#Sorrow Resplendent - City of the Free | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deliciousscaloppine · 4 years

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Don’t be evil anymore.

Don’t be evil anymore, Chapters 1 to 13 (Words: 13283 ), Focused on Nie Huaisang with flashbacks to his relationship with Mingjue and Jin Guangyao. Pairing: Nieyao & Sangyao. Mature for some adult background themes in the story such as sex, prostitution and mentions of pederasty as a social practice, but nothing graphic.

After Jin Guangyao’s death, Nie Huaisang travels to the bustling city of spectacle, Kaifeng in order to grieve privately. He meets various people representing various facets of Jin Guangyao, and slowly works out his issues of guilt,regret and grief.

Chapter 1: Don't be evil anymore.

“Sorrow is an indulgence” Nie Mingjue had said. “An indulgence he taught you!”

He knew when Meng Yao left, that without him to soften Mingjue's edges, the two brothers would descend into daily chaos. Mingjue needed someone to vent all his angered frustration and all Huaisang wanted was to tear everyone above him down, just so he would be free of their control.

“But brother, aren't you also sad?” he had asked.

Mingjue had stopped at this. He had wanted to say things like “I don't sit idle. I shoulder all the burdens. I don't submerge myself in vague worries.” But he had said nothing. He had only sat down and drank.

“Pour yourself a drink” he had said and passed him a cup.

“To your health.” he says now raising his cup to an empty seat. Sorrow is an indulgence, his brother was right. And because he doesn't want his subjects to see him indulge himself with tears, he sometimes flees here, to the bustling night life of Kaifeng. The instruments in the courtyard scream and bellow at him, chasing away the memories, as the many actors surge on the makeshift stage below for some drama.

For over a decade he bided his time, torn between absolute hate and startling sympathy for Meng Yao. And when he finally set in motion his plans, he thought he would be free. Because the worst anguish was not the grief for his brother, but rather his conflicting feelings for Meng Yao.

It's now twice as difficult to release himself from them. He catches himself at the oddest times thinking “This little bauble would have pleased Meng Yao.” As if he doesn't want to forget. So much like his brother he tries to pry Meng Yao from his heart, only to end up empty, bitter and angry.

“I never revealed these things to you, because I knew you had an affection for him. But he took the lives of many people, Huaisang, and he will continue to take. He has a real thirst for blood. If you had only seen how he culled our disciples. He is no longer human, and his evil will only grow as long as no one confronts him.”

No, Huaisang had thought, but very soon he found out himself. That's why his brother had been so distressed. The little handsome soldier he liked to kiss, killed. He took heads with a smile.

A young waitress arrives to clear his table. “Young Master, you've been drinking alone all night. Don't you want to go back to your room and rest?”

He gives her a smile. “I can handle my drinks. Don't worry, young lady, I won't make trouble.”

If he regrets anything, it's the time he lost. How would he love to have been the person he is now when his brother was alive. Perhaps then catastrophe could have been avoided. Perhaps his brother would still live in much better times, and together they could travel the world and laugh and cry at its odd sights. Poor Nie Mingjue lived such a short, such a hard life, and the only pleasure he took, he paid for it dearly with his own life.

He holds his head up to look at the actors below, immersed in their difficult, unrealistic drama. For hours it seems he looks without paying attention. Just trying not to think. His eyes drifting shut from time to time. Don't remember. Don't remember. Don't remember. Like an invocation to oblivion.

“Oh, how I love killing men!” a youthful voice calls from below. “With sword or spear for my father's glory, I take their lives!”

“A blooming peony in blood.” the woeful voice of the narrator laments. “See the little prince, how he claims heads on the battlefield.”

He opens his eyes. A young actor spins in a mock battle amidst fake blades and spears, pretending to be a prince to an evil king who battles the play's noble heroes.

“There is no villainy he will not do, no desecration too unholy. Such a hard heart to go with his youthful face. So many tears shed as many as an ocean.”

“I pierce their bodies with my blade, none who face me live to see the next day. And if the very sun turned against me, with my hands I'll bring it down!”

Huaisang can't help but smile at the boastful declarations of the young soldier who twirls on stage killing his brave foes. There's something about the bend of this one's waist, something in the tone of his voice that brings to mind Meng Yao. His brother's Meng Yao, the one that killed men and smiled.

“Young lady!” he calls to the waitress, who comes ready to scold him. “Who is the master of the troupe?” he asks. “Could you call him to my table, I would like to make a contribution.”

The waitress pleased, runs off and returns later with an elderly gentleman. Before even the first round of treats arrives, he passes to him a pouch full of silver coins.

“Such talented actors.” he remarks. “You must have worked hard to discipline them. If possible I would like to meet them all and congratulate them.”

The old master mutters his thanks, he would like to know where this young master is from and if he has any thoughts about the play they are acting.

“I am rich and I am idle, and I appreciate beauty. I've travelled from afar and I consider Kaifeng to be my home more than any other place on this land. Here one may find as many diversions as the heart desires.”

The old master laughs, and the young soldier below resumes killing.

The next day he sees the array of yesterday's painted faces without their makeup on. Polite and soft-spoken, ordinarily dressed, he has great difficulty recognizing the evil prince among them. There are several young men, all willowy and handsome, but not a face that resembles Meng Yao.

“The evil peony prince? Who is he among you?”

A boy dashes forward with his head kept low in modesty. “It's me.” he mutters with a hint of restlessness about his shoulders.

Huaisang let's himself see this face. A stranger's face, but now that it speaks it's becoming a little more familiar.

“Are you perhaps from Yunmeng?” he asks.

“That's right! How did you know?” the boy exclaims astounded.

“I once knew someone from Yunmeng. You remind me of him. Do you perhaps know the Meng family?”

The boy suddenly laughs. There's a slight rudeness in his smile.

“Where are your manners?” the old master warns. “Answer to this gentleman.”

The boy lowers his face, his handsome eyes still shining with mirth.

“There's no such thing as Meng family. It's a moniker people use there when they have an ugly past. Like criminals and prostitutes. They use this name when they return to society so their families don't face embarassment and humiliation.”

“Ah, I did not know that.” Huaisang says pleasantly, even though for some reason he wants to cry like a child.

He reaches for a pouch full of silver and hands it to the boy.

“You are a good actor.” he says. “From now on ask your master to let you play characters that are good too.”

Chapter 2: The secret

When his brother had vanished, shortly after that Jin Guangyao arrived at Qinghe to manage the various issues of his succession. He had known when he first saw him come and greet him that his brother was now dead. He had made many efforts to find him before Guangyao, but his sworn brother had more men and more power in his disposal and was afraid that his plot would be discovered.

The tears he was shedding at the time were all real. It is a terrible thing to lose family to evil men and know there is no one to award you justice. His heart had broken in two. No matter what was at stake he could not bring himself to defend his position as heir. His thoughts were: Let it all go to hell. I will retreat to some cavern, or mountain peak like some ascetic and there pray for enlightenment. Let them all kill each other, tear themselves apart.

But Guangyao had only taken a single step, casting a single glance, before reverting to old Meng Yao, ready to shield his defenseless prince. It's you that I am afraid, Huaisang had wanted to scream at him.

Meng Yao had asked: “Who is giving you trouble?”

You, you a thousand you. But he couldn't even rage. Only clasp his sleeves and shed tears on his shoulders wordlessly. What a knife Meng Yao was, thrust and twisted in his very guts. But he was crying on him, receiving his consolations. Whatever dissidence there had been vanished in a total of three days. Whoever saw the golden prince of Lanling, fell silent and apologized.

Some uncles from the side of Mingjue's mother, who had wanted a nephew of theirs to take over the Qinghe Nie feared that against the Jin they would lose the very kingdom. They took Huaisang's side willingly after that. The people's shock from seeing this foreign prince manage the fortress reminded him for the first time after his brother's disappearance, that he was not all alone in the world.

There were others who could resent Meng Yao with him. So close your heart and keep shedding tears, he had told himself.

But Meng Yao was no monster at the time. He never had his father's backing, no Lanling Jin would come to wage war with the Qinghe Nie over a useless prince. But all the same, he knew he could get the same results parading alone in his resplendent robes emblazoned with the blooming peony of his Clan. Once that was settled he threw over his golden vestments a grey mantle, so that only Huaisang would shine in his funeral white.

His brother's funeral, a funeral without a body, had been the most notable event of the year. Talked about not only for its splendor and its many mourners, but also for the kindness of the remaining sworn brothers who supported the new king of Hejian. A king! His brother had been a king, much like those of old. Huaisang had no idea what he was.

“Eat a little. It's not doing your brother any good if you are starving.” Meng Yao had said and tried to feed him.

Huaisang looked at the food in the private banquet and had wanted to laugh. If he had been the man his brother was, he would have throttled Meng Yao, or like those kings of old, he would have taken a sword and cut his head off at that very instant. But instead he had taken his chopsticks.

“Thank you, third brother” he had said.

He had fallen asleep directly afterwards from exhaustion and numbness. Meng Yao had led him into his new chambers, he had even set his bed for him. Before he could leave, Huaisang had convinced him to stay. So he had slept soundly in a feeling of encompassing safety, with Meng Yao by his bed like the old days. He remembered that was his brother's killer only after he woke up.

The difficulty of hating people you know is hating the parts of them inside you he found out that day.

“I have a secret.” he had whispered behind his fan a long time ago.

“What secret?” Meng Yao had smiled at him.

“I am in love with you.”

“That's not a secret.” Meng Yao had laughed.

“Why not? I haven't told it.”

“That's not how secrets work. A secret is something you can't say. And besides even if you hadn't told me before, I knew it already.”

“You are so clever, Meng Yao. Pray tell, how did you find out? Or is it because others think you are so handsome you now guess half of them are in love with you.”

Meng Yao had snickered at that behind his hand.

“You love me” he said. “Because we are alike.”

Huaisang had paused at that. Oh, Meng Yao thinks I am smart. He had smiled back then, only to cry bitterly later. Not smart. Soft. He had thought I was soft like him. But at some point in life Meng Yao had stopped being soft. Or he could slip in and out of it regardless of the violence he committed. Meng Yao, violent and dangerous, who would have thought.

“Young Master, you are not even paying attention!” the boy cried falling into his arms.

A small red dot was adorning his forehead. That wouldn't do. He licked his thumb and wiped it out.

“My face!” the boy exclaimed.

“I'll paint you a better one, go get your brushes.”

“You are so strange today, Young Master.” the boy complained setting his tray of things at his side. “Are you perhaps offended because of what I said about the surname Meng?”

“Of course not! Why would I be offended by something like that.” Huaisang said dabbing the boy's smudged forehead with white paint.

“The other actors scolded me. They said I shouldn't have said that because you probably liked that friend of yours from Yunmeng. And now it's as if I have insulted him.”

Huaisang smiled, licking the tip of the brush to smooth it out.

“He was a rascal that friend of mine. It's dishonorable to hold grudges against new acquaintances in order to preserve the memory of old ones”

The boy squinted his eyes in an effort to understand. He wiped the excessive ink and with careful motions he painted a crescent moon on the boy's forehead.

“What mark is that?” the boy asked with half-closed eyes.

“A crescent moon. It's the mark of an upright and just person.” Huaisang said. “You are good now, are you not?”

“Oh, yes, I uphold justice.” the boy said cheekily and run off back to the stage to fight the wicked.

Huaisang hid behind his fan, pretending to admire the mountainous landscape. Something was biting at his heart. It hurt like a venomous snake spitting its venom into his freshest wounds. He had flown all the way to Gusu to maybe laugh at Xichen. He had thought this seclusion of his was only a rumor. Arrving there it had given him some pleasure to find out the rumor had been true.

But now he realizes it was never repentance. Just common sense, the instinct of self-preservation. What person can trust themselves when they've hurt the one they love. I do not love, Huaisang had said to himself. I do not love at all. Not him. Not anyone. But the secret had been that he did.

Chapter 3: When the virtuous are wicked.

When desires become strange, when they turn inside and become tangled like the roots of old dying trees, it's best to pacify the soul with sleep. Or that's what Huaisang had always thought. Whenever something became too difficult he knew the best comfort would be in the embrace of a soft bed. Of course his desires never became so strange as to be avoided until now when he is plagued more and more often by an odd idea.

“I heard about a new play today.” the boy says. “A company in the far north is very fond of it and I think the Young Master should seek them out and ask them to play it for him.”

“Oh, what play is that?” he says catching brief glimpses of his reflection in the water. The boat glides effortlessly on the peaceful waters, floating on the very image of the heavens. It's a bright day, and other boats float around them, each filled with a host of wealthy clients, courtesans and all the divertisements under the sky of Kaifeng.

“I don't know if this will come across as rude.” the boy says. “But it's a love story.”

“Love?” Huaisang asks opening his fan. “What does someone as young as you have to do with love?”

The boy blushes, but can't help smiling mischieviously. “I have ears” he says. “People think I don't, but I do! I can't help but listen what they say.”

“Who talks of love? The other actors?”

“Yes. They say this person from Yunmeng must have been very close to your heart.”

“Why do they say that? I mentioned him but once.”

“It's because I reminded you of him and you have given me silver and watched my shows, and doted on me. They say you must have wanted to dote on him.”

Perhaps he drank too much last night, and now he will be handsomely rewarded with a headache.

“Can you ask the waitress for some water. I hardly slept last night.”

“Did this person you loved, perhaps die?” the boy asks when he returns with water.

“Actually he did.” he answers trying to suppress the violent surge of emotion.

“Then this play is perfect for you. It's about two monks from a temple in the mountains. They fall deeply in love, but their love is forbidden! One of them shunned by the other, made desperate by feelings of unrequited love kills himself. But he is then reborn as a beautiful princess!”

“Let me guess, the other monk falls in love with this princess.”

“Exactly!”

“What a depressing play. No king would wed a beautiful princess to an old monk. I guess they both die in the end.”

“My master says that people like sorrowful endings and powerful feelings. It makes them appreciate the comfort and simplicity of their lives.”

“Ah, I am already very appreciative. I do not need to see a depressing play. Oh, well, it's no good now, you ruined my morning, little delinquent. Just hearing the plot made me depressed.” he says and falls back on the many cushions of his seat.

“I thought you would like it.” the boy mumbles looking down.

“Why would I like such a thing?”

“Because the young man is reborn. He comes back and his friend returns his feelings of affection.”

“You have a point there, but if my friend came back, I would be very old by the time I could show him affection. Nobody likes an old man entertaining thoughts of love for a very young person. Such a thing is distasteful...Besides, my friend will not return.”

“Was he so virtuous?”

“His last name was Meng, wasn't it? You said it...criminals and prostitutes.”

“This person sounds more and more interesting by the moment.” the boy said sitting down and playing with his braided hair.

What an odd notion, he thinks and lies back looking at the sky. Certainly not. Not ever. Not even if it meant some form of happiness.

“Why not?” he had once asked.

“Because it wouldn't be proper.” Meng Yao had said.

He had forgotten Meng Yao was both virtuous and wicked. There was nothing he could pin on him It was tragic. The heir of the Lanling Jin slept and rose early, he didn't drink and didn't gamble, he was pious and filial, he did not letch, he did not embezzle, he protected and strengthened the weak and greeted even those who insulted him with a smile.

And he was a murderer, but the blood of his victims did not stain his blade. It had made Huaisang almost go mad. His victims didn't bleed on him. Mad, mad it had made him.

“Why wouldn't it be proper?” he had pressed.

“Your brother wouldn't approve.”

“My brother isn't here anymore.”

What does one do when the wicked are virtuous? What does one do! he had cried desperately. There was no lure to bait Meng Yao. No trap that would appeal to him. Nothing he could do.

“It's natural to feel this way” Meng Yao had said. “It's because you are grieving.”

“Then help me. Help me forget.”

What does one do when the virtuous are wicked. What does one do?

Chapter 4: A man who tears down the things his friend builds.

“Alright.” Meng Yao had said and his eyes were tired and vulnerable and guilty all at once. “If it would relieve you.”

Meng Yao had managed only to become more beautiful in his eyes. He wondered how long would this beauty last. Would it go on forever? Would Meng Yao become something of a myth. The poor boy that was cheated, beaten and abandoned, and still became king. Huaisang had never known the slightest hardship. How was it to sleep without food? He didn't know. He never had to.

“I am so alone” Huaisang had said and kissed him. He hoped that if he whispered Meng Yao's thoughts back to him that would seduce him. How many beaten children become kings? They must all feel pretty lonely.

At the time he himself couldn't discern what he really wanted as he brushed his own fingers against Meng Yao's hair, his eyes red and swollen with tears. The obvious thing would have been to kill him. He wanted to and it would be easy to wait for him to go to sleep and then smother him with a pillow, or slip poison in his mouth. Or even better sink a knife into his breast.

But if that had happened, and the body had been discovered in his bedroom, then Huaisang would be the mad, deranged prince who killed the heir of Lanling and done things to his body. The kingdom would pale and fall apart before a single soldier arrived to lay siege at it.

So what did he seek when he protested with so many tears? Was he really the spoiled prince demanding love? A love that was bitter just so he could justify to himself the onslaught of cruel emotions?

“You loved my brother, didn't you?” he had asked Meng Yao kissing his shoulder; his arm around his waist, as they both lied on the same bed with their hair sticking to each other's skin. He couldn't help but remark at how perfect, how restful their embrace was. As if there was peace between them.

“I still do.” Meng Yao had said and hidden his face in the crook of his arm.

Huaisang had known Meng Yao was seeking his brother all along. It was Mingjue he missed when he let Huaisang make love to him. It was his name he was trying not to utter when he was pressing his lips. He had loved every gentle moment, keeping his eyes open for it just as Meng Yao refused steadily to see. He couldn't help but blame Meng Yao for this selfish lust.

Of course, it had been Huaisang that hadn't observed the taboo. Huaisang who should have known better. In that moment he was as much his brother's killer, as the Meng Yao he loved.

“He hated you for what you had done in Nightless City. He never recovered from it. He said you loved hurting men, but I did not believe it.” he had whispered to him amidst kisses. “You didn't enjoy hurting my brother, did you, A-Yao?”

“I did.” Meng Yao had said and cried like a child; shedding tears and muffling his sobs behind his hand. It was the closest thing to a confession. Huaisang had loved him all the more for it. He had even kissed his scar. The scar from the blade that should have killed him a long time ago. The blade that had been lodged deep in his chest.

But the next day, all his feelings were gone. One by one they all fled as he watched Meng Yao dress himself, and comb his hair, fastening the straps of his silly hat. The courtesans that don't die with their kings are the most detestable creatures in stories.

He should make a point to ask his young friend for a story where the conniving courtesan lives.

“Does your master let you drink?” he asks.

The boy was looking openly at the expensive wine on their table with some fascination.

“The older actors drink when they think the master won't see them, but the master doesn't approve. If someone drinks excessively and he discovers them, they are kicked out of the troupe.”

“I see, a theatrical company is much like an army.”

The young waitress comes with their large order, bringing excessive dishes and refined delicacies one by one. The boy eyes the large red fish with some greed. Young actors live such disciplined lives, only a rich admirer could supply them with some luxury. The moon is rising from behind the hills, casting its reflection to illuminate the canals. A colorful crowd has been gathering all afternoon beneath their veranda.

Maybe he should have requested a private room, maybe he shouldn't parade his young friend in the same places that prostitutes and courtesans laugh at the bad jokes of their wealthy patrons. But then again maybe in the company of such people, a private room would be even more suspicious.

“Young lady, why don't you bring us also some tea, for my young friend over here.”

The young lady smiles at the actor. “How lucky you are” she says. “This is an expensive place. I would so love it if I had such a wealthy admirer to feed me delicious treats!”

“Ah, this one here is going to be a famous actor one day!” Huaisang says pointing at the young actor with his fan. “And then he'll pay me back every penny! I'll take him to tour all the noblest halls. He'll make so much money, he might even marry a princess!”

The waitress laughs, as the boy hides his face behind his hands. Even the tips of his ears are blushing.

“Are you really so good, young master?” the waitress asks the boy. “Maybe you can play something for us when the moon reaches the middle of the sky.”

“I can play now!” the boy says, getting up excitedly.

“Not now, eat first. Our expensive meal shouldn't get cold before we enjoy it.”

“That's right, young master.” the waitress advises. “Besides, many more customers will arrive later to enjoy the moon. If you play something for them when they are drinking they'll reward you even more handsomely. You will leave this place with a small fortune.” she adds in a confidential tone.

“Is that true?” the boy asks once the waitress departs, digging into the ivory flesh of the fish with his chopsticks.

Huaisang fans himself a little. “My brother was a great man. Far greater than I will ever be. He told me there is no man easier to take advantage than a drunk. Waitresses and great generals think alike. No one knows more about human nature than they.”

“Your brother was a great general?” the boy asks with wonderment. “I thought you were a rich merchant. It didn't cross my mind you came from a noble house. It's even stranger now for you to have known a Yunmeng Meng.”

“Not only have I known such a person, but I was the one to get him drunk first.”

The boy's chopsticks pause at that. “What?” he asks with surprise.

He had a real curiosity about drinking. All the men in the banquets did it. Nie Mingjue did it. In fact it was quite a feat drinking without getting drunk, and everyone who mattered boasted that ability. His brother always said that men who become inebriated while drinking are weak-willed and spineless.

He had acquired a taste for it, because he was allowed to have a little. To build up that fabled tolerance that separated men of destiny from the rest. Meng Yao had been biting his lips and flaring his eyes, saying “I do not know, young master. What if we get caught?”

“If you are smart about it, we won't get caught.” he had said

But the thing is Huaisang was very well prepared to blame everything on Meng Yao if they got caught. They had drunk themselves silly, laughing with tears in the eyes just by looking at each other. “You look so drunk!” Huaisang would snicker. “You look even more drunk!” Meng Yao would reply hiding his face.

They had fallen asleep on the same quilt that night. He had woken up in the middle of the night, next to Meng Yao's perfect face. He saw him sleeping with a faint, drunken blush. And he had kissed that blush.

“I was afraid to get drunk by myself because of my brother, the great general. My friend Meng was more courageous, he snuck the wine for me. But he didn't want to drink the master's wine, because he was only a servant. I cried so much then. I told him he was cruel. That he wanted this crime to be blamed on me...I said I wouldn't love him unless he drank as much as I did.”

“If I was a great general, I would beat you both” the boy says stuffing shrimps in his mouth.

“My brother never found out.” Huaisang says and drinks more wine. It's sweet and it reflects moonlight. There is a fragrance in the air, maybe it's the plum blossoms. His tolerance for alcohol has certainly grown since his childhood days.

“Do you remember perhaps how old you were when you left Yunmeng?” he asks.

“I was seven.” the boy replies moving from the shrimps to the oyster rolls. He picks them apart gracefully with his chopsticks before shoving them greedily in his mouth behind his hand.

“Did you know a famous temple there? It was a temple at Yunping city.”

“Guanyin temple? Everybody knows Guanyin temple! My mother and I had even gone there to pray. I remember the monks did a lot of charity work, they always gave money to people in need, and let travelers stay at the temple, they cooked meals. But there was a storm one night and the roof caved in. Many people died.”

“My friend built that temple.” Huaisang says pouring himself another drink.

“Your friend the servant!? The servant that you got drunk?”

“Yes, his fortune changed, and he became a very rich, a very powerful man. He made many public works and was kind and fair to the common people. His name is all but forgotten now...If you know a play about a man that tears down the things his friend builds, please let me know. I would surely watch it.”

Chapter 5: A passing fancy.

The boy watches the carp fight over the meager crumbs they have tossed them. When he smiles there is a very slight, an almost imperceptible indentation on his cheeks. The waters of the canal are murky, but the carp are glistening in bright colors of orange and red, reminding him of the servants at Carp Tower once upon a time.

“Do you know the poem about the lady comparing herself to a fan?”

“I've never heard about such a thing.” the boy says tossing some more crumbs. The bright reflections from the water play on his bright face.

“It's about a court lady who is very much loved by the emperor. They spend an entire summer together in bliss walking in gardens and drinking wine under the moon. But when the summer passes, he forgets all about her. So she compares herself to a fan one uses to cool themselves in the summer only to be forgotten with the first autumn breeze.”

“That's so sad.”

“It's a warning. About passing fancies. Not forming attachments. Not expecting love for love given.”

“Oh.”

“You will understand when you grow older. Or perhaps you already do, better than me.”

Huaisang fishes the little box out of his sash and gives it to the boy.

“What's this?” the boy asks wiping his hands on his shift.

“Open it.”

The boy unclasps the lid, opening the box. He reaches for the large pearl nestled inside and playfully puts it over one of his eyes.

“Is it a rock?” he asks.

“It's a pearl. A real one.”

The boy rolls it between the balls of his fingers, observing it mystified. “What should I do with it?” he asks.

“One day, when you are very tired and want to stop you can exchange it for money. And then you can build a big mansion and have many servants and you will not want for any thing.”

“It's that expensive?”

“It's a real treasure. It's not a cheap thing like a pearl button. So don't gamble it away, or drink it, or spend it on women. Do not show it to anyone and keep it always close. Don't let anyone cheat you out of it.”

“What if I lose it, or someone steals it from me?”

“Then do not come to Qinghe. And don't ask for Nie Huaisang. I don't know what kind of man he'll be by the time you find him.”

Chapter 6: She became mad.

Do you see that man. I heard he pays an entire fortune to anyone who resembles his lost love. He might not look it, but he is a great lord from Hejian. Really wealthy. I hear he gave a lavish mansion in Tanzhou to a waitress just because her smile reminded him of that man.”

“I never have luck with such things. I have such a plain face. If it were to rain money from the sky, I wouldn't catch a single coin.”

He is not that drunk that he can't hear them. In fact he is not drunk at all, despite all the drinking. This is supposed to be a refined place, but it's just another brothel. He was thinking of Meng Yao's mother lately. Everyone always said how much he looked like her. For years he avoided looking at her face, yet from the very beginning it was the one he loved. Meng Yao looked nothing like Guangshan.

His features had a womanly grace. It was how he seduced others into believing his nature was soft and pliant. When his brother had chosen Meng Yao to put him at his side, it was that supple grace that entranced him. He thought Meng Yao was delicate, loving and pure. What his mother must have been like.

But in a place like this what good did it do to her?

“How was she like?” Huaisang had asked once when he was a child.

“Oh, she was the most beautiful woman in the land.” Meng Yao had said as if he was ready to spin a fairy tale in her memory.

“That's what everyone says about their mother.” Huaisang had said. “If I had known my mother perhaps we would have been able to compare their looks”

“Huaisang is so handsome too. His mother might have been as beautiful as mine.” Meng Yao had conceded.

For many years after his brother died, he cursed Meng Shi for bestowing to her evil son the tools with which he deceived men and women and had surmised that some evil must have been in her heart as well, for kind looks to be twisted this way. But he had seen with his own eyes, from Meng Yao's tortured spirit. The kindness was real. Meng Yao had never deceived him, or his brother, or anyone else who had trusted his kind face.

How else could a person succeed so much, with so little at their disposal and ultimately be happy, unless a terrible balance existed within them. The evil had never been the aberration, it had been the poison to the flower.

“But what was she really like, aside from her looks” he had asked again.

“She was warm.” Meng Yao had said in the softness of candlelight. “She was so warm when she took me in her arms. She always whispered to me what a splendid life would await us once we got away from it all. She worked very hard for this. That's why she became very sad towards the end. It was as if the light was going slowly out of her. But even in madness and despair, she was still very warm.”

“She became mad?”

“Towards the end.”

“What did she do?” Huaisang had asked fearing the answer.

“She drunk a lot in order to go on. And she cried. She cried every day.”

Huaisang had tried many times to imagine the context of the brothel. That's why for his first visit he had chosen a popular, ugly place in a dingy port town. He had gone to take revenge on Meng Yao's mother, but looking at the women there so sickly and frail and mad, it had made his stomach turn. Surely Meng Yao's mother, a queen among whores, never saw a place like that. She could read and write, compose elegant verses and play music.

So tonight he came here, where the ladies are so elegant they might be in another life queens. But it's really the same place. Maybe the clients behave better here, but they still expect the same things.

“Young Master, you haven't said a word all evening. Don't you like me at all?”

“You've heard the stories. You don't really resemble my friend.”

“That's so sad. The mistress hoped she could make a fortune on your back. She promised she would release me from my contract. But I guess I am as unlucky as always.”

“My friend was unlucky. He had a pile of misfortunes on his back.”

“How can anyone love someone who is unlucky, they will only bring them bad luck. You, young master, you were blessed by fortune. You are lucky that friend of yours died.”

“I will drink to that.”

“Young Master, will you just drink? Don't you have any other notion of fun?”

“Not really. I told you, you don't look like my friend.”

“You are a man of poor imagination. Most young lords will just close their eyes and see clearly any face they desire. Perhaps you are not a big friend of women.”

When he sleeps that night, alone back at the inn he curiously dreams of the evil peony prince. He sees him in his costume, feeding the carp at the canal. He would have liked to ask him to come back to Qinghe with him, but then people would believe he had lost his mind.

What would he say? “This is my reincarnated friend. I need to protect him.”

He already knows no such gentle fate awaits Jin Guangyao and aches all the more for not being able to indulge even in harmless fantasy. Maybe the silver is not for the people, but for the thoughts that still plague him. Maybe he can pay them gone. When Guangyao tore his brother limb from limb, what was that about? He cried bitterly before his empty tomb and asked: “Brother, what did you do to enrange him?”

He even cursed his brother's memory for requesting revenge. “How will I do it ?” he had cried. “How?”

When he finally did, putting together his brother, just as he was putting together the final strokes of his plan, he wanted to tear apart everything Guangyao ever put together, and more importantly all that made him. “It's because you conceived him.” he had told her as he scattered her bones to be taken by the birds and the animals of the mountain.

The evil peony prince in his dream turns to him with a smile. “Where are the bones of my mother?” he asks.

“I ground them all to dust to make you this pearl” the Huaisang in his dream answers.

He wakes up in cold sweat. Even if he wanted to, he could never put her back together. Just like Guangyao's spirit. Mother and son are now nothing.

“What happens if a man scatters the bones of his enemy's mother” he asks.

“Young lord, you are all strange ideas tonight” the boatman replies. “Ask a priest. He'll give you an answer.”

Chapter 7: Someone to make you happy.

There was quite a large crowd outside of his room. He hadn't exactly advised the innkeeper to keep them away, but none of them barged through his door. A maid he had tipped to keep him company, would occasionally go outside to let them know the young lord was still unavailable, but neither would she turn them away. Then at about seven, a wonderful hour to have afternoon tea, a lady, pushing and shoving through the crowd, opened the door to his room and got in to the surprise of everyone including himself.

“Young lord, I came as soon as I found out you were in town!” she exclaimed, and taking a napkin out of her bosom, she dabbed the sweat that had collected on her brow.

“Really, for what reason?” he said waving his fan slowly. “Do you have a lookalike of my friend for me to see?”

The lady looked at him with surprise. “I am not such a person that I will make one suffer by reminding them of someone who is long dead!” she said.

“Suffer?” he heard himself say.

The lady scooted over to their table. “Please, bring me some tea as well” she said to the maid giving her a handsome tip. “And take your time.”

The maid looked at him baffled, until he waved her away.

“Don't misunderstand me, young lord.” the lady said. “I am sure some of these encounters soothe your heart, but when they come to an end, does it not bleed anew? I came here because I think it a disgrace that there are people who seek to take advantage of you.”

His mind had gone blank. It was one thing to seek pleasures anonymously in a crowd that had a similar mind, but as he moved back to the real world, such folly could spell a man's doom. Was he suffering so much that he had never taken notice others saw it as well?

“A handsome young gentleman like yourself, who does not let himself become attached, no doubt has been gruesomely betrayed. All these other people do is agitate the memory of betrayal in your heart. They repay your generosity with ingratitude, if you ask me.”

“So you are not here to make me meet somebody?”

The lady smiled. “I am here to bring you someone who won't leave. Someone who will be utterly devoted to your lordship, and entirely in your power to do with him as you see fit.”

“That sounds rather incovenient.”

“You are a rich man. You have dispersed countless treasures, but you won't need to spent as much to procure yourself a servant. And what does a servant need to be loyal to you? A plate of food, some clothes and a place to sleep. These things even I can provide, a wealthy lord like you can keep a servant like a little princeling if your heart so desires.”

“I see...Are you a pimp or a slaver?”

The lady laughed. “Neither! I do not like misery at all! I like to see people pleased and happy. I came here to make you happy, and if you agree your servant will also be happy.”

Huaisang felt utterly confused “Are you a matchmaker?”

The lady blushed and laughed again, hiding her mouth behind her sleeve. “My lord, nothing escapes your attention!” she said.

“It's common knowledge that I am indolent. I will permit you to amuse me.” He reached for his coin purse, but the lady stopped him.

“Please, do not pay me before I complete my work. And furthermore if I don't find someone to please you, then don't pay me at all!”

“It's unlikely that I will take this person with me, you know. Even if you dig up my friend's grave and bring him back to life, I will not. I am only paying to be amused.”

The lady gripped his hand more firmly. “Lord, when your heart opens up, you will pay my weight in gold, that's why I won't accept your change now.”

Chapter 8: Flowers a little wilted

He had cried all through the night. Like when he first realized what it was that Jin Guangyao had done. Because he was weak, and because killing was such a repulsive thing. I love this person, his heart had said. Shouldn't have I?

He counted the years of silence, of appearing as something he was not, and wondered how many people drift through the world like this; descending in some silent madness. It made everything bitter, especially his interactions with other people, which by then fell into two categories; people he could use, and people he'd have to destroy.

Truly no one can ever know another's heart, but when he held Guangyao's gauze cap he had to wonder if he had ever known his own. Whom could he place by his side, and not lie with his silences, not ommit awful truths with shallow pleasantries.

If his brother were to see him now, would he recognize him? Would he think, this is Huaisang. The boy that would once spend hours preparing meticulously the meals for his songbirds, while his study books lay neglected by his side, the boy who knew where each poet of Qinghe resided, who knew what flowers grew in their gardens, and was bothered by the sun of the desert.

Huaisang right now could barely recognize the boy he had once been himself. If he could see again his evil peony prince, when he too was but a boy, he would say “I am sorry.”

If only just to make it a little easier to be with other people again.

“There is something about me that the person you bring me must know” he said as the young maid served them wine. There was a man who would recite some exceptional poetry here tonight. “But I am afraid once you find out yourself, you will no longer want to serve me. So tonight you might lose our little bet.”

The lady laughed, and lifting her winecup she drank behind her sleeve. “I am no lord, I am not afraid of losing.”

He rested his chin on the guard of his fan. “That friend of mine I loved, I was the one who killed him.”

The lady set her winecup on the table a little flustered. “That's depraved!” she said. “You enjoy killing young men?!”

“He had my brother poisoned and killed for some rival lord, so I had no other choice but to do it.”

The lady regarded him cautiously “Well then, if you ask me it was your friend's fault for exceeding his station. When servants meddle in the affairs of their masters they often end up dead. But you needn't worry about the person I'll bring. They'll know their place.”

“He has to be polite.”

“Excuse me?”

“He has to be polite, but not literate. In fact he shouldn't be able to read or write. And if he were to be unlucky, if he had some great misfortune happen to him, I would prefer it.”

“You have a fondness for flowers that are a little wilted, don't you.”

“No relatives, either.”

“I suppose he should be very young and very handsome.”

“No, I don't care about his looks. If it's an ugly or disfigured person I wouldn't mind at all. And I don't want him to be younger than me.”

“But a young, impressionable boy, who will admire you-”

“Young, impressionable boys grow up, and hate the lords that raise them.”

Chapter 9: Meilin

It was drawing to noon and he was thinking about what he should have for lunch, when a missive from the matchmaker came. It read: “I found the one.”

That greatly unsettled him, mostly because he was thinking about leaving after tomorrow and never give a second thought to this affair. He also had an intense dislike for others setting the pace of his day. So instead of strolling out to find some other distraction, he fussed over his looks and had a maid tidy up his chambers. His lunch plans, he also changed. Whereas he would have had a simple meal, now he had to organize a small banquet.

His guests arrived just when he was starting to get annoyed with all the preparations. He fixed his hair and took a seat, and was only reminded that he had not requested some ethereal beauty, when the smiling matchmaker came in, with a small statured young man in tow that was so bowed he could hardly see his face.

“We interrupted your lunch!” she exclaimed. “Please forgive us, my lord! If this one over here was not so slow we would have come at an earlier time. Perhaps we should wait until you are finished and then come to see you. I fear you may lose your appetite when you see whom I brought you.”

“No, sit the both of you. Let's get this over with. Serve them wine.” he said to the maid.

Even though he felt himself exhale impatiently for giving in this folly, his eyes couldn't help but dart curiously to the shrunken form next to the matchmaker. That young man had a beautiful lustrous sheen on his hair, and when he bowed, his nape reminded him of Meng Yao when he was a young servant himself.

Perhaps actually it was not at all like this and he only thought so because that's what he wanted – which irritated him even more.

“Wine?” the matchmaker asked. “You are going to give this fine wine to one such as him? How lucky you are! Bow and drink for the young master.”

Huaisang toyed with his chopstics. “Actually, let's all start eating. I waited for you too long.”

“I certainly will, I am famished running about town to find you a good servant.”

Huaisang noticed that the young man had taken the cup from the maid, but was not drinking.

“What is his name?”

“His mother was a simple woman, she named him Li...she liked plums, I suppose. He is no beauty, but he knows how to make tea, and a bed, and also take care of clothes – which is a nice thing for someone like you, who likes to travel. And hear that, he can also rub your back when you are tired. He is good with his hands.”

“Well, Li, why aren't you drinking your wine?”

The young man didn't lift his face at all at being addressed. “Wine makes me dizzy.” he mumbled.

“My lord, he is a bit of a simpleton, you won't get much conversation out of him. But he is not so incompetent that he can't bring you a meal or wash your clothes. Why don't you try him for a few days, and if he does not please, I'll compensate him for his labor.”

“Can I see his face?” he asked.

Li bowed even more deeply, but he did not say anything. It seemed this request greatly embarassed him.

“My lord, he is ugly! I warn you!”

“I don't mind, show me your face. I'll have to see you if I am to keep you. And if it is so unbearable as you say, I'll give you at least a more pleasant name. How about Meilin? Now there's a whole grove of plum trees, isn't that better?”

The young man peered at him from under his lashes, and hesitantly he lifted his face a little. He had a harelip. The shape of his face was not bad, but what would have been the good side of his face had once been burned, making the eyelids of one eye fuse and droop comically.

“What happened to him?”

“This one has such a sad story, my lord. You must be moved to save him. His mother was a maid at a very noble house, and the lord there treated him well, but after she died, the lady of the house turned on him and beat him every day. She hit his face with a hot kettle when he was but a child, can you believe? The lord died a few days ago of old age and she threw him out and it's not easy for him to be employed with such a face. Do this kindness for me and try him out.”

Chapter 10: A carp carried it in its mouth.

“You have really beautiful hair. So if you let it down and someone sees you from behind, then they will be really surprised when you turn and they see you from the front.” he said picking up his hair, and securing it with a pin.

Meilin bowed his head coyly. For such an ugly person, he sure was proud and hated showing it.

“Most people are repulsed by the surprise, and not the actual ugliness...So which ones do you like?”

“These clothes are too good for someone like me.”

“What are you talking about? The way you look if I have to send you out to do some chores people will laugh and kick you. But if you wear really expensive clothes they'll know you belong to a wealthy master. Instead of kicks, they'll fill your pockets with bribes so that you will arrange meetings with me.”

“I won't take bribes!” Meilin argued.

Huaisang looked at the silk garments folded on the table in front of them. Some of them were too beautiful even for him. He pulled a colorful jacket with a pattern of opened fans. The quality of the weaving was truly exceptional, there were so many different colors and designs on the opened fans.

“How about this one? People will know immediately who is your master.”

Meilin hid his face behind his hands. “Can't I stay inside and serve you, master. I don't like going out.” he said with a shaking voice.

“Too embarassed to be seen by people?”

Meilin nodded bashfully. Huaisang unfolded the garment, it had a pleasing, sturdy feel.

“My brother had a servant once. He was so beautiful that he had him greet and talk with guests. I think everyone with an affection for such a thing was a little in love with him. My greatest joy was playing dress up-with him. I loved the texture of his hair, it was soft and glossy like a woman's. Your hair could be said that it's as fine as his.” he said adjusting the mirror on the table a little, so he could see the pattern of the opened fans on Meilin's shoulders.

“Of course a handsome man like him wouldn't remain a servant forever...Straighten your neck a little, you look like a turtle.”

Meilin complied, by closing his eyes and averting his face. He couldn't even bear his own sight in a hazy mirror.

“He became very rich, fabulously rich. He had even more money than me. That's why, Meilin, you have to accept the bribes, so if I ever fall on hard times I can rely on you, like I did to my old friend. Do you know what was the first gift he brought me, when he became a master of himself?”

Meilin shook his head.

“A collection of dolls, so I could enjoy myself dressing them up and combing their hair. Insolent, don't you think?

“I do not know.” Meilin mumbled.

“Well neither did I at the time. I just enjoyed the gift, like a child. They were made of very fine porcelain, and had clothes made of real silk brocade. They even had things like embroidered kerchiefs and silk gauze caps. And on their head each of them had a set of real human hair. They were extraordinary. But even though their faces were unique and painted by hand, the shape of their heads was the same. They all had come from the same mold. There was no real difference between masters and servants. What do you think about that?”

“I do not know.” Meilin repeated touching absent-mindedly the silk on his shoulders.

“You remind me a little of those dolls...My brother had them smashed and burned in a great fire. To be honest, Meilin, I thought he did it because he was jealous. Jealous people always behave erratically, they break and burn things. You can't really predict their actions.” he said looking at Meilin's burnt side of the face in the mirror.

Meilin hummed a little to fill the silence.

“Why don't you take off your old clothes and put on the new ones?”

Meilin bowed respectfully to him.

“Please, take a look at this” the evil peony prince in his dreams said. It was a misshapen pearl.

“Where did you find this?”

“A carp carried it in its mouth.” the evil peony prince replied with a smile. “Is it not the same as the one you gave me? It might not be perfectly round, but it is the same thing, is it not?”

He leaned in to look at the pearl in the prince's palm. Because of the slight indentations the colors of pink and green shimmered with a golden sheen as the reflections from the carp pond played on it.

“Yes, it's a pearl, but it's even more priceless than my own.”

Chapter 11: The cage.

Once upon a time Meng Yao had been accused of receiving bribes to promote certain individuals to the attention of Nie Mingjue. This was a serious offense in the Unclean Realm. His brother had put him in a cell until the matter could be cleared. He hadn't told anything to Huaisang – he was probably so overwhelmed it hadn't even crossed his mind.

He had just strolled out for a walk in the grounds, happy and blissful for the coming spring, and had accidentally caught glimpse of a familiar form in the cells. “Meng Yao!” he had exclaimed with childish surprise. Meng Yao had looked at him but didn't dare to speak. He bore this silently, dignified but he must have been just as surprised as him to have Mingjue do this to him.

He had brought him a meal, and wine, even though the guard in charge frowned and muttered “I don't know if the young master is allowed to” But Huaisang had been a young master, he could do things like bring wine and food to his friend. He was not some servant one could punish until it was wrong to do so.

When he was young he had thought Meng Yao's ordeal had been so great that he was too stunned to thank him. He wasn't after gratitude or passionate declarations of devotion from his servant anyway. All he had thought was how painful and inconvenient it would be for him to have to stay at a cell. Even if it was clean and adequate, the disgrace of being seen in it alone was an inhumane torture unfit for someone as delicate as Meng Yao.

But when he had been finally released he had privately raged. He hadn't tossed, or broken things, or raised his voice like Mingjue sometimes did. He had drunk himself to bitterness and cried until Huaisang thought his eyes would fall off.

“Who is this person, Meng Yao. It's certainly not you.” he had said is disbelief. He had wanted to paint something for him to congratulate him for his exonoration, but the person in front of him hardly resembled a human. It was as if Huaisang was before a ghost. A memory of a person

It had reminded him of those stories of women, whose love made them nothing, whose love had ground their bones to dust. But even that was the romantic notion of a child. He must really love Nie Mingjue, he had thought. To be in such agony, one must feel the purest form of love.

Meng Yao had fallen asleep on the floor crying inconsolably. He had painted him then, thinking that he was painting a masterpiece. He had a vague interest in painting masterpieces back then. He had thought himself talented. Then he had seen what real masterpieces looked like and lost his courage.

But that portrait of Meng Yao, who had fallen asleep in bitterness and agony, with his eyelashes wet from crying, he had valued it more than any object of art he owned. In the darkness of his room, surrounded by his treasures, he had admired it as if it had been painted by some other hand, until he finally realized this portrait wasn't his to keep. He thought how unfortunate Meng Yao was to have two masters; one who put him in jail and one who stole things from him, and then had decided to give it back to him.

Maybe even as a little lovenote. He had tiptoed over to Meng Yao's room in the early hours of morning. It was raining outside and the whole fortress was surrounded in this deep blue haze, sleeping. He would push the door silently out of the way and leave it on Meng Yao's quilt for him to find in the morning. His heart was beating so fast. “He'll finally know how I am feeling,” was his hope.

But when he pushed the door gently ajar, and peered inside he saw his brother in Meng Yao's bed. It wasn't even a scandalous scene, like those naked couples spied by a jealous maiden in his erotic novels. It was too cold to do without a quilt. They were embraced tenderly nonetheless kissing each other with tears in their eyes.

“I love you so much.” Meng Yao had whispered. “Don't ever leave me.”

He had become so resentful; he had wanted to rattle the door and frighten them with the threat of exposure. At least that's what jealous heroes did in his novels, but could he for a jealousy topple a castle? He had returned to his room and burnt the portrait in the stove of his tea kettle. Until morning came he had been consumed by the grief of injustice.

“I was the one who brought you food and wine, and tried to cheer you up. I was the one to see your pain.” How could you return to the one who treated you cruelly, he had cried until his eyes stung, and then forgot about it the next morning.

He hadn't realized Meng Yao liked being caged up. He liked having someone else holding the tether to his life. His greatest grudge had been for Nie Mingjue who had let him go. It must have confirmed to him some secret scorn, some ingratitude Nie Mingjue harbored against him, rendering his submission to him meaningless.

Meilin stirred in his sleep. After the many hours, he had leaned drowsily against him and slept with little care in the world. The carriage swayed and creaked on the narrow road, but through the blinds he could see the morning sun reflect on the stream that run through the green maples. Roaming in the city, he had missed the clear air of the mountains, the framed views of rivers amidst branches.

He was reminded again of Meng Yao, who during his days of service would never fall asleep, or absently admire a landscape. How properly he would sit across him, chattering like bird , while his attention would be diverted from one detail to another. A bird who feels the outline of its cage with pleasure, but hasn't forgotten the danger outside of it.

“He would have always protected you.” he hears himself whisper and his attention falls on Meilin's sleeping face. “Even when you left. His love, unlike mine, was not a cage.”

Chapter 12: Put your enemy's mother next to your own.

“Young master...your room is ready. Won't you come out?”

“My servant is still sleeping.”

The curious innkeeper peered into the carriage. “I can wake him up if you want.” he offered.

“No, let him sleep. I had a servant who never slept. He was a poor servant for it.”

The innkeeper eyed him with disbelief. He guessed it was a tad eccentric for a master to let his servant sleep on him. Of course if it was a beautiful or graceful person, everyone could understand. Huaisang absently stroked his hair. How funny that nothing could fix this face. All the money in the world could not purchase a fairer fortune for this one person.

“Meilin” he whispered tucking an errant strand behind his ear. “Do you want to have breakfast?”

Meilin stirred, but only slightly. As they lay embraced he thought how nice it was to have someone so utterly trusting again. The matchmaker had chosen well. “Meilin” he touched his face. Meilin gasped and woke up

“Master, I am sorry-” he exclaimed looking around stunned. “I didn't mean to-”

“Enough apologies already. I want to drink the tea you make.” he said and got off the carriage.

Meilin looked around hesitantly. “You are so coquettish! You are no great beauty, hurry up. Give me your hand. Don't you want to see our room?”

Meilin took his hand. It was so soft and tender, the hand of a servant who only folded clothes and made tea. He was so weak from crouching and bowing all his life in some dark mansion that he had to lean heavily on him to get off the carriage.

“I can't see very well, master.” Meilin suddenly said. “I am so sorry for not telling you before.”

“I guessed it already when you told me you didn't like going out. Even if someone is ridiculed for their appearance, they don't dislike going outside unless they can't do it very well...Just hold my hand.” he said and guided him inside tenderly.

“Young master, you sure are a saint.” the maid who led them to their room said.

“Meilin is a good servant, the rest of you can't see.”

The maid giggled. For some reason he disliked her already, at least just for Meilin's sake. “Do you have any pickled plums? I'd like to have them from breakfast.” he said setting Meilin at a low table in their room. “Meilin, what do you like eating? You can have anything.”

“I can just eat your leftovers.” he softly said.

The maid had to clasp her mouth in order not to laugh out loud.

“Was your previous lord so rich that his leftovers were a banquet? Then I would like to think myself as even wealthier, because I can afford two meals. Do you have quail eggs? Meilin will have them.”

He looked around. The room was truly splendid. It was exactly what he was craving. A simple rustic room with a beautiful round window and a view to the maples and the stream. It smelled clean and fresh filled with the scent of pines carried by the mountain breeze.

“Do you perhaps have any ink and some good paper? I would like to draw the view.” he said to the maid.

“I'll see what I can do.” she said and closed the door with a big, amused smile on her face.

“Has anyone ever drawn your portrait before, Meilin?”

Meilin peered at him from beneath his lashes with something that to Huaisang resembled ire. Like a person who couldn't put up with anymore cruelty in his life. “Don't waste paper on me.”

“I don't intend to draw you as you are. Have you seen the pictures of beautiful women? Well, they are not as beautiful in real life as they are in the imagination of the artist that drew them. I will draw you as you should be.”

Meilin lowered his head again to hide his face. “Quail eggs are so slippery” he muttered.

“I will feed them to you.”

“My lord...don't do nice things for me. I do not understand them.”

“Alright, I'll paint and you will air our clothes. How does that sound? And if you want, you can eat after I eat.”

Meilin breathed relieved. “It's what I know.”

“But it makes you a bad servant not to do what I ask. It's as if between us I am the ugly one.”

Meilin didn't answer. It ruined the taste of his tea.

When he picked the brush again that same afternoon it felt heavy and foreign in his hand, as if it was made of iron. Despite the very slight sway of their clothes, hanged from the ceiling, in the breeze, his mind felt utterly empty before the clean paper in front of him.

He had promised Meilin beauty but he had no idea what that looked like even by the sound of a stream and the rustle of the maples. He had reached greater profundity drinking tea in a noisy teashop back in Kaifeng, talking to prostitutes and porters. Yet here in the calm of the country he was devoid of anything, much like the paper waiting for his pen.

Meilin sat beside him and poured wine. He had pretty, doll-like hands. Meng Yao's hands were rough from practicing swordmanship, even when he was young. Despite being quite small in appearance, they were quite strong; they could easily break things.

“Give me your hand.” he asked Meilin. “I want to teach you how to draw. Have you ever held a brush?”

“No.” Meilin mumbled.

“Writing and painting are closely linked to swordmanship, you know. First you have hold the pen from a high point. This gives you a wider range of movement. It takes quite some time to learn to control things like gesture. Just like wielding a sword you have to have a clear intent and go in with a strategy.”

Meilin was uncomfortable, he could feel it on the surface of his skin right underneath his fingertips. “I'll ruin the paper.” he said.

Huaisang felt strangely emboldened by that. “Well, before you ink the brush, you dip it first in water. You dry the excess water, and draw a sketch of the image with the water trail...Let's do a scene with the moon.” he said gesturing at the view from their window. The moon was just rising from behind the mountain, behind a branch of maple leaves.

“When my brother died I had to rely on others, just like you rely on me to draw this picture. No one was telling me of course what picture they drew using me. I had to guess that for myself. But I knew something of painting. ”

Meilin hummed, as he usually did when he didn't know what to say. Huaisang noted how easier it was to paint holding someone else's hand, he thought. Any mistakes could be attributed to the person holding the brush, instead of the one who guided the hand.

Meilin's hand was perfectly limp in his own as he clasped it and moved it above the paper. He didn't know what annoyed him more. The fact that he could see a ghost of Meng Yao's features on his face, or the effect his carefully crafted servility had on him. What would it take for this person to be honest with him? To reveal their true self?

But perhaps like those ghosts of Meng Yao he kept seeing in others' faces, a true self was also some sort of illusion.

“See, it's not that scary. The picture vanishes just as soon as you draw it.” he said. “You try it now with ink. I'll drink wine, and you will draw. The only thing we are missing is some music.”

Meilin put the brush down. The moon on the sky was just shy of four quarters, but it shone so bright, it looked almost golden. Meilin looked at him, asking with his eyes “What is it you want?” He noticed then that his harelip had been extraordinarily treated.

“Your master took you to a surgeon.” he said touching it. “His work is very skilled. He cut up the edges and sutured them with silk thread. He put a paste to prevent infection...He must have loved you very much. Is that why the mistress hated you?

Meilin covered his face as if struck.

“Were you his son, or his lover? I think you were his lover. You put poison in his tea and killed him.”

“I do not know what you are talking about.” Meilin cried. He got up, upturning the cup with the water on the table, and run to the corner of the room, before collapsing in tears. Like a bird that doesn't remember where it came from.

“That matchmaker must have been a fox spirit. Of course, she would find someone as bad as me.”

For a while nothing was heard in the room except for Meilin's wet breathing. Huaisang looked at the water soak the paper and spill from the edges of the desk. He really didn't know what to do with his judgements. They lived now within him, honed like a polished blade. They could only hurt people. And he could never again grasp things like the beauty of the moon, without its glare exposing crimes.

“I didn't mean to upset you.” he said, touching Meilin's shoulder tenderly. “I won't mention such a thing again. Come sit next to me like you did in the carriage.”

Meilin sobbed for a long time, as the moon rose in the sky and the room darkened for it. Then he turned around finally and fell in his arms. His tears soaking through their clothes.

“I love you so much. I will never leave you.” Huaisang said squeezing him tightly, as a lark sang in the night.

The next morning Meilin was gone.

“He run away this morning.” the maid said while sweeping. “They often do. There's a monastery a at the end of the road. That's where he went. The monks take in frequently runaways.”

He dressed, modestly, put on his shoes and walked all the way to the temple. At the hour of his arrival the monks were offering meals. There were quite a few visitors praying, or just generally enjoying themselves out in the yard. An old man separated him from the crowd.

“Are you looking for your servant?” he asked pointing at his fan.

“Actually” he said. “I would like to ask some other thing.”

The man, a temple servant of some sort took him to the monastery's abbot. A very old frail man, who was probably hard of hearing. He was meditating, while his assistant was having tea.

“Very soon, he'll begin fasting for his departure.” the assistant explained. “If you need help with some thing, you better ask me.”

Huaisang sat with them and drank the tea the assistant offered him. It was so strange, but he felt the whole room vibrate with prayers, even if it was utterly silent inside.

“I had an enemy that I killed.” he said. “I desecrated his mother's shrine as well. I took her bones and scattered them. I would like to know what happened to her.”

“You seem to know very well what happened to her.” the assistant said, not a hint of judgement in his voice.

“I mean I would like to know what happened to her soul? Did my actions interfere with her afterlife.”

“What do you think?”

“I do not know. That's why I ask you.”

The monk looked at him mystified. “Do you wish to punish this person further?” he asked with some concern.

“No. I regret what I did. I want to know how to make it better.”

“Better for whom? Your enemy, his mother, or yourself?”

He snorted. Monks were such obstinate minds. “For everyone involved.”

“I think you are confused. If you look at the stars and wish to move them from their place, can you do that? Absolutely not. Actions are fixed and cannot be altered. That's why it's best to detach from things.”

“But there must be something I can do. At least for her.”

“Where do you worship your mother?” the monk asked.

“How do you know my mother is dead?”

“If she were alive she would have better advised you.”

“My family's ancestral hall.” he said confused.

“Then put your enemy's mother next to her, and offer her the same rites. There are some sutras you can transcribe to allow yourself to reflect on things like piety for your elders, and mercy. I can pick them for you.”

He stared at the monk for a long time without having something to say. Then finally the chirps of the birds outside brought him back. “How much do I owe?” he said taking out his money purse. The monk regarded him coolly.

Walking out into the temple's courtyard under the sun he felt utterly lost. There was infinite beauty and grace around him, but it could not penetrate his soul. He noticed then that Meilin stood at the steps behind him. He had already been tonsured. In his hands he held a broom and with it, he swept the steps of the shrine.

“I would have always protected you.” he explained.

Meilin stared at him as if he wanted to say something. He dropped the broom and run back inside.

After a few days he had arrived at Qinghe. “There is a matchmaker in Yiling.” he said to the treasurer. “Go ask her how much she weighs. And then pay her that sum in gold.”

Chapter 13: Treasure.

It was easy enough to avoid a marriage when he was an incompetent boy. Every father in his court fretted at his sight, and every now and then he could hear someone mumble: “I hope he never asks for my daughter.” It had not sounded awfully impertinent to him at the time - he had graver matters on his mind.

But once he had aged a little, different rumors soared under the sky: “Just like his brother, he has little interest in that.”

An aunt became livid, and took it upon herself to procure him a noble spouse for the benefit of the Qinghe Nie. He did then the one thing he could to prove himself an unmarriageable idiot. He took a concubine. Or rather he made it appear so, for truly he had little interest in that.

He found a young girl, recently orphaned, whose family was ruined, and before she was ruined herself, he installed her in luxury at the women's quarters in his home. He left her there with all the appropriate tutors, and a considerable allowance, and remembered her only when he received a guest and needed someone agreeable to make the tea, or sing, or read a difficult poem.

If you asked him to draw precisely the features of her face, he would refuse for he had no idea what those were. As for what thoughts, and feelings inhabited her, those too were to him abstract and vague.

Once when he had returned from his exhausting excursion to Kaifeng, with Meilin's disdain for him in mind, he had finally considered her. He had called her and asked her if she would have been happier to leave the Unclean Realm and go live as a nun in some secluded monastery on the mountains.

He did not realize how this would not appeal to a young woman, who wore fineries, and was bestowed on charming little gifts, perfumed herself lavishly, and had every material need met in excess.

“How did I displease?” she had cried, folding in tears on the floor. “Why do you want to get rid of me?”

He had hurried then to dispel her worries, to soothe and console, and dry tears, and hold close. He did these things naively – naivety being perhaps his most natural instinct. He forgot all about the affair the very next day, and carried on putting it entirely out of his mind. Except that sometimes, he would remember Meng Yao; his tears and his entreaties and felt bitterly guilty somehow.

Not for what happened in the end, but for what had happened in the very beginning.

#the untamed #the untamed fic #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #nieyao #sangyao

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missn11 · 4 years

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The Motives and Goals of Ming Xiao

One of the things I’ve had a hard time with when writing Ming Xiao is understanding her motives and goals for taking over LA. Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines doesn’t do a great job of explaining Ming Xiao’s motives, in fact we hardly get to know her very well at all compared to some of the other main faction leaders such as Sebastian LaCroix or Nines Rodriguez, which is a shame, as without Ming Xiao’s role in the game things in the story wouldn’t be the same. LaCroix is motivated to get the Ankaran sarcophagus in order to diablerize the supposed Ancient Kindred inside and thus finally gain the power to make LA truly his. Nines’ motive is to rid LA of the Camarilla, Sabbat and Kuei-jin, so the city can truly go back to being the Anarch Free State it was meant to be. Whilst Ming Xiao is shown to be a ruthless, powerful and untrustworthy woman, we still don’t get to perceive her motives and goals, as Troika either ran out of time and had to cut some things out or, more depressingly, didn’t think too much about it. But perhaps the answers can found in the World of Darkness source books?

So, let’s ask some questions.

What is Ming Xiao’s Dharma?

Why did Ming Xiao bring her followers all the way from presumably China to Los Angeles?

Why did Ming Xiao revive the Tong, if her role is to serve the people of Chinatown?

Why did Ming Xiao agree to an alliance with Prince Sebastian LaCroix, her enemy?

Why did Ming Xiao end up breaking off her alliance with Prince Sebastian LaCroix and reveal the truth of who murdered Grout and the framing of Nines Rodriguez?

And Why did Ming Xiao betray the player character in the Kuei-jin ending?

What is Ming Xiao’s Dharma?

While Ming Xiao’s Dharma is never stated on the Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines wiki, Ming Xiao’s Dharma is suspected to be the Song of Shadow, nicknamed Bone Flowers and, for a time, I thought so too. But that was before I got The Kindred of the East source book. Having read that book, I now disagree with the assessment that Ming Xiao is a Bone Flower, instead, I would argue that she fits more aptly The Way of the Resplendant Crane.

Disciples of the Way of the Resplendant Crane, in the long and short of it, know they died drenched in sin and see the world which they know as the Middle Kingdom suffering because of imperfection. They believe that if the world had better and more enlightened leaders, then it would be a better place. It’s often seen as a path of redemption. Those Kuei-jin brought back through the Second Breath recognize they were shameful in life and now seek to redeem themselves by helping save the Middle Kingdom from itself and preventing the Sixth Age, the coming of which they do not consider to be set in stone. By preventing the Sixth Age, the cycle could be brought back to the Age of Heaven. As with most things in the World of Darkness, not every one of the Resplendant Cranes are on the same page and there are different views on how to save the Middle Kingdom. For example, the Shining Ice Guardians, to quote directly from the source material, Kindred of the East:

Shining Ice Guardians recognize that the entire world cannot be saved. Things have gone too far out of balance; dead wood will have to be cut away. Most sages set their hopes on the redemption of the Golden Fields — of the Eastern lands and their peoples. The misery in the Orient has been caused by foreign invaders, from the Mongols to the Americans. These invaders carry disease like plague-dogs, and their sickness must be purged. If that requires a blood-cleansing, so be it. Heaven will deal with the dogs in its own way; the Kuei-jin have been sent back to make the Golden Fields pure again.

And the reason, I believe Ming Xiao is a Resplendant Crane, possibly of the Shining Ice Guardians’ path, is the fact that her goal is to kill or drive out the Kindred presence in Los Angeles. When the Malkavian Player mentions the Yama Kings and the coming of the Demon Emperor, Ming Xiao defiantly states that the Sixth Age has not yet come and quickly changes the subject. The Sixth Age to some older Kuei-jin is inevitable and cannot be stopped or changed no matter what. But as I have stated before, the Resplendant Cranes, do not believe that the Age of Sorrow is unavoidable and therefore it can be prevented.

The other reason I believe Ming Xiao to be a Resplendant Crane is based on her actions with regard to the Ankaran sarcophagus. Instead of opening it or using it for her own ends, Ming Xiao, in the Kuei-jin ending, personally oversees the sarcophagus being thrown into the Ocean, to sink deep-down to the bottom of the sea. Too bad she doesn’t realise that the sarcophagus wasn’t the real reason the city is awash with dread but rather the fact that Cain is driving around LA as a cabby! XD She also manages to get the key to the Ankaran sarcophagus immediately, to prevent some fool, i.e LaCroix for example, from opening it, possibly wreaking havoc and bringing about the Age of Sorrow.

Of course, I could be wrong, and I do welcome anyone discussing with me why they might disagree with my assessment of Ming Xiao’s Dharma or pointing to any info the writers of VTMB might have said on the subject.

Why did Ming Xiao bring her followers all the way from presumably China to Los Angeles?

Well, the reason Kuei-jin are even moving to the West to conquer Kindred territory is in the source material White Wolf provided. Long story short, it is to avenge the many humiliations Asia suffered through western colonialism, and it’s possible that many Kuei-jin, especially those of The Way of the Resplendant Crane blame the western Kindred for the ills of the world. Some might even think that the elimination of the Kindred and other western supernatural creatures is a way to prevent the Sixth Age or, as it’s better known in Kuei-jin culture, the Age of Sorrow. Kindred might equate the of Age of Sorrow to Gehenna, however there are more Ages after the Sixth Age on the Wheel of Ages.

The Great Leap Outward, which is what this event is called, started on January 1st, 1998. However, not every Kuei-jin was on board and the project has faced much criticism, many saying that it’s a waste of resources and time and that it’s not the duty of the Kuei-jin to kill foreign supernatural creatures. The Sixth Age at the time of VTMB’s release was drawing near. If you want to read more of the history of the Great Leap Outward, it can be found on the White Wolf Wiki or in the original VTM and Kuei-jin source books.

Now with that brief little history lesson out of the way, let’s answer the question of why Ming Xiao is here in Los Angeles. As I have said in the previous discussion with regard to Ming Xiao’s Dharma, I personally believe that like many Kuei-jin coming to America, her motive is to save the Middle Kingdom and prevent the Sixth Age, and taking over Los Angeles is her doing her bit towards that end.

Another thing we have to consider is that when Ming Xiao first arrived in LA in 2001 to take over the domain from the previous Ancestor, Monkey Trip Wu who had vanished, I very much doubt she was impressed with what the Anarchs had done with the city. At the time the crime rate was high so she probably saw the Anarch Free States as nothing more than childish gangland games and considered they were wasting the opportunity their new unlives had given them.

Why did Ming Xiao revive the Tong, if her role is to serve the people of Chinatown?

Well, we have an idea of the possible motivation Ming Xiao has and in theory it is a noble one. She wants to save the world from doom and if she has to spill the blood of the western supernatural creatures to accomplish it, then fair enough. But why fund the Tong, since their presence is causing harm to the people of Chinatown, her charges? We have to remember Ming Xiao is also a ruthless woman and may have the belief that the ends justify the means, no matter how much damage is done to the people of Chinatown. After all, once the Kindred are out of the city, she can make it all up by dismantling the Tong. Remember Ming Xiao became an important figure to the community of Chinatown by funding and restoring the Temple of Golden Virtue and probably no doubt funded other local business that weren’t doing well in these modern Americacentric times.

Funding the Tong enables the Kuei-jin to have more men to help fight the Anarchs, brings more money to fund this war and possibly a constant supply of Chi through living mortal’s blood or breath provided through human trafficking. And as the Second Breath is usually given to those who die violently or with much sin, it also creates more foot soldiers to build an army to fight the Anarchs. This might be a bit of a stretch, but I think this could be the reason Ming Xiao has funded the Tong, she’s fighting a war with the Anarchs and she’ll do anything to win. Possibly the reason Ming Xiao ends up having Wong Ho and his daughter killed is that he’s becoming a thorn in the Tong’s side.

Why did Ming Xiao agree to an alliance with Prince Sebastian LaCroix, her enemy?

At the beginning of VTMB it’s been six years since the Kuei-jin first came into LA and the war between the Anarchs and the Kuei-jin has come to a standstill. Despite dealing the Anarchs many heavy blows to the point that both the Camarilla and Sabbat were able to slip into LA and claim some territory, the Kuei-jin have also taken some damage and cannot afford to be careless. And despite the supposed death of Jeremy McNeil, Nines Rodriguez’s predecessor, leader of the LA Anarchs, the Anarchs remained strong and grew their ranks everyday due to Nines Rodriguez’s leadership. So it would be prudent for Ming Xiao to rid of herself of this threat, but also, she needs the other Kindred factions off her back.

Thankfully, Ming Xiao just so happens to know a disgruntled Camarilla Prince that also wants Nines Rodriguez, the Anarchs and the Sabbat out of the way. We don’t know which one approached the other first, but Sebastian LaCroix must have heard of one of the Kuei-jin’s powers to be able to turn into anyone they want, which is the highest level of the Flesh Shintai discipline.

In exchange for keeping the Camarilla off the Kuei-jin’s back and the chance to get rid of Nines, Ming Xiao agrees to LaCroix’s plan to frame the Anarch leader for the murder of Alister Grout. Ming Xiao likely found out about LaCroix’s reason for wanting Grout dead through the many recordings in Grout’s mansion, despite the Malkavian Primogen not naming names. At some point there were plans to also rid LA of the ‘lesser’ factions- the Anarchs and the Sabbat but that plan probably got pushed to the wayside by LaCroix’s growing obsession with the Ankaran sarcophagus.

And why did Ming Xiao end up breaking off her alliance with Prince Sebastian LaCroix and reveal the truth of who murdered Grout and the framing of Nines Rodriguez?

By the time Ming Xiao reveals the truth to the player, she has suffered a number of setbacks; you’ve cut down the Tong’s leader and wreaked havoc on the whole organization, including the Fu Syndicate and have killed the Chang Brothers, her best agents. Plus, despite the blood hunt called on him, Nines is still at large and LaCroix has become completely obsessed with the Ankaran sarcophagus. Perhaps she fears or believes LaCroix will decide to turn on her and reveal who really murdered Grout. Everything for her is unravelling and by this point the player has proven to be an incredible ally worth having.

Ming Xiao reveals the truth to the player to make you turn against LaCroix and possibly encourage you to go and tell the Anarchs, which will lead to a war between the Anarchs and the Camarilla. However, then Ming Xiao goes and mentions that she has the key. I find her motivation for doing so on shaky ground, since it feels more like a ‘Come at me bro’ moment, which doesn’t seem the smartest thing for her to do. Or perhaps she knows that LaCroix cannot resist the opportunity to kill Nines rather than team up with him to kill the Kuei-jin together and since you’ve survived this long, surely you can handle whatever threat LaCroix will throw your way and then come crawling to her.

I can’t help but think that, like LaCroix’s later actions of a desperate man scrambling for any semblance of power, Ming Xiao’s actions at this point are of a woman losing control of the situation, thanks to the unexpected power of the player. Perhaps it was intended by the writers of VTMB for this to be the case and, unlike LaCroix, who’s barely keeping himself together, Ming Xiao is better at hiding her true emotions. The anger and rage Ming Xiao truly feels only spill out when you fight her in the other endings.

And Why did Ming Xiao betray the player character in the Kuei-jin ending?

In the Kuei-jin ending the player has successfully defeated all of LaCroix’s men and The Sheriff, showing their unusually fast rate of power gain. After all, you’ve only been a vampire for two weeks at most, who knows how powerful you’ll be in a year or two. And Ming Xiao’s plans do not include you living amongst Kuei-jin, though there have been Kindred such as Salvador Garcia, a former ally of Jeremy McNeil who joined the Kuei-jin and didn’t get screwed over, though that was back in the old WOD canon and things might be different now.

However, to Ming Xiao, you are nothing but a threat that needs to be taken care of since she thinks that Nines Rodriguez is dead, as is LaCroix. Little does she know that Nines is luckier than most… So, Ming Xiao straps the player to the Ankaran sarcophagus and dumps you and it in the ocean, perhaps believing she’s made the first step in preventing the Sixth Age.

So, in conclusion, I believe that I’ve outlined what sort of motives and goals Ming Xiao has. She’s trying to help stop the Age of Sorrow through any means necessary, no matter the cost. Again, a noble goal, but one that does not include the rest of Kindred kind.

Thank you for reading my essay on Ming Xiao’s motives and goals and I hope you found it enlightening or at the very least interesting. Any thoughts or criticism are very welcome.

#vampire the masquerade #Vampire The Masquerade Bloodlines #VTMB #Ming Xiao #My writing #meta

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antinous-posts · 4 years

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The Eleusinian Mysteries

(from Manly P. Halls, the secret Teachings of all Ages)

Γνῶθι σεαυτόν - Gnothi seauton - Know Thyself

THE most famous of the ancient religious Mysteries were the Eleusinian, whose rites were celebrated every five years in the city of Eleusis to honor Ceres (Demeter, Hera, Mary or Isis) and her daughter, Persephone(Proserpine in latin). The initiates of the Eleusinian School were famous throughout Greece for the beauty of their philosophic concepts and the high standards of morality which they demonstrated in their daily lives. Because of their excellence, these Mysteries spread to Rome and Britain, and later the initiations were given in both these countries.

The Eleusinian Mysteries, named for the community in Attica where the sacred dramas were first presented, are generally believed to have been founded by Eumolpos about fourteen hundred years before the birth of Christ, and through the Platonic system of philosophy their principles have been preserved to modern times.

The rites of Eleusis, with their Mystic interpretations of Nature's most precious secrets, overshadowed the civilizations of their time and gradually absorbed many smaller schools, incorporating into their own system whatever valuable information these lesser institutions possessed. Heckethorn sees in the Mysteries of Ceres and Bacchus a metamorphosis of the rites of Isis and Osiris, and there is every reason to believe that all so-called secret schools of the ancient world were branches from one philosophic tree which, with its root in heaven and its branches on the earth, is--like the spirit of man--an invisible but ever-present cause of the objectified vehicles that give it expression.

The Mysteries were the channels through which this one philosophic light was disseminated, and their initiates, resplendent with intellectual and spiritual understanding, were the perfect fruitage of the divine tree, bearing witness before the material world of the recondite source of all Light and Truth.

The rites of Eleusis were divided into what were called the Lesser and the Greater Mysteries. According to James Gardner, the Lesser Mysteries were celebrated in the spring (probably at the time of the vernal equinox) in the town of Agræ, and the Greater, in the fall (the time of the autumnal equinox) at Eleusis or Athens. It is supposed that the former were given annually and the latter every five years. The rituals of the Eleusinians were highly involved, and to understand them required a deep study of Greek mythology, which they interpreted in its esoteric light with the aid of their secret keys.

The Lesser Mysteries were dedicated to Persephone. In his Eleusinian and Bacchic Mysteries, Thomas Taylor sums up their purpose as follows: "The Lesser Mysteries were designed by the ancient theologists, their founders, to signify occultly the condition of the unpurified soul invested with an earthy body, and enveloped in a material and physical nature."

The legend used in the Lesser rites is that of the abduction of the goddess Persephone, the daughter of Ceres, by Pluto, the lord of the underworld, or Hades. While Persephone is picking flowers in a beautiful meadow, the earth suddenly opens and the gloomy lord of death, riding in a magnificent chariot, emerges from its somber depths and, grasping her in his arms, carries the screaming and struggling goddess to his subterranean palace, where he forces her to become his queen.

It is doubtful whether many of the initiates themselves understood the mystic meaning of this allegory, for most of them apparently believed that it referred solely to the succession of the seasons.

It is difficult to obtain satisfactory information concerning the Mysteries, for the candidates were bound by inviolable oaths never to reveal their inner secrets to the profane. At the beginning of the ceremony of initiation, the candidate stood upon the skins of animals sacrificed for the purpose, and vowed that death should seal his lips before he would divulge the sacred truths which were about to be communicated to him. Through indirect channels, however, some of their secrets have been preserved.

The teachings given to the neophytes were substantially as follows: The soul of man--often called Psyche, and in the Eleusinian Mysteries symbolized by Persephone--is essentially a spiritual thing. Its true home is in the higher worlds, where, free from the bondage of material form and material concepts, it is said to be truly alive and self-expressive. The human, or physical, nature of man, according to this doctrine, is a tomb, a quagmire, a false and impermanent thing, the source of all sorrow and suffering. Plato describes the body as the sepulcher of the soul; and by this he means not only the human form but also the human nature.

The gloom and depression of the Lesser Mysteries represented the agony of the spiritual soul unable to express itself because it has accepted the limitations and illusions of the human environment. The crux of the Eleusinian argument was that man is neither better nor wiser after death than during life. If he does not rise above ignorance during his sojourn here, man goes at death into eternity to wander about forever, making the same mistakes which he made here. If he does not outgrow the desire for material possessions here, he will carry it with him into the invisible world, where, because he can never gratify the desire, he will continue in endless agony. Dante's Inferno is symbolically descriptive of the sufferings of those who never freed their spiritual natures from the cravings, habits, viewpoints, and limitations of their Plutonic personalities.

Those who made no endeavor to improve themselves (whose souls have slept) during their physical lives, passed at death into Hades, where, lying in rows, they slept through all eternity as they had slept through life.

To the Eleusinian philosophers, birch into the physical world was death in the fullest sense of the word, and the only true birth was that of the spiritual soul of man rising out of the womb of his own fleshly nature. "The soul is dead that slumbers," says Longfellow, and in this he strikes the keynote of the Eleusinian Mysteries. Just as Narcissus, gazing at himself in the water (the ancients used this mobile element to symbolize the transitory, illusionary, material universe) lost his life trying to embrace a reflection, so man, gazing into the mirror of Nature and accepting as his real self the senseless clay that he sees reflected, loses the opportunity afforded by physical life to unfold his immortal, invisible Self.

An ancient initiate once said that the living are ruled by the dead. Only those conversant with the Eleusinian concept of life could understand that statement. It means that the majority of people are not ruled by their living spirits but by their senseless (hence dead) animal personalities. Transmigration and reincarnation were taught in these Mysteries, but in a somewhat unusual manner. It was believed that at midnight the invisible worlds were closest to the Terrestrial sphere and that souls coming into material existence slipped in during the midnight hour. For this reason many of the Eleusinian ceremonies were performed at midnight. Some of those sleeping spirits who had failed to awaken their higher natures during the earth life and who now floated around in the invisible worlds, surrounded by a darkness of their own making, occasionally slipped through at this hour and assumed the forms of various creatures.

The mystics of Eleusis also laid stress upon the evil of suicide, explaining that there was a profound mystery concerning this crime of which they could not speak, but warning their disciples that a great sorrow comes to all who take their own lives. This, in substance, constitutes the esoteric doctrine given to the initiates of the Lesser Mysteries. As the degree dealt largely with the miseries of those who failed to make the best use of their philosophic opportunities, the chambers of initiation were subterranean and the horrors of Hades were vividly depicted in a complicated ritualistic drama.

After passing successfully through the tortuous passageways, with their trials and dangers, the candidate received the honorary title of Mystes. This meant one who saw through a veil or had a clouded vision. It also signified that the candidate had been brought up to the veil, which would be torn away in the higher degree. The modern word mystic, as referring to a seeker after truth according to the dictates of the heart along the path of faith, is probably derived from this ancient word, for faith is belief in the reality of things unseen or veiled.

The Greater Mysteries (into which the candidate was admitted only after he had successfully passed through the ordeals of the Lesser, and not always then) were sacred to Ceres, the mother of Persephone, and represent her as wandering through the world in quest of her abducted daughter. Ceres carried two torches, intuition and reason, to aid her in the search for her lost child (the soul). At last she found Persephone not far from Eleusis, and out of gratitude taught the people there to cultivate corn, which is sacred to her.

She also founded the Mysteries. Ceres appeared before Pluto, god of the souls of the dead, and pleaded with him to allow Persephone to return to her home. This the god at first refused to do, because Persephone had eaten of the pomegranate, the fruit of mortality. At last, however, he compromised and agreed to permit Persephone to live in the upper world half of the year if she would stay with him in the darkness of Hades for the remaining half.

The Greeks believed that Persephone was a manifestation of the solar energy, which in the winter months lived under the earth with Pluto, but in the summer returned again with the goddess of productiveness. There is a legend that the flowers loved Persephone and that every year when she left for the dark realms of Pluto, the plants and shrubs would die of grief. While the profane and uninitiated had their own opinions on these subjects, the truths of the Greek allegories remained safely concealed by the priests, who alone recognized the sublimity of these great philosophic and religious parables.

Thomas Taylor epitomizes the doctrines of the Greater Mysteries in the following statement: "The Greater (Mysteries) obscurely intimated, by mystic and splendid visions, the felicity of the soul both here and hereafter when purified from the defilement of a material nature, and constantly elevated to the realities of intellectual (spiritual) vision."

Just as the Lesser Mysteries discussed the prenatal epoch of man when the consciousness in its nine days (embryologically, months) was descending into the realm of illusion and assuming the veil of unreality, so the Greater Mysteries discussed the principles of spiritual regeneration and revealed to initiates not only the simplest but also the most direct and complete method of liberating their higher natures from the bondage of material ignorance.

Like Prometheus chained to the top of Mount Caucasus, man's higher nature is chained to his inadequate personality. The nine days of initiation were also symbolic of the nine spheres through which the human soul descends during the process of assuming a terrestrial form. The secret exercises for spiritual unfoldment given to disciples of the higher degrees are unknown, but there is every reason to believe that they were similar to the Brahmanic Mysteries, since it is known that the Eleusinian ceremonies were closed with the Sanskrit words "KONX OM PAX."

That part of the allegory referring to the two six-month periods during one of which Persephone must remain with Pluto, while during the other she may revisit the upper world, offers material for deep consideration. It is probable that the Eleusinians realized that the soul left the body during steep, or at least was made capable of leaving by the special training which undoubtedly they were in a position to give. Thus Persephone would remain as the queen of Pluto's realm during the waking hours, but would ascend to the spiritual worlds during the periods of sleep. The initiate was taught how to intercede with Pluto to permit Persephone (the initiate's soul) to ascend from the darkness of his material nature into the light of understanding. When thus freed from the shackles of clay and crystallized concepts, the initiate was liberated not only for the period of his life but for all eternity, for never thereafter was he divested of those soul qualities which after death were his vehicles for manifestation and expression in the so-called heaven world.

In contrast to the idea of Hades as a state of darkness below, the gods were said to inhabit the tops of mountains, a well-known example being Mount Olympus, where the twelve deities of the Greek pantheon were said to dwell together. In his initiatory wanderings the neophyte therefore entered chambers of ever-increasing brilliancy to portray the ascent of the spirit from the lower worlds into the realms of bliss. As the climax to such wanderings he entered a great vaulted room, in the center of which stood a brilliantly illumined statue of the goddess Ceres. Here, in the presence of the hierophant and surrounded by priests in magnificent robes, he was instructed in the highest of the secret mysteries of the Eleusis. At the conclusion of this ceremony he was hailed as an Epoptes, which means one who has beheld or seen directly. For this reason also initiation was termed autopsy. The Epoptes was then given certain sacred books, probably written in cipher, together with tablets of stone on which secret instructions were engraved.

In The Obelisk in Freemasonry, John A. Weisse describes the officiating personages of the Eleusinian Mysteries as consisting of a male and a female hierophant who directed the initiations; a male and a female torchbearer; a male herald; and a male and a female altar attendant. There were also numerous minor officials. He states that, according to Porphyry, the hierophant represents Plato's Demiurgus, or Creator of the world; the torch bearer, the Sun; the altar man, the Moon; the herald, Hermes, or Mercury; and the other officials, minor stars.

From the records available, a number of strange and apparently supernatural phenomena accompanied the rituals. Many initiates claim to have actually seen the living gods themselves. Whether this was the result of religious ecstasy or the actual cooperation of invisible powers with the visible priests must remain a mystery.

In The Metamorphosis, or Golden Ass, Apuleius thus describes what in all probability is his initiation into the Eleusinian Mysteries:

"I approached to the confines of death, and having trod on the threshold of Proserpine I, returned from it, being carried through all the elements. At midnight I saw the sun shining with a splendid light; and I manifestly drew near to, the gods beneath, and the gods above, and proximately adored them."

Women and children were admitted to the Eleusinian Mysteries, and at one time there were literally thousands of initiates. Because this vast host was not prepared for the highest spiritual and mystical doctrines, a division necessarily took place within the society itself. The higher teachings were given to only a limited number of initiates who, because of superior mentality, showed a comprehensive grasp of their underlying philosophical concepts.

Socrates refused to be initiated into the Eleusinian Mysteries, for knowing its principles without being a member of the order he realized that membership would seal his tongue. That the Mysteries of Eleusis were based upon great and eternal truths is attested by the veneration in which they were held by the great minds of the ancient world. M. Ouvaroff asks, "Would Pindar, Plato, Cicero, Epictetus, have spoken of them with such admiration, if the hierophant had satisfied himself with loudly proclaiming his own opinions, or those of his order?"

The garments in which candidates were initiated were preserved for many years and were believed to possess almost sacred properties. Just as the soul can have no covering save wisdom and virtue, so the candidates--being as yet without true knowledge--were presented to the Mysteries unclothed, being first: given the skin of an animal and later a consecrated robe to symbolize the philosophical teachings received by the initiate.

During the course of initiation the candidate passed through two gates. The first led downward into the lower worlds and symbolized his birth into ignorance. The second led upward into a room brilliantly lighted by unseen lamps, in which was the statue of Ceres and which symbolized the upper world, or the abode of Light and Truth. Strabo states that the great temple of Eleusis would hold between twenty and thirty thousand people. The caves dedicated by Zarathustra also had these two doors, symbolizing the avenues of birth and death.

The following paragraph from Porphyry gives a fairly adequate conception of Eleusinian symbolism: "God being a luminous principle, residing in the midst of the most subtile fire, he remains for ever invisible to the eyes of those who do not elevate themselves above material life: on this account, the sight of transparent bodies, such as crystal, Parian marble, and even ivory, recalls the idea of divine light; as the sight of gold excites an idea of its purity, for gold cannot he sullied.

Some have thought by a black stone was signified the invisibility of the divine essence. To express supreme reason, the Divinity was represented under the human form--and beautiful, for God is the source of beauty; of different ages, and in various attitudes, sitting or upright; of one or the other sex, as a virgin or a young man, a husband or a bride, that all the shades and gradations might be marked.

Every thing luminous was subsequently attributed to the gods; the sphere, and all that is spherical, to the universe, to the sun and the moon--sometimes to Fortune and to Hope. The circle, and all circular figures, to eternity--to the celestial movements; to the circles and zones of the heavens. The section of circles, to the phases of the moon; and pyramids and obelisks, to the igneous principle, and through that to the gods of Heaven. A cone expresses the sun, a cylinder the earth; the phallus and triangle (a symbol of the matrix) designate generation." (From Essay on the Mysteries of Eleusis by M. Ouvaroff.)

The Eleusinian Mysteries, according to Heckethorn, survived all others and did not cease to exist as an institution until nearly four hundred years after Christ, when they were finally suppressed by Theodosius (styled the Great), who cruelly destroyed all who did not accept the Christian faith. Of this greatest of all philosophical institutions Cicero said that it taught men not only how to live but also how to die.

Picture: Oracle of Delphi, John Augustus Knapp

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midnightprelude · 5 years

Text

Deception Unraveling | Ch. 3: The Din’anshiral

From my Crestwood Solas POV fic. It’s short, but it’s finished, and writing it broke my heart. Apparently it’s Solavellan sobbing week according to @pikapeppa and @faerieavalon, so I thought I’d toss this nonsense out into the fold as well (grumble grumble).

Read here or on AO3.

The wind was enough to make even his heavy cloak billow. Summer was in full force and he found himself quickly sweating. He was ill-dressed for the weather and he quickly removed as much clothing as was prudent, leaving on only a thin vest. He was still warm, but the breeze was able to cool his skin without the extra barriers of his clothing. He smiled. He had not felt so free in a long time.

He walked along a great river, water rushing past the direction he found himself traveling. He paused by its bank, cupping his hands and reaching down to drink from the flowing stream. The water was cool against his parched lips. He repeated the movement, splashing more water against his face.

The reflection stared back at him, disheveled and distorted through the passing waters. His hair was a mess, hopelessly tangled and limp. He pulled it out of his braid, letting the long brown locks trail down his back. He removed what little clothing remained and submerged himself in the water, gasping at the chill. The stream clearly emerged from a nearby mountain, the temperature of its waters unaffected by the summer heat.

Weeks of sweat and grime came off in layers, darkening the water. He had hardly registered the sorry state of his skin until he was clean again, but now he was not sure how he had stood it for that long. He pulled his hair back again, fastening it into a tight braid to keep it from his eyes.

He was no longer sure where he was headed, letting his feet continue to carry the rest of him towards some unknown destination. The place did not seem to matter terribly. Only that he kept moving, inexorably, towards something. It felt right, walking the world on foot.

A deep feeling of contentment washed over him.

This is where I am meant to be.

He was not sure where precisely the thought came from; it came unbidden from a secret part of his spirit, showing him the way when he had thought he had lost it. And perhaps he had found something special here, at the edge of the world. The hills crested into gentle slopes, the grass beneath his feet was soft, and there was no lack of game.

One foot in front of the next, he passed, miles rolling by with the setting sun. He had not seen a soul until the sun was nearly peaking upwards past the horizon, a new morning beginning.

There she was. She stood atop a hill and he found himself being pulled towards her.

A long braid cascaded behind the woman’s back, her traveling dress blowing softly in the wind. Her hands clasped the reins of a gelding and a stallion, the former as pale as starlight and the latter its opposite. As he approached, he began to see single tendrils of hair had become loosened from her braid. Her back was towards him, looking out into the stretch of land before her. She held herself as though the entire world was hers to breathe in, not from arrogance, but from a proud sense of belonging. She was so distinctly of the world, but her beauty and sense of bearing kept her almost apart from it. It was simultaneously challenging and simple to believe that she had been created from this world—the place that was filled with both sorrow and overwhelming joy. He felt that she had carried both in her palm, but had decided she would embody something quite different from either.

“Vhenan”, he breathed.

As though she sensed his presence, she turned slowly to face him.

He gasped when he saw her face.

It was indeed his lover, in so many ways. The woman had her hair, her bearing, her nose, her slight figure. It was not unusual that he would have mistaken her for the woman he loved.

Her eyes though, were distinct. They were silver clouds, crisp and brilliant, encircling dark pupils. He had seen them so many times before, in his own reflection. She wore a thin circlet in her hair, held in place by silver pins. He knew this stranger, even if they had never met.

“Father, I have been searching for you for days. Why you choose to make the journey on foot as opposed to using our eluvian will never make sense to me.”

He remembered to close his mouth. He must have looked quite a fool before her.

This woman… It cannot be.

“Is everything quite alright, Father? I brought your stallion. We can finish the rest of the trip together, if you do not mind the company. Mother has already arrived, days ago, with her entourage.”

He was stunned, shaking his head.

“Father?”

He cleared his throat. “Um… Yes. I will go with you. Though I am not sure where we are going, if truth be told.”

She laughed. “Have you hit your head? I knew that I should have insisted you travel with a company. I know that you like the time to yourself, but…” She looked at him curiously. “You really have forgotten, haven’t you?”

He nodded. “Humor me. I haven’t been feeling myself lately.”

She took his hand, handing the reins to the midnight black stallion. “Here you go.” When he mounted, she continued. “We’re going into the city, of course. There’s to be a party… Something about you naming me as your heir in front of all of Elvhenan...” She laughed, freely, as though she had never known hurt.

He looked around, past the rolling hills, past the woman who looked like her and called him ‘father’. “The city… You don’t mean…?”

She laughed. “Mother is going to hear of this, you can mark my words. She’ll never let you out of her sight again. I had not thought you had grown senile in the few months we have been apart. We travel to Arlathan, of course. The entire household is already there. You’ll be the last to arrive, as usual.”

Arlathan… That means… It worked? But… if it worked, she could never be…

His vision blurred and suddenly he was standing on the floor of a great stone tower. He could see an eerie green glow off in the distance, blue lightning crackling across the sky. The woman was gone, as were the hills, the horses, and the sky.

The Fade. Of course it is. I could never have a life with her and my People restored both. One dream will always be the death of the other. And… we had a child in this make-believe world? I had not even known that a family was something I wanted. A legacy, one who would remember me for who I am as opposed to who I was made to be. It is too much to believe. But now that I know…

A woman stood before him, wearing his daughter’s face, but precious little else.

“Did I do well?” It cooed, voice as silky as warm chocolate.

“I do not need your interference, demon.”

The woman, the demon of desire, pouted. “Do you not? You’re absolutely brimming with want. Passion that only I have the power to fulfill. Did I pick the right one?”

He tutted. “Too unrealistic. You gave it away.”

She laughed. “Our desires do not need to be realistic. That is precisely why they are desires in the first place.” She looked him over. “Oh, perhaps I shouldn’t be wearing her face. Must look a bit strange to you.” The desire demon shimmered and she changed slightly to replace his daughter’s face with the Inquisitor’s.

“Is that better, love?”

He shook his head. “You know that I do not yearn for her any longer. It is done.”

The demon laughed. “You are an absolutely terrible liar, my sweet. You want her as you always have. You just tell yourself that you can’t have her. And what a sad little thing that longing has made you. I would help you. You could stay here with me. I can give you everything. I can give you her and your world both. You can have everything if you remain. The waking world will only hold ashes. Ashes, blood, and pain. You seek to walk the din’anshiral alone, my pet. You need not.”

He leaned on his staff, tired from this encounter already. “You would leave me with nothing when you were done.”

She chuckled, the laughter ringing softly against the masonry. “Perhaps that’s true, but you would keep me busy for quite some time before that.” She stood straighter, eyes meeting his. “But enough chatter. I will find what you desire, whether you approve or not.”

His vision began to swim again.

This time he was in a crystal palace, mirrors suspended in the air, chandeliers swaying gently in the wind. The air was pleasantly warm and the construction of the tower was such that natural light and air filtered through the rooms, giving its denizens access to the outside world while sheltering them from it.

Before him stood a great silver tree, branches extending so high he could barely make out their leaves. It seemed to reach the very clouds themselves. The trunk of the tree had been shaped in a throne, as imposing as the woman who sat among its branches, a living throne.

Lady Mythal sat resplendent in full armor, her long blonde hair cascading down her back in gentle curls. She was dressed for battle—indeed, she had anticipated it.

He did not need to see his reflection to know what it would hold. He was younger, but his vallaslin had been removed already. This was to be a coronation of sorts. His reward, or his curse.

The other seven evanuris stood behind the imposing figure of his former mistress. Elgar’nan, with his flaming sword and fiery eyes stood beside his wife, directly to her right. At the goddess’s left stood her favored daughter, Andruil. He was surprised to see the goddess of the hunt looking uncharacteristically pale and gaunt, her hand lay gently on her mother’s shoulder, as though to steady herself. Branching out from them were Mythal’s other daughter Sylaise, fair and gentle, and Sylaise’s husband June, built like a ram. On the other side of Elgar’nan stood Ghilan’nain, in riding leathers. The twins, Dirthamen and Falon’Din, stood behind their father, apart from the others and cloaked in darkness.

Mythal beckoned for him to approach her dais and he followed her command. There was no other option.

He stood upon a mosaic at her feet, depicting the creation of the world.

The evanuris may not have been the ones to make the world, but they would certainly take all the credit given to them.

His face was a mask as he approached his supposed gods.

It is for Mythal and her alone that I am here. The others… They cannot be trusted, even those who appear to be pleased by this situation.

“Kneel, Wolf,” the silver lady commanded.

He dropped into a deep bow before them, his head lowered and arm resting upon his knee.

“You have performed a great service for the People—descending into the realm of the Children of Stone and ripping their power straight from its roots. We owe you a great debt, each of us. Our cities would crumble at their insistence, and you alone stood to bring them to heel.”

He said nothing, and did not meet their eyes. It was not his place to speak at a gathering of his gods.

Elgar’nan spoke next, his voice like rolling thunder. “It is at my wife’s insistence that you be exalted into our ranks. Though I have my own suspicions, it is not the place to voice them here.”

Sylaise approached him, a golden circlet in her palms. She would have designed it herself, her husband smelting the ore to make the crown. Howling wolves would sit on either side of his forehead, reminding all of who he was. The evanuris placed the crown upon his head, kissing him gently right below where the circlet sat. The slender woman stepped back into her place between her sister and husband, gown swishing gently against the floor.

“Arise, Fen’Harel, and leave your old self behind. What you were no longer exists, replaced by what it is you will become.” Mythal’s words were like the ocean, battering against the coast. He found himself suppressing a shiver as he stood before them.

“May you find peace along the path, Wolf.”

She had not dismissed the other gods before Falon’Din and Dirthamen had already turned to leave. Their action would be seen as an affront and he was sure Mythal would have noted it. Her sons had come, but they did not agree with her decision. He had known that his ascension would have detractors. The evanuris did not like to share power.

He turned to see another figure had taken their place towards the back of the room.

It was a smiling woman, one he could hardly place.

Then he remembered, suddenly.

Vhenan… I do not belong here. Not any longer.

The image shimmered and he was back in the tower again.

“That was not so much a desire, as it was a memory. An interesting choice for you to recreate.”

The woman nodded, smiling. “You wished that it had turned out a different way—that you had walked away from that meeting. That you had left whole, as opposed to leaving as a pawn for those who were supposed to be your equals.”

He sighed. “I carry a great many regrets, but I could not have saved my People had I not stood among the evanuris.”

The woman who held his lover’s face smirked. “Oh, and you still believe you saved the People? I still think that has yet to be seen. You wish to save them. You wish a great many things. That does not make it so in your world that is so resistant to change. Stay here with me and you can be anything you wish. I will show you.”

He saw himself in front of a great mirror on an island floating in the sky. Before him stood the Inquisitor among a sea of unmoving Qunari. She moved towards him quickly and he turned away from her as she approached.

“Solas!”

He turned back towards her, his breath catching in his throat. “So, you’ve found me at last, vhenan. I suspect you have questions.”

She was furious, looking about her with her sword brandished towards him. “Speak, and perhaps I will listen.”

He nodded. “As you wish. What would you wish to know?”

She grimaced. “Do not toy with me. I would have the truth from you. Tell me of how you betrayed me, betrayed the People. I know who you are, Fen’Harel.” She spat the last word towards him and he found himself involuntarily stepping backwards.

“You already have the truth then, do you not?” He found himself saying. He wanted to run to her, to hold her, to prostrate himself before her. Instead he did none of those things.

“Did you ever truly love me, or was that just another of your lies? God of betrayal, deception. I should have known.”

He balked. “Vhenan…”

She shuddered, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks. She was mourning, even through her anger. “Do not presume to call me that, Solas. Not when you have given me nothing but falsehoods. I am dying. Speak quickly so that I may leave this world in peace.”

“I did not lie to you when I confessed my affections. That was no act, even if you do not care to believe it. And now you must understand why it could not continue. Not if this were to be the outcome.”

She laughed. “Did you not think I would understand? Am I not enough of a person to even be given that choice?”

He shook his head. “No, that is not why I could not tell you. And you are a person to me. You have been for a very long time. That was why…”

She frowned. “Then why would you still destroy it all?”

“This world was a mistake that I need to undo.”

“You cannot always keep running from your problems, Solas. We will find you, eventually.”

“I know. But I must try even so.”

“I loved you too. I love you still. That is why I cannot let you do this. I came to stop you.”

He shook his head, smiling. “You know that there is only one thing that will stop me, vhenan. And you do not have the strength to do it. Your emotions will get in the way.”

She laughed, drawing her blade. “That is precisely the reason why I am the only person who can finish this, Solas.” At that moment, the anchor in her hand flared, turning the sky a bright green. In a moment of distraction, she had crossed the short distance between them. She was a hair’s breadth away from him before she grabbed his arm, pulling him into a kiss.

He felt her blade slide through his stomach, the steel passing through him like he was made of silk. He did not stop it—had no more desire to. Blood rose up through his throat like bile, dripping from his mouth. He made a sign with his hand and her anchor flared again.

“You knew that coming here was suicide, did you not, vhenan? I can kill you just as easily as you can kill me. Easier, even.”

“I should hope so. I came to die here with you. You’re a damned fool. I love you, but you have no idea what you would do.”

“It is foolish to think this could end any other way, vhenan. That we could avoid killing each other like this. A kind fantasy to indulge in, but not one that meets with reality.” He kissed her, leaving a trail of his blood against her lips. “For what little it is worth, I am glad it was you.”

He felt himself slumping in her arms. Her anchor was dissolving her slowly—she would not have more than a few minutes left in this world. And neither would he, if he judged his own situation correctly. He had failed her, failed the People, and lost them both.

Fitting.

He could barely keep his eyes open. She was stroking his head with her one remaining hand, the right half of her body nearly gone.

“You are a rare and marvelous spirit. In another world…”

She smiled at him, despite everything, kissing his forehead. “Why not this one?”

“I can’t.”

Her voice grew faint as she continued to fade away. “Remember, you had a choice. You chose incorrectly.”

“I am sorry, vhenan. For everything.”

Her last words were a whisper in the breeze, so soft that he was not sure if they were real or not. “I know.”

The last of her body disintegrated and he was left there, in his island hovering amongst the clouds, utterly alone, blood slowly pooling from his weak body.

The vision shimmered again, and Solas found himself facing the demon of desire. His body was whole, not bleeding out on the ground. He brushed himself off, looking at her.

“Oooooh, you do love your little pains, my sweet. That was absolutely delicious.” The demon was licking her lips, staring at him.

He frowned. “Are you going to permit me to leave?”

She laughed. “And why would I do that?”

“We’ll just spend all of eternity here reliving the same scenarios if you never allow me to leave from this place. If I can go back into the world, then I can return here with new material. And you can help me, again. You know my true desire. To see this through to the end. And once I am done, I will return to you. Be so kind as to grant me what I wish.”

Her lips pursed, considering. “Hmm… That’s an interesting proposition. Usually people just threaten to kill me and then I have to end them. Very sad. I like you more than most.”

He laughed. “You may be the first to say that.”

She nodded. “You’ve intrigued me. I have decided, against my better judgement, to permit you to leave for now. I would like to see how the story ends.”

He sighed. “As would I.”

The demon extended her hand. “Once you find out, you’ll need to return to let me know. Do you promise?”

He nodded. “Yes. I will return. Though not forever.”

The demon frowned. “Damn. Well, it was worth trying. Even so. Goodbye, little mageling. I hope you find what you are looking for. Or maybe not! Then perhaps you’ll come back to me willingly.”

Solas opened his eyes. His head had been resting against his desk in the rotunda. He heard footsteps behind him and he stood quickly.

It was her.

“Solas…”

Vhenan, he wanted to call. He wanted to run to her, to pull her into his arms and apologize for everything. To stop the lie and to give himself fully to her. He wanted their future, their child, their life together. He wanted her more than he had wanted anything else in his life.

But that way brings only pain. For her and I both. And that I cannot abide.

He pushed aside his emotions, sliding back into the mask, pretending like she was not the one his soul called out for.

“Inquisitor. How may I be of service?”

#midnight writes #deception unraveling #solas #lavellan #solavellan hell #dragon age fanfiction

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executive-geneticist · 5 years

Note

Bad end - reverse.

I've Met With a Terrible Fate, Haven't I?

-The fae are not known for having rules. Their ephemeral, distinctly Other nature does not lend itself to such trivial concepts as rule or law. They are governed by whim and impulse alone, with no restraint save self-preservation and the bleak and bleary edges of amusement. The only real restriction the fae might speak of went as such-- and it never cease to amuse, do what thou wilt.

-Which is why, when one toes this line-- or worse, rides roughshod clear across it-- it is considered a most egregious crime indeed.

-When first you heard the rumors that the Golbat King had at last found his mortal paramour, you found yourself rolling your eyes at the news. In all your long years, it was a tale almost as old as time itself. The arrogant king would find himself intrigued by some pretty human, steal away a troublesome sibling or cousin in an effort to woo them, then tempt them with finery and song when all his efforts failed. And in the end, they always failed. Whether because the mortal perished or because the temptations of the fae do not hold a candle to True Love, it mattered not. The outcome remained the same.

-At first, the higher courts thought nothing of the Golbat King's antics. He was ever careful to avoid unnecessary attention-- a feat in and of itself given his grandiose attitude-- and, for a time, it was amusing to watch the mortals struggle to overcome the challenges in his sprawling kingdom of stone. As the centuries passed, however, and the scenario played out as it always did, the powers that be found themselves bored. And then frustrated. And then intolerant. The rumor mill was alive with warnings, whispers of retribution if the King did not see the error of his ways.

-When you received the note-- instructions from the Court to put a stop to these shenanigans one way or another-- you knew the end was nigh. It was difficult to say you felt sorrow, as distant from human emotions as your brethren that you were, but there was a distinct reluctance to bring down so great and terrible a force. There was a time when the Golbat King was well-respected, well-loved, and to see him brought low smacked of bittersweet nostalgia.

-Alas, when you arrived in his kingdom, the truth of the matter was laid bare: there was no coming back for him. The great stone labyrinth was a gnarled, desiccated husk of its former glory. The grounds were overgrown with molding weeds and mushrooms, the fountains stagnant and foul. The Pokemon that ran free in his lands were malnourished, too weak to fly or fight. The skies were a clouded grey and brown where once they had been vibrant blues and pinks and purples. This was not the resplendent city you had known; this was a mere shel, rife with neglect and drained of magic.

-The Golbat City fared no better. For all its citizens, it was but a ghost town, devoid of life. There were none to greet you, none to stop you, none to announce your arrival. When at last you came to the throne room, once the liveliest place in all of the King's lands, you felt the sickening finality of grim reality. Gone were the sycophantic boot-kissers, the tapestries of silk, the banquets of finest food and drink. No merriment had been had in this space for an age and at the center of the room, draped across the throne like a lounging cat, he was seated. The Golbat King.-

Archer.

-The King himself did not look up. His mismatched eyes were fixed on some infintessimal speck of nothing and he muttered under his breath. You couldn't quite make out the precise sound which left his lips, but you knew from the vacant, far away look on his face that he was lost. Lost in thought, lost to what little reason could be credited to your kind, lost to whatever pleas for change you might have fixed on him a hundred years ago.-

Your Majesty. Do you hear me?

-At the proper address, at last his eyes focused on you and you saw the depths of emotion which haunted him there. The faint aura around him-- what had once been a bright golden color, nearly impossible to look at in all its glory-- was a dingy, tarnished grey. He frowned at you, sculpted brows turning down upon recognizing your face.-

Why have you come, Vivian? I did not send for you.

-Even the voice which speaks to you was diminished, a quiet, defeated sound where once the baritone had sent legions of Pokemon scurrying in fright. Oh, to see the fall of a once-great King! Regret pooled in your chest and you shook your head.-

I come on behalf of the Court. They send their condolences and their regards.

-The words you speak had the desired effect. You saw the resignation in those off-color eyes as you read his sentence in the form of a greeting from former friends. He heaved a disinterested sigh and nodded. He righted his posture with a stiffened jaw and, for a moment, you thought you could see the King he once was before the man-thing he became. Sitting at his leisure upon his silver throne, he gestured to you in his lofty, untouchable way. It only made the necessary next steps harder.-

Do what you must. I have long looked forward to this rest.

-That he was magnanimous in his End, accepting his fate instead of fighting, reminded you again of who he was and you found it in yourself to struggle momentarily with the deed to be done. It was, after all, all you could offer him in his state. A flicker of a smile crossed his face-- appreciation, perhaps-- but then he nodded and you knew the moment could be put off no longer.

-With a wave of your hands, the parcel which had accompanied your instructions snaked from its coil in your satchel. From beneath a cover of fine cloth, a long iron chain unwinded and slithered across the dusty floor. For a moment, you saw panic cloud hues of sea green and sky blue but it faded almost as quickly. The distance between the chain and its final resting place vanished in the space of a heartbeat as the length of iron snapped forward, reaching out to slowly wrap up the throne in a clockwise pattern.

-A hiss reached your ears and you saw the determination in the King's face to restrain the clear agony which welled tears in his eyes. Part of you wanted to look away, to save him the shame of being witnessed in this state, but as the last audience of Archer Apollo, the once King of Golbats, you knew there was greater in shame in making him meet his End unattended. So you watched in stoic silence as the enchanted chain wrapped around the throne entirely, binding the King to his seat of power for all eternity. So bound and cut off from the last of his magic, the Golbat King's flesh turned pale, his eyes fading in color until the irises matched the pale white of the rest of him. A smile touched his face despite the pain and blind eyes searched for you in the darkness.-

Thank you.

-With those words and the resignation to his fate, the pale flesh turned at once to stone, casting the perfect marble statue in honor of The Golbat King.-

#Bad End #The Golbat King #And here we see Jack being self-indulgent again.#Long post #Mobile nonsense

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theuncrucified · 6 years

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SORROW RESPLENDENT: S2 Episode 4 - Something Wicked This Way Comes

In which our band of Solars learn that ancient murderous rituals are only the beginning of the pesky problems to be dealt with at the meeting of nations!

Have you missed a recap? Want to catch up on the story so far and meet the cast of characters? Check out the Campaign Archive!

The first night of the meeting of nations went well! The Circle of Solars impresses everyone they meet, encouraging old allies and meeting new potential ones. The next day, the Circle separates in order to cover more ground with the factions they’re familiar with.

Chaos is called to a meeting with a group of representatives from neighboring nations to discuss the new branch of the Immaculate faith that has taken root in Dinas Rhydd. Servants and representatives greet him warmly, offering him tea while they wait for the remaining representative to arrive. All seems well, until one of the diplomats starts speaking strangely. Seemingly all at once, blood seeps from the mouths of each representative, all of them dying on the spot! Chaos tosses away his tea at the realization of poison.

Panicked, Chaos rushes to find the missing representative and stumbles upon a disturbing scene in the basement…

The missing diplomat had been killed by his servant, who then turns the knife on his own guts! With the servant’s death, the summoning rites are sealed and an unknown evil crawls its way from Malfeas into Creation. Chaos attempts to speak to the unknown horror, but it only regards him for as long as it must, the Zenith dressed in a robe which requires the consideration of any who speak while dressed in the raiment. Chaos chides the demon for its bad behavior, the demon brushing him off with a word that his target lay elsewhere.

He is the Emperor’s Waiting Sepulcher, a Third Circle demon whose only goal is to target those who maintain the power of civilization! During Chaos’ attempts to stop the demon, the building catches flame. The Zenith carefully removes as many of the victims from the burning ruins as he can, only to be greeted upon his exit with the spears of the city guards at his neck!

Being a patient Solar, Chaos surrenders to the guards after bending their spears with little effort and allowing himself to be led him away to a holding cell where he hopes to explain himself further. He politely informs the captain of the guard that they need to let his traveling associates know what’s going on if they have any chance of containing a dangerous situation that the soldiers of the city will not be able to handle on their own.

Sure enough, news of a part of the city being ablaze and rumor of a panic in the district of Chaos’ meeting travels fast. Night and Kalara arrive after a brief stop to let Kalara slip back into her gunslinging Koh persona so she can continue the charade of Kalara being a mere businesswoman. Koh heads for the lockup where he’s heard Chaos has been taken into custody, while Night’s sorcerous sight allows him to track the demon. Demiato arrives at the prison as well, everyone in a panic as word of the situation spreads.

Wasting no time, Koh uses words charged with essence to immediately declare the innocence of their companion and command him to be freed so that he may aid in handling the emergency situation. At the same time, Demiato marches past the stunned guards and lifts the cell doors off the hinges in a show of authority and strength, everyone too scared of her fearsome reputation to move against her. Every mortal in that room does exactly what she and Koh say without question, the entire building too intimidated or awed to lift a finger!

The Circle scrambles desperately to decipher the meaning of the entity’s words. Does it mean to target the visiting rulers? Will it target the attending Solars? Koh and Xesa try to rally the city’s sorcerous defenses and alert the visiting dignitaries while Demiato and Chaos race to aid Night Locust, who has chosen the dangerous path of trailing the entity on his own!

During the rest of the Circle’s adventures in ‘negotiating’ bail, Night Locust follows behind the demon, watching in horror and fascination as the invisible entity only he could see lumbers towards the outskirts of the city. Any living thing it walked through instantly began to wither and die. Thankfully, only vegetation seemed to be suffering in the creature’s path. It spoke up only once to warn the Night Caste that if he ventured closer, he would ignore him no longer.

Being the cheeky fellow that he is, Night stays on him, drawing the creature to attack with a beam of destruction that cuts a swath past Night and for miles into the countryside! Thankfully, the Solar dodges it, his instincts telling him the beam of foul energy would have destroyed him if he hadn’t been able to evade it.

Wasting no time, Night Locust launches himself at the demon, the assassin shifting into nonexistence in his counterattack and reappearing at the creature’s back, his scythe’s energy blade at its neck! The creature barely has time to respond before Night channels all of his remaining essence into two more overwhelming attacks, slicing deep into the creature as he runs across its immense body, launching off of its chest and twirling into a slash that beheads the demon in one fell swoop! Night’s final blow imbued with his ghost-eating technique assures that the demon had been destroyed utterly…or so he thought.

Just as Night’s victory begins to sink in, his essence entirely spent, the rest of the Circle arrives in a strange blink of reality. Despite being blocks away, each Solar had found themselves transported as if they were closer than they remembered being. They embrace Night, Koh promising him drinks and a raise as he and Demiato support him by each arm. Xesa rattles him even more with a hug.

But how did any of them get there so fast? The mystery of the reality-bending glitch in Creation is solved by the appearance of a man with the glowing symbol of Mercury, the Maiden of Journeys, shining on his forehead. It was Bara, their old friend!

…except none of them could remember him thanks to the Sidereal aura of forgetfulness. All but Xesa had forgotten him, the Twilight being thoughtful enough to write down an account of Bara after she first noticed others had begun forgetting him upon his abrupt departure.

The afternoon ends with an addled city guard showing up to a crater of steaming corrupted essence and the supposed diplomatic delegation of Dinas Rhydd having a lot of explaining (and sleep) to do!

#Game Recaps #Exalted RPG #Solar Exalted #Celestial Exalted #Onyx Path Publishing #Sorrow Resplendent: City of the Free

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huffle-puppy · 6 years

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The Stars That Bind

@drew-winchester, I promised two things--that I’d write something happier, and that I’d write this scene. This is about as opposite in tone from my previous fics for you as I could get, which is a happy thing! (And I’m glad to be writing of happiness--I’ve had a rough few months with school that have blessedly finally evened out; else I’d’ve gotten this out to you sooner.) Enjoy :3

Khadgar woke up with a weight over his chest. His eyes darted open, quick and anxious that the Legion was attacking again and somehow had made it into the city--

Perry’s lips met his, soft and full.

He lay there a moment, disoriented but quickly returning to the present, before wrapping up his beloved in a tight hug, kissing her back tenderly.

The morning light strode in upon them from behind the curtains, casting a soft glow about her. She pulled back slightly, folding her hands over his heart and setting her chin on them, bright eyes and sweet smile bathing his face in radiance.

“Good morning, Sun,” she murmured, voice a quiet song against his ears.

“G’morning, Stars,” he replied, stretching and yawning and settling back, hugging her close again. “What’s… time?”

“It’s something the Bronze Dragons know a lot about, dear.” Perry giggled and kissed his chin. White stubble prickled against her lips, and she nuzzled against it, scrunching up her nose. “You’re getting to be a cactus.”

Khadgar sighed, a smile playing at his lips. “I can shave.”

Perry laughed. “I don’t mind you being my Cactus-Mage~!”

She kissed his chin again and moved back out of his arms. Khadgar sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, pausing looking her over. She was already dressed to go out, leather armor worn and heavy. Reliable, thick and not made for showing off the person beneath, but still…

“Are you staying in bed all day, my love?”

Khadgar blinked and shook his head slightly. “Hm?”

Perry smiled softly, tucking a white strand of hair behind one elven ear. “Are you staying in bed all day? You paused, looking at me.”

He blushed lightly. “Of course I paused, looking at you. Why wouldn’t I pause, love?”

She giggled, a dash of purple rushing over her pink features, but gave no reply. He smiled and hoisted himself up out of bed, cleaned himself off, and dressed to go in robes that had seen so much conflict.

“So, where to?” he asked, meeting her at the door.

Perry’s smile faded. “Darkshore. Even with-- Even with things settled, and Deathwing finally gone--”

“There’s still so much to do,” Khadgar murmured.

She nodded, face set in determination and courage. His heart moved faster, looking into her eyes, and he took a breath to steady himself, nodding back. They would do as much good as they could, today. And-- perhaps--

Well, perhaps it was time.

There was, after all, something waiting in Ashenvale he’d set up. The elves there were patient; they’d still be waiting, surely--

Khadgar summoned a portal around them, and moments later it crackled and crept away again to the ether, and they stood huddled together against the Lor’danel winds.

The shoreline bathed them in what should have been a resplendent serenity. The water broke along the edge of the town and down the sandy beach for miles, waves cresting and filling the air with sighs of power before they receded and another took their place. The trees seemed almost to hum against the wooded edge of Lor’danel, and the occasional wisp darted too and fro merrily. Animals wandered in curiously to be greeted by the tall, friendly populace, and beyond the ocean’s edge, far out into the water--just a bit too far to comfortably swim--the massive tree Teldrassil stood, looming, a pillar to the everlasting victory of nature and nurtured hope. Home of the Night Elves, Perry’s people--

His beloved, Khadgar noted, maintained her brave demeanor, yet the occasional small fidget in her fingers let him see a tired anxiety beneath. Perry was, after all, as small as he himself was, compared to the tall elves, and, though they for the most part seemed quite polite, he knew every race to have some inborn judgmental streak. He himself had worked hard to turn off those thoughts when working with Orcs, and even then some residual murmurs rumbled about.

“Anywhere specifically you had in mind, my dearest?”

He took her hand in his, warm and strong, and the fidget ceased as she glanced back at him. Her brief, sweet smile lit up his soul.

“There’s a refugee camp a few miles down the road,” Perry said. “They were hit hard after Auberdine collapsed. The elementals and cultists in the area were taken care of, but I’m sure they could use all they help they could get, right now.

Khadgar nodded, found the Saber-Keeper in the town, and chartered a ride down the shoreline to the Auberdine ruins. Perry was delighted to climb on the back of the large saber cat, and Khadgar, who had far less experience with them, tried to remain as pleasantly calm as possible. If he could deal with the Legion out in Outland, it was absolutely foolish that a giant cat would scare him!

Especially considering that Perry, being a druid, could turn into a (albeit smaller) cat with just as ferocious claws and fangs.

Although, perhaps he should be frightened. She was, after all, the last person he ever wanted to make angry…

Perry giggled as he hugged her waist tighter. “It’s just a big lovable kitty, Khadgar!” she called back against the wind rushing around them. He said nothing, smiled, and hugged her tighter still.

Soon enough, they got to the ruins of the once-great Auberdine. Khadgar looked on in sorrow at the great devastation wrought upon the town; buildings fractured and sunken into the ground; water and sand consuming the foundations; massive jutting cracks of earth spearing upwards, carving through the old town roads and homes.

Perry looked on with him, pain inexpressibly quiet in her eyes, before turning back to the saber and thanking it for taking them this far, petting its long mane and making it trot over to Khadgar and poke its fluffy head under his hand. The mage started, looking down at it quickly, then chuckled and gave it a suitable reward of scritches before it trotted back to the road and took off back to Lor’danel.

“Let’s find this camp, then,” Khadgar said. Perry moved over, taking his hand and squeezing it tight, and together they walked on past the Auberdine ruins.

The camp didn’t take too long to find; off the main path leading out from the town, by the road’s sign-post, a large area of grass had been trampled down. Upon it, tents were erected from tarps that had seen better weather and the straightest fallen branches the elves could find. Against the back edge, a caravan was parked, and from it, various clothes and medical supplies were being distributed and stored away again. A scarce number of refugees huddled together against the winds, barely fifty by Khadgar’s count; less than half of the town’s populace. However, he knew, trying to shine hope back on that bleak thought, that any in better shape would’ve already made their way up to Lor’danel.

Dentaria Silverglade, a Priestess of the Moon, pale skin accentuated by her white satin robes, looked up from one of the refugees on the ground. She stood, taller than either the human or his elven lover, but nonetheless bowed in respect.

“May I help you two?”

“That’s what we wanted to ask you,” Perry said softly. The elves of the camp watched the newcomers wearily, but Perry’s gaze stayed focused on the Priestess. The taller woman blinked, then smiled.

“Help would be appreciated,” Dentaria replied. “I fear the tasks will be menial and few; we have most of what we need. Nonetheless, we would not turn down your offer.”

Khadgar smiled. “What do you need, Priestess?”

Dentaria turned her gaze to him. One of the elven mages of the camp, recognizing Khadgar, offered him a brisk salute before continuing his work.

“Firewood to last the night and any herbs you can find--especially anything edible, though those with toxins we can use in salves and treatments.”

The couple set off into the Darkshore woods.

Khadgar, determined not to upset any of the wonderful trees--and any forest critters whose homes were in there--limited himself only to branches that had fallen. There were, blessedly, many of them, and it wasn’t long before he had to summon arcane servants to carry the back-breaking load of firewood.

Perry, meanwhile, who they determined was far more likely to recognize specific herbs from any tall blades of overgrown grass, sprinted along in the forest, pausing by the edge of a nearby river, looking along the base and roots of each tree, giving her pleasant regards to the bears and stags and cats that roamed free through the area.

An hour passed this way, and they returned to camp with what they’d amassed.

Dentaria, surprised and delighted, thanked them both for their efforts. There was, as she commented bashfully, however very little the camp could give back, including even such a meager reward as lunch. Perry laughed, shaking her head, saying sweetly that no reward was necessary. The knowledge they were safer and better off was reward enough.

The elves of the camp watched her more intently, some even smiling. Small in stature and different as she was, there was a pure heart beneath an irresistible smile.

Khadgar certainly thought so, lost once more in her presence. It was definitely time, he thought to himself.

He took her hand, thanking the Priestess and wishing the camp well, and summoned another portal. Perry stepped through it first, he followed, and they came out at the wondrous Astranaar, further down the continent in Ashenvale.

The elven town, larger than Auberdine and intact, bustled with its occupants. Night Elves went too and fro, mostly uninhibited, though the occasional Sentinel, Draenei, or Worgen wandering through broke the quiet hum of their forest lives. Around them all, the trees sighed and leaned in, protection; beyond them, a natural river carved around the island of the town.

A safe haven, beautiful, sweet.

Perry looked around, smiling brightly. “Khadgar? We’re having lunch here?”

Khadgar smiled to himself, glancing around. The tailor of the town, sitting out on his front porch and watching the world, got up and bowed to the mage, going inside his shop.

“Khadgar?”

Perry looked back to him, smile still lighting up her features. Khadgar met her gaze, thoughts racing and heart starting to pound harder, nervous. Perry blinked.

“That’s a very wistful smile to have, my darling.” Perry moved to him, taking his hands. “What’s clouding your thoughts?”

Khadgar looked around, sighing. The trees were so old and so wonderfully strong. Some of the branches overlapped; some even intertwined. Old souls spinning their way up to the heavens.

Khadgar took a deep breath, looking back to his beloved.

“Peregrïn Starfallen.”

Perry blinked again, eyes opening wider after. Her breath slowed, and her face colored purple. After all this time, hearing him say her name in such soft, rich tones still made her heart skip.

Khadgar started to say something, paused, then chuckled and looked down, hand moving into a pocket of his robes and fishing about for something.

“I-- Well. Perry. I’m not-- I know I’m not the best with speeches and eloquence--” He pulled something out of his pocket, something small, that she couldn’t see quite yet-- “--and I also know, beyond any magic I’ve learned; books I’ve memorized-- histories, anything-- that I love you. I love being near you. I love every moment I have with you. So I’m going to do something that terrifies me, irrationally, far more than any demon invasion.”

Khadgar knelt down before her, looking up with a faint smile. Perry’s breath caught, and the world around was silent, in awe, watching them. Khadgar revealed the small box he’d pulled from his robe, opening it to show a ring, a carved perfect pearl inset among the petals of a pure white starflower.

“Peregrïn Starfallen, will you grant me the privilege of being your husband?”

Perry gulped. A faint smile slowly danced along her face. She opened her mouth to speak, shut it again, and nodded, smile growing faster and faster. Khadgar let out a deep breath, relaxing, taking her hand in his, warm and gentle, so much coarser with war, and slid the cold band onto her slender finger.

She looked at it, grinning ear to ear, then threw her arms around him as he stood again, kissing him with deep, tender passion. He held her close, kissing back with as much loving energy.

How long she held that intimate contact, she didn’t know. Time was nonexistent. All that there was was him.

She did finally pull back with a giggle, blushing deep purple. “Why, d-- darling, was that so much more terrifying?”

Khadgar blushed, looking away sheepishly. “If you said no…”

Perry wrinkled her nose and covered his cheek and neck with a myriad of soft kisses, hugging him tighter.

“Do you really think, Khadgar, that I would have ever refused you? I love you with all my being. Wherever you are; whatever happens-- I will forever be yours, and you mine.”

Khadgar smiled, nuzzling her cheek.

Perry paused, still blushing. “Does this mean now we have to go mad with inviting everyone and decorations and…?”

She trailed off, wincing. Khadgar chuckled, nodding over to the tailor’s hut.

Perry glanced over. The tailor smiled and waved, beckoning her to come in. She blinked up at Khadgar.

“You didn’t… did you?”

He chuckled. “I thought it’d be easier than trying to create a big fuss for weeks on end and rescheduling everyone’s lives…”

She blushed and moved over curiously to the tailor’s shop, disappearing inside. Khadgar gulped, moving over to the row of houses against one side of the town. The Night Elves beamed, appraising him, and the tailor’s wife handed him a bundle, bowing deeply. Khadgar took it, bowing back, saying in his best elven that he was extremely grateful to her and her husband before moving off to change.

The sun, just starting to dip down in the sky, cast a golden glow through the leaves, sending shadows and beautiful patterns of nature scattered along the ground. Secluded in a small grove at the edge of Astranaar, a Moonwell of glowing, pure waters cast an ethereal light. The townsfolk were seated pleasantly or standing by the ring of trees, leaving room down the middle aisle. In the pure waters, another Priestess of Elune stood, covered in light robes and a thick, deep hood, so that the Goddess herself could see through her.

Khadgar stood at the Moonwell’s edge at her command, dressed in an elven suit of fine white silks. He breathed as evenly as he could, yet nothing could prepare him as the crowd let out a murmur of reverence. He turned.

Perry stood at the end of the aisle. The tailor had outdone himself: her wedding gown rolled smoothly along her top half, outlining her with dignity and regality fit for an angel itself. It was cut deep along her front and back, and along her shoulders and the border of the cut, white rose petals had been sewn in, adorning her with the delicate beauty of the finest craftsmanship nature had. The sleeves ended at the elbow loosely, and white lace, dazzled with jewels tenderly shaped in floral arcs, wound its way up to her wrist and along the back of her hands.

Seamlessly, the tight fabric billowed out along her hips and below, giving such slender folds as the robes the maidens of the stars might wear. Against her hip was fashioned a five-pointed flower of huge white petals, and along her ears the glitter of small chains connecting piercings hung down.

Perry met his gaze with a soft smile, vulnerable but without any shyness. She was his to behold.

And behold he did. That such a sight of magnificence and beauty could ever appear before him, much less be wed to him--

“Light above,” he managed to mumble.

Perry made her way down the aisle to him, slow, steady strides. The dress billowed around her feet but never once threatened to get caught under them. The crowd murmured in awe as she passed them by, shining brighter than any star above, bathed in the soft glow of the sunlight and the glistening purity of the Moonwell.

She came to her beloved’s side and stood still, facing him, a blush spreading slowly along her features as she looked over his visage. He was a statue come to life; so perfectly, achingly handsome, white hair and drawn face; strong and tall, sleek and powerfully magnetic in his suit, drawing her in without any attempt. Elven patterns wound around his chest, and she resisted hard the urge to brush her fingers along every one of them.

The Priestess took a deep breath, reaching her hands up to the heavens. The lovers looked to her as the Moonwell shined brighter. She brought her arms down, slow, slow…

Her voice rang out, deep and high, charged with power:

“I am the Queen of the Starry Vaults, the residing Mistress of Heaven, the Moon in all her phases and majesty. I preside now over the union of two mortals, their paths irreversibly entwined; their souls, in my will, to bind together for all the eons left that Time shall spin its webs. Lest this be done with error, I offer first the chance to any and all who can think of a reason why these two may not wed. Speak, if you have words with which to speak.”

The elves of Astranaar and all of nature beyond stayed silent.

The Priestess of Elune bowed, then held out her hands.

“Join hands and step into my waters.”

Khadgar glanced at Perry. She glanced back. They smiled faintly, and with interlaced fingers stepped up the steps to the Moonwell and into the pure waters. Despite the liquid, though, neither their legs nor their garments seemed to get the slightest bit wet.

“Face each other.”

They did, and it took all their will not to embrace, their beaming faces full with such sweet intimacy.

“Take both hands.”

They did, interlacing their fingers; no balance of power between them save equality in love.

The Priestess produced from her robes two golden cords, tying them one at a time around either set of hands. Neither Perry or Khadgar even felt the fabric, too busy looking into each other’s eyes. The Priestess receded again to her place.

“Speak the vows of the Soul, and give your ties meaning.”

“Khadgar. To you, I give the years of my life. To you, I give the air and the fire, and all my power with which you may do as you will. I give you my unending devotion, my loyalty, and all the hours and chambers of my heart. Within you, I give a piece of my soul, to nourish and cherish and grow, to be your calm in any storm of life, to be your shield and defense, to be your sword and guardian. I give to you all I have, all I shall ever be, and all that I am. Until Time’s wheel cracks and the echoes of Eternity fall silent again in the realm of the Divine, I pledge my soul as yours.”

Perry spoke softly, murmuring without even knowing the words. They flowed neat and beautiful from her mouth, and with each syllable the golden cords along their arms glowed brighter.

“Peregrïn. To you, I give the years of my life. To you, I give the water and the earth, and all my power with which you may do as you will. I give you my unending service, my faithfulness, and all the hours and chambers of my heart. Within you, I give a piece of my soul, to nourish and cherish and grow, to be strength in any time of hardship, to be your shield and defense, to be your sword and guardian. I give to you all I have, all I shall ever be, and all that I am. Until the Stars crumble from the sky and the Divine Beings of Elune and Eonar fall once again to the next cycle of Creation, I pledge my soul as yours.”

Khadgar’s words came out smooth and entranced. The golden cords burned bright as the sun along their arms.

“Kiss,” Elune murmured, “and be One.”

The lovers kissed, and everything melted away. The cheer of the Night Elves around them, the electricity sparkling through the air, the wisps watching on, the trees, the earth, the sky: nothing was there. They stood together, pressed together, lips caressing, a zenith of all they could be. They felt each other, knew each other, and beyond the plane of mortality, their souls entwined and held fast, pieces of a grand cosmic puzzle that had found each other after so very long.

The Priestess gently undid the cord, and the kiss broke. Perry and Khadgar looked at each other, breathing hard in a daze, the static of their connection no less heightened than it was, no less than it ever would be now. The Night Elves were clapping in a steady rhythm, and they looked together to the end of the aisle where a broom had been placed along the ground.

Jump over it together, enter the new life.

They grinned to each other, rushing forward, the world passing by in a smooth shifting set of colors, and in one motion, they were over the broom and out of the glade, off into the world.

Rain started to fall from new clouds above. Perry glanced up and laughed. Khadgar grinned, still watching her gorgeousness, still squeezing her hand tight. He summoned another portal, taking them to an inn by the quieter end of Ashenvale, near the border of Darkshore overlooking the ocean. Without breaking stride, he went in with her, lifted her up into his arms, and carried her to the room the innkeeper had set aside for him--the best one there was to offer.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her; nothing she wouldn’t do for him. Without a second thought, they were bound for this and every lifetime. Husband and Wife. Khadgar and Peregrïn.

#World of Warcraft #peregrïn #Khadgar #khadgrin #elune #marriage #wedding #drew winchester #hopefully good tears this time

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pamphletstoinspire · 5 years

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PRAYERS OF REPARATION TO THE HOLY FACE OF JESUS

as requested by Our Lord Jesus Christ. These prayers are to be said on Sundays and the Holy Days of Obligation, publicly (if possible), and preferably before the Blessed Sacrament or before the picture of the Holy Face.

Dear Lord, through the Sorrowful and Immaculate Heart of Mary, I (we) offer You these prayers in reparation for the sins which offend God the most in these modern times -- the sins of BLASPHEMY and the PROFANATION OF SUNDAY and Your Holy Days of Obligation:

One Our Father - [Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.],

Hail Mary - [Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.],

and

Glory Be To The Father - [Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.].

THE "GOLDEN ARROW" PRAYER - dictated by Our Lord to Sister Mary of St. Peter

May the most holy, most sacred, most adorable, most incomprehensible and unutterable Name of God be always praised, blessed, loved, adored and glorified, in Heaven, on earth, and under the earth, by all the creatures of God, and by the Sacred Heart of Our Lord Jesus Christ in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar. Amen.

After receiving this prayer, Sister Mary of St. Peter was given a vision in which she saw the Sacred Heart of Jesus delightfully wounded by this "Golden Arrow", as torrents of graces streamed from It far the conversion of sinners.

LITANY OF THE HOLY FACE OF JESUS

I salute Thee, I adore Thee and I love Thee, O adorable Face of Jesus, my Beloved, noble Seal of the Divinity! Outraged anew by blasphemers. I offer Thee, through the heart of Thy blessed Mother, the worship of all the Angels and Saints, most humbly beseeching Thee to repair and renew in me and in all men Thy Image disfigured by sin.

O adorable Face which was adored, with profound respect, by Mary and Joseph when they saw Thee for the first time, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which did ravish with joy, in the stable of Bethlehem, the Angels, the shepherds and the magi, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which did transpierce with a dart of love in the Temple, the saintly old man Simeon and the prophetess Anna, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which filled with admiration the Doctors of the law when Thou didst appear in the Temple at the age of twelve years, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which possesses beauty always ancient and always new, have mercy... O adorable Face which is the masterpiece of the Holy Ghost, in which the Eternal Father is well pleased, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which is the ineffable mirror of the divine perfection, have mercy on us.

Adorable Face of Jesus which was so mercifully bowed down on the Cross, on the day of Thy Passion, for the salvation of the world! Once more today in pity bend down towards us poor sinners. Cast upon us a glance of compassion and give us Thy peace.

O adorable Face which became brilliant like the sun and radiant with glory, on the Mountain of Tabor, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which wept and was troubled at the tomb of Lazarus, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which was rendered sad at the sight of Jerusalem, and shed tears on that ungrateful city, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which was bowed down to the ground in the Garden of Olives, and covered with confusion for our sins, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which was covered with the sweat of blood, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which was struck by a vile servant, covered with a veil of shame, and profaned by the sacrilegious hands of Thy enemies, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which by Its divine glance, wounded the heart of St. Peter with a dart of sorrow and love, have mercy on us.

Be merciful to us, O my God! Do not reject our prayers, when in the midst of our afflictions, we call upon Thy Holy Name and seek with love and confidence Thy adorable Face.

O adorable Face which was washed and anointed by Mary and the holy women and covered with a shroud, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which was all resplendent with glory and beauty on the day of the Resurrection, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which is hidden in the Eucharist, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which will appear at the end of time in the clouds with great power and great majesty, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which will make sinners tremble, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which will fill the just with joy for all eternity, have mercy on us. O adorable Face which merits all our reverence, our homage and our adoration, have mercy on us. O Lord, show us Thy Face, and we shall be saved! O Lord, show us Thy Face, and we shall be saved! O Lord, show us Thy Face, and we shall be saved!

Note: The Litany of the Holy Face above, and the same Litany in our pamphlets, is the abridged version, as the full version is quite lengthy. Here is the full-length Litany of the Holy Face. holyfacedevotio..full_litany.htm

PRAYER TO OFFER THE HOLY FACE OF JESUS TO GOD THE FATHER TO APPEASE HIS JUSTICE AND DRAW DOWN MERCY UPON US

Almighty and Eternal Father, since it has pleased Our Divine Savior to reveal to mankind in modern times the power residing in His Holy Face, we now avail ourselves of this Treasure in our great need. Since our Savior Himself promised that by offering to You His Holy Face disfigured in the Passion we can procure the settlement of all the affairs of our household, and that nothing whatsoever will be refused to us, we now come before Your throne.

Eternal Father, turn away Your angry gaze from our guilty people whose face has become unsightly in Your eyes. Look instead upon the Face of Your Beloved Son; for this is the Face of Him in whom You are well pleased. We now offer You His Holy Face covered with blood, sweat, dust, spittle and shame, in reparation for the worst crimes of our age, which are atheism, blasphemy, and the desecration of Your holy days. We thus hope to appease Your anger justly provoked against us. The All-Merciful Advocate opens His mouth to plead our cause; listen to His cries, behold His tears, O God, and through the merits of His Holy Face hearken to Him when He intercedes for us poor miserable sinners.

AIDS TO ASSIST WITH THIS DEVOTION

Here are links to high resolution

framed:

and

unframed

photos of one of the Holy Face 2nd class relics (rare painting of the Holy Face which was created and touched to Veronica's veil in St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican in the late 1800's).

Feel free to print out either of the photos above if you would like to have an image in front of you while you take part in the devotional prayers above.

#prayers to the holy face of jesus

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lumiereswig · 7 years

Note

Dear @lumiereswig, I don't have a tumblr account, so I just quickly want to tell you (through here) that your writing is heaven-sent for me and for this awesome fandom. You write perfectly in character (like, everyone) and are so freaking hilarious I die laughing. I come to your blog every day whenever I need to get feels or smile - and you've never dissappointed me. Also, I feel like I need to request a fic if I send an ask, so what if Plumiere goes to Paris? And maybe a Moulin Rouge x-over?

omg you are best person. hello, best person. you too are heaven sent and have made this small trash heap feel that perhaps all the garbage fics are, in the end, worth it

obviously a moulin rouge crossover would be amazing, but everytime i try to write one i fall over laughing and can’t get up, so here’s a PLUMIERE IN PARIS fic because you are best person and here you go

Paris is different from how Plumette remembers it. When she left, it was clouded by the smoke of burning bodies and the coughs of the dying: plague-filled Paris, a gloomy shadow of its former glory, swallowing itself up in its own smoke. Now, the sun shines on the cobblestones. Old women, bundled up in their knitting and their groceries, amble across the streets with no fear of disease. There are children running around.

Lumiere is relaxed, and easy, and smiling. He tucks her arm into his, and takes in his beloved city with one sweeping arm.

“How long has it been since you were here, Plumette? Do you remember the sweet sound of the café cantinas? Have you danced beneath the stars in le Marais?”

“It has been about eleven years, my love,” she says. “But...I was too young, then, to spend time in those streets. I stayed at home—until I couldn’t, any more.”

He doesn’t pick up on the reluctance in her tone, the slight fear that is still there. The plague left no scars on Plumette that anyone can see—but her heart still holds one, from the sickness that took her family and former life.

“Come, then! You must meet my family. You must see my street!” He is twenty-three, and overflowing with joy; he has his love on one arm, and his city on the other. No curse has crossed his life, as yet. All he has is vivacity, and Paris, and Plumette.

Lumiere’s fine, golden coat lights up the streets as they plunge away from the richer areas of town—les Champs Elysées, les Tuilieries—and into the working districts of the city, where the grand boulevards give way to bread-shops and feral cats. His wig, his best, bobs high; he looks the picture of the royal courtier, and Plumette feels a prick of pride to have him at her side.

The store they stop at is extremely ordinary. Bottles and jars of herbs and powders are stacked up in the paned window; broken barrels crowd the stoop, and the roof is lopsided. A crooked, ordinary apothecary shop, that smells of mothballs and camphor. Standing in front of the door, resplendent in embroidery and gold buttons, her Lumiere looks supremely out of place.

“Your ancestral home?” laughs Plumette. “Come! Let me meet your family!”

He throws open the shop door without even looking. Her graceful courtier would know his way around this poor apothecary with his eyes shut.

“Papa! Maman! Where are you? Ach, mon dieu—I forgot how much I hate the smell of castor oil—Papa!—”

“Lumiere!”

She would never, ever guess that these people were his family. They are dressed as ordinary as could be: brown vests, black bonnets, hair tied back without adornment, spectacles pinched onto long noses. Though wait, now: the woman hugging her now, she has bright blue eyes in her broad, happy face; and his father’s nose is just the same, and the way his hair flops toward his face is so familiar.

“Oh, you are so good, you are so lovely, oh he didn’t describe you nearly enough—” Lumiere’s mother, small and fussy and Scottish, is almost shaking her with approval. “Oh but how do you put up with him? Take off that coat, there we go, oh my word she is Parisian, I haven’t seen such elegance in years—”

“Maman, you live in Paris!”

“Now you shut up, dear, and take off that wig—let me see the hair I gave you—”

He takes off the wig and lets his russet curls bounce free. When his parents aren’t looking, he ruefully rolls his eyes at Plumette; but she can’t stop laughing, and is dragged into the shop by the rough, glad hands of the shopkeepers. Lumiere’s father is quiet and contained; his mother is wired with energy, and bustles around to get them ordinary tea and a few ramshackle, half-burned cookies.

It smells terrible, in here. The sun hardly enters in. Dust and flour coats the boxes of herbs, and it is too cramped to dance, and too damp to sing. Next door, the neighbors are shouting. A badly tuned accordion is playing out the window. It is all noise, all ordinary dust and must.

And Plumette loves it.

It takes them hours to get away, stuffed on terrible Scotch eggs (merci, maman) and dull anecdotes on the quartier’s political situation (non! papan!). Lumiere breathes easy when they are back in the city’s grand streets, and puts the wig on again.

“I love them, Plumette, you know I do—but oof! They are so...bourgeois. I lived out in their attic by dancing and singing and studying etiquette. We can love our roots, but not abide by them.”

“I know you love them, mon coeur.” Affection was obvious, despite the sighs and secret feeding of the cookies to the dog. “And they are good people! A little...stuffy. But good.”

“But come! You must show me where you grew up! Show me Paris: Plumette’s Paris.”

He has no idea how much her heart’s scar aches, just then. But she leads him on—away from the humdrum streets, with their grannies and their children, and down a boulevard.

“Is this a shortcut, ma chérie?”

“Keep going.”

The streets get quieter and quieter; the gates grow higher, the people better dressed. Soon they have outpaced the sounds of Paris, and walk down grand highways, lined with fine mansions. And still Plumette keeps going.

The grandest house is at the end of the street. Gardens surround it. A fine, arched iron gateway keeps them from going in. Emblazoned on the iron is a feather motif: the insignia of a fine, noble house.

“C'est ici,” says Plumette, and watches Lumiere stare.

“This?!”

“Mon chéri, don’t lose it.”

“Which window was yours?”

She doesn’t expect the question. Gasps about her wealthy childhood, maybe a startled inquiry or two about what her title truly is—but the touch of home, in this question, knocks at her heart with gentle hands.

“That one. On the second floor—do you see? With the jasmine climbing up the windows.”

Lumiere nods and holds her hand. She did not expect this. Words are flowing fast.

“It was a beautiful room; bright and sunny—I had a bed of my own, and a vase with daffodils by the window—”

“Excellent taste.”

“And somebody—my grand-mère, I think—she hung crystals up, little glass stones to show the light. I liked to look at them as I fell asleep.” She remembers her grandmother now, in her white dress, and sees her worn old hands, brown like mahogany, pointing to the portraits on the walls, saying: and he fought with Charlemagne. He courted the Princess of Austria. She stunned the Prussians with her wit and her grace. And I almost became the Queen of England!

“More.”

“My mother had the smallest shoes—but the most of any woman at court. 500 different pairs, I think?”

“Truly excellent taste.”

And Plumette talks, as they walk around her old home, and though its gates are barred and locked she feels something inside her uncurl, like a budding rose. She hasn’t thought of her family like this, as healthy and whole and loving, in eleven years. Lumiere listens, and Plumette’s eyes mist.

“I lost them,” she says at last. Sorrow, sorrow: to end so much happiness on such a bitter note. Plague deprives her of a happily ever after. “And I ran away, and came to Villeneuve. And I love it there, you know I do—but I miss my home.”

“Bien sûr, ma chérie.” His arm is tucked in hers, now. “But, now—if all your family was gone, then who maintains these gardens?”

She stops and starts and stops again. The gardens look magnificent. The windows of the house are sparkling in the light. A face peeps out the window.

“Do you—do you think I still...?”

“Your ancestral home, non?” says Lumiere. “No one can live there except someone of your family. Let us go and meet the family!” And he opens the gate with a sweeping gesture, to take in all of Paris—and Plumette’s heart, as well.

#Best Person #plumiere #batb fanfic #Lumiere #Plumette #fuck thank you friend

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anenemyspy · 7 years

Text

The World Soul Chapter IV

The impact thrummed through Cloud’s arm up into his thick dwarfin shoulder as his axe bit into the stalk of maize. Up above, the green husk wavered back and forth with every swing of the axe. Several more chops and it would come crashing down to earth, ready to be cut free of the stalk and loaded onto the wagon.

Cloud wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The winter had been short this year, and spring was already promising to be a hot one. If the Earth Mother was merciful, she would make the maize grow thick and plentiful before the scorching heat of summer came to turn the plants brown.

The heat had already turned Cloud’s shaggy mop of hair in a soaking mat. Perhaps it was time to shave his head. He had already shorn off the beard that he allowed to grow wild during the cold part of the year.

“Are you hoping that maize will die of old age and fall over on its own accord?” came the voice of Rain, his friend. “What are you thinking of, that is so much more important than cutting this stalk so we can all go back below ground?”

“I am thinking that the Earth Mother could trouble herself to send a cloud our way.”

“I wished the same thing once.” Rain said laughing. “And instead she sent me you, to my everlasting sorrow. Always be careful when asking the Earth Mother for a favor. She just might give it you.”

“Perhaps the work would go faster if that daughter of yours was here to help.” Cloud replied.

“Would that Berry were here at all.” Rain’s face darkened. “I sent her away to the market at Hevel, but she has not returned. She should have been home three days ago.”

“It isn’t like Berry to take so long.” Cloud observed.

“I worry that she has run into trouble, or worse, the charms of some Hevel boy. The last thing I need is the spawn of some Hevel lowlife growing in her belly. And besides, I still need that new rat I sent her to buy.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, don’t listen to me drone on about my children. You’ll soon have your own to drive you into an early grave. The Earth Mother gives us children to punish us for the ordeal we gave our parents, and on and on it goes. Come, let’s finish this stalk so that we can eat.”

With both dwarfs seeting their axes to it, the stalk did not take long to fall. When the ear of maize came down with a mighty crash, the other maizecutters set upon it, chopping the ear away from the stalk and preparing to load it onto the ratdrawn cart. Cloud took the narrow top part of the ear and helped heave it up onto the back of the cart on top of the other ears that were already laid there. He peeled back a part of the green husk and pulled off a black kernel to eat.

“Don’t keep all the kernels to yourself now.” The dwarf named Nut chided him playfully. “We’re all hungry too!”

Once Cloud had pulled off enough maize for each dwarf, and given some to the rat, they all gathered in the cool shade of the maize stalks to eat. The conversation soon turned to ribald jests about what Rain’s daughter was up to in Hevel. Turtle stuffed a rock underneath her shirt and pretended to give birth to it, rasping with silent laughter. Turtle’s throat had been slashed in the war against the goblin tribes, and while the healers had managed to save her life, there was nothing they could do for her speech, or for the ugly scar that marred her neck.

“You had best go get another rat yourself, Rain.” Nut said. “Likely Berry will break the back one she bought with her extra weight.”

“Ach, the Void take the lot of you.” Rain cursed them. “I have to go take a piss. Better than sitting here and listening to your jabbering.” He stormed off and disappeared from sight amongst the thick stalks of maize.

Nut’s laughs died off when Rain was out of earshot. “You don’t think Berry has run into any kind of trouble, do you?” She said, concern in her voice. “I had heard that the Sylthi raiders have grown bolder near the border.”

“They would have grown bold indeed to come this close to the city.” Cloud said to her. There was a time when Sylth had been a thriving and powerful rival kingdom to Arden, but that was before the great war. Now the once great city that was the beating heart of Sylth stood dead and empty, and what little remained of the Sylthi people were nothing more than vagabonds and raiders who attacked sparsely populated villages and melting away when the Ardenian patrols came after them. “Tyrant King Fox would not allow the Sylthi to attack this far from the frontier. More likely Berry has simply partaken in too much wine and pleasure. You know how the markets are during the coming of spring. Berry is likely on the way home as we speak, with a head pounding from wine and trying to come up with an excuse for why she’s taken so long to return.”

“Ah, I suppose you are right.” Nut said. “I remember a certain summer solstice I spent at the capital city. Have you ever been to the capital, Cloud?”

He nodded. “Once, when I was young. Just after the war ended.” The city was crowded, filled with folk who had been taking refuge behind the walls. On that day, everyone was smiling. The high lords came down from their pyramids, resplendent in robes of gold and green, throwing down gold and silver to the jubilant throngs. The army had marched through the city streets in polished armor that had shined as brightly as the noonday sun. They had been led by the Darkstar himself, holding aloft the legendary black sword of Arden that was his namesake. Even the Tyrant King herself was there, and laid a silver circlet upon the Darkstar’s head in recognition of his victory. What followed were seven days of feasting and celebrating. All of Arden was in celebration then, but that was a long time ago.

“Soon Wren will give you a child of your own, and you will be able to to take them to see the city for themselves.” Nut said.

“Ah, that will be fine day.” Cloud replied.

Their discussion was cut short by a surprised shout deeper into the maize stalks. All three dwarfs scrambled to their feet.

“That was Rain.” Cloud said. “What would make him cry out like that?”

“A snake probably bit him on his cock.” Rain said with a laugh. “The way he likes to boast about it, it probably took it for a mate.” She cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted. “Rain! What are you screaming like a child for?”

The stalks shook back and forth and rustled loudly as someone moved through them, far too loudly to be just one dwarf. Turtle picked up her bronze headed axe. She was the only one of them who had brought theirs with them to eat.

“We should get away from here.” Nut whispered, just before a spear flew from the brush and took her through the neck. Blood gushed from her mouth as it opened and closed wordlessly, and she pitched over backward, eyes wide open in fright.

Turtle sprung forward, her axe splitting open the head of a goblin as it lunged out from the stalks. She swung, catching another one in the chest, but then they were all around her, small grey skinned creatures with long pointy ears that dragged Turtle to the ground and swarmed over her, stabbing her with primitive stone knives.

Cloud had forgotten how to move. All he could do was stare in abject horror at the goblins savaging his friend’s corpse, and at the bewildered look on Nut’s dead face. When the goblins turned their eyes on him though, instinct took over where rationality had failed, and he ran.

He could remember how he had taken his axe to the ropes that tied the rat to the maize wagon and leaped on its back, spurring it with a slap to the rear to run, a mere step ahead of the goblins who had chased him. One had grabbed at his leg as he rode past, trying to pull him off, but Cloud had managed to kick free. Everything past that was a blur. All he knew was that he had to find Wren.

He tore into the village and nearly fell off the rat in his hurry to dismount. “Goblins!” He shouted incoherently to every dwarf he saw as he ran to the butcher’s shop where Wren spent her days. “Goblins! Goblins! Goblins!”

Wren’s arms were soaked to the elbow in blood when Cloud found her at her butcher’s stand. She was pulling the entrails from the body of a lizard that lay on the table. Wren’s hair was the same light brown as the bird she was named for, and she had a long beard that came down in a single braid to her belly, where a small bulge was just visible underneath her heavily stained apron.

Wren smiled when she saw her husband. “Have you finished harvesting the maize already? Good, then you can help me in here.” The smile faded from her lips when she saw the look on his face. “What is wrong?”

“Goblins.” Cloud said in between heavy breaths. “They attacked us. Rain, the others, they’re dead.”

“Dead? Cloud, what are talking about?”

Cloud took his wife by the wrist. Wren was brawnier than him, but she didn’t resist as he led her outside. “The goblins are coming to burn the village to the ground, like they did during the war. We have to get out of here while we can.”

“No.” Wren said. “I will not be chased from my home by some dirty goblins. We’ll stay here and fight them off. I still have my father’s spear from the war and I can use it.”

“Look around you!” Cloud said, gesturing at the ramshackle collection of houses that made up the village they called home. “We can’t defend ourselves here. We need warn everybody to run and make for the city.”

“I was not raised to be a coward!” Wren protested. “How can we call ourselves Ardenians if we turn and run from the enemy?”

“If we die here, nobody will remain to tell the Tyrant King that there are goblins within Arden’s borders. If the army is not sent out, other villages will be attacked.” He put his hand on Wren’s belly where their child was growing inside. “Think of our child, Wren.”

Wren slid her hand over his. Emotions battled each other over her face, but finally she sighed. “Very well then, you win. For the good of our child I’ll run. We will need to get supplies from the house if we mean to reach the city, though.”

“Agreed.” Said Cloud, relieved that Wren had relented so easily. The goblins would not be long in coming, and there was no time to squander on arguing.

The two dwarfs hurried together to the disheveled hovel that was their home, shouting warnings to everyone who crossed their path. Cloud pushed aside the flap of moleskin that covered the entrance and stormed inside. In truth, the crude wooden structure that made up the hovel was little more than a covering for the hole that led deeper underground, protecting it from the hot sun and the cold rain. Under the cool ground, Cloud could already feel the reassuring presence of Earth pressing in on all sides.

Their worldly treasures, such as they were, included a wooden lute whose golden paint had long ago chipped and faded, an old book of legends with yellowed pages, a dull bladed war axe and a black shafted spear that hung on the wall in the place of honor, and a dented half helm that Wren’s father had worn during the war and had saved his life when a goblin had struck him with a copper axe. Neither Cloud nor Wren had been old enough to fight against the goblins in the previous invasion, but all Ardenian children were taught the rudiments of combat in case the need should ever arise. Cloud hefted his axe, wishing now that he had taken better care of it. His arm was strong and his grip was sure, but Cloud had never possessed the heart of a warrior. Wren was always the fighter of the couple. Her spear gleamed. Its polished bronze point was wicked sharp, and she practiced regularly at her fighting technique.

Wren donned her father’s helm as Cloud scrabbled under the bed for the small bag of silver they kept hidden there. He began hurriedly stuffing what food they had laid by into a sack. Everything else they would need to leave behind. There was simply too little time to pack it all, and the only rat they had was the one Cloud had ridden from the maize field.

When the old man Umber’s warhorn sounded, Cloud knew that their time had run out. “The goblins are here already.” Wren said, her grip tightening on her spear.

“They couldn’t have gotten here already on foot.” Cloud protested. “The maize field is too far away!” It wasn’t fair, he thought, they hadn’t been given enough time.

“There must have been more already on the way.” Wren said. “Come, there’s no time to dwell on the how or why of it. We need to escape now.”

Mother protect us. Cloud thought as he followed his mate up the ladder to the surface. The Earth Mother had allowed him to escape back to the village so that he could get his unborn child to safety. Surely she would not abandon him now.

The scene outside the hovel was far worse than Cloud could have imagined. This was no small raiding party of goblins, it was a small army. The grey skinned devils swarmed through the village, armed with spears and clubs and axes of bone and copper and obsidian. There must have been a hundred and a half of them. Around him, other dwarfs were fighting, armed and armored in whatever relics of the old war they had laid by. Any dwarf was worth five goblins in a battle, Cloud had always been told, and the craftsmanship of Ardenian arms far outstripped anything the savage greyskins could bring to bear. Already the goblin corpses began to pile around the defending dwarfs, but they fought with a savagery that belied their small stature, and their numbers were allowing them to swarm around the villagers, stabbing and cutting them in the legs and sides, until they could bring the dwarfs to the ground and fall upon them in a frenzied mob of knives and clubs.

Three of the goblins rushed at Cloud and Wren as they exited their home. Wren readied her spear and lashed out, taking one goblin through its screaming mouth. In half a heartbeat, the spear was already out of that goblin and into another, goring it straight through the abdomen. The third one had closed the distance, swinging its stone axe in an arc aimed at Wren’s belly. She shifted her spear, checking the goblin’s cut and whirled the haft around, striking the goblin’s head with the butt of her spear and knocking it to the ground. Before the goblin could try to scramble up, Wren’s foot came down on the back of its neck and broke it.

“Where is the rat?” Wren shouted at him. “We have to get out of here right now!”

Would that Cloud could have answered her question. The animal was gone, likely run off by the sound of fighting. “It’s gone.” He said. We’re going to die. I couldn’t protect you.

“Well we can’t stay here!” Wren shouted above the din of battle. “Come on!” She took Cloud’s hand and together they ran. “We’ll leave on foot if we have to!”

“We can’t outrun the goblins without a mount.” Cloud said.

“Then we will find one!” A pair of goblins blocked their path. As Cloud and Wren readied their weapons, four more goblins caught up to them from behind. “Or we will die together.” She said.

“I would sooner we live together.” Cloud said. “And see each other grow old.”

“Either way, the Earth Mother has allowed me to be with you in my final moments when she could have taken you out in the maize. I will take solace in that.”

The first goblin to attack was gored through by Wren’s spear, and the second met Cloud’s axe. The axehead was not sharp enough to cleave through the goblin’s head, but his strike was sure, and he heard the wet crunch of bone as the goblin’s skull caved in. The third goblin was buried under a pile of fur and claws as the rat came barreling in from somewhere unseen. The animal’s sharp teeth dug into the goblin’s exposed neck, spraying blood. The rat bared its fangs at the remaining three goblins, who all ran off in search of an easier target.

“You came back!” Cloud had to exclaim. It was almost too fortunate to be believed. He stroked the rat on the head.

“The Earth Mother provides.” Wren said with a smile. “Perhaps you will be getting your wish after all.”

A spear erupted from her belly, coated red. Hot blood splashed over Cloud’s breeches. Some distance behind his mate stood a goblin that was taller than Cloud would have ever believed. It was bigger than a dwarf, with thick muscular arms that connected to broad, powerful shoulder. Its mouth was filled with razor sharp fangs, its eyes were black and cruel, and atop its head rested the skull of a snake. It came toward Cloud with an almost casual swagger, hefting a heavy club tipped with a sharp piece of glittering diamond.

Wren looked down at the spear jutting from her body with shock and disbelief. Her own spear fell from her hand as she grabbed at the bloody point, as if trying to pull it out of herself. She fell to her knees and pitched forward into the dust, her life spilling out red into the dirt.

In that moment, Cloud’s world came to an end. He looked to the monstrous, sneering goblin in front of him, and at the well worn axe in his hand. His vision blurred. There would be no escape for him. He would die here in the dirt next to his mate, and if the Earth Mother was merciful, their spirits would find each other in whatever realm lay beyond this one. There was only one thing he had to do first.

The sound that came from his lips was nothing intelligible, only a scream of rage and heartbreak. Let me kill this goblin before I die. That is all I ask. He charged, axe raised over his head, ready to come crashing down on the monster’s head with all his strength and hatred.

The goblin swatted aside his blow with almost contemptuous ease. A meaty hand with long grasping fingers took Cloud by the back of the neck and flung him down into the dust. A heavy foot stomped down on his hand and kicked the axe away.

“Roll him over.” The big goblin said, and soon there were hands all over Cloud, smaller goblins who grabbed him by all sides and laughed as he tried to swat them away. They turned him over until he was looking up at open sky. Cloud strained against them, but there were too many to fight. They held his arms down, stretched out his legs, wouldn’t let him move.

The big goblin pointed to Cloud’s right leg, and the goblins raised it up off the ground. “Nooo…” Cloud moaned, when he realized what the monster meant to do. When the diamond tipped club shattered his knee, Cloud’s entire world shrunk down to one place of sublime agony. When the club broke his other knee, he passed out from the pain.

When Cloud awoke, the battle was over. Dwarfs and goblins lay strewn about the village, tangled all together in death. Goblins stooped down over the bodies, collecting weapons and other treasures from the fallen. Through the haze of pain, Cloud could see that the Children’s House was burning.

He was tied to a crossed pair of wooden beams, he realized. His legs dangled uselessly below him, and his arms were lashed to the horizontal beam, suspending him over the ground. His breaths came hard and ragged.

The hulking goblin in the snake helm came to him when it saw that he was awake. “K-kill me…” Cloud struggled to say the words, it was so hard to breathe.

The goblin found that amusing. His sharp teeth flashed in cruel smile. “Kill you? No, your work is not completed. You are to be the herald of our coming.” His voice was like scraping gravel. The goblin produced a silver coin with a hole in the middle that had a thread running through it. “If any dwarfs should happen by before you die, tell them to look at this coin and know that Arden shares the same fate as the city that made this.” The goblin fastened the coin around Cloud’s neck. “The time of the dwarfs is at an end. Soon your kind will be only a memory.”

The goblin left him, and before long the village was deserted, leaving Cloud alone with only the beating of the hot sun and the carrion birds that circled above.

#literature #fantasy #faerie #fairy #dwarf #cloud #rain #goblin #book #story

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