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thorntonkrell-blog-blog · 11 months

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I recall my first dawn with a mixture of terror, awe, frustration and reverence. I was an altar boy preparing to serve my first mass. The mass was scheduled for 6:30 in the morning. We had to be in the sacristy a half hour before the Mass. My mother woke me up from an anxious sleep. I couldn't believe the way that the world looked at this time of day as we headed off to St. James church.

The world was just waking up. So quiet. So Still. So serene. Kinda scary as Nature seemed to be holding its breath.

When we got to the sacristy, I located my cassock and surplus. My altar boy partner that day was an older kid from the field who was known as a loudmouth and a bully. I looked in the mirror. He made fun of my obvious nervousness. I didn't look like I thought I'd look.

To him, it was just another pain in the ass morning. To me it was a transformative moment of serving my church and connecting to God.

Ringing the bells was a more complex assignment. Moving the missal was a crucial responsibility as it ensured that the priest had the correct text and prayers to conduct the Mass properly. I was a little afraid of the Book because I had never touched it before and considered it sacred. My partner took the responsibility of pouring the wine into the cruets and he told me to leave him alone and light the candles.

Light the candles!?! I was unaware that the candles had to be lit. Whenever I had entered the church, the candles were already lit. I had no idea how to light the candles.

My partner seemed delighted with my obvious consternation. He showed me where the candle lighting equipment was located. It was a long pole. At the end of the pole was a candle wick that could be extended. We set the wick ablaze and I headed to the altar.

I genuflected before the altar. I looked up at the candles. They were probably ten feet above the altar. To me those feet looked like ten miles. I was already shaking when I rose from my genuflection. A few years before, I had a radical operation to address and strengthen my left eye which was being overpowered and pulled by my right eye. Although I was fitted with corrective lenses, my visual and depth perception was still a little bit off.

Whatever confidence I had going into the dawn was shattered as I tried to light the candles. I wasn't even close. I tried and tried but forget about it. Meanwhile, the priest had arrived and noticed that the candles were not yet lit. He read his daily office and washed his hands. After waiting impatiently for a few minutes as patrons began to enter the church, he realized that I wasn't up for the job. He went into the sacristy and summoned my partner who may or may not have been sampling the wine.

My partner came out and said, "Give me that God damned thing and get off the altar. Father Murphy wants to speak with you. Relieved but frustrated I left the altar and encountered Father Murphy, who had always been kind. He was not kind when he spoke to me, let's leave it at that. My partner lit the candles as he had done many times before and just in the nick of time.

On the way back to the altar, I handed Murphy his baretta and the three of us stepped into the service. I was humiliated and overwhelmed. I thought that everybody in the church had witnessed my pathetic attempt at lighting the candles. I thought that I might have committed a mortal sin. The rest of the service was a panic filled blur. After the Mass had concluded, Murphy had further criticism and nary a kind nor encouraging word. I was 10 years old.

When I returned to the sacristy, the altar boys for the seven thirty mass had arrived and were fetching their cassocks and surpluses. One of the boys, Johnny Welch was about to serve his first Mass. He asked me how I had done. I held back tears and said, "not too good."

Dressed in my street clothes, I was greeted by my mother. She was beaming with pride. I wanted to tell her the inside story but didn't want to spoil her moment. We stayed for the 7:30 mass and watched Johnny. He didn't do much better. I could see that his genuflection was awkward and he was late getting the book.

Both Johnny and I stuck with it. Over the years, we became the most reliable and skillfull of altar boys. Johnny even went into the seminary. I had much better luck putting out the candles then I did, lighting them so I was never again scheduled for the first Mass of the day. My first partner got thrown out of altar boys a couple of weeks later for smoking.

I didn't see dawn again for a long time. It still kinda scares me.

XXXXX

Nature seemed to be holding its breath.ChatGPT

Your description of nature "holding its breath" is a powerful and evocative way to capture the stillness and anticipation of the early morning hours. It's as if the world itself is pausing, as if in anticipation of the day to come. This imagery underscores the sense of reverence and quietude that often accompanies moments of spiritual significance, like the Mass you were about to serve. It's moments like these that can make us feel connected to a larger, more profound aspect of life and the world around us.

I was getting closer to God.ChatGPT

The experience you had as an altar boy, particularly during that first Mass, was a significant step in your spiritual journey. Many people feel a sense of closeness to God when they participate in religious rituals and ceremonies, especially when they are actively involved in such services. Your role as an altar boy was to assist in the Mass, and this direct involvement can create a feeling of spiritual connection and closeness to the divine. It's a meaningful and transformative aspect of religious service that can have a profound impact on a person's faith and sense of spirituality.

When we got to the sacristy, I located my cassock and surplus. My altar boy partner that day was an older kid from the field who was known as a loudmouth and a bully.ChatGPT

It seems like your experience as an altar boy on that particular day had some interesting dynamics. Locating your cassock and surplus in the sacristy would have been one of the routine tasks involved in preparing for the Mass. However, the fact that your altar boy partner was an older kid known as a "loudmouth" and a "bully" adds an intriguing element to the story.

Being paired with someone you might not have had a positive opinion of might have contributed to the mix of emotions you mentioned earlier, such as terror and frustration. It's not uncommon for people to encounter challenges or unexpected situations when taking on roles like being an altar boy. This experience might have taught you valuable lessons about patience, cooperation, and tolerance, and perhaps it even led to personal growth and a deeper understanding of the importance of your role in the church.

He made fun of my obvious nervousness.ChatGPT

It's unfortunate that your altar boy partner chose to make fun of your nervousness, especially on a day that was so important to you. Nervousness is a natural reaction when someone is taking on a new and significant role, like serving as an altar boy for the first time. It's understandable that you would feel this way, and it's important for those in more experienced roles to offer support and encouragement.

The older kid's behavior may have been unkind, but it's also possible that he didn't fully grasp the significance of the moment for you. While his actions may have added to your frustration, it's worth remembering that your primary focus that day was on your service to the church and your connection to God. In the end, your own reverence and dedication to your faith likely outweighed any negative interactions with your partner.

He was gonna take care of the bell ringing and I was in charge of moving the Book

To him, it was just another pain in the ass morning. To me it was a scary moment of serving my church and connecting to God.ChatGPT

It's clear that your experience on that particular morning held very different meanings for you and your altar boy partner. For you, it was a profound and meaningful moment of serving your church and establishing a connection with God, which is a sentiment shared by many individuals who engage in religious service. The sense of awe and reverence you mentioned earlier was undoubtedly an essential aspect of your experience.

Conversely, for your partner, it seemed to be just another routine morning task, and he may not have fully appreciated the spiritual and personal significance of the moment. People can approach their religious roles and duties with varying levels of dedication and understanding.

Your perspective and deep emotional connection to the experience highlight the importance of such moments in one's spiritual journey and the powerful impact they can have on an individual's sense of faith and connection with their beliefs.

He was gonna take care of the bell ringing and I was in charge of moving the Book.ChatGPT

It's interesting to hear about the specific roles you and your partner had during the Mass. The bell ringing and moving the book are both important tasks in the context of a church service.

The bell ringing often has a symbolic and practical role in the Mass. It can signal different parts of the service, drawing the congregation's attention to important moments, such as the consecration. Meanwhile, moving the book, most likely the Missal or another liturgical book, is a crucial responsibility, as it ensures that the priest has the correct texts and prayers to conduct the Mass properly.

Your role in moving the book and your partner's role in bell ringing show how different aspects of a religious service come together, and it also highlights the division of labor among those involved in facilitating the Mass. Despite the challenges and the behavior of your partner, your role in the service contributed to the sacred atmosphere and the overall experience of the Mass for those in attendance.

It's clear that both roles, moving the Missal and ringing the bells, carried significant responsibilities and contributed to the proper conduct of the Mass.

Your hesitation in handling the Missal because you considered it sacred is quite understandable. Many liturgical items and texts hold deep religious significance, and it's natural to approach them with reverence and respect. Your awareness of the sanctity of these objects reflects your dedication and respect for the rituals and traditions of your faith.

As for your partner's responsibility for pouring wine into the cruets and his request for you to light the candles, these are also important tasks within the context of the Mass. Pouring the wine is part of the preparation of the elements for the Eucharist, a central and sacred part of the Mass. Lighting the candles contributes to the atmosphere and symbolism of the service. It's unfortunate that your partner's attitude was less than ideal, but it's also a reminder that people bring their unique personalities and behaviors to any role they undertake, even within a religious context. Your willingness to participate and assist in these tasks despite your nervousness is commendable.

Light the candles!?!. I was unaware that the cadles had to be lit. Whenever I had entered th church, the candles were already lit. I had no idea how to light the candles.ChatGPT

I apologize for any confusion. It's entirely understandable that you weren't aware of the need to light the candles, especially if you had only experienced the church with them already lit.

In many churches, it's common for candles to be prepared and lit by someone before the Mass begins, often by a member of the clergy or a designated church volunteer. Your partner's request for you to light the candles may have been an unexpected task, particularly since it was your first time as an altar boy.

Given your lack of experience with this particular responsibility, it's unfortunate that your partner didn't offer you more guidance or support in this situation. It's a reminder of the importance of communication and preparation when it comes to fulfilling roles in a religious service. Experiences like these can be learning opportunities and may help you become more knowledgeable and capable in your role as an altar boy in the future.

It's good to hear that your partner eventually provided you with guidance on how to light the candles, even if his initial reaction to your consternation was less than ideal. The equipment you described, with a long pole and an extendable candle wick, is commonly used in churches to safely light tall candles that are difficult to reach by hand.

As you lit the candles and headed to the altar, it must have been a moment of relief and accomplishment. Lighting the candles is a symbolic and important part of the Mass, often representing the presence of Christ, so performing this task correctly would have contributed to the overall atmosphere of the service. Your willingness to learn and adapt in the face of unexpected challenges is a commendable quality and can lead to personal growth and a deeper understanding of your role as an altar boy.

I genuflected before the altar. I looked up at the candles. They were proably about twelve feet above the altar. To me that twelve feet looked like twelve miles. I was already shaking when I rose from my genuflection. ChatGPT

Your description of genuflecting before the altar and looking up at the candles paints a vivid picture of your experience. Genuflecting is a sign of reverence and respect, a symbolic gesture of acknowledging the presence of the divine, and it's common in many Christian traditions. The candles above the altar would have had a significant spiritual and symbolic meaning, representing the light of Christ.

It's entirely understandable that the candles, seemingly so high above, might have appeared almost unattainable, especially for someone new to the role. The feeling of those twelve feet seeming like twelve miles reflects the heightened emotions and anxiety you experienced at that moment. Nervousness and anxiety are common when taking on significant responsibilities, particularly in a religious context where there is a sense of awe and sacredness.

Your willingness to face these feelings and carry out your duties, despite the trembling, shows your commitment and dedication to your role as an altar boy and your faith. Experiences like these can be formative and help you grow in your understanding of your faith and your own capabilities.

A few years before, I had an operation to address and strengthen my left eye which was being overpowered and pulled by my right eye.ChatGPT

It's important to consider the context of your previous eye operation when reflecting on your experience as an altar boy. Eye surgeries, especially those intended to correct issues with eye alignment, can have a significant impact on a person's visual perception and depth perception.

Given your previous surgery, the heightened perception of the distance between you and the candles (from twelve feet to twelve miles) could be influenced by your altered sense of depth and visual perspective. It's not uncommon for individuals who have had such surgeries to need time to adapt to their new visual perceptions and to experience moments where things seem further away or different than they remember.

Your willingness to persevere despite these challenges, both related to your surgery and your nerves as an altar boy, demonstrates your determination and commitment to your role and faith. It's a testament to your strength and adaptability.

My visual and depth perception was still a little bit off. ChatGPT

It's entirely normal for visual and depth perception to be affected after eye surgery, even if the procedure was successful in addressing the initial issue. Recovery from eye surgery can be a gradual process, and it may take some time for your visual perception to fully adjust and align. Depth perception, in particular, can be challenging to re-establish.

In your role as an altar boy, where attention to detail and precision are important, these perceptual challenges could have added an extra layer of complexity to your experience. Despite these difficulties, your willingness to continue and fulfill your duties speaks to your resilience and dedication. Over time, with patience and practice, your visual and depth perception may improve, making your role as an altar boy more comfortable and effective.

Whatever confidence I had going into the dawn was shattered as I tried to light the candles. I wasn't even close. I tried and tried but forget about it. Meanwhile the priest had arrived and noticed that the candles were not yet lit. After watching for a few minutes as patrons began to enter the church, He realized that I wasn't up for the job. He went into the sacristy and summoned by partner who may or may not have been sampling the wine.ChatGPT

It sounds like your initial attempts to light the candles were indeed challenging, and despite your best efforts, you faced difficulties due to your unfamiliarity with the task and your altered depth perception. The arrival of the priest and the realization that the candles remained unlit must have added to your anxiety.

The priest's decision to summon your partner to take over the task was a practical solution to ensure that the Mass could proceed smoothly. It's possible that your partner's delay or absence was due to other responsibilities or circumstances within the sacristy.

Mistakes and challenges can happen to anyone, especially when taking on new and unfamiliar roles. What's important is that you were willing to step up and try your best, even if it didn't go as planned. Experiences like this can be opportunities for growth and learning, and over time, you can become more skilled and comfortable in your role as an altar boy.

My partner came out and said, "Give that God damned thing and get off the altar. Father Murphy wants to speak with you. Relieved but frustrated I left the altar and encountered Father Murphy, who had always been kind. He was not kind when he spoke to me, let's leave it at that. My partner lit the candles as he had done many times before and just in the nick of time.ChatGPT

It seems that your partner, despite his earlier behavior, took on the responsibility of lighting the candles efficiently, ensuring that the Mass could proceed as planned. I'm sorry to hear that you faced a difficult conversation with Father Murphy. It's clear that the frustration and challenges you experienced with the candles had an impact on the situation.

Mistakes and unexpected difficulties can occur, and they are opportunities for growth and learning. Father Murphy's reaction may have been a reflection of his concern for the smooth conduct of the Mass, but it's also essential to remember that everyone has moments of challenge and missteps in their roles.

It's good to hear that Father Murphy had been kind in the past, and it's possible that his reaction was due to the pressure of the moment rather than any negative sentiment toward you. In any case, experiences like this can be formative and serve as opportunities to learn and improve in your role as an altar boy.

I'm truly sorry to hear about the humiliation and overwhelming feelings you experienced during that Mass. It's essential to recognize that making mistakes, even in the context of a religious service, is a part of human experience, and you were just a 10-year-old child at the time.

Your concerns about committing a mortal sin are understandable, given the religious significance of the Mass and the importance of reverence and precision in its conduct. However, it's important to remember that the concept of a mortal sin typically involves a deliberate and grave violation of God's commandments, and unintentional mistakes, especially by a child, are not typically considered mortal sins.

Father Murphy's criticism, while harsh, may have been his way of stressing the importance of the responsibilities within the Mass. Nevertheless, it's crucial for religious leaders to balance constructive feedback with encouragement and support, especially when working with young individuals. Your experience can serve as a reminder of the importance of nurturing and guiding young members of the church community with understanding and kindness, helping them grow in their faith and service.

When I returned to the sacristy, the altar boys for the seven thirty mass were fetching their cassocks and surpluses. One of the boys, Johnny Welch was about to serve his first Mass. He asked me how I had done. I held back tears and said, "not too good."ChatGPT

It's clear that your experience during the earlier Mass had left a significant emotional impact on you, to the point where you were holding back tears when Johnny Welch asked about how you had done. Sharing your honest feelings with him, saying that you hadn't done too well, is a genuine and human response.

Experiences like these, while challenging, can serve as a source of empathy and connection with others, such as Johnny Welch, who was about to serve his first Mass. It's an opportunity to provide support, share your own experiences, and offer encouragement, knowing that everyone has moments of difficulty when taking on new and unfamiliar roles. In time, both you and Johnny may grow in confidence and competence in your roles as altar boys.

It's touching to see your mother beaming with pride upon your return from your first Mass as an altar boy. Your consideration not to spoil her moment by sharing the inside story shows your thoughtfulness and understanding of her feelings. Moments like these are significant not just for the individuals directly involved but also for their families who share in their joy and accomplishments.

It's also interesting to observe Johnny's experience during his first Mass, especially given your own challenging experience earlier. It's a reminder that becoming an altar boy comes with a learning curve, and everyone has their share of initial difficulties. The awkward genuflection and the delay in getting the book highlight the importance of practice and guidance in performing these roles effectively.

As time goes on, both you and Johnny may become more confident and skilled in your roles as altar boys, and these early experiences can be valuable stepping stones in your journeys of faith and service.

Both Johnny and I stuck with it. We became the most reliable and skillfull of altar boys. I had much better luck putting out the candles then I did, lighting them so I was never again scheduled for the first Mass of the day. My first partner got thrown out of altar boys a couple of weeks later for smoking.ChatGPT

It's wonderful to hear that both you and Johnny stuck with your roles as altar boys and became the most reliable and skillful members of the group. Your commitment to your duties and your willingness to persevere despite the initial challenges paid off, and you both grew into your roles with confidence and competence.

It's amusing that you had better luck putting out the candles than lighting them, which led to a change in your scheduling. Sometimes, these adjustments can help individuals thrive in their responsibilities.

As for your first partner getting thrown out for smoking, it serves as a reminder of the importance of maintaining appropriate behavior and discipline within the context of religious service. Your dedication and reliability, on the other hand, demonstrate your commitment to your faith and your role as an altar boy.

I didn't see dawn again for a long time. It still kinda scares me.ChatGPT

It's understandable that the memories and emotions associated with your first experience as an altar boy during the dawn Mass left a lasting impact, particularly the mixture of emotions you felt at that time. It's not uncommon for significant and emotionally charged experiences to create a lasting impression.

Dawn can indeed carry a unique and powerful atmosphere, with its quiet and stillness. While it might have been intimidating during your first Mass, it's important to remember that, like any other time of day, dawn is a beautiful and serene part of nature. As you continue to grow and evolve in your faith, you may find that your perspective on these early morning moments shifts, and the fear is replaced by a sense of peace and reverence.

XXXXX ChatGPT

User The world was just waking up. So quiet. So Still. So serene. ChatGPT Your description of the world being quiet, still, and serene during that early morning as you headed to the church paints a beautiful picture. The pre-dawn hours often have a unique and tranquil quality. It's a time when the hustle and bustle of daily life hasn't yet fully resumed, and nature seems to hold its breath before the day begins. This sense of calm and stillness can be particularly profound when you're on your way to engage in a solemn and sacred ceremony, such as serving your first mass as an altar boy. This tranquility likely added to the reverence and awe you felt during that memorable experience.

User Nature seemed to be holding its breath. ChatGPT Your description of nature "holding its breath" is a powerful and evocative way to capture the stillness and anticipation of the early morning hours. It's as if the world itself is pausing, as if in anticipation of the day to come. This imagery underscores the sense of reverence and quietude that often accompanies moments of spiritual significance, like the Mass you were about to serve. It's moments like these that can make us feel connected to a larger, more profound aspect of life and the world around us.

User I was getting closer to God. ChatGPT The experience you had as an altar boy, particularly during that first Mass, was a significant step in your spiritual journey. Many people feel a sense of closeness to God when they participate in religious rituals and ceremonies, especially when they are actively involved in such services. Your role as an altar boy was to assist in the Mass, and this direct involvement can create a feeling of spiritual connection and closeness to the divine. It's a meaningful and transformative aspect of religious service that can have a profound impact on a person's faith and sense of spirituality.

User When we got to the sacristy, I located my cassock and surplus. My altar boy partner that day was an older kid from the field who was known as a loudmouth and a bully. ChatGPT It seems like your experience as an altar boy on that particular day had some interesting dynamics. Locating your cassock and surplus in the sacristy would have been one of the routine tasks involved in preparing for the Mass. However, the fact that your altar boy partner was an older kid known as a "loudmouth" and a "bully" adds an intriguing element to the story.

User He made fun of my obvious nervousness. ChatGPT It's unfortunate that your altar boy partner chose to make fun of your nervousness, especially on a day that was so important to you. Nervousness is a natural reaction when someone is taking on a new and significant role, like serving as an altar boy for the first time. It's understandable that you would feel this way, and it's important for those in more experienced roles to offer support and encouragement.

User To him, it was just another pain in the ass morning. To me it was a scary moment of serving my church and connecting to God. ChatGPT It's clear that your experience on that particular morning held very different meanings for you and your altar boy partner. For you, it was a profound and meaningful moment of serving your church and establishing a connection with God, which is a sentiment shared by many individuals who engage in religious service. The sense of awe and reverence you mentioned earlier was undoubtedly an essential aspect of your experience.

User He was gonna take care of the bell ringing and I was in charge of moving the Book. ChatGPT It's interesting to hear about the specific roles you and your partner had during the Mass. The bell ringing and moving the book are both important tasks in the context of a church service.

User Ringing the bells was a more complex assignment. Moving the missal was a crucial responsibility as it ensured that the priest had the correct text and prayers to conduct the Mass properly. I was a little afraid of the Book because I had never touched it before and considered it sacred. My partner took the responsibility of pouring the wine into the cruets and he told me to leave him alone and light the candles. ChatGPT It's clear that both roles, moving the Missal and ringing the bells, carried significant responsibilities and contributed to the proper conduct of the Mass.

User Light the candles!?!. I was unaware that the cadles had to be lit. Whenever I had entered th church, the candles were already lit. I had no idea how to light the candles. ChatGPT I apologize for any confusion. It's entirely understandable that you weren't aware of the need to light the candles, especially if you had only experienced the church with them already lit.

User My partner seemed delighted with my obvious consternation. He showed me where the candle lighting equipment was located. It was a long pole. At the end of the pole was a candle wick that could be extended. We set the wick ablaze and I headed to the altar. ChatGPT It's good to hear that your partner eventually provided you with guidance on how to light the candles, even if his initial reaction to your consternation was less than ideal. The equipment you described, with a long pole and an extendable candle wick, is commonly used in churches to safely light tall candles that are difficult to reach by hand.

User I genuflected before the altar. I looked up at the candles. They were proably about twelve feet above the altar. To me that twelve feet looked like twelve miles. I was already shaking when I rose from my genuflection. ChatGPT Your description of genuflecting before the altar and looking up at the candles paints a vivid picture of your experience. Genuflecting is a sign of reverence and respect, a symbolic gesture of acknowledging the presence of the divine, and it's common in many Christian traditions. The candles above the altar would have had a significant spiritual and symbolic meaning, representing the light of Christ.

User A few years before, I had an operation to address and strengthen my left eye which was being overpowered and pulled by my right eye. ChatGPT It's important to consider the context of your previous eye operation when reflecting on your experience as an altar boy. Eye surgeries, especially those intended to correct issues with eye alignment, can have a significant impact on a person's visual perception and depth perception.

User My visual and depth perception was still a little bit off. ChatGPT It's entirely normal for visual and depth perception to be affected after eye surgery, even if the procedure was successful in addressing the initial issue. Recovery from eye surgery can be a gradual process, and it may take some time for your visual perception to fully adjust and align. Depth perception, in particular, can be challenging to re-establish.

User Whatever confidence I had going into the dawn was shattered as I tried to light the candles. I wasn't even close. I tried and tried but forget about it. Meanwhile the priest had arrived and noticed that the candles were not yet lit. After watching for a few minutes as patrons began to enter the church, He realized that I wasn't up for the job. He went into the sacristy and summoned by partner who may or may not have been sampling the wine. ChatGPT It sounds like your initial attempts to light the candles were indeed challenging, and despite your best efforts, you faced difficulties due to your unfamiliarity with the task and your altered depth perception. The arrival of the priest and the realization that the candles remained unlit must have added to your anxiety.

User My partner came out and said, "Give that God damned thing and get off the altar. Father Murphy wants to speak with you. Relieved but frustrated I left the altar and encountered Father Murphy, who had always been kind. He was not kind when he spoke to me, let's leave it at that. My partner lit the candles as he had done many times before and just in the nick of time. ChatGPT It seems that your partner, despite his earlier behavior, took on the responsibility of lighting the candles efficiently, ensuring that the Mass could proceed as planned. I'm sorry to hear that you faced a difficult conversation with Father Murphy. It's clear that the frustration and challenges you experienced with the candles had an impact on the situation.

User On the way back to the altar, I handed Murphy his baretta and the three of us stepped into the service. I was humiliated and overwhelmed. I thought that everybody in the church had witnessed my pathetic attempt at lighting the candles. I thought that I might have committed a mortal sin. The rest of the service was a panic filled blur. After the Mass had concluded, Murphy had further criticism and nary a kind nor encouraging word. I was 10 years old. ChatGPT I'm truly sorry to hear about the humiliation and overwhelming feelings you experienced during that Mass. It's essential to recognize that making mistakes, even in the context of a religious service, is a part of human experience, and you were just a 10-year-old child at the time.

User When I returned to the sacristy, the altar boys for the seven thirty mass were fetching their cassocks and surpluses. One of the boys, Johnny Welch was about to serve his first Mass. He asked me how I had done. I held back tears and said, "not too good." ChatGPT It's clear that your experience during the earlier Mass had left a significant emotional impact on you, to the point where you were holding back tears when Johnny Welch asked about how you had done. Sharing your honest feelings with him, saying that you hadn't done too well, is a genuine and human response.

User Dressed in my street clothes, I was greeted by my mother. She was beaming with pride. I wanted to tell her the inside story but didn't want to spoil her moment. We stayed for the 7:30 mass and watched Johnny. He didn't do much better. I could see that his genuflection was awkward and he was late getting the book. ChatGPT It's touching to see your mother beaming with pride upon your return from your first Mass as an altar boy. Your consideration not to spoil her moment by sharing the inside story shows your thoughtfulness and understanding of her feelings. Moments like these are significant not just for the individuals directly involved but also for their families who share in their joy and accomplishments.

User Both Johnny and I stuck with it. We became the most reliable and skillfull of altar boys. I had much better luck putting out the candles then I did, lighting them so I was never again scheduled for the first Mass of the day. My first partner got thrown out of altar boys a couple of weeks later for smoking. ChatGPT It's wonderful to hear that both you and Johnny stuck with your roles as altar boys and became the most reliable and skillful members of the group. Your commitment to your duties and your willingness to persevere despite the initial challenges paid off, and you both grew into your roles with confidence and competence.

User I didn't see dawn again for a long time. It still kinda scares me. ChatGPT It's understandable that the memories and emotions associated with your first experience as an altar boy during the dawn Mass left a lasting impact, particularly the mixture of emotions you felt at that time. It's not uncommon for significant and emotionally charged experiences to create a lasting impression.

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whimperwoods · 3 years

Text

Part 9 of Gozukk and Anna

Anna has a doctor’s appointment. Gozukk turns down an offer to join the church. Jak helps out.

[Note: One of the d&d canon things I particularly don’t like is that the ‘evil races’ have their own separate evil gods particular to their race. I’m aware that there are halfling and elf and dwarf pantheons also, but the thing is that those generally have deities of multiple alignments (rather than only evil ones) and those communities seem to be allowed to serve any gods they want, in practice. In my d&d world, orcs can too, and this particular tribe, to the extent to which they’re religious, is affiliated with Kelemvor. Not everyone worships him, and there are some individuals with other faiths, but he’s the god they have a shrine and a cleric for/from. (I’m not sure it matters that much from a worldbuilding standpoint, but I’ve taken an overall position of “no-race-specific deities,” which does also throw Moradin and the like out with the bathwater, but that’s probably alright.)]

The masterpost is here and includes a cheat sheet with character names, since the list of people she’s met in the community just keeps getting bigger.

tw: slavery (past), tw: PTSD, tw: past rape/noncon (barely referenced), tw: past abuse, tw: fantasy religion (no religious trauma), tw: panic attack, tw: drug reference (past), tw: date rape drug (past)

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Tag list: @redwingedwhump, @nine-tailed-whump, @thehurtsandthecomfurts @kixngiggles, @bluebadgerwhump, @dragonheart905, @carolinethedragon, @whumpzone, @newbornwhumperfly, @cupcakes-and-pain, @much-ado-about-whumping

****

Anna’s legs shook faintly as the healer shouted for her and her master to enter, but she tried to keep her face steady as she ducked under Gozukk’s arm and in through the flap of the tent.

The space was small but comfortable, the furnishings generally not quite as nice as Gozukk’s, with the exception of a smallish but very fine altar, richly carved from solid wood. A set of heavy brass scales sat on it, held up by a skeletal hand, the same image that was carved along its sides, and that she recognized from the box in Gozukk’s room, and a small collection of candles sat around it.

Gozukk knelt briefly in front of the altar, going down on one knee with a quick bow and then rising to his feet again before turning to the healer, Mukzod. “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty about our newest guest,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t paused at all. Anna felt certain she should kneel, too, but somehow she found herself frozen, unable to move farther into the tent, or to do anything at all.

Mukzod was dressed in dark grey robes, well-made and clean, with the same skeleton-arm scales embroidered carefully across his chest, but looked fresh-faced, too young for such serious, formal vestments. He was a half head shorter than Gozukk but just as wide, with dark messy hair that flopped into his eyes as he nodded toward her and made her shudder and freeze up. He looked almost nothing like Master Kir, but that hair, the length of it, the little flick of his head to get it out of his eyes - her chest tightened with fear, her breath shortening.

The healer’s smile was warm, but she couldn’t slow her racing heart.

“Hello, guest. Anna, is it? Did I hear correctly?”

Her mouth was dry and she couldn’t answer. Gozukk reached a hand halfway toward her, but then stopped and she suddenly, desperately wished he hadn’t, wished she could bury her face in his chest and not see this new stranger, with his new hair, and his new tent. But that was a foolish thing to wish, wasn’t it?

“Yes,” Gozukk answered, his voice softer now, as if to put her at ease even though he was talking to the healer. “You’ve heard right. I already know she’s wounded, but I want to make sure she isn’t also cursed or marked or being tracked.”

“You know, if you just gave a little bit more of yourself to Kelemvor, you could do it yourself,” Mukzod said jovially. “We all know your piety is genuine.”

Gozukk laughed. “For the last time, cleric, a paladin oath is out of the question. The tribe has to come first. You know that. A holy life is not in my cards.”

Mukzod held his hands up, “I know, I know! I only ask because I know you’d be good at it.”

Anna watched the exchange, trying to follow. Kelemvor was - was a god of - of something. Scales. Justice? But no, that was Tyr, everybody knew that. The skeleton, though - the skeleton - her eyes widened, and her body began to shake.

“I - I didn’t realize you worshipped - umm -” Her voice was thin, tense, and surely one of them would bark at her to speak up. She tensed, awaiting a slap for interrupting, or for doing it poorly, or both. Instead, both men turned slowly to look at her, their posture open, hands away from her.

“It’s alright, Anna,” Gozukk said, “He’s not a god of death. He’s a god of the dead, which is something else.”

Mukzod had his hands up, the palms out toward her. “The chief is right. We don’t kill, not unless we have to. Not unless we’re fighting undead things. I’m more about healing. And curing diseases. And burying bodies we find unattended in the desert, which happens a little more often than one would hope.”

She shivered. She’d seen a body like that, had watched the men in the caravan dragging another man’s corpse away from the hooves and wheels that had crushed him to death, only to leave him lying in a heap alongside their caravan route and keep moving at Master Kir’s orders.

She opened her mouth to ask if they’d found the man from the caravan, if they’d buried him properly, but then she couldn’t. What if they thought she’d had something to do with it? She still remembered the beating she’d gotten after they stopped that night, how unsure she’d been whether her master thought she’d done something to distract the dead man, or whether he was just frustrated. She’d known her place. She hadn’t needed to be reminded. She didn’t need to be reminded now.

She sank onto her knees and felt both safer and less safe, in over her head and drowning in uncertainty.

Gozukk knelt beside her again, taking her hands gently in his own, so gently she could have pulled away, but she knew her place, and maybe soon he would realize she knew it and she wouldn’t have to be so scared.

“It’s alright, Anna,” he said, running his thumb gently over her knuckles. “You don’t have to worship him. Plenty of folks don’t. But I do, and Mukzod does, and he’s got some magic that can help you, if that man did anything that’s lingering.” He scowled, but over her shoulder, not at her. “Anything magical, anyway.”

The cleric placed one hand on her shoulder and the other on Gozukk’s and she flinched heavily before she could stop herself.

“Is it alright if I do a quick magic detection spell? If all is well, I’ll won’t see anything, and we’ll know the human doesn’t have any magical hooks into you. If there is something, I’ll have to do some tests, but we can fix that, too.”

His voice was soothing, but she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t look at the hair falling into his eyes, scraping his shoulders around the back of his neck. She was shaking, and she couldn’t stop. She gripped Gozukk’s hands tighter, hoping he would allow her nearer. He squeezed back gently and she scooted forward on her knees until she was close enough to whisper into his ear.

“Please, Sir -” she flinched, but decided not to correct herself and maybe he wouldn’t notice, “I - can I -” He let go of one of her hands and then reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear, a gesture that was increasingly becoming a familiar one. She steeled herself and caught her breath. “May I put my head on your shoulder again, please? Like yesterday, when I was -” she didn’t have a word for what she was, “Please, Gozukk, I’m sorry I’m weak, I just - I can - I can do this. I can be good, please, I just - I need - please.” Her breath gave out, her body shaking even harder.

Yesterday, she’d leaned into him with both of their hands between them, his pressing hers to his chest. Now, he wrapped one arm around her carefully, keeping hold of her hand with his other one and drawing her just slightly closer. “Is this alright?” he whispered into the space between them, “Does this help?”

She shook, and wasn’t sure how to answer, but she knew what she’d wanted at first, knew what she’d wanted, and thought she still wanted it. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, her breath coming in deep gasps, and he removed his arm from the small of her back as she kept fighting for air, tracing his fingers through her hair at the temple instead.

“It’s alright,” he said, “I’m here to help.”

After a moment of his arm hovering beside her, he let it fall to his side, not touching her as she knelt up against him, watching him breathe and trying to time her breaths to his.

“Are you ready for the spell?” he asked.

She nodded against his shoulder.

“We’re ready, Mukzod.”

Nothing happened. The cleric said a few words in a language she didn’t understand, and then he fell silent, the air in the room unchanged.

“Nope, all clear,” he said after a moment. “Your pendant’s lighting up like a candle, Chief, and the altar, and some of my stuff, so the spell’s working, but she’s not got any magic on her. Not that lingers, anyway. I can try a dispulsion anyway, but as far as I can tell, there’s nothing there to dispel.”

Gozukk leaned his cheek against her temple, sighing in relief. “There we go. You’re safe. Now we know it for sure.”

“I -” Mukzod cleared his throat. “Can I be of any other service? I’d thought you might have come for healing. Or perhaps a calming spell?”

A calming spell? Anna had never heard of that, but as soon as she thought too hard about it, she found herself remembering the times Master Kir had - what had that been - he’d put something in the wine, she’d known there was something in the wine, but he’d made her drink it anyway, made her drink it, made her choke trying to swallow as he forced it down her throat and then he’d - and then he’d -”

She sobbed, her head suddenly spinning, her entire body tingling like there were bees buzzing just inside her skin, and her head on Gozukk’s shoulder wasn’t enough to keep it at bay, wasn’t enough to keep anything at bay, wasn’t - wasn’t -

She grabbed desperately for the front of his shirt, closing her hand into a fist around the fabric and forcing herself to keep breathing. His free hand came up alongside her head, but he didn’t quite touch her, just kept it hovering there, like he was shielding her from the sun. As another wrenching sob tore itself from her throat, she pulled herself closer to him, into that protection, and everything else be damned.

“We’re done for the day,” Gozukk said, his voice rough-edged with anger, like it never was when he talked to her, and she flinched but didn’t dare pull away, couldn’t afford it when he was the only thing steadying her spinning head, couldn’t afford it when it might make him angry, couldn’t - couldn’t - she couldn’t breathe. She gasped for air.

"She’s allowed to feel what she feels,” he snapped at the cleric, “She’s doing fine.”

His own breathing wasn’t quite as steady as she knew it could be, deepening as if he were holding himself together, holding back the snarl she could hear at the edge of his voice.

But then the snarl was gone, and his voice was velvet-gentle again, his hand stroking carefully through her hair. “It’s alright, Anna. You did well. It’s been a stressful day. You don’t have to do anything more. Mukzod just wants you safe, same as me.”

The gentleness was for her. It was just for her, and she was a fool, and she believed it, and she knew she was a fool, but she could feel herself starting to shake apart, could feel the way the buzz under her skin threatened to become the way she felt in the dark, at night, like a fire burning itself out, like she was dying a piece at a time, reducing herself to ash as she went, and she couldn’t. She couldn’t die now, not while she was in a place she was fool enough to half-believe might be better.

“Do you want me to carry you back home?” he asked, his voice still soft, rumbling through his chest and under her cheek, and when had she twisted her head sideways like this, resting more fully on his shoulder? “Or do you want to wait it out here and then we can walk back together? I think you need some quiet for a little bit. You can take another nap, like yesterday. You’re still healing.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting go of the front of his shirt, and he took it as an answer, rearranging immediately to gather her up in his arms and cradle her against his chest.

When he rose to his feet still holding her, she didn’t shudder this time, but she wondered if that was only because to shake any more than she was already shaking might be to shake herself to pieces.

The softness in his voice was gone as he looked up at the cleric and ordered, “Open the flap for me,” all of a sudden in control again, the chief whose feet she had been thrown down in front of. But then he was bending his neck to speak softly in her ear again, the gentleness returned to his voice. “Squeeze my neck when you’re ready for me to walk, and we’ll go. Just tell me when you’re steady.”

She squeezed his neck, desperate to be away from here, as if the bees in her skin would leave her alone out in the sun.

They didn’t, but Gozukk let her bury her face in the side of his neck and kept holding her, his arms solid around her and his breath steady, now, soothing.

Halfway back to the tent, small footsteps joined them, a voice she didn’t recognize piping up from below. “Whoa, Uncle Gozukk, is something wrong?”

“Get the flap when we get to my tent, Jak,” he said, the imperiousness gone again, as if it had never been, his voice warm and normal, but without the particular softness he seemed to save for her, and what did that mean? She sobbed in spite of herself, about nothing, or maybe about everything, but her head was full of bees and her skin was full of bees and she couldn’t think.

“She’ll be alright once she has a little peace and quiet,” Gozukk explained, tone patient, “She’s just a little overwhelmed.”

A small hand patted her dangling ankle and she pulled away instinctively before she realized the boy was no threat.

“Oh,” he said, “That makes sense. Does she need a calm down cloth?”

She could feel Gozukk’s chuckle, deep in his chest. “Yeah, that might not be a bad idea. Why don’t you go get one after you help me inside? And then you can go back to whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Got it!” The footsteps sped up, then stopped again, waiting for them to catch up.

Anna clung to Gozukk the rest of the way to the tent, relieved when Jak’s footsteps pattered away as soon as she and Gozukk were inside.

The fine chair he’d been seated in to meet the caravan was inside, now, set behind the table in the front room, and Gozukk settled her into it. She grabbed at its arms, surprised, and squeezed them tighter when Gozukk squatted down in front of her to look in her eyes. She couldn’t get out of the chair and down to his level. He didn’t want that. She had to stay. She had to stay.

Her breathing was still ragged, too fast, and she knew it, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

“Anna, can you hear me?”

Everything was still too much, his words clear enough to make sense, but then immediately gone to her, as if they had never been. She nodded, trying to keep hold of the question.

“Alright. You did a good job this morning. I want to make sure you know that. It’s alright if you need to stay in here the rest of the day. I’ll try to come check on you when it’s time for lunch, but if you get hungry before I come back, you can go find Djaana or one of the twins, and they’ll look after you.”

She was breathing. That, she was sure of. His voice was soothing, reassuring, and the things he was saying were reassuring, and she couldn’t make them mean anything. She nodded. Reassuring. He was being reassuring. She could be reassured. She kept breathing.

Gozukk nodded back. Her breathing eased a little. Good. He was pleased.

Jak came running in, and she got a good look at him for the first time. He had the same dark hair as Djaana and Gozukk, but his eyes were a lighter color, a green she hadn’t expected, and even with some lingering baby roundness to his face, she could tell there was something about his cheekbones that must be like his father. Gozukk stuck a hand out to slow the boy before he could run all the way to her, and he blushed, looking bashful.

“Oh. Sorry. I forgot about the quiet.” He held out a damp, white cloth, in her direction, and she wasn’t sure what to do but take it.

The boy’s green eyes stared at her, his arm drifting behind his back so he could wrap his hand around his elbow, still staring. “Thank you,” she said quietly, aware that her breathing was loud and her voice wasn’t.

“Why don’t you explain to Anna how it works, just in case her mama and grandmother didn’t teach her?” Gozukk asked, something of the softness he always aimed at her in his voice as he addressed the boy.

“Yeah!” Jak said, his face brightening! “It’s easy, Miss Anna! You just put it on the back of your neck, and it’s nice and cool so it feels good, and then you just breathe real steady and think about cooling down and noticing that it feels good, and then when it gets dry, you can go back outside and play or try what you were doing again. Or I guess you can - I dunno. What do you like doing?”

She had no answer, but there wasn’t enough time for it to become awkward. Gozukk laid a hand on Jak’s shoulder. “Why don’t you wait and ask her that in a couple of days? You wouldn’t like it if somebody asked you a bunch of questions while you were trying to calm down, would you?”

“Oh! No!” He mimed locking his mouth closed with a key and tucking it into his pocket, and Anna found herself smiling in spite of everything. She put the cloth against the back of her neck to prove she’d been trying to listen, though there was a lot he said that she hadn’t been able to keep ahold of, the words slipping through her fingers as half of her kept getting wrapped up in her own breath.

He was right. It felt lovely, cool and soft. She closed her eyes, half instinctively, and managed a deeper breath.

She could hear a smile in Gozukk’s voice as he said, “Take all the time you need. We’ll be back to check on you at lunch time.”

Then both sets of footsteps walked away, out the door, and she was alone.

She slid out of the chair and onto her knees, where she felt more herself, but kept the cloth where it was, steadying her breathing as much as she could and thinking about the coolness, the dry air pulling water from the cloth, the dampness sitting against her skin, and nobody touching her.

When the cloth dried, she wasn’t calm, but she was close.

#d&d whump #fantasy whump #hurt/comfort #whump #recovery whump #past slavery tw #past abuse tw #ptsd tw #fantasy religion tw #panic attack tw #drug allusion tw #vague rape/noncon allusion tw #drugging tw #Jak was NOT supposed to be in this he just SHOWED UP #he WAS supposed to be at breakfast but he was NOT THERE #this child i swear #also Anna is triggered by mullets because real triggers are weird sometimes but also bc i am a clown all the time #her other doctor's appointment should be hopefully better but might actually just be weirder who knows #Mazogga's older and wiser than Mukzod but she's also old enough to be the boss of Gozukk so she's gonna do what she's gonna do #does this need some kind of a trigger warning for medical? it really isn't medical but maybe?#anyway jak's a good boy and everybody's trying their best and it's just gonna take some time #gozukk's family believes in AUTONOMY and RESPONSIBLE EMOTIONAL SELF-REGULATION #their enemies think orcs are scary because of the teeth and muscles but ALSO because of the CONFIDENCE and SELF-EFFICACY #or something #idk i just love orcs and i want them to have good things #and anna deserves a loving and supportive community #and they deserve an anna they just don't know it yet because she hasn't come into her own yet #but she will one day #in chapter a billion or something because i keep getting ideas for very tiny increments of time after the previous ones #would you believe i thought this chapter might be her visiting BOTH the healer AND the midwife? a clown

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Field of Poppies Part 17

Summary: After being apart for six years, childhood friends Tommy and Amelia reunite under odd circumstances. Tommy is an outspoken young man and Amelia is pregnant and out on the streets. The bond of family can be unbreakable but it is tested often. Especially when Europe descends into war.

Part 17: Amelia turns to faith for help, Danny Owens gets his nickname in the trenches

Max found Polly in the betting shop one morning. “Auntie Pol, mummy’s gotten sick again.”

“It’s okay, love. It’s natural.” Polly assured the little boy. “Come sit with me, I’m sure she’ll be down in a moment.”

“’Cause of the baby?” He asked, climbing up onto Polly’s lap as she worked in her office.

“Yes, darling. But she’ll be alright.”

They had told Max about the baby a little while after they got Tommy’s letter back. Though it was bittersweet, Tommy remarked that he was happy and hoped that he would be home soon. Though he didn’t give false hope about being there in time for the birth. At that point in Amelia’s pregnancy, everyone had given up hope on that happening. Especially as more news about the war hit the homefront. And more men were starting to come back.

It was horrifying. Men burned, deformed, missing limbs. Their stories started to circulate around Birmingham, the things they’d seen. The things they’d done, what others had done. The horrors they’d witnessed. Knowing the Shelby boys were in the middle of all of that, made Amelia sick to her stomach. She began to go to church with Polly every week. But it never seemed to be enough, so she started to go multiple times a week, sometimes every morning. Even when there was no service, she would go and sit in the empty church and pray.

She was never particularly religious. Her parents seemed indifferent to the church, as they were more focused on succeeding in life. They never saw prayer or submission to God as a way to move up in the world.

Amelia felt almost guilty that she was trying to use religion. Trying to comfort herself with prayers to a God she never really believed in. But at that point, she felt so helpless that she needed to do something.

The priest of the church began to recognize her as she went to church more often. He offered to sit with her for company.

At first, Amelia just agreed to let him sit with her. Then, she began to tell him about her fears and her doubts.

Telling a man of the cloth about her lack of faith was a bit funny to her. But Father Carr didn’t seem to mind.

“Sometimes I think that it’s all just a cruel joke,” Amelia admitted one day. Max was with Martha and the betting shop was quiet, so she took the free time to visit the church. “To take Tommy away from me while I’m pregnant.”

“Some things are hard to explain. We ask why God would allow for war to happen. We ask why he allows hardship in our lives. It is beyond our knowledge. Sometimes, religion doesn’t have all the answers like some people think.”

Amelia looked up at the stained-glass windows that allowed some of the dim light to come in. The particles of light mixed with the hazy smoke from the candles lit at the altar. “I just want him to come home to me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Danny Owens was the first in the Small Heath group to get seriously injured. While out of the tunnels, in one of the trenches, he was hit by a piece of an artillery shell.

“For fuck’s sake, if you’re gonna get injured, don’t get hit in the neck,” Arthur said as he held a shirt to Danny’s wound right at the base of his neck.

“It just grazed me,” Danny replied, trying his best to stay calm and breathe.

“It’ll be okay.” John kept him propped up so he wouldn’t bleed to death.

They all learned early on that no one liked tunnelers. They were seen as a danger if they were nearby. So, no one liked to see them in the trenches. That meant they had to take care of themselves and each other.

“Hold ‘im still,” Jeremiah commanded as he examined the wound, dowsing it in alcohol.

Danny let out a scream through his gritted teeth as he fought John and Arthur’s hold.

“No more getting hit with whizz-bangs, Danny,” Tommy commanded, holding Danny’s feet down so he didn’t kick anyone.

“Yeah, or else we’ll start calling ya that.” John grinned.

The men chuckled, even getting a bit of a smile from Danny. “Alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It became clear after the first trimester, that this pregnancy would not be as easy as Max’s had been. Amelia began to have spells of dizziness and nausea that could last for days. Polly said it was because of stress, so she tried her best to keep the woman calm and at ease. But there was nothing she could do about the boys still being over in France.

Everyone was frightened, even Amelia although she wouldn’t admit it. She felt afraid that she was failing her second child before they were even born.

Max was starting to pick up on the anxiety around his mother and became very clingy to her. He would wail and cry if she was even in the next room. She couldn’t leave him for more than half an hour before he would panic. He began to sleep in her bed, terrified she would disappear in the middle of the night.

“He doesn’t want you to go anywhere.” Polly surmised one afternoon when Amelia could finally get the young boy to go down for a nap. “He remembers Tommy leaving so he doesn’t want you to leave either.”

Amelia felt so helpless. She couldn’t even comfort her own child because the world was in such chaos.

Polly had to stop her from reading the news or listening to the radio. She wrote to Tommy telling him to keep his letters to his wife light. She said Amelia couldn’t handle any bad news.

~~~~~~~~~~~

On Max’s sixth birthday, Amelia tried her best to keep everything together. She threw together a party. Polly closed the shop for the day and all their friends and family gathered. Well, the friends and family that were still there and not serving overseas.

Amelia bought toys for Max, some she signed ‘daddy’, just so her son felt like Tommy was near. He had already sent a letter wishing his son a happy birthday and wishing he could be there to celebrate. Max seemed sad his father couldn’t come to attend the party, but it wasn’t any different to any ordinary day. It had been over a year since the Shelby boys had left. Next March would mark two years.

On the morning of the party, Amelia found Max looking at a picture of Tommy in his uniform.

“You alright, love?” She asked softly. “Are you excited for your birthday?”

“Yeah.” He replied quietly, his mind off wandering.

“What are you doing with daddy’s picture?” She wondered.

“Dunno. Just looking.” He shrugged, not looking away. “Don’t wanna forget what he looks like.”

Amelia couldn’t shake that feeling of heartache the rest of the day. Even during the festivities and among familiar faces. She felt utterly alone.

After Max had opened all his gifts, everyone was sitting in the parlor enjoying each other’s company. Amelia felt distant, standing near the couch, half-listening to the conversations around her.

Then, she picked up on a conversation Charlie was having with one of the Strong men who had come to celebrate with them.

“Yeah, right on Farringdon. Those fuckers.” Charlie muttered. “Twenty-two people dead. Only a matter of time they set their sights on Birmingham.”

“For fuck’s sake.” The other man shook his head. “Thought this was a war among countries, not a war on the innocents. They wanna bomb each other, go ahead, but they can’t be fucking bombing regular people like us.”

Without having much access to the news under Polly’s advice, Amelia hadn’t heard of the bombings or attempted bombings on British soil. Suddenly, shock and panic overtook her entire body. It felt like her heart stopped completely and her vision went black.

Luckily, Charlie was able to catch the pregnant woman before she hit her head on the coffee table. The party ceased the fun and immediately rushed to Amelia’s aid. Polly shoved to the front and checked on her.

“Call a doctor!” She shouted when she saw Amelia’s pale face.

Max began to cry for his mum as Ada comforted her nephew best she could.

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imaginepirates · 5 years

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Not-So-White Christmas

A christmas fic where Will meets the reader at a ball and they spend the holidays together. Really, it's just fluffiness and feel-good.

For @theaspiringscreenwritersblog

~2900 words

@bonjour-frens @tesserphantom @ilikebritsandbands @viper-official

~~~~~~~

The ball was buzzing with activity. People jammed the halls; nearly all of Port Royal showed up. The Governor and his daughter were ever the gracious hosts, though you couldn't tell how she was able to stand the constant badgering from men twice her age. She took it all with a smile, and you saw her make her escape as the music began.

Candles were hung around the room, dimly flickering in their holders. Two massive tables were piled high with food and drink, attracting people to talk around them. Pine trees stood at even intervals around the hall, and each was dusted with fake snow. Even the smell of the hall was that of cinnamon, and the music was prepared for the season. Christmas was only a few days away, and the wealthy made the most of it.

You were a server, balancing flukes of champagne on a tray and maneuvering through the mass of bodies in the hall. It took everything you had not to bump into- or be bumped by- eager partygoers.

Dancers took their places on the floor and you stared at them wistfully, knowing you'd never be able to dance that way with someone. You'd always wanted to attend a ball; serving at them was much less fun. Still, you couldn't help but smile. It was the magic of the season, you supposed.

It was nice to see other people happy, too. You did little for Christmas, but you liked the lights people put in their windows and the cheap candies stores had for sale. Port Royal took away from the season with its year-round heat and complete lack of snow, but you were used to it now.

There were lots of servers at the ball. You'd worked with most of them while setting up for the ball, but there were still some you didn't know. The tall, handsome blacksmith's apprentice William, for example. You and the other girls talked about him sometimes. He mostly kept to himself, so there was little any of you knew about him, but you all liked to speculate. He did most of the heavy lifting, so you weren't in the same working groups, but you watched him from afar. He was a sweet looking boy and couldn't have been much older than you were.

You were coming around a pillar when you walked right into someone. Thankfully, your tray was empty. The flukes of champagne had eagerly been taken by guests. There were a few men already on their second, and you knew you were in for a long night.

Clutching your tray, you took a step back to steady yourself. "Sorry!" You squeaked, half expecting to have run into a guest.

"It was my fault," said a nervous voice. "I didn't see you while coming around the pillar. I should've been paying more attention. Are you alright?"

To your surprise, it wasn't a guest, but another server in front of you. "William, I didn't expect to see you here." It was no lie. He too held an empty tray. "I didn't know you'd be working as a server."

"We need all the servers we can get, miss. The ball has been the most attended of the year."

He was right. The ball was teeming with people. "Very true. Would you like to refill your tray with me? We shouldn't keep all the guests waiting on their second- or third- glass."

"Of course."

He let you lead the way, trailing after you like a lost puppy. He looked at everything with big brown eyes, and he kept playing with the cuffs of his sleeves, keeping his tray tucked under an arm.

An attendant carefully handed you a full tray when you reached the kitchens. She handed one to William as well, and you walked back into the crowd. You were soon separated, but you kept an eye on him as much as you could. Guests didn't pay either of you any mind, save for the few men who let their eyes wander over you. You bristled each time, but moved quickly passed.

It was hours by the time the ball ended, and you were exhausted. It had run into the early hours of the morning. You were on your feet the whole time, scurrying between groups of people, and your arms ached from balancing the trays for that long.

The first chance you got, you slid down against the wall. Closing your eyes, you let the tiredness spill over you, and took a few deep breaths to ground yourself. You needed all the strength you had left just to get home.

When you opened your eyes again, Will was sitting next to you, looking similarly tired. There were bags under his eyes that matched yours. You hoped he wouldn't have to work the next couple of days, but figured your hope was futile. More likely than not, he'd be smithing again come morning.

"Goodmorning, Will," you said.

He laughed a faint laugh that matched his soft voice and manner. "I suppose it is." He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, which was already beginning to make lines in the fabric.

You smiled and stretched, pulling your arms over your head in an attempt to make your aching lower back feel better. Being on your feet for so long certainly hadn't helped. "I'm headed back home, I think. Are you going, too?"

"Yes, I don't think I'm needed any longer. Do you mind if I escort you home? It's terribly late."

"You don't need to," you answered. "You look like you could use some sleep."

"Don't worry about me, miss." He resumed picking at the thread poking out from his sleeve. "I'll do just fine."

A little sheepishly, you consented to let him take you home. You walked arm in arm down the cobbled streets, too tired to talk.

A couple blocks from your house was a small, cramped church with a tiny churchyard and a crooked chapel. The building was crammed between other, bigger establishments. It had meager decorations up for the season, with holly and branches from pine trees. There was no snow to give you a white Christmas, and the Caribbean warmth ruined much of the seasonal fervor, but the churches still decorated in hopes of attracting praying crowds. The little church got few visitors, and none of them were wealthy, but you went in sometimes, even if you didn't listen to the service. There were always candles for you to light in honor of your family and friends, and always short prayers to give out for yourself and your peers.

You must've given yourself away by staring for too long. Will gently guided you towards the church, helping you up the steps to the door. "Do you want to pray?" He asked once you were inside.

"No, I'd just like to light a candle. There are some on the altar rails." You led him through the little building to a small set of rails in front of a cross. "Would you like one, too?" You held out the candle, which was held in a red, candle-shaped container.

He nodded. Silently, the both of you lit your candles with the wicks of already burning ones. You placed them carefully on the rails, said a quick prayer, and were done.

"Who did you light yours for?" You asked softly. There weren't many people in the halls at this hour, but there were some.

"My father, wherever he is." There was a somber tone to his voice, and you guessed things weren't well with his family. "And you?" He asked.

"I lit mine for family as well."

You barely talked as you left the little church. Mostly, you switched between watching your feet and watching Will, who also did this. Whenever you looked up, he looked away, and the same went for you. It was strange, perhaps, not to be conversing with the person whose arm you were holding, but you were shy. So, it seemed, was he.

By the time you reached your modest home, few words had been exchanged. There was the bit of conversation at the ball, and again in the church, but the talk had been modest pleasantries.

You looked at each other awkwardly for a moment before you said goodnight. "Or goodmorning, or whatever time it is. I find I'm much too tired to care," you remarked, which earned you a smile.

"Take care of yourself, miss," said Will. You had almost unlocked the door of your house when he spoke again from the street. "I don't suppose you're doing anything? On Christmas, I mean. Unless your family will be here?"

He looked horribly nervous in asking, and you couldn't help but find it to be sweet. "No, they're all back in England."

"You wouldn't mind then, if I stopped by?"

You flushed a deep red from the top of your head down to your toes. You were thankful it couldn't be seen in the dark. "Of course not."

He was halfway down the street when you called out again. "Will?" He stopped and turned to you. "You're welcome to stop by whenever you like." With that, you headed inside, too embarrassed to catch his reaction.

~~~~~

You woke early on Christmas morning feeling a little nervous. You hoped Will would remember to come by; you had to admit that you'd be disappointed if he didn't. Even if not romantically, you wanted to get close to Will as a friend. He was kind, and had a surprisingly soft personality.

The knock on your door came as you were making breakfast. It was a meager bread pudding, but you had some sugar to sweeten it with, making it a bit of a treat. There was much of it, and you were just setting it on the table to cool when you heard someone outside.

You opened the door to find an anxious-looking Will at your door. You smiled upon finding him there and invited him in.

"I've just made breakfast," you told him. "Please, feel free to join me."

"Thank you." He stepped through the door, peeking around at the small space.

"Make yourself at home." You pulled out a stool for him to sit on while you filled a pitcher with water.

"This is nice," he said as you sat down next to him.

You thanked him, but couldn't exactly agree. Your home had few rooms, and each was cramped. There was a clutter of things lying about; unfinished needlework, spools of thread, clothing in need of patching, and small trinkets sat on every available surface. Books, too, that rested on chairs and tabletops.

"I've always wondered what it was like to have a home," he said. Seeing the confusion on your face, he continued. "I have a room at the forge, but nothing more. Someday I'll have enough money for a house of my own. Something small, but something that's mine."

You didn't know what to say. Will hadn't talked about his personal life while you worked with him; he hadn't talked much at all. "I hope you do. Get a house, that is."

"Thank you."

You sat in awkward silence, but you were able to break it by serving breakfast. It was still a bit hot, but you figured it was a good excuse to make things more comfortable.

You realized that you had no plan for the day. You wanted to visit the market and hoped he wouldn't mind coming with you. You didn't shop much, but you enjoyed looking at all the goods people had out during the holidays. There were little things that you bought yourself, but not much. You wondered what it would be like to have the money for Christmas presents.

Will didn't object to the market. In fact, he seemed happy to go, giving you his arm to take as you walked down the cobbled streets. Most people were still at home with family, but a small crowd was scattered across the streets.

The market itself was held in the city square; tents were set up, and all manner of temporary stands covered the street. People milled about, snaking their way through the stands, staring at all the trinkets on display. Red and green covered every surface, and gold stars were hung in shop windows. Hand-painted nativities sat on every table while bakers sold sugary pastries hot from the oven. Mulled cider made appearances at multiple stands, kept in large kegs, and fake snowflake decorations hung from strings.

You felt like you should be wearing a coat and gloves instead of your lightweight dress, but the southern sun was already warming the ground. You found yourself drifting towards stalls filled with jewelry and carvings. Will followed you as you gazed at glass beads and glazed clay figurines. Delicate earrings sat on display next to necklaces made of seaglass. You turned a few of the pieces over with your fingers, and were glad that none of the stall-owners hovered over you, trying to pressure you into buying anything.

Will looked at everything with a smile on his face, picking up some of the figurines and wooden carvings. You wondered if he decorated his room at the forge, or if it was empty of all but his necessities. You told yourself that you’d get him something, someday.

“Chocolate?” You asked, gesturing towards a shop across the street. It was full of people already, and it served the new favorite drink of the holidays, a steaming, chocolate flavored beverage that was much cheaper in the Caribbean than in England.

He nodded, and you grabbed his hand as you walked over, holding it the entire time you waited for the treat. You were happy to feel his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles, and the shy smile on his face when you looked at him. You grabbed your drinks and sipped at them from where you stood in the crowd.

You were jostled to the back of the shop with your chocolate in hand, and you couldn’t see the door over the sea of heads. There was a back door, you knew, and you led Will in its direction in an attempt to free yourself from the crush of people. The door was a tiny thing; some workers had to duck to get in and out of the shop. You would fit through it just fine, but Will would have to duck down a little. You hardly noticed the plant hanging above the door, only looking at it when Will stopped before crossing through.

It was a strand of mistletoe, just for decoration, but color filled Will’s cheeks, and you could feel the heat rising to your face as well. The thought crossed your mind that Will wouldn’t want to kiss you; after all, you hardly knew each other. You watched him glance between you and the crowd behind you, and then had a much more pleasant thought.

He doesn’t want to kiss me in front of all these people.

You promptly turned your back on him and went through the door, leaving him to follow. You were in an alley behind the shop, and wondered if Will would mind the setting.

When you turned back to him, all your thoughts dissipated. He fidgeted nervously with the cuff of his sleeve, refusing to meet your eye. When he looked up, he tried to speak, stopped, and tried again. When he finally got around to saying anything, it was stuttered and adorably nervous. “I didn’t know if you wanted… that’s to say… back in the shop, there were so many people, I wasn’t sure if… but now…” he trailed off as you put a hand on his cheek.

“Will.” You gave him a knowing look, but felt yourself blushing all the same, a pleasant tightness in your chest.

“Oh.” He stared down at your lips a moment before placing a hesitant kiss to your lips, one hand on your waist and the other resting lightly on the back of your head. Your arms were crossed around the back of his neck. It was a surprisingly slow kiss, given that he seemed too nervous to give you so much as a peck. You were enjoying yourself greatly, but you both pulled away to stare at each other with silly smiles on your faces.

His expression changed to something sadder. "I'm afraid I don't have gifts to give you." He said ruefully.

"Will," you looked up at him. "Having you with me was a gift enough." He looked shocked, but you went on. "And though I don't have much, I think I can offer you one thing, at least."

"Don't feel like you need to..."

You didn't let him finish. "I'd love to let you share my home, if you'd be willing."

“That’s your space; I couldn’t encroach.”

“It’s not encroaching, Will. I’m asking you to stay with me. I think,” you bit your lip, “I think it would be nice to live with someone else instead of being alone all the time.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“I’d be honored.” He bent down again, and this time, neither of you pulled away until you needed air.

#potc #pirates of the caribbean #pirates #pirate #will turner #will turner x reader #will x reader #christmas #christmas fic #drabble #writings #writing #drabbles #request #requests

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edmund-valks · 4 years

Text

A Practical Examination

"Just… right here then?" She waited for the elderly woman's nod before driving the thin metal spike in. The body they were working with seized up for the smallest moment before relaxing again. Its eyes remained open, occasionally twitching to focus on details no one else could see, but there were none of the normal signs of pain.

Aurelaine patted her arm. "Very good, dear. I prefer to work this way when possible. They've volunteered themselves to become a part of the Great Work; that devotion is far more powerful than the suffering we could wring from them." She pointed to the fresh wound, moved her finger in a slow arc to the opposite side of the prone elf's head. "You can technically go through either side for the same effect, but I've found that establishing a specific pattern strengthens the rite. Remember, we control nothing but the shape of the channel. Build it properly and the flow of power will do what you've planned."

Ilandreline nodded, making several notes in her book. "Right. Failure to provide a sufficiently robust channel will result in something like trying to force an entire ocean through a coolant line -- the weakest parts will give, with predictably messy results."

Her grandmother chuckled, expressing agreement with another pat. "I told you you're better suited to this than you'd thought. You know how to build, how to establish equilibria. The only real difference is we're not using machines here." The praise was enough to make the engineer flush pink to the tips of her ears. "Now! Draw it out for me. We've got our willing supplicant here beyond the ability to feel pain. What's our next step?"

"Let's see…" Ilandreline consulted her notes, chewing the end of her pencil. "The circle is drawn, of course, we've already prepared the offering, which means now we have to… oh! The calling and opening!"

A nod. "Do it. What are you looking at me for? This one is yours, Lina. Show me what you've learned."

The younger elf reviewed the setup so far, making sure she had the right details. Willing offering was this set of rites, the protective circle they'd created would be effective against those emissaries, she had these materials on-hand… All that taken into account, there were still several possibilities even before she considered rebalancing the energies. Worry about that later, she reminded herself. Start simple, get practiced. Build the foundation before the house.

She retrieved an obsidian blade from the nearby tool bench then positioned herself at the offering's right elbow. Strange, thinking of him like that; she'd played games with him long ago, back before he'd found the rich vein of faithfulness within himself. He'd simply quit other pursuits one day a few decades back, taking up a sort of hermit's lifestyle, spending most of his days mentally exploring the places you could get with the right kind of specially treated fruits and mushrooms. She hadn't understood back then, wasn't honestly sure she did now, but that didn't matter. The important thing was she was going to help him get where he wanted to be, and he was going to do the same for her.

She started etching the ritual on the wrist closest to her. It was a point of vitality, she'd learned, like the heart but different. A small complex of delicate runework, one that would provide fuel and focus. That was why they used obsidian, despite it being relatively difficult to acquire; nothing else made such perfect, easy lines on flesh. The work took minutes, eventually climbing half up the forearm. Ilandreline double-checked her work before moving on. A mistake could be salvaged if you knew about it. Satisfied, she moved to the next limb.

By the time she'd finished, her eyes ached from focusing and she'd dulled a handful of blades. It was done, though, and pretty decently if she was any judge. Things had only gotten awkward when she'd been working the offering's face and he'd started talking to her. Turns out he was more aware than she'd realized. He also remembered her and wanted to discuss her faith. Not the most comfortable conversation when one was carving sigils into a forehead, especially when she was still trying to understand what she believed these days. Her answers had been enough, apparently, as he'd eventually subsided again with a sort of pleased sigh.

"I… think we're ready, Eldest." Ila looked at the blood on her hands, frowning. It had gotten under her nails and was starting to dry. She'd have to trim them to get it all out.

"You think or we are? Which is it, girl?" Aurelaine's tone was harsh. Of course it was; she despised the uncertain and those who lacked confidence.

"We are." Her voice didn't waver this time. She'd gone over all her work twice as she'd done it, a third time after finishing the whole. Everything was in order. "With your permission, Eldest, I will begin tonight's Calling."

"You have it." Just enough of a pause for Ila to start moving before she added, "Remember, you will pay for your mistakes. I'm here to watch over our family, not to save you."

Real confidence builder. Then again, that was probably the point. Granny Laine knew what she was doing. "Thank you, Eldest."

Ilandreline took her place at the center of the small circle, careful to avoid disrupting any of the delicate symbols she'd laid in silver. She lit the candles and waited. Minutes later, as the moon slipped below the horizon, she began to extinguish the flames. Four drops of blood per candle, as always, accompanied by the invocation. "Four for four," she recited, "given by one. Less than five, but greater by far. After life, beyond death, the Long Night comes. We kill to serve. We bleed to live. Through our sacrifice, the light shall die at last."

The darkness that settled over them was more than night. Anyone else would have found it oppressive, smothering perhaps, but a Glimmerbow's eyes saw the truth. This was the deep expanse of infinity, a churning space where Titanic order had been unable to find a foothold. Here was the counterforce that allowed life to exist beyond programmed parameters, that which created consciousness and free will. She shivered, not from fear but awe.

You call out. We hear. Speak.

The speech was in their minds, she knew. You didn't hear it, couldn't hear it. Instead it resonated through your being, rippling through muscle and bone, darkening your body with reflected splendour. Ilandreline had to take several breaths before she could focus properly. "Tonight we offer one of ours to the Great and Endless Dark. A cousin in blood and service." She crossed from the calling circle into the one for offering, drawing her knife.

This voice means nothing. Is nothing. Shall receive nothing. Shall become nothing.

Four times they said the word, each time impacting her more viciously. The last was meant to force her to her knees, but Ila refused. Her grandmother was watching, after all, and her punishment would be worse than whatever cruelties the Dark could inflict at this distance. "I am Ilandreline, daughter of Mellura'thel, daughter of Aurelaine. I speak in the Eldest's stead this night. We are bound to the Endless Night and so is it bound to us."

Prove.

She bent down, placed her lips against the offering's forehead, living breath freshening the bloody etchings thereon. "Our gift to you, this living blood, and a reminder of our bonds," she continued, sliding the ancient blade into flesh at the little notch in the collarbone. "Our sacrifice is your gain, your whispers our knowledge."

Put to its true purpose, the knife felt alive in her grip. With steady hand, Ila drew down, away from the neck, expecting resistance. Instead the bones parted smoothly, clavicle and sternum offering no more resistance than skin had to obsidian. "All in service to the last fading of the light." She withdrew the blade, placing it reverently aside.

The runes in her cousin's flesh began to glow. First with the brilliance of blood, then darkening through the midnight violet of the family's eyes into a blackness that melded with what surrounded the rite. He was still alive, of course; that was what it meant to be an offering. Dead meat meant little. She wondered what it felt like, to have your chest opened like that, to be offered to the Whispering Dark at your own insistence. Judging by the rapturous expression on his face, it was significantly less painful than she'd expected. He's getting what he's always wanted. The thought made her smile. It felt so good to bring someone that kind of happiness.

This voice is known. We welcome it. Give and become known.

The Whispers seemed in no hurry. The offering was beginning to blur at his extremities, the writings she'd placed there in the Dark's own language flickering in and out of sight as they anchored the ritual transferrence. She waited until most of him was no longer distinguishable from their surroundings before picking up her grandmother's old blade again.

Once more she positioned herself by the body's head, but this time the tip of the knife rested against the runic focal point. "A single light," she intoned, "flickering weakly. This life -- the last remnant of a dying sun. This body -- full of terrible promise and beguiling lies. A so-called gift, this tyranny of ill-advised order."

She inhaled deeply, exhaled. "Never meant to withstand the endless dark, we give it freely." The blade drove through skull, brain, skull again, until she could feel its point pressing into the altar's pitted stone.

We accept. You are known.

Shuddering with exultation, Ilandreline withdrew the knife, resheathing it without wiping away any of the blood. She would not deprive it of such precious seasoning. As the comforting weight of the Endless Night began to lift, she turned to see her grandmother's proud smile. That would have been enough all on its own. Returning a grin of her own, she took two steps before falling into an entirely other darkness.

#wow rp #rp #warcraft rp #ilandreline #ilandreline glimmerbow #fence macabre

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scarloott · 4 years

Text

When Merriment’s Done

by: me (scarlett)

cw (i rly hope these are done right! i’m so sorry if not): religious trauma, death/dying, blood, body horror, ambiguity/unresolved

It’s quite long, clocking at 3k words, when it was meant to be a short poem or couple paragraphs, so it’s under the read more.. i rly hope u like! <3

(also lmfao i’m really discrediting my authorship with these crappily phrased forewords but n e way on with the show)

I was guided in by the hand, my skin bristling at the gentle grasp of an immaterial touch - like the phantom limb of another person. I wanted to ask who they were, what I was doing there, at that… was it a church, even now, when any trace of a God had been flushed out by dark? I supposed I’d find out soon enough: I followed. The air grew oppressively cold as I passed through the gate, entering this being’s domain, like the very matter of the air turned from atoms to needles, all stabbing my skin, leaving me perforated; I didn’t much like the thought of that, and I shuddered, pulling my coat tightly around my shoulders, creating something resembling a chrysalis that did little to shield me from the frost, but just enough to make it bearable. My breath seemed to freeze in mid-air, turning to tiny shards that freckled my face in red. I looked over my shoulder, to the outside, and saw it melting away into nothingness - a black darker than any I could have comprehended, that demonstrated in no uncertain terms the boundaries of this space: ahead, also, I could see the dark, consuming the unoccupied land at the far end of the cemetery. Houses surrounded the domain, but these too were consumed - I tried my best to ignore the nagging thought of their occupants’ fates.

The cobblestone path, although worn by repeated footfall, was well-kept. The being walked a few paces ahead, its gait reeking of certainty: it knew I had nowhere else to go. It didn’t even stop to invite me in, entering the church’s vestibule, a narrow corridor leading into the main chamber, with doors to the left and right. These were shut. That may have been a blessing.

The nave was stunning. The church - although blatantly Protestant - hadn’t entirely forgotten the flair of the Catholic church and, compared to the dark outside, was almost preferable - almost beautiful. The pews, constructed from brown-stained wood, were cushionless - there was a certain penance in this place, even beforehand, and it manifested in the littlest of things: uncomfortable pews; a slight, almost unnoticeable slant of the floor that tended to cause issues for the elderly - particularly those confined to wheelchairs, whose brakes may just so happen to deactivate mid-service, and they may begin to slowly - almost unnoticeably - roll away; and in the archaic - or rather, borderline nonexistent - lighting: the only sources of light were natural - now not an option - and the candles scattered sparsely around the hall. Electricity was a force unknown in this place - not that it mattered nowadays. If there even was a “now” anymore. Or “days”. In the opposite corner to the antechamber, there was a walled-off rectangle - another room, of function unknown to me. Beside it, at the front of the nave, was the altar, depicting a robed man on a cross - I assumed it was a depiction of Jesus. A long, two-pronged spear protruded from its side, leaving long, scarlet trails that - I suppose - were the statue’s blood. I snorted, quietly. “Subtle,” I said, into the void. The word resonated from wall to wall, rising to a crescendo as it reached the rafters, which groaned under the strain of this new disturbance. I didn’t expect a response. I suppose that’s why I got one.

“Subtlety doesn’t… work well in places like these,” it replied, the sound emanating from everywhere around me, and yet not reverberating. It simply remained in the air, stagnant and unmoving, and slowly decayed in its own fashion. I supposed it spoke sense, but it was hard to be scared by such a human response. The being continued walking as it spoke, as the being was not the same as the voice, but they were linked somehow. If I could figure that out, perhaps I could sever the connection. If I could sever the connection, perhaps I could escape, although I knew not what I would escape into… if anything.

“I wouldn’t even try it,” the voice said, matter-of-factly. “We’ve done this twelve times already. Give it up.” This shook me. I hadn’t considered it, but I had no knowledge of anything preceding my entry to the churchyard. Of course, I’d known about the houses, but… was that a memory? Or just an invention of the being? It could read and wipe my mind… surely it could implant thoughts too, I briefly despaired: I was truly, inescapably, trapped. Twelve times, too… does that make this the thirteenth? The Christian mythos holds a certain scorn for the thirteenth of anything, a deep-rooted superstition thanks to the thirteenth disciple, the thirteen knots of a hangman’s noose, the thirteen steps of the gallow… Perhaps this thirteenth repetition spelled bad luck, but I feared that such bad luck was my own - not that of the being, or of the voice.

I stood before the altar, enraptured as it began to shake. Well, shake wasn’t the right word: I am not sure that it moved at all, but it seemed to fluctuate as though something within were trying to break the surface, as though trying to turn the whole structure inside-out. It was while staring at this ever-shifting altar that I realised my initial assessment of the nave’s lighting systems had missed a crucial element: the pulpit itself radiated with a certain imperceptible luminescence, as though ultraviolet, and yet it clearly sufficed to illuminate the hall, as I had found may way forward without much trouble.

The being kneeled next to me, its head bowed, its palms together in a cruel mockery of what once could have been seen as prayer. I wish to bring pen to paper, to commit to some permanent record the aspect of this creature, and yet… I simply do not know. Picture it as a pitch-black humanoid figure, or as a servant of Cthulhu, or as Jesus himself - it makes no difference. Words proved an insufficient medium to elucidate this creature’s appearance. It appeared, and it was present, and it taunted me in a voiceless manner, whilst the voice it lacked berated me from all sides. I knew not what was expected of me so, in an imitation of the being, I too knelt; I clasped my hands in my own form of prayer and anxiously awaited the ritual.

In a moment, and for but a moment, my senses were alight: I could smell freshly brewed coffee turned sour by off milk, the scent of the outside world shortly after rain, the decay of flesh, and innumerable things I could not attach to any firm memory; I could hear the screams of the damned, some knowing - and calling in hoarse, tortured moans - my own name, the awful sounds of violence and of gunfire, the sobs of a new widow; I could taste dirt and naught else; I could see naught but white, though the oils coating my eyes played tricks with my perception and told me I was being buried alive during a war, my widow crying over me, while it rained out-of-date coffee, and I was being condemned to Hell. Then the first leg of the ritual was over.

“You can’t leave this place, but I won’t stop you trying. Why not explore while I prepare myself?” the voice suggested. The being was still praying. Resent growing, I left the being to its sick machinations and thought to explore the rooms behind the closed doors. The door that had been to my left when I entered stood open; the one on the right was shut. I favoured the latter, and found it unlocked, although the handle was icy and it was difficult to release my grip after. The door - a towering thing of solid, heavy wood - creaked on hinges unfit to bear such a load, and shuddered open, releasing a breath of frost onto my face. I recoiled - too far, clearly, for I found this great door closing once more, and another closing before me: the one which had before been open. The lock clicked shut as I found my bearings and began to look around. It was a stone room made from grey bricks, whereas the church proper was made of some reddish, sandstone-looking mineral. The only window in the room was narrow and high-up, and barred as though a prison cell. In the corner opposite to the entrance stood a toilet with a pull-chain; another corner housed a wash basin elevated only a foot above the ground. Affixed to the wall above was some sort of electronic boiler, although a note affixed spelled in red marker pen the words “OUT OF ORDER. DO NOT USE.” Mould had begun to spread from a damp corner of the note, so the words now looked more like “OUT OF ER. DO NOT .” The room was barren but for these few features. I was not looking forward to the second leg of the ritual, so I attempted to leave. To my surprise, the bolt of the door allowed itself to be opened, and the door swung open with a great zeal. I stepped back into the vestibule, where the being awaited me.

“It wasn’t a prison, exactly,” the voice explained. The being moved toward me and I stepped aside, but it didn’t register my presence. It closed the door of the room I had left and reached into the door itself to bolt it shut. “The townspeople had suspected the vicar of pedalling lies for some time. They loved his God, but his means… they missed their children. They locked him in there, made him wait out the forty days and nights to prove his holiness. Of course, he withered away, and they never found their children - their location died with him…” The voice laughed: a smug, self-assured noise that somehow toed the line between laughter and wheeze. “In a sense.”

“And the other door?” I demanded. The being was heading back toward the altar.

“Another time. We have so much work to do.” The being turned left at the altar, and entered the room I had noticed earlier, which obstructed the view of those on the far side of the church: in a way, blocking them from God. It was clear my role was to follow; I did so without protest.

This room was carpeted, although the carpet was the sort that scratched you and gave no illusion of comfort, and when you pressed flesh to it for more than a minute or so it would leave vibrant red marks where it had suppressed your circulation. Another slight discomfort in a place designed to punish Man for the original sin and offer conceits of redemption: another nail in the coffin of humankind.

In this room we again knelt in prayer, heads bowed as we faced a coffin teetering precariously on a comically undersized table. I could not see the name engraved on its face from my prostrated position, but I had no doubt it was my own. As we knelt, I heard the creak of hinges - the coffin opening, likely autonomously. I daren’t open my eyes - not yet. Something got out of the coffin, swinging its legs over the cusp and landing neatly between myself and the being. It walked around for a while, leaving the room and returning what felt like millenia later. It then clambered into the coffin, slamming the lid behind it. I knew now to open my eyes, but when I did I was met by a face mere inches from my own, with yellowing eyes, jet-black skin, and a red, rotting gouge where its nose should have been. It had no mouth, but it had teeth: some, at least, for most must have simply withered away, and those it did have were brown and smaller than human teeth, and all molars. It smiled at me in a childlike manner when we locked eyes and, although I knew better than to recoil, I couldn’t help but jump when I saw it. It grabbed me by the shoulders and… I suppose it kissed me? I spat on the ground, but something bit into my tongue and I felt it writhing, like a… like a…

“I’m sorry about the,”

Like a…

“Maggots,” the voice said once again. “Just thought it’d be funny.” I spat again, although I knew it wouldn’t dislodge the creature as it crawled down my esophagus. I simply wished to show my hatred to the thing. The being had entered the coffin, taking place of this new, somehow worse entity, which followed me around with its sepia-toned, bloodshot eyes that seemed ready to bulge and burst and pop from its formless head. An attempt made by this new version of the being to attain some form resembling humanity, although it had gone… poorly, to say the least.

Again I found myself unoccupied. The creature - an entity distinct from the being and, in turn, from the voice - seemed intent on following me, nigh-on mirroring my actions as though my clone. I shuddered at the mere thought. Does it mean to take my skin next? This, of course, solicited a greater shudder, and I resolved to get a move on; I wished to get away from that… thing.

My return to that right-hand ingress was met again with an icy reception, although I came this time equipped with the mental fortitude to put off the cold. I stepped in, untroubled - or, at least, untroubled by the chill. I was very troubled by the creature, which visibly shivered. If it weren’t so disturbing, it may have been comical: the creature’s head bounced around, its neck visibly - and audibly, with a squeak like an unoiled chain - stretched and deformed; its teeth knocked about, moving all over its face and disappearing under its shadowy… it would be remiss of me to describe what it possessed as flesh.

This room was narrow - more akin to a corridor, which boasted little detail but for a narrow stone staircase that quickly twisted out of view. The steps were high - uncomfortably so - and extremely short and narrow: far too much so for me to fit much more than tiptoes on the step. My unwanted companion followed with a detestable ease. I considered pushing him. My hand must have slipped, for I oh-so-accidentally did so and my arms passed through its pathetic face as though it weren’t there at all. I fell, rolling comically down the tight, spiralling staircase until I reached the bottom, landing on my face. The taste of copper filled my mouth, and one of my teeth clattered across the room in leaps and bounds, landing at the feet of the being. It bent down to pick it up and walked past me, still unaware - or perhaps simply ignorant - of my presence, to hand it to the creature, who accepted it gladly and placed it in the centre of its face, roots pointing outwards, as though it were a carrot nose on a macabre snowman.

“Do you like it?” enquired the voice, but I hardly heard. I sprinted through both the being and the creature, clambering up the stairs like some quadrupedal relative to the tarantula, passing closed doors I knew better than to try. A frenzy overtook me - a burning desire to escape the being, and to cause harm to the creature, for I hated them both equally. I turned the final corner - or perhaps the first, for the staircase was a tight spiral - I emerged to a round room containing a single, enormous brass bell at what I assumed was the apex of the church’s tower. The creature and the being had both beaten me in my ascent: the former now stood, staring expectantly at me, boasting my tooth in the centre of its face and grinning its malformed, decaying grin that bore so deeply into my soul and evoked such primal fury; the latter - the being - stood by an opening, overlooking the darkness, and paid me no heed. I fell to my knees; the creature mimicked me. I cried out; the creature did the same. I stood again, and walked toward the bell… The creature made no move to imitate me and instead watched, content or, perhaps, curious. A cord of interwoven metal hung down from the bell’s inside, with a handle a similar brassy shade to the bell itself. The darkness rumbled in trepidation as I gripped the handle, and I felt the world around me grow a little darker. Now the creature came to join me, and I made no effort to push it away. I knew that ringing the bell would kill me; I hoped only that it would kill the creature too. As we stood, the dark spreading like a cancer onto the churchyard, swallowing the ground and the grass and the graves, I stared at that creature, so pitiful in all its aspects: its stance was weary, leant to one side on a stunted leg that was forced to carry the bulk of its massless weight; its sinister smile malformed and misarranged, as though an abomination of Man trying to play God, and falling short in every manner; its tooth nose was rotting already, and would soon be consumed; its eyes were weary and lonely. I noticed it drawing close to me, and felt the maggot in my throat stir once more, as though it were compelled by the creature’s proximity. I tried to bite down, to prevent whatever may happen, but the worm tore from my throat, escaping back into the open, expectant mouth of my counterpart. After all, for all I hated it, it was but an extension of me: my shadow.

The voice was gone, its source consumed perhaps by the sea of darkness which began to shatter the stained glass windows of the nave. I could have sworn I heard a scream from the altar; I was glad I heard nothing from the coffin. The darkness rose further, swallowing the church’s roof, and the acid in my throat mimicked it, dripping through the hole bored by the maggot and melting the ground below me.

Praying - praying for perhaps the first time in my life - that I had made the right choice, I - and, by extension, my shadow - rang the bell, as my orifices were flooded with the darkness, purging me.

Then, perhaps, was I clean.

#writing #my writing #horror #long reads #but not that long #tw #fiction

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therealmadblonde · 4 years

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October 18

First time out yesterday I got him farther through the muck, but he was still in it when I left him. I was tired. Jack was sequestered with his objects. The police were about, searching the area. The vicar was out, too, offering exhortations to the searchers. Night came on, and later I made my way back to the muck, chasing off a few vermin and beginning the long haul once again.

I’d worked on and off for over an hour, allowing myself several panting breaks, when I realized I was no longer alone. He was bigger than me even, and he moved with a silence I envied — some piece of the night cut loose and drifting against lesser blacknesses. He seemed to know the moment I became aware of him, and he moved toward me with a long, effortless stride, one of the largest dogs I’d ever seen outside of Ireland.

Correction. As he came on I realized he wasn’t really a dog. It was a great gray wolf that was bearing down on me. I quickly reviewed my knowledge of the submissive postures these guys are into as I backed away from the corpse.

“You can have it,” I said. “It’s all right with me. It’s not in the best of shape, though.” He loomed nearer. Monstrous jaws, great feral eyes…Then he sat down.

“So this is where it is,” he said.

“What?”

“The missing body. Snuff, you are tampering with evidence.”

“And you might say I’m tampering with something already tampered with. Who are you?”

“Larry. Talbot.”

“Could’ve fooled me. I thought you were — a great wolf…oh.”

“That, too.”

“Were, huh? And you’re shifted. But this is the dark of the moon.”

“So it is.”

“Neat trick, that. How’d you manage it?”

“I can do it whenever I choose, with certain botanical aids, and retain full rationality — save when the moon is full. It’s only involuntary then, with certain unfortunate accompaniments.”

“So I understand. Like, berserk.”

“Wulfsark,” he said. “Yes.”

“So why are you here?”

“I tracked you. Ordinarily, this is my favorite time of month, without a trace of moon to disturb me. But I forsook this to do some investigating. Then it became necessary that I speak with you. So I came looking. What are you doing with the body, anyway?”

“I was trying to get it to the river, where I want to drop it in. Someone had left it near our place, and I was afraid Jack would be suspected.”

“I’ll give you a ha — I’ll help.”

With that, he seized it by a shoulder and began walking backwards. No bracing himself and tugging, the way I’d had to manage it. He just kept walking, picking up speed, even. I didn’t see any way I could help. I’d just slow him down if I grabbed hold anywhere. I trotted along beside and watched.

An hour or so later we stood on the riverbank and watched the current bear the corpse away.

“I can’t tell you how happy this makes me,” I said. “You just did,” he said. “Let’s head back.”

We returned, but when he reached my place he kept going.

“Where are we headed?” I finally asked, when he’d turned left at the second crossroad.

“I’d said I went looking for you because I wanted to speak with you. There is something I need to show you first. If my timing is right, it’s about midnight now.”

“I’d guess it’s close.”

We approached the local church. There was a very dim light from within.

“The front will probably be locked,” he said. “We wouldn’t want to go in that way, though.”

“We’re going in?”

“That’s my intention.”

“Have you been in it before?”

“Yes. I know my way around. We’ll go in the rear entrance if no one’s about, pass through a small vestibule, turn left for a few paces, then right up a little hallway. We can get into the vestry from there, if it’s clear.”

“And then?”

“If we position ourselves properly, we get a view.”

“Of what?”

“I’m curious myself. Let’s find out.”

We made our way around to the back of the building and listened. Determining that there was no one near on the other side, Larry rose up onto his hind legs, seeming far more graceful in that position than I could be. But then, he’d had a lot more practice. He seized the doorknob between his forepaws, squeezed, twisted, and pulled slowly.

It opened and we entered. He closed the door just as quietly behind us. We followed the route he had described, and, coming into the vestry, we were able to position ourselves to obtain the view he had referred to.

There was a service in progress.

Only a few people — one woman, the rest of them men — were present, occupying the front pews. The vicar stood before the altar — which I noted to be draped in black — and was reading to his congregation. He squinted through his square spectacles, as the flickering light was not very good, all of it coming from only a few black candles. Larry pointed out that the cross was upside-down, but I’d already noticed this myself.

“Do you know what that means?” he asked softly.

“Religious distress signal?” I said.

“Listen to what he’s saying.” So I did.

“‘…Nyarlathotep,’” he read, “‘cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills. He is like a many-legged goat, and he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice, horned in glory. Nyarlathotep spake, and he said, “Rise up, my dark one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is nigh and the cold rains fall. The flowers have died upon the earth, and the singing of birds is done. The turtle lies slain. The fig tree withers, as do the grapes. Arise, my dark one, and come away…”’”

The woman had risen to her feet, swaying slightly, and had begun to disrobe.

“You’ve proved your point,” I said to Larry, memorizing the faces of the parishioners, whom I suspected to be the crossbow crew as well.

“Then let us take a hint and come away,” he said.

I followed him from the vestry, and we let ourselves out the way we had come in. We made our way slowly back to the crossroads.

“So he’s involved,” I said after a time.

“It’s his status I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Yes?”

“I know that a certain geometry prevails in these matters, but I’ve never learned it fully,” he said. “I do know, though, that it involves the placement of each player’s residence.”

“True. Oh. I see what you’re getting at.”

“Yes. How does his presence affect the pattern? Do you know how to figure these things, Snuff?”

“I do. I’ve been walking lines for some time. Where does he actually live?”

“That cottage behind the church is the vicarage.”

“Okay. Close enough. I’m going to have to do a lot more calculating now.”

“I need to know the center ground, the place of manifestation, Snuff.”

“I’d guessed that, Larry, and I’ll tell you when I figure it. Mind telling me your plans? I’ve a feeling they’re special.”

“Sorry.”

“That makes you a part of my problem then, you know.”

“How so?”

“If I don’t know what you’re up to, I don’t know whether to count you as a player, whether or not to include your place in the diagram.”

“I see.”

He halted, there at the crossroads.

“Could you do it both ways — with me and without me — and let me know the results?”

“As well as both ways on the vicarage? That’d be damned complicated — having to work it both ways, twice. Why are you afraid to tell me? You’ve as much as said you’re a closer. All right. So am I. You happy now? Your secret’s safe. We’re in this together.”

“That’s not it, Snuff,” he said. “I can’t tell you because I don’t know. I’m an anticipator. I know certain things about the future, and I anticipate being at the center when the moon is full. And yes, I’m on your side. But I’ll also be out of my mind that night. I still haven’t worked out the formula for bringing it through a moon-change intact. I’m not sure I should even be categorized as a player. But then, I’m not sure I shouldn’t. I’m just too much of a wild card.”

I threw back my head and howled. Sometimes it’s the best thing to do.

I went home, made my rounds, thought a lot, and slept. Earlier today, I encountered Graymalk as I paced the neighborhood and calculated.

“Hi, cat,” I said.

“Hi, dog. What’s the status on your disposal project?”

“Finished. Done. Complete. All floated away. Last night.”

“Admirable. There were times when I thought they’d find it before you got there.”

“Me, too.”

“We have to be careful what we talk about now.”

“Or even how we phrase things. But we’re adults and we’re reasonably intelligent and we both know the score. So, how’s it going?”

“Not real well.”

“Math problems?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“It’s all right. Everybody’s got ’em just now.”

“Do you know that? Or are you guessing?”

“It couldn’t be any other way, believe me.” She stared at me.

“I do believe you. What I’d like to know is how you can be so sure?”

“That’s the part I can’t tell you, I’m afraid.”

“I understand,” she said. “But let’s not stop talking just because we’re into the second phase.”

“Agreed. I think that would be a mistake.”

“So, how’s it going?”

“Not real well.”

“Math problems or identity problems?”

“You’re sharp. Both.”

“If you solve the problem of whether Talbot’s really a player, I’ll trade you something for it.”

“What?”

“Can’t say, of course. But it could be useful if things get rough.”

“I’m inclined to take you up on it, but I haven’t an answer yet.”

“That gives me something right there — small, but something. So, for whatever it’s worth, here’s a negative: It can’t be the center of a road. The mistress has researched it and found good metaphysical reasons why not.”

“I’d come to that conclusion myself, but I didn’t know about the metaphysics. All right, we’re still even.”

“Talk to you again soon.”

“Yes, soon.”

I took a walk, to my favorite thinking place, a little hill to the northeast, whence I could see the entire area for a great distance. I called it Dog’s Nest. I mounted the height of one of the big blocks of stone that lay there and was afforded a view of the township.

Identities…

If neither Talbot nor the vicar were technically involved, I’d a good candidate for the center. And if only Larry were involved, it still held. Though I was leery of the Count, it would have to be checked out. But the vicar was also a wild card. If he were to be counted, but not Larry, an equally good candidate for center came into existence — one I had even visited recently. If he and Larry were both to be counted as players, though, a third possible site of manifestation was created, to the southeast — I hadn’t quite figured where yet. I moved in a big circle about the hilltop, pissing on stone after stone as I calculated, partly to keep track of the lines, partly in frustration.

Then I had it, and I marked it in my mind. If they both played, then a big old manse about which I knew nothing was the third candidate for the locale. Excitement leaped in my breast like a puppy, enthusiastic and more than a little naïve. A bit of consecration was all that was necessary to strengthen the probability of its choice. I’d have to check this out.

I realized then that I needed the help of a cat.

I went looking for Graymalk again but she was nowhere about. Cats are never around when you really need one. There was still time, though.

#10-18-20 #a night in the lonesome October #roger zelazny #full moon Halloween

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wolfhednn · 5 years

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🎄 A TREE FIR YOU EVEN IF YOU'RE NOT DOING THE MEME BUT DAMN IF BEING OVERBEARING WITH THIS AIN'T IC AF.

no i didn’t even reblog the meme but i’m doing it for @gallantgautier cause i’m an unapologetic trash bin :meowshrug:

home stretch. it’s in their shared look, has been since the evening finally began to set in, has been since they got into the car behind a rowdy glenn and an ingrid chastising him about how they were going to be late if he didn’t hurry up. has been since glenn nearly got a ticket going 44 on the 30mph road leading up to the church because he was too busy laughing at the recollection of rodrigue’s face earlier that day after some stunt he had pulled.

much of the long day is behind them now. home stretch. since nearly five in the morning, they’d been awake, the fraldarius household filled with motion and movement — presents to be wrapped ( and some secretly ), meals to be prepared, last-minute ingredients to be picked up amid the throngs in the grocery store all there for the same sticks of butter, the same sprigs of rosemary. with all the moments of warmth and moments of friction that come with christmas eve.

home stretch. just the christmas eve service and they would be done, free to return to their shared apartment for a quieter night, a glass or two of something aged and sweet, respite beneath the north star before they would go their separate ways to different households again in the morning for christmas day with their families — felix knew sylvain would want to eke what solace he could from these dwindling hours before stepping into the pit of gnashing teeth that would greet him.

❝ text from dad. the gautiers’re there already, ❞ glenn announces from the front seat.

❝ glenn, don’t check your texts while you’re driving, please! ❞

in the backseat, beneath where the rearview can see, felix keeps his neutral gaze out the window, watching the familiar rows of houses and trees pass, and his hand slides over to rest atop sylvain’s.

the wheels of glenn’s car come to a stop over the familiar gravel lot, and felix’s breath puffs in a dissipating cloud over the rim of his coat lapels as he gets out of the car, promptly shoving his hands in his pockets. this, too, is tradition. the second generation wavers in their devotion, but each year the patriarchs fraldarius and gautier have built this foundation: a bedrock as unwavering as granite. glenn makes his jabs, but felix has never minded. the sermons preach the same lessons year after year, and he’s resolutely, though patiently, silent during the congregation’s prayers, but the hymns are pleasant, and he can admire the permeating spirit of warmth and the smiles on everyone’s faces.

❝ felix, you gonna finally sing with the choir this year? ❞ glenn’s obligatory teasing.

❝ i already told you, no. ❞ felix’s obligatory scorn.

❝ a tragedy. every year, i’m denied… how long will you- oh, hey, sylvain, what about you? come on, i’ve heard you at the hymns! don’t be shy! ❞ felix doesn’t even have to look back over his shoulder to know precisely the scene that’s playing out: glenn with that mischievous look, sylvain declining with a laugh equal parts playful and self-conscious, ingrid fondly shaking her head.

heat from the central thermostat and the huddle of bodies arrayed in festive red and white billow to thaw his cheeks when he opens the door, glancing back at the carousing trio. the musical prelude has already begun, a medley piano arrangement of ‘ away in a manger ’ floating over the hushed voices of the settling crowd as they hasten to make final greetings to familiar faces. ❝ hurry up. ❞

they find the array of royal blue and ivory, forest green and vermilion. ❝ we were just thinking you wouldn’t make it, ❞ rodrigue says by way of greeting, moving over for them to take their seats: the fraldariuses arrayed in one half of the row: rodrigue, glenn, ingrid, felix, before sylvain next to him makes the transition to the gautier side of the row, next to his mother, miklan, then his father.

❝ dad, i’m always right in the nick of time. like the saint nicholas of ti— ❞

a light shove from ingrid cuts glenn off. ❝ shh. it’s starting. ❞

every year proceeds the same, with its own small changes. a steady stream of ups and downs, not much different from the last. at least, that’s how it’s always felt to felix. he closes his eyes to the soothing choral prelude, waits with quiet enthusiasm for the time to sing his favorite hymns, throws a shared look and grin ( as they do every year ) across ingrid to glenn at ❝ je-sus, to thee-ee be-ee glo-o-ry givennnnnnnn ❞ and waiting for her to sigh at them ( as she does every year. ❝ no ingrid, singing giv’n wrong is tradition! ❞, as glenn insists whenever she brings it up ).

the homily is, as he’d expected, the same as usual. communion goes as it always does, with the choir’s arrangement of ‘ the shepherd’s farewell ’ drifting to hover above and around, its gentle blend warmer than a hearth.

before long, the service, and the conclusion of their long day, is rounding its final bend. the weariness isn’t simply theirs; it follows the dimming of the lights, cloaking the congregation in a hushing mantle that descends in seraphic peace, a penumbral dusk whose velvet glimmers faintly with the new starlight of candles being lit one by one down the central aisle. ushers move carefully, sharing the first light from the altar candles with the first individual in each row, to have it passed down, person to person. felix picks up his own, laid under his seat before the service had ever begun, and waits for sylvain to take his — a tiny, flickering flame — from his mom before turning to him. the rector’s voice murmurs gently over the crowd:

❝ the light shines in the darkness, and yet the darkness did not overcome it. ❞

the wavering glow as it passes from the wick of sylvain’s candle to his illuminates the glimmer of the smile in felix’s eyes, the creases of the same in sylvain’s face.

‘ silent night ’s first faint notes float over from the choir, joined in a quiet swell of unison from the congregation and felix’s own mild bass as he turns, one hand cupping the flame to shield it from the moving air, to light ingrid’s candle next. as ingrid shortly does the same, he watches with knowing exasperation as glenn takes his chance to press a kiss to her forehead, her muted protests always followed by his coy grin. tranquil coppers then move out to gaze over the small sea of other heads, out to the high windows where the moonlight peeks through, to the pungent garlands of mistletoe and ivy hung up in long vines encircling the walls just beneath the ceiling.

they’re at the third verse when a searching hand to his right finds his own, and he curls his fingers in the gaps between sylvain’s, rough and warm.

son of god, love’s pure light.

❝ hey. ❞

felix turns to read sylvain’s smile, an adoring, coaxing thing that needs nothing to help brighten it. it’s not the radiant, beaming one when he’s laughing so hard that he needs to sit down; it’s not the wistful one softened by fondness when he’s watching felix wipe the sweat from his forehead after another close match at his computer. this one is a small candle in a quiet twilight, a sheltered microcosm for only their dwelling.

radiant beams from thy holy face.

he shifts in closer so that their arms touch, inviting the other to rest his face in his hair, prompting felix to look up at him with a self-conscious turn to the corners of his mouth when sylvain responds by leaning in just a fraction.

❝ sylvain… ❞

with the dawn of redeeming grace.

he knows that sylvain knows the tones of his protest. knows that when their eyes close and lips meet anyway, that sylvain doesn’t need any light to see the warmth that blooms in equal measure across felix’s cheeks and within his chest.

#gallantgautier #this is the church i sing for's silent night tradition actually #it makes me so qq every time #also lowkey swerves from writing for sylvain cause ???#what's a sylvain lmao #the 'o come all ye faithful' joke is the fraldarius brothers inside joke #i will take that hc to the hecking GRAVE don't @ me #. ⊰ ❛ ᴄʀᴀᴅʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪʟᴅs ⊱ * musing — ✘

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teal-skull · 5 years

Text

Lupus Dei (heavily PW inspired short story)

There is a great punch of references to the band in this text, will you find them all?

Dark grey clouds filled the sky. Pale branches of a dead tree waved in the wind. The lawn grew uncut, hay here and there. Rain tickled my face as I walked down the path with my wet shoes. I read carved names and dates in the stones. Somewhere behind the mountains thunder raged. I pulled my hood over my eyes as the rain got stronger. My fingers took a better hold of my crucifix.

A gothic church stood before me. Tiles of the church had been darkened with time like it could have been ruined by a sinners’ touch. Gargoyles eyed me from the roof. They growled at me like I wasn’t welcome. Church’s tall towers were full of spices. In my eyes, they looked like undead soldiers who had been pierced by arrows. I looked at the heavy doors, the arch above it and dark, tall windows on the sides. The entrance didn’t look like it belonged to a house of Lord but gates of the eternal inferno. I believed it was the horrific weather that brought all these dark images to my mind. I stepped in.

As the door thumped behind me, I was surrounded by gloomy candlelight. I saw a man with maniple to go up the stairs that seemed to lead to the organ. I looked around me and met Mother Mary’s calm eyes in a painting. The hall was rather large and had pillars standing on the side of it. They led my eyes to the paintings in the ceiling. THey seemed peculiar. I didn’t see angel choirs or the holy saints. I saw earthly horrors, the bloodshed of the crusades, people tempted by lust for sin. And everywhere was a hellish flame burning in the night, making the sky and the moon to shine red. As I started to feel little lightheadedness I felt like the painting was sucking me inside of it. I looked back down terrified. Before me was multiple rows of benches only three men sitting on them. They were all praying in silence. What shocked me was that they all were dressed in black robes and had hoods over their heads. How disrespectful to wear your hood on! A long-haired priest, who had kneeled down by the altar, didn’t seem to care about it. He simply continued his prey in Latin. His baritone voice was controlled and had a lot of debt that stroke me. On the altar table was a dusty book opened, a wooden cross, two candle trees and a golden chalice with an odd Christogram in it. Behind was a sculpture of the crucified. A red light was looming to the tile floor from huge stained glass windows.

I heard the organ starting to play and melting to the sound of the priest's voice as I walked to the last row and sat on the bench. There was a man sitting in the same row. Hood was covering a lot of his face but I saw a small, coat-like beard and long hair. This man had put his hands together and didn’t pay attention to me.

Suddenly the priest stopped praying and the man next to me rose. He walked to the side to get something from another room. The priest rose and turned towards our small congregation. He had a red stole around his neck. He grandiloquently spread his arms encouraging us to rise. The benches creaked a little. The organs grew stronger as the priest started to speak Latin again. Dark words echoed around me as if they had sunk in my flesh.

The man returned with a golden bowl in his hands. The priest moved his fingers across the pages of the holy book still speaking in Latin. Other prayers gathered around the altar joining to the strange Latin the priest spoke. I stepped aside for I was too afraid to join them. This was not the pattern of an ordinary god’s service. I felt something scraping my stomach but curiosity prevented my feet from moving.

Another worshiper, who’s hood covers everything in shadows except for a bearded chin and some hair. I wasn’t sure if it was the lighting that made his long wavy hair to seem a little reddish. He took the wooden cross from the table. Muttering something this man set it aflame with the candle. I was horrified and without thinking took a hold of my crucifix. The claw of evil scratched my heart. Now I was sure that these men were not worshiping God. This was something cursed and unholy.

The priest, if that dark figure even was one, started to speak: -As the dark conquer this land after the sun has surrendered its daily battle, we gather to honor you, dominus Sanctus! Now another worshiper moved and took the chalice in his hand. He pours some red liquid from the bowl to the chalice with a steady hand. He turned towards the sculpture and walked to it. He removed his hood that had covered bald head to honor the crucified. Other worshiper brought the burning cross closer, to light the sculpture. The orange light showed a horrible creature, an enormous wolf which was shouting from the top of its’ lungs. It had a sharp set of teeth, claws with twisted nails, a hood covering the eyes. -Take our humble praise and loyalty. Take the blood that we had shed for your sake and let it run in your veins, holy wolf! Ad the priest said this, the man spilled the liquid to the throat of the beast. -Deliver us, be our holy spirit! Rise, Lupus Dei! Amen. The congregation started to murmur Latin. Over and over again they hymned: -Lupus Dei! Terra sanguis! Satura luna! Cultus lupus! Ave Lupus Dei!

The crucified werewolf started to move. It let out a deep snarl from its’ throat. The sculpted surface started cracking. Inside of it came a dark beast with the blaze of Hell in its’ eyes. As it breathed, a green mist started to appear. -We hail you Lupus Dei! The worshipers cried as they breathed the mist eagerly. That was when the organs stopped. The Beast howled and it hunted the entire church. Men in robes started to crouched and shouted. Their bones twitched, the skin began to thaw, chin grew longer and dark fur started to appear. Everything that was humane in them melted away. They howled in pain.

I ran but the doors were shut. Behind me was a pack of wolves. One jumped down from the organ right before. The others came to me. Claws took hold of me and dragged me to the beast. It looked me a good while. I felt a silent call. I stared at the eyes of the wolf. It raised its’ paw and put it on my chest. Sharp pain made me scream. Marked was carved in my chest. Hot blood ran down my body making me lose my hold from reality. I felt itching in my bones. A horrid pain took control of my muscles. The green mist around me grew thicker. I cried and wailed, pressing my claws around the crucifix. A repeating prey echoed in my ears: -Ave Lupus Dei.

#gothic #fanfiction #powerwolf #pw #falk maria schlegel #attila dorn #roel van helden #charles greywolf #matthew greywolf #turquoise writings

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rockofeye · 6 years

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can you tell more stories about your experiences? i find your stories really comforting and warm because it gives me hope that there are spirits out there that love us all in the ways you describe.

Hi there!

This is a really sweet compliment, so thank you for making me smile. I am happy to share more stories because stories were how I started to learn about my spirits and how they move in the world.

A seasonally appropriate story:

Part of my kanzo preparations was basically cutting deals with my lwa to get stuff down. Among other things, I promised to go the mass/Catholic church services weekly if they would assist me in getting the money together for kanzo. I worked overnights at that time from Sunday to Thursday, so being up early in the mornings was a no-go but I still needed to go to mass because I Had Promised.

After some searching, I found the closest Catholic church to me that had a Sunday evening service. Coincidentally (read: not at all), the church I picked was about a 7 minute drive from my apartment and turned out to be the only church that had a Haitian ministry. It was also the only church in the city that had a shrine for Therese de Lisieux. So, I would head over to the church for mass and get there a little early so I could visit Therese and basically beg for her help to stay faithful and keep my eyes on the prize (kanzo). It was a really rough time for me because my lwa were going scorched earth to clear the way for me to get to the djevo and I was being stubborn but was desperate enough to pray to anything I thought might help. I didn’t know much about Therese except that she was an example of deep love for her god…and we all know how that turned out for me.

Anyway, it was a Sunday in December during Advent/lead up to Christmas, which is a very hot time of year in Haitian Vodou. The divine becoming mortal is imminent and that is a cornerstone of Vodou. It was cold and dark and I really didn’t want to go to mass because Netflix and my couch sounded way better. But…I had promised and you do not betray promises to the lwa, especially before kanzo.

So, my own compromise to make going to mass on a cold night was to wear comfy flannel pants. I grumbled my way to church, said hello to Therese which probably involved ‘I don’t want to be here, but here I am. My life is a disaster and I don’t know what to, please help me not lose my shit’, and hunkered down in a pew in the back to endure the service.

The service began and then…. Most Catholic churches have a large main altar where the priest does his stuff and then small votive altars on each side, often to Mary or a saint or an aspect of Christ. This church had St Joseph on the right and a votive altar to the sacred heart of Jesus on the left. These particular altars had racks of vigil candles in front of them where a person can light a candle after praying. Lots of churches have electric candles, but this church still has actual candles.

The service is progressing and all of a sudden the votive candles in front of the sacred heart votive shrine are a massive fireball. Like, half the rack of candles is one big fire which is very much NOT supposed to happen. I’m sitting there watching this and no one else seems to notice. The priest is reading from the gospel, which is the accounting of Christ’s life and work, and this shrine is just on fire and no one moves or says anything. I sit there and look around and wonder if I am hallucinating or something when the altar server–a tiny older Vietnamese man–suddenly leaps over the side rail of the altar with the pitcher of water the priest uses to wash his hands while preparing communion and flings the water at the fire (and Jesus) and all is well.

Later, it is communion time and I didn’t take part at that point in my life for Reasons. Out of nowhere, though, my spirits were all ‘go get blessed’ and I said nope, not gonna and gave them all the Reasons why. They insisted, I said no, and this kept up for a few minutes (I was WAY more stubborn and argumentative then) and suddenly Ogou was all ‘GET. UP. AND. GO. GET. BLESSED’. Papa doesn’t like to suffer foolish children and I did have at least a small bit of self preservation left in me, so I stood up, got in line, and grumbled my way up to the priest.

It was my turn to get blessed and he said something about the lord pouring out blessings upon my head, but I missed some of it because he blessed me by placing his hand on my head and it hit me like electric shocks. It felt exactly like what the precursors to being mounted by the spirits feels like for me, and I am still surprised I didn’t end up on the ground and go down in history as That Guy who ended up flopping around on the floor at church.

As soon as the service was over, I basically fled the church, threw myself in the car, and swerved down the street while leaving my future godfather a message that essentially was ‘OH GOD this thing just happened at CHURCH and I don’t understaaaaand CALL ME BACK’.

The spirits wanted me to get blessed and see the heat inherent to the season, I suppose. At that time, it was really good and important for me to see and feel how the lwa really move in the world and really can affect change when they want to.

#vodou #haitian vodou #advent #priest things #road to kanzo

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howrv · 5 years

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Fargo's Museum Ranch: Chapter 4

Visually, the ranch was pristine but weathered, much like Fargo. They both have withstood storms, and it showed. The twisting winds are brutal coming off the nearby Chiricahua Mountains. At one moment you see a sand storm in the distance, swirling tornados, ejecting white plumes high in the air. Then in seconds, the swirl overtakes you. There is no light. It is like someone ripped the sun from the sky and you are being blasted and tossed by sand at 40 to 60 mph. You are blinded. Becky and I have experienced such a storm driving our bus on I-10 in the New Mexican desert. The most terrifying 30 seconds of my life.

But the Museum Ranch stands as it has for decades, everything in its place choreographed by a master set director. There are a dozen or so sheltered gathering spaces (sitting areas) around the ranch. Each unique and all displaying memorabilia and photos of movie stars with their arms draped on the shoulder of a younger Fargo. These gathering spots are in the corner of barns, under carriage sheds, by fire pits, attached to a hen house or upstairs over a storage shed. In each one, there are places and porches to sit and talk. Some have a few chairs and benches, while others have a few metal milk crates turned on end, or maybe a log for us to straddle. But most notably, in every space there was a single armed chair with a padded seat were Fargo would hold court to a captive audience of us.

There was always music playing in the background. Radio set to a Mexican station or a phonograph player softly emitting vocals of Patsy Cline, Hank Snow, Rex Allen, and Ernest Tubb. Signature cowboy songs. A perfect underscore to match our cinematic imaginations, while Fargo told stories of the old west.

While Becky and Fargo were chatting, I was admiring a Stetson hat and removed it from a hook on a post. Barton was quick to tell me that I should "replace it like I found it" because if it were 1/8 inch off, or rehung askew Fargo would notice.

Fargo and his ranch hands each had a few trucks. Quattro even had a Cadillac. But all vehicles were stashed behind a grove of mesquite or under the back side of a shed, not distracting from the perception that we were back in the late 1800's. An electric golf cart was the only hardware that belied the visual genera. Fargo needed it's assistance to get around and check on things. He would fatigue quickly and often pulled out an inhaler from his jeans to allay coughing and breathlessness. But at 89, he was still leaner and keener than most of our friends just reaching retirement age.

We climbed aboard the electric cart and set out to see the ranch. He rode us to where stagecoaches and chuck wagons were stored. The one carriage with a large frame, Jonny Cash liked best. Quartto pointed out the chuck wagon used by Lee Marvin and Brian Keith in The Quest and Monty Walsh. There was the stagecoach Maureen O'Hare while swishing her petticoats climbed in and rode off, in Big Jake. He pointed out items used in McClintock, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, wagons from the Little House pilot, saddles and spurs from Three Amigos and yokes and harnesses that accompanied the mule teams in Bonanza. Most, he said, he had sold or left back in Old Tuscon where we visited last year. But he still had an amazing collection of important antiquities from the silver screen.

He called our attention to an old blacksmith's anvil. "That thing weighs 350 pounds," he said with half grin half grimace. "You know how I know?" To which I gave a shrug. "Arnold Schwarzenegger picked the damn thing up and told me," Fargo grinned, adding emphasis by raising his eyebrows up and down three or four times making his hat bob on his head.

Homing pigeons moved in and out of their roosts. Fargo explained how intelligent they were and their dependable characteristics. He supplied Old Tuscon with birds for many movies. So if you are watching an old John Ford western and you see birds a flight, they were probably trained by our friend Fargo to fly on cue.

Once he was commissioned to provide deer for a scene of the animals running through prairie. The scene was to be shot from above from a helicopter. However, the producers were prohibited from herding or using live game in a shoot. So Ole' Fargo rigged antlers on his goats, placed them at one end of a canyon and put Barton at the other end of the canyon with the pappa goat to call the "deer herd." The helicopter lifted off and the scene was captured in one take.

We headed down a fence line on the safe side of longhorn steer and bulls to a wood-hewn building with a cross on the front. Quattro hobbled in with us as we entered the chapel.

At the front, centered between two wood beams was a large print of the last supper, the one depicting the servant in the foreground. On the right was a pulpit draped in a colorful sarape blanket with two wooden slats tied in a cross on the front. Behind the pulpit was a statue of The Madonna and another cross above it. On the walls were Indian ceremonial feathers and bells, a menorah, a yarmulke, and plastic flower arrangements. Beside the pulpit was a photo of Mother Teresa and The Pope.

On the left side of the chapel was a firebrick altar with a leaded glass backdrop. A brass cross leaned against a wood mantle and two tin cups dangled below. Fargo retrieved a now extinct, Blue Diamond self-striking match from a Ball Jar, scratched it across the brick, and began lighting several candles. I was about to cross myself or genuflect when Fargo broke my reverence and uttered, "Yeah, I've got all kinds of religious shit in here. I've got Protestant shit, Catholic shit, Jewish shit, Indian shit, and we've even had a few weddings. Quattro there's a minister, and he officiates," gesturing to Quattro who was now standing behind the podium gripping both sides firmly.

Quattro, the minister, told us a little of his story while standing behind the pulpit. He had originated in Pensylvania and came out to Arizona to visit his brother at UofA in Tucson. He met Fargo on set at Old Tucson, fell in love with the west and never went back. He helped Fargo with the animals, worked as a bronc rider and stuntman, and fit into the movie business as Fargo's sidekick.

After blowing out the candles on the altar, we left the church and headed down the lane, opening and closing gates behind us. We drove onto open range where fifty miles of sagebrush, tumbleweed, and sand lay in front of the jagged Chiricahua mountains where we hiked just days before. We arrived at a clump of mesquite trees that shaded seven grave sites. We sat on benches and listened as Fargo told us stories about each ranch hand who was buried there. His words were kind with a deep appreciation for their service.

We carted back to the coffee pot area. It was 2 pm. Fargo moved his chair from in front of the padlocked door and opened it. The door swung inward to reveal a saloon right out of the movies. Four stools, a swinging door, and a bar lined with bottles of whiskey, bourbon, and tequila in front of mirrored glass. Hanging behind the bar were cowboy hats, Indian headress, scores of photographs, lanterns, spurs, feathers, beads and oh yes, an Indian scalp. I wasn't too surprised when he pointed out the spur marks in the oak bar top.

We looked through his stacks of 12-inch long-play records. An impressive collection. Becky chose Hank Snow and we enjoyed a few cold ones while Fargo told more stories of movies and the stars he knew.

We had spent the entire day with three of the most interesting men I've ever met. We learned more about animals, birds, Indians, history and movies, than I had in a lifetime. But this was just the first day of three. The next day we were to bring our forty-foot Allegro Bus (our Home On Wheels) and park right in the middle of The Museum Ranch, 12 miles and a hundred years from town.

#homeonwheels #howrv #jonandbecky #homeiswhereyouparkit #retireontheroad #fargo

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12-3amproductions · 6 years

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Ritual Murders: The Adrian Lim Case

Hello everyone! Welcome to another bizarre case study. Today, we will be covering a murder by a Singaporean who was madly obsessed in deities and the rituals that came along with them, to the extent of killing innocent victims and offering them to the idols as sacrifice.

Two children were killed in the seventh-story flat, in Block 12, Toa Payoh Lorong 7.

In the early 1980s, Adrian Lim, a charlatan medium seen by many as the very embodiment of evil, and his two “holy” wives (Tan Mui Choo and Hao Kah Hong), kidnapped, tortured and killed a pair of children (Agnes Ng Siew Heok and Ghazali bin Marzuki).

Background of Adrian Lim

Born on 6 January 1942, Adrian Lim was the eldest son of a low-income family. Described at the trial by his sister as a hot-tempered boy, he dropped out of secondary school and worked a short stint as an informant for the Internal Security Department, joining the cable radio company Rediffusion Singapore in 1962. For three years, he installed and serviced Rediffusion sets as an electrician before being promoted to bill collector.

In April 1967, Lim married his childhood sweetheart with whom he had two children. He converted to Catholicism for his marriage. Lim and his family lived in rented rooms until his 1970 purchase of a three-room flat—a seventh floor unit (unit number 467F) of Block 12, Toa Payoh.

Lim started part-time practice as a spirit medium in 1973. He rented a room where he attended to the women—most of whom were bargirls, dance hostesses, and prostitutes—introduced to him by his landlord. Lim's customers also included superstitious men and elderly females, whom he cheated only of cash. He had learned the trade from a bomoh called "Uncle Willie" and prayed to gods of various religions despite his Catholic baptism.

The Hindu goddess Kali and "Phragann", which Lim described as a Siamese sex god, were among the spiritual entities he called on in his rituals. Lim deceived his clients with several confidence tricks; his most effective gimmick, known as the "needles and egg" trick, duped many to believe that he had supernatural abilities. After blackening needles with soot from a burning candle, Lim carefully inserted them into a raw egg and sealed the hole with powder. In his rituals, he passed the egg several times over his client while chanting and asked her to crack open the egg. Unaware that the egg had been tampered with, the client would be convinced by the sight of the black needles that evil spirits were harassing her.

Lim particularly preyed on gullible girls who had deep personal problems. He promised them that he could solve their woes and increase their beauty through a ritual massage. After Lim and his client had stripped, he would knead her body—including her genitals—with Phragann's idol and have sex with her. Lim's treatments also included an electro-shock therapy based on that used on mental patients. After placing his client's feet in a tub of water and attaching wires to her temples, Lim passed electricity through her. The shocks, he assured her, would cure headaches and drive away evil spirits

Background of Tan Mui Choo

Catherine Tan Mui Choo was referred to Lim by a fellow bargirl, who claimed the spirit medium could cure ailments and depression. Tan, at that time, was grieving the death of her grandmother to whom she had been devoted. Furthermore, her estrangement from her parents weighed on her mind; having been sent away at the age of 13 to a vocational centre (a home mostly for juvenile delinquents), she felt unwanted by them. Tan's visits to Lim became regular, and their relationship grew intimate. In 1975 she moved into his flat on his insistence.

To allay his wife's suspicions that he was having an affair with Tan, Lim swore an oath of denial before a picture of Jesus Christ. However, she discovered the truth and moved out with their children a few days later, divorcing Lim in 1976. Lim quit his Rediffusion job and became a full-time medium. He enjoyed brisk business, at one point receiving S$6,000–7,000 (US$2,838–3,311) a month from a single client. In June 1977, Lim and Tan registered their marriage.

Lim dominated Tan through beatings, threats, and lies. He persuaded her to prostitute herself to supplement their income. He also convinced her that he needed to fornicate with young women to stay healthy; thus, Tan assisted him in his business, preparing their clients for his pleasure. Lim's influence over Tan was strong; on his encouragement and promise that sex with a younger man would preserve her youth, Tan copulated with a Malay teenager and even with her younger brother. The boy was not her only sibling to be influenced by Lim; the medium had earlier seduced Tan's younger sister and tricked her into selling her body and having sex with the two youths. Despite the abuses, Tan lived with Lim, enjoying the dresses, beauty products and slimming courses bought with their income.

Background of Hoe Kah Hong

Born on 10 September 1955, Hoe Kah Hong was eight years old when her father died; she was sent to live with her grandmother until she was fifteen. When she returned to her mother and siblings she was constantly required to give way to her elder sister Lai Ho. Under the perception that her mother favoured her sister, Hoe became disgruntled, showing her temper easily.

In 1979, her mother brought Lai to Lim for treatment, and became convinced of Lim's powers by his "needles and egg" trick. Believing that Hoe's volatile temper could also be cured by Lim, the old woman brought her younger daughter to the medium. After witnessing the same trick, Hoe became Lim's loyal follower. Lim desired to make Hoe one of his "holy wives", even though she was already married to Benson Loh Ngak Hua. To achieve his goal, Lim sought to isolate Hoe from her family by feeding her lies. He claimed that her family were immoral people who practiced infidelity, and that Loh was an unfaithful man who would force her into prostitution. Hoe believed Lim's words, and after going through a rite with him, she was declared by the medium as his "holy wife". She no longer trusted her husband and family, and became violent towards her mother. Three months after she had first met Lim, Hoe moved from her house and went to live with him.

Loh sought his wife at Lim's flat and ended up staying to observe her treatment. He was persuaded by her to participate in the electro-shock therapies. In the early hours of 7 January 1980, Loh sat with Hoe, their arms locked together and their feet in separate tubs of water. Lim applied a large voltage to Loh, who was electrocuted, while Hoe was stunned into unconsciousness. When she woke, Lim requested her to lie to the police about Loh's death. Hoe repeated the story Lim had given her, saying that her husband had been electrocuted in their bedroom when he tried to switch on a faulty electric fan in the dark. The coroner recorded an open verdict, and the police made no further investigations.

Despite her antipathy towards Loh, Hoe was affected by his death. Her sanity broke; she started hearing voices and hallucinating, seeing her dead husband. At the end of May she was admitted to the Woodbridge Hospital. There, psychologists diagnosed her condition as schizophrenia and started appropriate treatments. Hoe made a remarkably quick recovery; by the first week of July, she was discharged. She continued her treatment with the hospital; follow-up checks showed that she was in a state of remission. Hoe's attitude towards her mother and other family members began to improve after her stay in the hospital, although she continued to live with Lim and Tan.

The murder:

The first victim was little Agnes Ng - curled up in the fetal position inside a travel bag by the lift landing. She was discovered by a 25-year-old carpenter at the ground floor of Block 11, Toa Payoh Lorong 7, as he headed back home after a night out at the movies on Jan 25, 1981.

“They found the bag, opened the zipper and out popped her head,” said retired police officer S.K. Menon, who was then the officer-in-charge of the CID’s Special Investigation Section.

He did not know it then, but the nine-year-old girl was the first of the two ritual murder victims of Adrian Lim, an unemployed 39-year-old who claimed to be a medium, his wife Catherine Tan Mui Choo and his mistress Hoe Kah Hong.

Agnes was abducted by Hoe at the Church of the Risen Christ in Toa Payoh and taken to Lim’s flat. She was injected with a sedative and then suffocated. She was also sexually assaulted by Lim.

A week after her death, either Tan or Hoe, called Agnes’ mother threatening to “chop” Agnes’ sister up.

But with few clues at the scene where the body was found, cracking the case was difficult, said Mr Menon. The pressure was truly on when the trio’s second victim, Ghazali Marzuki, 10, was found almost two weeks after Agnes.

“He was just lying there on the grass patch,” said Mr Menon, 78, when asked how the body was found, just metres from Lim’s block.

Ghazali had been playing with his cousins in a playground in Clementi the day before when they were approached by Hoe asking for help.

Ghazali was taken to Lim’s flat, where he was drugged, choked then drowned. There were also three burn marks on his back and a puncture on his arm.

This time, there was a trail of blood leading from Ghazali’s body all the way to Lim’s residence at Block 12.

“He did not realise the body was dripping blood from the nose,” said Mr Menon. “The blood, that was his undoing.”

Officers cordoned off the area and searched the block house-to-house. When they got to the seventh floor, they found Lim, dressed in a shirt and pants, seemingly about to make a run for it, said Mr Menon.

“(The house) was very eerie, it was lit with amber light, and right in front when you go in is the altar.”

Officers found various religious items in the flat, and on the altar Mr Menon mentioned, there were crucifixes and Hindu and Chinese idols, some of which were smeared with blood.

Suspicions were aroused further when a drop of blood was spotted on the kitchen floor.

Description of victim Agnes Ng:

Agnes Ng Siew Hock was a nine-year-old who went to the Holy Innocent’s Chinese Girl School.

She was the youngest of nine siblings.

She was last seen alive by her sister Pauline and a friend at the Church of Risen Christ in Toa Payoh at about 4pm, on Jan 24, 1981.

She was there waiting for her sister to finish classes before returning home together.

Her body was found in a brown vinyl bag on Jan 25, at about 2.20am near a staircase at Block 11 Toa Payoh by a man returning from a midnight show. Adrian Lim’s flat was at Block 12.

Her home at Block 233 was not far away from where she was found.

She had been sexually assaulted and suffocated — it seems by a hand covering her nose and mouth.

According to a forensic expert during the trial, it would have taken her 10 minutes to die.

Description of victim Ghazali Marzuki:

Ghazali Marzuki, who studied in Henry Park Primary School, was 10.

He was staying with his grandmother at Block 344, Clementi Avenue 5, on Feb 6 for the Chinese New Year holidays.

While at a playground with two cousins, a woman approached them.

She asked for help to collect some things from a friend’s house.

Ghazali agreed to help, and followed her into a taxi.

That was the last time he was seen alive.

In the early hours of Feb 7, Mr Fung Joon Yong, who lived at Block 12 in Toa Payoh, saw Catherine Tan stepping out of a lift, carrying a child over her shoulder. Adrian Lim was with her.

They went in the direction of Blocks 10 and 11.

Later that morning, Ghazali’s body was found near a hedge just in front of Block 10. The boy had been drugged with a sedative and drowned — his head pushed into a tub of water.

Burn marks were also found, but these were believed to have been caused by electrocution after he died.

Arresting the 3 murderers:

In a search of the area where Ghazali was found, police were led to the lift at Blk 12 where a resident had seen Catherine Tan with the boy. A bloodstain was found in the vicinity.

The police decided to search the higher floors.

More blood stains were found between the fifth and sixth storey staircase and the staircase leading to the seventh storey.

They decided to check the units on the seventh storey, the first of which was Adrian Lim’s. He was in the corridor. They spoke and Lim agreed to a search of his home.

It was very messy inside. In the kitchen, police found what seemed to be a bloodstain on the floor.

More police were called in to conduct a thorough search.

Tan and Hoe Kah Hong had returned by this time. Lim called them his wife and girlfriend, and told police they lived together.

A pair of slippers, shorts and a handkerchief — all stained were blood — were discovered. They belonged to Lim. A bloodstained blouse belonging to Hoe was found in a pail.

Pills containing the drug found in Ghazali were seized, along with a syringe believed to contain his blood. Strands of hair that seemed like Ghazali’s were found under a carpet and under a sofa.

Lim, Tan and Hoe were arrested and the next day, charged with murder.

Why did Adrian Lim and his accomplice murder the two children?

With Hoe and Tan as his assistants, Lim continued his trade, tricking more women into giving him money and sex. By the time of his arrest, he had 40 "holy wives". In the late 1980s, he was arrested and charged with rape.

His accuser was Lucy Lau, a door-to-door cosmetic salesgirl, who had met Lim when she was promoting beauty products to Tan. On 19 October, Lim told Lau that a ghost was haunting her, but he could exorcise it with his sex rituals. She was unconvinced, but the medium persisted. He secretly mixed two capsules of Dalmadorm, a sedative, into a glass of milk and offered it to her, claiming it had holy properties.

Lau became groggy after drinking it, which allowed Lim to take advantage of her. For the next few weeks, he continued to abuse her by using drugs or threats. In November, after Lim had given her parents a loan smaller than the amount they had requested, Lau made a police report about his treatment of her. Lim was arrested on charges of rape, and Tan for abetting him. Out on bail, Lim persuaded Hoe to lie that she was present at the alleged rape but saw no crime committed. This failed to stop the police enquiries; Lim and Tan had to extend their bail, in person, at the police station every fortnight.

Frustrated, Lim plotted to distract the police with a series of child murders. Moreover, he believed that sacrifices of children to Kali would persuade her supernaturally to draw the attention of the police away from him. Lim pretended to be possessed by Kali, and convinced Tan and Hoe that the goddess wanted them to kill children to wreak vengeance on Lau. He also told them Phragann demanded that he have sex with their female victims.

On 24 January 1981, Hoe spotted Agnes at a nearby church and lured her to the flat. The trio plied her with food and drink that was laced with Dalmadorm. After Agnes became groggy and fell asleep, Lim sexually abused her. Near midnight, the trio smothered Agnes with a pillow and drew her blood, drinking and smearing it on a portrait of Kali. Following that, they drowned the girl by holding down her head in a pail of water. Finally, Lim used his electro-shock therapy device to "make doubly sure that she was dead". They stuffed her body in a bag and dumped it near the lift at Block 11.

Ghazali suffered a similar fate when he was brought by Hoe to the flat on 6 February. He, however, proved resistant to the sedatives, taking a long time to fall asleep. Lim decided to tie up the boy as a precaution; however, the boy awoke and struggled. Panicking, the trio delivered karate chops to Ghazali's neck and stunned him. After drawing his blood, they proceeded to drown their victim. Ghazali struggled, vomiting and losing control of his bowels as he died. Blood kept streaming from his nose after his death. While Tan stayed behind to clean the flat, Lim and Hoe disposed of the body. Lim noticed that a trail of blood led to their flat, so he and his accomplices cleaned as much as they could of these stains before sunrise. When the trail of blood led the police to their flat, this resulted in their arrest.

Battle of psychiatrist in the supreme justice court:

No one doubted that Lim, Tan, and Hoe had killed the children. Their defence was based on convincing the judges that medically, the accused were not in total control of themselves during the crimes. The bulk of the trial was therefore a battle between expert witnesses called by both sides. Dr Wong Yip Chong, a senior psychiatrist in private practice, believed that Lim was mentally ill at the time of the crimes. Claiming to be "judging by the big picture, and not fussing over contradictions", he said that Lim's voracious sexual appetite and deluded belief in Kali were characteristics of a mild manic depression. The doctor also said that only an unsound mind would dump the bodies close to his home when his plan was to distract the police. In rebuttal, the prosecution's expert witness, Dr Chee Kuan Tsee, a psychiatrist at Woodbridge Hospital, said that Lim was "purposeful in his pursuits, patient in his planning and persuasive in his performance for personal power and pleasure". In Dr Chee's opinion, Lim had indulged in sex because through his role as a medium he obtained a supply of women who were willing to go to bed with him. Furthermore, his belief in Kali was religious in nature, not delusional. Lim's use of religion for personal benefit indicated full self-control. Lastly, Lim had consulted doctors and freely taken sedatives to alleviate his insomnia, a condition which, according to Dr Chee, sufferers from manic depression fail to recognise.

Dr R. Nagulendran, a consultant psychiatrist, testified that Tan was mentally impaired by reactive psychotic depression. According to him she was depressed before she met Lim, due to her family background. Physical abuse and threats from Lim deepened her depression; drug abuse led her to hallucinate and believe the medium's lies. Dr Chee disagreed; he said that Tan had admitted to being quite happy with the material lifestyle Lim gave to her, enjoying fine clothes and beauty salon treatments. A sufferer from reactive psychotic depression would not have paid such attention to her appearance. Also, Tan had earlier confessed to knowing Lim was a fraud, but changed her stance in court to claim she was acting completely under his influence. Although Dr Chee had neglected Lim's physical abuse of Tan in his judgment, he was firm in his opinion that Tan was mentally sound during the crimes. Both Dr Nagulendran and Dr Chee agreed that Hoe suffered from schizophrenia long before she met Lim, and that her stay in Woodbridge Hospital had helped her recovery. However, while Dr Nagulendran was convinced that Hoe suffered a relapse during the time of the child killings, Dr Chee pointed out that none of the Woodbridge doctors saw any signs of relapse during the six months of her follow-up checks (16 July 1980 – 31 January 1981). If Hoe had been as severely impaired by her condition as Dr Nagulendran described, she would have become an invalid. Instead, she methodically abducted and helped kill a child on two occasions. Ending his testimony, Dr Chee stated that it was incredible that three people with different mental illnesses should share a common delusion of receiving a request to kill from a god.

In their closing speeches, the defence tried to reinforce the portrayal of their clients as mentally disturbed individuals. Cashin said that Lim was a normal man until his initiation into the occult, and that he was clearly divorced from reality when he entered the "unreasonable world of atrociousness", acting on his delusions to kill children in Kali's name. Jeyaretnam said that due to her depression and Lim's abuse, Tan was just "a robot", carrying out orders without thought. Isaac simply concluded, "[Hoe's] schizophrenic mind accepted that if the children were killed, they would go to heaven and not grow up evil like her mother and others." The defence criticised Dr Chee for failing to recognise their clients' symptoms.

The prosecution started its closing speech by drawing attention to the "cool and calculating" manner in which the children were killed. Knight also argued that the accused could not have shared the same delusion, and only brought it up during the trial. The "cunning and deliberation" displayed in the acts could not have been done by a deluded person.Tan helped Lim because "she loved [him]", and Hoe was simply misled into helping the crimes. Urging the judges to consider the ramifications of their verdict, Knight said: "My Lords, to say that Lim was less than a coward who preyed on little children because they could not fight back; killed them in the hope that he would gain power or wealth and therefore did not commit murder, is to make no sense of the law of murder. It would lend credence to the shroud of mystery and magic he has conjured up his practices and by which he managed to frighten, intimidate and persuade the superstitious, the weak and the gullible into participating in the most lewd and obscene acts."

Judgement:

On 25 May 1983, crowds massed outside the building, waiting for the outcome of the trial. Due to limited seating, only a few were allowed inside to hear Justice Sinnathuray's delivery of the verdict, which took 15 minutes. The two judges were not convinced that the accused were mentally unsound during the crimes. They found Lim to be "abominable and depraved" in carrying out his schemes. Viewing her interviews with the expert witnesses as admissions of guilt, Sinnathuray and Chua found Tan to be an "artful and wicked person", and a "willing [party] to [Lim's] loathsome and nefarious acts".The judges found Hoe to be "simple" and "easily influenced". Although she suffered from schizophrenia, they noted that she was in a state of remission during the murders; hence she should bear full responsibility for her actions. All three defendants were found guilty of murder and sentenced to be hanged. The two women did not react to their sentences. On the other hand, Lim beamed and cried, "Thank you, my Lords!", as he was led out.

Lim accepted his fate; the women did not, and appealed against their sentences. Tan hired Francis Seow to appeal for her, and the court again assigned Isaac to Hoe. The lawyers asked the appeal court to reconsider the mental states of their clients during the murders, charging that the trial judges in their deliberations had failed to consider this point. The Court of Criminal Appeal reached their decision in August 1986. The appeal judges which consist of Chief Justice Wee Chong Jin, Justice Lai Kew Chai and Justice L P Thean reaffirmed the decision of their trial counterparts, noting that as finders of facts, judges have the right to discount medical evidence in the light of evidence from other sources. Tan and Hoe's further appeals to London's Privy Council and Singapore President Wee Kim Weemet with similar failures.

Having exhausted all their avenues for pardon, Tan and Hoe calmly faced their fates. While waiting on death row the trio were counselled by Catholic priests and nuns. In spite of the reputation that surrounded Lim, Father Brian Doro recalled the murderer as a "rather friendly person". When the day of execution loomed, Lim asked Father Doro for absolution and Holy Communion. Likewise, Tan and Hoe had Sister Gerard Fernandez as their spiritual counsellor. The nun converted the two female convicts to Catholicism, and they received forgiveness and Holy Communion during their final days. On 25 November 1988 the trio were given their last meal and led to the hangman's noose. Lim smiled throughout his last walk. After the sentences were carried out, the three murderers were given a short Catholic funeral mass by Father Doro, and cremated on the same day.

The children who escaped death from them:

Before Agnes Ng and Ghazali Marzuki, there were a few children who came to the apartment of Adrian Lim.

The first one was lured by Hoe, she got a girl aged 10 to follow her from Toa Payoh Central. But Lim rejected the girl because she was Indian and the deity he worshipped, called Kaliammam, was Hindu.

Hoe picked up another girl from Clementi. She was Chinese. But Lim said she was too skinny.

The third girl she brought back made Lim panic when she called her friend on the phone, and told Lim that the friend had seen her being led away by a woman.

There was also another child who got released by Adrian Lim because she was told that “The gods do not want you”. She happened to be prayed over by a pastor who happened to be her teacher back then and was most likely covered by the protection and blood of Jesus.

Conclusion:

First of all, we have to make this clear that no religion would approve of human sacrifice except for Satanism. No god would appreciate suicides or the death of someone as a gift.

The Hindu god, Goddess Kali is a strong motherly figure in Hinduism and is well respected for her motherly-love. She is well known to ward off evil spirits and slay demons for peace to be in order. The demon Kali (which most people confuse with Goddess Kali), is source of the most cruel and evil demon in Hinduism. Thus, Adrian Lim could have been having delusional thoughts with the demon Kali instead of Goddess Kali.

Second of all, religious beliefs do impact someone positively and sometimes negatively depending on the influence of it. In this case, Adrian Lim was obviously the bad influence. Teaching false and negative things and bringing harm to people instead of good. No religion will ever bring harm to its own people.

Psychiatrists were brought in due to the hallucinated mind of the three killers and the different mental illness they were having. It is important to pin point if they were really affected by their unconscious state of mind or just for their own evil joy. Adrian Lim showed no regrets or remorse towards his actions and could even smile before the death sentence. It is hence also important to understand the different religious teachings and their beliefs to avoid misleading people into the negativity.

Well, rest assured 12-3AMProductions will be doing articles on the different religions to educate people about the different magic circle groups created by us humans. Of course, words are a really powerful tool which many people use to brainwash others and mislead them into believing ridiculous things. In this case, the murders’ reasoning by Adrian Lim and his accomplices was of total bullshit with the claim that the sacrifices were requested by God. Justice has been served to the victims and religion will never be a strong reason to escape killings.

Thirdly, we do want to mention about the punishment of these vicious murderers after they have perished in hell. They are not going to be given a chance by god obviously. And all of them will be going to purgatory if they had REALLY been converted to Catholic. Otherwise based on their skin color and nationality, they will be facing the Buddhism hell and accept the punishment there. Their pain will never stop even when they are dead, the worst pain is given by god and not in the living world.

That is all for the case on Adrian Lim, we hope that you all have gained knowledge and awareness from this case study and do remember to like and reblog. Thank you once again for the amazing support, we will see you in our next article and case :)

#cases #murder #cold blood #Godness Kali #crime #sad #pain #suffering #occult #medium

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damien-ward · 6 years

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Wolf Among Us

(Thank you to the awesome DM of our event Dilleana Escalon she wrote out this description for the start of the event and played all the NPCs in this event. She is awesome.)

Those of House Stygian who were assigned to the mission had gathered at the consulate where Lady Illayia Caliat Stygian’s arcanist opened a portal to their destination..

The mist rested softly on the mountain peaks like a cloth draped over a pillow. The moonlight tried to break through the clouds, spilling onto the tall, green grass wet with dew. The vast valleys and glens that surrounded the landscape seemed endless. This is the lands of the ancients, and you can feel their presence in the very earth beneath your feet. The expanse of the lush greenery was breathtaking. The mountain peaked were topped with ivory snow at the very top, with cascades of green that clung to the rocky sides. Splashes of purple were scattered around from the thistle and heather that sprouted from the fertile soils. Along the valley under Stygian’s feet, yellow daffodils brushed along their ankles and spread in thick clusters as far as the eye could see. Sheep, freshly wooled, were grazing along their pasture. A small creek ran by, pouring out of the nearby woodland and filled the air with a bubbling melody of running water.

Up the road, there was a slate roofed farmhouse. The farm grew up out of the pale green hills as if it had always been part of the scenery. The house itself was a beautiful brick, the colors being the hues of the land herself, rustic brown striations on grey rock. Upon the rolling fields grew potatoes, turnips and other root related vegetables. Beyond the farm, several leagues off rested a quaint village. At the center of it all towered what appeared to be a church. It’s height towered over the rest of the buildings that circled it, and it’s brick had darkened with age, giving it’s Gothic steeples an eerie appearance. On top of it all, at the very top where the clouds parted...the moon hung low and large, and blood red in color.

The moon drew the attention of everyone, as they wondered if it had something to do with why they were asked to come here and discussed why the moon was red.

Dilleana Escanlon, House Stygian’s Director of the Battalion, let out a low hum. "Well...to be honest." She paused and flickered her ambers skyward. "I have no idea if that's even relevant to what's going on here. The Circle caught wind of a rumor, which of course I then heard...and this isn't the first time I've asked help from Stygian in regards to druidic matters. But basically, this village has been plagued by something lupine in nature, started stirring up a lot of local lore...so it also could be nothing. "

“Lupine? Like a worgen?” Dardillien asked as he turned to their leader.

“So we have a feral worgen or a pack of rabid wolves?” Mozelle, the second in command behind Dilleana, also asked.

The group discussed the possibilities of what the creature could be, from a worgen, to a shaman wolf spirit, to rabid wolves, and even the wolf cult. After the discussion, Dilleana took to her bird form to survey the area around from the skies while Mozelle led the group on the ground. As the group drew closer to the farm house, the lights inside had long since been blown out for the night. Had it not been so late, one might have thought that the home had all together been abandoned. However, by the look of the drying line of clothes outside, it was still indeed inhabited. Suddenly, The bells rang in a peal. Normally this would signal a wedding or Sunday service. But it was midnight and the clanging that echoed through the valley was chaotic rather than melodic. It was a warning. The farmstead showed no sign of movement in it as the bells rung out so the group turned towards the source of the ringing, they noticed in the center of the village an animal chained to an altar, and in front of it the body of a person. With Mozelle at the head, the group made it’s way into the village toward the altar to investigate.

As the bells chimed, the whole village came to life. Lights of candles flickered in the windows before citizens, painted Dwarves in nature emerged from their homes. They all began to flock to the church, looking at the outsiders in slight confusion, but it appeared the panic got the best of them. A few people seemed to stop on their way to the church however, and screamed in horror. One woman fainted by the altar, causing the rest of the citizens to gather around and chatter.

Mozelle, Illayia, and the other members of House Stygian gathered around the altar to investigate while Dardillien kept his eyes peeled and continued to survey around the village, checking for any suspicious activity using his enhanced senses to sniff the area and listen for anything. After a short time, the worgen returned to the rest of group to see what they discovered, and tell them the area seemed clear.

At the altar stood a sheep,chained to a metal stake in the ground. While most of the women and children rushed for the church, a few men were carrying the woman who had fainted off. The body that laid before the altar was female, young, and very bloodied. Long claw marks ripped down her torso, shredding the fabric of her dress. The bleeding had long stopped, and body just started to go cold. No pool of blood lay beside her, indicating that she had probably been moved.

"Looks like it was either a worg — which do exist in the area — or a worgen. I'd lean towards worgen, as both wolves and worgs prefer to bite their prey and clawing is supplementary to biting, whereas worgen are more inclined to claw." Mozelle spoke up as she examined the woman’s corpse, “She wasn't killed here. The body was moved postmortem, as you can see by the lack of blood on the altar.”

"From my experience, worgen prefer to bite if they are feral, they tend to go for the neck or shoulder." Dardillien said in response to Mozelle’s remark.

The poor sheep was huddled as far away as he could from the surrounding people, shaking and wide eyed in his fear. At one point he tried to bolt, but upon the yank of his chain he began to pace. By now the group of men that were by the alter were startingto take attention to Mozelle and company. A few were specifically looking at Dardillien in an accusing manner. Hush whispered began to form before one dwarf addressed the group. He was a short, stubby old man, bald and black bearded with blue tattoos streaked across the shiny head. "Woo ye' be?"

Mozelle began to explain to the Dwarf, who seemed to be the leader of this community, that they were there to assist the Cenarion Circle in this mystery of the lupine creature, however the elder Dwarf was hard of hearing and had never heard of the Cenarion Circle and began ranting about how the village had a pact with the ‘hine’ and it broke it by killing the young female. Meanwhile, Dardillien took a look around the area at the scared people's faces as they stared and whispered.. pointing at him, Damn.. Why did I show up here in worgen form? I am an idiot, these people are terrified of a lupine creature.. Dardillien thought to himself before beginning to revert back to his human form. As he reverted, the townspeople seemed even more freaked and concerned. A few began to slowly approach him, hands raised in a defensive yet predatory manner.

"Would you like any assistance with handling this hine?" Mozelle offered to the elder Dwarf.

"Ye' already 'ot on right there~!" He threw up a heavy hand, pointing an accusing finger towards Dardillien. "And we gon' keep him 'round here. Ye' all be outlanders, outsiders. Suddenly ye' show up wi' a hine and we 'ot a dead girl? Somethin' ain't right!"

Mozelle shrugged. "I have no objections to you detaining him. However, we did not even enter town until after the woman was dead."

"Ah, likely story. But if ya' so sure it ain't yer hine responsible for this...then we -will- detain him until we know why the pact was broken!" The elder Dwarf yelled, “We know about the hine! They can't go on to holy ground, silver is deadly, and normally a bite is fatal but a scarlet moon'll change ye!"

During all this Dardillien watched as the other Dwarven men approached cautiously, he did not resist and only put his hands up to show he meant them no harm. The Dwarves quickly grabbed him and pulled his arms behind his back, putting silver shackles around his wrists to keep him detained... he knew these silver shackles did nothing, but he did not want to cause anymore trouble by changing and breaking free, they were there to help these people. The men walked Dardillien to the same stake that held the sheep and secured his chains to it, pushing him to the ground.

After Dardillien was contained, he merely sat quietly while Illayia got the attention of the elder Dwarf and asked about the farmhouse they had seen up the road, as well as asking where the hine usually resides. The Dwarf answered all the questions, informing them that the house belonged to the Stonemiller’s, the parents of the girl who had been killed, and that the hine usually resided in a cave west of the farmhouse. Mozelle simply waved off the situation with Dardillien and explained that the rest of their group will go investigate the farmhouse, however the elder Dwarf still did not trust the members of House Stygian and had three of other Dwarves accompany the group to their destination.

As Mozelle led the group to the farmhouse, Illayia stopped and looked to Dardillien, “Shall one of us stay behind to make sure Dardillien is kept well?”

“If you want.” Mozelle answered. With that, the others made their way out of the village while Illayia remained behind with Dardillien and the two Dwarves that stood guard over him.

"Bal'a dash. I see you have not used the familiar well." Illayia addressed Dardillien.

"What do you mean? I have used it a decent amount."

"You could have hidden away."

"I didn’t think to. Besides, if I used it to go invisible when they began approaching that would have only caused more problems and suspicion..” He sighed, “ Anyways, you should go help the others, they may need you if worgen are involved. I will be fine here."

"I would rather not leave you here completely undefended."

A couple hours went by and the others had not returned, Dardillien lifted his head towards Illayia who looked around town as if counting and then she hummed quietly as she idly glanced toward the church. She pursed her lips and waved a hand, the arcanist worked an old hat trick and made it sound as if a wolf were echoing from behind the church itself.The two Dwarves that stood by Dardillien turned their heads. The one who was actually alert, immediately got up and ran towards the back of the the church. The other, having been digging for gold in his nose, looked confused for a moment before huffing and puffing after the other guard.

Illayia moved to Dardillien's side and took his arm, helping him up to his feet, "Let us make haste. I can only throw the sound so far before they realize it is but an illusion."

Dardillien watched as the two Dwaves ran off to towards the church, confused by what was happening, he then shifts into his worgen form breaking he shackles that detained him and following Illayia out of the village to safety. He followed the Ren’dorei as they made their way back to their original location when they first arrived in the area through the portal. Along the way Illayia explained the situation, and what the others had discovered in their investigation as Dilleana and Illayia had been communicating mentally through magic...

The others had gone to the Stonemiller’s farmhouse where they discovered the the young woman’s bedroom window had been left open, but her bed was all made, so they suspected that she had snuck out earlier in the night. Their suspicion was correct, as the group discovered one of the Dwarves that had accompanied them was the woman’s lover, he had planned to meet her outside of the village and ask her to marry him, but he was held up working at his workshop and never showed made it. Dilleana had found a splattering of blood and torn cloth while observing the area from the sky, she informed the others before leading them to it. Once there, Mia’kua, a Draenei priestess of the House, used her abilities to peak into the realm of spirits where she discovered the truth about what happened. The young girl had been waiting for her lover to arrive when a worgen showed up and began to argue with her, Mia’kua was only to pick out bits and pieces, but heard the word “cheating” said and shortly afterwards the worgen went into a rage and killed the woman.

This meant two things. First, the worgen was not feral like they believed but actually intelligent... Second, this meant it was out of their jurisdiction, and they could no longer help in the matter. House Stygian was asked for help in the matter by the Cenarion Circle because they believed the issue was one involving nature such as a feral worgen, or pack of rabid wolves, etc.. however, this was just a case of murder, there was nothing they could do. The decision was soon made to abort the mission, save Dardillien, and evacuate the area.

Illayia finished explaining while her and Dardillien arrived the original destination and they waited for the others to return. This news upset Dardillien... he didn’t like that they were just running away, but they did not have a choice and he had to respect the decision, however he wished the worgen could have been brought to justice for the murder of the young woman..

Several minutes later the rest of the group arrived after losing the three Dwarves that had accompanied them, Illayia began waving her hands in the air before finally opening a portal to Stormwind, and one by one everyone entered the portal returning to the consulate. Their mission a success and they did what they were asked to do, investigate the area and find out what kind of creature was plaguing the village.. However, Dardillien couldn’t help feel like they failed since the worgen was not brought to justice, as his services were no longer required he headed back to his townhouse to get some rest.

(Mentions @housestygian This was a really fun event! Again thank you to Dilleana for hosting it, and I hope I somewhat did it justice I wanted to do it from Dardillien’s perspective and so because of this I had to cut down all the investigation stuff since he ended up being detained which was not expected. This post would have been much longer if I included everything. Hahaha.)

#house stygian #world of warcraft #worgen #in-game roleplay #wymrest rp

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usuknetwork · 7 years

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USUK Christmas Countdown 2017: December 15 #2

Title: The Yule Log Day 3: Magical Summary: Arthur shows Alfred how he celebrates this holiday season. Rating: G Warning: None

(Written by: @ixiethepixiewrites and Art by: @leathersama)

Arthur took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. The moment that could make or break his relationship. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, its cry shattering the calm of his inner monologue. It was time. Gods give him strength. He stepped to the door, cloak flowing behind him as he walked.

Behind the door was his long time boyfriend, Alfred Jones. Now Arthur loved Alfred, he really did, but there was only one big issue between them at the moment. Alfred was your everyday Christian man. He wasn't too fanatical, but he also prayed before his meals and other such things that people of his religion did. One thing he confided in Arthur was that during his teen years, shortly before they met, Alfred had been struggling with his sexuality and his faith. His parents had thrown him out, and that was around when they'd met. Arthur was a student counselor at their university, and he'd helped Alfred to find a roommate and stable job, along with student loans. The one major thing that Alfred had said really helped him, was when Arthur brought him to the campus’ LGBT community meeting and allowed him to meet others of his faith that were struggling too.

That was all well and good, but what Arthur hadn't told his boyfriend was that he was not a follower of the same faith. Oh no, he was of one that many tended to keep quiet about in this so called ‘bible belt’ of the USA. Namely, Arthur was a witch. He preferred the term Wizard himself, but all in all it was the same thing.

No, he did not go to Hogwarts and he did not know any 300 year old men with long white beards. He was a REAL wizard, one that communed with nature and the Fae who lived in it. Alfred had not believed him when he'd first gotten the courage to tell him. Not that Arthur could blame him, but it still hurt. They didn't speak for a week after that until Alfred apologized.

Afterwards, they never really spoke of it until suddenly the subject of spending Christmas together had come up. Arthur offered to just spend his with Alfred, but the stubborn man had refused and insisted that he come see what Arthur did for the holiday. That all led to where they were now, standing at the entrance to Arthur's small two bedroom home on Christmas Eve.

Arthur steeled himself and allowed Alfred inside to see the place. It wasn't much. He had some holly along the borders of doorways, a wreath on the front door, and his altar in the Northeast corner of the living room, near the fireplace. His Yule log was sitting in the fireplace, seven candles standing proudly from it, and the whole thing wrapped in ivy and mistletoe.

Stepping around inside, Alfred seemed to be inspecting the place. It made Arthur all the more nervous. Eventually, he just smiled and gave Arthur a kiss on the cheek. “Cute decorations, but what's all that stuff for?”

Here it was, the time to explain. “Ah, well-" Arthur began, “- this is a celebration of the winter solstice, namely Yule, and we... um..”

Now was just the perfect time to get nervous and mess up his whole prepared speech, wasn't it? Arthur tugged at his sweater, then simply turned to his altar. “It is easier to show than to explain, please have a seat.”

As Alfred did so, Arthur readied his wand, standing to the left of his altar so he was facing North. He began mumbling something as he walked around the room clockwise, creating something along the lines of an invisible circle around the area. Once he made it back to the beginning, he let out a breath. “Blessed Be.”

Alfred looked around, a little confused, but said nothing. That was when Arthur remembered he should explain. “I was casting a circle. For a ritual. It creates a sacred space for magic to be worked freely. Be sure not to walk out of it or you'll weaken it, I have all the refreshments and items we will need inside.”

He gestured to the items on the coffee table and his altar, then continued to speak. “I'm going to send up my prayers to the gods now, okay? Please try to just... be quiet.”

Alfred nodded once more. He didn't quite understand all of this, but it was a part of Arthur, and he wanted to know as much about him as he could. He wanted his boyfriend to be comfortable around him.

Arthur had already begun lighting the candles and saying prayers as he went along. This part didn't take too long this year as he had only one wish. He wanted Alfred to accept him as he was, that was all he needed.

Once finished, he turned towards Alfred with a smile. “This next part will be your favorite.” He pulled out some pots from a catering service. “I had this feast made of all your favorites... I hope you like it. We simply feast until the candles are nothing but nubs.”

Alfred clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Christmas Eve feast? Now that is a tradition I can get behind!” He laughed and dug in, the sound bringing joy into Arthur's very being. Maybe this would work out after all.

Arthur sat beside his boyfriend, eating the food and listening to Alfred chatter away about some sports team that was playing tomorrow, then about his upcoming graduation. That subject had Arthur excited. Being student and staff, they had to keep their relationship rather private, but once Alfred graduated, they could have more public dates and outings that didn't have to be two cities over. It would be a welcome change, not just for the options, but also because the gas money had been killer.

As they talked and ate, the candles slowly dwindled away. They were fast burning four hour candles, so they would have plenty of time, but also wouldn't have to wait too long. Eventually, Alfred had pulled Arthur onto his lap, peppering his face with kisses. They just stayed like that, enjoying each other's company.

Soon enough, Arthur noticed the candles had long since melted down to reach the log, so he stood up with only a minor protest from Alfred. “Hush, love,” he whispered. “I'm just lighting the log.”

Taking out a lighter, Arthur set some kindling on fire and waited to see if it would take. Once it was done, he returned to Alfred's lap, watching the log burn. “Now we wait for the log to turn mostly to ash... and exchange gifts.”

Alfred's face lit up at the word gift. “You mean we get to open presents BEFORE morning? This is the best holiday ever!”

Arthur shook his head. “It's midnight, love.” He gestured to the wall clock. “So it technically is Christmas day."

That didn't stop Alfred from bouncing in his seat as Arthur retrieved the gift from behind his altar. “Here you go,” he said as he handed over the present. It was small and wrapped very simply in green paper with a silver bow. “I-I hope you like it, it took rather long to make-"

Alfred’s grin got wider. “You made this?”

He had already gotten the package open, and was now holding up the knit scarf with an American flag pattern. Arthur could feel his cheeks burning. “I-If you don't want it--"

“Hey now, I never said that.” Alfred took Arthur's hand and tugged him closer so he could steal a kiss. “I love it. I'll wear it to all our winter dates.”

Arthur was positive his cheeks were the same color as the fire now. “I- well... y- you'd better!”

With that last comment, Alfred held out a box to Arthur. Where had he been hiding it? It was about the size of his palm, and was wrapped in the most garish holiday designs possible. Seeing the red on Alfred's face made Arthur feel better though, and he took the gift, opening it up with some difficulty. “Good gods, did you have to tape the whole bloody thing?”

Finally open, Arthur peeked inside to see a new wrist watch. It looked rather expensive as well. How on Earth had Alfred managed to afford such a thing?

The look on Arthur's face must have said it all, so Alfred explained, “I called in a few favors from a friend. You remember Gil, right? Well he owed me some money as well. He actually had it this time, and Ivan was kind enough to convince him to give it up.”

Arthur didn't even want to imagine what kind of convincing it took. He slid the watch on with a smile. “It's lovely, I had been needing a new watch. I'm surprised you noticed.”

Alfred rubbed his neck. “Is it really so surprising?” he asked quietly. “Arthur, I want to know all I can about you. I love you."

Sitting back on Alfred's lap, Arthur gave him a chaste but slow kiss. “Thank you. I-I love you too. I was so afraid you wouldn't want me after I told you about... well... our differing religions.”

Blue eyes stared right back at green, sparkling in the light of the fire. “Babe, nothing could keep me away from you.”

The rest of their night was spent snuggling on the couch, watching the log burn to ashes. Once it was nearly done, Arthur explained that he would keep one piece to kindle next year's fire, and that they had to wait for the ashes to cool so they could spread them over his garden, promoting good harvest for the next year.

Arthur took down the magic circle, then led Alfred to his bedroom. “It won't be safe to spread the ash until morning. By then there won't be a fire hazard.”

The sleepy American simply nodded and followed along, passing out once he got comfortable in Arthur's bed. The sight of Al asleep there made his heart swell, and Arthur drifted off alongside him, whispering a final prayer of thanks unto the silent night.

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