#you have avenged your ancestors and earned your honor

[swordy-da-goat]

For the Corviknight lovers out there

[theogonies]

hiiii umm someone has probably already pointed this out but. uraume is almost definitely a gojo? and very possibly the progenitor of the entire gojo clan. putting the detailed analysis under the cut because this is a long ass post and very slightly spoiler-y for anime onlys

not a very convincing point on its own, but worth pointing out the obvious visual similarities between them. there are lots of other characters with light hair OR eyes but i can't think of any with both. also they're the only ones with pure white hair, even inumaki's is more of an ashy blond color.

but! into the more substantial stuff

according to the official fanbook, uraume and sukuna met 1,000 years ago, around the end of the heian period. in real world history, this was a relatively peaceful time during which japan began developing its own literary/political/intellectual cultures, thus becoming less reliant on china. in jjk, it's referred to as the golden age of sorcerers.

the relevant bit here being that the threat posed by sukuna was enough to draw the world of sorcerers together and push them to their limits.

here's where it gets interesting:

this common ancestor, sugawara no-michizane, was a real historical figure, a poet and politician who earned the support of the current emperor of japan, emperor uda, after lending the emperor his support in a political conflict with another noble family, the fujiwaras.

i mention them by name because in the culling games arc, uro calls yuta a fujiwara, not a sugawara--here's some interesting analysis for the curious. the relevant bit here is that while we don't know of any fujiwaras in the contemporary period, apart from maybe yuta, they were at some point an influential family of sorcerers in the jjk-verse. put a pin in that.

sugawara fell from favor after uda abdicated. eventually the fujiwara clan accused him of supporting the wrong candidate as successor to the emperor's throne, and he and his entire family were banished. sugawara died in exile.

a series of natural disasters led to the belief that sugawara's spirit was attempting to avenge its wrongful death. this is probably why maki refers to sugawara as "one of the three greatest japanese vengeful spirits." the real sugawara is now recognized as a benign deity in the shinto religion but it appears that this conversion never happened in jjk's alternate history, or that it isn't something the sorcerers recognize as fact.

sugawara was very fond of plum trees, and just before his exile, wrote a poem as farewell to his favorite, in his garden in kyoto:

When the east wind blows, flourish in full bloom, you plum blossoms! Even though you lose your master don't be oblivious to spring.

in addition, the sugawara clan's crest is the backside of a plum blossom.

in japanese, ura means behind, or back/other side. ume is plum.

there's a good breakdown of the name here which suggests that ura may symbolize a reversal of the values represented by plums in japanese culture (nobility, loyalty) or a betrayal of the sugawaras--possibly referring to uraume's choice to take sukuna's side.

another possibility that i'd like to raise is that uraume is either sugawara no-michizane himself, or a descendant of him. in this case the backside of the plum could represent exile--ie, sugawara's beloved plum tree seen from "behind," as he left his home. interesting in this case that uraume has a pinkish, almost plum colored patch on the back of their head. again--a beloved family symbol as something that is behind them.

their family's betrayal by the fujiwaras could have been the motive for their loyalty to sukuna, and perhaps a hatred of sorcerers' society in general (an interesting parallel to gojo satoru, no?)

thus: rejecting sugawara (a recognized sorcerer name) in favor of uraume (both a way of honoring their own family--the plum--and rejecting the culture it belonged to--the reversal). the "betrayal of nobility" interpretation of their name takes on a double meaning if this is the case.

anyway this may all be a bit of a stretch but i do think it would mesh really well with the themes gege sensei's established re: traditionalism, bloodlines, etc. really curious to see what they do with uraume and sukuna going forward.

[anubianwrites]

6. Lover's Moon

The darkness of night crept across the Dark Plains, slithering over the ghostly white grass and blackened earth.  Brok looked over the lands from the tall rock face that hides their surface encampment.  The young werewolf warrior contemplated his coming responsibilities.  Just one month ago his father was murdered in the Contest of Marr.  A melee between clan alphas to gain the blessing of their goddess, the hag goddess of werebeasts, Marr that takes place beneath the blood moon.  The ghostclaw clan cheated by coating their claws in debilitating poison and used it to overcome Brok’s father Kurr’s superior strength and speed.  They dishonored the clan and disabled them.  The clan retreated to their lands.  Brok would never allow it to be seen but he felt entirely lost  without his father’s wisdom and leadership.  He was only 18, too young to ascend to the throne of the Crescent Moon Clan.  Yet here we were, being primed to be seated on the Crescent Throne.  The shamaness Charlotte has secluded herself to commune with the clan ancestors, so Brok can be issued his challenge of manhood to ascend his fathers position.  Normally his father would issue the challenge and demand a boon be performed for the clan, or a direct battle to the death.  Brok was unprepared, he’d only just completed his first hunt and felled a strong beast to feed the clan, proving he’s a worthy hunter and deserving of the elders respect, and earn the right to claim a female.  Claim he did.  A proud and mighty woman his own age, Kara.  

The mulatto skinned female climbed up the rock face to the young male.  She came up behind him and rubbed her hands over his broad, strong bare chest.  Her sweet, firm voice broke the silence.  “Tell me what troubles you, lover.”  Brok looked over his shoulder, to catch her beautiful amber eyes.  

“The worries a man faces when he has to prove himself to his clan.  I’m nowhere near my fathers equal.  How can I become alpha, when I lack his wisdom, his strength and cunning.  My education is incomplete.  A man needs his father in these times, Kara and I am robbed of mine.”  The woman slid in front of him to look him in the eye.

“Wisdom takes time, but you are strong, your fathers son.  You have his strength, I see it in you.  A strong and powerful male who can lead.  No one is better to lead us.  His spirit is in you.  Charlotte and the other elders can provide you wisdom for now.  I accepted your claim because I see your fathers power and more in you.  You can do this my love.”  She rubbed his chest.  He looked down into her eyes and smiled.

“You give me strength and your words I know to be true for you have no malice or deceit in you.  You have great honor.  I am glad you agreed to be mine.  I need you more than ever.”  He kissed her lips.

“You have me, always.  One day your father will be avenged and put to rest proper.  For now your clan needs you.”  She smiles gazing into his brown eyes, like an owl's wing.  They’d been mated less then six months, but they were both eager to consummate their pairing.  Clan law dictates this cannot be until the new alpha has ascended.

The moon slowly crept over the horizon.  The only time the sky was clear.  They gazed at it together.  A massive muscled mocha skinned man with four scars over his chest and stomach approached at the base of the rock.  “Brok.  The elders are ready for you.”  He was Brute, their best and most brutal warrior.  His father’s right hand, now he’d be his.  Brute nodded to him in acknowledgement.  

Brok and Kara descended the rock together and headed into the clan holdings, the subterranean cave system that protected and nurtured their clan for millena.  Brute led them down into the dark caverns.  These caves were their workshops, their pantries, homes, and best protection.  Brok followed the massive mountain of a man, feeling a bit intimidated by him.  Brok felt lucky to have him as an ally.  They entered into the grand cavern, their largest area and clan hall.  Their clans trophies filled the chamber, and a great stone throne made of stalagmites, covered in furs, most from werewolves conquered and powerful beasts slain by past alphas and mighty warriors.  In front of the throne stood the four elders and the shaman, Charlotte.  The pale old woman smiled as they entered and Brok stood before them.

“Brok.  Son of Kurr, we have communed with the ancestors and sought their guidance.  We have discussed among ourselves and reached consensus.  Your trial of manhood and ascension has been chosen.”  Brok stiffened and puffed out his thick chest, taking a stance of bravery despite the terror pounding in his heart.  “We charge you with restoring the clan's honor.  The festival of Marr is not over and the clans still dwell at the festival grounds.  You will go there and take part in the Rite of Blood.  Challenge the son of the Ghostclaws, Stag, the eldest, by Marr’s witness beneath the second blood moon.  He cannot refuse without shaming his father and clan.  Kill him.  Avenge us and your blood and you prove yourself a man in the eyes of the clan and rightful alpha to lead us.  Brute and the warriors will escort you and ensure your safety.  You go to this challenge a boy, come back to us a man.  Come back to us strong and proud.  Prepare yourself.  You leave for the festival at midnight.  Char and Grot hold the clan’s place there, they will expect you.”  Brok thumped his fist to his chest with a meaty thud.  

“For the Crescent Moon!  For Blood and Clan!”  Brok proclaims loudly and pumps his fist into the air.  An uproarious cacophony joined in unison with him.  Brok was led from the hall.  He returned to his cave, his abode where his father and mother raised him.  He sat on his fathers fur bed.  He softly prayed there.  

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help father…I let you down, letting them kill you like that.  I won’t fail you again.  I won’t.  I’ll make you proud, old man.”  

“You always made him proud.”  Charlotte stood at the cave entrance.  Brok jumped to his feet respectfully.

“Shaman.  I bid you welcome to my home.”  he said ceremoniously.

“Oh enough of that young man.  May I sit with you?”  she asked.

“Of course, you are always welcome.”  he said, helping her down onto the furs.

“Thank you, dear.  I’m sorry to eavesdrop.  But you need to know how proud he was of you.  You’rre always so hard on yourself, wanting to measure up to your father.  A powerful man, thick biceps, strong heart.  A wise man.  I loved and respected him deeply.  He always demanded the best from you, but only because he saw the man you are becoming.  He could see the man you will be.  You never failed him, never.  Don’t ever doubt yourself like that Brok.”  she patted his knee.  “You will be victorious and return our new alpha, of this I am certain.  Just remember your training and listen to your instincts.  You have your fathers heart and strength.  You have unquestionable honor.  You will win.”  She pushed herself up, Brok assisted the elder.  She smiled and rubbed his chest over his heart.  “You’re his son, and he never doubted you.  He loved you with everything.”  Brok couldn’t help but smile and puff out his chest proudly at the encouragement.  His heart told him all of this, but hearing it from his grandmother affirmed it.  “I will leave you to prepare my boy.”  

“Thank you, Shaman... Grandmother. Your words always clarify my doubts.  Your wisdom is always welcomed.”  He nodded respectfully to her.  The shaman smiled at her grandson, beaming with pride.

Brok meditated on his father, the former favored of Marr.  His pelt a midnight black, eyes like the silver moon.  The blessing of the goddess kept the chosen in their hybrid form.  He knew this to be his father his whole life.  The strong scent, the soft fur.  He was like a massive boulder of muscle and claws and fur.  To see him fight was like watching titans battle.  Brok was proud to be Kurr’s son.  His father was harsh and stern but never cruel or dispassionate.  Brok labored to be as strong, as fast, as clever as the old wolf.  A few hours later he received another visitor.  His mate.  

“There is still some time before you must leave.  I wanted to be with you if that is ok.”  Kara said.  Brok smiled and held a hand out to welcome her.

“You are always wanted.”  He responded.  She sat down on his lap facing him, straddling him.  Wrapping her arms around his neck and gazing into his eyes.  She traced his strong stubbled jaw with her hand.  Her intentions were clear.  Brok agreed and they kissed.  She giggled as he lifted her up  and rolled onto her back.  Frantically they tore what little clothing they wore off and turned to ravenous congress.

By clan law they could not produce offspring until Brok ascended, but the act of congress was not forbidden.  A loophole the two lovers exploited constantly.

They woke up wrapped in furs some hours later.  The time was approaching.  Kara ran her hand over his chest and abs, his arm wrapped around her, holding her close.  “I want to come with you.  I want to see you fight and win.”  Kara pleads.

“I expect the honorless Ghostclaws will try something dishonorable.  I can’t deny you to come with me.  But I will say I want you safe, we’re the clans future.”  Brok stated plainly and honest.  Kara pushed herself up and looked him in the eyes.

“I want to witness with my own eyes, when my male becomes the alpha he is destined to be.  When my male claims his manhood.” Brok could see the hunger in her eyes for this, how her pride for him swelled in her.  Brok couldn’t bring himself to question her desire again.  He smiled and nodded.

“Then I will reclaim our clans pride with my woman by my side.”  He stated.

“As it should be, we do it together.”  Kara added.  They kissed again, Kar climbed on him as he kissed and growled.  She broke the kiss as they began to fall back into their animalistic desires.  “We must prepare to leave, my love.  I will reward you after, when you’re bathed in our enemies blood.”  Brok huffed at such a thought, arousing and intense.  Kara knew how to focus her wild wolf.

They dressed and gathered their weapons.  Kara proudly carried his sword clung to her chest.  Brok, armed with his spear.  They assembled outside the clan caverns outside.  The clan was assembled in a row, to see them off.  Brute and four other heavily scarred and muscled males flanked the two of them protectively.  As they began to walk down the row the clan in unison thumped their fists to their chests in honor of their future alpha departing for his challenge.  Brok admitted to himself he was scared to face Stag, but his pride stifled that fear quickly.  He needed to do this, avenge his father, reclaim his clan's honor.

The travel was swift, they ran much of the way, it took them a day to reach the festival grounds.  The clans were still assembled, festivals, games, celebrations and the like raged.  Brok and his warriors met their clan mates holding the clan's place.  A broad and muscled woman held her fist to her chest as they approached, it was Char.  “Welcome brothers and sister to the clan encampment.”  Char nodded to Brok.  “It is good to see you Brok.  You come at a good time.  The blood moon will rise in nine hours.  The Ghostclaws have been gloating and staying drunk.  Be good to see them bloodied.”  Char said with malicious glee.  Brok also desired this.  He’d thought of nothing else besides finally being able to put his pups in Kara.  A thought Kara too thought of, constantly.

A male voice loudly yelled “Oh looks more sheep fucker crescents arrived!  Watch you’re livestock!”  the drunkard taunted, “You might lose more weak pups if you don’t keep your eyes open!”  Char was livid.

“Fuck you and fuck off before i tear out your eyes and fuck your sockets, mange-back!”  she screamed.  The drunkard only laughed.  He was a wild red haired youth, no more than 15, mulatto skin and skinny as a rail.  He was Sturr, the youngest son of the Ghostclaw alpha.  A raucous and cowardly braggart.  Brok stepped up, huffing with rage.

“Get your gutless pup out of my clan space before I strap him to a stake and use him as a flag!”  Brok bellowed, shoving Sturr and knocking him into the mud.  Two older ghostclaw males stormed over to defend the shrinking coward scrambling backwards, whimpering.  Brok glared them all down, ready to strike.  He was eager to kill them.  An older male shoved the ghostclaws away hollering at them for being idiots.  He was Gruk, the alphas right hand, and far more diplomatic.

“They are young and foolish, they mean no harm.  They won’t violate your space again.”  he stated.  Brok was seething.

“See that they do and keep them in line.”  Brok spat.  

Brute patted his back as Brok returned to the clan tent.  “Your chance will come, boy.  You’ll show them real balls.”  Brute tried to comfort him.  Brok nodded with a grunt.

The blood moon began to rise and the clans were gathering in the communal space for the announcement.  Brok’s chance had come.  Before the alpha of Clan Mooncrest could speak Brok bellowed.

“Clans of the wolf!  I am Brok!  Of Clan Crescent Moon!  Son of Kurr.  The honorless shits of Ghostclaw, broke clan rules before Marr and slew my father with poisons.  They robbed my clan of it’s leader and pride.  Beneath the blood moon this night, by rite I claim the Rite of Blood.  By witness of Marr, Stag of Ghostclaw Clan I call you out to combat.  To settle my grievance.  Bring your honorless skin to the field and face me!”  There is much uproar, the Ghostclaw Gruk spoke.

“You are no alpha, pup, you have no claim here.  Your alpha fell in honorable combat, these baseless claims are sad and show your clans weakness.  You dishonor us all with your whimpering!  This is a weak willed attempt to spitefully strike at us like a malicious drow!”  he laughed.  The ghostclaws laughed loudly.

Alpha Crispryne of Clan Mooncrest, a strong older woman bellowed.  “Silence!  He has the right to call this challenge!  By common clan law, he can invoke the rite of blood!  By witness of Marr, this cannot be refused.  Stag must honor the duel and present himself now.”  the voices calmed.  The entirety of Ghostclaw clan glared daggers at their rival, wolves growled.

Brok stalked the field huffing, his sword and spear in hand.  Freshly sharpened.  He paced eagerly.  He turned to his clan and bellowed “Haroo!”  they returned the bellow proudly.  Broks heart was pounding.  He was ready, his chest was heaving with anticipation.  His eyes fixed on the task.  They waited for nearly an hour before the alpha of Ghostclaw, proudly displaying the blessing he won, his two sons driven before him.  Stag and Sturr.  Stag was not muscular at all, he had a swimmer’s build, but only just.  Armed with a spear, the boy did not want to do this, clearly drunk.  Brok wanted to humiliate them for what they did.  The alpha said something to Stag, Brok couldn’t hear.  But the boy stalked out into the field with his spear in hand.  They stared down at each other.  Stag sneered.

“Ready to die like your daddy, pup.”  Stag was easily four years his elder and already had three pups of his own.  

“I’m going to win this, Stag, and I’m going to mount your head in my clans trophy room like the shameful dead mutt you are.”  Brok seethed.  Alpha Crispyne bellowed.

“Only one will emerge alive.  Begin!”  she commanded.

Stag swung his spear at Brok, he deflected with his sword, sliding down the haft delivering a slash to Stag’s thigh before moving out of range.  Stag stabbed with the spear wildly, catching Brok’s forearm and leaving a deep gouge.  He blocked with his own spear, grunting with pain.  He could tell they poisoned the spear tip, like cowards.  He was not going to die.  Brok used his strength and charged, catching Stag off guard and knocking him to the ground in rage.  Brok snapped Stag’s spear and ran it deep into the pale man's side as he tried to roll away.  Stag screamed in pain as the barbed spear sank into his liver.  

Brok stalked the field as Stag was down and crawling pitifully, his own poison causing his body to start losing feeling.  Brok kicked him, sending the male flying across the field, the spear snapping out of his side with the landing.  Brok ran with a howl of fury as he dropped his weapons and started beating the pitiful runt in the face.  Sitting on the chest as Brok, a much larger male beat him, howling with fury.  Memories of his fathers death just one week prior raging through his mind.  

Kurr was down, he couldn’t move.  Brok was screaming, held back by his clanmates as he tried to rush to his fathers aid.  Time slowed as he saw the fear, the worry in his father’s eyes.  Not for himself, not for his own life.  But for his son, his clan, his family.  Tears streamed from Brok’s eyes as he watched, restrained from helping as the ghostclaw alpha brutally chopped off his head.  His father closing his eyes in acceptance.  Brok couldn’t control his sorrow, his wrath.  He beat Stag until his face was just swollen pummeled flesh.  Brok had won but he wasn’t done.  Covered in blood he got up and grabbed his sword as the Ghostclaw clan screamed, hollered and bellowed.  It was all noise.  Brok couldn’t hear it.  Their alpha stood unmoving.  Still and calm.

Brok was panting heavily with anger, his face twisted in a craze of fury, he took his sword, lifted the barely alive Stag up by his hair and made the clan watch as he slowly sawed Stag’s throat.  Reveling in their clan’s pain and anger as he cowed them with his brutality and cruelty.  His clan was dishonored.  He wouldn’t let the cowardly Ghosts keep it.  The body fell to the ground, flesh tearing as he broke through bones with the sword.  He held the head aloft in victory and roared with primal savage rage.  Brok had it.  His honor.  His family’s honor.  His father’s honor back.  He conquered the rival and robbed them of their future alpha.  He gloated and paraded the severed head before them.  His prize.  Brok was ascended.  He stalked off the field with the head as Alpha Cyspryne proclaimed the rite over and Brok the victor.  Officially the grievance was settled.  “Brok of Crescent Moon Clan!  You are the winner of the Blood Rite.  By law the grievance is settled before Marr!”  The Gostclaws howled and screamed in protest.  Hollering this was unfair, that it was rigged, that it was cowardly.  But their master silenced them all.

“The Son of Kurr bested my son Stag.  This was honorable.  Clan Ghostclaw has no grievance with this outcome.  Before Marr let this matter be settled between the clans!”  The great wolf proclaimed and gave a deep howl.  His clan remained silent.

Brok returned to the clan tent lauded and celebrated by his warriors.  His mate waited for him in his private tent.  Brok didn’t celebrate long, he drank a mug of beer and stalked off to have his other prize.  The severed head displayed on a stake before the clans tent.  He threw the tent flap aside and stormed in, huffing.  His woman waited eagerly for him. She stood up, naked before him and lunged at him, he caught her and they kissed wildly.  She growled like a beast.  Brok took her like a beast, for hours they loudly and brutally mated, grunting, howling, moaning.  They fell silent just before dawn.  Brok left his mate sleeping as he emerged from the tent.  Brute was on watch, he turned to Brok and grinned broadly.  “Going like that, you’ll breed a whole new clan in a fortnight!”  Brute chuckled.  

“Gotta provide the clan with plenty of fresh blood.  My woman is insatiable!”  Brok chuckled as he got himself some water and took in the cresting day.  “What news.”  Brute nodded towards the Ghostclaw camp.

“Been quiet since you showed them what a real man with balls looks like!  Sulking like depressed milk maids.”  Brute chortled.  Brok grinned proudly.  “You did good.  Kurr would be damned proud…Alpha.”  Brute added, bowing his head in respect and acknowledgement.  Brok couldn’t help but puff up his chest and beam with swollen pride at earning the title.  It felt alien, but good…right. 

“I had too…”  Brok said resolutely. Brute nodded.

“Aye, you did.  The clan has its honor and pride back.  It’s all administration and keeping your balls emptied in your woman now!”  Brute chortled.

“Did a good job of that all night, Kara was determined.”  Brok added as he chugged the crisp water, letting some dribble down his chest.

“Sounded like it, ahh the joy of youth.”  Brute mused.  Brok chuckled.

Something skittered by.  Brok’s attention snapped.  Something was moving.  

“Wake the others quick.  We’re being attacked!” Brok called.  An explosion went off as something shattered, throwing Brok and Brute to the ground.  Screams erupted.  And the sounds of struggle.  Brok rushed in the tent, they were under assault by young teens with knives.  Char was dead, her throat slit.  He delivered punches to faces and skinny guts as he ran through his thoughts on Kara.  He rushed to where she slept to a grisly sight.  Sturr was sitting on her, his knife bloody.   He slit her throat so deeply it cut her windpipe.  Brok felt such rage.  But Sturr was quick and jumped as Brok lunged.  

“I KILLED YOUR BITCH!  I KILLED YOUR BITCH!  I KILLED YOUR BITCH!  “  he screamed like a victory cry as he ran.  Brok was faster, he tackled the arrogant lout into the dirt screaming enraged as he tried to retreat to the ghostclaw camp.  Brok beat the pups face in horrified rage and pain, all over again.  All over again his loved ones were stolen from him.  Brute caught up and restrained Brok.

“Back down, you gotta back down!”  Brute yelled, holding Brok captive in his massive arms.  Grot took custody of Sturr.  

 Clan Mooncrest was on scene immediately.  Broks clan easily captured the other youths, five of them.  Brok disarmed Sturr and made sure the arm was broken.  The pup whimpered pitifully.

The elder alpha Cysprine held a hand to silence the ruckus.  “This will be addressed before the clans in one hour.  The captives stay with their captors for now.”  The ghostclaw alpha was calm, watching from afar.  Calculating, cold and detached.

The captives were tied to stakes in the Crescent Moon clan camp.  Brok went to his murdered mate and wept.  He wept, he howled, he held her close.  The clan howled in mourning outside.  Brok howled loudly, his young heart broken.  He closed her eyes and just sat there.  He felt renewed rage and pain…and hate.  He performed the rites over her.  Washed her body.  Wrapped her in cloth with her sword in hand.  He said the prayers.  Brute entered the tent.

“Brok.  It’s time, Cysprine calls for the clans to assemble.  Your first test as Alpha.”  Brute said sadly.  Brok gathered himself and grunted, stroking Kara’s cheek.  Grot approached as Brok exited the tent.  

“I’ll look after them, Alpha.”  he said mournfully.  Brok grabbed and embraced the older male tightly, showing him his support and love.  Grot embraced him back and patted his back nodding in understanding.

The young ghostclaws were dragged to the clan center.  The alpha Cysprine stood in judgment.  Brok stomped forward.  Brok knew the law.  He yelled, “They snuck into my camp!  They attacked my clan!  By right their lives are mine!”  Brok hollered.  “They broke faith in the early hours and murdered my clanmates…my mate…my love.  By the common laws of the clans they broke the sacred rite of Marr in this sacred place.  They spilled blood they had no right to spill!  I claim their lives as recompense!”  Brok wrathfully proclaimed, thumping his chest in dominance.

The Ghostclaw alpha stalked forward tall and proud.  He bellowed.  “The pups acted out of place, they committed honorless acts and shame their clan and me!  But they are ignorant wild pups!  I call on you, respected Alpha of clans.  Let them be spared, they are young, stupid, and need to be cowed by their elders.  On behalf of Ghostclaw Clan, I ask you to intercede!”  

Alpha Cysprine closes her eyes in heavy contemplation.  She looks at Brok.  “Brok, son of Kurr, Alpha of Crescent Moon Clan.  Can you be convinced by some other recompense to spare the lives of these pups?  Will you accept an alternative?”  Brok was outraged.

“They murdered my father and keep his pelt and skull.  Only in exchange for those would I consider.  But that is unreasonable.  The only alternative I can claim is Sturr’s life.  I will spare the rest, for him.”  Sturr panicked.

“Father!  Help!  You can kill him!  Save me!  Father please!”  Sturr wept pitifully.  The great wolf snapped.

“Silence, Sturr.”  before he turned to the elder.  “He is my last son.  My only other child.  Surely Alpha Brok can show some act of mercy.  By law he has the right to his life.  But I will argue for his life.  We will offer to leave this place and accept an exile from gathering among the clans if he will spare Sturr’s life!”  The great wolf looked coldly at Brok, not even a flicker of hate, or love.  Just cold steely emptiness.  Brok, considered as the elder alpha, gestured to Brok.

He looked at the pathetic whelp.  The spineless child who murdered his mate.  His words screaming in his mind “I killed your bitch”  he hollered with glee.  Brok’s rage surged.  His broken heart and pride would not rob him of the chance to cow the rival clan.  He wanted another wound to put in their pride.  He gestured to his clanmates to release the others.  And they do, sending the four other cowardly pups whimpering back to their families, where their fathers smack them in fury.

“I will not relent Sturr’s life.”  Brok said as he stormed over and dragged Sturr before the great wolf.  Lifting the smaller male by his wild red hair before his father.  “This is my mercy.”  he spits seethingly.  Brok shifted in form, he became a silver streaked hybrid with hateful brown eyes.  He snarled.  

“FATHER PLEASE HELP ME!  HELP ME!”  Sturr screamed, crying in fear and horror.  Brok locked eyes with the great wolf as he tore his jaws into Sturrs throat.  Shredding it with a dramatic snap, sending a spray of blood as he bit the entire trachea out of the young male.  Sturr gasped, his eyes wide, gurgling as he bled profusely.  The massive wolf didn’t move a muscle.  He didn’t even flinch.  He turned and calmly walked away back to his clan.  The silence was deafening.  Brok held him there to stare at his clan as the last bit of life fled from Sturr’s body.  Then he tore the head off with a sickening crunch.  He looked up to Alpha Cysprine.  

“Brok, Alpha of Crescent Moon Clan.  By right and law is your grievance settled?  Are you satisfied?”  she asked.  Brok hissed through bloody fangs, his face drenched in blood.  

“We are.  The grievance is now settled.”  He said spitefully and stalked back to his clan.  The clan left that day.  Brok carried the heads of Sturr and Stag on his hip and refused to let anyone else carry Kara’s body.  A few days later they reached the clan territory.  They all gathered to welcome their Alpha home.  The reunion was bitter.  Brok’s expression was darkened.  Charlotte met them at the edge of the camp.  

“Brok!  Our alpha returns!  Tell us the news, Alpha!”  she greeted him happily.  Then she saw the body.  “What happened?!”  she gasped.

“The Ghostclaws are honorless cockwarts!  I beat Stag in combat, by law!”  he said louder so the clan can hear.  I took his head as my right!  His whelp of a brother and others stole into our camp in the night!  They attacked us in our sleep!  They killed my mate, Kara!  They robbed us of Char, Grot’s mate!  They broke honor and could not control their idiot pups!”  Brok said hatefully.  “So I took my vengeance for our dead!  I took Sturr’s life before the clans, as by right!”  Brok hollered.  “I accept responsibility for Kara and Char’s deaths!  I foolishly thought the Ghosts could honor a single pact for a single moment!  They showed me I was wrong…”  

Charlotte interjected, “He defeated his enemies, avenged our alpha Kurr!  Reclaimed and defended our clan’s honor!  Brok has ascended to Alpha!  Hail Alpha Brok!  Haroo!”  Charlotte yelled.  The entire clan in unison howled in joy to Brok’s ascension.  But Brok only sat with Kara’s body in his arms.  His victories tainted, his mate stolen from him.  They laid their dead to rest in the clan burial grounds.  Brok took his place on the Crescent Throne.  He achieved his destiny, and it filled him with hate.

[libraflyter]

I have a page written of this fic.

Fire Lady Katara

It was three days before Katara realized something was wrong. In her defense, her entire focus was on healing Zuko from Azula’s lightning, a nerve wracking process that extended beyond the initial stabilizing she performed in those first frantic minutes after Azula’s defeat. Katara’s world had narrowed to the room where Zuko lay, fighting to stay alive. She barely registered the news of Ozai’s defeat at the hands of the Avatar or that her friends were headed to the palace. The Fire Sages would bother her with questions - what should they do with the defeated princess? The deposed Phoenix King? The leaderless armies and nervous citizens? Katara answered them to the best of her ability according to what she assumed Zuko would want (he would wake up any day now, he would).

Azula and Ozai were to be imprisoned safely and humanely. Make arrangements for any healers of the mind who might be willing to examine the princess. The Fire Nation armies should stand down and prepare to honor the Avatar’s peace. The people should be assured their family members would be coming home now that the war was over.

Katara was blearily eating a breakfast after a draining healing session where Zuko had finally shifted from pained unconsciousness to restoring sleep when one of the sages, young (for a sage) with a shaved head and magnificent salt and pepper beard named Shion - asked her if she had thoughts on when her coronation should be.

“My coronation?”

“Yes, my Lady. As the rightful claimant to the throne, your position should be legitimized post haste. Once crowned, you will be able to assume full leadership of the government as Fire Lady instead of having to rely on myself and my fellow Sages to interpret your will.”

Katara put down her rice porridge and stared at the man. Sage Shion coughed.

“We understand that the ceremonies could not be held immediately given your commitment to ensuring the former prince’s health, but they cannot be delayed indefinitely.”

“Former prince?” Katara began to feel cold despite the heat of the Fire Nation summer.

“Ah, yes. Though my Lady can certainly decide to grant him the courtesy title of prince if she wills it, there is precedent for select members of a deposed dynasty maintaining some status to ease the transition …”

There had clearly been some misunderstanding.

*Zuko* was going to be Fire Lord. Katara was very clear on that. She remembered General Iroh’s insistence on the matter when Zuko had tried to convince him otherwise. Zuko was the son of the previous Fire Lord. Zuko had, in fact, just fought an Agni Kai with Azula in order to become the Fire Lord. Katara knew she wasn’t informed on the intricacies of Fire Nation culture, let alone the rules governing the royal family, but she was quite clear that she was only a bystander in the matter. Azula had lost -

“Yes, she did. But my Lady, Prince Zuko did not, technically, win. You did. The rules of an Agni Kai of succession are quite clear. Whoever wins has earned the favor of Agni and the spirits and therefore is the rightful claimant to the throne.”

Katara attempted to argue that Zuko only lost because Azula had cheated and attacked her, causing Zuko to take the lightning meant for Katara. She would not see the man who had almost died for her be refused the throne because he did the right thing.

Sage Shion was apologetic but would not be moved. In the immediate aftermath of the battle, the Fire Sages had consulted their scrolls to determine the outcome. There were two royal Agni Kais on record in which an onlooker instead of a duelist was declared winner and crowned, and several more attested to in the lore. The most recent in fact was what placed Zuko’s ancestor on the throne, two hundred years ago. Admittedly, this was the first time that both duelists had survived - generally speaking, the interloper claimed to be avenging one duelist by slaying the other - but the precedent remained.

At this time, the sages considered only Katara the legitimate Fire Lady. The fact that she was an almost fifteen year old waterbender from the Southern Water Tribe who would have had nothing to do with the Fire Nation had they not attacked her home was irrelevant. The fact that she had never left the South Pole until ten months ago was irrelevant. The fact that Katara had never remotely been educated or trained to take up governing an entire country was irrelevant. Every argument Katara attempted while Zuko slept in the room behind her was ignored.

The sages would not be moved. They did not necessarily even like it - now that Katara was paying attention, she saw the disdain on some of their faces - but the head sage, introduced to Katara as the Venerable Nobu - was adamant. It was the duty of the sages to keep tradition and tradition declared that as the one who defeated Princess Azula during the royal Agni Kai, Katara was the rightful Fire Lady.

She felt sick. She felt like she had stolen something from Zuko, something he had earned through his redemption. She owed him her life and she was repaying him by taking his throne. That she didn’t even want - if the war was over, she wanted to go home! And as politically unskilled as Katara was, even she could see that having an outsider come in and claim the throne after a century long war would be a disaster for any peace she hoped to create.

Atla Au where Katara beating Azula during Sozin's Comet accidentally turns her into the Fire Lord because, technically speaking, she was the winner of the Agni Kai

Iroh: I see you've defeated your sister and won the throne

Zuko, wincing: actually, Katara beat Azula

Katara: only because she cheated!

Iroh:

Iroh, stroking his goatee: interesting, interesting

Katara, squinting: what's 'interesting'?

Iroh: this will be the first time a Waterbender takes the throne

Katara:

Katara: EXCUSE ME??

[nanakibh]

Tokimeki★Final Fantasy Madouin Perystilium Suzaku ~May the Crystal guide me to love★~

※ THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ※

A fake project presented on the Square-Enix channel broadcast in September 2012, this is the apparent precursor of the popular fictional YA novel series "Tokimeki★Akademeia" which appears in Final Fantasy Agito. (Which began its own development in September of the same year.)

The following is a translation of the slides presenting the characters and details regarding this fake game.

If you’re a Type-0 fan, this is probably the deepest layer of the iceberg. Enjoy.

Introduction

Khalia Chival XXV, the heroine who recently enrolled, is currently the only female cadet at Akademeia. Entrusted with a "certain role", she encounters cadets with unique personalities as she goes about her everyday school life.

What kind of predicaments await in her future?! And what is the tragic destiny she's shouldering?! May the Crystal guide her through her dokidoki school life!

--

The following are plans for the game

--

◆ Khalia's Destiny

The female protagonist's true motive is revenge.

She was once told the story of the tragic death of her ancestor, Khalia Chival VIII.

She bears the sad destiny to eradicate the descendants of Class Zero in order to avenge her family.

◆ A Day's Schedule

- Wake up - Breakfast in the cafeteria - Class - Lunch break - Afternoon mission - Dinner - Bedtime

◆ Days off (Weekend) are allowed to be spent freely

- Wake up - Breakfast in the cafeteria - Free to do whatever you want - Dinner - Bedtime

◆ ATB System

In this game, the protagonist performs various actions which are all advanced via the ATB system.

- Active Time Lesson - Active Time Talk - Active Time Battle - Active Time Lecture

◆ Active Time Lesson

Active Time Lessons begin when class starts. Do your best to not be outdone by other students by making full use of your magic and abilities to solve the teacher's rapid fire questions.

◆ Active Time Talk

You can interact with NPCs during your free time. These conversations are also managed with the Active Time system.

Grasp your conversation partner's mood and favorite subjects to create an enjoyable back-and-forth to deepen your relationship.

◆ Active Time Battle

Active Time Battles are fought with ATB commands. This will be used in training exercises and other battles. With this system, you'll never lose a battle in this game. You can fight together with the boys you meet by adding them to your party. If one of your party members is knocked out, your other acquaintances will appear one after another to fight.

If you run out of boys, you should run away. You'll definitely be safe that way. This is because the rate of escape in this game is 100%.

◆ Active Time Lecture

If you don't follow school rules, you'll be reprimanded by Kurasame-sensei.

Even when you're being scolded, you can have an Active Time conversation.

- If you're discovered while trying to sneak into the boys' dorm at night, you'll be scolded by Kurasame-sensei.

- If you dress inappropriately, you'll be scolded by Kurasame-sensei.

- If you talk to Kurasame-sensei too much at school, you'll be scolded.

--

Character Introductions

--

Khalia Chival XXV Class: Zero CV: Nishi Asuka (西 明日香)

"I'm going to do my best! Because I want to see everyone in Orience smile!"

The main character. A hardworking, somewhat withdrawn girl. She infiltrates Akademeia to fulfill her mission to eliminate the bloodline of her family's sworn enemy, Class Zero. Through her encounters at the academy, she is torn between her destiny and love.

Aoi Futatsuboshi Class: Second CV: N/A

"The Crystal's guidance... That's just a load of nonsense. The Crystal won't protect you..."

A calm and serious honor student. He is a member of Class Second, known for being at the top in terms of combat strength. However, because of this, he has lost many friends and has adopted a cold attitude to hide his sadness. At first, he acts unfriendly towards the heroine, but as they grow closer, his true feelings come out.

Yotsuba Tokijiku Class: Fourth CV: N/A

"You're trying too hard on your missions. Here, I'll cast Cure for you. Let me take a look."

He gives the impression of someone who's blunt and difficult to get along with, but he's actually an extremely considerate young man. Belonging to Class Fourth which specializes in healing magic, he aims to become Agito because he wants to save everyone. He takes care of the heroine any way he can while she's still getting used to Akademeia.

Mowegi Itsukaichi Class: Fifth CV: N/A

"*yaaawn*... Huh~? Hey, have you seen a pink moogle doing a backflip around here~?"

A mysterious boy who always seems to be sleepy. He never remembers who other people are and constantly makes airheaded remarks, so he does poorly in class, but he demonstrates his genius ability in real combat. The heroine, who he met while taking a nap, is one of the few people whose face and name he can remember.

Sakurano Nanafusa Class: Seventh CV: N/A

"What's with the gloomy face? C'mon, get on my Chocobo!"

He greets the heroine, who is new to Akademeia, in a casual and friendly way. Obsessed with Chocobos, he promotes the Chocobo Research Club, also known as the "Choco Club", where he studies Chocobo physiology. He's sensitive about his height, so mentioning it is forbidden.

Note: This seems to be the same "Choco Club" Izana asks Player to join in FF Agito.

Kohaku Kokonoe Class: Ninth CV: N/A

"Were I to describe you... You are my Megalixer. You will shine radiantly in the final battle!"

A handsome young man from an esteemed family, he's expected to have a promising future as an elite...... But he's kind of overly self-conscious and has an unfortunately strange way of thinking. He has his eye on the heroine and is always exuding an absolutely bizarre energy. In actuality, he's a member of Class Ninth, which takes on Akademeia's "dirty work." His lighthearted attitude is a response to the melancholy missions he must carry out.

Mashiro Tootoichi Class: Eleventh CV: KENN

"Watch this! My Flare Bullets will hit their break sights! ...YEOWCH IT’S HOT?!"

The king of inventions who's always getting ahead of himself. As part of the research class, Class Eleventh, he spends his time working day and night to develop new weapons, though his skill isn't quite up to par yet. He even carelessly loses control of his magic and gets the heroine involved in his mess?!

Asagi Hitotose Class: Twelfth CV: Hiroki Yasumoto (安元 洋貴)

"I would appreciate it if you would refrain from talking in the Crystarium. If you are truly a cadet like me, then behave in a manner befitting of Agito."

Although he's a straight-laced person who receives excellent grades, his uncooperative personality is his downfall, earning him a place in "the oddball group", Class Twelfth. His thorny words make it easy for him to be misunderstood, but he isn't trying to be malicious. He's simply awkward. As a result, he's concerned about having no friends. He gets along with the heroine on a mission, but he just can't express himself...

---

What's in a name?

The names of these cadets seem to be referring to their class number and mantle colors.

Aoi: Blue Futatsuboshi: From "futatsu", two

Yotsuba: Four-leaf Tokijiku: (Not sure. May literally mean “time axis.”)

Moegi: Light yellowish green Itsukaichi: From "itsu", five

Sakurano: From "sakura", pink cherry blossoms Nanafusa: From "nana", seven

Kohaku: Amber Kokonoe: Ninefold

Mashiro: Pure white Tootoichi: Literally "Ten and one"

Asagi: Pale blue-green Hitotose: Literally “one year” or “some time ago"

--

To wrap it up...

--

◆ Girls-Only Gathering Transmissions

With "Girls-Only Gathering Transmissions" female players can improve their girl skills! When you have a girls-only gathering, your girl power will greatly increase instead of being depleted.

When girl power goes up... 1. If you receive a gift item from a male character who likes you, the real item will be delivered to you.

When girl power goes up even more... 2. You can purchase items from Amazon with the gil you've obtained in-game.

◆ Product Information

Compatible Hardware: Smart phones Development Engine: Luminous Studio Release Date: TBD Estimated Price: TBD

※ THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION.

Active Talk Preview Image

Event/Cutscene Preview Image

That's all! Thank you very much!

Production Department 1 Tabata Team

[laryna6]

One of those ‘A Christmas Carol’-based fics with Saotome Eiji.

Kyousuke’s dad appearing warning of the demons of the Sanzu river and the measuring of karma that awaits the dead, and Saotome going ‘I must have fallen asleep/that’s a foreign Buddhist thing’ because of the... heavy pushing of a... propagandized version of Shinto as part of Japanese nationalism building up to WWII.

Instead of Christmas it’s Obon (a festival of Buddist/Confucian origin) ofc.

To fit with ‘the idea that people have to earn the right to live is effed up’ from the original, perhaps as a child he was sent to an orphanage bc his family couldn’t feed him? The additional damage of not knowing who your ancestors were in a culture practicing ancestor worship.

Other students of psychic research inviting him to hang out at the university but he wanted to get an officer position in the army, so needing to avoid undesirable elements.

Saotome’s present day obon, Kyousuke who was raised in China being taught about Shinto because as a half-Chinese person on top of an esper in an era of nationalism... they worry about the kid and he might be safer if he do all the ‘I am a loyal subject of the emperor’ signaling. Two of the espers in the unit canonically come from traditional priesthood families and have OPINIONS about what these motherfucking nationalists are doing to corrupt and twist everyone’s spirituality and traditions and their sense of connection to their families and their people and the land. Making shinto priests government officials?!

Saotome going they’re not proper LoyalTM to the army and Japan

Spirit #2 going ‘was the army ever loyal to them?’

Fujiko and her father discussing how their family is nobility and the need for the nobiiity to give up power and instead bring about democracy if Japan was going to escape being conquered and exploited by imperialists like the countries around them.

Fujiko going ‘but the warrior classes all got positions in the military, and now we’re a military dictatorship and Japan has just become one more imperialist power, it’s disgusting and her father going absolutely, and discussion of duty to their ancestors and their country foreshadowing Fujiko making a choice that according to traditional morality and the noble code of conduct was ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLY HORRIBLY WRONG to the point of disgracing her entire family line because what kind of people could have produced a traitor like that... but because of it in the modern day Japan is the second least awful country in how it treats espers.

Then spirit #3, and Saotome going ‘I’ve seen the precogs, espers going to war with normals, Kyousuke betraying the country/me to serve a queen’

And then it’s the younger queen and two other girls going ‘Minamoto we want to go to a festival with you’ while a harried man basically shoos them out the door with a broom and goes ‘go! Your families want to see you! Here are your boxed lunches and snacks for the trip’ and the girls are espers who use their powers to get to their normal families. the queen and her big sister get in a wrestling match over the cookies and only belatedly realize their mom’s eaten them all while commentating while they dress for the festival. another girl and her normal father engage in some police brutality towards festival pickpockets as bonding. the third girl, at least, is traditional and proper even if she’s performing a ceremony that comes from non-Japanese origins (and yet... it’s still a tradition that ties them to their ancestors and the gods and who they are, and Shinto says that tradition is sacred, it doesn’t say that traditions that first came from outside aren’t sacred)

The man is following his mother around as she chatters with everyone and gets up to shenanigans at the festival. ‘Father couldn’t make it again’ mentioning a grandmother who used to stay with him at these. Looking up at the sparks rise above the fire to send the dead home, lonely even though he’s surrounded by people in his hometown... and then he gets tackled by the three girls demanding he take photos with them while they’re all in kimonos

And then it switches to someone announcing That Bastard is finally dead. Far from the land he was born, with no one in the country he served who cares to claim his body ‘so we should send someone to pretend to be a relative’ and someone declaring that this is now a formal meeting because while obviously they all want to desecrate his grave, they are going to do it in an organized fashion that reflects the gravity of his crimes and pays respects to his innocent victims and continuing victims of that bastard’s legacy of murder and hatred. Eggs and toilet paper are not up for discussion is said with a pointed look at another man, who whines ‘big bro!’

This is the most diverse group of people Saotome has ever seen, people from all over the world united in their hatred of someone who gets referred to with several different languages’ curse words.

And then someone walks in and goes ‘here you are, okay, what are you up to? I’ve been raising kids for half a century, I know that when you’re all quiet and busy somewhere you’re up to no good’ and it’s Kyousuke. The guy who went ‘big bro’ gets his ear twisted, and whines ‘dad!’

It’s revealed that ‘that bastard’ is someone who hurt Kyousuke, who they’re protective of like the unit is (he still looks so young...) but when he gets it out of them he’s no! and there is a whine of ‘dad! He shot you!’ ‘I know’ *bullet scar revealed* ‘I’m the one he shot, so I get to decide what to do with him’

Kyousuke lifting away a sheet to reveal a body old and twisted and crippled. And Saotome’s. Kyousuke is blank an solemn... and sad.

Going through the Shinsosai funeral rites, all foreign Buddhist influences removed as he would have wanted, and maybe there’s a reason the people of Japan for centuries were happy to have Buddhists to help them usher their families into the next world, because he can see the weight of the kegare on him, how Kyousuke mourns him, is the only one who mourns him. Eventually a woman who treats Kyousuke as both an embarrassing younger brother and as a respected father comes to help, to cheer him up, even though she despises Saotome too, for hurting him.

A picture of the unit, in Kyousuke’s family shrine. ‘Now everyone in this photograph but Fujiko is dead... He took my family from me, but he, too, was family.’

Then he grabbed the woman, teleported, and dragged her down with him into the ocean for purification.

...then Kyousuke goes to bully the man from before, who is arguing with the three girls about how yes, they are sleepy, Kaoru nearly flew them into the ground getting home, while making them all tea before he shoves them into their bedroom. When he turns around Kyousuke has stolen the cup that was supposed to be for him, and the man at first automatically raises his hackles, but then looks sympathetic.

Kyousuke looks away, annoyed and pouting, at sympathy from this person.

‘...If I try to comfort you you’re going to shove my head in the toilet again,’ the man says, getting himself another cup of tea.

‘Absolutely’ Kyousuke agrees.

Silence, and eventually Kyousuke says, ‘at first I thought you were his reincarnation, even though he would have been offended at the idea of him reincarnating. Then I found he was with the Comericans, had been since the war, and I thought, it would have been better if he was you. Not for the Queen. But for him. If I hadn’t failed to avenge my comrades back then, he could have moved on to a better life or the otherworld. Not been forced to live on a failure and a pawn in a foreign land, unable to return home. He was a proud man.’ Looking down at his tea, ‘when I met him again, he asked me to kill him.’

‘..in the precog, I know there’s a nuke on the way when I shoot Kaoru,’ the man says, and now Saotome knows where he’s seen him. ‘even though I want to kill her so she can’t leave again and I want it enough to kill her before she stops that nuke from destroying Tokyo, I still know that I have to die for this. I’m just getting the order wrong. I should die before I do that. Having to live with what I do in that precog would be a fate worse than death.’

‘That was why I erased his memories that day. He... there was no point in him continuing to suffer. None of us would have wanted that for him. I thought... didn’t he know our feelings? That we were loyal to him, that we didn’t mind dying for him? And then I saw that he truly didn’t recognize our feelings. Because he didn’t know what it looked like, to recognize when people truly cared for him. But he cared for us, and so when he thought that espers would turn against normals, that it was impossible for us to ever care for him... Those damn precogs. They broke his heart before he put a bullet through mine.’

‘Maybe... next obon?’

a shake of the head. ‘he thought it was too foreign. It’s fine, our comrades will beat sense into him in the afterlife.’ Kyousuke drank the rest of his tea.

‘..Some of the parts of the traditional ceremony... PANDRA loves you, but I think that would have made it hard to force them to cooperate,’ the man said. “I don’t want to hear words honoring him either, but you like to do things I don’t want.’

‘What, are you going to give me condolences for his loss?”

‘I can honestly say that I am very sorry he’s dead, because it means I will never get to strangle him,’ the man vigorously throttled the air, going from kind and patient to a man more than capable of shooting a young woman in love with him, and back, ‘from turning you from such a sweet, good little kid into the godawful brat I have had to deal with.’

Kyousuke snorted.

“Do you want another cup of tea, or a cup of milk?”

“Milk.” Kyousuke said, and when the man was on his way to open a white door, he began, “Utsumi-san said that he graduated first in his class, but he had no family and no background. The esper unit was his proposal, so when he told us that we could serve our country and be accepted, he wagered his own future on the chance that ours could be happy. Utsumi said later that he never trusted Saotome-Taicho, because he knew he didn’t truly care for us. I asked once why he didn’t warn us, if he knew that, but... Utsumi knew his heart, so he knew that Saotome-taicho also was different, was desperately wishing to prove he was valuable enough to accept. He knew what bait to dangle before us because it was the exact same lure that led him to the army. We all wanted him to have that happy future, along with us.’

[captainofthekryptonspacemarines]

Hi! I’d like some help with this idea for NaNoWriMo.

Hello! I would like you help. I have an idea to have Supercorp (Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor from Supergirl) and Clexa (Clarke/Lexa from The 100) in the same universe but no plot, just bits of lore. My spidey-sense tingle and tell me there's a plot hidden here somewhere and I'd like your help. If you're up to helping me write in characters from the "The 100" show please help me with those too. All I know of Clexa comes from fanfics and I might be missing stuff and oportunities. 

So, esentially, what I got is:

·         One day there's a battle in Earth's orbit and it looks massive and there's all the good ol' stuff from blockbusters but its aliens vs aliens and we're just spectators.

·         The battle ends with one side leaving with a lot of its ships destroyed and the debris orbiting Earth. The winning aliens make contact and explain what’s going on: They’re from the planet Krypton, they’re a space empire and the other dudes are the Covenant: An alliance of different races, mostly based on a religion created by one of the member species, who have waged a genocidal campaign against Krypton, killing trillions and burning hundreds of planets until the surface is glass.

·         The Kryptonians have managed to reverse engineer The Covenant’s superior technology and have now changed the tide of the war to their favor.

·         What happened around Earth in a nutshell: The Kryptonian Navy found a massive Covenant Armada gathering and they attacked it. The Kryptonians won and the ships they attacked around Earth were a group that escaped. The Kryptonians don’t know why they came here but assume that it was to lay low while they waited to get help and the ships fixed in a planet with an atmosphere most Covenant member species can breathe.

·         The Kryptonians are led by The Great Duchess of Yharnam, Lara Rhy-Croft. Under her is The Princess of Argo, Kara Zor-El.

·         Kara wasn’t originally the heir apparent to the title: Her Uncle was Prince before her but his son, Kal-El, disgraced himself by refusing to fight in the war (Kal wanted to reason with The Covenant and stated several times that all-out war was a thing of butcher’s and beneath them as a species. He wanted to keep the precision strikes that they were doing at the beginning of the war, even as worlds burned and the effectiveness of them was non-existent) and thus he was sacked from the succession line and Kara was brought in. She had basic, noble training in war and a career as a Kryptonian Army Engineer, but she had never expected to be Princess of Argo, which requires her to be actually good at the whole invading and conquering gig.

·         Everyone is acutely aware of Kara’s inexperience at commanding troops but Kara’s smart and she’s proven she’s up to the challenge and she’s the optimist in the room. She’s a skilled diplomat on the account of her father being an Ambassador; as well as a powerful orator, this thanks to her mother who is currently presiding over the Kryptonian Supreme Court of Justice. These two come in handy to defend herself from people doubting her and getting people to work with her when otherwise they would distrust someone who is there because of their title.

·         Kara manages the Earth situation and Lara senses that this will take a while. Kryptonian law has this Prime Directive kind of thing that The Emperor of Krypton wants to enforce, even as the war rages, because Earth is so close to Space-Faring capabilities that he fears this incident might turn them xenophobic and that they’ll have to face humanity in combat one day.

·         Lara convinces The Emperor to leave Kara and a garrison on Earth until they can determine beyond a shadow of a doubt the intent of The Covenant on Earth. They leave Kara mostly with veteran but burned-out units that have earned of some R&R and Kara receives orders from The Emperor that she is to leave if the situation turns to hostile to salvage.

·         Lara leaves behind a trusted friend of hers, Commander Lexa Als-Wudz, who is to help Kara further develop her skills as a military tactician.

·         Lexa has a fearsome reputation that is partly explained due to her ancestry: Most of Kryptonian history happened in a valley roughly the size of Germany and there wasn’t that much variation between cities other than certain traditions. The exception to this was a group who left and settled in a massive archipelago known as The Great Isles. The Great Isles were volcanic in nature and one day, one of the volcanoes went Krakatoa (that is a massive eruption that affected the world’s temperature, and in Krypton’s case caused a massive crop failure) and forced the otherwise rather pacific islanders to raid the mainland. This started a period of history that is called The Red Raids and is ended when an ancestor of Lara conquered and systematically decimated the population of The Great Isles.

·         Ever since Islanders have been known and feared as ruthless warriors, a reputation that remains thousands of years later and of which Lexa is both the victim and the living example of why it persists: She’s killed and joyously butchered enemies because of this reputation and also because part of her heritage is the rather lost capability to be able to fight in close quarters, which comes in handy against certain types of enemies and has come in a vital skill against certain Covenant species that also favor CQC.

·         Lexa has her own personal reasons to be as savage as possible against the Covenant: Her wife was killed during the first Covenant attacks and going on a rampage is her way of grieving and avenging her.

·         To this, add that Lexa personal style of command involves her and those under her command either setting up defenses to slaughter wave after wave of enemies or ferocius attacks that leave no survivors on the enemy’s side. This is such a defining trait of Lexa’s tactics and command that both sides call her ‘The Butcher of Akron‘ because of a battle where Lexa and her troops whipped out an entire Covenant Ground Army instead of just tactically defeating it.

On the human side we have:

·         Clarke is the daughter of a US Senator. She a doctor who gives free consultation on low-income areas as part of helping her father keep his seat in the Senate. She was a rebellious teenager and would have a record but being the daughter of a US Senator helped her stay clean. She is still very strong-willed and opinionated.

·         When Kara starts talking to the peoples of Earth, her father gets a Willy Wonka ticket and is on the commission that will deal with this on behalf of the US.

·         In a dinner party in honor of Kara, Clarke and Lexa meet and they hit it off from there

·         Lena Luthor is a CEO and a renowned genius whose family has a complicated story: Her ancestors made their fortune out of slave trading bankrolled the Confederacy and were in favor of segregation to the point of her grandfather openly campaigning for George Wallace. Her father would beat both her and her brother, Lex, and was overall a very bad man who ruined lots of lives until he was murdered by Lex, who then covered it up with Lena’s help.

·         Lex was a high-functioning psychopath that did a lot of horrid things before being shot dead by Lena, who covered it up as self-defense.

·         Lena is asked to help with reverse engineer Covenant technology that has fallen to Earth but is more interested in meeting Kara, who is under the impression that mankind has no Covenant technology to analyze.

·         Kara has made it clear that it’s in mankind’s best interest not to study anything Covenant-related but the UN security council doesn’t trust her word and Lena doesn’t see the harm in studying it.

[cowandcalf]

Who are your top ten favorite H50 characters and why?

Hi, anon! This is such a great ask! I love it and I apologize for letting you wait. I want to answer this thoroughly and I’ve taken my time. And I have to admit my answer is so long. But I wanted to explain why I love the characters. So, I hope you like my response. Your ask really has kept me pondering a lot.

It’s freaking long, so I put it under the cut.

1.Steve McGarrett

I get drawn to Steve like a moth to a flame. My soul sings an unknown song since the moment I've met Lieutenant Commander Steve J. McGarrett.

Steve combines a lot of personality traits which I admire full-on. He's a great, outstanding leader. He's a person you instantly trust a hundred percent. He's focused, determined, he has stunning, overwhelming stamina, incredible endurance and the wish to always push everything to the edge just for a challenge or because he just knows he can do it.

His terrible emotional childhood trauma (mother killed, getting shipped off by his own father, separated from his family for almost two decades) didn't cripple his character or his soul. Or let me rephrase this. It crippled him but he never let anybody see his wounds and his scars. And that's also one of Steve's weakness and strength and this hits me straight to the core.

Steve has a soft, sensitive heart. Although he has no idea how to deal with emotions other than to bottle them up and pile them in a far hidden corner of his mind and heart. He's selfless and a true friend who always finds time if you need him. He's reliable and he's hundred percent involved once he's in.

He never asks of anything in return. He's too humble, too shy and behind that steely armor of tac vests, strapped weapons, and thigh holsters, of barked orders, of leading his team, of being in charge, of taking the biggest blow to protect always the others – there's an insecure, needy man with a scarred heart who never really has outgrown the abandoned teenager. He fears loss and his 'emotional hands' are always empty. I'm convinced that in the darkest hour of the night Steve is lost, lonely and afraid to never find the exit from the maze he has been trapped in since his father sent him off to the mainland.

2.Danny Williams

Danny, Danny, Danny. This guy – man, this guy. Danny is cocky with freaking huge self-esteem, a swagger, and a puffed-out chest. Nobody ever could daunt him – only when someone tries to hurt his little girl then he's terrified and he endures everything for his kids, everything. He loves animals and treats them kindly and knows how to handle them in a stressed situation. This speaks for his kind-hearted, sensitive soul.

He's not afraid to show emotions. He's a tad insecure (like terrified actually) to ask someone out on a date. That's so cute because it's such a different behavior compared to his dashing personality as a detective.

He headbutts everyone who steps in his way being a hindrance when he searches for answers to protect one of his own. Danny has a rich character. He admits his fears (claustrophobia, afraid of losing his little girl, admitting he always expects the worst).

Danny has been a cop before he has even been born. It runs in his genes. He's fearless… and honestly, when he switches into his deadly determined cop-mode I always lose my shit. Danny doesn't need to prove what an outstanding cop his he. He knows it and that's enough. Whenever he unleashed this fearless, tensed-up, fiercely focused and a bit crazy-eyed side of his persona it's a beauty to watch. He just transforms right in front of my eyes into an Avenger with no mercy.

And that's why he's the only one who understands Steve. Danny isn't afraid to breach Steve's personal space when Steve's emotions are ablaze, making him feel like a trapped animal who wants to run, blindly, driven by a terrible panic Steve never knew how to deal with.

3.Kawika

He follows a code of honor just like Danny and Steve. He carries the wisdom of his ancestors in his heart. Kawika's soul listens to the water, to the land and to the animals of Hawaii. He's the head of the Kapu, meaning he’s earned all the respect from his men by being an outstanding leader. I LOVE how Steve, Kono, and Chin respect him. Except for Danny, of course. And Kawika headbutts him in return just as hard and Steve steps aside a bit lost what to do.

Kawika pays that respect back. He's a man of his word. His devotion to what he's doing matches Danny's and Steve's. Other than that, he's the founder of a surf organization who supports kids with cystic fibrosis. He surfs like a god and looks like the sexiest guy. I love him and I always need him close in my stories.

There's this energy wafting around him that draws me close without knowing why. Kawika feels like a rock in a wild storm. He feels the heartbeat of Hawaii in his bones. And this wisdom shows in his eyes. Being there where he is, makes me somehow feel the reason why I'm in this word. (Jesus Christ! Where does this all come from? I mean he's a fictional character… damn, this show really messes with my heart and my sanity. Hahaha, damnit!) I don't want to sound greedy – but surf lessons with this guy? Call me anytime!

 4.Mary Ann McGarrett

She went through severe emotional trauma and she struggled a fair bit. I admire Mary for her enthusiasm, for her strength to just move on. Her heart and her soul are wounded. She loves Steve. She was so hurt about the fact that somehow her brother never reached out to her. She has lost contact for ten long years. I guess at one point her older brother morphed into a distant memory until Mary has to return home to Hawaii. She finds out how much she's missed Steve and how deeply she cares for him and how much she loves him. She's not afraid to face the problem head-on.

She's stubborn too, and curious and she follows a lead once her attention is caught. Mary always finds a solution to a problem. She never bothers Steve in a way that he has to pull her out from a problem she can't solve on her own. Only when she's back on the island she gets caught in the crossfire.

Mary has brains, she's clever, she's lippy and talks straight forward to Steve. She has some drinking problems in the beginning, maybe even some drug problems but she deals with it. She's impressed with Steve's achievement in the Navy, but she has some healthy self-confidence. She lacks nothing in cleverness, the ability to put details together, helping Steve to see the bigger picture. And Steve's impressed.

By adopting Joanie Mary gives Steve back this piece of a family that both have been missing for so long. And I love to know Aunt Deb took her under her wings when they went back to the mainland those years ago. And with Mary back in Steve's life there is also Aunt Deb around. I love how Mary is the glue to keep Steve together on a totally different level. She's the past, she's the present and she's the future. She belongs to a bond, the only one that is left from Steve's family and Mary is just there. She's strong and fearless, even if she always ends up in shitty situations, in the beginning, she meets life head-on, walking tall and with her eyes open.

 5.Junior Reigns

Junior is a great buddy. He acts somehow as Steve's younger brother. He's Steve's SEAL brother, his ally and Steve's brain twin in tactics and how to carry out an operation, even in the way to see life and to deal with difficult situations. Junior matches Steve's character on so many levels. There is this humbleness, this wish to serve (even though not that devoted as Steve but still it's there), this fierce determination and this thinking of never giving up. Junior is a team buddy. He has a big, soft heart and he loves Steve so much (just as Beulah expressed his love to Alex on SOTB 2018 – this moved me to tears because it was so honest, soul-deep honest).

Junior would take a bullet for Steve at any moment, no matter what. The respect he has for Steve can't be put into words. He worships him in a healthy, glorious way. Junior's soul is pure and full of light and love. I'm convinced that Junior senses a lot what's going on with Steve, but he keeps his distance out of respect. But he always stays somehow close in case Steve needs him in difficult times of emotional duress. Steve trusts Junior with his life.

I love Junior's smile and his wit. I love how he fits into the team and how well he gets along with Tani. He's highly trained and skilled. Junior is a great, outstanding SEAL and a great cop.

 6. Aunt Deb

She's love. She's sunshine. She's a pure balm for Steve's sore, hurt heart. She's brim-full of energy and when she appears the sun rises with her. She brings a light mood to every moment. If she's around everything feels kind of safe. And Steve still has a lot of respect for her and listens closely when Aunt Deb has to say something. She's fun and I love her for giving Mary a home when everything fell apart. I wished she would have been more around for Steve. She's good for him. It broke my heart when she died with Steve sitting at her bed.

Aunt Deb is one of the persons who absolutely understood how Steve and Mary suffered. She knows how much they need each other, and she has brought them back together. That's why Mary is a great mother to Joanie and Steve is a proud uncle. Both have back some family. That's so precious.

Aunt Deb is the mother Steve would have needed. From my point of view, she's a key character in Steve's life. I love her way to talk, her way to dress and how she made this bucket list with all the crazy things she wanted to experience before she has to walk over the rainbow bridge.

But most of all, I love the shy, bright smile, this smirk that appears on Steve's face whenever Aunt Deb is around and asks him some serious questions about his tattoo or other topics that make Steve squirm a little.

 7. Kono Kalakaua

She's my heroine. She's good-looking but never uses this knowledge unless she works undercover. She surfs like a goddess and she is a close friend to Kawika. She fights like a she-samurai. She has some serious backbone. She clenches her teeth and just gets the job done. She knows what she's capable of and she doesn't want to impress anyone. She's a fully respected member of the team. She loves Steve. He's ohana and Kono respects him deeply, but she also knows that she's equal and she learns a lot from him. She's the rookie only to end up as a damn good, excellent sniper (taught by Steve) and skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

Ohana means everything to Kono and she respects her roots and Hawaii. She empathizes with young girls; victims of violent crimes and she always cares deeply and honestly for other persons. She's passionate. She has brains and I still miss her like a torn off limb.

 8.Chin Ho Kelly

He's the embodiment of Zen. I appreciate him even more in the re-watch of the show. His humor is well hidden but bobs on the surface every now and then and he always makes me laugh.

Chin is a rock in a calm sea and he's a rock in a rough sea and he never cares about the sea; he just is the rock. He looks so hot on his motorbike. I love how he knows his way around the island. He's a man of his word and doesn't back down. He lives the tradition of Hawaii and ohana like no one else of the team. He's old-school where a handshake means something. He also lives a code of honor.

I love that he worked with Steve's father, that he was also a quarterback and that Steve shot all his records to hell. They knew each other from Kukui Highschool, and this warms my heart. Chin is a man of his word, absolutely reliable. He grounds Steve and he understands him very well, but he also always knows when to back off. He's a hell of a Five-0 member, a great teammate, and I love to see how he holds his shotgun. Chin doesn't know fear. He's always available. He's a fighter, a warrior and no battle is too nasty for him. Steve trusts him with his life and Chin trusts everyone just as much.

 9.Kamekona

I just love this guy! First, he's made one hell of a career. He was a former criminal, got busted and when he was out, he's made a name for himself as a very useful informant for Five-0. He learns to trust the haoles (Steve and Danny) and he got his shit together and became such an incredible entrepreneur for Hawaiian outstanding shrimps. He has built his business step by step from shaved ice to a hot spot for tasty shrimp dishes. I'm impressed. Second, he's loyal, he's ohana and he's Hawaiian.

Steve respects him and Kamekona is always the 'to-got-to' person when they need inside information. He's the connecting element between police and the criminal underworld. Kamekona has eyes and ears everywhere, always. And he looks out for his friends and he's so self-assured in the way he comes up with new ideas for his business no matter how outrageous they are. He believes in himself!

He's cute, funny and so often I would love to sit down on one of those benches and I want him to rant about prices and economics and how it's hard to stay on top in the business. I always start smiling when he's in the picture. And besides, he can take a hard beating with hardly batting an eyelid. Kamekona is tough as nails with a soft heart.

 10. Sang Min

He was such a bad guy in the beginning. I loathed the way he was involved in human trafficking. I don't know how he did it, but it's impossible not to like him! He's so devoted to his family and besides this guy cracks me up! He's terrible lippy and daring and the way he pronounces 'spicy' is just legendary. Yeah, Sang Min spices up every scene he's in. He's like a trash show. You start to love him!

Okay, anon, that’s my essay for you. Thank you so much for asking me this question. Of course, there are many more I love so much. But these ten characters do something to my heart when I see them on screen. Mahalo for your interest and have a great one.

[t-baejoy]

Theon and Robb tell the History & Lore of the Greyjoy Rebellion (Part 1)

Rewatching these videos, a bunch of thoughts I had started to come together and it became a Thing. A very long thing.

The "Histories & Lore" featurettes are short animated videos, narrated in-character by relevant cast members, that appear as bonus material on the Game of Thrones blu-rays. They flesh out the world by essentially providing book exposition that the writes couldn't fit into the show.

(Transcripts were copied off the Wiki and then edited by me to correct errors in them.)

First off, the videos themselves:

"Dark wings, dark words". I was only a boy when the raven came to call my father, Lord Eddard Stark, to another war. Balon Greyjoy had raised the Iron Islands in revolt, and burned the Lannister fleet at anchor. King Robert Baratheon again needed his old friend.

My mother, Catelyn, was not happy to lose her lord husband to Robert again. Six years before he had left her to avenge his father and brother against the Mad King. But now he had sons and daughters of his own, and, unspoken, another son who wasn't hers from the last time he went to war: my brother, Jon Snow.

But she knew that in marrying my father she had married The North, we hold our honor and duty as dear as our own gods. When the time came, my father marched south to restore peace and order to the realm.

My father always told me the Iron Islands were a strange and dangerous place. Its people, the ironborn, keep neither the Old Gods nor The Seven, and despise all honest toil. Their ancestors ravaged the western shores, raping and slaving and putting it to the torch. And their songs still ring through the halls of the ironborn; while everywhere else they are whispered to wayward children at bedtime.

Perhaps Lord Balon thought Westeros had not healed from the war against the Mad King and was as fragmented and suspicious as the ancient kingdoms his forbears had terrorized. Robert's navy corrected him at Fair Isle, when they smashed the proud Iron Fleet. Robert and my father corrected him at Pyke, his own castle, when they pulled down his towers and breached his walls.

My father never liked to speak of his battles, but from other men I learned what transpired: Thoros of Myr was first through the breach with his flaming sword. Not far behind him was Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, my father's bannerman who earned the knighthood he would later shame, and lords from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. All day through every passage in the castle they fought side by side: my father with our ancestral sword Ice and King Robert with his warhammer, against a horde of axe-wielding ironborn. In the end, Lord Balon bent the knee.

King Robert generously allowed Lord Balon to retain his title and castle. The price of peace was custom: The only son of Balon's to survive his foolish rebellion would be taken as a hostage against future treasons. My father even volunteered to foster the boy himself.

I suspect to make Theon Greyjoy a different man than his father, who would bring honor and duty to the Iron Islands when he returned as heir. So my mother's silent fear came true, and my father returned with another child. Theon ate with us, played with us, and fought with us.

Once the great bond between my father and Robert Baratheon united the realm against the Mad King, and brought him to justice for his crimes. Now, another monster sits on the Iron Throne, and another debt of blood is owed my family. Theon is my murdered father's ward; I am my murdered father's son. Like my father and Robert, bound in blood if not by blood, we are brothers.

The following video is actually a compilation of three different featurettes. The one that is of interest is the third one, which starts at about 6:23. However the others are interesting too. The first one is Theon and Yara narrating the history of House Greyjoy. In the second Stannis Baratheon gives his perspective on the Greyjoy Rebellion, including details on how he destroyed the Iron Fleet.

When Aegon and his dragons burned Harren the Black and all of his sons at Harrenhal, the days when men feared the sight of our longships were over: Aegon would not permit marauders and raiders in his Seven Kingdoms. With Harren died our empire, and the old way that forged it. But what is dead may never die.

Six years after Robert Baratheon won his crown, my father - Balon Greyjoy- sought to restore our ancient rights. He declared the Iron Islands independent, and himself its king; and sent the Iron Fleet in a daring raid on Lannisport where they burned the Lannister ships at anchor, making us unchallenged in the Sunset Sea. This was the seed of the our undoing.

My eldest brother, Rodrik, led a frontal assault on Seagard, a town built to protect the mainland from us. After ferocious fighting beneath the city walls he was slain by Lord Jason Mallister, and his men defeated.

By this time Stannis Baratheon had brought Robert's fleet around Westeros and somehow managed to trap the Iron Fleet at Fair Isle, smashing it. Robert's victory was now all but assured, yet we made him bleed for each island.

Stannis Baratheon captured Great Wyk, the largest of the Iron Islands, and Ser Barristan Selmy himself subdued Old Wyk. Robert and Lord Eddard Stark led the main assault against the island of Pyke. They razed the town of Lordsport to the ground before Robert turned his full fury on our family stronghold.

When they breached the walls the first through was Thoros of Myr with his ridiculous flaming sword, followed by every minor lord of Westeros hungering for glory. My other brother, Maron, was killed when siege engines brought down a tower on his head. I was now my father's only living son, and heir to the Iron Islands.

When my father saw his cause was lost he wisely conceded defeat to Robert, who otherwise would have pulled down the castle stone by stone with us in it.

As my father said to me then: "No man has ever died from bending his knee. He who kneels may rise again, blade in hand. He who will not kneel stays dead, stiff legs and all". As it stands Robert allowed my father to keep his lands and title as Lord of the Iron Islands, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Sea Wind, Lord Reaper of Pyke... for a price. His last son and heir shipped off to Winterfell as an "honored guest".

I would eat at the Stark's table and play with the Stark children. And if my father rebelled again, Lord Eddard would take his sword and cut off my head. It would be his duty.

One thing that struck me about the videos was the differing perspectives on Theon's situation. Theon and Robb viewing the Rebellion differently is one thing, but even Theon leaving is framed differently, with Robb seeing it neutrally (if not positively), and Theon…not so much.

There's also the framing of them playing as kids, which I suspect is more a manifestation of Theon's mental state in book/season two than of reality.

But more than that, I couldn't help but notice what is and is not said about family, specifically, Theon's family.

Robb: "But now [my father] had sons and daughters of his own, and, unspoken, another son who was not hers from the last time he went to war: my brother, Jon Snow."   "So my mother's silent fear came true, and my father returned with another child."   "Like my father and Robert, bound in blood if not by blood, we are brothers."

Robb mentions his own siblings and how he considers Theon a brother, but never even thinks to mention Theon's own dead brothers…which Theon does bring up.

"My eldest brother, Rodrik, led a frontal assault on Seagard…he was slain by Lord Jason Mallister, and his men defeated."   "My other brother, Maron, was killed when siege engines brought down a tower on his head. I was now Balon's only living son, and heir to the Iron Islands."

See also, little Theon apparently seeing part of his brother's crushed body!

Then again, with the way Theon talks about his brothers, maybe that's not so surprising….

[Speaking to Patrek Mallister] "When my brother stormed Seagard," Theon said. Lord Jason had slain Rodrik Greyjoy under the walls of the castle, and thrown the ironmen back into the bay. "If your father supposes I bear him some enmity for that, it's only because he never knew Rodrik." [A Clash of Kings - Chapter 11 - Theon I]

Later in the same chapter:

"This wolf king heeds your counsel, does he?" The notion seemed to amuse Lord Balon.

"He heeds me, yes. I've hunted with him, trained with him, shared meat and mead with him, warred at his side. I have earned his trust. He looks on me as an older brother, he—"

"No." His father jabbed a finger at his face. "Not here, not in Pyke, not in my hearing, you will not name him brother, this son of the man who put your true brothers to the sword. Or have you forgotten Rodrik and Maron, who were your own blood?"

"I forget nothing." Ned Stark had killed neither of his brothers, in truth. Rodrik had been slain by Lord Jason Mallister at Seagard, Maron crushed in the collapse of the old south tower . . . but Stark would have done for them just as quick had the tide of battle chanced to sweep them together. "I remember my brothers very well," Theon insisted. Chiefly he remembered Rodrik's drunken cuffs and Maron's cruel japes and endless lies. "I remember when my father was a king too." He took out Robb's letter and thrust it forward. "Here. Read it . . . Your Grace."

I'll come back to this point in a later post.

Part 2 | Part 3

[dfroza]

A call to purity

especially sexually. we may think the body is our own, but it belongs to our Creator. the treasure is the Spirit abiding within our own who illuminates the Son, who mirrors our heavenly Father.

and our Creator has said “i love you” to all of us, peace, & goodwill to the heart and to earth.

and what do we think of it? what will we do with the grace being offered to us?

Today’s reading of the Scriptures is the 4th chapter of the Letter of First Thessalonians:

[Holiness and Love]

And now, beloved brothers and sisters, since you have been mentored by us with respect to living for God and pleasing him, I appeal to you in the name of the Lord Jesus with this request: keep faithfully growing through our teachings even more and more. For you already know the instructions we’ve shared with you through the Lord Jesus.

God’s will is for you to be set apart for him in holiness and that you keep yourselves unpolluted from sexual defilement. Yes, each of you must guard your sexual purity with holiness and dignity, not yielding to lustful passions like those who don’t know God. Never take selfish advantage of a brother or sister in this matter, for we’ve already told you and solemnly warned you that the Lord is the avenger in all these things. For God’s call on our lives is not to a life of compromise and perversion but to a life surrounded in holiness. Therefore, whoever rejects this instruction isn’t rejecting human authority but God himself, who gives us his precious gift—his Spirit of holiness.

There’s no need for anyone to say much to you about loving your fellow believers, for God is continually teaching you to unselfishly love one another. Indeed, your love is what you’re known for throughout Macedonia. We urge you, beloved ones, to let this unselfish love increase and flow through you more and more. Aspire to lead a calm and peaceful life as you mind your own business and earn your living, just as we’ve taught you. By doing this you will live an honorable life, influencing others and commanding respect of even the unbelievers. Then you’ll be in need of nothing and not dependent upon others.

Beloved brothers and sisters, we want you to be quite certain about the truth concerning those who have passed away, so that you won’t be overwhelmed with grief like many others who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, we also believe that God will bring with Jesus those who died while believing in him. This is the word of the Lord: we who are alive in him and remain on earth when the Lord appears will by no means have an advantage over those who have already died, for both will rise together.

For the Lord himself will appear with the declaration of victory, the shout of an archangel, and the trumpet blast of God. He will descend from the heavenly realm and command those who are dead in Christ to rise first. Then we who are alive will join them, transported together in clouds to have an encounter with the Lord in the air, and we will be forever joined with the Lord. So encourage one another with these truths.

The Letter of 1st Thessalonians, Chapter 4 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is chapter 13 of 2nd Kings that documents the death of Elisha along with the life story of various kings:

[Jehoahaz of Israel]

In the twenty-third year of Joash son of Ahaziah king of Judah, Jehoahaz son of Jehu became king of Israel in Samaria—a rule of seventeen years. He lived an evil life before God, walking step for step in the tracks of Jeroboam son of Nebat who led Israel into a life of sin, swerving neither left or right. Exasperated, God was furious with Israel and turned them over to Hazael king of Aram and Ben-Hadad son of Hazael. This domination went on for a long time.

Then Jehoahaz prayed for a softening of God’s anger, and God listened. He realized how wretched Israel had become under the brutalities of the king of Aram. So God provided a savior for Israel who brought them out from under Aram’s oppression. The children of Israel were again able to live at peace in their own homes. But it didn’t make any difference: They didn’t change their lives, didn’t turn away from the Jeroboam-sins that now characterized Israel, including the sex-and-religion shrines of Asherah still flourishing in Samaria.

Nothing was left of Jehoahaz’s army after Hazael’s oppression except for fifty cavalry, ten chariots, and ten thousand infantry. The king of Aram had decimated the rest, leaving behind him mostly chaff.

The rest of the life and times of Jehoahaz, the record of his accomplishments, are written in The Chronicles of the Kings of Israel. Jehoahaz died and was buried with his ancestors in Samaria. His son Jehoash succeeded him as king.

[Jehoash of Israel]

In the thirty-seventh year of Joash king of Judah, Jehoash son of Jehoahaz became king of Israel in Samaria—a reign of sixteen years. In God’s eyes he lived an evil life. He didn’t deviate one bit from the sins of Jeroboam son of Nebat, who led Israel into a life of sin. He plodded along in the same tracks, step after step.

The rest of the life and times of Jehoash, the record of his accomplishments and his war against Amaziah king of Judah, are written in The Chronicles of the Kings of Israel. Jehoash died and joined his ancestors. Jeroboam took over his throne. Jehoash was buried in Samaria in the royal cemetery.

Elisha came down sick. It was the sickness of which he would soon die. Jehoash king of Israel paid him a visit. When he saw him he wept openly, crying, “My father, my father! Chariot and horsemen of Israel!”

Elisha told him, “Go and get a bow and some arrows.” The king brought him the bow and arrows.

Then he told the king, “Put your hand on the bow.” He put his hand on the bow. Then Elisha put his hand over the hand of the king.

Elisha said, “Now open the east window.” He opened it.

Then he said, “Shoot!” And he shot.

“The arrow of God’s salvation!” exclaimed Elisha. “The arrow of deliverance from Aram! You will do battle against Aram until there’s nothing left of it.”

“Now pick up the other arrows,” said Elisha. He picked them up.

Then he said to the king of Israel, “Strike the ground.”

The king struck the ground three times and then quit.

The Holy Man became angry with him: “Why didn’t you hit the ground five or six times? Then you would beat Aram until he was finished. As it is, you’ll defeat him three times only.”

Then Elisha died and they buried him.

Some time later, raiding bands of Moabites, as they often did, invaded the country. One day, some men were burying a man and spotted the raiders. They threw the man into Elisha’s tomb and got away. When the body touched Elisha’s bones, the man came alive, stood up, and walked out on his own two feet.

Hazael king of Aram badgered and bedeviled Israel all through the reign of Jehoahaz. But God was gracious and showed mercy to them. He stuck with them out of respect for his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He never gave up on them, never even considered discarding them, even to this day. Hazael king of Aram died. His son Ben-Hadad was the next king.

Jehoash son of Jehoahaz turned things around and took back the cities that Ben-Hadad son of Hazael had taken from his father Jehoahaz. Jehoash went to war three times and defeated him each time, recapturing the cities of Israel.

The Book of 2nd Kings, Chapter 13 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, december 18 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A set of posts by John Parsons that points to Hebraic History and the nature of seeking truth:

We read in the New Testament that "the Greeks seek for wisdom" (1 Cor. 1:22), which of course does not refer to the ethical wisdom of the Torah (i.e., chokhmah: חָכְמָה), but rather to the venture of the human intellect to investigate and speculate about the nature of “ultimate reality.” Since Greek culture during the time of the Second Temple was without a viable religious outlook (it’s earlier pantheon of Olympian gods had been abandoned by that time), various Greek philosophers arose to fill the void by offering an account of the nature of the universe. Some of these philosophers sought abstract essences and archetypal patterns, while others regarded reality as a product of random chance (or fate) that rendered it essentially unknowable. What was common to these speculative approaches, however, was faith in the power of human reason to discover truth apart from older mythological explanations.

Despite the fact that ancient Jewish culture likewise valued truth and wisdom, in general the sages of the Second Temple period regarded Greek humanistic wisdom as chokhmah hachitzonit, "superficial wisdom," since it wasn't deeply grounded in the revelation and conviction of a moral Lawgiver who was the Sovereign Center and purposive cause for everything that existed. For this reason the Greek worldview was deemed spiritually dangerous, since it surreptitiously implied that Torah should be understood in strictly human terms, a product of mere men, rather than as special revelation directly given from the LORD God. At issue, then, was a clash between the role of faith and the role of reason...

It should be noted here that Hellenism was a philosophical outlook of life that offered enlightenment to the ancient world. Indeed, the word "Hellenist" does not refer to the ancient Greeks as much as all those who adopted the Greek cosmopolitan lifestyle, and that of course included many Jews of that period. Nonetheless, the Torah sages regarded such humanistic philosophy as devoid of ultimate value, since it had an inadequate and essentially “heartless” view of the person. The Hellensistic outlook did not regard people as moral agents created in the image and likeness of God Himself, and despite its idealization of the human being, Greek humanism (like humanistic philosophy today) had no metaphysical basis for the worth and dignity of people. Because of this, ancient Greek society, like ancient Egypt, justified slavery, the abuse of women, and ruthless exploitation. Jewish thought, on the other hand, understood people as inherently worthy, “deities in miniature,” and therefore they sought to be merciful, chaste, and charitable in their relationships.

The spread of Greek language and culture in the ancient world was a blessing, however, since the translation of the Hebrew Torah into the common Greek (the "Septuagint") in the 3rd century BC prepared the world for the universal message of the gospel, and even today the Septuagint helps us understand the words of the Koine Greek New Testament better. Moreover, the Greek Septuagint provides irrefutable proof that the Hebrew Torah text was well-attested in ancient times, which refutes fallacious claims made by other religions that Jewish people “rewrote” or invented the words of Torah for political purposes. [Hebrew for Christians]

12.17.20 • Facebook

When Yeshua said that the truth would “set us free” (ἐλευθερώσει), he was referring to the acceptance of the Witness of Divine Reality (i.e., the Word, Breath, Spirit, Voice, Message, Meaning, and Love of God) that delivers us from the lies we habitually tell ourselves. If you “persevere in my word” (μείνητε ἐν τῷ λόγῳ τῷ ἐμῷ) he said, “then you are my disciples indeed, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (ἡ ἀλήθεια ἐλευθερώσει ὑμᾶς, John 8:31-32). In other words, as we identify with his vision and redemptive mission, we will “be free indeed” from the tohu va’vohu (Gen. 1:2) – the “chaos and unreality” – that inescapably besets the way of the lie... We will be delivered from vanity and delusions of this world and its diseased affections; we will be set free from the need to justify ourselves by religion (perfectionism); we will no longer crave other people’s approval; we will not be moved by the crowd and its pressures; we will find courage to face our challenges without resorting to escapism; and we will learn how to experience peace even when we encounter frustrations. Despite our daily struggles and tests, we will be released from bondage to anger and resentment as we yield our will in trust that God is working all things together for our ultimate good (Rom. 8:28). Genuine freedom is not an “accidental property” of the heart, depending on “luck” or “fortune,” but instead is a decision to believe in the Reality of the salvation of God given in Yeshua our LORD. [Hebrew for Christians]

12.17.20 • Facebook

Though it is good to ask questions, to seek for understanding, and to study the Scriptures, we must do so using the "rule of faith," or the principle that “faith seeks understanding,” rather than the converse principle that “understanding seeks faith,” since the latter elevates human reason to be the judge and arbiter of the things of God, a role for which it is both incapable and unsuited (Isa. 55:8-9; Job 9:10; 11:7; Psalm 139:6; Rom. 11:33). This not to say that we cannot know the truth about God, though the instrumentality for knowing divine truth transcends the abilities of unaided human reason (Deut. 29:29).

Some people talk about "honest doubt" regarding matters of God, and while there may indeed be occasions to confess the limitations of our ability to understand the mysteries of heaven, we must be on guard not to ply a present lack of "semantic closure" as an excuse for despair that hardens our hearts and justifies our sin... The lower nature's machinations are so devious that we must be on guard and "test what manner of spirit" you are (Luke 9:55; 1 John 4:1; James 4:4). In the name of "honest doubt" a soul can invent all manner of difficulties of interpretation, the mind may become jaded and agnostic; the heart cools and steps away from the passion of faith... Doubt introduces hesitancy, compromise, and godless misgivings; it is a leech upon the soul, sapping the strength of conviction, weakening the balm of assurance. Be careful. Honest seeking is one thing, but practiced doubt may be an evasive measure - a diabolical ploy meant to distance yourself from responsibility to God's truth.

Often enough people have a "problem" with faith not because there is insufficient reason to believe -- after all, every soul has intuitive awareness of the reality of God's reality and power (see Rom. 1:19-20; Psalm 19:1-4; Acts 14:17) -- but because secret sin lurking within the heart is cherished as the soul’s ultimate concern and most precious value. Such idolatry of heart is the essence of much "doubt," since faith ultimately is an act of will. "The heart has its reasons that reason knows not of" applies both to the realm of God but to the affections of the selfish heart... In that sense doubt serves as a deal made with the devil - an exchange of a "mess of pottage" for the blessing of God!

Charles Spurgeon once wrote: "It seems that doubt is worse than trial. I had sooner suffer any affliction than be left to question the gospel or my own interest in it" (Vol. 29, Sermons). Amen, the gospel cannot be esteemed apart from personal interest in its truth, for otherwise we are merely toying with its message. You must believe that the truth of God - and being properly related to this truth by means of a trusting relationship - is the most inestimably precious and important matter of your very existence... "Find God or die." We cannot escape from the double-mindedness of our way apart from sincerely turning to God and asking Him to show us his glory, his beauty, and the wonder of his great love. A divided house cannot stand. The way of deliverance from yourself - to way to be free of enslaving passions and dark desires that fragment the soul - is by means of the miracle of God: "For the flesh has desires that are opposed to the Spirit, and the Spirit has desires that are opposed to the flesh, for these are in opposition to each other, so that you cannot do what you want' (Gal. 5:17; Rom. 7:15-25), but if you are led by the Spirit, you are free from the law of sin and death and are enabled to live according to a new source of power and life, namely, the law of the Spirit of Life in Messiah Yeshua (Rom. 6:6,14; Gal. 2:20). Living in slavery to sin is to lose yourself - to have no “center,” no self that unifies your heart and focuses your reason for being... It is the hell of no longer believing in anything at all, and especially no longer believing yourself.

Soren Kierkegaard once lamented: "The matter is quite simple. The Bible is very easy to understand. But we Christians are a bunch of scheming swindlers. We pretend to be unable to understand it because we know very well that the minute we understand we are obliged to act accordingly.” There is a very real danger of “thinking about” truth rather than living it. For instance, you might study the Psalms as literature and attempt to understand the nuances of Hebrew poetry, but that is altogether different than reciting the psalms with inner passion, with simple conviction and the earnest desire to unite our heart’s cry with the devotion that gave life to the words... We must read with a heart of faith to unlock the truth that speaks to the heart. If you believe only what you understand, your faith is actually grounded in your own reasoning, not in the Divine Voice of Love...

The way of trust is always a matter of the heart’s passion and hope... The Spirit of God speaks gently: "My child, give me your heart, and let your eyes observe my ways" (Prov. 23:26). When we call God "Abba," we are not using a formal name that indicates distance, but rather a term that evokes intimate closeness and reliance. Calling out to God as "Abba" signifies that we genuinely accept that God regards us as his beloved child... [Hebrew for Christians]

Zot Chanukah Sameach, chaverim. The Light still shines!!!

https://hebrew4christians.com/

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Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

December 18, 2020

Fringe Issues

“And the servant of the Lord must not strive; but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient.” (2 Timothy 2:24)

One of the plagues of modern-day Christendom is that many take up side issues and deem them all-important— a point of separation between them and other Christians. Health foods, dress codes, and church constitutions are not unimportant, but Christians can hold different opinions and still be walking with God. Note the scriptural admonitions: “Be not carried about with divers and strange doctrines. For it is a good thing that the heart be established with grace [i.e., primary issues]; not with meats [i.e., fringe issues], which have not profited them that have been occupied therein” (Hebrews 13:9); “foolish and unlearned questions avoid, knowing that they do gender strifes” (2 Timothy 2:23).

On the other hand, there are many scriptural commands to hold “fast the faithful word” (Titus 1:9); to “keep that which is committed to thy trust” (1 Timothy 6:20). Many of these points of “sound doctrine” (Titus 1:9) are absolutely essential, such as the deity of Christ, the authority of Scripture, salvation by grace, the resurrection of Christ, and many others clearly and specifically taught in Scripture. Perhaps the rule might be, if it’s an essential doctrine, teach and defend it at all costs; if it’s a secondary doctrine, teach it in “meekness” and love (2 Timothy 2:25). But if it’s a fringe issue, avoid strife over it, allowing brothers to exercise their freedom.

Is creationism a fringe issue? No! Few doctrines are so clearly taught in Scripture. Is it crucial to salvation? No! But it is essential to adequately understand the great primary doctrines for it is foundational to them all. Furthermore, it is the subject of origins, which the enemy has identified as a major battleground, vowing to destroy Christianity over this issue. Here we must stand if we are to guard our faith. JDM

[onwardvirus87]

Dwarf Race

Kingdoms rich in ancient grandeur, halls carved into the roots of mountains, the echoing of picks and hammers in deep mines and blazing forges, a commitment to clan and tradition, and a burning hatred of goblins and orcs—these common threads unite all dwarves.

Short and Stout

Bold and hardy, dwarves are known as skilled warriors, miners, and workers of stone and metal. Though they stand well under 5 feet tall, dwarves are so broad and compact that they can weigh as much as a human standing nearly two feet taller. Their courage and endurance are also easily a match for any of the larger folk.

Dwarven skin ranges from deep brown to a paler hue tinged with red, but the most common shades are light brown or deep tan, like certain tones of earth. Their hair, worn long but in simple styles, is usually black, gray, or brown, though paler dwarves often have red hair. Male dwarves value their beards highly and groom them carefully.

Long Memory, Long Grudges

Dwarves can live to be more than 400 years old, so the oldest living dwarves often remember a very different world. For example, some of the oldest dwarves living in Citadel Felbarr (in the world of the Forgotten Realms) can recall the day, more than three centuries ago, when orcs conquered the fortress and drove them into an exile that lasted over 250 years. This longevity grants them a perspective on the world that shorter-lived races such as humans and halflings lack.

Dwarves are solid and enduring like the mountains they love, weathering the passage of centuries with stoic endurance and little change. They respect the traditions of their clans, tracing their ancestry back to the founding of their most ancient strongholds in the youth of the world, and don’t abandon those traditions lightly. Part of those traditions is devotion to the gods of the dwarves, who uphold the dwarven ideals of industrious labor, skill in battle, and devotion to the forge.

Individual dwarves are determined and loyal, true to their word and decisive in action, sometimes to the point of stubbornness. Many dwarves have a strong sense of justice, and they are slow to forget wrongs they have suffered. A wrong done to one dwarf is a wrong done to the dwarf’s entire clan, so what begins as one dwarf’s hunt for vengeance can become a full-blown clan feud.

Clans and Kingdoms

Dwarven kingdoms stretch deep beneath the mountains where the dwarves mine gems and precious metals and forge items of wonder. They love the beauty and artistry of precious metals and fine jewelry, and in some dwarves this love festers into avarice. Whatever wealth they can’t find in their mountains, they gain through trade. They dislike boats, so enterprising humans and halflings frequently handle trade in dwarven goods along water routes. Trustworthy members of other races are welcome in dwarf settlements, though some areas are off limits even to them.

The chief unit of dwarven society is the clan, and dwarves highly value social standing. Even dwarves who live far from their own kingdoms cherish their clan identities and affiliations, recognize related dwarves, and invoke their ancestors’ names in oaths and curses. To be clanless is the worst fate that can befall a dwarf.

Dwarves in other lands are typically artisans, especially weaponsmiths, armorers, and jewelers. Some become mercenaries or bodyguards, highly sought after for their courage and loyalty.

Gods, Gold, and Clan

Dwarves who take up the adventuring life might be motivated by a desire for treasure—for its own sake, for a specific purpose, or even out of an altruistic desire to help others. Other dwarves are driven by the command or inspiration of a deity, a direct calling or simply a desire to bring glory to one of the dwarf gods. Clan and ancestry are also important motivators. A dwarf might seek to restore a clan’s lost honor, avenge an ancient wrong the clan suffered, or earn a new place within the clan after having been exiled. Or a dwarf might search for the axe wielded by a mighty ancestor, lost on the field of battle centuries ago.

SLOW TO TRUST

Dwarves get along passably well with most other races. “The difference between an acquaintance and a friend is about a hundred years,” is a dwarf saying that might be hyperbole, but certainly points to how difficult it can be for a member of a short-lived race like humans to earn a dwarf’s trust.

Elves. “It’s not wise to depend on the elves. No telling what an elf will do next; when the hammer meets the orc’s head, they’re as apt to start singing as to pull out a sword. They’re flighty and frivolous. Two things to be said for them, though: They don’t have many smiths, but the ones they have do very fine work. And when orcs or goblins come streaming down out of the mountains, an elf’s good to have at your back. Not as good as a dwarf, maybe, but no doubt they hate the orcs as much as we do.”

Halflings. “Sure, they’re pleasant folk. But show me a halfling hero. An empire, a triumphant army. Even a treasure for the ages made by halfling hands. Nothing. How can you take them seriously?”

Humans. “You take the time to get to know a human, and by then the human’s on her deathbed. If you’re lucky, she’s got kin—a daughter or granddaughter, maybe—who’s got hands and heart as good as hers. That’s when you can make a human friend. And watch them go! They set their hearts on something, they’ll get it, whether it’s a dragon’s hoard or an empire’s throne. You have to admire that kind of dedication, even if it gets them in trouble more often than not.”

Dwarf Names

A dwarf’s name is granted by a clan elder, in accordance with tradition. Every proper dwarven name has been used and reused down through the generations. A dwarf’s name belongs to the clan, not to the individual. A dwarf who misuses or brings shame to a clan name is stripped of the name and forbidden by law to use any dwarven name in its place.

Male Names: Adrik, Alberich, Baern, Barendd, Brottor, Bruenor, Dain, Darrak, Delg, Eberk, Einkil, Fargrim, Flint, Gardain, Harbek, Kildrak, Morgran, Orsik, Oskar, Rangrim, Rurik, Taklinn, Thoradin, Thorin, Tordek, Traubon, Travok, Ulfgar, Veit, Vondal

Female Names: Amber, Artin, Audhild, Bardryn, Dagnal, Diesa, Eldeth, Falkrunn, Finellen, Gunnloda, Gurdis, Helja, Hlin, Kathra, Kristryd, Ilde, Liftrasa, Mardred, Riswynn, Sannl, Torbera, Torgga, Vistra

Clan Names: Balderk, Battlehammer, Brawnanvil, Dankil, Fireforge, Frostbeard, Gorunn, Holderhek, Ironfist, Loderr, Lutgehr, Rumnaheim, Strakeln, Torunn, Ungart

Subrace

Two main subraces of dwarves populate the worlds of D&D: hill dwarves and mountain dwarves. Choose one of these subraces or one from another source.

DUERGAR

In cities deep in the Underdark live the duergar, or gray dwarves. These vicious, stealthy slave traders raid the surface world for captives, then sell their prey to the other races of the Underdark. They have innate magical abilities to become invisible and to temporarily grow to giant size.

Dwarf Traits

Your dwarf character has an assortment of inborn abilities, part and parcel of dwarven nature.

Ability Score Increase

Your Constitution score increases by 2.

Age

Dwarves mature at the same rate as humans, but they’re considered young until they reach the age of 50. On average, they live about 350 years.

Alignment

Most dwarves are lawful, believing firmly in the benefits of a well-ordered society. They tend toward good as well, with a strong sense of fair play and a belief that everyone deserves to share in the benefits of a just order.

Size

Dwarves stand between 4 and 5 feet tall and average about 150 pounds. Your size is Medium.

Speed

Your base walking speed is 25 feet. Your speed is not reduced by wearing heavy armor.

Darkvision

Accustomed to life underground, you have superior vision in dark and dim conditions. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can’t discern color in darkness, only shades of gray.

Dwarven Resilience

You have advantage on saving throws against poison, and you have resistance against poison damage (explained in the “Combat” section).

Dwarven Combat Training

You have proficiency with the battleaxe, handaxe, light hammer, and warhammer.

Tool Proficiency

You gain proficiency with the artisan’s tools of your choice: smith’s tools, brewer’s supplies, or mason’s tools.

Stonecunning

Whenever you make an Intelligence (History) check related to the origin of stonework, you are considered proficient in the History skill and add double your proficiency bonus to the check, instead of your normal proficiency bonus.

Languages

You can speak, read, and write Common and Dwarvish. Dwarvish is full of hard consonants and guttural sounds, and those characteristics spill over into whatever other language a dwarf might speak.

Hill Dwarf

As a hill dwarf, you have keen senses, deep intuition, and remarkable resilience. The gold dwarves of Faerûn in their mighty southern kingdom are hill dwarves, as are the exiled Neidar and the debased Klar of Krynn in the Dragonlance setting.

Ability Score Increase

Your Wisdom score increases by 1.

Dwarven Toughness

Your hit point maximum increases by 1, and it increases by 1 every time you gain a level.

Mark of Warding Dwarf

“My family has the finest vaults you can imagine. They forge the locks that secure the jewels of kings and queens. And I learned to pick those locks when I was barely out of the crib.”

— Cutter, burglar and Kundarak excoriate

The Mark of Warding helps its bearers protect things of value. Using the mark, a dwarf can weave wards and seal portals with mystic force. It also provides its bearer with an intuitive understanding of locks and mechanisms used to protect and seal. The decision each heir has to make is whether they’ll use this power to keep things safe, or whether they’re more interested in opening locks and taking what’s inside.

Mountain Dwarf

As a mountain dwarf, you’re strong and hardy, accustomed to a difficult life in rugged terrain. You’re probably on the tall side (for a dwarf), and tend toward lighter coloration. The shield dwarves of northern Faerûn, as well as the ruling Hylar clan and the noble Daewar clan of Dragonlance, are mountain dwarves.

Ability Score Increase

Your Strength score increases by 2.

Dwarven Armor Training

You have proficiency with light and medium armor.

[healthnotion]

Does Stoicism Extinguish the Fire of Life?

In August 1937, Ernest Hemingway stopped by the office of Max Perkins, his book editor at Scribner’s. Perkins happened to already be hosting another visitor: Max Eastman, a writer of commentary on politics, philosophy, and literature who had several years prior penned a critical review of Hemingway’s Death in the Afternoon. “It is of course a commonplace that anyone who too much protests his manhood lacks the serene confidence that he is made out of iron,” Eastman had written, “[and] some circumstance seems to have laid upon Hemingway a continual sense of the obligation to put forth evidences of red-blooded masculinity.”

Hemingway was extremely sensitive to criticism and derided those who peddled it as envious, milksop non-doers who lobbed invective from the safety of the spectator’s gallery. That Eastman had not only critiqued his writing, but questioned the thing in which “Papa” took the most pride — his manhood — made the “libel” even more galling. Though Hemingway had penned a searing rebuttal at the time, the passage of years had done nothing to dampen his sense of indignation and desire for avengement.

Now his chance had come.

Hemingway had been particularly irked at Eastman’s dig that he had created “a literary style . . . of wearing false hair on the chest.” To literally affirm his hirsuteness, Papa therefore initiated their encounter by ripping open his shirt to reveal a chest which Eastman admitted “was hairy enough for anyone.” Hemingway then tore open Eastman’s shirt, exposing a chest which was in comparison, Perkins observed, “bare as a bald man’s head.”

Thus far, Hemingway had only been “fooling” around. But catching sight of the very volume which contained Eastman’s critical essay lying on his editor’s desk, he got “sore.”

Hemingway demanded that its author read the critical passages aloud. When Eastman refused, Hemingway slapped him across the face with the book. The two fell over the desk and wrestled a bit, before Hemingway broke into a broad grin and regained his good humor.

Many moderns are apt to view this episode as rather ridiculous, and Hemingway as demonstrating an insecure machoism. If not an example of faux manliness, it’s apt to be seen as evidence of misdirected emotion — why care so much about what other people thought of you? It seems like a real exercise in pointlessness.

Except for one thing.

Hemingway’s passionate hate for his haters seemingly fueled his work. After he was especially excoriated by critics for Across the River and Into the Trees, “it was Ernest’s pride that defied the naysayers and goaded him into writing The Old Man and the Sea,” his friend A.E. Housman observed. “It was an absolutely perfect counterattack and I envisioned a row of snickering carpies . . . who in the midst of cackling, ‘Through! Washed Up! Kaput!’ suddenly grab their groins and keel over.”

Being touchy about his honor was what ultimately catalyzed Hemingway’s greatest literary masterpiece. 

Ancient Rome, Contest Culture, and the Rise of Stoicism

“If historians long had the notion that Rome ‘fell,’ it is a notion based on the metaphor of an original firm, stable, solid structure that collapsed or disintegrated. I would argue that if Rome had a fall, it was a fall into a world dominated by exactly that metaphor.” –Carlin Barton, Roman Honor

In the present age, we’re apt to agree with Eastman that a “real man” doesn’t try to prove his manhood, and that the more he sees the need to demonstrate his masculinity, the less secure he is in its possession. We associate manhood with having a “stiff upper lip” — being unemotional, not caring what others think, being sort of “rock-like” in disposition. And we assume that manhood has always been framed this way.

In fact, though, the kind of manliness Hemingway evinced — touchy, thin-skinned, competitive, emotional, unpredictable, concerned with reputation and righting perceived wrongs — was the dominant pattern of masculinity for most of human history.

One of the central pivot points in the shift from the historic paradigm to the more modern one can be traced to ancient Rome. To understand how and why the shift occurred, let us travel back in time, taking along as our guide Carlin Barton, who, in Roman Honor, explains why “the principal metaphors expressing honor (light and fire) and those expressing dishonor (stone and ice)” became completely inverted as the republic became an empire.

Note: All quotes, unless otherwise cited, are taken from Roman Honor.

Light & Fire

“The desire for honor and glory set men on fire.” –Cicero

The early Roman Republic was an honor culture. That is, it followed the pattern which had been set by all ancient societies, wherein people were keenly concerned about their reputation among their peers.

In ancient Rome, it was not enough to live the community’s code, to say you possessed this or that virtue; you had to prove that you did — publicly, in an endless series of tests and trials. Honor was not won once, and forever retained — it had to be earned, and re-earned over and over again.

To be respected, you had to have skin in the game.

Rome was thus not only an honor culture, but a contest culture. Everything was a competition. As the Roman statesman and philosopher Cicero observed of the republic’s boys:

“With what earnestness they pursue their rivalries! How fierce their contests! What exaltation they feel when they win, and what shame when they are beaten! How they dislike reproach! How they yearn for praise! What labors will they not undertake to stand first among their peers!”

Whatever could be fought over, big or small, was fought over — though not always so seriously; the Romans’ contests were full of whimsy, playfulness, and plenty of teasing.

Romans competed both with the living and the dead. They strove to not only live up to the good name of their ancestors, but to surpass them in glory. And while we moderns think it gauche to compete with one’s family and friends, the Romans thought these peers made the best fellow competitors, for they were equals with whom one shared the most in common. 

Romans competed over who was most skilled and excellent in rhetoric, in sports, in war, in wealth, and in virtue — particularly the defining quality of manhood: courage. The Roman historian Sallust described the way legionaries not only relished daunting odds, but were driven in their efforts by the desire to be the best soldier on the field:

“To men like these no ordeal was unfamiliar, no position rough or difficult, no armed foe formidable; their courage conquered all obstacles. But the greatest competition for glory was amongst themselves; each rushed to be the first to strike an enemy, to climb a wall, to be conspicuous in action.”

The Roman legionary strove not only for personal honor, but for public recognition; ancient Rome offered many different awards and commendations, and soldiers competed strenuously for them all.

Romans treated the achievement and maintenance of reputation as a contest in and of itself. Any insult or slight was seen as a challenge; “You say I am X, but I’ll prove that you’re wrong.” A Roman could win such a “competition” by pointing to past evidences of their honor; this was a culture in which politicians shamed political opponents or bolstered the credibility of their own arguments by tearing open their tunic to reveal scars earned in defense of the republic. Or, a critic might be refuted by one’s performance in a fresh showdown in which one’s bona fides could be plainly demonstrated.

Whether in peace or bellum, the dominant virtues of Roman culture and its citizen-soldiers were those of the warrior. Regardless of what one was competing over — whether civic pride, martial advantage, or the claim to a reputation worthy of respect — manhood was manifested in one’s willingness to engage. “The Romans associated virtus [manliness] with vis, vires (physical power, vitality, energy, violent or forceful action),” and “A male was transformed into a man by the willful expenditure of [this] energy.” Cicero, who took as his own slogan, “Ever to excel,” declared that “The whole glory of virtue [virtus] resides in activity.”

The placement of dynamic engagement at the heart of the culture affected even the language of ancient Rome:

“As the result of living in a contest culture, Roman ideas of truth (like Roman notions of the sacred) were more active, palpable, and embodied than our own. How much more active and embodied they were can be gleaned from a comparison of a few of our English words with their Latin cognates . . . Our ‘fact’ is passive, for us a fact just ‘is.’ The Roman factum was something made or done . . . Latin existere was to come into view, to appear, come forward, show oneself, come into being; exstare was not only to exist, it was to project, protrude, stand out, be conspicuous, to catch attention . . .

Latin sapere, to know, was to have sap, blood, juice, because consciousness was in the chest with the lungs, heart, breath, and blood. Many Latin words for knowledge express the physical aspects of what are, for us, principally metaphysical notions. Comprehendere, deprehendere, capere, and their relatives all stress the notion of grasping, seizing . . .

Verus . . . [often] meant ‘true’ in the sense of firm, capable of withstanding test or trial . . . [because] Generally, in earlier Roman thought, the ‘truth’ of what one said was intimately linked with the ability to endure a test or trial of some sort.”

The vigor of the Romans’ language points to the consolations of living in a contest culture. Existing in such a paradigm, in which your identity was neither fixed nor permanent, your worth was a moving target, and you had to always be actively engaged in proving yourself, required a greater tolerance for vulnerability, volatility, and unpredictability; yet, at the same time, it created a life that was more vivid and immediate, more active and animate — a life lived closer to the bone.

Each day, each encounter, each interaction, each challenge had stakes, had weight; the ancient Roman regularly found himself caught up in the discrimen, “the moment of truth when, before the eyes of others, you gambled what you were.” This was a life of risk, shot through with the exhilaration of constantly walking the line between honor and shame, glory and destruction, success and failure.

Out of these crucibles, “truth was not so much revealed as created, realized, willed in the most intense and visceral way.” In the agon — the test, trial, ordeal — you not only discovered your true position, your status in the pecking order, you discovered your strength, who you were. The contest established your being. It constructed reality.

In a life in which reality is made fresh every day, one remains radically present:

“A Roman’s hyperconsciousness of his or her ‘face’ produced a keen sense of embodiment. The person who underwent surveillance in a contest, who risked death or humiliation, lived critically in the moment. . . . For the Roman on the spot, up against a wall, the world was sharp, immediate, visceral. As in archaic Greek thought and much of Japanese thought — and for similar reasons — the Romans tended to physicalize everything, to make everything present. Reality was immanent; it was spectatus, expertus, probatus, perspicuus, argutus, manufestus. It hit you in the face; you could smack it with your hand.”

As the friction of contest culture ultimately made life incandescent, the Romans associated this way of living with light and fire. The man who exulted in activity, who embraced the agon, who ever existed in the arena, became a “glowing spirit”:

“Virtus and honores won in the crucible of the contest were shining and volatile; the refining fire of the ordeal produced a heightened sense of vividness, a brilliant, gleaming, resplendent existence. The man of honor was speciosus, illustris, clarus, nobilis, splendidus.”

In contrast, “The absence of energy (inertia, desidia, ignavia, socordia) was nonbeing. Inactivity froze the spirit.” The Romans associated dishonor — a disregard for reputation, an indifference to shame, an unwillingness to engage in the contest — with stone and ice. “Hardness was associated with impudence, stupidity, cruelty, numbness, and stupor,” and in fact “Stultus (stupid) was cognate with stolidus (inert, unmovable, dull, senseless).”

Stone & Ice

“Otium, vacatio, immunitas, withdrawal, leisure, the absence of tension and disturbance, became values in Roman society at the moment when it became impossible to maintain one’s being by contest and when the isolation of withdrawal was less painful than the humiliation that came with the active negotiation of one’s honor.” –Carlin Barton, Roman Honor

“From the time of Augustus, there begins a period in which the primores civitatis themselves often regarded inertia as sapientia [wisdom].” –Zvi Yavetz, Plebs and Princeps 

The Romans distinguished between “good contests” and “bad contests” and for the cultural paradigm described above to remain viable, the latter had to prevail. Good contests adhered to the following restrictions: “a) framed and circumscribed within implicit or explicit boundaries accepted by the competitors, b) between relative equals, c) witnessed, and d) strenuous.”

As the Roman Republic fell, civil wars broke out, and an empire was established, “a” and “b” became untenable, making citizens unwilling to live up to the requirements of “c” and “d.”

An honor culture can only function in a society in which there is a shared code — clear rules, standards, and expectations for interaction and engagement — and within a closed community of equals. But as the Roman Republic transformed into a sprawling, porous, far-flung empire, its society became increasingly large, complex, and diverse, and “The citizen of Rome became a citizen of the world,” this common, level playing field disintegrated.

In an honor culture, you can only be insulted by someone you consider an equal. But in Roman society, discerning who deserved this level of respect, and whose slights to take seriously, became increasing difficult and unclear. If someone possessed a different set of values, was a citizen still honor-bound to care what they thought?

Early Romans had shared rules of engagement — boundaries that checked their competitions and kept them civil. In the greater chaos of the empire, in the absence of shared norms, citizens made the rules up as they went. It was every man for himself. In fact, the less a man cared about honor, the more unable he was to be shamed, the more strategic advantage he gained. Early Romans had not played to win, but for the sake of engaging in a good fight; now, citizens were prepared to win at any cost.

Romans thus came to see contests as unequal and destructive. Those who engaged in competitions under the old assumption of participating on a level playing field, found instead that the odds were stacked, and this gap between expectation and reality engendered great bitterness. As did the fact that it seemed more and more men began receiving commendations, laurels of honor, who hadn’t actually earned them.  

As a result, Romans became disillusioned and began to withdraw from the contest, from active engagement with their fellow citizens and civic life. “When competition was insupportable, then paralysis, the desire to hide, and the desire to be insensitive and autonomous became widespread cultural phenomena. With the loss of the good contest and the rules that framed it, cold, callous, brazen shamelessness became a cure for shame.”

“Shamelessness” for the Romans did not necessarily mean, as it does for us, to be unvirtuous, but rather to literally be incapable of being shamed. That is, the shameless care nothing for what others think of them.

While today we tend to admire this kind of radical indifference to public opinion, to the Romans unbounded autonomy was the mark of a man whose energy had been drained, whose being had been destroyed; as Cicero put it: “To take no heed of what other people think of you is the part not only of an arrogant man but, to be sure, of a dissolutus.” How could someone who remained unmoved even in the face of legitimate criticism, who refused to be ashamed even when confronted with their culpability, ever be trusted?

Still, even Cicero, though himself a political leader, was sympathetic to the impulse to become callously disengaged, rhetorically asking, “what spirit trained in these times, ought not to become insensitive?” Elsewhere he quotes a line of Euripides: “If this mournful day were the first to dawn for me, had I not long sailed in such a sea of troubles, then there would be reason for anguish like that felt by a colt when the reins are first imposed and he bridles at the first touch of the bit. But now, broken by miseries, I am numb.”

In this self-imposed withdrawal and “the collapse of conditions for healthy competition in ancient Rome . .  . various strategies [had to be] devised by the Romans for creating a new emotional economy and redefining their spirit.” Said another way, “With the loss of the rules and conditions of the good contest, the entire language of honor ‘imploded’ and had to be ‘reconstructed.’”

This reconstruction process would involve nothing less than a complete inversion of values, and produce multiple radiating effects on Roman society.

First, the values associated with virtus shifted from effective energy, potency, gameness, to those we now associate with our modern idea of virtue — patience, sobriety, temperance, chastity, endurance. Values which had been externally directed and both volatile and valorous were replaced with those more stable and internal in nature. Honor centered around control, constraint, consistency; the ideal man becomes he who is poised, tranquil, disengaged. The passive values were elevated above the active.

While “Virtus often beg[an] to stand for or [was] replaced by the notion of honestas,” the words described two very different types of character:

“The new ‘honest’ man was not tense and dangerous. He was a man who could not be shamed and yet, simultaneously, posed no threat . . . man’s dignitas was no longer his presumptive claim to honor but rather an autonomous well of reserve. The tiger was declawed, the fire extinguished.”

The honest man could not be shamed, because of a second change in Roman culture: the arbiter of a man’s values — his honor in its newly constituted form — became not one’s peers but one’s conscience. Only oneself, or one’s God, could judge a man’s character.

Third, just as the possession of certain values became something that didn’t need to be proven through trial and test, neither did one’s manhood; being a vir was no longer something that had to be earned, but rather was innate.

Fourth, there was a retreat from the public sphere to the private one. “Political quietism” increased. The sentiment expressed by Cicero was common, “If we cannot enjoy the Republic, it is stupid not to enjoy our private affairs.”

Fifth, as Romans collectively withdrew from participating in a contest culture, they ironically began to lionize the individual who continued to play the game, and did so with a “winner-take-all” disregard for the old rules. The “man not prepared to lose” was idolized.

Instead of competition being something in which every average citizen took part, the masses mounted the bleachers, to cheer on, and live vicariously through, the few “gladiators” still in the arena. As spectators, they both worried over and felt excited by the rise of would-be tyrants who were willing to crush anyone who stood in their way; the thrill of the cult of victory, the stimulating spectacle of a man willing to go for the jugular, outweighed concerns about the political implications portended in the rise of such a rex.

As Dr. J. Rufus Fears argues, “When men came to believe that the charisma of victory no longer resided in the collective entity of the res publica but rather in the figure of an individual leader, communal authority and republican government were doomed and monarchy the only reality.”

Instead of citizens feeling collectively proud of their society’s successes, “Victory became profoundly personalized”:

“In his speech on behalf of Marcellus, Cicero explicitly refutes those who suggest that victory in war is the common achievement and honor of the Roman army and the Roman people: ‘This glory, Gaius Caesar, which you have recently acquired, no one shares with you. All of it, as great as it is (and it is undeniably very great) — all of it, I say, is yours. No credit belongs to centurion, to prefect, to cohort, to squadron. Not even the mistress of human destinies, Fortune herself, claims any partnership in this glory. She yields it to you; she confesses it to be yours — wholly and personally.’”

Sixth, the energy that was once directed to external contests was re-channeled into internal ones. The retreat into private leisure didn’t quite scratch an itch which stubbornly remained, nor soothe a sense of shame the late Romans tried so desperately to ignore; “Even while they praise[d] withdrawal from an untenable public life, they dreaded lest they appear to others as inactive or inert.”

And so competition was re-framed as something you could have with yourself — how well could you discipline your baser impulses and attain the new virtus? The will was still active, within. Ascetic practices took off, as ways to engage in a personal kind of battle, for though the ancient heroic virtues had been eclipsed, the Romans “never stopped wanting to be warriors.”

If one did not have to train for the contest, one could still exercise self-control. And one had to — on an almost inhumanely consistent basis; the self-control of late Romans had to in fact be far stronger and more unrelenting than that of their predecessors, who were allowed some lapses, some impulsivity. The irony, however, is that “Complete self-control [only] becomes an ideal — and a necessity — precisely when all control of one’s destiny is wrested from one.” That is, the Romans increasingly sought to master themselves, the less able they felt to master the world around them.

In this upside-down and enervated cultural landscape, the philosophy of Stoicism — begun by the Greeks centuries prior — found ready reception.

The maxims of the Stoics didn’t necessarily sanction this kind of withdrawal, but for those already inclined to adopt a more passive approach to the world, their philosophy provided a ready, even ennobled rationalization for their choices.

Whereas early Romans sought to create reality through sheer will and saw little limit to what was within their power to control, Epictetus said that one should not “demand things happen as you wish, but wish them to happen as they do,” and counseled against being “concerned with things which are beyond your power.”

Whereas the early Romans believed that one should rise to any challenge, Seneca argued that “If you do not wish to fight, you are permitted to flee,” while Arrian, a disciple of Epictetus, reasoned that it was wise to be like children, who, “when things do not please them, say, ‘I will not play anymore.’”

Whereas the early Romans believed that when you were struck, you were honor-bound to strike back, Seneca argued that “The blows of the powerful must be born not patiently merely, but even with a cheerful face,” and recommended developing “the endurance of the ox and of the horse obedient to the rein.”

Whereas the early Romans found their identity in community, in being part of an honor group, the Stoics idealized complete independence: “Beyond the last inner tunic, which is this poor body of mine, no one has any authority over me at all,” Arrian declared. Stoicism endorsed the new “shamelessness — in the form of apathy and autonomy.”

And whereas the Romans had cultivated an intentional touchiness — a literal and metaphorical blush in the face of shame — the Stoics advised cultivating an “impenetrable mask of indifference”:

“When the Romans begin to talk about salvation, the stone — once the image of callousness and stupidity — becomes the ideal. There was a hardness of the spirit, like a hardness of the body, that, when it burned, could not feel it.”

“Stand by a stone and slander it: What effect will you produce?” Arrian asked. “If a man listens like a stone, what advantage has the slanderer?”

Seneca suggested imagining oneself as withdrawn behind a mighty citadel:

“Surround yourself with philosophy, an impregnable wall; though fortune assault it with her many engines, she cannot breach it. The spirit that abandons external things stands on unassailable ground; it vindicates itself in its fortress; every weapon hurled against it falls short of its mark.”

In a time of upheaval, anxiety, and uncertainty, in which the “shock of embodiment” remained, but there no longer existed the rituals once attendant to a contest culture to manage it, Romans sought safe harbor in a stable standard that wasn’t contingent on other people. They wanted to find a way of being that did not require either competition or collaboration. They wanted to beat a retreat to an inner citadel. They wanted to grow a thicker skin.

“With the idea of survival or salvation came the idealization of natural man and of living according to Nature. Natural man did not have to prove he was a man, and so he did not need the contest. But the life of a natural man was, paradoxically, the life of a rock.”

In assimilating the principles of Stoicism — “a desperate strategy to preserve both life and honor” — the reversal of early Roman values was complete: “the worst imaginable spiritual condition for an ancient Roman — petrification, the cold stony unbeing of dishonor — inverts and becomes the ideal and honorable condition of the Roman soul, the ultimate remedy for dishonor — salvation.”

Walking on Coals

“If the ancient ideal was the make of oneself a target, to say in effect: ‘Here I am, come and get me,’ the Stoic ideal was to declare, ‘I am not what you see; you can’t get me because I’m not here at all.’”

Stoicism’s popularity rose in ancient Rome as citizens began to feel that it was less painful to disengage than to continue to put themselves out there. When the rules of the “contest” became unclear, and the playing field seemed tilted. When participation in civic affairs, in society, seemed an exercise in futility and frustration. A sucker’s game.

Stoicism has surged in popularity today for the very same reasons. When it seems pointless to engage, we are drawn to a philosophy that says that becoming callous and indifferent is not only okay, but noble even, honorable.

It is of course a question of great debate as to whether or not the “pure” philosophy of Stoicism does or does not endorse and encourage a more passive approach to life. For all the lines cited above that point to the fact that it does, other evidence could be marshaled to reach the very opposite conclusion. Stoic philosophy is much like the Christian religion (or any religion); people can use the same scriptural source to come to completely divergent theological conclusions. But while I think legitimate arguments could be made on both sides of the question, I’m actually not interested in making a quixotic attempt to “settle” it.

The question for our purposes is not whether Stoic “doctrine” necessitates passivity, but whether, when it mixes with human nature, it can have a tendency to do so. Lived philosophy, or lived religion, can be something quite different than how it is ascribed on paper, e.g., lived Christianity is much different than Christian theology. So it is with what is better termed “stoicism” — with a small “s.”

The question of how Stoicism affects human behavior is certainly not an academic one, or a niche one, limited to wholesale subscribers of the philosophy. No, we are all arguably stoics now, whether consciously or not. Shades of its principles have in fact become axioms that seem so self-evidently true, they needn’t even be examined.

But, they should be.

It’s axiomatic that we shouldn’t care what other people think, and that no one’s opinions can harm you. But what if there’s actually something to be said for feeling ashamed, at least if the one shaming you is someone you respect — and they actually have a point? What if the hurt of an insult can actually be a good thing, a spur to action? What if “I’m going to prove you wrong” can sometimes be the best possible source of motivation? What if revenge isn’t always a misguided, destructive pursuit, but, especially in the form of critic-silencing success, can be a productive endeavor?

It’s dogma that personal conscience is superior to the opinions of others as a form of moral authority. And yet research shows that shame — the penetrating eyes of the public — is a stronger motivator of ethical behavior.

It’s a truism that the best kind of contest is the one you have with yourself, and yet here again research contradicts this sacred shibboleth, showing that in fact, you absolutely cannot push yourself as hard or achieve as much of your potential when by yourself, than when you’re competing against others.

It’s accepted that self-mastery is one of the best and highest qualities, but what if a focus on self-control rises in inverse proportion to how much control we have in the world around us? What if a retreat to an inner fortress is simply a way of stuffing down one’s disappointment, fear of being hurt, and sense of impotence? The historian Ira Berlin argued that this was the real source of Stoicism’s popularity:

“When the road towards human fulfillment is blocked, human beings retreat into themselves, become involved in themselves, and try to create inwardly that world which some evil fate has denied them externally. This is certainly what happened in Ancient Greece when Alexander the Great began to destroy the city-states, and the Stoics and Epicureans began to preach a new morality of personal salvation, which took the form of saying politics was unimportant, civil life was unimportant, all the great ideals held up by Pericles and by Demosthenes, by Plato and by Aristotle, were trivial and as nothing before the imperative need for personal individual salvation.

This was a very grand form of sour grapes. If you cannot obtain from the world that which you really desire, you must teach yourself not to want it. If you cannot get what you want, you must teach yourself to want what you can get. This is a very frequent form of spiritual retreat in depth, into a kind of inner citadel, in which you try to lock yourself up against all the fearful ills of the world. The king of my province — the prince — confiscates my land: I do not want to own land. The prince does not wish to give me rank: rank is trivial, unimportant. The king has robbed me of my possessions: possessions are nothing. My children have died of malnutrition and disease: earthly attachment, even love of children, are as nothing before love of God. And so forth. You gradually hedge yourself round with a kind of tight wall by which you seek to reduce your vulnerable surface — you want to be as little wounded as possible. Every kind of wound has been heaped upon you, and therefore you wish to contract yourself into the smallest possible area, so that as little of you as possible is exposed to further wounds.”

It’s taken for granted these days that stoic values are simply superior: competitions are just pissing contests for the insecure; being anxiously engaged in proving yourself makes you a “try hard”; caring about what others think, being thin-skinned, is the mark of an inferior man who lacks real confidence. Is it possibly too convenient, though, that the values which are put down, which were once considered the heroic, warrior values in ancient times, happen to be the ones which make men dangerous and unsuited to the modern capitalist economy?

“In contemporary American culture, the ‘honorable’ person is ‘honest and true,’ someone who is above all consistent. He . . . is conscientious, predictable, stable, solid, four-square, a rock, a brick.” We need bricks to stolidly build society. We need men willing to keep their head down, accept their role, be completely unruffled by the ding-dong in the cubicle next to them. We need men who will choose to retreat into their inner citadel, who, rather than becoming completely unhinged by the banality of modern life, will constantly repeat incantations that the meaninglessness of modern work, the irritation of a daily commute, the loneliness of an empty apartment cannot ultimately harm them.

It seems objectively true that you shouldn’t try to change what is outside of your control. But dive just a bit deeper, and a sticky question arises: what is and isn’t up to us? Stoics would say that things like wealth, health, and reputation are not completely within our control, and that we should only concentrate on the things that are: our desires, judgements, will. But of course many aspects of wealth, health, and reputation are up to us: we can’t completely control whether we get cancer or not, but we can choose to exercise and eat right; we can’t completely control what other people think of us, but we can choose to act in a way that generally garners respect; we can’t completely control our cash flow, but we can work hard and save.

The Stoics will say that even though we should accept things as they are, we can strive to make the best of the lot which falls to us. But what exactly is the line between submitting to our Fate and trying to change it? The Stoic answer is unclear, and it is in this ambiguity that the philosophy, in its lived form, can become an excuse for inaction.

Stoicism is certainly not all wrong; there is much in the philosophy that is right and true. Adopting some of its principles, in some circumstances, is arguably a necessity for surviving and staying sane in the modern world. But to say something is a necessary way of living, is not the same as saying it is the best way, or the only way, certainly not in all circumstances. 

It doesn’t have to be an either-or thing: you can decide to keep a stony face towards those you do not respect as equal peers, but to be more emotional, more vulnerable, more competitive with those you do. To care, and care deeply, about what some people think. You can choose to restrain your emotions in some circumstances, and yet decide you want to feel it all — the good, the bad, and the ugly — in others; you can decide that you’d rather feel deeply, even when such emotions sear the soul, than live a life that is peaceful, but flat. You can accept the whims of Fortune in some things, and yet decide you want to be the best in others, even if it means fighting Fate tooth and nail, even if in attempting to will a new reality, you burn yourself up.

For there is a risk in taking a stoic approach in every area of your life.

Every code of ethics, every philosophy, every religion, involves certain existential tradeoffs — you gain certain energies and perspectives and powers while losing others — and with stoicism it is no different. In embracing the philosophy we gain certain strengths, certain abilities to deal with life. But we also shut off other currents of existence.

In stoicism we lose some of our fellow feeling. The interesting thing about an honor culture, a contest culture, is that you only challenge someone, and respond to the challenge of another, if you consider him an equal; the challenge thus confers respect. The more competitive a culture is, the more intimate, paradoxically, are its ties. If, however, no one can penetrate our mask of indifference, then no one is our equal; all are beneath us. Others risk becoming inanimate objects, projectiles that can assault our fortress, but only succeed in dashing themselves upon the rocks. “Why should I care what you think?” is a question that de-values the other. When it’s hard to discern which opinions and forces to care about, it’s easy to decide not to care about anyone, or anything. “What could be more dishonorable,” Cicero asks, “but now we harden ourselves to these humiliations and shed our humanity.”

In stoicism we also lose some of the wildness, the immediacy of life. In active engagement there is radical presence, there are stakes, there is weight. There is tension, there is conflict, there is risk. A life of volatility and unpredictability and danger is certainly more challenging than the tranquil life, but it has its own consolations. If one path can be said to be “happier” than the other, it is based entirely on one’s particular definition of happiness.

There is security in being a rock, in being immovable, but is that ultimately what we want — at least in all areas of our lives? Is it better to be safe and inert than vulnerable and alive?

There can be honor (redefined as integrity) in stoicism but no glory.

In ancient Rome, men found that “The ideals of peaceful autonomy and hardness remained ever poor seconds to the contest. . .  . If the Roman Stoic wanted to be a rock, he longed to be a flame . . . [for] there remained for the Romans, even after the adoption of radically new ideas of honor, a nostalgia for life on the edge, for the Roman way.”

Today we too experience a similar longing. As “like the Romans of the early Empire, we are walking on the coals of a fire that is not yet out.”

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[dfroza]

Today’s reading in the ancient book of Proverbs and Psalms

for Sunday, August 16 of 2020 with Proverbs 16 and Psalm 16 accompanied by Psalm 58 for the 58th day of Summer and Psalm 79 for day 229 of the year

[Proverbs 16]

People go about making their plans,

but the Eternal has the final word.

Even when you think you have good intentions,

He knows your real motives.

Whatever you do, do it as service to Him,

and He will guarantee your success.

The Eternal made everything for a reason.

Even wrongdoers fit in His plans; troubled times await them.

He abhors arrogant people.

Make no mistake about it! They will be punished!

The penalty of sin is removed by love and loyalty;

and by devotion to the Eternal, evil is avoided.

When people make good choices, He is pleased;

He even causes their enemies to live peacefully near them.

Better to have little and stand for what is right

than to become rich by doing what is wrong.

People do their best making plans for their lives,

but the Eternal guides each step.

The king makes a decision under divine inspiration,

but he must never render an unfair judgment.

The Eternal requires that business be conducted honestly;

He wants fairness in all your dealings.

When kings commit evil, it is despicable,

because their thrones should be built on justice.

Kings admire those who tell the truth;

they adore those who set the record straight.

A king’s rage signals that people will die,

but whoever is wise will pacify him.

If a king is smiling brightly, life will be granted;

his favor is like a cloud swelled with the first spring rain.

How much better it is to receive wisdom than the riches of gold

and to gain understanding over some silver prize!

The highway of the just bypasses evil;

those who watch where they’re going protect their lives from sin.

Pride precedes destruction;

an arrogant spirit gives way to a nasty fall.

It is better to be humble and live among the poor,

than to divide up stolen property with the proud.

Those devoted to instruction will prosper in goodness;

those who trust in the Eternal will experience His favor.

The wise at heart have a reputation for understanding;

pleasant words make the lips more persuasive.

Understanding for those who have it is a spring of life,

but it is pointless to try and instruct a fool.

From a wise heart flow careful words;

wise words make the lips more persuasive.

Pleasant words are like a honeycomb:

they drip sweet food for life and bring health to the body.

Before every person lies a road that seems to be right,

but at the end of that road death and destruction wait.

People work to stay alive,

pressed daily by their need to eat.

Good-for-nothings conjure up evil ideas;

their conversations fuel destructive fires.

Perverse people stir up contention;

gossip makes best friends into enemies.

Violent people try to recruit their neighbors,

wanting to lead them down the vile path of evil they have chosen.

Body language can expose a person’s intentions:

whoever winks the eye is planning perversity;

whoever purses his lips is intent on evil.

Gray hair is a crown of honor,

earned by living the right kind of life.

It is better to be a patient man than a mighty warrior,

better to be someone who controls his temper than someone who conquers a city.

We may try to control the roll of the dice,

but actually, the Eternal decides what they will determine.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 16 (The Voice)

[Psalm 16]

The Golden Secret

A precious song, engraved in gold, by King David

Keep me safe, O mighty God.

I run for dear life to you, my safe place.

So I said to the Lord God,

“You are my Maker, my Mediator, and my Master.

Any good thing you find in me has come from you.”

And he said to me, “My holy lovers are wonderful,

my majestic ones, my glorious ones,

fulfilling all my desires.”

Yet there are those who yield to their weakness,

and they will have troubles and sorrows unending.

I never gather with such ones,

nor give them honor in any way.

Lord, I have chosen you alone as my inheritance.

You are my prize, my pleasure, and my portion.

I leave my destiny and its timing in your hands.

Your pleasant path leads me to pleasant places.

I’m overwhelmed by the privileges

that come with following you,

for you have given me the best!

The way you counsel and correct me makes me praise you more,

for your whispers in the night give me wisdom,

showing me what to do next.

Because you are close to me and always available,

my confidence will never be shaken,

for I experience your wrap-around presence every moment.

My heart and soul explode with joy—full of glory!

Even my body will rest confident and secure.

For you will not abandon me to the realm of death,

nor will you allow your Holy One to experience corruption.

For you bring me a continual revelation of resurrection life,

the path to the bliss that brings me face-to-face with you.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 16 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 58]

Judge of the Judges

For the Pure and Shining One

King David’s golden song of instruction

To the tune of “Do Not Destroy”

God’s justice? You high and mighty politicians

know nothing about it!

Which one of you has walked in justice toward others?

Which one of you has treated everyone right and fair?

Not one! You only give “justice” in exchange for a bribe.

For the right price you let others get away with murder.

Wicked wanderers even from the womb, that’s who you are!

Lying with your words, your teaching is poison.

Like cobras closing their ears to the most expert of the charmers,

you strike out against all who are near.

O God, break their fangs;

shatter the teeth of these ravenous lions!

Let them disappear like water falling on thirsty ground.

Let all their weapons be useless.

Let them be like snails dissolving into the slime.

Let them be cut off, never seeing the light of day!

God will sweep them away so fast

that they’ll never know what hit them.

The godly will celebrate in the triumph of good over evil.

And the lovers of God will trample

the wickedness of the wicked under their feet!

Then everyone will say, “There is a God who judges the judges”

and “There is a great reward in loving God!”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 58 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 79]

A song of Asaph.

O God, the nations around us have raided the land that belongs to You;

they have defiled Your holy house

and crushed Jerusalem to a heap of ruins.

Your servants are dead;

birds of the air swoop down to pick at their remains.

Scavengers of the earth eat what is left of Your saints.

The enemy poured out their blood;

it flowed like water

all over Jerusalem,

and there is no one left, no one to bury what remains of them.

The surrounding peoples taunt us.

We are nothing but a joke to them, people to be ridiculed.

How long can this go on, O Eternal One?

Will You stay angry at us forever?

Your jealousy burning like wildfire?

Flood these outsiders with Your wrath—

they have no knowledge of You!

Drown the kingdoms of this world

that call on false gods and not on Your name.

For these nations devoured Jacob, consumed him,

and turned his home into a wasteland.

Do not hold the sins of our ancestors against us,

but send Your compassion to meet us quickly, God.

We are in deep despair.

Help us, O God who saves us,

to the honor and glory of Your name.

Pull us up, deliver us, and forgive our sins,

for Your name’s sake.

Don’t give these people any reason to ask,

“Where is their God?”

Avenge the blood spilled by Your servants.

Put it on display among the nations before our very eyes.

May the deep groans and wistful sighs of the prisoners reach You,

and by Your great power, save those condemned to die.

Pay back each of our invaders personally, seven times

for the shame they heaped on You, O Lord!

Then we, Your people, the sheep of Your pasture,

will pause and give You thanks forever;

Your praise will be told by our generation to the next.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 79 (The Voice)