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poptod · 3 years

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The Breeding Kings, pt. 22 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: By Moonlight.

Notes: its about fucking time amirite WC: 10k

A character of Babylonian architecture, much like Egyptian, was the state of perfection maintained and cared for in every brick laid down in the muddy earth. Corners were cut smoothly, sharp enough to pierce the skin should one be foolish enough to press their thumb onto the edge. Buildings were shaped in equilateral squares, allowing cool air from above to run through the city streets, of what would otherwise be a miserable welling of heat.

Squares kept up after years. Squares were easy to make. Squares corresponded to a specific measuring system, a universal one that could be easily multiplied or subtracted. Squares made up the base of the Pyramids in Memphis and Saqqara.

Squares, however, did not make the base of this temple. Ahk wasn't even sure it could be properly called a temple––the size of it cut through the heavy cloud cover the city had endured the past couple days, and he was assured that the builders got what they sought in such an endeavor; fame, renown, and pride. The Tower of Babel stood higher than any other monument Ahkmen had seen his time, rivalling the height of the pyramids themselves. There was no better time to feel small than at the feet of a titan.

It was, in honesty, a beacon of achievement, not just for the people of Babylon, but humanity as a whole, demonstrating the might humans could reach by working together.

Ahkmen shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fiddling with the skin of his elbow as he stared up at the tallest visible floor. You fidgeted about in a similar manner.

"Why do men... build like this?" You asked, careful to keep your voice quiet enough to avoid some searing looks from nearby men.

"Well everyone wants a spot in history," he said, though didn't take his eyes from the tower.

"There is better things to do than this."

"There are always better things to be doing."

Much like the temple-reminiscent gardens, the Tower was built on levels of arches ascending in clear-cut tiers. Some of the darkened archways bore vines that turned the usually pale walls green, climbing up the sides in ways managed easily by the city's gardeners––a job that clearly wasn't being fulfilled at the current time.

The structure also appeared to be split down the middle, the pale stone avalanching downwards to reveal the ochre rock beneath, from which the ascension relied more heavily on moving inwards. The red appeared to split open the white, climbing out of its' confines as workers continued to work on making the Tower taller yet. On the many parapets encircling the Tower, people roamed about the arches and breezes peacefully, stopping by the markets and stalls jutting sparingly out of the archways. A tall bridge led over the river running round the Tower, upon which people and their camels entered the shining beacon.

Only a few hours ago the estate stewardess––whom you finally learned was called Laylah––informed the lot of you that the event's destination changed due to the Prince, Rimush. By Laylah you learned he'd invited his brothers as well, and a few of their wives and lesser wives. The change required the staff to take on more employees, in turn allowing you and Ahk freetime as the new recruits were trained and informed.

Now the events unfolding throughout the coming night were to occur within the confines of the tallest ziggurat, crowning the skyline of Babylon. The very peak of the tower was home to a temple, one Ahkmen had never heard of, and one that sparked a deep curiosity in him.

But to reach the top one had to climb the steep ramps, encircling the tower over and over again till the winding path led to the top. When remembering he would have to climb those steps in the evening, as well, he decided the best view of the Tower was from afar.

"Come," you said as the winds blew harsher from the east, tugging on his sleeves.

He looked down to you, hesitating for only a moment before he followed you off the hills' vantage point.

Uniforms were handed out soon after you arrived back at the estate, your hair tussled from the high winds. Late afternoon was already passing you by, leaving you little time to change and prepare yourselves before you would be off, separated into groups according to your duties.

Dressed in what you'd consider royal garbs, you caught Ahkmen before the troupe set off for the tower and the temple within.

"Aganu, I have a thing for you," you said, grabbing his wrist and turning him round.

His uniform consisted of a shirt with no sleeves, and a thin scarf that wrapped around his shoulders and waist, tightened in place by a belt that also kept up an incredibly short skirt whose low edge was lined with a sort of fur. Tall, yellow boots crawled up all the way to his knees.

You giggled softly as you scanned him, and he crossed his arms with a long sigh.

"Yes, I know, I look stupid," he grumbled, staring at the ground beside him.

"No, it is good," you said, "it is just not... Egyptian, as you look most times."

"Right, right..." he said, trailing off as you unfolded your arms, revealing your own outfit.

A far larger and far more intricate belt held your shirt and skirt into place, the skirt flowing down to your ankles, and lined with dangling strips of colored fabric. Your sleeves, slightly puffier than your arms, were tied down with ribbons of similar colors, matching the sash that crossed from your shoulder to your hip. And, atop it all, you bore the African necklace he'd gotten you a long while ago. The turtle. Your hair was pulled back as well; he'd never seen you all cleaned up, so he didn't notice the fact that his mouth was hanging partway open.

"Here," you said, and before he knew it, you were holding out a collar of gold, lapis, and the detailed feathers of a hawk––of Horus––built into its' shape.

He was slow on the uptake, but soon enough he took it from you, balancing it carefully on two fingers. The last time he held an object of such beauty and craftsmanship he was in Egypt with his family. It was with that thought that a small frown unwillingly took his expression of shock away.

"You do not like it?" You asked in a tentative voice. He looked down, his resolve crumbling at your worried brow.

"No, no, it's beautiful," he said quickly, swallowing through a tight lump in his throat. "It's just... very royal."

The Pharaoh in each reincarnation of himself represented Horus on earth, the son of Horus, the equal to the hawk-headed God. Ahkmen would never be allowed on the throne after his stunt of following you to the ends of the earth, and thus he didn't feel it appropriate to claim such a title in place of his older brother, who had always taken an interest in knowing how to rule a nation.

You reached up, taking the collar and wrapping it around the back of his neck. His height was distance enough to have you on the tips of your toes, stretching out your arms to get the latch behind him, your face almost buried in his chest.

It ended once the latch clicked, and you stepped away to look up at him with a smile.

"Thank you," he said, even though such collars weren't really supposed to be worn with shirts or shawls.

An idea suddenly came to him, and he wrestled at the gold band encircling his left arm, a mirror to the one on the right.

"You should have this, then," he said as he handed the band to you. "A little bit of me with you as well."

You seemed hesitant––just as he'd been about the collar.

"You are sure?" You asked, raising your hands to your chest as you fidgeted with your fingers.

"Yes, of course," he said with a chuckle.

He tried locking it around your bicep, but it was too large to fit, and you both laughed when it fell the the dirt floor. Your neck was too large (and besides, it hurt) and your ankle too small, so Ahk thought up another idea.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing to the bed.

You obeyed quickly and he knelt in front of you.

You watched in reserved interest as he pulled up your skirt, the soft fringes brushing against your skin till the skirt's hem was pulled up around your hips.

"Let's try this," he said, looking you in the eye as he grabbed your thigh, tugging you to the edge of the bunk. You let out a small squeak, your hands slapping up over your mouth.

Ahk just chuckled, widening the brace's length by a clever latch system, before wrapping it around your thigh and locking it into place. Surprisingly, it fit––a little tight, but that was to be expected. Ahk pulled back slightly, still remaining between your parted legs.

"What do you think?" He asked.

Kiss their thigh.

No, he couldn't do that. The dark, plush skin of your inner thigh was alluring, but it was a desire that could never be sated in this way.

"It is pretty," you said, your gaze split between him, his hands, and where the golden band now sat.

"I'm actually surprised it fits. I forget how small you are sometimes," he said, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face as your expression fell flat.

"No, you do not," you said, crossing your arms. "You tell me every day."

"It's just adorable," he said with a laugh, squeezing your thigh. "I can't help myself."

You stood far behind Ahkmen and the other soldiers, accompanied by other servers and chefs led by the stewardess. You could just barely glimpse him if you walked on your toes, but Zakiti pulled you back down, whispering something about staying in check with Laylah. You frowned but returned to the stone ramp continuing upwards endlessly, bearing the weight of feasts and the servants of these festivals.

By the time you reached the top of the tower, a sheen of sweat covered your forehead and the back of your neck, creating a heat that cooled immensely with the tough winds that apparently blew above regular cities. Your hair, neatly pulled back and away from your face, tussled and fluttered further from the style you perfected back at the estate.

The main entrance to the high temple bore pillars on either side of the tall, empty archway, the stone carved ornately with images of Babylonian Gods and priests, adorned in the skin of tigers and the gold of Kush. Offerings lay on the tables of stone, painted in bright colors that dimmed as you entered. The already fading light of the day gave only scant visibility on the inner halls, and the shadows grew long against the polished stone floors, reflecting the silhouette of a God drowning in the shallow puddle whose edges soaked your shoes.

You sucked in a sharp breath as you jumped back, the freezing water startling your tired feet. Zakiti caught you, steadying you before you lost balance.

A sheen of water pooled out from the idol of Marduk, towering over the forms of you and your friends. Most of the light came from a hole in the ceiling, through which the winds howled and moaned like the many voices of a seething God, dripping the ink of clouds down upon Marduk's head. The slow but steady flow of chilled rainwater had soaked the God, allowing pale light from the hole in the ceiling to just barely illuminate his shoulders and the crest of his head.

More and more footsteps echoed as the rest of the troupe arrived, food, materials, tools, decorations, and offerings in hand. But once everyone was inside, the sounds stilled, and dripping water filled in the silence.

"Get to cleaning up this water," the stewardess said, looking to you and several others as she pointed to the puddle.

You all nodded and set to it, soaking up the rainwater with towels and rags while a man––one more 'holy' than any of the servants––climbed the back of the statue and placed a bowl atop the God's head.

"Couldn't we just patch up the roof?" Ahk asked you, his arms crossed.

"I do not think the roof needs 'patches'," you said as you dried the water on your knees. "You do have something to be doing, yes?"

"Well –" Ahk glanced away, "sort of."

You gave him a stern look, to which he sighed wearily and left to help start the kitchen fires.

Of course we would decide to work for the busiest family, he grumbled in his thoughts. He set aside his spear, shuffling down to his knees with flint in hand to spark the dry wood, which was set up in a ring that would burn efficiently. Akkadian conversation––speckled by words of Assyrian––surrounded his deaf ears, leaving him in a mood that quickly soured in your absence. At least with you he had a translator, but now to the strangers around him he was reduced to a mute servant.

Ahkmen had a wonderful tongue in many ways. He could convince his parents that his faults were not his own, convince strangers to stay and help him, convince foreign powers to listen to his father's planning. Merenkahre taught him words were power, and if he were not to build his physical body, it was best to build his mind, and per his mother's advice, his heart as well.

At festivals he would recite poetry he wrote himself, waxing beauty on the flow of the Nile and the touch of a woman, a sensation which he rarely found bested by anything else. Of course, since he'd left Egypt with you he'd gotten little time to read or write any poetry. Ideas still came to him, enraptured in your way of movement and your broken words––which were much like his own words in Akkadian, only more advanced––or the nature of your quest, in which there was much to dwell on. Flaky limestone tablets were harder to find, and when he did, he convinced himself that they would only shatter if he used them and then tucked them away in his bags.

Perhaps, if he found a proper ink, he could write the notes on himself and recite the half-thought out lines of garbled poetry later to you. Such propositions would have to wait until later.

By the time he left the kitchen it was already smelling of stews, the warm taste of fresh meat weighing on his tongue. You were nowhere in sight, and a great deal more people had arrived, filling up the large temple with tables, banners, abnormally long carpets, and continued offerings to the God Marduk. The howling wind that once echoed through the sunspot above the idol was overpowered by the conversations and shouted demands of servants, their subordinates, and their superiors.

Ahk got on his toes to try and find you, but Shinan, the head guard, called for him and several other guards to help hauling in the heavier carts of food and beer. It was a task he accepted quietly but with little grace.

It was when the musicians arrived that the celebrations truly started. Women and men stood upon stone podiums layered by ascending steps, standing at the side of the black idol, Marduk. Golden harps, lutes, and lyres were cradled in silk-covered laps, strumming to a playful tune kept in beat by the drums of three men. The dancers entered soon after, scantily dressed or not dressed at all. The care of makeup had been taken to paint their faces, which glittered amongst the torchlight of the long hall, much like the twinkling robes of sheer, white silk dotted with stars of silver donned by two of the women dancers.

Ahkmen found himself grinning without really thinking about it, watching with great amusement as the crowd cleared for the dancers, and the food and drink was leased to the public now trickling in the main entrance. The archway to the dull, cloudy evening now christened those who entered, the tall pillars alight with brightly burning torches. Carvings within the stone became gaunt faces, hollow cheekbones accentuated by the sharply contrasting shadows intertwining relentlessly in the dancing light.

Bubbling beer soon tantalized him, undercutting his superior's order to stay at the entrance and look for anyone 'not belonging', which Ahk took to mean poor. Like his partner on the other side of the archway, he was not allowed to partake in the festivities till the next shift came to relieve them.

He scanned over the heads of the partygoers, tugging mindlessly at the hem of his short skirt as he grasped his wooden spear tight. Most people entering were dressed appropriately in long dresses and coats, colored brightly in shades ranging from Phoenicia's purple, to the gold-imbued linen of Egypt, and the silk of Tianchao in the far east. Bands of gold encircled many wrists and ankles, embedded with crystals of emeralds, lapis lazuli, and turquoise, their edges carved in intricate lace that even Ahkmen envied. Gold and jewels weren't a particularly important thing in his life, but they were beautiful, and he'd grown up used to a certain kind of status.

The riches displayed in front of him brought his thoughts back to the Kassite Prince, who had made a show gloating about this party, inviting Ahk and you. A strain welled up in his brow, glaring forward to the citizens who now stepped a little further away from him.

A tug on his arm brought him out of his scowl, and he looked down to find you with a mug of beer in hand. You smiled as you handed him the cup.

"Oh, I'm not allowed..." he trailed off, looking up to realize no one was really watching him. And besides, it wasn't like you were offering your own beer; the cup in your hands held a more hearty meal than that.

You quirked a single brow.

"Whatever," he said, and you laughed as he took the mug. "I doubt anyone really cares anyway."

He sipped, letting his eyes drift shut as soft, reed pipes filled up his head, their notes drawling across one another in dulcet tones.

"It's good," he said with a nod. "What've you been up to?"

"They have me giving food," you said, gesturing over to a table across the room.

A decorated red tarp hung above it, holding the steam of buns cooking in boiling water. Nearby to your stall, women with frayed skirts danced in whirling circles, beating their drums and bells to quickened songs.

"Looks nice."

"It is not," you said.

He laughed, loudly, but stopped after your playful glare.

"I am with Laylah, see?" You said, pointing to the other woman at your stall.

Laylah, though rather plain, wore a blue headscarf at all times, matching the turquoise trim on her dress shirt. He near instantly recognized the stewardess.

"You must be having quite a lot of fun," he said dryly.

"So much," you said with a roll of your eyes, earning a soft laugh from Ahkmen. "Has Rimush come yet?"

"The Prince?" He said after a beat of silence. "Not to my knowledge."

"Well, be ready," you said. "He will come soon. But, uh, come to me when you are done here, yes?"

"Alright," he said with a nod, watching as you disappeared into the shifting crowds.

A couple hours later––in which he already kinked his knee awkwardly, forcing him to rest his weight mainly on one foot––banners came into view, followed by musicians who led the barge of an overzealous prince. His throne was carried by men of showy muscle, most of them bald and wearing little besides Egyptian style skirts.

Ahkmen's expression immediately soured. It was a taunt, he reasoned, and took it as such with great bitterness.

The musicians and several dancers whizzed quickly past him, joining the rest of the entertainment on their podiums and high, stone steps. A few soldiers walked by as well, giving him and others fierce gazes through curly, black beards and brows. Behind them, Rimush's carriers knelt onto the path, allowing the Prince to step down from the throne and reveal a long cape made from the skin of a leopard. Its tail dragged behind him as he walked, his eyes set on Ahkmen and a smirk below them. Murmurs came from all around as the Kassite Prince approached a man who was now only a guard.

"Good to see you here. You never did give me your name," he said, and with his thick-heeled reed and leather shoes he could look down upon Ahkmen as he did.

"It's Aganu," Ahk said, biting his tongue as Rimush smiled.

"Wonderful name. Are you enjoying the costume I had picked out for you and your friends?"

Ahk's grip tightened around his spear.

"Oh, so you're the reason I'm dressed like a whore," he said in Egyptian, loud enough to catch several passerby's attentions.

"Bite your tongue little man," Rimush hissed, grabbing his chin and pulling him forward. His eyes flickered down to Ahkmen's lips.

"Get the hell off me."

"You're lucky no one here speaks Egyptian," the Prince whispered before leasing Ahk from his grip, allowing him to stumble away with his spear still in hand.

Several people continued to stare at Ahk long after the Prince left, but Ahk paid them no mind and continued to stare blankly forward into the approaching crowd. More and more of Ukani's patrons continued to pour into the temple. Fortunately, another guard came to relieve him and Luqa, allowing the two of them to at last join the party.

As promised, Ahkmen immediately began his way over to you, passing up dancers who offered to take his hand, or servants who walked by with platters of food and beer. Through the gaps between the people he could spy your smile, your darkened lashes and the light within your oaky black eyes. He grinned, reaching forward until he appeared at the side of your stall, shouting out his excitement in the form of your name. You turned with immeasurable surprise in your eyes, welcoming him with a side hug.

Your greeting to him was short before you turned back to the stewardess, gesturing to Ahk while saying something incomprehensibly fast in Akkadian. She looked between you and gave a curt nod. You grinned from ear to ear, jumping to Ahk's side.

"Come, we can go, a room that is not filled of people," you said, grabbing your satchel bag and running past him up a flight of stairs.

He whirled around on his heel, clumsily following you as he reached for the railing, gripping it tight and hauling himself up the steps. Sounds of thumping footsteps and melodic rhythms faded away to the pounding of your feet climbing ever higher. Soon the sounds became discordant, distorted by distance and thick walls, and eventually the sandstone floors the two of you made it up to.

The top floor of the temple was still incomplete; it was also the highest point in all of Babylon, the ceiling being nothing more than the stars now glimmering above. Walls of brick were built scatteredly around the floor, some areas no higher than Ahk's foot and others twice his height. No images or writings were imprinted on the fresh stone.

Unsurprisingly, the wind still blew like hell, and your fastened hair came quickly apart with the braid that'd been holding it back. You squinted through the darkness, and eventually the small hole above Marduk's head came into view. The edges of it sloped downward in the shape of a cone, but the layers were terraced, giving it much the same appearance as stone andén farms, which would come much later on the other side of the world. Water from the humid air still trickled down the easy pathway, dripping down into the bowl now placed above Marduk's head.

Even with that sudden access to the temple and its' ongoings, you still couldn't hear the voices of others, nor their music and dances. Wind whistling through the crevice did its' job of blocking it out, though you both stepped nearer to peer through the hole.

Heads, donned in fancy hairstyles, silken caps, and bronze and gold diadems, were lit by the many torches lining the walls of Marduk's temple. If you really keened your hearing, you could make out the shouts of partygoer's attempting to make conversation over the music and the echoing hall.

He watched the black curls flying wildly around your face, obscuring and revealing the dark flush in your cheeks, and the whites of your eyes shining bright around a pitch black iris. The Milky Way––the God's footsteps––stretching across the sky created an outline along your silhouette, flickering in and out between the locks of your hair. Your eyes weren't even on him; you were digging into your satchel, searching for something as you stepped back within the half-finished walls, dragging his gaze with you.

"I'm so tired of that goddamn Prince," Ahk muttered as he sat down beside you, his legs crossed neatly to fit into a small corner devoid of wind.

"Oh, he did come?" You asked, glancing up from the pipe you now held.

"That he did," he said, leaning his head back on the brick wall. "He stopped to speak to me, too. No one else looked at me for the next hour."

"Luqa did too?"

"No, but he usually doesn't look at me. The point is, Rimush is just an ass. Arrogant."

"Like you did," you pointed out. "I think you do not like him, because, a little bit, he is like you, when you were small."

He went silent for a moment, pursing his lips.

"God damn it, why do you have to be right?" He said when he finally looked up at you.

You laughed, nearly spilling the herb you were stuffing into the pipe's bowl.

"Have you asked him why he does do this?"

"Well... no," he said hesitantly. "I usually just tell him to go away."

"I think.. he likes you," you said, setting aside your pipe to tie up the remaining herbs in a soft leather pouch. He opened his mouth to protest but you interrupted before he could with, "just think of it. He is stupid when he talks to you, everyone thinks he is stupid, and he knows that. So why would he do it more and again?"

Ahkmen sighed before he said, "you could very well be right. I'd rather not think about it, though."

Your comment easily brought to him the image of Rimush coming onto him in any sort of way. While the attraction itself was understandable––Ahk must've been to Rimush a stoic but attractive foreign guard, a type that Ahk himself was once attracted to––he couldn't help feeling revulsed when he imagined Rimush trying to kiss him. No lips should touch him but his mother's and yours––and maybe Piye, if they really wanted to.

Either way, he stewed in these thoughts, chewing on the inside of his cheek before you lit up the pipe. A bright flame burst, illuminating your features before it was quickly extinguished in favor of thick puffs of smoke, which were quick to float away in the strong winds lingering around your protective wall. You inhaled deeply and the bowl of herbs glowed, releasing a ring of smoke as your lips departed from the pipe's mouth. Ahkmen watched on attentively as your eyes drifted shut and clouds of smoke puffed out of you.

"I manage to find your shemet," you said with a slowly growing smile, your features suddenly relaxed as you handed the pipe to him.

Ahk sucked in a breath at your sudden loose stature, sinuous motion like a woman who mimicked the dance of a serpent. The allure was burning the tips of his fingers, but he knew better, and instead took the pipe.

"You mean the shemshemet?" He asked, taking a few puffs before his throat began to burn.

"Etuvaka. How does it..." you motioned vaguely to your mouth, "uh.. taste?"

"Like burning plants," he said gruffly as he attempted to push down his coughs.

He began to turn away, his heart beating rapidly before you handed to him a flask of water. He gladly took it with a small thanks.

"I think... your party, it will be better, with this," you said, raising the pipe with a growing, lax grin.

"Maybe it'll be bearable this time," he said.

Smoke that reeked of the strong-scented herb quickly dissipated, as no more than a foot above your head the rest of the wall was missing, allowing wind to carry the scent away. The pipe's bowl nonetheless continued to burn, glowing dimly before nothing remained but ash. Ahk's lips were the one to receive the ash that he quickly spit out.

"Gross," he said, making you chuckle.

You took back the pipe, cleaning it out before sliding it back into your bag. Two buns were in your hand when it emerged.

"Eat," you said as you shoved one of the buns onto his lap. "And talk to me."

He chuckled, gingerly scanning the bread as he said, "about what?"

"All things," you said.

"What – oh," he paused, "right, our agreement."

You nodded with a smile.

For a few minutes he remained in silence, slowly biting away at the bun as he tried to procure a topic. His eyes narrowed as he frowned, and he found himself centering on the half-built wall across from him, and to the only carving––the piercing gaze of Marduk crawling out of the stone.

"I'm not sure if I've told you this," he said, shifting in his seat, "but I've been thinking quite a lot about the Gods of this city... and the Gods of mine."

You drew your knees up to your chest, crossing your arms over them and squishing your cheek against it as you stared up at him with warm, expectant eyes.

He couldn't stop the smile blooming on his face even if he wanted to. Now or never––tonight or never, he thought, and he knew that if not now, he would never get to kiss you. It wasn't a particularly logical conclusion, but logic hardly ever came into play when it came to you and the rushing heartbeat you supplied him.

"Marduk is.. a powerful God, and he isn't kind. He reminds me quite a lot of Ma'at, actually. She's the Egyptian Goddess of order and justice, she helps weigh the hearts after death, and... and Marduk is a God of justice," he said, glancing to you to see you nodding.

"He's also supposed to be a God of kindness, or.. compassion or something. I've never really seen him as such, I've thought him to be rather violent, actually," he trailed off. "But he's been around for a while, just like our Gods. He is large, and powerful. I think the most powerful of all Mesopotamian Gods."

"He is the God King?" You asked, and though he turned to face you, his gaze flickered down to your plush lips. He shook away the image and the shaking hands that followed.

"Yes. He murdered a rampaging Goddess and wrought the world from that destruction," he said as he recalled the Euphrates and the Tigris, and the pierced eyes they flowed from. He looked back up to you before he said, "she was a... a monster, I suppose. But the myth I read, and it's incredibly long –"

You giggled.

"– it was just... violent. Horrible. Marduk killed this Goddess, and from her skin came the land, from her breasts the mountains, from blood welled up in many pricked points came the estuaries. He thrust his sword into her eyes and the tears that welled were the rivers."

He tried to remember what other things Marduk had created, but your silence spoke louder than his memories, and his attention soon turned to your gently creased brow.

"The land is made from the dead woman?" You asked quietly.

"That's just their belief," he assured you. "It used to be different."

"What is it, the old one?"

"Hard to say," he said with a shrug that you frowned at. "I think most societies used to revere a God and a Goddess, a sort of equalness between everything. Night and day, death and life, feminine and masculine."

You dwelled on his words for a moment.

"I like that more," you decided after silent deliberation. "It is pretty."

"It is," he mumbled, staring at your concentrated eyes.

A deep, gaping emptiness suddenly burrowed into his heartbeat, quickening the already exhausted veins. The idea of a single God––of a single creator, one to be worshipped above all else, worried him grossly. Peace in Egypt was kept due mainly to religious tolerance; cults upon cults worshipped independently without complaint, and foreigners––though rare––were allowed their own religion, as well. If that simple institution were to be removed, Egypt would surely split back into Lower and Upper, and the lands of Nubia would spread north along the Nile.

He took in a sharp breath, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment.

The last bites of his sweetbread were just as good as the first, and with a little water, the taste of shemshemet was flushed from his tongue, leaving only the euphoria and ease in his warm chest. You finished your bun soon after, as well.

He scooted closer to you when you did, gently reaching out without ever being able to meet your eye.

"I've never been afraid of this world before," he admitted, his voice cracking unexpectedly.

You stared as he shifted, squirming till his body was curled smaller than ever around you, clinging to you like seaweed clung to the ocean floor, fighting against the vehement waves. His chin rested atop your head on messy, black hair. Wind still howled and sang around you, blowing past the exposed brick of the unfinished walls. But that single corner hidden from the currents remained warm, smelling of you, of him, and of the sweet beer clinging to your uniform. It wasn't warm there, but his chest was. His chest thrummed.

"I was always afraid," you whispered out, staring at the floor in front of you. "It is.. only now, that I am not."

"How? How are you not terrified?"

You weren't afraid of leaving Memphis, of the soldiers who insulted you, or the priests that berated you. The dry, searing heat of southern Canaan and the desert did very little to your person––you remained quite like yourself up until Abdhamon's murder, and afterwards returned to that state.

"Death is always here, near to you, and pain is, too. We all do see it at some day. You have to... to live in love," you said, clearly strained as you tried to express yourself. "Live in the people you love. I am with you now. I am not alone."

Surely these words couldn't mean anything less. Surely you knew their effect––how his breathing quickened and his words grew rushed, how you invaded his dreams and left him staring wide-eyed at his ceiling on countless nights. His flushed skin never earned your touch or your comfort in those moments, but he could still feel hands running up and down his heat, bringing from him soft gasps of relief and arching spines lifted off white linen sheets.

He had memories of you––memories of things you never did, memories of what you said to him in dreams that seemed all to familiar with reality. Did you ask for this? Did you beg? Or were you always mute like you now were?

I can't do this, he thought in a rush, his veins overflowing with the potions your words created, intoxicating his system without ever really, truly touching him. His heart, which had already been beating painfully, increased its speed tenfold as he leaned into you.

Eyes fluttered shut as his lips fell to yours, gentle enough to feel how your shoulders suddenly tensed. A horrible sickness washed over his already uneasy stomach, but you didn't move, and his desperate push into your weight was met with a soft, uneven gasp. Ever crevice of him reverberated with a need for more, to pull from you something sweeter, to give you something more than trinkets or protection, to know you better than anyone else ever would. Ahkmen recognized the aching hunger inside him; it wasn't healthy, it was selfish, and he found himself forcing himself away from you.

He parted gently from you, leaning away to scan your expression. His hand beside your hip balanced him partway above you, able to easily watch, and ready to hold you at a moment's notice.

You stared in silence for a whole minute, not once meeting his gaze. If you waited a second more Ahk's chest would explode, or his heart would finally give out, exhausted from his pleasures, and he begged Isis for mercy.

"I have to go back to Laylah, I can not be gone long," you mumbled in a shaky voice, just barely slinging your satchel over your shoulder before you stood and darted down the stairs.

Your pipe clattered down from your bag, landing beside him. He grabbed it, but by the time he looked back up, you had disappeared.

Fuck.

A headache pounded from his temples to behind his eyes, his nose stuffy enough for him to be unable to use it. Redness encircled both his nose and eyes, from tears now dried and crusted on his cheek, and from him constantly wiping away whatever fell. Raging winds could hardly be considered comfort, but it was what he had for the next hour and a half he spent up there. His ears rang harshly as he descended down the steps, reentering the festivities, your pipe bouncing from its place tucked into his belt.

He sniffed, wiping away lingering traces of tears as the food carts came back into view. This time he took the other stairway down, the one further away from you, and dove back into the raucous crowd. A heavy knot from earlier lingered in his expression, twisting it sourly.

Several different people tried to stop and talk to him, but he managed to push past most of them, till hands landed low on his hips and his eyes shot wide open.

"Have a little fun, won't you?" Mumbled a suave voice, its owner resting their chin on his shoulder as they manually swayed his hips.

Tears welled up in his eyes again, threatening to pour over with a stinging intensity. Was this how you felt? Violated? Had he done this? He tried to push the person away, but in turn they took his hand, pulling him through the people and shoving him into a shadowed doorway.

Ahkmen stumbled as he was thrust into the darkness, his eyes suddenly useless. The lights of the party gave the stranger a silhouette but nothing more; not until a rushlight flickered to life and the Prince Rimush was standing far too close to him.

"I am not in the m–"

A forceful shove cut him off, followed promptly by Rimush's lips smashing into his, forcing his tongue into his mouth. His spine bruised from the push against the stone wall, but the sensation was hardly noticeable above his own surprise. Fingers once digging into his hips were dragging lower yet, clutching at exposed bits of his thigh as teeth bit into his lower lip, pulling for only a moment before the kiss returned.

Rimush wasn't unattractive, he supposed. The thought almost had him going along with whatever fresh hell the Kassite Prince was bringing up this time, though the mere thought of it lodged his train of thought, and he pushed Rimush away with as hard a shove as he could manage.

"I'm sorry, I – I can't do this, not right now," Ahk blurted out, his voice cracking unwillingly as he shook his head fervently.

The rest of the room came into view through his wide eyes, consisting mainly of shelves, the bottoms carrying pots and cleaning tools and the tops still empty. Warm stone––much like the stone of Panya's house––surrounded him and grated roughly against his fingertips.

"Are... are you alright?" Rimush asked in an uncertain, high tone, taking note of his red, puffy eyes. He didn't even seem offended by Ahk's refusal.

"I just did this, to a – to a friend," he said, wobbling as the tears seeped from the corners of his eyes. "They didn't... I don't think they liked it, they're all I have now."

"Alright, calm down," he said with a sigh, crossing his arms. "Is this about that girl from the brewery?"

"What? No! Tiamat's like, twice my age," Ahk said, giving him a disgusted look. "Yogi."

"The short little Indian kid?"

"Please don't call them that, but yes," he grumbled.

Uninterested in Rimush's image of him, Ahk slid down to the floor, burying his face in his hands.

"Dear God, you're this messed up over that thing?" Rimush asked incredulously.

"You call them that again and I'll break your fucking nose, Rimush," he replied loudly.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop. It's just... you're rather out of their league," he said in a smaller voice, gingerly taking a seat across from Ahk.

"Why do you care about this?"

"I'm always interested in some good gossip, to be honest," he drawled, earning a red-eyed glare from Ahkmen. "But I will admit I've grown fond of your backtalk."

Ahk sighed again, letting his head thunk back against the wall.

"I used to be a lot like you," he admitted quietly.

"Really? What changed?"

"... friends, I think."

"Well that explains that," Rimush said with a bitter chuckle. "I haven't got any friends. Not like you do, at least."

"I feel for you, I really do, but I would love to be alone right now," Ahk sighed through gritted teeth.

Sounds from the party continued past the wooden door, growing in volume as music crescendoed, eventually outdone by footsteps and shouted conversations. Ahk rubbed his face with his hands and leant back on the wall again. Rimush, on the other hand, stared at the door over his shoulder for the next few seconds before he turned back to the former Prince.

"I've been through something similar before and believe me, the worst thing you can be right now is alone," Rimush said in a softer voice.

"Well I don't want to be with you right now and the only other person I really know is Yogi, so I think it's my best option," he half wailed.

"Do you live together?"

"We're travelling together. I'm taking them into the Indus."

"Oh dear," Rimush said, his brow raised high. "That's quite a dilemma."

"Yeah," he scoffed, shaking his head at himself.

He had, to put it eloquently, fucked things up.

"I think I can help you," Rimush suddenly said, jumping to his feet.

Ahk let out a preemptive groan, his head falling to the side with the rest of his weight. He nearly landed on the floor, kinking his shoulder before Rimush's hand was encircling his bicep, pulling him to his feet with a surprising amount of force.

"I don't want your help –"

"And you don't deserve it either, but it's happening anyway," he laughed, and the two of them burst through the door of the small storage room.

Shouts and shuffling crowds of Marduk's celebration became something else entirely once they reentered the main hall. People were running, trampling one another to make way for a massive space near the entrance. A full moon hung above banners bearing the symbol of massive lamassu, their claws trembling with might above the partygoers, faces gaunt with the burning torches of a strange, foreign army.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Ahkmen groaned.

Rimush's hand left him for a moment, but returned the moment he began to flee. Ahkmen, who had grown used to such invasions throughout his life and education, took much longer to flee with him.

The two climbed the stairs just as he had with you, tripping over his own feet as he bounded up three steps at a time. His face drained of blood, panic seeping quickly into his already uneven breath, consciousness returning to him in the form of frantic thoughts reaching for every direction. Where you were, if you were hurt, if going up the stairs was the best idea, if he would die tonight, if you would die tonight –

"No, no, stop!" Ahk yelled over the hurried shouts and pounding footsteps, tugging on Rimush, who paused halfway up the long, marble staircase. "There's no escape up there, we'll just be trapped like pigs for slaughter."

"We can't exactly go back down, they're already in the main hall," Rimush said with a shaky laugh.

"No, there's..."

The first time he ascended these steps he was with you, and the entirety of the time was spent staring up at you. But there was something he caught in the corner of his eye, something oddly familiar amongst the Kassite Babylonian architecture, something he recalled seeing often in the Egyptian tombs he snuck into.

A false door.

Ahk finally returned Rimush's grasp on his wrist, hauling him back down the steps and to one of the walls surrounding the staircase. False doors couldn't be entered by any physical beings, but Babylonians wouldn't be able to know that by the name, and could've very easily took it as a hidden door. His hands skittered up and down the terraced stone descending into the wall, searching for any latch, button, handle, or imperfection.

The Kassite Prince joined his side despite Ahk never having explained himself, and pushed hard on what appeared to be no more than a carving in the wall. Dust fell from the worn edges as the door disappeared into the wall, revealing a dark, musty room. Ahk sent one last glance to the approaching soldiers before shoving Rimush in and following quickly after. Rimush turned and shut the door in a millisecond, pressing his back up against the freezing cold stone as he panted with wide, shell-shocked eyes.

"This has been coming for a while," Rimush said with a loud laugh, running a shaky hand through his unruly hair.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ahk muttered through his panting.

"My father seized control of the city from the Assyrians and they've been conducting raids," he said, gesturing behind his shoulder, "so it was only a matter of time till they came here."

"Assyrians?" Ahk repeated.

Rimush nodded.

"Shit."

"And.. my grandfather also stole their statue," he added slowly, his voice digressing into a mumble.

"Their what?"

"Their statue," he said much firmer, looking up with a glare. "Of Marduk."

Ahk stared at Rimush for a moment, his mouth hanging open.

"What the hell is wrong with you people here? You live in the same country!!"

"You're telling me your subjects have never revolted against you?" Rimush asked in return, a cocky grin growing cross his face as Ahk seethed.

"Never-mind that. I need to find Yogi, I'm sick of cowering in here if it's with you," he said, striding over to the Prince and shoving him to the side.

He stumbled out of way of the door, but quickly returned to block Ahk's way.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said.

A ginger hand touched Ahk's chest, earning Rimush another unimpressed glare. Once again Ahk pushed him aside, yanking on the door handle till the stone cracked open once more, allowing screams to fill the room.

Rimush took in a sharp breath at the sound, his eyes darting out to the dim moonlight and the soldiers marching up the stairs. Armor and weapons clattered on their way upwards, marking the panicked shouts and cries of partygoers who cowered on the tallest floor, seemingly seeking safety in their prayers to Marduk. Ahk, however, was focused on what was behind them––the mostly empty hall, and a group of soldiers heading towards the God's Idol under the eye of a tall general.

He tapped Rimush's arm, quickly gaining his attention that soon found way to the same sight. A soft 'oh' escaped his lips as their ropes encircled the statue. With a few timed pulls and ropes from the back, Marduk fell forward onto a massive chariot, bringing forth victorious shouts from the soldiers. Rimush winced as they began to heave the statue out of the hall.

"Do you think they'll leave now?" Ahk whispered to Rimush, who positioned his head just below Ahk's to save space.

"No, they'll kill the worshippers and the nobles," he whispered back.

"How do you know that?" He frowned.

"'Cause that's what we did."

Ahk let out another long––though much more subdued––sigh, rolling his eyes.

"You three are ridiculous," he muttered.

"Hey, I didn't do anything, thank you very much," Rimush said, scowling up at Ahkmen.

At the first chance possible, Ahk darted out of the hidden room, whose contents he never got to see through the overwhelming darkness. Blades slashing through bloody ligaments crackled and popped from above, squelching in a way that nearly made Ahk sick. You couldn't be up there; you would know better, you would use your size to your advantage, you would know what to do. After all, you'd seen the top floor just as he had––there was no escape from up there.

His leather boots softened his footsteps descending the stairs, though he still kept to the side of the wall in hopes of not being sneaked up on. Rimush, though not invited, followed him down and kept his eye out for you. Ahkmen barely breathed as he scanned his surroundings, his brow furrowed tight.

"You get me so excited when you're serious," Rimush suddenly said, and though he spoke in a whisper, Ahk still gut-punched him. The Prince let out a wheeze as he clutched his stomach.

"Not right now," he muttered.

"So later?"

"... maybe."

Ahk rose to his feet, keeping close to the ground as he moved forward, missing the bright, toothy grin on Rimush's face.

The two men ducked behind a large pillar, Ahk going first and dragging Rimush with him. He peeked past the cold stone, watching as a couple soldiers rounded the corner and jogged up the stairs. Ahk held his breath, his fingertips digging into the firm ripples, till his nails turned a pale white.

"You could take them," Rimush whispered in his ear, his breath tickling Ahk.

"I don't even have my spear," he said, looking up with a frown.

He watched for a moment more, his brow knotted almost painfully till the soldiers disappeared.

"They're a little underdressed, for Assyrians," Ahk noted in a mutter.

"What?"

"I've seen a lot of soldiers and murals, they're usually a bit more..." Ahk gestured vaguely to his persons, "decorated."

"You mean frilly?" Rimush chuckled.

"That, too."

He turned his head every which way as he reached the base of the steps, searching virulently for a door, a space, anything small that could hide you. Your stall of food and beer now sat abandoned, the decorated tarp above torn to shreds and the corners of it still singed. A pool of blood seeped out from underneath the table, a sight that stopped his heart dead in its' still frantic beating, horror pouring over his head like boiling water.

His feet, though numb, carried him round the counter, to where the blood spilled out across the pristine floor, clean enough to see the reflection of the stewardess' limp hand stretched out and painted in crimson. Ahkmen winced at the sight as Rimush rounded the corner and was met with the same sight.

An ax had reeled down on her head; that or an overly large sword, splitting her skull and separating her eyes from one another.

"Unfortunate," Rimush said, but was quick to move on, scanning the rest of the area.

Ahk had to stare for another minute, his mouth gaping before he had the mind to move again. He nearly said something to the Kassite Prince, but thought better of it, steeling his thoughts and returning to the search. Despite the violence, Ahk couldn't say he would miss her orders.

A waving hand raised his head from where he'd ducked it underneath the stall, turning his gaze to a haphazardly tossed aside, wooden box.

"This one's different from the others," Rimush whispered.

A beat of silence passed before Ahk said, "so?"

"Well it's a little out of place, you have to admit," he said, turning to Ahk with a frown, as though he'd been surprised at Ahk's confusion.

"My best friend is missing, I don't care about the inconsistencies of your party planning," he muttered as he rolled his eyes.

"It's not my fault it's the wrong one, if anything it'd be yours, or your master's," Rimush bit back.

Ahkmen had to bite his tongue to avoid saying anything along the lines of 'I have no master'. He had of his own volition seceded his belongings, including his titles, and there was no guarantee it would be given back should he return. The very bitter truth remained to be that many moons ago, he weighed the worth of you and the worth of being a Prince, and wholeheartedly decided you were the richer option; and, despite everything, his verdict persisted just the same.

Tingling adrenaline sparked through his veins, curling his fingers into fists that dug deep into his palm. His throat constricted painfully as the cries of women continued to pierce the already shrill air, shattering the howling wind that wept alongside the shedding blood pouring down the stairs. A massacre was happening above him and he was nearer to the exit than any other person. He and Rimush were also close enough to offer aid––an option Ahk woefully laid to rest, as that would not be beneficial to finding you. The spear he tossed aside upon the end of his shift once more stood in his hand, the blunt end pushed into the floor as Ahk continued to search the massive temple atop Babylon's famed tower for any sign of where you'd gone.

Eventually the two boys passed in silence to the kitchen, where vats of beer were poisoned with the blood of brewers, some having fallen into the large, boiling cauldrons, their feet and legs still hanging out. Others still fell to the floor, ashen hands reaching out to nearby knives and bronze pans. Ahkmen was forced to bite his tongue again, this time holding back tears that burnt his eyes like acid, threatening to bring the same tremble to his pursed lips.

Bare footsteps had been taken through pools of blood, revealing the stone mosaic beneath, and trailing crimson where the walker stepped out of the spill still warm beneath Ahk's sandals. He frowned, trailing the path till it entered a smaller, separate area. His own foot was quite a lot bigger than the ones he now looked at.

"Look," he murmured to Rimush, who quickly turned to look over Ahk's shoulder. "Could be them."

They looked to each other for a moment and Rimush nodded, prompting Ahk to reach forward and pull the curtain door aside. Moth-ridden fabric made way for a dusty closet filled with different boxes and decorations unused by the celebrations.

It didn't take much of an inspection to note a head of curls trembling where the footprints ended, uneven breaths just barely audible above his own breathing.

"Yogi?" He asked in as soft a voice as he could manage, watching how the tips of black curls disappeared behind the boxes with a flinch. "Yogasundari, it's just me."

"A – Aganu?" Came a shaky, broken whimper, followed by palms moving against stone and clothes shuffling.

Your wide, pale eyes peeked over the box's edge, meeting Ahk's gaze that instantly turned from anxiousness to relief.

"Yogi," he breathed out, a confirmation of your presence as you jumped out of your tiny hiding space, landing with shaking, tense limbs into Ahk's arms. "I've got you. I'm here."

He sucked in a deep breath, willing away the pain of your nails digging into his back as you clung to him. Tears building in your eyes fell fruitfully as you shivered and sobbed, soaking Ahk's shoulder.

"They took her," you wailed, shifting constantly in his grasp to cling tighter and tighter to his embrace. "They took her, they took her."

"Who did they take?" Ahk asked, running his hands over your back and through your hair, his eyes shut tight as he imagined the contorted expressions on your face currently hidden in his neck.

"Zakiti," you answered.

"Oh Gods," he sighed, falling from a knelt position to pull you into his lap.

Although she wore plain, colorless clothes––due as much to her job as it was to her tastes––Zakiti was often the subject of many stares. Her soft, long hair framed piercing blue eyes, her jaw clean-cut and her hands always neatly folded in front of her. While staring at you as you worked with Zakiti, people had on occasion wondered aloud if he had a liking for Zakiti. They always passed over you. The soldiers had done the same, and Ahk had little doubt her fate would be the envy of none.

All that mattered now, though, was that you were relatively unharmed, and back under Ahkmen's protection. Rimush still stood behind Ahk as well, his arms crossed with a confused frown on his face.

"Come, we have to hurry," Ahk said, pulling away from you to meet your eye, brushing away the hair that stuck to your wet eyelashes. "The Assyrians are still here."

He reluctantly moved to his feet, pulling you up with and wiping away the tears that remained on your flushed cheeks.

"Hello," Rimush said to you, waving curtly in your direction. "Good to.. see you again."

Ahk glared at Rimush as he passed him, taking you with your hand in his.

"Aganu, I do not think they are the Assyrians," you said, your voice trembling with each of your footsteps growing more hurried every passing second.

"What do you mean?"

"They do not speak Akkadian."

He blanked for a moment. He'd suspected that earlier as well, but Rimush assured him it was the Assyrians.

Gusts of wind hit him before he had a chance to say anything to Rimush, revealing to the three of you the whole of the city, and the desert that stretched beyond in the form of mountains of grey and red. A number of fires had been set within the city walls, allowing plumes of smoke to billow out into the air, collecting in the roof of the sky and poisoning the night.

Ahkmen was struck dead by the sight. Screams still rang in the back of his head, but now he wasn't sure if they resonated from up the stairs, or down the tower, where the whole of the city was being surely slaughtered. Even from a distance he could spy puddles of blood seeping out from piles of bodies. Horror filled like acid in his heart, burning away an innocence he wasn't even aware he had. He'd seen death before, but this was the closest he'd get to knowing it without dying himself.

He gripped your hand tight.

"Come on, let's not dally and get caught," Rimush whispered in a hiss, patting your shoulders before he set off in a run down the ramp, leaving them behind.

Ahkmen turned to you, blinking rapidly as though it would rid him of his memories.

"Aganu..." you whispered, your chest filled with a breath that wouldn't leave you.

"Don't look," he said quietly, pulling you in and hiding your face from view as both of you set off down the ramp after Rimush.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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momo-de-avis · 5 years

Text

Wordtober Day 8: Frail

FOREWORD before we dwell into this mess: some of the events described here, just so you know, are actually real. Specifically, the fire that consumed Chartres and the collapse of the choir of Beauvais. It just wasn’t the devil, just shitty master builders. The Sacré Coeur does not exist. I made it up. I named it Scaré Coeur cause every fucking church in France in the 13th century was called Notre Dame and I need a break.

Also, though this is set in the 13th century, the Latin prayer you’ll read is actually from the 19th century, before some pesky historian comes bothering me -- I KNOW, I just don’t give a fuck cause this is fiction. It’s the same with the latin quote about the devil, I KNOW it’s from that one book fake satanists made it cool though it’s actually about witch-hunting and not that deep, but fuck it man, it’s what we get.

Moving on to some Christian horror (I hope to God you understand what Frail plays into here). Be warned of some gore and extremely violent themes ahead.

The man stood, silent and still, at the centre of the choir. He did not look ahead at the altar; instead, his back was turned to the Cross and he inspected every believer that sat on the pews, heads bent in devotional prayer. Abbot Odo though there was something disconcerting to him. He was so still one could easily mistake him for a forsaken statue, and his eyes were cold and buried deep into his craggy face, pale skin poorly stretched over his semblance, marked by angular wrinkles that crisscrossed around his sockets and the corners of his lips.

The silence that settled seemed to emanate from within himself, and realizing this, abbot Odo made the sign of the cross and swallowed a deep sigh. The man standing at the choir raised his head to the dome above him, his eyes dancing across the angular ribs of the tall vault, and his hands came together like in a prayer, but they relaxed at his lap instead. He dressed in black: black cape flapping freely around his shoulders, and black gambeson beneath chainmail. A scabbard hung from his waist, from which the bright silver pommel protruded. His trousers were scratched and ragged, as if worn through many travels, and abbot Odo could swear there were stains of red.

He wanted to believe him a knight. Many came to the Sacrée Coeur to pray, to cleanse themselves of hellish visions acquired in the battlefield – their brothers cut to pieces, members chopped with the swing of an arm, and cries of pain and misery that would forever resonate inside their ears. They believe it to be for God, but came back with the desolation of a Godless mind. They had seen burning hot oil poured onto the bodies of the foot soldiers clambering a rope ladder, up the walls of a fortress, and prayed for Jerusalem as their skins came peeling off, flesh bubbling red and pink in jarring pain as their eyes bulged for one last cry of horror. They had watched the lances and wheezing blades stab their friends though the chest, and the sound of cracking bone and gurgling blood echoed still in their consciences. Mumbled prayers from dying men became litanies they would forever repeat, and poison shook them in shudders and cold sweat as they lingered between the worlds. Before their eyes, desolation, but hope too: hope that, now, having fought in the name of God, the Pearly Gates would offer them Eternity, hope that a life of bloody brutality, away from their families, babes and pregnant women left behind, would at least be worth a noble death and a heavenly pardon.

But abbot Odo knew there was always a moment of hesitation, a moment where – haunted by this life of constant warmongering – they would face Christ and the Elders in their Judgement and tremble in fear of being cast out of heavenly Jerusalem. They feared mercy existed not for a man earning crowns in the business of death. They feared they had acquired a fondness for blood, a passion for swinging a blade, and on the moment the Archangel would weight their souls, their corrupted selves would reveal a life tarnished by bloodlust. They feared it would be the Devil the one to see their taste for putrid flesh and broken bone, and in the flames of Hell, they would remain shackled to constant torment.

Many came to the Sacrée Coeur to pray, to release themselves, to find absolution in the bosom of the Virgin, or seek inspiration and salvation from Saint Matthew. Many found solace and piety in tears shed before the image of Saint Stephen, while others adored the image of the dragon below Saint Theodore, and thought all their nightmares existed there, in the monstrous creature. Perhaps they had led a similar battle, and who they had fought was not the Saracens nor the barbarians from the north, but the evil cast unto the world by Satan himself.

For a brief moment, abbot Odo thought the man standing at the choir could be one such man, seeking redemption by bringing his hands together for something other than holding a sword. But as abbot Odo blinked his eyes, he realized he was wrong. Very wrong.

He had heard the tales before, had even witnessed it once. The Devil tempted in many a manner, seeking to blend in with the world it sought to scorch and destroy, to wipe it clean of beauty and serenity, sowing death and destruction – and sometimes, the Devil was successful. Of all the tales of Satan taking the shape of something recognizable, hiding its horns and demonic tail – something terrifyingly friendly – the one that frightened abbot Odo the most was when he appeared as a man.

He could be a haggling one, clad in ratty clothes, ripped shirt and dirty nails, hand stretched out with pious eyes as he begged for a silver coin to support a wife and a child, seeking charity out of those with good in their hearts, only to reveal himself as a skinflint disgrace, drunk and relishing in sin, between the bosoms of harlots and gambling in dingy, filthy towns, dragging the innocent into his vices. He could be a noble of clean-shaven appearance, wearing a finely stitched doublet and a cape held by the wealthiest of brooches, offering a helping hand to a woman who carried a basket, only to snatch her away and maim her with depravity and filth, stealing her honour, her earnings and her life, until her naked corpse would be found afloat in the river, drained of blood. Sometimes, he was even a man of Faith, wearing the robes of a clergyman, though no cross would ever be visible on their chests, and they would sneak into abbeys and bring about the sins to sow depravity all around, and destruction would follow: fires devouring the altar, food thrown in the waters and gone to waste, wells poisoned and a community sentenced to starvation and drought – and the brothers resting eternally, with blood squirting out of their throats and guts spilling out of their bellies, limbs sawn off and teeth pulled out. Most daunting of all, they always seemed to do it to each other.

The Devil would wipe his hands clean and say with a grin: my work here is done.

But there was one other abbot Odo knew of – the one he had seen before. He was a traveller – sometimes a merchant, sometimes a knight – and he carried in his clothes the dirt and filth to prove it, though never a horse, a mule or a wagon. It was said that, when he took the shape of a wanderer, carrying sword or dagger, he did not seek to corrupt others; he did not attempt to plant the seed of sin in the innocent, nor tempt a believer into wickedness and villainy. His goal was not to cause bloodshed, not to spread about the corpses of the innocent, not to steal the honour of a young maid. His goal, then, was to destroy.

To destroy the House of God through the hands of His own believers.

He had first heard of him when he was initiated in the Fontevreu Abbey, of a fire that had engulfed Chartres and destroyed near all of its main church: the people watching in horror as the flames rose to the tower and licked the bell atop; the tears shed at the sight of the house of Mary being engulfed by the scorching blaze. A priest had salvaged the mantle of the Virgin, hiding the relic beneath his clothes, and against the columns of rising smoke, coughing out the ash and fending off the flames, he saw, standing in the middle of the choir, a man: a man as motionless as any statue, with eyes glinting red, no pupils to be seen but a dark, hollow slit, like those of a snake. The flames licked his body, but he did not burn; the shadows danced around him like whores of Babylon, and small, blackened talons caressed the edges of his hands and feet. From behind, as the fire rose to a hellish rebuke, big and engulfing wings spread, and his mouth tore abnormally wide, sharp teeth and hissing tongue, his skin undulating before the dancing shapes of blackness that embraced him, brows jutting forward and claws ripping the skin of his fingers. The priest blessed himself and ran, certain it was the Devil that had destroyed the holy home of Mary. Yet against the auspices of Satan, he had saved Mary's blessed mantle.

Two years before he arrived at the Sacré Coeur, abbot Odo had stopped briefly in Beauvais to witness its constructions. Abbot Odo had been marvelled at the sight: the wooden scaffolding rising tall and high as the sounds of pickaxe and stilettos against the stone echoed by. On the ground, thin lines marked the church's nave, and he walked with awe in his heart, down to the choir, projecting a dream onto those lines he saw grow into steady walls, slender columns and thick piers. It was even taller than Amiens.

Abbot Odo had stood in the middle of the choir, observing the intricate vaulting above his head, the nerves dashing across the white stone in a promise of grandeur. Then, he had looked back and found a man there, right behind him. He wore a great black cape, closed around his body, which only allowed his tarnished, worn-out leather boots to be seen, and no weapon in sight. His hands moved and joined each other on his lap, but he did not pray. Then, abbot Odo looked into his eyes and there he saw the mark of Lucifer: bright red like blood, and two black slits for pupils – and in an instant, the earth quivered and began to shape to Satan's will.

He heard a scream and a crack; a gust of wind swept past, so strong he saw women holding on to their veils with a cry for help, and children collapsing on their feet as the gale made the foundations of the cathedral tremble. But the man stood. Like a tree rooted to the ground, he did not shudder. Another crack, and abbot Odo saw the wooden scaffolding snap and break, and people came falling down like rain, smashed on the ground, their skulls cracked open and blood pooling beneath their bodies. The wind sang, and the man remained – motionless and cold. His eyes glinted, and shapes danced around him, talons sweetly fondling his shoulders, and the darkness that loomed seemed to seduce him like a harlot. He parted his lips, tearing across his face into an ugly, gut-wrenching smile, and pointy teeth peered into a grin of malice. Though it had been a sunny day, the skies filled themselves with thick, grey clouds, and the wind blew stronger than anything abbot Odo had ever witnessed.

He blinked his eyes, and within a moment, the man was gone, but something remained; when he watched the vault above him crumble and stone began to rain down on the people below, at last, he turned back, ran into safety, and saw a devilish shape draw itself against the walls. A figure danced, crowned with horns and jutting talons at the edges of its fingers, and black wings spread behind, setting flight before the destruction it had just sowed, watching victoriously the men of God crushed to death by heavy boulders.

The ceiling fell, and the beautiful cathedral of Beauvais was shrouded in ash and dust. From the rubble, groans of pain appeared, and as the wind stopped, the ground began to paint itself red. Outside, the cries of women rose to the skies, and thick grey clouds slid away, casting light into the Devil's destruction.

Now, he stood again before him, and abbot Odo felt an urgency beneath his skin. The man lowered his gaze and found the abbot's; a sweeping wind blew, and his eyes – deep red and with two slits for pupils – glinted. His lips tore menacingly into a smile, a smile abbot Odo had known before – a smile of all malevolent things, disjointed and fearsome, ripping his elastic flesh until threads of skin stitched themselves together like a ripped, ragged cloth.

Abbot Odo gave a step forth, but the ground quivered; he stopped, glanced around. Everywhere, eyes snapped open and heads rose from prayer, and the imminence of disaster settled slowly. A woman grabbed her child by the hand and ran through the nave and out the door, but the others watched; abbot Odo thought he should leave, but there was something he needed to do first.

He would not let Satan win again.

"Leave!" He shouted. "Leave now!"

He was unsure if he was expelling Satan or passing a message to the believers, but nobody moved; abbot Odo launched himself forward before the man who stood impeccable, his hands softly resting on one another above his lap, those sharp teeth glinting as shadows began to swirl around him like trusting companions of all his heinous acts. He heard a crack and stopped; behind him, men and women raised their eyes to the ceiling above, and abbot Odo felt a bitter urgency of stopping an impending Apocalypse.

He gave another step, but stopped once more. Now, something pushed him back, and it hurt to keep his eyes open. He grabbed the thick chain around his neck and pulled the heavy silver cross from beneath his clothes; the touch brought him comfort yet it prickled his fingers, and through his chapped lips, he murmured a prayer – but his words wafted by unheard, for he was now in the domain of the Devil. When he snapped his eyes open, the man in front of him was twisting and shaping himself into his true form; abbot Odo blessed himself once, twice, three times, as he watched the horrid transformation take place.

He heard bone crack, joints snap, and flesh bubbled beneath the undulating, quivering skin. On the clothes around his body, holes formed as it if they burned from within, and the abbot saw the chainmail burning bright red as it melted and sunk into his skin, slender columns of smoke rising from his insides. His shoulders popped as he shook them, pointy and angular like two flying buttresses spreading outwards, and the arms bent back and forth in inhumane ways; from his hands, long claws ripped through his flesh, blood slithering in thick drops, as the creature opened its mouth to let a slick, rubbery tongue out, and a bellow that carried the deep stench of sulphur and rot wafted in the air. It smelled of burned flesh. It smelled of a thousand corpses. It smelled of a hundred fetid things the abbot deemed only worthy of a battlefield. It was the spirit of all men of war sentenced to hellish torment by the scale of Holy Michael, the souls of the damned who had killed for pleasure. Those who did not seek to repent before Saint Theodore, because they had never slain the dragon.

Abbot Odo quivered as much as the ground, and inside his chest, his heart pumped in cold dread. Drenched in sweat, he clung to the silver crucifix and prayed – an endless string of prayers, stitched together by his rapidly moving lips, as he watched, horror gripping his throat, robbing his lungs of air – and the creature danced in dark and red. The shadows now rose almost as high as the Devil, and they lurched themselves at the body of their Master; from below his twisted, animalistic feet, the floor cracked and lines of red and orange shined through. Abbot Odo began to feel incredibly hot, as if a volcano erupted below his very feet, and the silver of his cross started to burn the tips of his fingers.

Then, the walls and ceiling began to cave in; abbot Odo saw the fissures in the stone crawling like worms, past the shadows, like water running upwards, and trembled when the first loud crack echoed. A boulder fell, smashing pews to splinters, and above him, a hole tore itself open to let in the sunlight that fought and lost against the grey clouds. The creature in front of abbot Odo raised a hand, and a loud clang sang across the hollow nave – the front door was shut.

Abbot Odo looked back and saw people – trapped people – banging on the thick wooden doors with their fists. Then, in a fit of silent madness, they all stopped – frozen to their feet entirely – and their eyes painted themselves red. Their mouths opened, a collective hiss resonated around in unison, and they all lurched at each other. Before it began, abbot Odo somehow felt a stench he thought to be of hatred.

Horrified, abbot Odo saw their finger dig into their clothes, fingernails ripping skin apart and poking their eyes out; they grabbed candelabra, pieces of wood and broke, with inhuman force, the stone sword of St Theodore, and slashed their bellies until bowels wrapped in red slithered out like demonic snakes; he saw with paralyzing terror as they were driven into heinous insanity, falling deeper into the Devil's temptation, killing for pleasure with not a cry of pain, but many a growl of delight. They killed, they maimed, they tortured each other; and when the pain wasn't enough to satisfy their hunger for blood, they filled their hands with torn-off flesh and shoved it deep into their mouths, or dug their sharp teeth into their legs and arms. Breathless, abbot Odo watched as they devoured each other, as Hell materialized before his eyes and the Damned consumed the poor innocents entirely, who ate and clawed until blood fell from their teeth and their chins painted themselves in red – until they fell into lifeless beings, and the nave was riddled with the maimed corpses of God's creatures.

It seemed to last forever; it seemed time stopped so Satan could relish in his creation. And abbot Odo, gripped in paralyzing terror, watched.

The ground quivered again, the walls trembled; those who had not died at the hands of the Satan's madness looked up and saw as death approached in the form of a boulder that smashed their skulls and crushed the rest of their bones. The smell of sulphur rose, but now it blended with the stench of a thousand battlefields – blood and flesh, dirt and fire. The walls shook, and soon, the house of God would crumble over Satan's victims.

Before the abbot, the man was not a man anymore, but the Devil in full. Abbot Odo saw the curling tail behind it and the slender claws of its hands clench; its tongue curled and twisted, and from its mouth came a malodorous stench abbot Odo could not identify anymore. And the walls shuddered, and the ceiling groaned. The world was not coming to an end, but it might as well have begun then; the Devil made the wheels turn.

Then, the creature tore its lips open, and in a guttural growl that reverberated in a cold vibrancy all around, it spoke:

"Opus dei potest opere Diaboli omnio vitiari."

Abbot Odo collapsed on his knees, and fatigue possessed him. Clinging to his cross still, he watched the holy altar crumble down, candles tumbled over and their flame kissing the fabrics of curtains and flowers sweetly enough that they rose. The eyes of Holy Mary became engulfed by a sea of bright orange and yellow, and the paint of her stony face cracked and melted, until a skeletal remnant of her beauty remained; the vestments of Saint Anne crumbled into ash, and the babe on her lap fell over, its little head cracking and smashed to a thousand pieces; like in a demonic omen, the book of Saint Matthew, albeit of stone, burned and withered into cinders, and the abbot could swear the dragon at Saint Theodore's feet began to move, its sharp teeth sinking into the saint's ankles, thick blood pouring out as the statue's eyebrows arched and the eyes bulged in horror.

Abbot Odo looked up at the stained glass of the clerestory and wept. Once, its blue lights had been celestial, and a tinge of red had passed through only as a reminder of the Sacré Coeur's imperial might, of the Virgin's reign as Holy Queen of the Heavens. Now, her eyes looked back at abbot Odo in agony, and the ambience inside the cathedral had lost its celestial blue tone entirely. Everything was red – blistering, daunting red, where black shapes hovered and danced, the walls blemished with the shape of their flapping wings, and beneath the sounds of spluttering wood and the high-pitched clinks of shattering glass, he heard someone sing in tongues.

"Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio," abbot Odo began to pray, and in a swift gush of courage, he moved against his every quiver and stood. Rubble and ash surrounded him, the air thick, prickling his eyes and throat. Abbot Odo thought of covering his mouth with his habit, but then his prayer would be muffled. So he screamed louder: "Contra nequitiam et insidias diabolic esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur—" he ran, though not to the door, but to the choir, straight to where that nefarious beast stood, and hoisted his crucifix with a growl: "Tuque, Princeps militia caelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen!"

The cross in the abbot's fingers shined, and though the pain that shot through his fingertips blinded him, he remained; slick, bubbly silver began to melt, fusing with his skin, but he did not falter. Archangel protect us, he begged in a murmur, and protect this world in Light, through God's might, against the Evils we face.

Abbot Odo had always thought himself a man of physical weakness, unfit for battle. He had never sought a sword because the horrors of war did not appease him. But as God had willed, he was made to be a Knight of Peace.

The beast roared and shuddered, its talons retrieving into the putrid flesh that melted like wax, and danced a horrid dance of pain and anguish as it slithered through the cracks of the ground. Stood in terror, abbot Odo watched – watched as the flames diminished as if they were sucked away by the scorching winds of Hell, reeking of sulphur all around, and a thousand screams rose to the air into a deafening, blaring song of the damned that cracked the glass on almost every standing window. The black shadows winced and shrivelled; screeches, like nails scraping against glass, pierced through the abbot's ears, and the air was filled only with dust and ash – thick and grey as his hand rose in solitude amidst the destruction.

Then, everything was silent. Abbot Odo blinked his teary eyes open and watched the dust settle. A short moment later, the doors flung themselves open, and people stopped at the threshold, watching with horror the sea of bodies covered in blood, chunks of their flesh stuck between their teeth, arms and legs cut off by a ravaging possession of the Devil, killed at each other's hands for one last consummation of Satan's will.

The deafening, dreadful silence was slowly replaced by muffled weeps, cries and moans of anguish and horror. Nobody came inside. Nobody dared touch the dead. A dozen pairs of eyes looked dully at the broken ceiling above. The fire had stopped, disappeared entirely, and all it remained was the black mark of its scorching flames.

Abbot Odo looked at the altar. Amidst the wreckage, of piles of broken stone and scorched wood, molten wax and chipped off paint, the rose window stood. It cast celestial blue and royal red glints onto the floors, licking its marred stone with the grace of Heavens.

He did not feel shrouded in the Grace of God when the sun moved and the colourful lights brushed against his dingy skin.

Finally, abbot Odo looked back wistfully at the sea of frozen, bloodied horrors that filled the church nave, in blood and flesh and broken bone.

He had defeated the Devil, but the Devil had won still.

___

Past challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

Wordtober Day 6: Build II

Wordtober Day 7: Enchanted (Encantada)

#wordtober #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #Odo isnt even a french name lmaooo #my wordtober

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skylargarrett1 · 4 years

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Week three - Tower of Babel

A Dutch Renaissance painting I am choosing is the Tower of Babel. Pieter Bruegel the Elder in (c. 1526/30-1569) created it. This tower was constructed by Noah’s descendants to get as close as possible to the heavens and God. Although, God saw this artwork as a sign of vanity. He then made the builders speak different languages, so they could no longer communicate. He did this to punish them.

Not just, the tower being the focus, Bruegel added bustling ports where boats have finished unloading their cargo of building materials. This scenery must have been familiar to Bruegel to develop because he lived in Antwerp and experienced these things during that time. Goods are being lifted out of the boats with a crane attached to a large wheel. The force of the workers is turning the wheel. Cranes similar to this were used in the port of Antwerp in the 16th century. In the painting, there is a nearby river to provide clay to make bricks.

The great Babylon “ziggurat” inspired the biblical tower. In Rome, the colosseum made a substantial impression on Bruegel. He went on a study expedition through Italy and France, a little after 1550. Bruegel has painted a smaller version of The Tower of Babel on ivory while in the Eternal City, which now no longer exists. The circular shape of Bruegel’s tower, which contrasts with the square shaped ziggurat design, was not the only element inspired by the Colosseum; he also portrayed the Roman mountain’s arches. Bruegel adds very much detail to his work because he wants the people to be able to witness it realistically. He has painted many other Tower of Babel paintings, but this one puts particular emphasis on the building process.

Bruegel placed the tower in a coastal landscape, near a river, rather than unpaved roads, because waterways carried most of the heavy goods during the 16th century. I chose this piece because I thought it was very interesting. I enjoyed learning the history about this piece of artwork and what it represents. I also admired how he put very much detail into the piece and showed how the tower was constructed. Bruegel made the piece look very realistic, so it made the painting even more interesting to learn about. The Tower of Babel has an association with the Northern Renaissance because Europe had a substantial influence on Bruegel to come up with this piece.

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mediaeval-muse · 5 years

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Academic Book Review

Undoing Babel: The Tower of Babel in Anglo-Saxon Literature by Tristan Major. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2018. Pp. xix + 289. $52.50.

Argument: The Tower of Babel narrative is one of the most memorable accounts of the Bible, and its interpretative potential has produced a vast array of literary adaptations. Undoing Babel is the first extensive examination of the development of the Babel narrative amongst Anglo-Saxon authors from late antiquity to the eleventh century. Tristan Major’s illuminating and original insight into Anglo-Latin and Old English works, including the writings of Aldhelm, Bede, Alcuin, Ælfric, and Wulfstan, reveals the cultural ideologies and anxieties that transformed the Babel narrative. In doing so, Major argues that these Babel narratives provide a basis for understanding the world’s ethnic and linguistic diversity as well as a theological stimulus to evangelize non-Christian and non-European people. Undoing Babel highlights the depth of literary innovation in this period and disproves any notion of a single Anglo-Saxon reception of biblical sources.

***Full review under the cut.***

Chapter Breakdown

Chapter One: Overview of the reception history of the Table of Nations (the tradition of listing the genealogy of Noah and their dispersion after the Flood) and patterns of understanding diversity within a universal Church. Primarily focuses on early Jewish and Christian antiquity. Contains sections on the ethnography/geography of Genesis 10-11 and early Jewish literature, Christian ethnography/geography, and the development of Christian identity in the early Church.

Chapter Two: Overview of the themes from Chapter One in Latin Christian Antiquity. Contains sections on Christian historiography, linguistic diversity, Pentecost and evangelism, and perceptions of Britain.

Chapter Three: Overview of early Anglo-Saxon interpretations of Babel in Theodore’s and Hadrian’s Canterbury School. Contains sections on the texts to come out of the Canterbury School and Aldhelm’s interpretations of Babel (since Aldhelm was its most famous student).

Chapter Four: Overview of Bede’s and Alcuin’s treatment of the Tower of Babel in exegetical tradition. Contains sections on the contrast between Jerusalem and Babel, ecclesiastical unity, and attitudes towards language.

Chapter Five: King Alfred’s attitudes towards language and linguistic diversity. Contains sections on the Old English Boethius, the Old English Orosius, West Saxon genealogies, and Solomon and Saturn II.

Chapter Six: Themes of unity and diversity, the image of Babel in tenth and eleventh century Anglo-Saxon literature. Contains sections on the reign of Æthelstan, the Benedictine Reform, Ælfric, and Wulfstan.

Chapter Seven: Analysis of Nimrod/builders of Babel in Genesis A and Nebuchadnezzar in Daniel. Chapter is divided into two large sections by poem, but information involves Babel as a foil for Abraham’s blessings, Babel as a failed attempt at recovering Eden, and connections between Babel and Babylon.

Theories/Methodologies Used

reception history

linguistic approach

source study

Reviewer Comments: I first heard of this book when a friend mentioned it in conjunction with her job as an editorial assistant at a scholarly journal. Thus, it was already on my mind when I went to the big medieval studies conference in Kalamazoo, Michigan, so I bought it when I visited the Toronto stand. I’ve gotten more and more interested in the image/story of the Tower of Babel recently, due to a fantastic lecture I attended about Babel as a hyperobject. So, I was entirely thrilled that an extended study was devoted to it in the time period/subject area I study.

My favorite part of this book’s argument was the emphasis on Christian identity (ideally) transcending ethnic and linguistic boundaries. Major showed tension existing between diversity and unity, including how ethnic and linguistic difference could be a marker of Otherness while also being necessary for creating a Christian identity that was not limited to certain groups of people. These tensions, Major suggests, played out in allegorical and typological representations of the Tower of Babel and Pentecost. I liked this emphasis because it underscored how malleable scripture and identity can be, with authors adapting their source texts to suit their own ideological needs rather than deriving their beliefs from their sources. It was a fascinating dive into how the Anglo-Saxons saw themselves, particularly as people who were geographically and linguistically distant from mainland Europe, but also as people concerned with their place in Christendom.

To get the most out of this book, I recommend having some knowledge of both Latin and Old English so that the close readings later in the book will be more meaningful. I don’t think readers will need a background in Biblical lore or patristic/ecclesiastical traditions, as Major outlines each point clearly and includes an excerpt of the Babel narrative at the beginning of the book so that the reader knows what he’s working with. If I have any criticisms of this text, it would be that the central idea/image of the Tower of Babel seems to get lost at times - indeed, there are many times when Major writes “there are few references to the Tower of Babel” or something similar, which draws attention to the absence of what this book is supposed to be about. While I do love the analysis of attitudes towards linguistic diversity and the concept of unity, it seems like the book could have been organized around that idea rather than Babel itself. I also would have liked to see some analysis of the visual representation of Babel in the Old English Hexateuch (which is featured on the book cover), since it seems to me that it would be useful for an argument about Anglo-Saxon attitudes and literature. Overall, though, I learned a lot from this book, and I am very much interested in looking out for more ways that the Anglo-Saxons appropriated imagery from Jewish and Christian literary traditions.

Recommendations: This book might be useful if you’re working on

the Tower of Babel (story and image), Pentecost (which relates to Babel in terms of linguistic diversity)

Anglo-Latin literature, early English biblical and religious literature

major authors: Alfred, Wulfstan, Bede, Ælfric, Aldhelm, and Alcuin

attitudes towards multilingualism and ethnic/cultural diversity

historiography

#book reviews #academic book reviews

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marie-yolette-winfield · 4 years

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Coronavirus and COVID-19 - Get the Facts on How to Protect Yourself Because the Cavalry Is Clearly not Coming.

Coronavirus and COVID-19 – Get the Facts on How to Protect Yourself Because the Cavalry Is Clearly not Coming.

Count only on what you are doing to protect yourself, and to come out of this horror story whole. Folks, the cavalry has turned into the builders of the Tower of Babel in the city of Babylon. We have to face the reality that the cavalry is not coming.

Who gets a shot at life if hospitals run short of ventilators? Who should get treated? Coming in a hospital near you. And what comes next.

While…

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flyingcarpettours · 4 years

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Tours from Luxor to Cairo by Plane

Get amazing Tours from Luxor to Cairo by Plane, visit Pyramids of Cheops, Chephren and Mykerinus at Giza, then proceed to visit the mighty Sphinx, a large half-human and half-lion statue, Have some rest during the tour by having fresh Lunch at local restaurant, with Tours from Luxor to Cairo by Plane you will explore the Egyptian Museum, which contains Tutankhamen's treasure, our Cairo Tours from Luxor also includes a visit to Old Cairo with its famous churches.

Cairo is such a great and charming country, where you can enjoy visiting historical sites, swimming, enjoying the natural views and so on. So, can you imagine how fantastic is the capital? Cairo is the capital of Egypt for several centuries. Therefore, it contains monumental sites to be visited. If you want to have a look at the monumental things, it’s essential to visit the capital and to treat with its citizens, who are so modern and easygoing. There are innumerable things to do in Cairo.

The Giza Plateau of Egypt, located about 15 miles southwest of modern Cairo, is one of the most important and famous archaeological sites in the world. With Egypt Pyramids you will get to visit the great pyramid which is known as Cheops Pyramid; the only one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World still standing. Built by King Khufu in the Fourth Dynasty of ancient Egypt’s Old Kingdom (around 2550 BCE), the Great Pyramid was the largest ever constructed in Egypt, originally reaching a height of 481 feet. The great pyramid contains approximately 2.3 million stone blocks. Herodotus said that this pyramid was built by more than 100,000 workers and it took about thirty years to be finished, but the other story says that they were farmers who built it instead of farming due to the Nile River flooding; therefore they concentrate their efforts in building this pyramid. Unleash your inner with Giza Pyramids and move to visit Chephren Pyramid which is considered the second largest pyramid at Giza and in Egypt was built for Khafre, the third pharaoh of the 4th Dynasty during the Old Kingdom Period of Ancient Egypt around 2540 BC. Khafre, also known in history by the Greek name Chephren, was the son of Khufu, who is the Great Pyramid and the grandson of Sneferu, another great builder of Ancient Egypt.

Get a unique vacation in Cairo and visit the main attractions in the city with our Tours from Luxor to Cairo by Plane, Start your tours visiting the most famous attraction in the entire world the great Pyramids of Giza which considered a defining symbol of Egypt and the last of the Ancient Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. You will get the chance to enjoy the panoramic view of the Giza Plateau and take amazing photos with the three Pyramids of Cheops, Chephren and Mykerinus. Feast your eyes while exploring the amazement of Sphinx and then move to visit the Valley Temple which was main entrance to the Giza Plateau, It is said that around 100.000 workers contributed in building the great pyramids and it took about thirty years to be finished. Discover the amazement of Sphinx and take unforgettable photo with the statue that is distinguished by a human head as a sign for the wisdom and body of lion a sign for power.

A tour to visit the Egyptian Museum with its countless preservation is one of the best Things to do in Cairo. Explore the biggest museum in the world which consists o two floors; the ground floor that hosts the heavier displays like coffins, huge statues, and stone carvings while the upper floor hosts the lighter displays that include gadgets and tools, funerary objects, smaller statues, papyrus papers, wooden coffins, jewelry, and most importantly, the displays of the Tut Ankh Amun tomb.

Discover the area with Islamic and Coptic Cairo Tour and walk through Khan El Khalili Bazaar where you will immerse yourself in its colorful streets; it also is one of the most famous and the oldest bazaars in the Middle East as it dates back to 1382 A.D. Coptic Cairo is a unique area surrounded by famous Christian churches, the area is largely built around the fort of Babylon on upon the remains of its walls. Get excited with Cairo Excursions and visit some of the most famous churches in the Middle East. The Hanging Church is considered the oldest church in the area of Al-Fustat. It is known as Al-Muallaka (the hanging) because it was built on the ruins of two old towers that remained from an old fortress called the Fortress of Babylon.

Explore Tours from Luxor to Cairo by Plane

Flying Carpet Tours delegate will escort you to Luxor Airport, Fly to Cairo, at the time your flight touching Cairo Land your tour guide will escort you to a ravishing tour to Pyramids of Giza, feast your eyes by visiting Pyramids of Cheops, Chephren and Mykerinus, then your guide will take you to panoramic view of the pyramids, memorable photos available to the three pyramids together, next move to the Sphinx, scout the valley temple, relax by having lunch at local restaurant, after Lunch your tour guide will escort you to the Egyptian Museum which contains amazing treasures of King Tut Ankh Amun, have free time for shopping to buy souvenirs to Friends and Family, the last stop will be at Old Cairo, Visit the Hanging Church, Abu Serga Church, Ben Ezra Synagogue, finally Flying Carpet Tours Guide will escort you to Cairo Domestic Airport, Fly to Luxor, at the time your flight touching Luxor Land, Flying Carpet Tours delegate will escort you back to your hotel in Luxor

Included

• Pick up and drop off to your hotel in Luxor

• Excursion to Giza Pyramids, Egyptian Museum and Old Cairo as mentioned at the above program

• Entrance fees to the above mentioned sites

• English speaking guide at the sites mentioned above

• One Lunch at local restaurant in Cairo

• Bottle of Mineral Water during the Excursion

• All transfers in Cairo and Luxor by air-conditioned Van

Excluded

• Visa to Egypt

• Domestic Flight Luxor / Cairo / Luxor

• Any optional tours required

• Tipping

For more info about Tours from Luxor to Cairo by Plane:

E-mail: [email protected]

Website: www.flyingcarpettours.com

Tel.: +201099906242

#day trip from luxor to cairo #luxor to cairo #cairo and luxor tours #cairo from luxor #tours from luxor #pyramids of giza #egyptian museum #cairo tours

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icephas · 4 years

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The Golden Image

Sunday, January 19

Read Daniel 3:1-7. What likely motivates the king to make this statue?

Some time elapsed between the dream and the construction of the image. Nonetheless, it seems that the king can no longer forget the dream and the fact that Babylon is doomed to be replaced by other powers. Not satisfied with being only the head of gold, the king wants to be represented by an entire image of gold in order to communicate to his subjects that his kingdom will endure throughout history.

This attitude of pride calls to mind the builders of the Tower of Babel, who, in their arrogance, attempt to challenge God Himself. No less arrogant is Nebuchadnezzar here. He has accomplished much as ruler of Babylon, and he cannot live with the idea that his kingdom will eventually pass away. Thus, in an effort at his own self-exaltation, he builds an image to evoke his power and thereby assess the loyalty of his subjects. Although it may not be clear whether the image is intended to represent the king or a deity, we should keep in mind that in antiquity the lines separating politics from religion were often blurred, if they existed at all.

We should remember, too, that Nebuchadnezzar has had two opportunities to get acquainted with the true God. First, he tests the young Hebrews and finds them ten times wiser than the other sages of Babylon. Then, after all other experts have failed to remind him of his dream, Daniel reports to him the thoughts of his mind, the dream, and its interpretation. Finally, the king recognizes the superiority of the God of Daniel. But surprisingly enough, those previous theology lessons do not prevent Nebuchadnezzar from reverting back to idolatry. Why? Most likely, pride. Sinful human beings resist acknowledging the fact that their material and intellectual accomplishments are vanity and are doomed to disappear. We may at times act like little “Nebuchadnezzars” as we pay too much attention to our accomplishments and forget how meaningless they can be in the face of eternity.

How can we learn not to fall, even in very subtle ways, into the same trap that Nebuchadnezzar does?

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lowkeynando · 1 year

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have been based on the perimeter of the ancient outer city walls, an area of about 1,054.3 hectares (2,605 acres). [6] They comprise a large tell of broken mud-brick buildings and debris. The main sources of information about Babylon-excavation of the site itself, references in cuneiform texts found elsewhere in Mesopotamia, references in the Bible, descriptions in other classical writing (especially by Herodotus), and second-hand descriptions (citing the work of Ctesias and Berossus)-present an incomplete and sometimes contradictory picture of the ancient city, even at its peak in the sixth century BC. [7] UNESCO inscribed Babylon as a World Heritage Site in 2019. The site receives thousands of visitors each year, almost all of whom are Iraqis.

[81[9] Construction is rapidly increasing, which has caused encroachments on the ruins. [10] [11]

[12] Borsippa (Sumerian: BAD.SI. (A).AB.BAKI;

Akkadian: Barsip and Til-Barsip) [1] or Birs

Nimrud (having been identified with Nimrod) is an archeological site in Babil Governorate, Iraq.

The ziggurat is today one of the most vividly identifiable surviving ones, identified in the later Arabic culture with the Tower of Babel. However, modern scholarship concludes that the Babylonian builders of the Ziggurat in reality erected it as a religious edifice in honour of the local god Nabu, called the "son" of Babylon's Marduk, as would be appropriate for Babylon's - [ ] JUNGLEWOODNETHERRACKNETHERWARTENCHANTMENTTABLECHORUSFLOWERREDSTONEREPEATERREDSTONECOMPARATORTRiPWiREHOOKCOMMANDBLOCKSTiCKYPiSTONALiENSSPECiESFAiRiESDEiTiESGODSCLOWNSROBOTSANDROiDSARTiFiCiALiNTELLiGENCESBRAiNSPOWERSiNTELLiGENCEQUOTiENTSWORMSTAPEWORMSTUBESTUMORSCANCERSHOSTSENTiTiESFUNGiSPARASiTESBACTERiASAMiCROORGANiSMSMUSHROOMSSURGERiESSCiENCESPHYSiCSWiTCHCRAFTSMAGiCSVOODOOSHOODOOSWiZARDSWARLOCKSCULTSSECRETSOCiETiSALTEREGOSiNNERDEMONSCROSSROADDEMONSMEDiCALTREATMENTS AND

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romancatholicreflections · 7 years

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17th February >> Daily Reflection on Today's First Reading (Genesis 11:1-9) for Roman Catholics on Friday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

Commentary on Genesis 11:1-9 Today we come to the end of our selected readings from the story of Creation and our tragic fall from the life that God originally intended for us, the “original blessing” described by the writer Matthew Fox. The story is based on the temple towers called ‘ziggurats’ in ancient Babylon, a city with few happy memories for the Israelites and, for them, the home of idolatry and religious corruption. The context is used by the writer to show humanity’s increasing wickedness, here shown by an arrogant desire to create an urban culture without God. A secondary theme is an explanation of the huge diversity of languages and dialects in people who, in most respects, seem so similar and also an explanation for the meaning of the name ‘Babylon’. Like the garden of Eden story, it is a folktale of human pride and folly and reflecting Israel’s strong anti-urban bias. We are told that originally the whole of humanity had just one language and one vocabulary. Then the world’s people migrated from the east and settled in the plain of Shinar. This is ancient Sumer in southern Mesopotamia (today, southern Iraq) and also known as Babylonia. Here they developed construction techniques learning how to make bricks instead of stone and bitumen as mortar. Bricks were so easy to make and so convenient when compared to the tedious process of cutting stone. Buildings could be bigger and constructed so much more quickly. Stone and mortar were used as building materials in Canaan, rocky country where the Israelites lived. Stone was scarce in Mesopotamia so mud brick and bitumen were used, as indicated by archaeological excavations. The people in Shinar decided to build a whole city with a tower that would reach penetrating the heavens. This is a direct reference to the chief ziggurat of Babylon, the E-sag-ila, signifying “the house that raises high its head”. Ziggurats were pyramidic temples intended to serve as staircases from earth to heaven. They were square at the base and had sloping, stepped sides that led to a small shrine at the top. They could be called the earliest ‘skyscrapers’. They were intended to symbolise the holy mountain and resting-place of the deity and the builders were apparently seeking a means of meeting their god. But the biblical writer sees their project as an act of arrogant pride. The theme of the tower is combined with that of the whole city, as a condemnation of urban civilisation. They built this tower because “otherwise we shall be scattered abroad over the face of the earth”. As so often, the root of overweening ambition is often fear. (The very rich are often those who were once very poor.) God was not at all pleased with what he saw. They were all one people, united by a common language and this was only the beginning of what they could do. Nothing would seem impossible. There would be no limits to their unrestrained rebellion against God. The kingdom of Man would try to displace and exclude the kingdom of God (something often seen today). In order to put a stop to such ambition, God says: “Let us go down, confuse their language and they will not be able to understand one another.” The result was that, divided by incomprehensible languages, they were scattered over the face of the earth and the building of their city had to be abandoned. The very thing they feared took place. Finally, the city was called Babel, because it was there that the Lord had thrown the language of the earth into confusion and scattered the earth’s peoples in all directions. ‘Babel’ is the Hebrew form of the name ‘Babylon’, originally ‘Bab-ili’ meaning “Gate of the gods”. Apparently the name referred originally only to a certain part of the city, the district near the gate that led to the temple area. There is a play here on the similarly-sounding Hebrew word balil, which means “he confused”. For the biblical writer, the dream of building a tower reaching up to heaven is just another example of the sinfulness of the human family, this time of their arrogance and pride. It is a repetition of the sin of the man and the woman in the garden who thought they would gain infinite wisdom by eating the forbidden fruit. There is also a theological explanation of why our single species, once thought to be living in one place and sharing one language, is now so divided by language and why we are scattered and separated over such a wide area. Arrogance can be found in many places today and a feeling that we are in total control of our lives and our destinies. But a September 11 or a tsunami reminds us just how fragile and contingent our existence really is. On the positive side, however, the divisions of Babel and mutual incomprehensibility are reversed on the day of Pentecost. As Peter speaks to the crowds coming from so many different places, they are amazed that they can all understand the message. It is a Message for Everyone and one which is in total harmony with the deepest needs and desires of every single person. (Acts 2:5-12) There is a similar gathering of the whole of humanity in the presence of God described in the Book of Revelation (Rev 7:9-10). It is our mission as followers of Christ to work for the establishment of the Kingdom where all are united in truth and love as brothers and sisters. There is still a lot of work to be done.

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know2c · 7 years

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TO BE IN THE WORLD BUT NOT OF THE WORLD!

TO BE IN THE WORLD AND NOT OF THE WORLD! Leo Emmanuel Lochard "Forgiven Builder" February 3, 2017

Meanwhile, “the house of Israel,” as a pre-figuring of “the children of Humankind” went from “Eden” to “the Tower of Babel” (“the world system” then attempted by Nimrod) “after passing through” the Great Flood during Noah’s time. Then, from that failed Tower-of-Babel attempt, “the children of Israel, ended-up in “Egypt” as “slaves,” after they had sold Joseph, their brother, into slavery to the Ishmaelites — “Egypt,” that is, representing, symbolizing, and pre-figuring “the world system,” again). Then, from “Egypt” to “the Wilderness;” from “the Wilderness” to “Jerusalem” – “City of peace;” (City of Jebus, in Canaan, belonging to the Jebusites) which God had “allowed” the “Israelites” to “capture by the sword.”

And finally, from “geographical Jerusalem” to captivity in “geographical Babylon!” From “Eden” to “Babylon!” But that is not “God’s plan” for Humanity! “The house of Israel” had also tried to “make a king” of Jesus when He dwelled on the Earth; but Christ explained to all that His kingdom “is not of this world!”

The “house of Israel” had refused God’s calling to dwell in the world as “sojourners” on the Earth sent-forth by God to be “missionaries” amongst “all the Gentiles” so as to become “a light unto all the nations!” “Because of you my name is cursed amongst the Gentiles!”

Now, as heaven beckons and Earth awaits the Lordship of Christ Jesus Messiah, “the children of the house of Israel” are feverishly targeting “Babylon the great, the mother of harlots” as a final “place of comfort and wealth” in this material world! And then what? No U-haul behind a hearse! No immortality is ever obtained from any earthly possessions! “Fool, this night your soul is required of you!”

Now, even after Christ came, died for us, and rose from the dead: Zionist Jews still want to “make it,” again, from Jerusalem to “Babylon the great, the mother of harlots!”

So you see, my dear brother, without Jesus Christ Messiah, the world remains on a horrible almost never-ending journey of bloody aggression creeping from failure to failure: From “Eden” to “Egypt;” and from “the Wilderness” to “Jerusalem;” and for finally “landing in Babylon” as their frightful journey is climaxing, terminably, as revealed in the book of Revelation, to the “one-world governance system:” “Babylon the great, the mother of harlots!”

But meanwhile, we are commanded by Christ to be “in the world but not of it!” To be born anew of the Spirit is to “do the truth in love” and “to love in deed and truth,” not only in words (1 John 3:18, KJV). We are not to continue to wallow in corrupt fleshly gain, which is “the mammon of unrighteousness,” while coveting “total-world control!”

I am a faithful Christian who is also an active representative of Christ Jesus Messiah in the world and on the Earth, and I am also committed to obey our Lord’s commands to be peacemakers in the world. Jesus’ own words in Matthew 5:9, KJV commands us to be peacemakers and we shall be called “sons of God,” even as we are practicing our righteous faith in love, compassion, and meekness.

We have been empowered by our Lord Christ Jesus Messiah of all flesh with “a spirit of power, love, and sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7, KJV) in order to “do the Truth in love;” for perfect love casts out fear and the whole law is summed up in this: You shall love your neighbor as yourself! (Galatians 5:1; 13-15; Colossians 3:12-17; Philippians 2:3-4; 1 John 4:18, KJV).

I am a faithful Christian follower of our Lord and Savior Messiah Christ Jesus! American constitutional law of the United States, public acts, and laws pursuant thereof, protect all Human Rights and Civil Rights of all its people, not only Christians, but also all other religions and people-groups under its lawful jurisdiction and authority, except Satanism accompanied by cruel abusive rites of torture, Human sacrifice, and intensive drug abuse!

By all our understanding of the Scriptures, “the Zionist State of the Jews,” is “the abomination of desolation which standeth in the holy place,” as prophesied by Daniel in the Old Testament and as brought to our remembrance by Jesus Christ Messiah in the New Testament, is representing a sign of “the time of the end,” whereby Antichrist will attempt to take-over, extort, expropriate, command, and control “Babylon the great, the mother of harlots,” which is the “one-world system of total governance” lusting after a “one-world government,” as upheld and enforced via one-world religion, one-world currency, one-world language, and one-world global economy.”

Knowing this then, — that the piece of land over which Zionists rule with warlike cruelty and violent hostility is “the abomination of desolation standing in the holy place, — puts us faithful Christians in a humbling position of divine responsibility to fulfill our Christ-centered obligations on the Earth while living as “sojourners” and “strangers” as we duly escape the enthrallments of “the world system” that is “in the making” — “Babylon the great, the mother of harlots” — “the new world order;” or “Globalism,” or whatever label Satan would put on it.

Because of their obstinate rebellion against the Messiah of God, Christ Jesus as promised through all the Scriptures, what has happened to Humankind is “pre-figured” by “the house of Israel,” “the Israelites,” “the children of Israel,” as they have been “journeying from “Eden” to one “Babylon” or another! Let he who has ears hear and understand!

And only Jesus Christ Messiah can “put a stop to it!” But neither the Zionist Jews nor the Palestinian Arabs have Jesus Christ Messiah, and therefore, neither people-group “has the Father!” (John 1:1-18; John 17:3, KJV). Hence, the complexity of our works of faith on the Earth in the name of Jesus Christ Messiah of all flesh!

Because I do not share the “Ba’al-worshipping agenda” to which “the house of Israel” continues to cling — Remember, from “the golden calf” and materialistic attachment to corrupt earthly gain, “the mammon of unrighteousness” that proceeded from “Egypt” to finally climax into “Babylon the great, the mother of harlots,” — such a thing as the so-called “sovereignty of Israel,” is an oxymoron (actually, a misnomer having nothing to do with “The Israel of God” prophesied to us in the Scriptures — Galatians Chapters 3- 6, KJV)!

“Physical-Geographical Israel” no longer exists: Once Christ rose from the dead by fulfilling God’s plan of Salvation for Humanity as laid out under the Old Covenant, God willed that in A.D. 70, the Roman General, Titus, of the Roman Empire, destroyed both “the temple of stone” and the “city of Jerusalem!” The Apostles were first called “Christian” in Antioch, Syria! (Acts 11: 25-26, KJV). We are the temple of God wherein indwells His Holy Spirit in Christ Jesus Messiah — 1 Corinthians 3: 16-23; 1 Corinthians 6: 19-20; 2 Corinthians 6: 14-18, KJV! God’s commandments are, not on “tablets of stone,” but “written on tablets of human hearts!” (2 Corinthians 3:1-3, KJV).

We are commanded by God in the Holy Spirit of Christ Jesus Messiah to be in the world but not of it! God's kingdom is "not of this present Jerusalem," nor of this present world, nor of this present "Babylon!" We await the Jerusalem from heaven! We walk by faith not by sight!

God bless America, the land of the free and the home of the brave! A shining beacon of God-given Liberty on the face of Planet Earth until Christ our loving Messiah and Lord returns to establish "a new heaven and a new earth!" ***

#in the world but not of it

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forgivenbuilder · 7 years

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TO BE IN THE WORLD AND NOT OF THE WORLD!

TO BE IN THE WORLD AND NOT OF THE WORLD! Leo Emmanuel Lochard "Forgiven Builder" February 3, 2017

Now, even after Christ came, died for us, and rose from the dead: Zionist Jews still want to “make it,” again, from Jerusalem to “Babylon the great, the mother of harlots!”

#to be in the world but not of the world

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americaistheoldworld · 4 years

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Ancient Mesopotamia was in the Americas

The Tower of Babel

The Cholula pyramid, aka, The Tower of Babel is the largest pyramid in the world and one of the oldest too, because we are dealing with a step pyramid here, which were your first pyramids. This image is a small scale version of the real Cholula Pyramid in Puebla, Mexico.

Ancient Scripts in South America

The book, "Ancient Scripts in South America," by Dr. Cyde Winters demonstrates that the Sumerians were in South America. Sumerian scripts have been found in South America

Map of Lower Mesopotamia and lower Egypt

This is a Old Testament map of Ancient America that shows you lower mesopotamia, lower Egypt, Babylon, Israel, Jerusalem, Moab, and etc.

Ancient Mesopotamia was in South America

Map of Mesopotamia in Argentina, South America. I have three other Old World maps that verify his one. This map is very significance, because Ancient Mesopotamia is considered to be the birthplace of civilization, so yes this map is more evidence demonstrating that America is the True Old world.

Ancient Mesopotamia was in South America

Well, they have it written in their His-story (history) books that Ancient Mesopotamia is the birthplace of civilization or the cradle of civilization, because of the Fertile Crescent which gave rise to the oldest civilization, Ancient Sumer (Khmer/Khumer/khem). However, they forgot to transport all of the Sumerian artifacts that they found in the Americas to the Middle East. According to Reuters, over 3,800 Sumerian Artifacts are being given to Iraq to help support the false notion of the East being older than the West (the Far East): https://www.reuters.com/article/us-usa-iraq-artifacts/u-s-returns-thousands-of-smuggled-ancient-artifacts-to-iraq-idUSKBN1I326R?il=0&fbclid=IwAR0A601JpBwKkFuNTeN7lN1dUPeNw468DzgzGxtZTc8tCM2iyyZRJfldsKQ. I laughed at the World News article from Reuters that I shared, because they needed more evidence than just the few Sumerian clay tablets that they took from the Americas to the Mesopotamia region, which is now present day Iraq, just to sell this Ancient Middle East story to begin with. It takes a really good thief to be able to smuggle over 3,800 artifacts, including stone tablets, from Iraq to America. How was that possible? You see, there excuse to explain away the 3,800 Sumerian artifacts does not even make sense, therefore, the Sumerian Artifacts were native to the Americas. This is very believable too, because you have already learned via my previous blog posts that America is the True Old world.

The Americas is the real Mesopotamia and the Real Babylon, Sumerian Culture, (see maps in this post) because they have found thousands of Sumerian artifacts in the Americas: North, South, and Central America. According to Dr. Clyde Winters book, “Ancient Scripts of South America: The Sumerians in South America,” the Sumerians were in South America, because Sumerian scripts were found in South America.

THE TOWER OF BABEL WAS THE CHOLULA PYRAMID IN MEXICO:

According to the book, “The North Americans of Antiquity: Their Origin, Migrations, and Type of Civilization Considered,” by John T. Short, “The entire Region bore the name of Anahuac Xicalanco, – the first great exploit of the Olmec chiefs, the destruction of the giants, we observe was performed at some distance from their earliest settlement. The state of Puebla became their chosen ground, and quite soon after the above achievements they undertook the building of the famous Tower of Babel. Several authors state that the erection of the Pyramid of Cholula was done in memory of the erection of the Tower of Babel, at which it is claimed the ancestors of the Olmec Chiefs were present” [end quote].

Herodotus and Diodorus confirm that the Temple of Jupiter Belus, resembles the Temple of Babel in Teocallis of Anahuac. “It is impossible to read the descriptions, which Herodotus and Diodorus Siculus have left us of the Temple of Jupiter Belus, without being struck with the resemblance of that Babylonian monument to the Teocallis of Anahuac” [end quote from, “The North Americans of Antiquity: Their Origin, Migrations, and Type of Civilization Considered,” by John T. Short]. In this blog post is a small scale image of the Cholula pyramid, aka, the Tower of Babel.

LOWER MESOPOTAMIA WAS THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER SYSTEM.

The Old Testament Map of America confirms the fact that the first Fertile Crescent was the Mississippi River system and the fertile lands along the mighty Miss-Isis (Mississippi) river, because it appears from the Old Testament Map that Lower Mesopotamia was the fertile lands along the Mississippi River system. This makes perfect sense to me, because the oldest indigenous people in the World, “The Washitaw Muurs,” used the mighty Mississippi River as their fertile crescent, since the annual flooding of the Mississippi River produced mineral rich silt that produced fertile lands along the Mississippi River system. The Fertile lands along the Mississippi River fed most of the people in the Old World with wheat, corn, beans, rice (all of which are native to the Americas) and etc., so it’s very possible that the Mississippi River system was your first fertile crescent; especially, in light of the fact that the Mississippi River system still is responsible for feeding most of the World today.

The Washitaw were known as the ancient ones and the Mound Builders, because they built all of the mounds along the Mississippi River. The Mississippi River was also your first Nile River. This Old Testament Map of Ancient America shows you Babylon (Sumer), Lower Mesopotamia, Lower Egypt, and Jerusalem, all in North America. Credits for this map is given to UBNEWZ for the great share. UBNEWZ was a Hebrew News media outlet that was once on YouTube.

The Americas was Ancient Sumer, because Amurru was the Sumerian/Akkadian god of the Amorites (Amerites), aka, the mound Builders, the Amurru Washitaw Dedugdahmoundyah Muurs/Mu/ Maur/Moor/Meroe. The Amurru Washitaw Dedugdahmoundyah Mu’urs are the oldest indigenous people in the world, according to the UNITED NATIONS. Now, let’s see if we can tie the Sumerian god Amurru (the Westerner/the Serpent/the dragon) to an ancient tribe of people in the Americas. Well, the Amurru Washitaw de Dugdahmoundyah Muurs are the oldest indigenous people on the planet according to the UN: http://thewashitawmoors.blogspot.com/.

The original name of America was Amurru, according to the Webster 1936 Universal Dictionary, the word “American is defined as an Aboriginal or one of the various copper color natives found on the American Continents by the Europeans. The original application of the name was AMURRU.” [end quote] To drive this point, “AMURRU,” (the Westerner/ the Serpent/ the dragon) home, all of the names of the Native-American tribes trace back to the title serpent/dragon (Naga/Nigga), which makes sense because the worship of the serpent/Dragon (Kundalini ascension/Chakra alignment) was the chief symbol in the Americas. The flag of Mexico is the Eagle (the phoenix) killing the serpent (the dragon). Mexico (Amexem/Olmec/Old Mexican) was part of the Washitaw/Wa-Shu-Taw(X) Mu’ur Empire and Mexico use to cover South, Central, and North America. Mexico used to extend all the way up into Canada.

Nova Scotia (New Scotland) was in Canada (Wa-canada), aka, Khananland. Nova Scotia was also called Acadia (Akkadia as in a city in Ancient Sumer). Nova Scotia, aka, Acadia (Akkadia) was also in Amurru-Ka (America), because the Acadia National park, which covers Maine and the New England states is in America. Maine and the New England Territory has a rich Viking (Danes) History and that area was called Nova France (New France). Nova Scotia was also called France, so we have a strong connection, and I even found a 1580 map of America, by Clüver, Philipp, from the Stanford College University Library that verifies that a portion of Canada and the New England states were once called France: https://exhibits.stanford.edu/california-as-a…/…/sg969dj3089. You have to click on the map to zoom in so you can see Nova Fran (France) on the map. Yes, the original French were the Franks/Clan Ross (Rus/Andrews/Andros) and they were French Maurs (Blackamoors), aka, Berber Merovingian’s. This also explains why you have a French Quarters in Louisiana and they also refer to themselves as Acadians (Akkadians).

Even the Sumerians who worshipped Amurru, were the Amorites. You can get the word America very easily from Amor/Amer (Ameri-ka/Ameri-khan/Al-Meri-Khan/Al-Meri-Khem/Al-Mer-Ra-Ka/Al-morocco), because with ancient Semitic/Kemitic languages like Hebrew and Aramaic the vowels are interchangeable. Let’s play with both Amurru and Amor to see how many Americans (Amurru-khans) we can come up with. Now, please keep in mind that you have the god Amurru (Muur/Mu/Lemuria/Mer/Maur/Meru/Meroe) in the Word America. For example, Amaur-ka, (T)a-mer-Inca (America), Amen-Ra-Ka, Al Morocco (Al-mer-Ra-Ka), Ameru-Ka, Amexem (Mexico), and etc. You see, etymology is very powerful true science.

UPPER MESOPOTAMIA WAS NEAR ARGENTINA, SOUTH AMERICA:

In this blog post is 4 maps that demonstrate that Mesopotamia was near Argentina, South America. Are these maps incorrect? Can we trust these maps? Yes, because according to the Bible and Common law, “the interlocking testimony of two or more witnesses is truth in commerce.” Interlocking is when the witnesses say the same thing. Sure I can fight with these maps because I provide 4 witnesses that said the same thing, however, I like to take it a step further by giving you all more evidence.

In this blog post I shared a book written by Dr. Cyde Winters called, “Ancient Scripts in South America,” which demonstrates that the Sumerians were in South America since Sumerian scripts have been found in South America. This book is strong evidence suggesting that ancient Mesopotamia was in the Americas, because Sumer was in the Americans since Sumerian script was found. Now, once we factor in all of the evidence: 3800 Sumerian artifacts given to Iraq; Sumerian scripts found in South America; the Tower of Babel in Mexico; the 5 maps with Mesopotamia being located in the Americas; and the Mississippi River system (the first fertile crescent), the evidence is overwhelming to suggest that the Americas was the first Ancient Mesopotamia.

The post Ancient Mesopotamia was in the Americas appeared first on America is the Old World.

source https://www.americaistheoldworld.com/ancient-mesopotamia-was-in-the-americas/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=ancient-mesopotamia-was-in-the-americas

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