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punishandenslavesuckers · 7 years ago

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She has no throne. Girls without thrones should not have knights, but hers won’t go. Princess Zelda – the girl who killed Calamity – would love to fade into legend, but Link’s bought a house, he’s fighting off monsters, and he’s selling giant horses to strangely familiar Gerudo men. She’ll never have any peace now. (ao3)

(chapter one) (chapter two) (chapter three) (chapter four) (chapter five)

(chapter six) (chapter seven) (chapter eight)

“I can do that.”

Zelda – presently in a meditative state, fingers looping rhythmically through her hair, twin hair clips between her teeth – blinks up at Draga. The sun is high in the boughs of the trees, thin beams of yellow laying down mottled light on the grass by the road. They’d stopped briefly along the road east from Tabantha Stable to eat and re-organize their things a bit – Link having gotten distracted during the morning and made a haphazard job of a few saddle bags. Draga, who is responsible for most of the distracting, kneels beside her, slinging his rucksack to the ground. He nods to her hands halfway through the beginnings of a single golden braid.

“Oh, no I’ve got it,” she says, smiling. “It’s just a braid.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Hylian isn’t my first language, but I think you understood me.”

Link, tacking the horses by the road, snorts audibly. Zelda glares at him but try as she might – his smile lopsided and newly familiar – she can’t maintain her glare. So, she glares at Draga. He looks impatient, like she should just smack him or let do it already. So, she hands him her clips and hair band and turns so she’s facing away from him. He immediately draws a finger through the braid she’s managed thus far and unravels the lot.

“Not up to your standard?” she chimes.

“No.”

For that, she does smack him.

“If I had a mirror…” Zelda mutters.

“It would still look like a Hylian did the job,” Draga says calmly, around the clips between his teeth.

“You are trying to pick a fight? Or are you just missing having enough hair to do anything with?”

Draga, already parting her front-right region of hair into workable sections, says, “Rude.”

“You’re rude. Don’t make fun of my hair.”

Draga ignores her. Focused on the task at hand. He moves carefully along the side of her head, starting with three parts and twining them deftly down, adding consecutive segments of hair as he goes (very quickly she must admit) around the back of her head. She fiddles with a wrinkle in her pant leg.

“So you’re sure about this? You don’t mind? I mean, I know we discussed this at length over the last few days and… and I know we all agreed it’s the most logical course of action and I know you said that you don’t mind, but I feel like you should know that at any time you may change your mind and we can find some other method. I could refocus my efforts on lost Sheikah knowledge. There may be vast magi-tech archives yet untapped in the shrines. Or the Beasts even. You saw Medoh at the Rito Village. We could go back there if you –”

“Hold this,” he says, taking her hand and pinching her fingers around the middle of a finished braid. Then he starts on the other half of her hair and… Zelda’s isn’t quite sure what he’s doing exactly. She can feel that he’s leaving some sections loose, then gathering them up again later with a sequential foresight that she does not really apply to hair styles.

“So?”

“I said that I’m fine with it.”

“But it’s forbidden for you… right?”

“No, I said only elders were permitted on the mountain.” Draga removes a clip from between his teeth and applies it to a part of her hair. “For generations, my family has guarded the Statue of the Eighth Heroine and preserved it from everyone. Foreigners and Gerudo alike. This mandate was passed down to my tribe, supposedly, by Nabooru herself. It is the oldest undisturbed archive of written Gerudo history dating back to the Naboorian Age. It will pre-date the Twilit Calamity and the Bandit Age.” She can feel him shake his head. “I don’t believe we will find a better place to begin our search.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?”

“Zelda, there are no elders left in my tribe, so it would fall to me anyway.” He finishes off another braid. “Besides, you’re the maiden-form Goddess. Who else could be worthier to tread sacred ground?” A beat. “Also, Link already paraglided down the mountain and took pictures of the exterior. So, it’s hardly that unbroachable.”

From the road, Link calls, “I said I’m sorry!”

“You’re a godless heathen.”

“I’m the Goddess’s chosen Hero?”

“A regular sort of heathen then.”

“I didn’t know!”

Draga coils the finished ropes of Zelda’s hair in a neat whorl at the top right-hand side of head, giving the mirrored spiraled braids an asymmetric weight. Draga pins the coils in place with practiced engineering and Zelda touches the finished work, admiring the complicated craftsmanship, fingers picking out the soft track and curve of her braids like a road coiling inward. She turns.

“Thank you, Draga.”

He’s still kneeling there, one arm braced against his knee. Even though she’s seated on a stump, he’s taller than her while kneeling, looking down into her face with an expression just short of worried.

“It could have nothing about the Goddess Mark. It may be a waste of time.”

“That would be fine. I like history for the sake of it.”

“You’re certain Hyrule Castle is of no use?”

Zelda nods. “Yes. Even before the Calamity, most records were lost in the fall of the Magi-Technical Golden Age.” Zelda gestures helplessly. “Our oldest texts only barely describe the events of the Twilit Calamity and before that, there are anecdotal accounts of an ancient hero who moved through Time itself. No record of his actions exist because, it’s said, he existed in a non-linear state. Stopping Ganon before his rise and after.”

Link says nothing. Reacts not at all to the descriptions of his previous lives.

“Prior to that, there’s only… myth and fairytale. So there is nothing in those catacombs worth returning for. Not if our aim is to know more about why the Goddess Mark has appeared now. Why it’s expanded its touch to you.”

“What do you know of it?”

“Theology and historical theory. We know the Goddess Mark is tied to Hylia and the creation myth of Hyrule – the Golden Goddesses who left the world in the hands of Hylia. But that’s it. Scholars of the age have only said that the Mark symbolizes the godhead, three in one – Din, Farore, and Nayru. The heart of the world. The balance that maintains existence. It appears in most Hyrulian symbolism. Hardly compelling factual account. Not like Naboorian hieroglyphs.” She sighs, almost romantically. “Such a record would be so… unromantic in its chronicle of the past. Vital. I have to admit, I’m selfishly curious to know what’s on that mountain for my own sake.”

Draga gives her a crooked smile. “Well, thank the hero Nabooru. It was she who mandated a record of Gerudo history be made written.”

“Why did she do that?”

“Hard to say. Nabooru was an ancient figure to my people, I have a theory. When the Great Chieftains brought the Gerudo out from the Sea of Sand and laid us at the shores of Hyrule… that was the moment our oral traditions began to die. Such things do not survive when you must change to survive a new world. She knew it then and committed great efforts to laying down physical records of our history. This is how we know we were different before we found Hyrule.”

Zelda smiles. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad your people did find Hyrule. We would be poorer for it had they not come.”

“Yes, I guess history would look very different.”

Link catches the tail end of the conversation then, walking up to tap her shoulder.

He signs, ‘We should go. I want to be past the Scab Lands before nightfall.’

“Okay,” she says.

And she kisses him on the cheek. She does it carefully, catches his chin with two fingers so he doesn’t move and fits her lips against the warm plane oh his cheekbone. There. Proud of herself – and feeling very giddy – she stands up and heads toward the road. She isn’t aware that anything extraordinary has transpired until Draga says, “For fuck’s sake,” and kicks her knight escort in the ankle to break him out of the trance. She smiles all the way back to the road.

When they reach the Scab Lands, there are three Gerudo on the road

Two of them, carrying twin travel packs and matching jackets, are dressed for the road heading north into Tabantha, bundled prolifically in an excess of scarves. One of them is capped in an adorable wool-knit hat, a grandmotherly kind with a pom-pom stuck to the top. This would seem a bit much, if Zelda hadn’t seen Draga stuff himself into excessive layers back in the Rito Village and his subsequent almost primal hate for the snow. He is, in fact, still wearing a scarf presently.

The two girls are talking to a third Gerudo woman on horseback. Her violently red hair is pulled back in a heavy tail – from it, hundreds of sparkling beads catch the light when she turns her head. She’s wearing a veil. Blue fabric pinned at her temples by elaborate gold clasps. The scimitar at her hip is sheathed in a mother of pearl scabbard. Zelda notes that, upon seeing them, Draga sits up a little straighter and nudges Arbiter into a faster trot.

“Greetings!” says the girl in the cap as they draw near. Her accent is very strong. She waves while her companion – a little older, sharing enough of her bone structure and contempt to be a sister – rolls her eyes and gently pushes her arm down.

“Good evening,” says the older girl in carefully done Hylian. Then in Gerudo, to Draga, “That’s quite a horse. I’ve never seen one more beautiful.”

Draga also in Gerudo, says, “Now you’ve done it. It’ll all go to his head now.”

Arbiter, as if on cue, tosses his massive head and nickers, stomping a hoof in the dirt and blowing air at the nearest girl who startles, almost losing her cap. The older girl laughs loudly. Draga smiles a little – just a suggestion of it but so specifically gentle Zelda finds herself studying the shape of it. Cataloging it. Hoping to commit it to memory so she can identify it again in the future – like the flight patterns of birds or the phenotypes of a rare plant species.

“Are you two headed north?” he asks.

“Yeah. Meeting a family friend. He says he has work for us,” says pom-pom girl.

“That’s good,” Draga says. “Lots of young Gerudo leave town without a single part of a plan. You’re doing better than I did.”

“Didn’t plan well for the cold though,” says the older girl. “I’m not looking forward to freezing my tits off on some gods forsaken snowfield.”

“I am!” enthuses pom-pom. “There will be snow. I’ve never seen snow.”

“Say that again when you run into a snow rhino,” says Draga, amused.

The older girl stares in horror. “What the fuck is a snow rhino? Don’t say there are snow rhinos.”

“There are snow rhinos. They’re ornery. I’ve seen them.”

Zelda notes that Draga leans harder on the male-conjugation than he does when speaking Gerudo with her. The older girl gives no sign she notices – possibly because she is distracted by the snow rhino and the fact earmuffs will not protect her from getting gored by one. The younger Gerudo girl though… as the conversation goes on, visibly frowns and Zelda can tell she’s trying to figure out Draga’s understandable but slightly canted take on her own language. It occurs to Zelda that the occasion for personal male modifiers in Gerudo might be uncommon enough that not everyone might have bothered to learn them.

About sixty seconds into the conversation, the younger girl confirms Zelda’s suspicions by blurting, “Oh! You’re a voe!”

Delighted. Like she just figured out a difficult riddle. Draga and her sister, bent over a map and reviewing their likely path north for safety and friendly rest stops, stare blankly at her. Draga, still in his saddle, glances at the older girl who balls a hand over her face in humiliation. This signals to the younger girl that she’s made an error and she wilts.

“Oh, uh, I mean…” She switches to her mother tongue. “Sorry. That’s rude right?”

“Yes, Rima. That’s rude,” says her sister, exasperated. “Goddess, you’re embarrassing.”

“But both the blonde ones are women, right, Taz?”

“No, you idiot. The short one is a man.”

“Really?” She stares openly at Link who tilts his head. “Are you sure?”

“You need to get better at this, I can’t tell you who is man and woman every time.” She looks directly at Draga. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Draga says, visibly trying not to laugh.

“Are you two on Pilgrimage?” Zelda says in Gerudo.

“Oh! Your accent is so pretty!” Rima exclaims, clutching her hands to her chin. “You know Gerudo? That’s so amazing. No one knows our language! I’m so bad in Hylian. I say the wrong things.”

“You say the wrong things in every language,” Taz snaps.

Zelda makes introductions and accepts compliments on her hair and, through the corner of her eye, watches Draga dismount and start going through his saddle bag. He pulls out a small wood box she’s never seen and what looks like a snowquill doublet and overcoat with a couple ridiculous hats. The hats are also snowquill, but twice as thick as normal with ear flaps that make her immediately regret not seeing him wear it. Draga inspects these items with a calm appraisal, then turns and holds them out to the older girl.

“You two should take these,” he says.

Rima bounces a little at her sister’s shoulder, peering as she takes the coats and opens the little wood box. “Oh. Pretty. What are they?”

“Are these warming stones?” says Taz, her eyes big.

Draga nods.

She looks up. “We can’t take these.”

“Sure, you can.”

“These are too valuable!”

“They aren’t worth a thing.”

“You’re lying!”

Draga looks mock hurt. “I’m sorry. We just met and you’re calling me a liar?”

Taz loses some of her cool worldliness to alarmed sputtering but Rima is already pulling on the snowquill doublet, and then the overcoat, patting it with warm brown hands and smoothing the thick material down. She admires its fit (a bit too large honestly, even with the doublet beneath) and spins around so the longer part flaps out around her. She can’t quite lower her arms to her sides on account of the layers.

“So warm!” she says, beaming from the gap in her scarf and hat.

“It’s standard gear, but high quality,” Draga says. “Don’t let anyone try to trade you for it. The doublet and warming stone should be enough to keep even Tabantha cold out. Don’t go without full gear once you hit the snowfield. The temperatures there are deadly if you’re not ready. Besides, I’ll hardly have use for it back in the desert.”

Link signs, onehanded to Zelda, ‘That gear is worth near its weight in gold.’

Zelda blinks, then signs, ‘What?’

‘Rito can only make so many snowquill pieces a year since they use molting feathers. And warming stones are usually ruby. That equipment is no joke.’

The girl with earmuffs is already pulling the warming stone from the box – an adjustable leather wrist-cuff into which a single small red stone is filigreed in with silver wire. The stone has to be flush to skin to transfer its effect, Zelda knows. Draga tells her so and shows her how to tie the bracer to ensure it can’t come off. Then he says earmuffs are inadequate against Tabantha cold and places the ridiculous hat on her head. Rima squeals in delight. Taz tolerates this new development like she knew it was coming.

Draga pulls the flaps of the hat down around her ears and frowns down at it with a kind of judicious pragmatism and vague fraternal concern that makes Zelda aware, suddenly, of herself and the fact she’s sitting on her horse watching her giant friend vaguely mother people on the road. Makes her aware of Link kind of grinning besides her and as Draga finishes tying the stupid hat on his fellow Gerudo, Zelda acknowledges her desire (familiar and strange simultaneously) to put her hand on one of them. Not in any way specifically, just to be in contact.

The woman on horseback, who up until now has said nothing, waits until the sisters have departed with elaborate promises of returning the favor one day that Draga clearly appreciates, but expects nothing of. The woman’s horse is shockingly beautiful, golden in color, perfectly groomed, and stands at disciplined attention until she, gently, taps her heels into the beast’s flanks. The sun catches on the painted kohl and red that lines her eyes. She smells faintly of jasmine and when she smiles, Zelda can see it in the way her eyes crinkle and she says…

“You can’t buy the love of the People, you know.”

Zelda, stunned, just stares.

Draga, however, seems unmoved, He sneers, actually, his lips curling back like a dog bares its teeth. “I wouldn’t pay shit for your affection.”

She smiles. Her voice is almost gentle, musical, even in Hylian. “Come now, isn’t it a difficult life to choose?”

“You don’t choose,” he says.

“Of course, you do,” she says, almost gently, almost affectionately. “I’ll show you if you like. It’s easy. Here tell me: What is your real name?”

Draga’s expression changes then – a scorching burn of rage like a flash-fire on clay, baking in a color. He gets darker, if possible, with the intensity, the totality, of his anger in that single moment but even through that heat, Zelda catches it – an undercurrent. A brief but violent glow of hurt. Then he speaks through his teeth.

“You should ride on.”

She’s still smiling behind the veil.

The woman kicks her horse forward a little, so the beautiful gold animal circles to his left. “But don’t you want wisdom from a sister?” she asks, continuing to circle when Draga holds his ground. “I gave it to those girls, I’ll give it you. As if you were like them. The courtesy due your mothers at the least. Here’s my wisdom: Stay out here. Don’t go back. You’ll do much better where they don’t know shit about the People.” Here, she looks directly at Zelda. “Riju isn’t a little girl on the road with no jacket. She knows a shorthair heretic when she sees one.”

“Excuse me?” Zelda says in Hylian.

And the beautiful woman switches to Hylian just to clarify, “If you want to fuck a Gerudo, you should fuck a real one, girl.”

Link puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles.

He splits the air with that whistle, cracks it open with that sound. A piercing almost painful zipline of air, high and aggravating – cut with an impossible vibrato and quite without warning the beautiful woman’s horse throws its head, issues an equine scream, and bolts. The woman, clearly not expecting that, shrieks and flails forward, snatching the reins and hanging on as the mare gallops full speed, breakneck fast down the road. By the time she recovers she and her horse are a quarter mile away.

Link drops his hand. Zelda stares. Draga glares. Link just shrugs.

“How’d you do that?” Draga says, patting Arbiter on the nose. The massive stallion acts rather like it didn’t hear a thing.

Link nudges Epona off the road. “We’re behind schedule. We should go.”

Zelda looks at Draga. “Are you alright?”

He mounts up. “Of course.”

“Why would she say something like that?”

Draga looks at her. His expression so neutral it makes a momentary statue of him. “Link’s right. We should try to gain ground before it gets much darker. This area isn’t safe at night.”

Zelda thinks about the flight pattern of birds, the mating habits of poisonous frogs, the sexual dimorphism between the male and female of a certain species of lizard, and the precise balance of the smile that touched Draga’s mouth when he tied that stupid hat on Taz’s head. She nods and follows her companions off the beaten path and they head into the wilds at the foot of the mountain range beyond, toward the uneven ridges that mark Draga’s homeland.

“That’s too much salt.”

“You said add more salt.”

“Not that much.”

“I can’t un-salt something, Link.”

There’s a silence.

“No. I’m not taking cooking critique where you spell things for me in Sign.”

“Add a little more of everything.”

“How about you give better instructions and we won’t have this problem?”

“How about you don’t dump too much salt in my salmon risotto and we won’t have this problem?”

“Never mind. Go back to not speaking.”

Zelda looks up from the bow in her lap – recurve composite, Gerudo make, one of Link’s spares dug from the vast and confusing depths of his enchanted travel pack. It feels warm and familiar in her hands. The wood curved like the dip of a hipbone. She watches her compatriots. Link is hovering and peering over his shoulder with a kind of bland anxiety that’s specific to food. Draga is glaring at him for it. She goes back to what she was doing because she explicitly warned Draga not to try and help Link cook. He gets weird about it. So, this his bed to lie in.

She smooths her fingers up and down the shape of the bow, fitting her fingers to the leather grip at the center, feeling again and again a vague sensation of reflex. Of want. It’s one of the lightest in Link’s arsenal at a thirty-five-pound draw – just enough pull to down an opponent if she puts some intention to it. The bowstring lays coiled in her lap, tacky, wrapped in wax paper.

“Could you back up?” Draga says.

Link does not do that.

“I need you to back up.”

Link kind of makes a face and Draga picks up the entire plate of spare ingredients from the grass and shoves it into his arms. “That’s it. I’m done You are like…” He says something in Gerudo that Zelda thinks is slang, but translates like ‘a jackal in heat’ or something to that effect. “I hate fish anyway.”

Link looks offended.

Draga leaves him there looking offended and comes to join Zelda. “You going to string that?”

“I’m trying to remember how.”

“I can show you.”

“No. I’m trying to remember.”

He frowns, then realizes. “Oh.” He crouches down in front of her, inspecting the weapon in her hands with a thoughtful reconsideration. “What is that like? Trying to remember something that didn’t happen in this life?”

“Like I’m remembering something I did in a dream,” Zelda says, carefully unspooling the bowstring from the wax paper. “I can ignore it if I want. What I remember in a dream does not confuse me. I am never uncertain about what I have done and what has been done by my predecessors.” She hooks the top of the string into the notch at the bottom of the bow. “Often, it’s not memory at all. Just a feeling. Indistinct.” She stops here to stand up, bracing the bottom of the bow against the ground just outside her right boot with the curve hooked up hugging the back of her left thigh, set diagonally between her legs. “It’s nothing specific. Just…”

Draga waits. “Want a hint?”

“No… I know this. I…” She grips the top curve of the bow and pushes it down like a lever forward, the body of bow bending against her leg. This gives her just enough time to hook the string into the top notch. She releases the tension and the line goes taut. “Ha!” She steps her leg out of the freshly strung bow and presents it to Draga. “It’s like muscle memory!”

Draga tilts his head. “Well, if it’s muscle memory, Princess, maybe we should try some target practice.”

She falters a moment. “Oh… well I could try.”

Draga fetches his own quiver from their equipment, taking long enough that she begins to regret her decision. She fully regrets it by the time he hands her the first arrow. He waits. Clearly not intending to help her figure it out whatsoever.

Nervous now, Zelda readjusts her grip on the bow in her left hand, awkwardly sliding her hand down the arrow from the middle of its length to the feather-fletched end. The feel of it sends a vague blush of familiarity through her. She closes her eyes. She imagines… fitting the bolt to the string, drawing it back. A compound movement, pushing the bow away and drawing the line back, high at first, then lining up. Mathematical. Precise. Her line of sight focuses and – she opens her eyes.

Draga is peering down at her, waiting and curious.

She shoves the arrow back at him, a sick well suddenly in the back of her throat.

“Never mind. I don’t want to practice this.”

Draga blinks a little owlishly. “Why not?”

“I just don’t want to. The draw weight is too heavy for me anyway.”

“How would you know unless you tried?” Draga says, his brow rising slightly.

“I… I just would rather not.”

He takes the arrow.

“Is this because you said you thought about killing me?” And when Zelda goes ramrod stiff, petrified, he scratches his chin and says, “Your dream-mind notwithstanding, if you think you can kill me, it’s going to take more than an arrow, Princess.”

She sputters, horrified. “I would never –!”

“Then there’s no reason not to learn this,” Draga interrupts.

He offers her the arrow again. When she does not immediately take it back and, instead, stands there frozen, he says, quietly, “It would be useful if you learned this.” A beat. “Relearn it.” Another beat. “Whichever it is. I barely follow you two when you talk about these things.”

“Draga…”

He steps forward and with an old archer’s ease, he fits three fingers beneath her left elbow and lifts her bow arm to a proper height. He nocks the arrow to the string for her, his fingers momentarily fitting hers to the line.

“Just draw,” he says.

Eventually, after a long moment, she draws.

It’s like taking a breath.

“Hm,” he says.

“What’s ‘hm’?”

“You have a long pull.” He moves out of her line of sight, behind her. “You draw all the way past your ear.”

“This feels right. Is that bad?” she asks, maintaining her stance, aiming indistinctly at the trees.

“Not necessarily,” he says. She can feel the shrug. “Your footwork is good. How does it feel?”

“Familiar.”

“It should.” His mouth is suddenly very close to her ear. “I saw you shoot at that dragon.”

A shiver runs down her spine and coils in Zelda’s stomach. A murmur enters her heart, but before she can react, he loops his quiver belt around her hips, drawing it tight. He’s kneeling behind her to do this, his hands occasionally bracing against her hip as he fits it. He’s not gentle exactly, tugging at the strap with a utilitarian strength she might expect if he were tacking Arbiter for the road. It forces her to brace. She looks over her shoulder to glare at him, but when she turns her head, he looks calmly up at her from where he’s kneeling. The fire light illuminates one side of his face, painting a gold heat into the high plane of his cheekbone and –

She immediately faces forward again, suddenly very aware of his hands against her hip.

He finishes adjusting the quiver and stands up.

“There’s a knot in that oak. Think you can hit it?”

She squints down the shaft, the bowstring digging into her fingers as she holds the tension and… she relaxes. She lowers the bow with the arrow still nocked to the string and turns at the hips to look up at Draga.

“Why did that woman speak to you like that on the road today?”

Draga blinks. “This is an obvious delaying tactic.”

“It’s an honest question.”

Draga thinks about it. “When you were learning Gerudo, you were taught the importance of gendered conjugation in our language, yes? That our pronouns delineate Gerudo as its own gender category. Then non-Gerudo women and men.” When he gets a small nod from her, he goes on. “Naboorian dialects are the only Gerudo dialects that allow for Gerudo-specific male modifiers at all and that dialect is not widely spoken. So, in effect, my own language does not properly allow for my existence.”

Zelda’s brows lift in surprise. “The dialect you speak… it’s an offshoot?”

“A slight variant. But yes. My family spoke it, but not many outside the Highlands do.”

She hesitates, then admits, “I honestly thought that Gerudo-specific conjugation was gender indifferent until I met you.”

He shrugs. “Our most common conjugation structures evolved without distinction. Hardly unnatural, but it’s also why that woman said what she said. If I have used any modifiers other than Naboorian – then she wouldn’t, perhaps, have spoken up.” He pauses a moment, thinking. “I have had more fights with Gerudo over my dialect than any other moral disagreement.”

“Why?”

“It’s very hard for the narrow-minded to ignore me when I speak Naboorian Gerudo.” He smiles a little, but it’s a brittle baring of teeth. “It’s subtle. Outside of my own dialect, if I wanted to specifically delineate myself as a man… I would have to linguistically separate myself from being a Gerudo.”

Zelda shakes her head. “Why don’t I know this?”

“You’re Hylian,” he says, shrugging. “Also, you were fighting Calamity Ganon so I hardly fault you for not being finely aware of the societal riffs among my people. Now, are you going to shoot that bow or do you want a grammar lesson?”

“Well…”

Draga waits.

“Oh, very well. I will try.”

Draga smiles.

Zelda turns back to her target. After a moment’s consideration, she draws a second arrow, hooking the feathered end into the loop of her pinkie finger while she sets the first arrow to the line – both shots held ready now in her right hand. She breathes. She thinks – not of the desert. No. Not the desert. Something else. Like… like standing in a long yard. She imagines her hair shorn short for battle, her fingers callused and scarred. Zelda draws. Aims. Releases the shot. Flips the next bolt over her knuckles and sets it to the line. Pulls. Fires.

When she lowers the bow, two arrows stand quivering from the mouth of the hollow, clustered at the head.

“Huh,” says Draga.

“That’s a Sheikah’s draw,” says Link.

Zelda blinks, her heart-pounding elation -- alien and effervescent, like she’s stealing it from another world entirely – subverted by the frank certainty the statement. Link is no longer cooking by the fire. He’s standing with Draga, watching, arms folded. The campsite smells of salmon risotto. Link’s hair catches bits of gold in the fire light, Draga beside him lit in copper. She blinks again at the peculiar mirror they make of one another, both peering at her with identical looks of intrigue.

Link points. “The way you bring it up, pull past your ear, and sight. The reload method. It’s Sheikah.” He shrugs, then signs, ‘I don’t know how to shoot like that. It’s one of the most challenging styles I know of.’

“Oh…” Zelda looks uncertainly to Draga, who just shrugs, then back to Link. “Really?”

He nods and she feels a strange dissociation, staring at her own fingers.

She shakes it off. “Okay, so I use a Sheikah draw? Is that bad? What style do you use, Link?”

Draga interrupts immediately, at volume, “Link shoots with his wrist out and some bizarre pinch and draw I’ve never seen and it’s appalling. Do not do what he does or ask for his advice.”

Link shrugs. “It a Zora draw.”

“It’s what?”

“I trained with Zora when I was younger,” he says blandly. “They shoot that way to keep their fins out of the line. I didn’t know that when I was a child.”

Draga stares. “So you shoot weird because you’re too lazy to retrain yourself?”

Link shrugs again.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Link says, “Dinner’s ready,” and walks back to the fire. Rather like nothing of great surprise occurred, leaving Zelda and Draga to stare after him.

Zelda shoulders the bow for a moment. “Draga… thank you for telling me all that.”

“You both deserve to know before I take you into it.”

“Can I ask one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“Why did she ask for your ‘real name’?”

He looks at her, a little surprised, then says, “Only demons have many names.”

Zelda blinks. “What?”

“Do you not say that in Hylian?”

She shakes her head.

“Oh.” He ponders this, rubbing his neck like there’s a knot there, his other arm folded across his stomach. “I’m not sure how to say it in Hylian, Names have power in the desert. Saying I have the wrong name...”

Zelda lays a hand on his arm, drawing his hand down. He looks at her.

“You know that we prefer you as you are, right?”

He stares at her. A strange expression. Like he hadn’t seen her properly or the dark made odd shadows in her face. “Thank you, Zelda.”

“Always.”

Zelda wakes to Link’s hand on her arm.

It’s still dark. She can hear crickets in the forest. Even the embers of their fire are dark.

Link’s face is just barely discernable in the moonlight, the blanket having fallen off his shoulder when he rolled over to wake her. He says nothing, but she knows what’s wrong. She crawls carefully over her knight, bare feet sinking into gap between their sleeping pads, fingers bracing against the mess of bedding. She can feel dew on the fur Link pulls over the top, strictly to keep the dampness off the wool.

Draga, lying next to Link, is breathing too fast. Keeps jerking involuntarily. Half-formed words escaping him in quiet suppressed bursts, like someone has a hand on his throat. He’s on his side, spine curled slightly forward, arms drawn close to his chest, like he’s cold… or like he’s trying to clutch his throat in his sleep and can’t. Zelda lays a hand over his brow and a faint gold light wells gently in her fingers. Link’s eyes – suddenly visible, blue, holding the glow in a way that defies what she knows about illumination – meet hers.

Eventually, the tension leaves Draga’s limbs. His hands unclench and the faint, pained tension in his features smooths away to unconscious neutrality. For another minute she sits there, her hand against his head and Link’s chin against her shoulder. She listens to them breathing until, vaguely, she realizes they’re breathing together and Link’s fallen asleep against her. They won’t mention it in the morning.

A reminder: Link doesn’t look dangerous until he is.

Lake Alumeni lies shining at the foot of the Gerudo Highlands. An icy wellspring of water wreathed by a copse of apple and evergreen trees, knotted with heather and long grass. The grass gives way to a sandy slope of shore before the lake’s edge and it’s there, under the dying sunlight, Link does as Draga asked of him. Namely: be very dangerous for a while.

He’s crouched, waiting, sword in hand.

He says, calmly, ““You won’t beat me without magic.”

Draga, knotting anther bandage around his forearm, snarls, “I know, you tiny bastard.”

Link doesn’t smile.

The lackadaisical courtesy of previous sparring sessions has gone, replaced with mercenary indifference – the blank, blue-eyed battle stare that is precursor, Zelda knows, to terrible violence. That’s the face he wears now. Apathetic as physics when he puts an impossible bend in the universe and uses it to smash his friend to the ground. Repeatedly. Viciously. Trying to draw out an response. Even the blunt edge of the sparring sword does the job – laying a ragged road of bruises and shallow cuts down Draga’s arms. Leaving him panting, laved in sweat and sticky with blood. IT’s been hours.

The air stinks with like live current. Link’s breath like the air before a lightning strike. There’s a storm in his eyes when he’s like this. Zelda almost forgot.

“Ready?” he says.

Draga thinks about it. Then nods.

Link hits him instantly. The blade sings with the blow and Draga lunges back. He swings a massive blow at Link’s flank, but he just pivots, ducks the side slash, and smashes his elbow into Draga’s back as he goes past. Draga hits the ground rolling and comes up instantly. Draga attacks. Fast. He’s still so fast, even now, but Link is always that much faster. He deflects the blow, pivots, and comes up slashing, sword ringing when it slams into Draga’s. It puts a terrible vibrato into the metal, driving the bigger man back but Link does not stop. Doesn’t slow an iota.

He presses the exchange with a merciless speed, the entire time saying, “No,” and “C’mon!” and “I’m going to kill you, if you don’t get this!”

(Zelda tells herself he doesn’t mean that. It’s a tactic. It’s just talk.) But he doesn’t stop.

Draga’s breathing hard. He tries to catch his balance. Link keeps coming. Link gets past his guard, strikes a glancing blow to his head. Draga keeps his feet, but only just and Link lays open another bleeding line against wrist, his thigh, his hip – Draga flinches and that’s when the lake shore shivers. Draga is already swinging when it happens. He brings the blade down and the impact is Lynel-like, buckling Links arm and spinning him around.

This time, the metal does not howl. It eats the impact and the air around him becomes heat-smeared, mirage-like. When he steps forward, small pebbles on the ground begin to shiver and jump as if caught in the gravity of a localized star. The surfaces of the lake ripples, a barometric shiver in the air displacing the mirror shine.

But Draga’s thrown his sword down.

He stands there, stock still, his hands clenched in front of him. Eyes closed. Breathing too fast.

Link, seeing this, steps back and lowers his blade.

“Control it,” Link says loudly. “Focus!”

“What the hell… do you think… I’m doing?”

His eyes take on a shine – glowing internally, red – usually a controlled burn, steady as the embers in a blacksmith’s forge. Now, she can see the erratic pulse of it, like someone is inexpertly pumping bellows into the forge, throwing sparks and heating the interior too fast, too much. He shakes his head. He breathes too fast.

Zelda steps in.

She’s got her hands around Draga’s wrists, then around the back of his neck. It’s like grabbing a burning skillet from a flame. She can feel the heat hissing against the thin golden shell that paints her skin, like heat crackling in water. She pulls his forehead down to hers and pushes that golden light through her palms into the muscles in the back of his neck where it travels like water down a wall, dousing his skin where it touches.

He's gasping. “I can’t breathe…”

“You can breathe. Breathe when I breathe.”

Draga’s breath is hot against her face, but it’s cooling. She feels the resistance start to give, like trying to dam water with your hands then letting it go. He lets her pour out light, running over his skin, into his skin and evaporating on contact. And in the same breath she can feel the… depth he was talking about, like a house that’s bigger on the inside, the vast space into which she is pouring herself with no hope of filling. The void that dragons opened inside him. But even so, Draga’s skin feels human again. When he breathes, there’s gold in it.

She pushes, carefully, another dose of sunlight against his skin and he twitches, shivering.

“It’s like a ocean moving around you,” she murmurs. “Like a river. You can direct part of the flow, but you can’t control it. Do you feel it?” She breathes slowly, speaks calmly. “You have to let go or you’ll drown. Every time.”

“It’s like you have your hand in my chest,” he says, surprising her.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“It’s okay. You’re not losing control.”

“That’s not what I meant, either.”

She blinks. “Oh.”

Zelda doesn’t recognize the way he’s looking at her. But at the same time, she knows it exactly. There’s gold on her tongue when she kisses him. There it is again – that dirty copper taste, like swallowing a coin. Like warming a spoon with her mouth. Her fingers close in his hair, her nails dragging on his scalp and when she finally pulls away, the air is calm around them. No longer boiling where they touch. Nevertheless, she feels hot. Her fingers against his neck pulsing, her heartbeat in her hands and in her stomach and she feels dizzy, like her head is filled with vapor.

She pulls away.

Draga shivers. “Thank you.” He looks at Link. “Both of you.”

Link joins them. The alien battle blank edge resolved into a kind of wry concern. He wipes sweat from his face with his sleeve, managing a small smile and a shrug that says, without sign or sound, ‘Whatever it takes.’

“Honestly,” Draga says again. “This would be much harder on my own. I’m glad I’m not this time.”

“Of course,” Zelda says emphatically. “I said you could rely on us and I mean it. I do. We’re going to figure this out together. We’re going to figure out the nature of this new magic. We’re going to go with you back to the Gerudo. We’re going to move forward.” She smiles. She doesn’t’ know why – overwhelmed suddenly by an excess of happiness. Or hope. She hadn’t been aware she lacked that before. “I have every confidence. I really do.”

Link taps her shoulder.

“Hmm?”

He cups her jaw and draws her into a kiss, tilting her head and his tongue is salt and milk in her mouth. Her heart races. A dizzy delight rising in her throat and she giggles a little. For some reason, Link seems to like that, and the way he’s kissing her becomes a little feral, his fingers knotting in her hair, his teeth just barely catching against her lip and rather without meaning too, a small moan rises in her throat. High and broken and Link immediately pulls back. Red in the face.

“Sorry,” he says, stepping back.

“What for?” says Draga, arms folded, looking a little disappointed.

Link blushes harder. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Why not?” Zelda says, a little punch drunk.

Draga laughs. “You’re allowed, you know.”

Link hesitates. Then, rather like he’s repeating a question, he moves toward them again. He looks between them. She can tell he’s trying to figure out the best tactical execution here. Draga just rolls his eyes, bends down, and lays a hand against Link’s jaw.

“For someone who clearly knows what they’re doing,” he says, “you embarrass easy.”

Link gets redder. “Got to hell,” he says, but in the wrong tone of voice.

Draga smiles.

Zelda notices the back of his left hand is brushing her bare wrist.

“Maybe later,” he says.

go to chapter 10...

#botw #legend of zelda #legend of zelda breath of the wild #loz #zelda #link #ganondorf #lozfic #in which the cycle starts over immediately #and no one told link or zelda #you can actually #run into the next triforce holder on the fucking road #and he might be kinda chill #tagging for #polyamory

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tipsycad147 · 5 years ago

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Aleister Crowley Factsheet

'Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law'

Aleister Crowley (Edward Alexander Crowley) was born 12 October in the same year as the foundation of the Theosophical Society (1875), at Leamington Spa at 11.30 pm. He was therefore a Libran with Pisces moon and Leo rising. Contrary to popular legend, he died on the 1st December 1947. A review in Cambridge University magazine Granta of 1904 provides some guidance on the pronunciation of the great man's name: 'Oh, Crowley, name for future fame!/(Do you pronounce it Croully?)/ Whate'er the worth of this your mirth/It reads a trifle foully.'

The myth of the magus has grown to prodigious proportions in the half century or more since the old man's death. Crowley is now firmly established in the popular mind as a folk hero (or anti hero?), transmogrified to an icon on a spectrum somewhere between 'the sandman' (Clive Barker version) and 'the gringe'.

To many, Crowley's magick (I am using the archaic form of the term as popularised by AC for technical reasons), provides a neat dividing line between some kind of urban high magical tradition and the supposedly more earth centred styles of neo-paganism. The truth is, as always, a lot more complex. Crowley's magick draws all of it's power from nature, see for example an ancient Egyptian formula: 'so that every Spirit of the Firmament and of the Ether: Upon the Earth and under the Earth; on dry land and in the Water: of whirling Air; and of rushing Fire and every spell and scourge of God may be obedient to Me.' (1)

Crowley spent all of his moderately long life exploring countless dramatic astral and mundane landscapes in search of gnosis. It's a shame he wasn't a good enough travel writer to communicate fully in his many books the real majesty of nature. He seemed to go everywhere, from the deepest jungles to the highest mountains of the earth. An account from Jan Fries' book Visual Magick, amply demonstrates that Crowley never quite lost the taste for the great outdoors and the spirits of nature. In 1925 the mage took the leadership of the 'Fraternitas Saturni on a long walk up the garden path and into the forest. Whenever Uncle Aleister noticed a remarkable plant, stone or tree, he graciously lifted his hat to greet it. This bizarre behaviour apparently astonished his fellows. Some novices, we are told, dared to whisper "What is the master doing?" "The elemental spirits of nature have come to see the master" was the reply "and Sir Aleister is acknowledging their greeting." The whole incident including a rather nice ritual is to be found in an article on 'Pentagramme Magick' in Praxis (1963).

Towards the end of his life Crowley began to lose interest in the Ordo Templi Orientis and other organisations he had fashioned as potential vehicles for the dissemination of the great work. He met Gerald Gardner and together they may have devised a plan to transform the OTO into a more popular witchcraft cult. Gardner duly bought a charter and rose rapidly through the grades, even travelling to America to meet other OTO initiates. Fred Lamond, one of Gardners first acolytes, recalls that American adept Jack Parsons looked very favourably on the idea of a new witch cult. If Crowley had lived long enough to complete Gardner's training, modern paganism would undoubtedly look quite different, but that's another story.

(1) From Liber Samekh, as adapted by Crowley from an ancient Hermetic fragment. The cosmology of the Egyptian original made no sense to Crowley's teachers, hence his slight paraphase - the original reads: 'so that every daimon, whether heavenly or aerial or earthly or subterranean or terrestrial or aquatic'.

Crowley Today

Aleister Crowley may have died in 1947, but his influence is still very much felt by the magician of the 1990s. The CD soundtrack The Beast Speaks sold 8000 copies since its release in 1993, and the paperback edition of Crowley's Confessions was number two in Virgin Megastores top ten books. Don't be fooled into thinking that the magician of the nineties is a slavish follower or member of some mind bending cult. Crowley's word was Thelema (The Crowleian pronunciation is Theh-LEE-mah, the accent bewatching on the vowel of the second syllable, Greek speakers ay the accent should be on the vowel of the first syllable for it to be pronounced right....ThEH-lee-mah) - which means [free] Will. Those who choose to follow this magical path aim to de-condition themselves, to develop independence of spirit and ultimately to become their very own self. One of the many attractions of Crowley's type of Magick, was this advice to follow one's own way and create your own life style. You don't need a priest or a judge to tell you how to act - work it out for yourself.

As part of the process of developing self knowledge, Crowley advocated the practice of Magick. This he defined as 'the science and art of causing change in conformity with will.' The history of magick is the history of human beings. Many of the things that are now labelled 'culture' began as experiments in ritual and magick viz. drama, music, art, dance, philosophy and poetry etc., etc. Magick has played a role in many key moments of our history, for example during the fourteenth century, it was the philosophy of the Renaissance. In our own time, many modern art movements have been driven by magical ideas, for instance, the first abstract painting was made by the Theosophist Kandinsky. Magick is a valuable and reputable activity to undertake.

Crowley's Books

Whatever else one can say about it, magick certainly is not a mass activity, neither is it a spectator sport. Magicians are in many localities in a minority of one and have to teach themselves the skills traditionally part of the art viz. trance, divination, invocation and creative imagination. The solitary magician gathers most of his or her information from books and Crowley made a substantial contribution to the vast number of books on the subject. Most of his books are now in print, something like 100 titles. The secondary literature of commentaries and studies, as one might expect after more than 50 years, is very extensive indeed. However there is no need to read everything the master wrote. There are a handful of key texts that should give you a good grounding in the man and his magick.

Sadly, there is still no really objective biography of Crowley. The standard biography is John Symonds' The Great Beast, (lastest edition of which is entitled King of the Shadow Realm) which records all of the salient facts but is very hostile to Crowley's ideas and therefore gives a lively but unbalanced picture. Jean Overton Fuller's Magical Dilemma of Victor Neuburg is slightly more objective and written with much inside information. A modern attempt is the late Gerald Suster's Legacy of the Beast, which is too short to cover all the facts, and too sycophantic -nevertheless, it is not without value. Gerald Suster also wrote Crowley's entry in Dictionary of National Biography - Missing Persons (OUP 1993) which is also worth a read. Incidentally, 1993 was also the year in which Crowley made it to the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations for the first time with his motto 'Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.'

Several newer biographies have recently appeared, two in particular are worthy of note: Martin Booth, A Magick Life and said by some to be the best of the whole lot: Do What Thou Wilt by Lawrence Sutin for St Martin's Press.

There is a 2004 reissue of Megatherion by Francis King, published by Creation Press, which was originally published in 1977 under the title The Magical World of Aleister Crowley. There is also an excellent study of Aleister Crowley's followers in America during the Golden Age of Hollywood, entitled The Unknown God, W.T. Smith and the Thelemites by Martin P. Starr, published in 2003 by The Teitan Press, Inc.

The modern generation of Thelemites, admires something in the spirit of Crowley rather than the word. He could be a interesting writer but as is often the case, the present day re-working of his material is often easier to follow and less peppered by some of Crowley's offensive cultural baggage. Writers such as Jan Fries in Visual Magick and Jack Parsons in Freedom is a Two Edged Sword, seem to have a better understanding of the magical philosophy for which Crowley was a conduit. However, you will undoubted want to make your own mind up in this, so apart from biography and if you have the stamina his massive autobiography, and the following are Crowley's principal works.

1. Magick - alternatively called Magick in Theory and Practice -or Book Four. This is his textbook of magick, leads the reader from basic yoga techniques through Golden Dawn type ritual to his own unique gnostic rituals, many of them with veiled sexual content. But beware, this is not a book for the beginner and you might do well to ask a more experienced magician to suggest a study plan for it beginning with Liber O, or even look at some of the secondary literature first. For example see Lon DuQuette's The Magick of Thelema or Israel Regardie's Middle Pillar, Eye in Triangle, and others.

2. The Book of Thoth, along with the tarot cards of the same name, is his brilliant study of the tarot, difficult to follow in parts if you have no familiarity with his 'Thelemic' imagery, but well worth persevering with. The tarot deck he created with English 'surrealist' Lady Frieda Harris, is fast becoming the most widely used esoteric tarot deck in the world.

3. 777 and other Qabalistic Writings. A essential summary of his symbol system, which also contains a reprint of Mathers' instructional essay on Qabalah.

4. Holy Books of Thelema - all brought together under one cover, including Liber al vel Legis - Book of the Law. The mystical poem that formed the core of Crowley's magical system. 'Delivered' to him by discarnate entity Aiwass during one of the most important mystical experiences of his life.

Crowley's People

There are a small but growing number of groups, based in this country that work with Crowley's ideas. The following list is not exhaustive, but gives some of the main contact points. It is recommended that you do not atttempt to join all of them at once.

OTO This stands for Ordo Templi Orientis (Order of the Eastern Temple). A magical order, based on eastern eroto-gnostic techniques, some derived from Tantrism. Existed, long before Crowley came on the scene but soon became the principle vehicle for his magical work. Has undergone a big revival over the last ten years. Perhaps it is fortuititous that the OTO split into several rival tendencies following the death of Crowley's successor, Karl Germer. Many magicians feel that magical orders, structured on medieval lines, may not be the appropriate vehicle for Thelema. But as things stand the aspiring candidate must make a choice after investigating and weighing up what both groups have to offer, if anything. In England there are two main groups claiming title to Crowley's mantle: In other parts of Europe and the world, other OTOs exist and can claim priority. There are currently legal threats flying between these groups, so I hope I get it right.

i. OTO 'Caliphate' - BM Thelema, London WC1N 3XX - International HQ: Postfach 33 20 12 D-14180, Germany. More 'traditional' if it can be termed so. Uses original OTO Masonic style rituals and charges annual subscriptions and initiation fees.

ii. OTO 'Typhonian' BM Starfire, London WC1N 3XX. Ruled by famous occult scholar Kenneth Grant, whose book Aleister Crowley & the Hidden God, revolutionised the understanding of Crowley magick. Ditched the old Masonic style rituals in favour of the syllabus very like the Argentinum Astrum, i.e. individual graded magical practices leading to adeptship.

Non OTO Thelemic Groups

Apart from the 'OTOs' there are a number of 'new wave' magical groups and orders that are trying to refashion the occult community on more 'rosicrucian' lines, which seem more in tune with modern needs. Strict hierarchies, authoritarianism and obscurantism are definitely out. An honest attempt to build a fellowship or sodality of magicians is on the cards. Amongst these are:

Golden Dawn Occult Society

PO Box 250, Oxford, OX1 1AP. (email C/O [email protected] Offers a foundation course in magick and other training to associate members (associate membership is £5 pa.). Is part of a growing network of individuals and groups throughout Britain and all over the world. Online newsletter

Chaos Magic and the Illuminates of Thanateros (IOT)

C/O, BM Sorcery, London WC1N 3XX, Another important new style of magick that has developed out of the Thelemic one. Other influences include new physics and European shamanism.

The Kaula-Nath Community (including AMOOKOS). C/O PO Box 250, Oxford, OX1 1AP. East- West tantrik groups, founded by Dadaji, one of Crowley's disciple's in the 1930s who, on the master's advice, went to India and became a sadhu. A unique blend of western occultism with authentic magical Hinduism. Has an older equivalent of Crowley's 'Law of Thelema' - viz: svecchacara - 'the path of ones own will'.

Crowley and the Media

There has been precious little media attention to Crowley, there is still no film or documentary devoted in entirety to Crowley's life. This situation is changing slowly. In year 2000, BBC Scotland made a short documentary about Boleskine, Crowley's house on the banks on Loch Ness. The show was called The Other Loch Ness Monster, but the BBC have so far refused to show it outside of Scotland. Channel Four have filmed a more thoroughgoing documentary although broadcast has again been delayed due to editorial difficulties. It will eventually appear as part of a series dealing with occult themes. BBC Modern Times are currently filming a fifty minute piece on serious magick, which will include a fair amount of material on Crowley. There are been one or two short radio pieces and an interesting stage play by Snoo Wilson some time back. Snoo Wilson appeared in a fifteen minute broadcast for UK's Channel 4 (text reprinted in Thelemic Magick I fromMandrake of Oxford.) Snoo Wilson's Novel I Crowley, has been published to critical acclaim and should go into production as a feature film. It is based on events at the Abbey of Thelema in Sicily.

Obtaining Useful Books etc

Books by and about Crowley are now widely available in UK booksellers such as Waterstones, Borders, Ottakar's etc. The best selection is still to be found in specialist bookshops such as the world famous Atlantis Bookshop, 49a Museum St, London WC1, and Watkins Bookshop, 19 Cecil Court, London WC2 4EZ, as well as several others throughout the UK. However, if you don't live in London or getting to a bookshop is difficult, there are several good mail-order suppliers, including Mandrake of Oxford (mandrake@[removeme]mandrake.uk.net) which is run by and for working magicians. Information is available here on local stockists and sometimes links if you prefer to deal with a bookseller in your own country.

Love is the law, love under will

Fact Sheet © Golden Dawn Occult Society, PO Box 250, Oxford, OX1 1AP.

Note: The contents of these pages are copyright Mandrake of Oxford. These contents can be reproduced for non commercial use, as long as source and copyright are acknowledged. [http://www.cix.co.uk/~mandrake/crowley.htm]

http://www.thewhitegoddess.co.uk/an_introduction_to_paganism/aleister_crowley_factsheet.asp

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oppressiveliberator · 6 years ago

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(TE information is only used once and are mostly often written in the voice of the character. FC questions may be repeated or omitted, and are from any dialogue or external sources like books or signs. You can check out Bulbapedia for the in-game text of the Trainer’s Eye or Fame Checker to see how it looks!) (like HTML? Here’s a pastebin link.)

TRAINER’S EYE

Trainer: Team Plasma Leader Sage Ghetsis Harmonia Gropius

Location: Unknown, presumably Unova

Strategy: It's unfortunate that we must fight at all, wouldn't you say? The harder you hit them, the harder they'll hit others. Discipline is the most masterful teacher. N/A

Favorite Pokémon: All of them deserve better than we've given them. They'll all obey me in time. The bigger their appetite and the more difficult to train they were, the more I'd enjoy them when I was young. But they're all tools. They all leave. It hardly matters.

Trainer Message: Just you wait. Wherever it is you came from, however it is you got here. . .I suppose I appreciate the company.

Fame Checker

Family and friends? Concordia(Pkmn B2W2, Driftveil City): "N was an orphan. I heard that right after he was born, he upset people with behavior that suggested he could talk to Pokémon. When he was living in the woods with Darmanitan and Zorua, Ghetsis took him in. We are also orphans Ghetsis took in."

What is this person like? Shadow Triad(Pkmn B2W2, Giant Chasm): "Lord Ghetsis has. . .lost control. . ."

What is this person like? Shadow Triad(Pkmn B2W2, Icirrus City): “Ghetsis won't do anything anymore. . . No, to be more precise, he can't do anything anymore. . ."

What does this person do? Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, Accumula Town): "I am here representing Team Plasma. Today, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to talk to you about Pokémon liberation."

What is this person like? / What does this person do? Concordia(Pkmn BW, N's Castle): "Pokémon that were betrayed, mistreated, and hurt by bad people. . . Ghetsis deliberately brought only those poor Pokémon closer to N."

What is this person like? / What does this person do? Anthea(Pkmn B2W2, Driftveil City): "The one he groomed to help him further his nefarious aims was N."

What is this person like? Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, Accumula Town): "Pokémon are subject to the selfish commands of Trainers. . . They get pushed around when they are our "partners" at work. . . Can anyone say with confidence that there is no truth in what I'm saying?"

What does this person do? Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, Driftveil City): "We only free Pokémon from wicked people."

What does this person do? Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, Driftveil City): "Don't worry, my fellow servant of the king. . . We are two of the Seven Sages, are we not?"

Family and Friends? / What is this person like? Ryoku(Pkmn BW, Relic Castle): "But we don't know much about Ghetsis or our lord N! We haven't even figured out if they are father and son. . ."

Family and Friends? / What is this person like? Shadow Triad(Pkmn BW, Marvelous Bridge): "Ghetsis is gone. He went off somewhere alone after we rescued him from the castle." "From the day Ghetsis saved our lives, we have sworn to be loyal to him. Even now, after he ordered us not to search for him.[...]" "We, the Shadow Triad, have always been and will always be the loyal servants of Ghetsis. And Ghetsis's ambitions will never cease!"

What is this person like? Shadow Triad(Pkmn B2W2, Giant Chasm): "Lord Ghetsis spoke of Pokémon liberation two years ago simply for his own ambitions, but. . .if his plans had succeeded, many Pokémon would have been saved."

What is this person like? Ghetsis(Pkmn B2W2, Plasma Frigate): "How fortunate for you! Few get to be the sole audience member for one of my speeches."

What is this person like? / What does this person do? Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, Relic Castle): "I'm doing this out of kindness. Yes, kindness. I'm making sure the Champion doesn't get hurt for no reason. Granted, the moment when someone loses all hope. . .I really do love to watch that moment."

Family and friends? Ghetsis(Pkmn USUM, Episode RR): "It wouldn't do at all to have you get in [Giovanni's] way, especially when I must establish him as my king!"

Family and friends? Ghetsis(Pkmn USUM, Episode RR): "The Colress of this world! But you should have no reason to meddle in my plans!"

Where was this person born? (Map description of Abyssal Ruins in eastern Unovan sea): "An ancient tomb that is said to be the resting place of an ancient king." (inscription on 4F of Abyssal ruin's walls. The name of the king is represented in-game as "●●●●●●●●", the same number of letters as 'HARMONIA', Ghetsis and N's surname, leading to speculation that Ghetsis and/or N are descendants of the ancient king of Unova, further supported by other inscriptions in the ruins): "The great King 𝕳𝕬𝕽𝕸𝕺𝕹𝕴𝕬"

What is this person like? Shadow Triad(Pkmn BW, Marvelous Bridge): "Ghetsis. . . Where did he find these? What was he planning to do with them? Why did he give them to you? There's no way to know now. Is he testing you? Or. . .using you?"

What is this person like? Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, N's Castle): "I created Team Plasma with my own hands. I'm absolutely perfect! I AM PERFECTION! I am the perfect ruler of a perfect new world! "Mwa ha ha! Since I couldn't become the hero and obtain the legendary Pokémon myself. . .I prepared someone for that purpose--N! He's nothing more than a freak without a human heart. Do you think you're going to get through to a warped person like that!?"

What is this person like? / Family and friends? Rood(Pkmn BW, Route 18): "Ghetsis wandered the lands of this world all over, collecting knowledge of all kinds while searching for like-minded people. From the moment we met, he understood what I desired."

What is this person like? / Family and friends? Zinzolin(Pkmn BW, Cold Storage): ". . .Breathing. Having a heart that beats. That is simple existence and nothing more for a living being. That may be the definition of living, but I don't think that defines life. The experiences of joy and suffering are a vital part of being alive. Ghetsis gave me the sensation of being truly alive. . . What did he mean to accomplish? That isn't important."

What is this person like? / What does this person do? Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, Tubeline Bridge): "From his infancy, I provided [N] with the education required to become the hero of legend. Indeed, he has been so acknowledged by the legendary Pokémon. . . .Such purity of purpose is his."

Favorite kind of Pokémon? Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, N's Castle): "Use your head. What's to be gained from letting go of useful things like Pokémon? Certainly, manipulating Pokémon helps people expand their possibilities. That much, I can agree with. So it naturally follows that only I should be able to use Pokémon!"

Favorite kind of Pokémon? Ghetsis(Pkmn B2W2, Plasma Frigate): "Kyurem is an empty being. The remnants of a certain Pokémon when it split into Reshiram and Zekrom. . . My desire is absolute rule of Unova! That's right! Kyurem will be the vessel into which my desires will be poured!"

Favorite kind of Pokémon? Ghetsis(Pkmn B2W2, Plasma Frigate): "What's this? Your Poké Balls are trembling. Could your Pokémon be trembling with rage? (slams cane) No! That's not possible! Simple tools don't have emotion or thought!"

Family and friends? Ryoku(Pkmn BW, Relic Castle): "I was planning to catch the Pokémon called Volcarona that lives in this relic castle and present it to Ghetsis. But the Shadow Triad said that Ghetsis has gone somewhere, right? The Seven Sages. . . We always said we were complete when the seven of us were together. Now I don't know the meaning of those words anymore. I guess I don't mind, even if we were being used"

What does this person do? Zinzolin(Pkmn B2W2, Undella Town): "I have papers that Lord Ghetsis left behind. With these, you can read the ancient scripts in the Abyssal Ruins."

What does this person do? Rood(Pkmn B2W2, Route 6): "So the reach of Ghetsis's ambition and malice is growing ever wider and warping the lives of all it touches. . ."

What is this person like? / What does this person do? Ghetsis(Pkmn USUM, Episode RR): "You see, I have been thinking long and hard about the reason I have been sent to this world. And now. . .I believe I finally have the answer! My purpose. . . It is to travel between the worlds, freeing all Pokémon from foolish people. . . And at the same time, consolidate all the power in all the worlds to myself! "In order to achieve this beautiful ideal, however, I have need of a useful pawn. . . And that man, the leader of Team Rocket, is a man of pure evil! If I can make good use of him, and set him up as king, I shall be able to reign supreme above all existence!"

Family and Friends? / What is this person like? Giallo(Pkmn BW, N's Castle): "Ghetsis called us the chosen ones. He chose us and gathered us here so we can change the world!"

Family and Friends? / What is this person like? Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, N's Castle): "After all of that, do you think you're still worthy of sharing the name Harmonia with me? You good-for-nothing boy! [...] "After saying you had to put your beliefs on the line and battle to see which one chosen by the legendary Pokémon was the true hero. . . You lost to an ordinary Trainer! There is such a thing as being too stupid! Add it up, and you are nothing more than a warped, defective boy who knows nothing but Pokémon. . . ."

What is this person like? Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, N's Castle): "a Pokémon, even if it's revered as a deity, is still just a Pokémon. [...] So what if [Reshiram] chose you! That doesn't mean you're a threat. Come on! Now you'll face ME in battle! I can't wait to see the look on your face when you've lost all hope! "I won't allow anyone to stop me! No matter who does what!"

What is this person like? Rood(Pkmn BW, Route 18): "When it comes to Ghetsis, I cannot separate the truths from the lies."

There’s a rumor… Ghetsis(Pkmn BW, N's Castle): "Now that the stage is set, we can seize people's minds and hearts. We can bring into being the world that I--no, that Team Plasma--desires more easily than you can imagine! We and only we will use Pokémon, and we shall rule the powerless populace! "I've been waiting so long for this! I've kept my silence so no one could piece together what I planned. Now, those painful days are at an end!"

What is this person like? Ghetsis(Pkmn B2W2, Giant Chasm): "Excellent! That was a moving expression of your determination! So the education I provided to make you king wasn't a complete waste, then! But I still haven't forgotten that even though I was kind enough to find you when you were living in the forest with Pokémon, and take you in, and care for you, in the end you were selfish and disrupted my plans. I was supposed to use your abilities to rule Unova! "But I'll forgive you for that as well."

What is this person like? Ghetsis(Pkmn B2W2, Giant Chasm): "You fool. . . Last time, I was going to use you to capture people's hearts and minds to rule them! But this time, I'm simply going to use overwhelming power and rule with an iron fist! Do you understand? If you had simply become king, Unova would have remained beautiful!"

What is this person like? / What does this person do? Ghetsis(Pkmn USUM, Episode RR): "This cannot be possible. . . I will not accept this! "Myah-ha-ha! No, no, no, no, no! You don't get it, do you? I can't be defeated! I won't be! IT. CANNOT. BE. ALLOWED! You, tiny intruder! If you value this girl's life, throw aside all your Poké Balls, at this moment!" (When obeyed): "Myah-ha-ha! Good, good. . . That's a good little [boy/girl/child]. Do as your elders command you! Victory only suits perfect leaders, after all. . . Such as myself!"

There’s a rumor… Rood(Pkmn B2W2, Giant Chasm): "Ghetsis's real plan was to take over the Unova region! Liberating Pokémon was nothing more than an excuse!"

There’s a rumor… Zinzolin(Pkmn B2W2, Undella Town, after reaching innermost chamber of Abyssal Ruins): "An extremely wonderful king was laid to rest in those ruins. If that king has descendants, maybe those special powers were passed down. . ."

Message from Ghetsis to [player] Ghetsis(Pkmn B2W2, Plasma Frigate): "That aside, this is my gift to you to show my respect for making it this far. I'll freeze you solid right here so you can watch my glorious ascent!"

#Pages | Find Me And Follow Me Through Corridors #Blog Maintenance | I’m Gonna Burn This City Burn This City

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remember-the-mole · 8 years ago

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The Forgotten King

-This is kind of like a fic, but not exactly written with the intention to be one, but please still read and enjoy! This is written with Jeremy as the main character, but has very light Joelay elements- -To summarize this plot, There are five immortal kings, but Jeremy, a scholar in the domain of King Ryan, finds ancient texts that talk about a sixth king -- The king of Thorns. He sets off on a quest to find more information, if not the king himself (because after all, how do you kill an immortal?) and in the process ends up becoming the new sixth king himself-

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The five immortal kings ruled all of the land. Powerful beings that could crush the world in two, yet looked just like another person. The only thing that gave them away was the thrones they sat on and the look in their eyes that had seen the centuries. Despite their strength, they do not consider themselves gods.

The people wonder, if the kings are not gods, then what IS a god?

The Dominion of King Geoff reaps the benefits of all the nations, having a cheerful cast over all of his land. If you aren’t hosting a party, you are at one. Drunken laughter can be heard at all times. They say the King himself has his own special liquor that has been branded it’s own elixir of life. However, the golden shimmering drink is only for his own lips.

The Dominion of King Ryan takes an interest in the people. Often left to their own devices, things can get a little crazy, but somehow always end up playing right into whatever schemes Ryan himself has cooked up. He’s a master of wars that don’t exist, and plays with his own armies of people. There’s no better tactician than himself. History is well praised and kept in pristine conditions within his borders. There is a rumor that he’s working on a global scale project of some sort. The Dominion of King Jack revels in charity. There is no greater honor than helping your neighbor. Food is in no shortage and the crops are plenty. Many older folk cross the borders to live in his dominion to live the rest of their lives. Rumor has it that Jack is able to harness the strength of the sun itself, and that’s how his crops grow even out of season.

The Dominion of Gavin thrives in technology. While the technology speeds ahead, they don’t always understand their own creations or maybe how the rest of the world works. If you have an idea, it’ll come to life. Or maybe it’ll actually come to life and you have to blow it up. It’s a common thing in these parts. There are whispers on the lips of scientists that Gavin himself is working on a perfect-human replica- the intentions of which are unknown.

The Dominion of Michael survives in it’s strength. One with the earth around them, the people are 100% self-sustained. Strength is measured in muscles and heart. You can throw a tree if raised here, but you are not of the nation if you have no love to give for your fellow person. Tournaments are held regularly, with no real prize. Just that you entered garners you praise enough. The final opponent has always been Michael. There has to this day, only one person to ever get him to bend a knee. That person is now his wife, Lindsay. Two rumors exist in his kingdom, that Lindsay runs the country, and that Michael caught a phoenix just for her. Of course this is all common knowledge for those living in this world. Boringly so. What Jeremy was after, was history. And in the Domain of King Ryan, he had access to that history. Because while the world always moved forward, and for the kings, a 100 years ago was just yesterday, there had to be something more. Had to be. all the books gave the same stories of how the legends say they each came to the throne, the wars that happened near millennia ago, to the occasional skirmishes of ego that happen today. They kings are not infallible. Immortal, yes, but not perfect. Their memory can’t be counted on for the past. Their oral history doesn’t match up with the written texts. Their perspectives are biased, and worst of all to the disdain of historians, they all hide things. Jeremy had proof of their hidden history. An old barely even bound textbook that had been in his family for generations, written in a language long forgotten. The pages had begun to fade and tear over the years. The hand-written ink barely legible at times. Only recently had his studies brought him on a search to bring different old languages together to finally weave together a semblance of a translation. The book, what he could make of it. Was a Journal of a time when such large creatures of current myth and legend walked the lands. Dragons flew high over the sky, and tiny fairies could be found in any home. It seemed the author was trying to find peace in a time where all the Kings had entangled themselves in war. A simple disagreement gone horribly wrong, or maybe something major. Jeremy couldn’t tell. But the disagreement seemed to stem from one thing: “The King of Thorns”

There was no name that he could find of this king. But he, too, appeared to be an immortal king. The sixth and forgotten king. A grand historical breakthrough! One that Jeremy found himself excited and wanting to share his discovery with his fellow researchers, but knew he’d be laughed into oblivion if he dared share the concept of dragons with a ‘mysterious language only he could translate.’

Jeremy requested an audience with King Ryan. An easy enough feat for a man focused on the people. Their chat was held in one of Ryan’s many gardens.

Jeremy didn’t waste time. “May I ask who the king of Thorns is?”

“You may certainly ask,” Ryan chuckled, “but the answer is not that exciting.”

“What is that answer? A myth? A reality?”

“Certainly a person.”

The back and forth goes on for awhile, until Ryan grows bored of their non-conversation. Eventually saying that for the current Kings, he is a hole in their hearts. A Traitor to some, a deserter to others, but “to me, he still remains someone that was my dear friend.”

Jeremy then takes it upon himself to find this forgotten king. A person that still remains, but time forgot. An immortal, made temporary by his own decisions. Jeremy’s search takes him to all the kingdoms, meeting with all the kings to ask him who this king of thorns is.

Gavin, who’s face is in his own work and never looks at Jeremy, even when he pauses at the familiar title of the King of Thorns. An anger seeps into his usually cheerful voice, “No one. Someone that should remain forgotten.” He gripped his pen tighter and bit his lip to keep him from saying more. “Leave.”

Jeremy turned and walked away.

The next king he met with was with Michael. Jeremy went in expecting a ferocious rage that had no equal. Instead, upon his inquiry, what he saw was a deep-seated regret that had not been settled. A quiet moment for the embodiment of an active volcano. “He was someone that had his own wants and desires. A selfish man perhaps, but I wonder if he finally found happiness... Please go.”

King Jack was all too hospitable to greet Jeremy. Always wanting to help, he was more than ready to face any question or task. Except for the very one Jeremy had to ask. A tear rolled down Jack’s face, as he tied to answer his question with a smile. “Before he was called the king of Roses. A good spirit. He made the land beautiful, but he also scarred it deeper than any of our hearts. His name was Ray.”

Upon entering the dominion of King Geoff, Jeremy already knew that he was not welcome. The loud streets hushed in his presence, the people knowing of him and curious of what will happen to the man that’s asking questions he shouldn’t be. Geoff himself was waiting at the doors for Jeremy, not inviting him but not denying him either.

“Go ahead, ask your question.” Geoff prompted, but was more of a command. Jeremy swallowed, “who is the king of Thorns?” A crazed anger twisted Geoff’s normally easy-going smile into a terrible sneer. In the next moment, Jeremy had sword at his throat. “A fucking traitor to all those that loved him. Someone that left to pursue his own goals and put us all in a horrible war.”

After gathering his information, or lack thereof, he felt a calling. Like a ping in his brain beckoning him. He crossed all the borders and into what felt like an entirely other world entirely. Past his home and the lands he knew into desolate wastelands he was barely prepared to handle. Yet he kept going, following the call. His travels brought him to a mountainside what was crawling with vines and other flora that should not be growing in such a horrid place. Colors of the rainbow and flowers of all kinds bloomed happily crawling all the up to the peak. A large cave entrance was buried into the side with Roses of all colors spiraling around. Deep inside Jeremy wandered until he found something.

Found someone.

A young man with a tilted, tarneshed crown on his head, sat against gigantic white stone that curved and filled the cave. The man looked tired and ragged. He had the gaze that looked into Jeremy and saw right through him, into every molecule of his body. The eyes that have seen years. Centuries. Times that Jeremy could not comprehend.

“Are you... are you the King of Thorns?”

“I am. Were you looking for me? Why?”

“I felt like I had to. Like it wasn’t my choice.”

“I see. Whelp. Guess it’s my time then.” The King of Thorns stood, and dust rained off his body like he’d been sitting there for 100 or more years. He patted himself off and clouds fluttered off of him. “Let’s make a trade, shall we?”

“What kind of trade?”

“I tell you what you want to know, and you release me from this.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll become the next sixth king.”

“Why should I do that?”

“You’ll become immortal. You’ll live to forever fill your curiosity, write your own history. And of course, give life back to this dead land that you crossed to get to me. Even if the rest of them don’t know who you are, they’ll have to accept you. You’ll make a name for yourself. And most importantly-- I’ll get to sleep.”

“That almost seems selfish.”

“I always have been.” Ray patted the stone behind him and smile fondly. Only then did Jeremy realize that it wasn’t stone at all, but a large skeleton. A creature that had died and decomposed, leaving behind it’s only memory of ever existing. “This... was Joel. He was a dragon and a person. The only person that I found I could give my heart to. I wanted to take him as a lover, but the other kings told me that I couldn’t have both him and my kingdom. Because focusing on him would cause my own kingdom to fall apart. That’s just how things were back then. To keep your domain took tremendous power. I chose to leave the kings and be happy. It felt like the only choice I ever had.”

“I see.” Said Jeremy. “You want to be with Joel again.”

“More than anything.”

Jeremy sighed and thought back on his travels. All the people he met along the way, the problems that sprouted in the kingdoms despite the facade that everything was perfect. He could provide refuge to those people that none of the kingdoms can provide. Not a paradise, but a place to call home. A responsibility that he alone could handle.

“I’ll become the next king.”

Ray smiled, overwhelmed with joy, feeling the tears fall from his face. “Thank you.” He walked over and touched Jeremy in the middle of his forehead. “I now christen you the King of Color”

It felt as though Jeremy was being awash with pure warm light that danced in circles upon his skin and entering his veins. He felt the power grow inside of him, as his body stopped it’s internal clock and set him to be what he is for the rest of forever. It was overflowing, the power, and he felt it in the ground, the air and in everything in existence. Jeremy made the wastelands full of life and color, a new thriving place to live.

It was as though the people knew there was a new king. In a matter of days new people flocked to his kingdom and began building reshaping their lives into something knew, just like Jeremy had done with himself.

The book on the King of Thorns closed, and the King of Color now reigned.

#ragehappy #kingdom au #immortal kings #joelay #acindra

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one-of-us-blog · 8 years ago

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The End of Time, Part I (Doctor Who Christmas Special)

Today Jon is forced to watch and recap The End of Time, Part I, the latest Doctor Who Christmas Special and the penultimate special in this little mid-season bacchanal. The universe is being plagued by bad dreams, and the dreams all seem to center on an enemy long thought to be dead. Can the Doctor save the whole of time itself before it’s too late?

Keep reading to find out…

Eli, your “Brotherly Love” recap was just fantastic! Your recaps are getting better and better every time, I swear! I might be biased, though, because this definitely is my favorite episode and I was so thrilled that you enjoyed it! I’ve always felt that all four Girls were on point in this episode; Dorothy is at her wittiest, Blanche is at her flirtiest, Sophia is at her most dangerous and Rose is at her goofiest. All four main actresses stick all of their landings, and Ted held his own pretty well throughout the whole episode. Also, I’m a sucker for a good Hamlet reference. I can’t wait for your next recap, Chief!

Buttocks tight!

Episode directed by Euros Lyn and written by Russell T Davies

We start out with a stirring narration by Timothy Dalton. He explains that in the final days of Earth, specifically around Christmas, the entire human race was having some seriously spooky dreams. Everyone forgets about the dreams they’ve been having in order to keep on living. Everyone, that is, except for one Wilfred Mott! Whatup, Wilf? Wilfred has a flashback of his dream, featuring the face of a distinctly familiar looking guy. Wait a second, was that the Master?

Wilfred decides to repent his wicked ways and heads into a nearby church, where a children’s choir is singing for no one in particular. Wilfred takes in the church’s stained glass window, which features a tiny little TARDIS. A woman suddenly appears behind Wilfred, and explains that the window is depicting the Legend of the Blue Box. The lady explains that in the 1300’s a demon fell from the sky only to be vanquished by the Sainted Physician, a man who appeared in a blue box. The lady speculates that the Sainted Physician might be coming back. Wilfred would like nothing more, but when he turns to face the lady again she’s gone. Wilfred’s ears are filled with the sounds of the Master’s laughter as we head to the opening credits.

The TARDIS lands on the Ood Sphere, where the Doctor’s met by his (and our) old pal Ood Sigma. The Doc’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder; he’s taken his time getting here, going from planet to planet and even getting married briefly, all to avoid this meeting. Sigma tells him he should not have delayed, but the Doctor points out that the last time he was on the Ood Sphere Ood Sigma said his song would be ending soon, and he’s in no hurry for that. He shows off a new feature and locks the TARDIS remotely (get it? like a car?) before finally following Sigma around. Sigma shows off the thriving society the Ood have built since they were liberated from humanity a century ago. Suddenly the Doc’s a little worried; the Ood are developing way too quickly and there’s no way Ood Sigma should have been able to contact the Doctor all the way back in the 21st century after only a hundred years of development. Sigma says something’s amiss; every night, the Ood have bad dreams. Someone should tell the Ood to cut back on the chocolate before bedtime!

The Doctor is taken to the Elder of the Ood, and is directed to join in a circle of Ood to share the dreams they’ve been having. The Doc gets a vision of the Master, and the Elder Ood says pretty much everyone in the universe is dreaming of him. Next the Ood show a shot of Wilfred, then a man and young woman the Doctor’s never met. Finally he’s shown Lucy Saxon, who’s in prison for killing the Master and avenging the millions of people he had slaughtered in the Year that Never Was. The Doctor’s super sure the Master is dead, until the Ood show him that bit from the end of “Last of the Time Lord” where the Master’s ring falls to the ground. I meant to make a fun Ming the Merciless joke about it at the time, but trying to work it in now just feels weird. Just pretend I stuck the landing on that one, okay? Anyway, the Ood show the Doc that the ring was picked up by an unknown woman. The Doc’s ready to bate that Master, but the Elder Ood says the Master is only part of the problem. Something big and ancient is moving, and the Ood are able to see through time like this because time itself is weakening. The end of time is coming. *mic drop*

The Doc’s off to the races and runs back to the TARDIS. Meanwhile, Lucy Saxon is visited in her prison cell by the woman who picked up the Master’s ring. She’s taken down to the basement of the prison and… well, I mean, this is where things get a little weird. Apparently at some point during the months between the Master showing up on Earth and him becoming Prime Minister, a sort of cult grew up around Harold Saxon. Like, with secret sacred texts and everything. It’s a bit of a Knights Templar 2: Wacky Wizards situation, only a lot less scrutable. If none of this rings a bell, BTW, it’s because it’s coming out of literally nowhere. Anyway, we find out that Lucy was given a secret trial with no jury after she shot Saxon and locked up in the pokey (side note, what the hell? she should have been given a medal, not a prison term!). She never told anyone who Saxon really was. The new governor of the prison is some kind of Grand Wizard for this Harold Saxon fan club, and she’s going to use the Master’s ring to bring him back to life. She and her gal pals mix together some magical potions (made from recipes taken from the Secret Books of Saxon, I shit you not), the Master’s ring and a bit of Lucy’s DNA.

Lucy begs the women to stop, but they’re pretty onboard with sacrificing themselves to bring back the Master. The Master begins to materialize, but it turns out that Lucy also checked the Secret Books of Saxon out from the prison library and some friends outside of prison cooked up an anti-life potion. One of the guards involved in this is actually on Lucy’s side, and she gives Lucy the potion. She had it on her… just in case, I guess? Or she knew this was going to happen and didn’t, like, just try to take the ring before any of this could go down? I don’t know. Lucy has a little monologue, then she throws the potion at the Master and the entire prison explodes. Right on cue the Doc arrives. The guy and young woman (who are father and daughter) that we don’t know yet are reviewing footage of the prison burning down and catch sight of the Master running from the wreckage. The two meet up with some scientists and tell them to prepare a big ol’ alien-looking gate thing.

Wilfred tells an unseen Donna and Sylvia that he’s going out for a drink, then rallies all his friends from the senior citizen center and organizes them into a search party to scour London and locate the Doctor. Some vagrants get some grub from a food truck and have a topical discussion about President Obama. Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone? Anyway, the Master shows up with a bleach blonde hairdo and tells the food truck lady that he’s real hungry. He then hops over to eat a burger really quickly (and super grossly) and harass the vagrants for a bit. His skin is sort of transparent sometimes? I don’t know. Eventually he chases the vagrants over to the burnt-out ruins of the food truck and then maybe eats them? He’s got a bit of a Tarrare thing going on now, so he probably eats them. The Doctor sniffs him out and the two have a brief staring contest before the Doc starts chasing the Master only to lose him when he’s distracted by the sudden appearance of Wilfred. Did I mention the Master can jump really high now for some reason? I don’t think I did, but he can. It’s just a thing, go with it.

Wilfred and the Doctor go out for tea after ditching the Silver Cloak Gang. The Doctor wants to know who or what Wilfred is and how he’s able to keep finding the Doc. Wilfred thinks he’s just your average Joe who gets lucky a lot, but the Doc isn’t so sure. He tells Wilfred that he’s going to die (because of the prophecy thing from “Planet of the Dead”, remember?) and both he and Wilfred are super bummed. The Doc says even if he regenerates it won’t be him anymore, and this version of himself will die. This is interrupted by the unexpected and delightful reappearance of Donna Noble outside; Wilfred begs the Doc to restore her memory, but we’re sticking with the whole “her brain thing will burn up” storyline. Donna’s engaged to a nice guy Shaun Temple and Wilfred thinks she’s happy enough, but sometimes she looks like she’s sad but can’t remember why. Great! Wonderful! Just what Donna deserves, right? Really glad that we’re sticking with this arbitrary plot device!

Anyway, the Doc lets Wilfred know he’s traveling alone now, and that turned out to be a very bad thing. He takes things too far on his own, and he needs someone with him to keep him in check. The two bros have a nice almost-cry and then the Doctor leaves. Timothy Dalton reminds us in another voiceover that the Earth’s going to die tomorrow, then the Doctor catches up with the Master. Did I mention the Master can shoot lightning bolts and shit out of his hands now? It’s just a thing, go with it. He Livewires the Doc and then has his own little monologue about how he used to be a really big deal but now he’s just a homeless lunatic. The Doc’s ready to ask the Master for help to stop this end of time/coming darkness thing, because he’s suddenly a dumbass. The Master starts going on and on about the drums again, but this time he does a mindmeld with the Doc and the Doc actually hears the sound. The Master’s pretty happy that the drums aren’t just him being crazy and, I’ve got to say, I’m pretty ambivalent about the whole thing. A helicopter shows up and the Master is kidnapped while the Doc is knocked out by some paratroopers.

Christmas time! Donna gives Wilfred Fighting the Future by Joshua Naismith, but she’s not really sure why. Naismith’s the guy we haven’t met yet, by the by. While Donna’s trying to figure out why she got Wilfred the books she appears to be dangerously close to remembering how relevant she used to be, but luckily Sylvia’s able to distract her with a naughty holiday card. Speaking of Naismith, he and his daughter have the Master held captive. They know a vague amount about Harold Saxon and the daughter’s pretty excited to have him as their houseguest. Wilfred sits down to watch the Queen’s speech, but that lady from the church is on the TV. Wilfred is the only one who can see her, because he stands at the center of coincidence. She tells Wilfred that the time will come when he’ll have to take up arms, but she tells him not to tell the Doctor about her. Wilfred goes to his room and digs up his old pistol from the war. Oh, shit, is Wilf about to risk it all? No time for that, because the Doc’s outside and he needs to talk to Wilfred.

The Doc can’t figure out how Wilfred fits into all this, but he knows he’s involved. Wilfred doesn’t tell him about the woman on the TV, but he does show the Doc the book Donna gave him. The Doctor figures out the Ood might have been able to seep Naismith into Donna’s subconscious, allowing her to help the Doctor without remembering her kickass past. Wilfred and the Doc set off in the TARDIS to find Naismith. The Master is brought to the alien-lookin’ gate thing, while two of the technicians excuse themselves. Downstairs they reveal themselves to be aliens who are trying to get the gate thing working. They’re cool with the Master working on the gate, because they just want to get it working so they can hijack it. Upstairs Naismith explains that he got the gate after Torchwood 1.0 folded. The Master’s given a turkey and we get to see more delightful sped-up footage of him eating, complete with all the sound effects you could hope for. The gate is powered by a nuclear chamber thing, but it turns out it can restore a person’s body and heal them. Naismith wants to use it to make his daughter immortal. Her name’s Abigail, by the way.

Wilfred and the Doc arrive at Naismith HQ, and the Doctor shows off that he’s now able to hide the TARDIS a second out of sync with reality. The Doctor finds the aliens in human clothing in the basement and quickly de-glamours them. The Master begins fixing the machine and gets it working in record time. The aliens downstairs explain that they’re a salvage team who were sent to collect the gate thingy, which is essentially a giant sickbay. It’s specifically giant because it mends entire planets at once. The Doc figures out the Master’s up to something and runs upstairs, while Naismith watches the speech by Obama that’s been mentioned about 57 times so far. The Doc arrives upstairs but the Master easily breaks free of his bonds and jumps into the gate. His template begins spreading across the entire world, first by appearing in everyone’s minds. The Doctor’s able to get Wilfred into the radiation booth in time to shield him from the effects. The aliens downstairs realize the Master’s set the gate’s template to only effect humans, but then Donna calls Wilfred to let him know she’s not being effected. The mental picture is just the beginning of all this, though, as in a matter of moments the entire human population is physically transformed into copies of the Master.

Donna’s beginning to get flashbacks to her Doctorly adventures, and her head’s already killing her. Time for another Timothy Dalton check-in! He says this is the day the human race ceased to be, but it’s also the day the Time Lords shall return. He’s a Time Lord, and he’s surrounded by a massive chamber full of his fellow Lords and Ladies

The End…?

~~~~~

I’m going to zag here a bit, if no one objects. Unlike previous two-parter episodes, like “The Empty Child” / “The Doctor Dances” or “Human Nature” / “The Family of Blood”, The End of Time is specifically broken into a Part I and a Part II. Because of that, I’m viewing it as one episode that’s just going to take me two posts to finish recapping, and so I’m going to wait until the end of Part II to give my rating of and thoughts on The End of Time as a whole. That was probably an overly complicated explanation, but, hey, it’s twentyserpentine!

We’ll see you again on Tuesday when Eli will cover the next episode of The Golden Girls, “A Visit from Little Sven”, and then on Wednesday I’ll recap the last half of this Doctor Who special, The End of Time, Part II.

Until then, thanks for reading, thanks for resurrecting and thanks for being One of Us!

#one of us #doctor who

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ciathyzareposts · 5 years ago

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Shadow of the Comet – A Friendly Little Town

Written by limbeck

So, here I am, in my not so austere room, getting to grips with the controls of the game. I can move with the arrow buttons, but only on four directions, which seems fair. Sometimes, though, you jump to the next screen by stepping at the wrong point.

Walking around the room, I notice that, as I pass close to an item, a line from my face to that object appears. Handy. I welcomed it with satisfaction at first, but I may reconsider, as it misled me into thinking that it works with all items. More on that later.

Look at my lasersight!

Fortunately, the all-keyboard interface is intuitive and not hard to grasp. You press O for objects in your inventory, U for using an item, G for getting. Even if you haven’t read the manual, you get the hang of it quickly. And that’s really it.

So, once I have perfected my baby steps, I explore the room and pick up whatever I can, which is BOLESKINE’s diary and a telegram from my provisioners. Reading the diary gives me my first clue: a 12-year-old boy had served BOLESKINE as a guide, so there is a chance he is still alive and can point me to the precise spot in the forest. Other than that, BOLESKINE clearly had a poor grasp of astronomy, not recognising the familiar constellations and just randomly inventing new ones.

The telegram was more annoying, because it said that I have to find my own photographic plates. This is critical to my mission, as Mr GRIFFITH really expects “spectacular photographs”. I hope this backwater town has a hardware store or something.

Request refund / STOP / Want speak to manager / STOP

Now that I have my first tasks, I am ready to head out to the outside world. First step is to head out of my room. I then explore the areas of the Doctor’s house that are available to me and notice some really impressive paintings around. The Doctor is not at home, so it is time to explore the town proper.

The immediate neighbours are an old barn-looking house with a bench and a locked door to the east, a forest without a guide to the west and a fancy house, also locked, to the south. The house to the south turns out to be the Mayor’s.

It’s good to be the Kin.. erm, Mayor

To the south and west of the Doctor’s house is the Pharmacy / GP’s office / hospital of the town. I see a guy with a white robe going in, so I decide to follow. Inside, I just catch a glimpse of him getting into his office, so I try to go in myself only to be stopped by a very unhelpful nurse, who is also the daughter of the busy doctor.

South of the pharmacy is the main square, which we briefly saw in our carriage trip. When I first visit, an old lady, Ms PICOTT is sitting alone, but says nothing of importance, so I leave.

One should never presume

Heading west, I arrive at the impressive (according to the description) Town Hall. The clerk in it is, as expected, unhelpful and does not let me see the Mayor, who is only accepting visitors for a few hours each week and only by appointment. I am starting to get really annoyed now. Why does nobody want to get out of their way just to indulge me? I am a visitor in their town after all. They should show some hospitality!

But I brought the forms for the animal census, and these fine leather jackets.

I decide to continue being nosy and I try the other door on the Town Hall building. Inside, it looks like a museum, with several exhibits from exotic lands. This is where I realised that my lasersight does not identify all the items that I can examine or interact with in a location. Instead, when I am close to something that looks interesting, I need to press L to examine it. So, before I continued, I went to all the other locations I had visited and furiously examined everything, but I mainly got background information.

A few minutes later, I am back at the museum, where I discover a lost page from BOLESKINE’s diary. It describes how the stars are really a pistol rifle shot away and closes with a quote from J.Keats: “Truth sleeps beneath appearance”. The remaining art is just flavour text, or so it seems for the moment.

Some of Parker’s lines have these “good lord” and “Oh my”, I suspect for added Englishness.

So, I continue into the door I can see to the north and into the Archives, where I meet the Master of Archives himself. He introduces himself as Tobias JUGG and he is the first person that seems genuinely excited to talk to me. Of course, true to the character of this little town, he already knows who I am. I ignore that and try to get in his good books, which I succeed by striking a conversation and proving my own love for books, by correctly recognising Shakespeare’s quote. I leave him for now and head to a nearby table, where a I search through a ledger and note down three names of men who were 12 years old when Boleskine visited. The names are Curtis HAMBLETON, William COLDSTONE and Thomas GREENWOOD.

Looking over my shoulder, JUGG confirms that all three of them are alive and gives me directions to their houses. I speak to him a bit more, engineering my responses so that they appeal to his love of literature and history. He appreciates that and invites me to his house for a chat later. He also says that he has a large library on local legends, which the locals believed in until recently. After that, he heads out and I leave the Archives.

I continue wandering the town and revisit some of the areas I was before. I notice that there is a couple sitting outside of the house to the east of Dr COBBLES house, which I now know belongs to one of the three people I am looking for. However, Mr GREENWOOD is deaf, mute and blind from an accident during his birth. This makes it very hard for him to be the one I am looking for. The other half of the couple is Miss PICOTT, whom we met earlier. She maintains her unhelpfulness and we move on.

Fortunately for you, he cannot see that smirk when you say that.

Some more wandering later, I arrive outside of the Dead Horse Inn, a name that seems oddly suitable to this town. Outside is Jed DONAHUE, who also knows who I am. News travel quickly in this part of the world. Not that they have to travel too far. Jed was complaining about…, but he didn’t offer anything else other than some more background. Inside the tavern, there is even more unhelpfulness. A group of card players in one table does not want to be disturbed, but is gossiping about RENATO, apparently a misled youth who doesn’t know better. The bartender is ruder than average and does not open up even after I pay an extortionist’s fee of $1 for his watered-down beer.

Dealing with customers: How not to

My little trek around the village then brings me to the post office. As I walk in, I see a map of the area and I hear some heavy object being rolled above. The lady behind the counter mentions that the DONAHUE boy (I presume Jed’s son) is sick and that she really has a lot of work to do. Clearly, she is only bothered by me and not by all the clatter right above her head. I leave.

Yes, like rearrange those mail sacks by the wall

Eager for some intelligent conversation, I head to JUGG’s house. At the entrance hall wall hangs a rifle, which, upon closer examination, turns out to be Lord BOLESKINE’s own rifle. I wonder how it ended up at the doctor’s house. However, despite his invitation earlier, Mr JUGG does not have any more insights to offer so I leave him alone.

Anyway, I keep exploring dutifully and I finally find the town’s general store. I enter from the south and I see the proprietor, Mr MYERS, dealing with a client. A hooded figure who apparently is in the business of direct parcels. He has left one with Mr MYERS, who informs him that another one he sent to some Mrs GUILDCHRIST was delivered successfully. I don’t know who that lady is, but I know the name the wooded figure goes by. HAMBLETON. To be fair, I was a bit careless at the time and I did not remember that HAMBLETON was one of the three people I was looking for. Anyway, the figure walks out, either on a limp or quirky animation, and I can speak to the shop owner.

Maybe townsfolk go to the general store for their mail because the post office is always “too busy”

I go directly to the point and ask for photosensitive plates, which he delivers with delight. Not only that, but he suggests trying them out first and, if they are not good any more, he will reimburse me. Now, that’s what I call good customer service.

Dealing with customers: How to

Loaded with my new plates, I head out from the north door and arrive at the square again. Heading west a few screens, I end up at the abandoned fishery that HAMBLETON lives in. Before getting in, I pick up a rope ladder, because who knows when I will need to go down a cave or something.

Inside, the place is a proper mess. My delicate British nostrils cannot stand the stench, but I persist nonetheless. The fishery has absolutely nothing of value, but I discover a loose floorboard used to hide moonshine and an old man sleeping on a pallet in a corner. As I creepily watch him sleep, I notice that his fingers are webbed, like a frog’s. I feel fascinated, and a bit lightheaded, but I compose myself and decide to speak to the old man.

Subtle

Curtis HAMBLETON tells me that he indeed took Lord BOLESKINE in the forest, at a place with a cross. On the third day, BOLESKINE was painting / sketching when he saw a “thing”. I also learn of another name: WILBUR. He is HAMBLETON’s brother and probably very important. He apparently cursed CURTIS who ended up living in these squalid conditions. WILBUR is still alive as well and he says that in 3 days the comet will come back, and the THING as well. That’s just superstition, right?

After this conversation, poor Curtis goes back to sleep and I am left to think of my next steps, now that I have my plates and a potential guide that does not want to be a guide. I must also note that the Mr HAMBLETON I saw at the general store is most likely Wilbur, Curtis’ brother and he seems to hold some position of power in Illsmouth. I smell a cult, built on superstition and the old legends.

But we’ll have to find these out next time. I did not make much progress in the game, but I enjoyed walking around the town and familiarising myself with the locations. The outline of the city is logical and I never really felt lost, except for the time in the forest, which I assume was intentional. So far, the game does well in letting me play the stranger moving into a small, closed society, which doesn’t really like having anybody poking into its secrets. It may seem stereotypical, but it works. In the next post, I will try to get into that spot in the forest and get some photos taken.

Some other interesting locations that will probably become important later:

N. TYLER’s house is to the north of the pharmacy. It smells nicely of hot soup, but of course it is locked. Suspicious little town.

There is a well that is standing on its own, but I cannot interact with it at the moment.

The way to the port in which I arrived, is blocked by two burly guys.

The cemetary is a blast of fun, according to JUGG.

In the house south of Mr JUGG’s, I see somebody going in and moving on the top floor, snooping at me from the window. Yet, when I knocked, nobody replied.

There is also an abandoned mansion, with nothing to do.

END notes – CD ROM version

Somehow, addition of mouse control makes the game more frustrating. You do not click where you want to go and let the character find his way there. Instead, you hold down the left button and the character moves in the direction the mouse is with respect to him, but again only in the four main directions. You cannot mouse over items either, which makes me wonder why they bothered at all with adding mouse, other than to not seem backward. Outdoors, there is an option to go to a location using the map.

Time played: 1:30 Sanity lost: 1 (from seeing HAMBLETON’s webbed fingers)

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/shadow-of-the-comet-a-friendly-little-town/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

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cherita · 7 years ago

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11 Sci-Fi & Fantasy Deluxe Edition Books for Gift Giving

Books make for great gifts, don't you think?

Except . . . book lovers have probably already bought or read most of the books they want. Enter the deluxe edition: those fancy, illustrated editions designed especially for gift giving — I mean, I assume that's what they're for, with their gilded edges, pretty pictures, and fall release dates.

If you're searching for the perfect book to give your favorite sci-fi or fantasy reader, elevate your giving with a deluxe, anniversary or collector's edition of a beloved book. Or a hardcover edition instead of a mass market paperback, or a series collected into one volume. Here are 11 such deluxe edition books to get you started in these trying holiday shopping times...

Jump to: Sci-Fi Books || Fantasy Books || Young Adult Books

For Science Fiction book lovers...

Area X: The Southern Reach Trilogy

Jeff VanderMeer

In time for the holidays, a single-volume hardcover edition that brings together the three volumes of the Southern Reach Trilogy: Annihilation, Authority, Acceptance — perfect for fans of dark sci-fi films and books alike, as the Annihilation movie adaptation starring Natalie Portman is set to hit theaters in February.

SYNOPSIS: Area X — a remote and lush terrain — has been cut off from the rest of the continent for decades. Nature has reclaimed the last vestiges of human civilization. The first expedition returned with reports of a pristine, Edenic landscape; all the members of the second expedition committed suicide; the third expedition died in a hail of gunfire as its members turned on one another; the members of the eleventh expedition returned as shadows of their former selves, and within months of their return, all had died of aggressive cancer. This is the twelfth expedition.

Their group is made up of four women: an anthropologist; a surveyor; a psychologist, the de facto leader; and our narrator, a biologist. Their mission is to map the terrain and collect specimens; to record all their observations, scientific and otherwise, of their surroundings and of one another; and, above all, to avoid being contaminated by Area X itself.

They arrive expecting the unexpected, and Area X delivers — they discover a massive topographic anomaly and life forms that surpass understanding — but it's the surprises that came across the border with them, and the secrets the expedition members are keeping from one another, that change everything.

Ender’s Game (Hardcover Reissue)

Orson Scott Card

This engaging, collectible, miniature hardcover of the Orson Scott Card classic and worldwide bestselling novel makes an excellent gift for anyone’s science fiction library.

SYNOPSIS: Once again, Earth is under attack. An alien species is poised for a final assault. The survival of humanity depends on a military genius who can defeat the aliens. But who?

Ender Wiggin. Brilliant. Ruthless. Cunning. A tactical and strategic master. And a child.

Recruited for military training by the world government, Ender's childhood ends the moment he enters his new home: Battle School. Among the elite recruits Ender proves himself to be a genius among geniuses. He excels in simulated war games. But is the pressure and loneliness taking its toll on Ender? Simulations are one thing. How will Ender perform in real combat conditions? After all, Battle School is just a game. Isn't it?

Old Man’s War (Hardcover Reissue)

John Scalzi

A perfect gift for an entry-level sci-fi reader and the ideal addition to a veteran fan’s collection, John Scalzi's Old Man’s War will take audiences on a heart-stopping adventure into the far corners of the universe.

SYNOPSIS: John Perry did two things on his 75th birthday. First he visited his wife’s grave. Then he joined the army.

The good news is that humanity finally made it to the stars. The bad news is that, out there, planets fit to live on are scarce―and alien races willing to fight us for them are common. So: we fight. Far from Earth, the war has been going on for decades: brutal, bloody, unyielding.

Responsible for protecting humanity, the Colonial Defense Force doesn’t want young people; they want people who carry the knowledge and skills of decades of living. You’ll be taken off Earth, never to return. You’ll serve two years in comb

For Fantasy book lovers...

The Broken Earth Trilogy

N.K. Jemisin

For the Kindle lover, get the complete New York Times bestselling trilogy that began with The Fifth Season (2016 Hugo Award Winner for Best Novel) and The Obelisk Gate (2017 Hugo Award Winner for Best Novel), and concludes with this year's highly acclaimed The Stone Sky.

SYNOPSIS: This is the way the world ends...for the last time.

A season of endings has begun. It starts with the great red rift across the heart of the world's sole continent, spewing ash that blots out the sun. It starts with death, with a murdered son and a missing daughter. It starts with betrayal, and long dormant wounds rising up to fester. This is the Stillness, a land long familiar with catastrophe, where the power of the earth is wielded as a weapon. And where there is no mercy.

Edgedancer

Brandon Sanderson

From #1 New York Times bestselling author Brandon Sanderson, a special gift edition of Edgedancer, a short novel of the Stormlight Archive (previously published in Arcanum Unbounded).

SYNOPSIS: Three years ago, Lift asked a goddess to stop her from growing older--a wish she believed was granted. Now, in Edgedancer, the barely teenage nascent Knight Radiant finds that time stands still for no one. Although the young Azish emperor granted her safe haven from an executioner she knows only as Darkness, court life is suffocating the free-spirited Lift, who can't help heading to Yeddaw when she hears the relentless Darkness is there hunting people like her with budding powers. The downtrodden in Yeddaw have no champion, and Lift knows she must seize this awesome responsibility.

The Name of the Wind 10th Anniversary Edition

Patrick Rothfuss

This deluxe, illustrated edition celebrates the New York Times-bestselling series, The Kingkiller Chronicle—a masterful epic fantasy saga that has inspired readers worldwide.

The anniversary hardcover includes more than 50 pages of extra content; a beautiful, iconic cover by artist Sam Weber and designer Paul Buckley; gorgeous, never-before-seen illustrations by artist Dan Dos Santos; detailed and updated world map by artist Nate Taylor; and more.

SYNOPSIS: My name is Kvothe. I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep. You may have heard of me.

So begins a tale unequaled in fantasy literature—the story of a hero told in his own voice. It is a tale of sorrow, a tale of survival, a tale of one man’s search for meaning in his universe, and how that search, and the indomitable will that drove it, gave birth to a legend.

Neverwhere Illustrated Edition

Neil Gaiman

The #1 New York Times bestselling author’s dark classic of modern fantasy, beautifully illustrated with strikingly atmospheric, painstakingly detailed black-and-white line art by award-winning artist Chris Riddell, and featuring the author’s preferred text and his Neverwhere tale, “How the Marquis Got His Coat Back.”

SYNOPSIS: Richard Mayhew is a young London businessman with a good heart whose life is changed forever when he stops to help a bleeding girl—an act of kindness that plunges him into a world he never dreamed existed. Slipping through the cracks of reality, Richard lands in Neverwhere—a London of shadows and darkness, monsters and saints, murderers and angels that exists entirely in a subterranean labyrinth.

Neverwhere is home to Door, the mysterious girl Richard helped in the London Above. Here in Neverwhere, Door is a powerful noblewoman who has vowed to find the evil agent of her family’s slaughter and thwart the destruction of this strange underworld kingdom. If Richard is ever to return to his former life and home, he must join Lady Door’s quest to save her world—and may well die trying.

For Young Adult book lovers...

City of Bones 10th Anniversary Edition

Cassandra Clare

Celebrate the tenth anniversary of Cassandra Clare’s City of Bones with this gorgeous new edition, complete with new cover art, gilded edges, over thirty interior illustrations, and six new full-page color portraits of everyone’s favorite characters! Also includes the Clave’s official files on some of the series’ most beloved characters, written by Cassandra Clare.

SYNOPSIS: This is the book where Clary Fray first discovered the Shadowhunters, a secret cadre of warriors dedicated to driving demons out of our world and back to their own. The book where she first met Jace Wayland, the best Shadowhunter of his generation. The book that started it all. A perfect gift for the Shadowhunter fan in your life.

A Darker Shade of Magic Collector’s Edition

V.E. Schwab

A stunning collector's edition of the acclaimed novel from the #1 New York Times bestselling author V.E. Schwab. With an exclusive metallic ink cover and reading ribbon, this edition will feature: end papers of London, fan art, a glossary of Arnesian and Antari terms, an interview between author and editor, and original (never before seen!) tales from within the Shades of Magic world.

SYNOPSIS: Kell is one of the last Antari―magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black.

Kell was raised in Arnes―Red London―and officially serves the Maresh Empire as an ambassador, traveling between the frequent bloody regime changes in White London and the court of George III in the dullest of Londons, the one without any magic left to see.

Unofficially, Kell is a smuggler, servicing people willing to pay for even the smallest glimpses of a world they'll never see. It's a defiant hobby with dangerous consequences, which Kell is now seeing firsthand.

After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations. She first robs him, then saves him from a deadly enemy, and finally forces Kell to spirit her to another world for a proper adventure.

Now perilous magic is afoot, and treachery lurks at every turn. To save all of the worlds, they'll first need to stay alive.

The Language of Thorns: Midnight Tales and Dangerous Magic

Leigh Bardugo

Inspired by myth, fairy tale, and folklore, #1 New York Times-bestselling author Leigh Bardugo has crafted a deliciously atmospheric collection of lavishly illustrated short stories filled with betrayals, revenge, sacrifice, and love.

SYNOPSIS: Enter the Grishaverse...

Love speaks in flowers. Truth requires thorns.

Travel to a world of dark bargains struck by moonlight, of haunted towns and hungry woods, of talking beasts and gingerbread golems, where a young mermaid's voice can summon deadly storms and where a river might do a lovestruck boy's bidding but only for a terrible price.

Perfect for new readers and dedicated fans, the tales in The Language of Thorns will transport you to lands both familiar and strange―to a fully realized world of dangerous magic that millions have visited through the novels of the Grishaverse.

This collection of six stories includes three brand-new tales, each of them lavishly illustrated and culminating in stunning full-spread illustrations as rich in detail as the stories themselves.

Red Queen Collector's Edition

Victoria Aveyard

A beautifully designed collector’s edition of the #1 New York Times bestselling Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard, featuring exclusive content, fan art, a redesigned cover, printed case, stained edges, a never-seen-before look behind the scenes of the Scarlet Guard, and more!

SYNOPSIS: Mare Barrow's world is divided by blood--those with common, Red blood serve the Silver- blooded elite, who are gifted with superhuman abilities. Mare is a Red, scraping by as a thief in a poor, rural village, until a twist of fate throws her in front of the Silver court. Before the king, princes, and all the nobles, she discovers she has an ability of her own.

To cover up this impossibility, the king forces her to play the role of a lost Silver princess and betroths her to one of his own sons. As Mare is drawn further into the Silver world, she risks everything and uses her new position to help the Scarlet Guard--a growing Red rebellion--even as her heart tugs her in an impossible direction. One wrong move can lead to her death, but in the dangerous game she plays, the only certainty is betrayal.

The perfect gift for anyone looking to add this beautiful edition to their collection, and for new readers eager to discover the lush, vivid fantasy series where loyalty and desire can tear you apart and the only certainty is betrayal.

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travelplanetblog · 7 years ago

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Okay… okay… I know… by some logic of things, this is the text that was supposed to go before the announcement of Blaca Hermitage. But in my defense, I can say that everyone who visits or is in touch with this phenomenon of cultural, landscaping, spiritual, and pretty fascinated by the magical feeling that this place provides will be able to understand why this place deserve this kind of honour. So, that is the main reason that the story of my last blog was about the search of the last Glagolitic, or actually the top of my favorite places in my life I have the opportunity to visit. Certainly, I owe a description and a brief introduction and summary of the island with so much wealth that it is difficult to sum up it through one life and not to mention in the few lines of text. It is possible that this would be the longest blog posting, but hopefully all the colored text will get the hyperlinks which will explain more detailed everything about that particular theme. In that way you will fin the true meaning of this title and why this island I call His Majesty Brač.

Let’s go with some small introduction to history, which goes all the way back to prehistory (the Cave Kopačina, where the oldest traces of the prehistoric human on the island were found), the history of Illyrians was also written here and there are couple of remains left in several places, landscapes and remains of life at the time of the Roman Empire, miles of a handmade stone walls and stone hills that were put off just to make some place for fertile land to have a place to grown some agriculture goods like olive trees, wine trees or something else in order to gain some food. There are also numerous medieval churches and chapels and many other monuments that you will find nowhere else… I find it difficult to choose a specific topic for the content of the second blog, but I find interesting to make a small cross-view and an introduction to a single place or a locality on Brač. So, in other blogs, I will make more detailed stories, with more facts, legends, numbers or actually more pictures to cover the specific theme. Yes… In the geographical sense, the island is not fully explored because there are over 300 caves that have not been even discovered so far.

After all, the island is not only history with its remains, but also what makes it different from the rest of the world, are both people and customs and endemic food specialties that remain so strong in the memory.

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The history of the name origin: BRAČ*

The name’s origin is from the Illyrian name “brentos” which is translated for the deer (the Greek name is Elaphusa and Bretanide, also comes from the word “elaphus“, that in Greek stands for deer). And cave named Kopačina is the place where the remains of deer were found. The Roman historian Polybius calls this island Bretia, Plinius the Elder gives it the name Brattia, and in Antino’s 4th century travelogue the island is called Bractia. Brač is also in Ptolemy’s map from the 2nd century and is also located on the Peutinger’s 4th century map. The emperor Konstantin Porfirogenet (Byzantine Empire), called it Barzo and he describes Brač and Hvar as the most beautiful and fertile Adriatic islands. During the Venetian Republic, the Italian name is Brazza, and we know it as Brač.

Geographical features

Brač = the largest Middle Dalmatian island

Surface = 395 km2 (length = about 40 km, width = 12 km in average)

Highest peak = 778 m, Vidova gora (the highest peak of all the islands in Croatia)

Coastline = 180.613 km

Population = 14,434 (list from year 2011)

Climate = Mediterranean climate. Brač belongs to the sunniest Adriatic area with about 2,700 sunny hours a year. Average winter temperature is 9 °C and summer 25 °C. Snow falls in the year only for about 2 days and does not stay longer than 10 hours. The last winds called bura hits in March and people know it as 3 marčana bura. In the summer almost every day is blowing maestral, localy known as maeštral. The precipitation are more common in the interior of the island and on its eastern side. Differences in precipitation amount to 700 mm annual average for Sutivan, up to 1400 mm for Dol. The average sea temperature is 24 °C in the summer and 14 °C in the winter.

Brač map – powered by Google maps

Places at Brač (population number)

City of Supetar (4.233)

Supetar is the largest settlement on the island of Brač and it is the economic, cultural and tourist center of the island – the most famous about its ferry harbor, but Supetar offers and deserves much more than the quick passage through when arriving on the island

the City of Supetar includes the town Supetar and villages Splitska, Škrip and Mirca:

Supetar (3.326) – considering that this is an administrative and economic center of the island, you may do your activities in public administration without visiting Split (police, court, public notary, emergency, doctors, bigger shopping malls…). Because, usually people who live here have the biggest curse when they need to go in Split – mostly because you lose almost the entire day on making your business that usually takes to other people just a couple of minutes or couple of hours at top, but here you need to travel the island, take a ferry, make your things in Split and make the same return back home… and of course, after returning back, you feel exhausted

Mirca (327) – when traveling further out of Supetar, you might go ahead to the only place where the sign on the road can leave you confused as the sign says that place Mirca is both left and right… hm… where to go? But this is small place, so no worry, if you go left, you will enter old Mirca, with its square and churchyard, old houses and if you turn your right you will end up in Podmirca, the new part of the place, with its tourist facilities, new houses and villas, cafes and beaches

Splitska (398) – a small village with its great history and very old monuments. You may find here the true little richness of history because from here famous Brač stone was transferred to the continent and many famous buildings were build from it… among them is famous Diocletian’s palace in Split

Škrip (172) – this village is really something that you can talk and has an enormous richness of history. This is the oldest place on Brač (old more than 3000 years!). Beside Blaca Hermitage, and Dol village, this is my third favorite place on Brač. In the area of just 100m you can find the Museum of the Brac Island, the Museum of the Oil (Brač is famous of making an olive oil), the main church, the two smaller chapels, the castle and the sarcophagus… I always feel like I am in the center of history tornado – the long history, near history,… A pretty unusual feeling (but, … which is not unusual on Brač)

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Municipality of Bol (1,693)

the name “Bol” comes from the Latin word “vallum”, meaning “burial”, “earthy bastion”, “land established settlement“

the world-wide popularity gained by its beach Golden horn (Zlatni rat). This place I adore when I have it on “my own” and that privilege is in early spring or autumn time when there is absolutely no one there. Without famous crowded summer time. And go at its end by the sea enjoying the sounds of the waves hitting the small pebbles at the beach and watching the most beautiful sunsets in the world. Why is so famous? It is because this beach lives its own life surprising each day with another shape… sometimes beach is turned on the left side, sometimes on the right side, sometimes it has some small pool area and is totaly curved, and sometimes… when you are lucky, you will see even snow on it…

Bol (1.671) – the largest tourist resort after Supetar. Apart from the beach Golden horn, there are several churches, Dominican monastery, a beautiful promenade full with monuments build out of Brač stone, there is the oldest winery in Dalmatia, a large number of restaurants, bars, cultural and other events with its specific people that enlarge the richness of culture of this place

Murvica (22) – until 5 years ago, this little place was connected with Bol with only macadam road, but now very nice walking tour can be made from Bol to Murvica and back. The village has beautiful houses in old Dalmatian style (and they are protected – so, if anyone would like to make the renovation of those houses, needs to be done in the conservatory and in an old-fashioned way). You will also find the beautiful landscapes of vineyards and the remains of two hermitages – Dračeva Luka and the Stipančići hermitage. Murvica is famous for another hidden jewel named the Dragon’s Cave full of the stone builded statues. But again… that’s another story…

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Municipality of Milna (1,042)

on the west coast of Brač you can find the place Milna. Milna is the best harbor and bay for various boats. I find it as one of my top secret places when I like to escape from anyone. There I can find my peace and silence, with nobody who knows me, and where I can find some small beach, dive into the blue sea and afterward visit the small bar, drink some coffee and eat the best almond and fig jam cake. And there are many more stories and fairy tales about surrounding… from the center itself, lighthouse, sea bays like Osibova, tuna farms and the old army burials for the submarines. And did you know that this year the speech from the Milna area was proclaimed immaterial cultural good of the Republic of Croatia?

the other places are certainly interesting and specific, so let’s move in the order:

Milna (833) – Milna itself has a special infrastructure and the sunsets are especially spectacular with the contrast of the orange (or purple) sky at one side, and the silhouettes of the sea, buildings and boats from another side. With sunset in Murvica and at Golden Horn definitely, the best places for photo hunters or romantic couples

Bobovišća (70) – a little village, you will say “so what… village like a village”, but this picturesque place with a church and beautiful streets full of various domestic animals and flowers, as well as a beautiful view of Bobovišća sea, invites you to walk and sniff all around. Ah, of course, there is also a photo story with a beautiful, compassionate donkey that dramatically cries so all the village has no peace

Bobovišća na moru (Bobovišća at sea) – this is a beautiful port with a history that dates all the way back to Illyrian and Greek with numerous stories about the legends related to Vičja Luka (The Witch Bay) and Vičja jama (The Witch cave) on Vidova gora. The small bay and the historic monuments are at every step: the castle of the Gligo family, the evidence of life of the very famous Croatian poet Vladimir Nazor (the house where he lived and worked, a symbolic view tower, a monument to his sisters “Three Little Sisters” and his statue, the work of academic sculptor Mirko Ostoje). And yes… with all the churches all over the island… this is the only place that has not even one of them

Ložišća (139) – eh… Ložišća… what to say about this place, you only need to mention that when you come from any part of this village, you will have the “woooooow” effect and that is because its belltower has no competition in his beauty worldwide. Like it is made from lace… The masterpiece of the local architect Ivan Rendić. Ložišća also has a beautiful bridge, built in honor of Francis Joseph (Austro Hungarian king). And it was built because a long time ago, there was a river… the only river at the island and all of the Croatian islands!

Podhume – Brač has many abundant places, where you can say they are like some kind of phantom places… almost forgotten, with just some accidental macadam paths leading you there with a couple of houses and if you are lucky enough to find some living soul there, you can have unique experience

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Municipality of Nerežišća (892)

this municipality is located just in the middle of the island of Brač at all intersections of the roads. A long time ago was important as Supetar is now for all inhabitants of Brač – an administrative and economic center. Today, because of its politics there is a public secret and an urban legend that Nerežišća is the only place at Brač (and maybe in Croatia) with 0% unemployment rate! (here is a large construction company, a wholesale center and many other economic activities that leave no place for unemployment). So, a municipality with many well-being and hard-working people without working problems

there are 3 places under the municipality:

Nerežišća (634) – apart from the economic activities that give its inhabitants bread and roof over their heads, there is plenty to see here unusual (well, what is actually usual on Brač). You will find here the church where bonsai tree has grown from its roof and is more than 100 years old, Koloč – a geomorphologic phenomenon in the form of a cake (“kolač”). Although to me, it seems more like a kiss of two vipers (btw. the most dangerous beast (snake) at the island, because its poison is the most dangerous among all European snakes and you really need to be careful when walking around… And I mean walking in the forest, some wild and hidden places… So, BIG NO for wearing slippers and shorts! And not to mention going on walking tours without water). Nerežišća hide more secrets, but all of these are just fragments for taking a small peak to other stories

Donji Humac (165) – I have already mentioned the cave of Kopačina, where the beginning of human form was discovered on this island in pre-historic time. But, it is also famous for the best place where to eat the best lamb on the island at any time of the year, along with my favorite meal – roasted lamb liver. During the springtime, it is the best time for having the most famous Brač specialty – vitalac or pancakes with the specially prepared sheep cheese called “skuta”. Mmmmmmmm…. njaaaaaamiiiiii….

Drečevica (93) – on the road to Ložišća there is a small place called Dračevica, with a picturesque little square with a nice well. The scientists proved that meteorologically this is the best place to live on the island

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Municipality of Postira (1.611)

the origin of the name Postira comes from the Latin word “pastura“ which means pasture and it is first mentioned in the 14th century. The Roman place Mirja is from the 6th century and it is located nearby. When heading to Pučišća you may find the only sandy beach and the locality of a special sight with the remains of the early Christian single-nave church called Lovrečina

Postira (1.481) – Croatian poet Vladimir Nazor was born in Postira. When arriving in Postira you will see beautiful scenery with houses, churches and a beautifully landscaped lawn of a large football field. At the hill above there is a large and modern tune production factory

Dol (130) – and finally my favorite place on this island. Ethno-village Dol is located within beautiful caves that look like arms that are protecting the village. The road that leads you to Dol gives you a beautiful view of tangerine and kiwi plantations – which reminds me of the Neretva valley (nearby Dubrovnik). A village is full of old houses, built of stone named “hrapačuša”, that inspired the Dol’s woman to create the well-known an autochthonous dessert cake also named hrapačuća, a cake that is made of almost 30 eggs, one kilo of almonds and one kilo of walnuts… ooooh, yeah… it is a real sugar bomb but to good to be true… At hill above, there is Kaštil Gospodnetić that has a special red color of the facade. On the other hill, there is the church of St. Peter with the oldest church bell on the island. A few kilometers further, on a hill you will find a church of St. Mihovil with a specific design – the entrance is made of Roman sarcophagus. In addition to this, there are lots of goats, sheeps, horses and various domestic animals, that complete the impression about this picturesque village… ooooooh… what a beauty and blessing…

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Municipality of Pučišća (2,263)

the Brač center of educated stonemasons of famous worldwide white stone from Brač. The legend says that even White House in Washington was built from the stone from Brač. Very important place here is the school for the stonemasons where this craft is learned in the oldest fashioned way – with the chisel and the hammer. Yes, maybe there are computers and machines, but the usage of the modern technology is very modest compared to today’s capabilities of the technology. Is there anything more original than souvenirs in Brač stone (bracelet, ring, clock, …) a permanent memory on such an island and its people

Pučišća (1,611) – after Supetar, this is the largest settlement in Brač. You will find that this place has a very harmonious architecture where houses and all monuments are structured in the very nice collage and it really shows the masterpieces of the numerous stonemasons here. The origin of the name Pučišća is from the Latin word “puteus”, which means a well that was present in today’s Soline, where salty and sweet water is mixed. The landscape is dominated by the church of St. Jerome, the boats and at the end of the left side of the harbor – a stonemasons school

Pražnica (377) – on the way from Supetar to Bol, or when returning from Pučišća, you will pass through a small village called Pražnica. A little place that is actually hidden from the main road, but everyone who lives a little bit longer here, we all know this is the favorite place of our police patrol to stop the naughty drivers. So, be careful at those signs of 40 km/h. The houses are built in the old-fashioned Dalmatian style. A charming square that has its own circular flow where in which their middle stands a small church. The name of the place originates from the verb, which reminds of the way the terrain is cleaned in order to obtain fertile soil. It is a home to many homemade animals and an example of simple pastoral settlement on the island where people live humble and withdrawn live. Also, this place has its own special dialect and it sounds more like someone is singing than it talks. Usually, this kind of hidden places hides many types of secrets. Among of those secrets belong to the largest number of hidden and unrevealed and unexplored caves. That means that leaving the well-known path you could end up in a great danger. So, keep in mind that when walking the road that you see, you will be just fine… but do not go alone and do not try to explore woods and hills on your own. And why I know that… well… all the locals have warned me not once not to go like that and not to move all over the hidden places in order to catch the photo because I will catch myself in saving my neck. Truly, this island is great, but you need to be careful because there are some very dangerous sides of it and you need to be respectful to his nature

Gornji Humac (275) – a small village, one of the oldest settlements in Brač, with a first documented history dating back to 1250, called Hlmcana, what means humans living on the hill. Nearby there are numerous prehistoric monasteries, Our Lady’s church at the pre-Romanesque cemetery, with the stone triptych with the Virgin with the Child in the middle and from the side of it there is St. Peter and St. John. The most notable building is the Church of St. Nicholas, which with its main square is the most vivid part of the place where the biggest village festivals are held. Also, here you can find an emergency transport and first aid support for this part of the island. Unfortunately, Brač has issues with the number of medical vehicles and medical experts, especially during high summer peaks. So, often, when there is not so crucial to life the first aid emergency will ask you to come from Bol or east side from the island with your own car or taxi to them in Gornji Humac… so, they could have this one emergency team at disposal for more urgent cases if needed

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Municipality of Selca (1,860)

let’s say that this municipality covers almost the entire eastern side of Brač. Apart from the settlements themselves: Selca, Novo Selo, Povlja and Sumartin, here I have to mention Selački Zaseoci which are not mentioned too much and are one of those “phantom” places like Podhume near Milna. Selački Zaseoci is unique names that include tiny villages Nagorinac, Nakal, Osritke, Smrčevik and Nasela (Nad Sela)…. and that… I know, I know… they are not fictional places of some of my fantasies, but they really exist as those very hard worded names, that are also unusual for the Croatian language (almost as you are speaking Chinese or something like that). In this part there is also the abandoned village of Kruške (translation in English is “pears”, by the name of the protected autochthonous kind of this tree and the beautiful bays that are best to reach and to approach from the seaside (though I even managed to reach some of those places with my poor four-wheel pet, Peugeot that fortunately for me, has managed to take me at those macadam roads that almost only jeeps can go. So, many people when I told them where I have been with my car could not believe that this car is still in driving condition)

Selca (872) – for this place I will give only some names that connect this place, so you will understand why I will not cover too much in advance: Jesus Christ, Lav Nikolajev Tolstoy, Fyodor Mihajlovic Dostoyevsky, Stjepan Radić (one of the most important politicians in the whole Croatian history), Franjo Tudjman (the first president of independent Republic of Croatia), Pope John Paul II, Hans Dietrich Genscher (very important German politician that influenced a lot to Croatian modern history and independence)… the names are more than “bombastic,” right?

Novo Selo (153) – when you reach Selca, there is a turn left and you are heading for Povlja. But before this place, just a few kilometers after Selca you will see this little village and at its entrance there are placed big public stone sculptures that were made by self-taught sculptor Franjo Antonijevic. He is great and has great manners in hospitality because he will show you his house and work with so much passion and love, so you can ask him to show you each corner of his place. Just cross the road there is a helicopter station that is used for those emergencies when your life is in such a danger that you need to fly to Split

Povlja (344) – continuing along the road from Nova Sela, the road will lead you to the picturesque Povlja. A little place with a large history. Those who know a little bit about Croatian history, maybe they have heard something about documents called Charter of Povlja (Povaljska listina), one of the oldest and most important Croatian documents written in Croatian Cyrillic alphabet, that is called bosančica… those documents were discovered actually in some kind of accident by the local priest. But, it is a heartbreaking fact that before it was discovered all those documents were used as a material for kindling the fire!!! How horrible is to hear that!!! And how much history monuments were destroyed because of not having any clue of the value…

Sumartin (491) – is placed at the eastern point of the island and it is the youngest place on Brač. The fishing village without the big summer crowds and with Supetar is one of the most important links with the mainland because there is also one of the ferry ports that connects Brač and Makarska. The village is dominated by the Franciscan monastery, founded by Fr. Andrija Kačić Miošić

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Municipality of Sutivan (850)

as I do some kind of top list of my favorite places, after Dol and Škrip, Sutivan takes my third of all places in Brač. Locals call it Stivan. The municipality has plenty of bays and harbors, with a lot of diversity in all kind of spheres: zoo with sheeps, goats, donkeys, cows, peacocks, pheasants, chickens and ducks and with some wild animals like muflons, wild boars and ostrich

Sutivan (850) – this place has a great tourist development during the last years that I have the opportunity to witness and thanking local authorities that they managed to preserve its original old Dalmatian style spirit. Its rich history and sight cannot leave anybody indifferent: a church with a beautiful bell tower and a sculpture of the cat (whose legend is pure insult to every true inhabitant of Sutivan), renaissance palaces, summer houses, mills, catacombs, promenades, numerous beaches and cycling paths can keep you occupied and make your time here so pleasurable. And of course… not to forget… great food here in some local restaurants…

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Instead of a conclusion… it’s just a startup

At the end of this story hopefully, everything written will intrigue you to search and to follow this blog further. I will try to explore every corner of this magnificent island, even though I am well aware that this is mission impossible. I have realized a long time ago that more I try to investigate it each stone I know less and less… It hits me that we all usually just go by our monuments, stories, legends, even people thinking that they will be here forever, but when those things are starting to disappear or you lose those members of your community you actually realize how little did you take notice of your surroundings. In further blogs and stories, I will try to cover more detailed description about its history, people, things to do, what to eat, what to try…

This island is really magnificent and deserves to be called His Majesty – THE BRAČ!

* References and sources used:

https://hr.wikipedia.org

http://www.otok-brac.hr

http://braconline.com.hr

http://www.bracinfo.com/hr

http://www.pucisca.hr

http://www.selca.hr

His Majesty – Brac, more than the island Okay... okay... I know... by some logic of things, this is the text that was supposed to go before the announcement of…

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afishtrap · 7 years ago

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Until 1530, sculptural images of Confucius and varying numbers of disciples and later followers received semiannual sacrifices in state-supported temples all over China. The icons' visual features were greatly influenced by the posthumous titles and ranks that emperors conferred on Confucius and his followers, the same as for deities in the Daoist and Buddhist pantheons. This convergence led to visual conflation and aroused objections from Neo-Confucian ritualists, culminating in the ritual reform of 1530, which replaced images with inscribed tablets and Confucius s kingly title with the designation Ultimate Sage and First Teacher. However, the ban on icons did not apply to the primordial temple of Confucius in Qufu, Shandong. Post-1530 gazetteers publicized the distinction by reproducing a line drawing of this temples sculptural icon, and persistent replications of this image helped to popularize his cult. The same period saw a proliferation of non-godlike representations of Confucius, including his portrayal as a teacher, whose iconographic origins can be traced to a painted portrait handed down through generations of his descendants. In recent years, variations of this teacher image have become the basis for new sculptural representations, first in Taiwan, then in Hong Kong and the Chinese diaspora, and finally on the mainland. Now installed at sites around the world, statues of Confucius have become a contested symbol of Chinese civilization.

Julia K. Murray, "Idols" in the Temple: Icons and the Cult of Confucius, The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 68, No. 2 (May, 2009), pp. 371-411.

Various efforts in recent centuries to foreground the moral dimension of Confucius’s legacy have obscured practices and beliefs involving icons, along with other religious aspects of Confucianism. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Jesuit missionaries tried to convince papal authorities in Rome that Confucianism was an ethical philosophy (Jensen 1997, 63-70, 129), so that efforts to spread Christianity in China would not be stymied by requiring converts to give up rituals for worshiping Confucius Similarly, in the nineteenth century, the Protestant missionary-translator James Legge argued that the ancient Confucian classics merely needed to be supplemented with Christianity, just as the Bibles Old Testament was completed by the New Testament (Mungello 2003, 590). Moreover, from the sixteenth century onward, Confucian temples were austere buildings where inscribed tablets were displayed, unlike Buddhist temples and popular-cult shrines with sculptural icons in sensuous pro fusion.2 Although Kang Youwei (1858-1927) sought to establish Confucianism as Chinas official religion (zongjiao) at the end of the nineteenth century, on the model of Christianity in Western nations, he made little headway before falling from power in the coup that reversed his 1898 reforms (Chen 1999; Goossaert 2005, 2006). Because regular worship of Confucius was on the official Register of Sacrifices (Sidian), and thus was closely identified with the imperial system, the collapse of the Qing dynasty (1644-1911) undercut subsequent efforts to create a religion based on Confucianism. In the early decades of the twentieth century, some nationalist modernizers wanted to discard Confucius altogether, while others found it expedient to present him as Chinas counterpart to the Wests great rational philosophers. Suppressing what they considered to be idolatry and superstition, they emphasized a Confucius who did not concern himself with "ghosts and spirits." And in recent years, global advocates of "New Confucianism" have focused on his ideas about self-cultivation and morality.3 To some, Confucian concepts of reciprocal responsibility in a hierarchical society suggest an Asian alternative to Western-style democracy. These different efforts have created a widespread conception of Confucianism that is defined by a set of ancient texts, the civil service examination system based on their mastery, and the promotion of social virtues such as benevolence (ren), filial piety (xiao), propriety (li), and righteousness (yi).

[...]

Other conceptions of Confucius emphasized his roles as a teacher and as an expert on ancient ritual, instead of as a preternaturally insightful and prescient leader who communed with heaven. In some parts of the Analects (Lun yu), Confucius is portrayed as a human being who endured much travail and disappointment, especially while traveling the ancient states in search of a ruler who would take his advice (Csikszentmihalyi 2002).7 By the late Eastern Han period, this more mundane Confucius had largely overshadowed the superhuman figure. Nonetheless, the messianic sage was featured in the so-called apocryphal texts (weishu It H) of the late Han and post-Han periods (e.g., Wang Jia 1966,3:4?5). In addition, the "modern text" traditions retained their vitality in South China well into the Period of Disunion (Wilson 1995, 32). Furthermore, the Kong lineage perpetuated and embellished the legends in oral traditions and written genealogies, even down to the present day.8 Claiming descent from Confucius, lineage members had a vital interest in preserving a heroic conception of their ancestor and in maintaining their own cohesion (Wilson 1996). Emperors from the Han through the Qing dynasties awarded noble titles, tax exemptions, official positions, and lands to the descendants who maintained sacrifices to Confucius in Qufu.

Although the earliest forms of veneration and sacrifice to Confucius occurred in funerary and memorial contexts, the observances themselves increasingly displayed the features of a deity cult. Confucius continued to receive sacrifices at his grave long past the normal period for commemorative worship (Jensen 2002, 180-86; Sima 1982, 47:1945). Moreover, persons with no blood relation to him made these offerings, contrary to the customs of familial worship, which prescribed that a son should lead funerary rites?but Confucius s son had predeceased him. After Confucius died in 479 BCE, his disciples carried out the rites of mourning, and the especially devoted Zi Gong M kept a six-year vigil in a hut beside the burial mound (Sima 1982, 47:1945). Local authorities maintained offerings at this site for generations afterward. The place where Confucius had gathered with his disciples became a memorial hall, and his personal effects were displayed there. The Grand Historian Sima Qian (145-86 BCE) reported seeing the masters clothes, cap, zither (qin), books, sacrificial vessels, and carriage in the memorial hall when he visited Qufu. In 195 BCE, the Han founding emperor Gaozu (r. 206-195 BCE) performed a grand sacrifice (tailao X ?) to Confucius in Qufu, offering an ox, sheep, and pig, along with wine and other foodstuffs (Sima 1982, 47:1945-46). In 136 BCE, Han Wudi (r. 141-87 BCE) canonized the textual tradition of Confucius and his followers by abolishing the posts of Erudite (boshi) held by court scholars who were experts in texts belonging to other traditions (Wilson 1995, 29). Other Han emperors awarded posthumous titles of nobility to Confucius and gave material support to his descendants and cult, providing for semiannual sacrifices in Qufu after 169 CE (Wilson 2002c, 261).

By the third century, sacrifices to Confucius were also being performed elsewhere, typically in academic settings. The first sacrifice documented outside Qufu took place in 241 CE at the imperial university (Biyong) in Luoyang, the capital of the kingdom of Wei (220-65), and several more were per formed there under the Western Jin dynasty (265-316) (Wilson 2002b, 74).9 During the centuries of disunion, various northern and southern regimes established state-sponsored temples in their capitals for conducting sacrifices to Confucius and his legacy.10 The Sui (581-618) and Tang (618-907) dynasties continued this practice in a reunified empire. The Tang founding emperor Gaozu (r. 618-26) established a temple at the National University (Guozi xue) in Chang'an (modern Xi'an, Shaanxi) and personally sacrificed there in 624 (Ouyang 1975, 1:9, 17). The Tang eastern capital at Luoyang also had an imperially sponsored temple. Initially, it was the Duke of Zhou JH the wise regent to the young heir of the Zhou dynasty founder, who was honored as First Sage (Xian sheng), and Confucius received sacrifice as Correlate (Fei) and First Teacher (Xian shi). In 628, a memorial submitted by Fang Xuanling (579-648) convinced the Tang emperor Taizong (r. 626-49) that sacrifices offered in a school should be directed to a teacher. Accordingly, Taizong ended sacrifices to the Duke of Zhou and designated Con fucius as First Sage, with the disciple Yan Hui II d? as Correlate and First Teacher (Ouyang 1975, 15:373, 375).11 Taizong extended the cult to lower levels of administration in 630 by requiring every prefectural and county school to build a temple to Confucius, thus creating a systematic network of state-sponsored temples (Ouyang 1975, 15:373). Located inside or adjacent to the government schools, these temples carried out regular sacrifices to Confucius twice a year, in spring and autumn.

Tang ritual codes ranked the sacrifice to Confucius as one of several mid-level rites (zhong), prescribing specific implements, offerings, music, and participants.12 The liturgy imitated that of another mid-level state cult, the worship of the Gods of Soils and Grains (Sheji), which had existed in classical antiquity and whose rituals were prescribed in the Record of Rites (Liji). Because the ceremony for sacrifice to Confucius had no fixed classical form of its own, it was susceptible to innovations, and procedural details often changed. Most significantly, portrait icons were introduced into the ceremony, probably inspired by the images of the Buddha and bodhisattvas in Buddhist temples. Starting in the Tang period, the Chan Buddhist practice of using portrait effigies in memorial rituals for deceased abbots and monks (Foulk and Sharf 1993-94) provided an additional model that encouraged the use of icons in Confucian temples.

#china #confucianism #anthropology #mythopoeia #research #jstor #east asia

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