, leaving behind traces of themselves everywhere they touched down. As I said, war had come to the little blue gem in the middle of nowhere, as it had for billions of years on countless other worlds. Those races in conflict had used the earth as a waystation many times on their way to other parts of the galaxy. Sometimes they fought, many times they died, and every trace of them crumbled to the dust and ash of a young planet as if they had never been.

I could go on, recounting all the little changes their petty wars wrought upon the earth, but quite frankly, that would take more years in the telling than you have left upon this plane of existence, and I'm a little pressed for time this century, so I'll gloss over the boring bits, and try to keep it as simple as I can for you to understand....now where was I?

Ahhh, yes....a great cosmic war, and in the center of this region of the galaxy, the earth. now, at this point in time, I must point out that at the height of this great war, many races existed upon the surface of the earth.....not because they wanted to, mind you...but because this planet offered much in the way of rest and recovery (not to mention basic resources) from an endless pointless war. Think of it as somewhat of a truce...a sort of cold war pact between races that they would not try to annihilate each other while stopping on their way to the next big battle. Of course, sometimes things don't always go according to plan, and accidents do happen from time to time, but I digress...The earth became a sort of neutral ground for conflicting species. They, somewhat begrudgingly, existed upon this planet, before your ancestors learned to walk erect, and pick up sticks to dig grubs out of the ground.

That's where I sort of come into our little tale, you see, an accident of sorts, not out of spite nor malice, but a simple miscalculation that set me upon my current path. And the reason I say it is "our tale" is because sometimes... things happen for no reason at all other than sheer chance. It was sheer chance that humans encountered pathogens that altered their DNA, It was blind luck that out of the myriad billions of pathogens carried from distant worlds to ours, humans encountered the ones that started them on the path to sentience. You could call it fate, or destiny, or divine order......whatever gives you comfort and helps you to sleep soundly at night. But the harsh truth of humanity is.... we were an accident created by hands not our own, and when the other races learned of our existence, believe me, there was hell to pay. Some of the races wished to exterminate the entire species strain, for they saw us not as new lifeforms worthy of preservation, but a perversion of their own genetics, blaming each other for the "accident" and wishing to reconcile the matter before the contamination was irreversible. Other races saw us as a potential, or means to an end, wishing to nurture the new species like a proud parent holding a newborn for the first time, and then there were races ambivalent to humanity in general, wishing to neither help, nor harm, the new flesh whatsoever. They sort of tolerated humanity much like an elderly couple shaking their canes and telling children to "keep off their lawn".

This went on for quite a very long time, relatively speaking, humans existing underfoot of stellar beings, all the while learning from each new experience, from the stone age, to antiquity. I like to remember that early age as the age of myth and legend. You see, that's where many of our oldest stories started from...humans seeing things they cannot explain, and trying to place into words the things they seen while walking hand in hand with life not of this world.

I could tell you of the fair folk.....I think your stories called them "the Fey" or "the Aes Sidhe" such creative license you lot prescribed to them, when in all truthfulness, yes... they were beautiful (at least by human reckoning), yes... they were powerful (of course, back then it was easy to misinterpret all technology as a form of magic.) but they were also arrogant, cruel, spiteful, and clever....when they finally left earth in their stern viewports to pursue other targets, I breathed a slight sigh of relief....and wished they never to return. For all they did, and didn't do, humans still worship them like some misguided child, never knowing the horrors that could have been inflicted on them in those early days. Though, to be fair, there were a few that I had wished stayed behind, they were not like their counterparts, and viewed humanity with whimsy, bringing laughter and joy wherever they roamed....I miss those moments.

I could tell you of the Asir, but then again, I assume you are familiar with all the scandanavian myth and legends surrounding them. Warlike, fierce, proud....when they fought amongst the stars, worlds broke and shattered, stars dimmed with their passing. As with all things, they too, moved on to greener pastures and different wars, yet leaving their marks upon an impressionable young race called humanity.

Or the beings whom inhabited what you know as south America....I feared for humanity then, for those masters were not partial to us in any way, shape, or form. And when they left for their home worlds, those humans left behind in their shadow worshiped them with blood and fire, begging them to return, I hope they never do...

The Vatara, and their vimanna...I assume you are well versed in Hindu mythology? good....when their race landed upon the earth, the wars were mostly over with, with a few skirmishes over the skies that made it into folklore. For the most part, their race was benevolent towards humanity, with a few notable exceptions, but then again....all those early interstellar races had their quirks, but the Vatara....well, they did it with style.

Asian mythology? The Yi's. Yes...they too were beings from another world who came by for a visit. And like all powerful races, they came and went as they pleased. But for the most part, they were pretty neutral about the whole "humanity" thing, and they did give a few tidbits off their table to the new race on the block. I mean, paper...come on! that was sheer brilliance...without it, the humans would be still scratching away on stone walls and clay tablets. thank the Yi's for that one.

Egyptian mythology....astronauts.

Hebrew mythology.....astronauts.

every mythology.....yep....astronauts. (I know...I know....right at this moment you've got that weird crazy haired guy pic in your minds eye holding up two hands and saying "Aliens"...and I know it sounds far fetched, and that maybe you need a strong drink and some tin foil to swaddle your head in, but they are not all wrong in their assumptions. I'm not saying they are all absolutely right either, but the shades of truth are still there within the periphery of that narrative should you choose to chase that rabbit down the hole, so to speak.)

Let me tell you about dragons for a moment....don't laugh! you think they are all children's stories, but I've seen the real thing. beautiful, graceful, deadly...the perfect weapon for fighting a protracted aerial assault in atmosphere. They were loyal to a fault, tough as hell, and when they flew in formation it was perfection achieved. What's the difference? Well, different races...different aesthetics, for one. the beings who inhabited Asia preferred sinuous curves, and graceful lines than those of their nemesis across the continent. Asian dragons were known for their fluidity in battle, forming complex aerial patterns that were hard to beat in a dogfight. Their European counterparts were gene crafted to be stocky, hardier, more of a short term strike brawler than the long protracted aerial siege engines of the Asians. The Fey crafted thousands of their brawlers for every 10 of Yi's dragons....you think I am kidding? Kid, I've seen carnage across the skies the likes of beyond description when the Fey and the Yi had a squabble over a little patch of land that separated their regions from each other. Rivers burned, and mountains crumbled till all that remained was ash and ruin. I've seen millions dead, and smelled the stench of decay for thousands of years.

Heh, why are there no remains of dragons in fossil record, you ask? Yeah, you'd think there would be something left, wouldn't you? You'd be dead wrong...see, the thing with a bio-weapon, is that once you start leaving stuff behind on the battlefield, your enemies could easily take that knowledge, and theoretically turn it against you, eventually. That's why they put genetic failsafe's in the code of those great beasts. Many simply burned to ash, or exploded into massive fireballs, or rotted away to nothing where they landed. Their DNA forever lost to the ravages of time. But it was something to see...way back then. Of course, after everyone left, there were a few holdout remnants of those once great beasts, making their way into mythology and folklore, and as with all things, passed away into dreams and legend....but they did exist here once upon a time. Who knows, somewhere out there beyond the stars, they may still be gliding on the thermals of distant worlds, doing what they were designed to do. I wish you could have seen them.

Look, I could tell you every interstellar race that ever came to this planet, but to make this story more concise, let's just say that every pantheon you have ever heard of, every religion you've ever seen, every story you've ever heard in your lifetime, all had a glimmer of truth buried deep within that has been altered with the passing years by human hearts telling the oldest of stories in the newest of ways. And that sliver of truth is this: they all came from the stars....and left their marks upon the human race.

Oh oh oh,....I almost forgot to tell you....the Great Experiment. Well, that's what I call it at any rate, but human mythology simply refers it by another word....Atlantis. Oh, don't roll you eyes as me young one....the great experiment came at great cost, and even greater sacrifice than you could ever imagine.

Let me just say this....by the time of the great experiment, the wars that were raged across the cosmos were mostly over. I say mostly, because no matter how warm and fuzzy it makes you feel to think that everyone just one day dropped their armaments eventually, and shook hands, turning swords into plowshares, and singing KumBiYah around a campfire, the real history is just this....old animosities never die, they just get buried underneath diplomacy, bureaucracy, and routine, till both sides eventually forget what ever the hell they went to war for in the first place, moving on with their existences as best they can, while remaining largely distant to their neighbors in the great cosmic 'hood. Distance...makes the best fences, they always say, and so the other races tried to put as much distance between themselves as imaginatively possible, while maintaining a modicum of respectable decorum between themselves. Hence the great experiment.

Now, you must understand that during this time, the human race had developed sufficiently, both mentally and socially, to start writing stuff down, and when ol' Plato recorded his story of Atlantis in Timaeus and Critias all those years ago, he just wasn't giving lip service to an analogy of state versus outside influences. He was 3rd partying events that actually happened, but in his own biased human way.

Atlantis was a jewel, filled with the remnants of all those interstellar races (humans included...think of us early humans as party crashers. We weren't exactly invited, but we showed up anyway, and well, they tolerated our presence without too much pretext....that's how we sort of wormed our way into their company...blind endearing curiosity, eagerness, helpfulness, all those traits that didn't annoy our interstellar visitors...so they basically let us hang and learn) whom had, as yet, to flee back to the stars or return home. It was a lovely place, filled with the kind of people you'd really love to party with given the chance, and everyone got along for the most part. There were comings and goings of a dozen or more races, as they zipped to and fro between their outposts, knowledge was exchanged freely....think of it as coin of the realm, with vast libraries cataloging the wealth of knowledge into great halls for everyone to share. There was peace and prosperity for a time, and it looked like humanity was on the fast track to join their interstellar neighbors soon, as the human race in Atlantis was like kids in a candy store, going respectfully buck wild, and soaking up the knowledge faster than a sponge, or like a kid whipping down pixie sticks with a jolt cola chaser. Damn, it was good to be alive in those days...there was peace, stability, prosperity for the human race. I could spend years perusing the stacks at the great library, and I tried to every chance I got. learning the histories of hundreds of worlds, seeing all the different technology up close and personal, meeting different races over drinks and nibbles, while dreaming of a bright and glorious future that lay before us. It was the closest thing to heaven for me, than I would ever see again.

That's when the troubles started. Seemed innocent enough at first, we were learning how to harness the atom, bending space/time to our whims, almost about to make that breakthough with fusion technology, when things went all tits up, and ended with a massive explosion and drowning beneath the waves.

Now, for the record, please don't hold humanity accountable for all that had transpired there, we were curious.....maybe a little too curious for our own good, and the other interstellar races were mostly amused at our endeavors, and for the most part helpful when they deemed it necessary to intervene on our behalf, lest we do something incredibly stupid, and accidentally crack the earth in twain from a misaligned core. But those damn Athenians! jealous bastards the lot of them...couldn't wait and play nice like the rest of humanity...nooooOOOOOoooo, they just had to be the ultimate buzzkill. *sigh* lets just say, a small party of them felt threatened at all we had accomplished there, going on about sovereignty and states rights, the rights of man, and how we Atlanteans were threatening their very existence, when all we wanted to do was party and learn, trying to be good little humans, and not step on the daffy Athenian buggerers like all the other star races had done before to humanity. When they raided the research centers and literally axed (i'm not kidding, they took an axe...a stupid bronze axe) and fractured a fusion core setting off a fatal chain reaction....the mantle moved...not rumbled, not a tremor, nor an earthquake....moved, as in Hebrew biblical Armageddon moved. Many of us made it out, but not enough for my tastes, so many lost...all that knowledge....poof....gone in one night. A lifetimes work gone in a blue/green flash because a bunch of stupid humans felt threatened. but that's life for you.....you make it to the top, only to have the proverbial rug yanked out from under you when you least expected it. The Athenians cheered, we wept, buried what remained of our dead, and moved on with our lives as best we could given the circumstances.

The party was over as far as the space faring races were concerned. and over the course of a couple of thousand years, they eventually left taking all their toys with them in the process....so much lost...

The saddest departure was of the Vatara, they championed the cause of humanity the most, as I saw the last of their beautiful vimanna exit the skies, I shed tears at their passing. The Yi's with their dragons, The Asir astride their giant war horses, their beautiful Valkyrie singing songs of old celestial battles, Yahweh and his amazing sciences. Even those beings of the central Americas....they may have been cruel, but some of them were kind, as with all the star races, and I like to think I was their friend, in some small measure, and hope they remember me fondly wherever they ended up in the cosmos. They were my friends and teachers, and I miss them....

The remnants of the Fey were the last to go. I spat on the ground, at the sight of their ships leaving the atmosphere, good riddance, they were the cruelest to humanity after Atlantis's fall. They blamed humanity for everything. The cruelest blow is when a beautiful friendship turns sour, and all that was once joyous and good turns to naught but ash in your mouth...To those Fey who were kind at the end, I beg forgiveness for the human race. We were still young then, and will make mistakes from time to time, hold not the future of our species in ill regards going forward...I cherish the fond memories we made together in the Mediterranean.

we tried again, you know...we humans....to uphold those ideals the others instilled into humanity all those centuries ago, in our own limited way of course. As each age passed, we tried again and again and again. The Babylonians, who worshiped an aerial sand skiff one of the races used to cross the desert, and left busted down outside a goat herders tent, I gave it a once over, and figured out it was a simple misalignment of the grav core due to sand fouling in the intake manifold. A couple of swift kicks to free the fouling, and the thing worked good as new...that is until that moment when that fool Marduk crashed landed it in the town square. *sigh* they thought he was a deity, and spun one hell of a yarn about the whole affair, I just shook my head and walked away.....once human get their minds wrapped around something it's almost impossible to change.

The library at Alexandria, now that was a tragic loss....we tried so hard to reclaim a 10th of the knowledge we lost when Atlantis fell, but the human race had grown stubborn in our isolation, and everything burned....again. The wonders...monuments and structures built to honor those whom departed using ancient knowledge to craft....so much lost.

Ah, Egypt....that was a funny time....they actually thought they could build a giant radio transmitter to contact those beings out there who once occupied their lands, using geometric stone to build a transmitter...some nonsense about stellar alignment, harmonic resonance, and ridiculously huge funky radio tubes they fashioned out of silica glass, meteorite filaments,and powered by vinegar in a makeshift battery....I told them it would never work, as the power output necessary to accomplish such a task was well beyond their technological capabilities...still, had to give them points for trying (three more times, to be exact, each one crazier and bigger than the one before it).

The hanging gardens....I am sad for their passing, we tried to save every remnant of the other races unintended "gifts" to humanity. So many plants lost to time, there were even genuine cures there. The visitors genetically modified domestic plant species to meet their needs... medicines, foods the likes of which will never be seen again. At one time, whole fields of plants that served unique purposes, could be harvested, refined, turned into raw materials to fashion the most astounding things.......what...you think I got to be this old with a wave of a magic wand, and a few mumbo jumbo words? When I say cures, I mean CURES with a capital C. They made this one concoction with the roots, bark, and leaves of a beautiful heart shaped plant that was bitterly destroyed when the gardens fell. I remember at the beginning being offered a cup by the Yi's...they called it "elixir vitae" a battlefield medicine used to treat serious wounds. Humans would later go on to give it more fanciful nomenclatures as time progressed, but to most interstellar visitors, it was go go juice to keep the troops alive and fighting. It was bittersweet, burned with a pleasant warmth, and got you slightly high the more you consumed it (as Pink Floyd would later go on to sing...quite comfortably numb). I loved it, it kept me going through decades of research, and more than one close scrape or two....unfortunately, for all species involved, it had the unforeseen curious side effect of completely arresting the aging process in the human animal, saturating the cells in a chemical cocktail of cellular metabolic arresting clusterfeck that left the unfortunate human bereft of death, disease, and decay, and no longer craving normal biological sustenance. Fairy food, humans would later mythologize it, a cursed substance to be avoided lest your soul rot in damnation, and all that other superstitious nonsense. Oh, I could eat regular food if I wanted to, don't misunderstand, it's just after having consumed a substantial quantity over decades, the body no longer needed sustenance to maintain itself, just a little water now and then to keep things fresh, and everything moving in all the right ways. You may laugh, but all those stupid stories of ancient mummies were only slightly right, they weren't exactly cursed per say (depending on your point of view)....more like they were saturated with battle meds, and through their own choices decided to take a long nap in the hopes they would desiccate, wither, and disintegrate back into the dust from whence they were proverbially spawned. Tired souls who no longer wished to go on, but were too afraid to self immolate, and end it quickly. The dragon wars ended many of my fellow comrades, as they chose to go out with a blaze of glory instead of the long slow path of time. My partner and I...my partner....my.....

*pauses for a moment to wipe away an errant tear*

So....much.....lost......

Excuse me for a moment, will you? I know this seems like a fairy tale to you, the fanciful tall tale of an old dotering mad fool, but for me it only seems like yesterday. The memories fresh and vibrant like a well spring. I try to keep them in check, but sometimes my resolve wavers for a moment, and all the grief and joy, heartache and bliss, wistful longing, and humanist curiosity overwhelms me....forgive me. Just a moment longer, if you please....

*pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to massage the eons of grief from old and tired eyes. Removes an old threadbare handkerchief from a well worn pocket, and proceeds to loudly blow nose, with a slight sniffle at the end *

Thank you....Ahem, yes....now where were we? Oh? Aliens...Absolutely, they all departed in their own ways over time, leaving humanity to it's own devices. Where they are now, I haven't a clue. You see, that's the funny thing about mythology, no matter whose you happen to research on this small planet, they all share some similarity, a common thread of continuity that unites almost every one of them. Oh, the stories may change, and the characters a little different with each and every generation and in the telling, but the common denominator is still there all the same. That same warning over and over and over again....."we will return".....

You were invited here. That's the reason why we are now having this unique conversation. Humanity is entering into a new phase of it's existence, and I need fresh eyes out there watching, waiting, detailing all the little things humanity is doing. We've become noisy....sending calling cards out into the cosmos practically screaming "HERE WE ARE!!! SUPRISE!!" and I'm still not to entirely sure that whomever is out there has forgotten us completely.

It's all the little things....strange sightings, odd random flyby's that cannot be rationally explained, sightings over south America, crop circles popping up randomly across the globe, all that tin foil crap humans scoff at, and dismiss as flights of fancy, or delusional paranoia. We tend to overlook such things as we go about oblivious to what's going on in the greater cosmos around us...but I suspect that we've slightly got the attention of things not of this world, and if we're not careful, humanity might just end up on the cosmic chopping block after all. We weren't meant to exist, yet here we are....and maybe some beings out there are still carrying a grudge after all this time. Better safe than tragically sorry, I always say... That's why you are here...

Out of the billions of souls on the planet, you and others like you, have shown that spark of human curiosity that goes beyond the pale of human normality. You dream, you seek, you create. All those things I seek in a recruit to assist me in the great work ahead. It was by no mere coincidence that you happen to have found my calling card. In the words of my dear departed friend Tolkien, "Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall..." you were chosen...as others were before you, and others still, after I am long since gone. You will become the new watchers on the wall, the patient, the dreamers, the do'ers, the makers.... you will forge new paths, and be called many new names in return. A new legacy, for a new generation of humans. They are coming...and you will be ready for the day they finally arrive.

So, it's at this juncture I offer you an opportunity....a doorway, if you so please, into a different life than the one you knew before. Oh, I could make some witty remark at this juncture about Orpheus, and be all cryptic with the whole red pill/blue pill spiel, wake up neo! bullshite, Or I could just simply offer you a drink, and a handshake.... the choice is ultimately up to you.

Before you on the table is a tome, handmade. you will find it's leaves blank. This is your book now. You will record your observations in as you see fit. Customize it as you see fit. There is no rhyme nor reason to it, just simply write....the knowledge will flow freely once you begin. It's not magic....just a higher form of technology than what you may be currently acquainted with, and will serve you well in the times ahead. I would recommend a lovely pen that would suit your needs adequately, but I surmise that you'll find something on your own in due time...

Now, to your right, on the small side table you will notice a petite glass. Within that glass is a liquid, and if you were paying attention this whole time, I surmise that you have a question to the legitimacy of that claim, as the source was long ago since lost. Let me assure you, that it is true....every word of it. The source is indeed gone. The caveat emptor being that I did manage to squirrel away a few bottles for a rainy day...I may be old, but never unwise....as I foresaw the future a millennia before you were born. I won't bore you with all the tedious details, but that brief stint on the British isles almost brought everything to wreck and ruin....I fancied myself a bit of a hand wizard in those days, foolish me. Suffice to say, wars have been fought over a single drop, and mighty civilizations toppled in their haste to acquire it. It is a dangerous gift, and should be respected as such. Don't look so apprehensive.... It's been diluted on purpose, and you shall live a long and fulfilling life, full of the stuff of myths and legends, then you will eventually pass away, as all good things must finally come to bare when the time comes, but not before passing on what you have learned to the next watcher you choose. That is the gift I am offering. A brief pause of mortality with the freedom to explore all that was, is, and might shall be again.

*A brief pause. Fingers tapping on the armrests of the worn leather high back chair in contemplation. The pop and gentle crackle of the fire in the mantle place....a sense of self confirmation followed by an audible gulp and a smile*

Excellent! Welcome to the society *hearty handshake*, on the table to your left you will find your credentials, watch, badge, and communicator. The communicator doubles as a homing signal with GPS, all the current lovely technology and apps humans are so fond of, in case of trouble, alerting all nearby members of your location. I trust everything else is satisfactory for now, any further information can be gleaned from your tome as needed. Keep a weather eye on the horizon, and good luck.

*soft footsteps on the old carpet, as the newest explorer makes their way to the door, and a much bigger world than they knew before.*

Oh...I almost forgot...one last thing...above all else, have fun with it, and welcome to the Elohim...

*the door closes with a soft click, leaving the tired ancient watcher alone again with his contemplation, waiting for the next soul willing to step into the unknown to cross the threshold...*

#dreams #humans are weird #fiction #scifi

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black-wolf066 · 7 years ago

Text

Never a Dull Moment [4/?]

Rating: pg-13 to be on the safe side

Summary: In which the land of untold stories should have been a warning that it wasn’t just fairytales that were real. (Killian whump and BAMF Henry)

Words: 3637

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [4] and [FF.net Link]

((((((A/N: Sorry that this took so long. Between the holidays and my own muse jumping ship to write other things, it’s been difficult to just sit down and flesh the chapter out. There should be one more chapter before I call “Dull Moment” done, but we’ll see how that one goes.)))))))

Tagging @killianmesmalls @theonceoverthinker @killian-whump and @mcbrideannemgt

Chapter 4: Recovery

The distant echo of the falls, filtered in from the open archways of the room and into Henry’s ears as he sat with his thoughts. The repetitive rumble of the water was soothing, but it wasn’t enough to bring total relaxation as he shifted—for what felt like the umpteenth time—in the rough, wooden chair by Killian’s bedside.

It was late in the night, or possibly even early in the morning, but for the most part the metropolis was silent. The whirling of the vehicles and the low din from the markets had long since stopped; the citizens having all mostly gone to bed already. Not everyone was asleep however, for Henry could still hear a few of the healers, tasked with watching Killian’s fragile condition tonight, murmuring lowly in Atlantian in the adjoining room.

He shifted his legs once again on the mattress—being mindful not to knock into Killian’s own—to try and bring a bit of circulation back into them and his sore tailbone. He knew he should be sleeping in the second bed that was provided to him, but his mind was too wired to shut off. Not with the day’s chaotic happenings still running on loop; or the worry for their family in Storybrooke, and for Killian, still gnawing away at his nerves.

Henry would be lucky if sleep found him at all this night.

His bandaged hand gripped the uninjured flesh of Killian’s stump a little tighter; his mind veering off to one of his earlier conversations with Kida after being looked at by a healer, and being given a spare change of clothing.

“Tell me Henry, how is it your realm knows of Atlantis?”

Returning to his seat and flexing his hands against the stiff bindings of the cloth bandages; Henry replied. “Where I come from, it’s mostly myth, but there is one story that I find comes the closest to what I’ve seen here.”

“Really?” she asked with intrigue, silently gesturing for him to continue.

“Yes,” he nodded. “It… roughly chronicles how you and Milo met.” At her startled look, he gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry; I’m sure they got things wrong. My family isn’t from my realm either, and let me tell you, their stories aren’t depicted any better.”

“You aren’t from their realm?”

“I wasn’t born in the Enchanted Forest.”

She hummed in thought before curiously asking. “Are there any other worlds that have our stories?”

“Honestly?” he began; his mind suddenly wondering if there were any other realities involving his own family (a thought he filed away to think on later when he returned home). “I’m not exactly sure, but it is a high probability. I mean, in the Enchanted Forest, Atlantis was underwater and ruled by Poseidon and the Mer-people. And it my world, it’s nothing more than stories.”

“That’s… remarkable.” She breathed in awe. “I… I guess I should have expected it after meeting your father, but...”

“You never expected your home to exist… or suffer a different fate?” he finished gently for her when she trailed off.

“Yes,”

Wanting his own questions answered, he began by starting off small. “Kida, in the tale from my world, there was a highway that led to your city, is that true?”

“There was,” She nodded. “Before it was destroyed. It was how my husband, and the crew he journeyed with, found Atlantis so long ago.”

“The stories never mentioned a second entrance, though.”

“The entrance you came through was built sometime after.” She explained, as she stood and motioned for him to follow her toward the open archway of the large throne room. “We had always had our presumptions that there was land above us, but it wasn’t until after the volcano had gone dormant again, that we discovered just how large that piece of land was.”

“And you found no one else living on it?”

“No one alive.” she answered solemnly. “The eruption must have wiped them out.” She shook her head as her face tilted upward toward the high cavern ceiling. “We learned of their existence around the same time we learned of the artifact that once belonged to them.”

“What about the crystals?” he prompted hopefully, Killian never straying far from his mind. “From what I remember, it was said that they hold a great power, and they were able to heal most wounds.” He glanced down at his bandaged hands and arms in confusion at that, just now realizing that the crystal hadn’t been used at all during the procedure, and looked up in time to see Kida smiling forlornly at him.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work quite like how you think, young one.” her hand reached up to clutch at her own necklace as she explained. “You are right about one thing, Henry; these crystals do have great power. It’s what protects Atlantis and the people with in it. It’s what has kept us alive for thousands of years, but it does not heal wounds. If it did, my father would still be ruling this kingdom.”

Henry deflated visibly at that. “So, my—”

“That does not mean you should give up hope.” She cut in sternly. “Since my husband’s arrival, we have learned much in the course of four hundred years.” His eyes widened at that, vaguely remembering that Milo’s adventure had taken place in the early nineteen hundreds. Kida smiled gently at him as she broke him out of his thoughts by continuing. “Your father is in good hands, Henry.” Her gentle smile shifted toward the mischievous side then—a trait Hakan must have picked up on from her. “And if memory serves me right, he’s too stubborn to let something like this get to him.”

Henry snorted at the memory and at the surety in which Kida had spoken with. Even now, with Killian’s life still hanging in the balance, he could hear her optimism ringing in his head as his eyes shifted to the prone form on the straw mattress. He may have had the heart of the truest believer, but even Henry had his limits. After all, there were only so many times Killian could cheat death before eventually one of them stuck.

Henry just hoped this wasn’t that time.

There was also the matter of finding a way home.

“Is there anything I could use to get us back?”

“I’m not sure.” She answered and continued before he could allow the remorse to set in. “That does not mean it’s impossible. You have to understand, Henry, that there was a long period of time where our history was buried and forgotten amongst us. It’s through my husband’s knowledge, and my own tenacity, that we managed to get Atlantis back to a semblance of what it used to be.” She gestured to the stone pillars surrounding the throne room, and for the first time since stepping foot into the space, Henry took notice of the dull blue glow of the faces and hieroglyphs craved into them. “There are still things left of our history we have yet to uncover.”

“So, there could be something here?”

“I can’t make any promises, Henry, but if there is, Milo would be the one to find it.”

With a sigh, he squirmed around in his seat; the uncomfortable surface of the chair pulling him from his thoughts once again. Despite the urging from the healers (that he was no good to anyone exhausted, and Killian wouldn’t want him to suffer like this), Henry just couldn’t find it in himself to move away from the bedside. Not after being told there was nothing else they could do; that they would simply have to wait out the raging fever, and hope the tonics would counteract the plants venom. Killian’s scarred skin, even through the layer of bandages around Henry’s hand, felt hot to the touch and he prayed that Zeus wouldn’t claim him this night.

He already had one father up there in Olympus; Henry refused to allow Zeus to claim the other.

Eventually, as the time ticked by, Henry managed to conk out when he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. But it was far from restful; his subconscious hanging on the balance of awareness and sleep as the healers periodically came in through the night to check on Killian.

“Don’t make me forcibly remove you from this room, young man!”

He startled fully awake as he turned to stare at the elderly head healer (her no nonsense attitude reminding him a great deal of Granny, to the point he had a feeling the women would get along just great, if they were ever to meet). His blurry eyes cleared to see her disproving scowl, and he cringed, grinning sheepishly at her as he fidgeted in the seat.

“Sorry Aponi,” was all he could manage as he moved to stand, his stiff back and knees popping after being left in the uncomfortable position for so long.

He didn’t have a single doubt that her threat was a warning; her eyes watching his movements like a hawk as he ventured to the untouched bed on the other side of the room. When he was under the blankets, she nodded once in her satisfaction before moving to check on Killian, and he rolled onto his side and watched her as she worked. His eyes grew heavy again, but they refused to shut until he was sure everything was fine. And at Aponi’s gentle hum and nod, he sagged farther into the soft straw mattress and snorted as he watched her pick up the chair and leave with it with one final glare of warning.

Sleep claimed him not long after.

(***)

A distressed noise penetrated the fog of sleep and startled Henry back into alertness. He blinked his blurry eyes rapidly to clear them, the dull rays of sun beginning to filter in through the sheer curtains covering the archways as he rolled over.

“Dad!” he yelled the moment he heard the noise again. It was a sound caught between a grunt and a whine, and in a blink, he quickly disentangled himself from the sheets and was by Killian’s side in the next. “Dad?!” he hovered helplessly, his hands frozen in fear over Killian’s convulsing form; not knowing if he was having a seizure or battling the demons in his sleep. “Help! I need help!” he yelled out; the faint red color, seeping onto the white sheet, startling him into action as he finally moved to pin Killian down. Only to duck and narrowly avoid getting hit as his left arm unconsciously swung out. “Someone help!”

Within seconds, Aponi and four others—three women and a younger man—were swarming into the room and pulling him up and off.

Henry struggled against the stronger, male healer’s hold; all logical thought leaving as shock and panic found a home instead. He vaguely heard his name being called over the loud din of chaos, his ears ringing and his muscles straining to be freed as he was forcibly dragged from the room. It was only out in the hall, did Henry realize the loud noises were coming mostly from his own mouth. The healer, Paku—or had he introduced himself as Nahko—was saying something, but the words weren’t registering. Every time Henry tried to take a step back into the room, the man was in his way; pushing against his shoulders and uttering words that were probably meant to sooth if Henry were actually paying attention to them. When it became clear he wasn’t allowed back in, his irrational mind did the only other thing it could think of.

He pulled an Emma Swan and ran.

He ran as far and as fast as his feet and the uneven stone terrain would allow; racing down steps, past startled inhabitants and around sharp corners of market streets and buildings. He ran until he was at the outskirts of the city and even then he didn’t stop. The air felt like knives against his lungs with each breathe he took as he pushed forward, hopping from slippery rock to slippery rock to traverse over the water toward a small cluster of ruins.

He slid a few times against the stones as he rushed across, the final time actually landing him into the deep, surprisingly unmoving—considering the surrounding falls—water as he spluttered to the surface and swam the rest of the way. By the time he reached the edge of the island, he was sore and slightly cold; having made the trip with bare feet and nothing but the borrowed cloth pants he slept in. They were nothing more than minor grievances—still too far gone in his shock to care—as he ducked underneath a leaning pillar and sat behind one of the boulders.

What’s going to happen now? He thought dejectedly as he hunched in on himself and rested his cheek against his bent knees.

If Killian didn’t make it, what was he going to tell his mom when he finally saw her again? How was he going to tell her that Killian had sacrificed himself for the fifth time? How could he tell her that he had failed to save him; that he wasn’t cut out to be like the rest of his family?

The excitement he had felt at getting David’s sword—a symbol of courage and of a hero—now felt like a hollow undertaking that he couldn’t even dream of being able to fulfill.

(***)

He didn’t know how long he sat there; just long enough for everything to grow stiff and his pants to dry, but other than that, the passing of time was all but lost to Henry.

The gentle babble of the surrounding water, and the roar of the falls, had done absolutely nothing to sooth him and his inner turmoil. It wasn’t the crashing waves of the ocean. And the ruins he sat in, wasn’t the familiar and comforting wood of the Jolly either. He wanted this to be a dream.

He wanted to go home.

The sudden shadow blocking the light, and the clearing of a throat, brought Henry’s attention to the opening where a very tall man stood. His face was shadowed for only a moment until he ducked and made his way inside. He was pale skinned, solidly built, and looked for all the world like a Viking with his flaming red hair and bushy overgrown beard.

“There you are, we’ve been looking all over for you.” he uttered with a small gentle smile; the timber of his voice, deep and rich as he squeezed to sit in the space across from him. “Just thought you’d like to know that your father is alright; Aponi managed to get him stable again.”

Henry’s shoulders sagged in relief.

He could still die, his traitorous thoughts piped up.

He tensed again.

“I’m Milo.” The man spoke, effectively freeing Henry from the dark thoughts for now, as he shot his hand out for Henry to shake.

Henry simply gawked at him. Sure, he had had his suspicions the moment he saw him, but Milo was nowhere near to his cartoon counterpart; the earlier thought of Viking a far cry from the lanky, shorter scholar he was depicted as. Then his manners finally caught up and he fumbled forward to accept the offered handshake.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Milo.”

That gentle smile, half buried under red, curly whiskers, reappeared. “The pleasure is mine, Henry. I spoke with my wife and son last night, and they told me you seek of a way home?”

“Yes, do you know of anything?”

Milo shook his head. “I haven’t come across anything yet, but we’re still trying to free several stone slabs from the muck underneath the surface. Maybe there’s something there?”

“Maybe,” he trailed off, his thoughts creeping back.

Much like the day Emma stabbed Killian through the chest with Excalibur, the image of Killian convulsing wildly on the bed, would equally haunt his dreams for years to come.

“He’s going to be okay.” Milo urged.

“You don’t know that.” Henry couldn’t help but argue back. “What happened anyway?”

“Aponi believes it was a combination of the venom and a bad reaction to the tonic. He must have been allergic to one of the herbs and his body didn’t respond until after the second dosage.” He explained. “But the situation is under control now. Aponi is giving him a new tonic and they’ll be monitoring him more frequently to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He then stood and extended his arm out once more as he gestured toward the exit of the nook. “Come, and I’ll show you the proof, myself.”

(***)

Henry refused to be removed from his bedside for the entire day and night after that; only straying out of the room when he needed to relieve himself or when Nahko would come in to clean up when Killian did.

Even Aponi knew better than to try; having brought in a comfier chair for him to sit on as he sat vigil by Killian’s side. And with the healers bringing him things to eat and drink every time they came in to check on Killian’s condition, Henry could do nothing more than sit back and wait.

(***)

On the second day, Killian’s fever broke.

There was a little more color to the pale pallor of his skin, and his breathing didn’t seem as strained as it had been from the start.

Aponi had high hopes that he would wake soon enough.

(***)

On the third day, Killian awoke for all of five minutes.

Henry had missed it.

The moment Killian’s fever had broken, and they deemed that the worst of the venom’s affects were over with; Aponi had gone straight back to nagging Henry from here to kingdom-come.

“You’ll hurt your back if you continue to sleep in that chair.”

“You’re too skinny; you need more meat on those bones, young man.”

“Go and stretch your legs a little; your father isn’t going anywhere.”

It was during one such occurrence of nagging—with Henry appeasing her by heading down for the market—that he had managed to miss it. By the time Nahko had arrived, out of breath, to tell him the news and bring him back, Killian had long since succumbed to his exhaustion.

Henry wasn’t willing to move from the room after that, no matter how much Aponi tried.

(***)

The second time came when Henry himself was asleep.

He was stationed back at Killian’s bedside (despite Aponi’s great displeasure against it); with his feet propped up on the straw mattress, and Killian’s stump clutched loosely in his right hand.

The feeling of his arm being moved, had disturbed his sleep enough for him to groan irritably and loudly; thinking it was nothing more than Aponi coming back to forcibly remove him from the chair herself. He was just about to tell her he was fine where he was, at least, until he realized the hand grasping his wasn’t dainty and wrinkled, but large and callused and no longer resting against the sheets of the bed.

His eyes snapped open and he swiveled his head to find Killian staring back; relief overruling the fatigue he could see on his face. There was a small moment where neither of them moved, for Henry couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Then the moment was over as he jumped up and leaned down to hug him; his face burying itself against the crook of Killian’s neck in his own relief.

“You’re an idiot.” Henry finally muttered against his skin as he felt Killian’s left arm shift up to return the hug.

The resulting chuckle ended quickly on a wince as Killian rasped out. “Don’t make me laugh, my boy; that hurt.”

“Yeah,” He snorted. “I stand by what I said.”

Once he retrieved water for Killian’s parched throat, and Nahko for a quick check up and some help with propping him up against the pillows; the questions came after. Henry filled in the gaps as best he could, relaying the parts of the story he felt necessary to tell, and how Milo and the others were working to figure out a way home for them.

“You know,” Killian began, “Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe how much you’ve grown. You aren’t the little boy I helped save all those years ago in Neverland.”

“I know; I hear it a lot from both moms…”

“You would hear it from your other father too, lad.” They both smiled sadly at that. “Bae would have been just as proud of you as I am, Henry; don’t ever forget that.”

The silence that fell afterwards was comfortable, until Henry felt the need to break it. Three days surrounded by strangers and his own worry, would do that he supposed. Not to mention the fact that Killian’s timber, no matter how raspy with disuse it was at the moment, always seemed to calm him in the past when Emma or Regina couldn’t.

“So,” he started; shifting in the chair and murmuring an apology as his foot knocked against Killian’s leg. “Atlantis, huh?”

“I’m sorry lad, I—”

“It’s okay, dad. I understand.” he cut him off with a smirk. “It’s just cool to hear you’ve always had the makings of a hero. Even when you were at your darkest.”

Killian shifted his attention uncomfortably away at that, before catching himself and gazing back. “Well… what can I say? I had the right people there to guide me and remind me that I could be a part of something.”

They shared a smile at that as the distant echo of the falls filled the silence once again.

#captain cobra #killian jones #henry mills #killian whump #whump #recovery #my fanfiction #ouat ff #once upon a time fanfiction #ouat fanfiction

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kierantc-blog · 7 years ago

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Dark Nights: Metal #1 - An In-Depth Look

So with the first issue of Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo’s Dark Nights: Metal dropping this week, i thought i’d take the time to write a bit about the references of the issue as not everyone fully grasped the magnitude or significance of everything it had to offer.

Braal and The Legion Of Super-Heroes

One of the things that has been teased by DC since Rebirth is the return of the Legion Of Super-Heroes. Currently they have Saturn Girl locked up in Arkham Asylum after her appearance in DC Universe Rebirth #1, and in Metal we get another mention. Faced with Mongul and his new War World, Batman wonders how he managed to do it considering the Braalians were suppose to be watching him. The Braalians are a race of human-like aliens from Braal, a planet that is home to LoS founder Rokk Krinn AKA Cosmic Boy.

Even though Rokk won’t exist for another 9 centuries, this is an important detail in the story. Rokk and other Braalians have a unique ability to manipulate magnetic energy, and as Batman later notes that a planet like Braal with a heavy metal core is probably going to come under some stress due to the nature of the current Metal problem, thus explaining why Mongul was seemingly allowed to make his new War World.

What's the deal with the Tribes?

In the DC Universe there were 4 known tribes at the beginning of mankind, the Wolf Tribe, the Bird Tribe, the Bear Tribe and the Bat Tribe. These all directly relate to known people in the DCU, the Wolf Tribe is known for being the tribe of Vandal Savage (although they were previously known as the Blood Tribe), the Bird Tribe is where Carter Hall AKA Hawkman came from, and the Bear Tribe was home to the Immortal Man, a person we saw talking about Duke Thomas’s mother in The Forge #1. And then we have the Bat Tribe....

The origins of this tribe directly relate to Bruce Wayne. In the first issue of the pre-Flashpoint story The Return Of Bruce Wayne, we find the Caped Crusader stranded in the stone age, surrounded by a small tribe known as the Deer tribe. Meanwhile the Wolf tribe, led by Vandal Savage, tries to kill Bruce as well as destroy the entire Deer tribe, but when Bruce fights back and saves the tribe, they decide to rename themselves the Bat tribe and would later be known as the Miagani people of Gotham.

This tribe would literally lead their lives around Batman (or Man Of Bats as they called him), carrying with them the relic of the original cape and cowl Batman wore when he shot Darkseid, which would eventually end up in a cave beneath Wayne Manor centuries later.

The tribes are a very important part of the story because they lead into the next segment.....Barbatos.

Barbatos? Who The Heck Is Barbatos?

So now that you understand the history of the tribes slightly, it’s time to rewind a little bit in the timeline of Bruce Wayne and venture back to Final Crisis itself. During this Crisis Darkseid has everyone on the back foot and he plans on destroying everything, but Bruce manages to get hold of a radion bullet that killed the New God Orion (Darkseid’s son) and uses it to mortally wound Darkseid.

In immediate retaliation, Darkseid unleashes the Omega Sanction and kills Batman. Even though Batman is dead in the present day, he’s thrown back in time by the Omega Sanction into the stone age. Then Darkseid releases the Hyper-Adapter, a creature that will follow Bruce Wayne throughout history, feeding on his timeline until it reaches the present day when it will effectively destroy all of creation. It’s basically Darkseid’s final gambit after realising that he was mortally wounded by the radion bullet.

As this Hyper-Adapter follows Bruce throughout time, it begins to share the legend of the Man Of Bats and sometimes appears as a giant bat as well as an octopus creature, but it’s the bat sigil that has the bigger impact and would later lend to the name Barbatos. It’s through this Barbatos myth that one of Batman’s biggest villains prior to Flashpoint would come to light, Doctor Simon Hurt.

In 1765, one Thomas Wayne of Gotham was part of a cult that summoned Barbatos, and when confronted with the giant bat Thomas would bargain with it and become imbued with some of its powers, granting him a long life. Thomas would later be driven mad by this power and would later adopt the name Simon Hurt.

During the Batman RIP story, Hurt would try to discredit the Wayne family name by claiming to be Bruce’s father Thomas in an attempt to take the Wayne family fortune but he would be stopped by The Joker of all people and a banana peel.

The important part of the story of Barbatos when it relates to Metal is that he was seemingly a tool of New God origin, but it appears he might actually be more than that. Could he in fact be a New God of the Dark Multiverse and the Hyper-Adapter we met in Final Crisis and Return Of Bruce Wayne was merely an avatar? Time will tell, but Barbatos is a name that we should keep an eye on going forward in this event.

Lady Blackhawk And The Bird Tribe

In Metal #1 we’re finally introduced to Lady Blackhawk, a woman we had heard rumblings of back in All-Star Batman (also written by Snyder) but now we know her identity, Kendra Saunders AKA Hawkgirl. The Blackhawks are a team that Kendra has seemingly assembled in order to investigate the disappearance of Carter Hall, following a trail of clues he left behind to his whereabouts. For years the Blackhawks and by extentions the Bird Tribe would utilise the expertise of various people such as T.O Morrow and his Metal Men as well as the explorers The Challengers Of The Unknown and the original Star Man.

For years both Kendra and Carter were curious about their ability to reincarnate over hundreds of years and began to investigate the Nth Metal in their wings. Eventually Carter concluded that the metal must have come from a dark side of the Multiverse where dark matter comes from. Kendra disagreed and in order to prove he was right he and the Challengers Of The Unknown decided to go there, and in the process the base of the Challengers known as Challengers Mountain was ripped out of reality. This is the mountain that appears in the middle of Gotham in Metal #1.

Given Batman’s comments here that the material for the equipment is old but rather advanced in design means that the Challengers Of The Unknown and Hawkman have seemingly been missing for a number of years, possibly decades.

The story of issue 1 ends with Batman finding Carter Hall’s journal in the study of Wayne Manor, hidden for some time and in it Carter says that he entrusts the journal to a family he trusts and name checks the Wayne family as a member of the Bat Tribe. This isn’t a sentiment shared by Kendra though as she tells the Justice League that Barbatos’ entry into their Multiverse will be paved by a member of the Wayne family, and as Carter says in his journal that Barbatos has marked this person since the “final moment of crisis”.

Kendra believes that Challengers Mountain appearing in Gotham is no coincidence and she’s probably right, but could her disagreements with Carter be bigger than we realise? If Carter trusts the family of the Bat Tribe and she doesn’t, it could be an indicator of the politics between them that forced Carter’s hand.

Neil Gaiman Drops By Wayne Manor

The ending of Metal #1 is crazy, like seriously crazy. Batman finds Carter’s journal in his study (coincidentally the place he chooses to become a Bat) and is confronted by a pale figure called The Dream Of The Endless who tells him that his nightmare is only just beginning.

This pale figure is a man created by legendary writer Neil Gaiman for the Vertigo series The Sandman. Now i haven’t read The Sandman but i know of it and the love it receives from all who have read it, and the fact one of the main characters of that series is in this book is a feat in itself. Unlike most creator/publisher relationships where the publisher can use characters as they see fit, DC and Gaiman have an agreement that his characters will only be used with his permission, so for one of them to be in Metal #1 means that Gaiman has given his seal of approval.

In The Sandman series, the Endless are physical manifestations of powerful forces that exist throughout creation. The man we see here is Dream, but there are others such as Death, Destiny and Desire. This particular version of Dream is inhabited by a young man named Daniel Hall, who is actually the grandson of Carter Hall AKA Hawkman and thus he technically belongs to the Bird Tribe. His mother, Hippolyta Trevor-Hall was the daughter of the Golden Age Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor and his father Hector Hall was the son of Hawkman who would later become Doctor Fate.

Daniel is not the first version of Dream to exist, the previous one Morpheus gave up his life for a new Dream to exist and they are different in appearance too, making it easy to identify the one from Metal #1 as Daniel. Morpheus in appearance has spiky black hair and pale white skin, with two white stars for eyes, whereas Daniel only shares the pale skin with him and has medium length white hair and black space for eyes.

The significance of Dream as a character is that he is literally the embodiment of all dreams and has untold powers that make him as powerful as any God, maybe even more so.

So why is he in Metal #1? This is speculative but if the Dark Multiverse is made up of Nightmares, the one person who would know about it is Dream, and he would certainly want to help the heroes against such an enemy, especially if his grandfather is somehow involved too.

So there you have it, i hope i’ve done justice to some of the story elements from Metal #1, it’s truly a fantastic story but it does need some background information for new readers to fully appreciate what Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo are crafting.

Anyway thanks for reading! I’ll soon be posting a review of sorts for the entirety of DC’s Rebirth lineup, but there’s a lot to go through so i’ll probably post it by Tuesday at the latest.

Stay safe.

#Dark Nights: Metal #DC Rebirth #Legion Of Super-Heroes #Final Crisis #The Return Of Bruce Wayne #Batman R.I.P #Doctor Hurt #Barbatos #Darkseid #Hawkman #Hawkgirl #Lady Blackhawk #The Sandman #Dream Of The Endless #Daniel Hall #Challengers Of The Unknown

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