#because they become a permanent overseeing presence in his life
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if attie ever ran into lincoln march it would be on sight but i think they have a lot of similarities in the way that the court just plays with them like a kid with a new toy until the inevitable point when they get bored or the toy breaks and they throw them out in the trash.
#thinking about march being an orphan but having the court 'raise' him essentially#because they become a permanent overseeing presence in his life#and athene being in the same sort of position after her parents' deaths#also the court fucking up with march so badly he tries to eradicate them???#they've come so close to fucking up with athene in similar ways but she has more to lose if the court/parliament goes under#plus she's genuinely afraid of the court in ways that march just isn't#anyway i reread night of the owls while i've been away + sick and god i forgot how much i love it
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Reveries of changes
Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader
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CW: Dissociation, mentions of rape, violence, unhealthy relationship, abuse of power.
Sometimes you find yourself asking what ifs. What if the Event never happened and you never received the vision? What if Ajax never developed his obsession with you? What if you treated him a little bit warmer? Would he be more tolerable? There are thousands of possible scenarios buzzing in your head, sometimes diverging just by words left unsaid or an outstretched hand being shaked. You know it’s a futile thing, thinking about the future and the present that you will never have, but you can’t stop, thoughts spiraling further and further.
This morning starts with the similar what if. What if I agreed to start again? The brief conversation from yesterday is still on your mind - you dread it’s another of the turning points in your relationship, just like the rejected handshake or the hospitalized recruit were. A moment after which there’ll be changes, changes that you won’t have time to prepare for. Speaking from the experience alone, Childe, like the rotten bastard he is, will act even worse from now on. It all started from teen Ajax following you and offering his friendship at every turn and somehow ended in him personally asking Tsaritsa to assign you to him, reducing you from a highly respectable Fatui agent skilled both in stealth and subterfuge to a glorified escort and a secretary.
One day he’ll just get tired from all of this and will forcefully bend me over in some dark murky corner, you darkly conclude, the remnants of the sleep leaving your body entirely at the grim thought. Or maybe he will break his promise not to cheat and will order me to do it.
Unwilling to think about the Ninth Wave of your unwanted relationships, you quickly stand up from the bed and start preparing for the day. Dressing and freshening up from the sleep you still mentally return to the darker place, cautious of what Tartaglia will pull out this time. Finally, you exit the door fully ready and lock the room, hiding the key under the clothes after, and make way to the fourth floor of the bank.
Here lies Childe’s working space and personal quarters , and if the former can be easily seen and entered just by walking up the stairs, the latter is hidden from view by the wall and massive door. There is a wide work desk and two armchairs placed too close for your comfort. You peek into the interior window, only to find it veiled by a thick curtain from the other side, so you decide to broaden the space between the chairs.
Satisfied with distance now, you sit at your place, taking a sheet out of the pile of documents, mostly consisting of reports of credits approved and money returned, unusually mundane yet highly classified information. Aside from accompanying Childe when he needs to beat and threaten the debts out of deadbeats, you also have to track the transactions the bank makes, a routine job consuming most of your daytime.
At the sixth or seventh fiscal account, you hear door opening and mentally brace for Ajax’s presence. Harbinger doesn’t smile, looking serious instead. You hope it has nothing to do with you, as it’s too early in the day for you to already deal with his usual mess.
“[First]”, you look up, staring at the bizarrely humorless Ajax looming over your sitting form. He clears his throat, as if he feels awkward right now, “Are you sure you won’t have one of your episodes?”
Your mind blanks for a second and then there’s a mix of shame and anger flooding your being and making you see red. Over the last months you spent working with him, he was the sole trigger of your affliction and now there are considerable gaps in your memory, in which you have absolutely no clue what happened to you. You had an inkling that Childe is aware that you are not always completely here, but a slap in the face with such casual mention is enough to render you wordless for a good minute.
“I... It happens only under certain circumstances”, you find your voice wavering and his face darkens, as he quickly catches unsaid ‘because of you’. Fortunately, he decides not to press it.
“There’s a problem at hands, one that needs your skills". These words make you do a double take - Ajax doesn't look like he's lying, speech lacking usual grandiose and bravado, yet you still can't believe he lets you return to your former work. You make a quick guess.
“Qixing?”
“Qixing” he nods,"their spies must have learned something about the sigils. It's a minor issue now, but if Tianquan or Yuheng will learn about it…"
"A diplomatic disaster and a permanent loss of Geo Archon's gnosis" you continue for him, “Fatui would be banned or seriously limited in Liyue and most of trade routes will be cut off, Ningguang can easily press sanctions against most of Snezhnayan import”. You frown at the thought, no matter what Fatui would do in such situations there's too much to lose and almost nothing to gain, even if you start destroying the investigation and replication of sigils right now, it will be a waste of possible weapons against Rex Lapis.
Then, there's one painless exit from the complicated mess: destruction of all meager material evidence and clues they somehow scraped together. Despite finally having a glimpse of a freedom, you don’t feel any excitement, but doubt instead - just a year ago, such operation would be another routine task for you, but now, having wasted months because of Childe's possessiveness, you can't help but feel incompetent.
You contemplate, glancing at him: on one hand, Tartaglia can easily send any other agents, but on the other hand, none of said agents possess a vision, a vision that you specifically molded to be a perfect tool for stealth and assassinations. He tilts his head, a hand impatiently drumming against the desk, waiting for your answer - you can infer his inner monologue - Tartaglia, just like you, is torn between his loyalty to Tsaritsa and his own feelings on the matter and this is what finally cements your decision.
You can almost see how much he itches to forbid you from taking the mission, but stops himself out of his sense of duty to Snezhnaya, and this knowledge fills you with darker type of satisfaction to the very brim: You lean back, pretending to still ponder over his words, enjoying the view of apprehensive Childe for once.
“I think, I can’t...” you start, your voice deliberately small and hesitant, watching how Ajax smiles again, convinced that you no longer have any confidence in your abilities, “let Snezhnaya be compromised in any way”.
He doesn’t let any of the anger and frustration show on his face, yet the drumming ceases, leaving you two in the silence, save for the sounds of the street coming out of the window.
You know you’re poking at the sleeping tiger, letting a childish impulses to guide your words, but the opportunity to upset Harbinger are much harder to come by these days: he took away your job, your delusion and your freedom, the least he can do to compensate is suffer in return.
“Alright”, he finally says and fails to hold back disappointed sigh “agent [Last]. Your delusion is in Ekaterina’s possession, just as the rest of the equipment. You will start tonight, information is in the upper left drawer. You have no right to fail, if you do I will write a complaint to Tsaritsa against you and personally oversee that you will be discharged”.
It’s a gambling game then, and terribly unfair at that - even if you win it won’t set you free or relocate under someone easier to handle and Tartaglia loses virtually nothing by allowing you to roam out of his sight for one night only, and by failing you will literally had your life into Childe’s eager hands.
You won’t let the bastard triumph.
***
After getting your gear and delusion back, you spend the rest of the day reading the data and mentally preparing for what is about to come. The qixing base you're to infiltrate is located awfully near the current place of sigil research, as if Ningguang or whoever planted it here already suspected Fatui from the start. The base itself is disguised as an ancient Liyuen ruin with a couple of deactivated ruin hunters placed nearby to scare off the adventurers who no doubt will try to explore it.
You are almost panting when you finally reach it - turns out that despite being easily visible from afar, the base is surrounded by the tall and steep cliffs from all sides, with the only passage bound to be guarded. Invoking to the power of your vision, you effortlessly become invisible to the eye, enter the building and almost rush back the same second - there’s a millelith passing nearby in whom you almost bumped in.
Heart racing you enter the building again, walking on half bent legs to minimize the sounds, and avoid milleliths on your way. They feel a sudden rush of frosty air, but seeing no one nearby, just write it off as a sudden midnight chill. You continue to make your way, peeking into each room, forcing yourself to remain in this form longer and longer, body aching and freezing from the overuse. Finally you see it - a stack of documents placed on the bamboo table near the oil lamp in a conveniently empty room.
Your hand is already extended to push the lamp and fake an accidental fire, when you decide to investigate the papers - it’s better to learn what qixing already knows. Your eyes quickly peruse a liyuen script, characters upon other characters - a report about suspicious activities, a detailed intelligence of Northland’s spendings and thankfully, not a word of sigils, except the note stating that Fatuis are buying a considerable amount of paper and ink.
Having memorized each of the documents, you throw the lamp now, a flame quickly spreading to the documents and soon consuming a whole table. Someone in the corridor screams about fire, four milleliths rushing in the room and you use this distraction to sneak out. Having escaped the borders of the faux ruin you quickly run, still maintaining invisibility, and only when you reach the cliffs again do you allow yourself to rest.
After climbing over the rocks, the rest of the trail is spent between jogging and walking, frost from the vision still residing inside. Bitter chill slows down your movements and you can’t help, but shiver from time to time, arms and legs aching and burning from it. You eye the pyro delusion and consider using it - unlike a cryo vision that you sculpted for secrecy and agility, the delusion is more battle-focused, able to produce quick bursts of fire in the rare occasions you get into a brawl.
Suddenly, a ball of flames explodes near you - a whopperflower bursts out of the ground, sensing you in proximity. You dodge another fireball, instinctively flinching at the sudden flash of light and send an ice blade it's way. It slightly grazes the creature's skin, yet a mimetic plant rushes back under the ground as you summon another icicle and swiftly stab it in the "head" the second it emerges again.
The plant dies in convulsion, it’s reddish walls contracting around the blade, a fast stream of boiling hot energy nectar shooting from the wound the moment you pull away the weapon. You curse, as some of the liquid hits you on the leg, burning a part of your pants and scorching the flesh underneath. Hissing and gritting teeth, you use your vision again, now to soothe a throbbing pain.
Well, at least I am not freezing anymore.
You return at the first rays of dawn, dull pain still lingering in the lower body, pulsating and echoing every step. Slightly drowsy Nadia at the entrance nods at you, her gaze at your wound obvious even with a mask on, and you nod back, a wordless exchange providing a slight reprieve, before you have to deal with Childe again.
“Hard day?”, she asks right before you enter, a pale shadow of concern in her voice. You frown, confused by the sudden disquiet.
“Something happened?”
“Uhm”, a small pause, “the boss. He was restless tonight, very restless”.
Ah, shit.
“Well, that is unpleasant” you deadpan, any remaining desire to go inside the bank vanishing the same second: “Thank you anyways” and then you step in.
Harbinger waits right there in an absolutely empty lobby - it seems that Ekaterina’s shift hasn't started yet. He’s leaning on the wall, head turning to you as you enter and immediately noticing the state of your leg. His expression grows darker, when you thought he would lighten up at your perceived failure instead.
"Who did this to you?" he asks, hints of steel appearing in his voice. You lift your eyebrows - no teasing, starters or bravado. Maybe he's so impatient to hear about your failure that he forgot to keep up the act?
You swat away his question, deciding to report on your mission instead - documents were destroyed by a set up accident, none of the qixing and milleliths saw you; he doesn’t seem to listen though, eyes still glued to the burn and then he repeats his question, voice taking the dangerous tone.
“No one, no one did it. It was an accident on the way back”, he isn’t convinced judging by the way he grabs your arm, his monstrous strength evident in the steel trap grip. “Damn” you cuss, trying to free your hand - if Tartaglia learns that you let the whopperflower of all things injure you, he won’t let you live it down and will weaponise it, to point out your so-called incompetence over and over again.
“Let me go” you tug harder, a vision coming back to life from the distress. You pull away your wrist from him again and again and then you hear it first and feel it second - a small cracking sound and a sharp pain, shooting up your arm - you broke a bone. It’s too sudden for you to realize what happened or even properly sense the shock of ache.
He lets go of you in the same second, eyes looking blankly at the injured hand. His lips thin and he exhales, in a long and strangely controlled manner - seeing Childe act and look so emotionless is sure bizarre. He hauls you up bridal carry style, ripping out a low hiss of pain as his clothes rub against the burn, and directs himself to the stairs. You're too busy gritting your teeth and trying not to cry in front of Childe to notice him climbing past the third floor and only when he opens the door to his room with a kick do you finally snap back to reality.
Despite working for him for months now, you enter his quarters for the first time. It's a spacious place, with a wide bed and writing desk located near the window. There are different weapons decorating the walls - swords, claymores, spears - all with the traces of use, and a small pile of trinkets and children's toys on the desk, placed right near the started letter, some of them already half wrapped - must be a gift for someone, then.
He sets you down on the bed and turns to the wall, taking a dagger from its place and some small container. A part of you gets scared all of the sudden - you remember your morning thoughts and all those instances when his eyes focused on your body for far too long to be innocent or comfortable. Is this it? Did he get so fed up with you that he decided to drop any pretense and abandon the cat-and-mouse game you two seemed to have?
Ignoring the pain in both limbs you jolt for the exit - there’s no meaning in fighting him, yet you can still flee, lock in your room and then plan what to do. “Stop it” he says, a warning clear in his voice, and to your frustration it’s enough to glue you in place. You look at him, heart booming in your chest, barely suppressing a flinch at every step he’s taking. He leads you back to the bed, as you feel the world warping around you again and the worst part is that you can’t stop it - It’s unfair, I can’t leave, not yet, I will hate myself for the rest of my life if it happens.
He kneels down, blade slicing through the pants as you forget how to breath. His figure deforms, a dark blue sea leaking out of the dead fish eyes and you see great leviathans lurking underneath the surface. Childe is the ocean, in a sense that he contains horrors beyond the human imagination. He is the great sleeping kraken that will swallow the world and you are his first victim.
His hand takes something out of the container and you expect it to burn and to hurt you, but instead there’s a muffled soothing feeling that comes, an unintentional “ah” coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t force himself and patches you up on the contrary.
You come back to yourself little by little, when he almost finishes with ministrations, leg and wrist looking like two casts. It feels bizarre to come back to your body halfway, to see Ajax kneeling in front of you, head hung low and it’s even weirder to hear his voice, hurt and utterly defeated: “So that’s what you think of me”.
He helps you come back to your room, as you still feel dazed. You pinch yourself a couple of times, still unable to believe that any of these happenings are real, they are.
A turning point, you conclude, there’s no way anything will stay the same after this.
You both dread and anticipate the changes.
#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin x reader#yandere childe x reader#yandere childe#yandere tartaglia#yandere genshin impact x reader#Reader is unreliable narrator#It's not super obvious here#But it will be evident later#yandere#childe#tartaglia#yandere x reader#my writing
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The Promise
pairing: Zuko x Princess!reader
notes: this was requested by an anon and yes, it’s based off of the comics
summary: with tensions rising in Yu Dao, Aang seeks the Princess’s help in an effort to sway Zuko in the right direction
~ part of the fire lilies series ~
Aang’s heart is heavy with dread as he approaches the Southern Water Tribe for the first time since having left it nearly two years ago. Half constructed buildings peer out from the clouds, and as Appa nears closer to land the Avatar can see the statue of the south’s beloved leader. Her permanently etched smile does little to ease his nerves as he mulls over how he’s going to deliver the news to her, and though he hates to break his promise to Zuko he has found lately that some promises aren’t meant to be kept.
The moment the flying bison lands in the snow all the school children are quick to rush forward and excitedly crowd around the animal and the Avatar. In the distance you stand, a delighted smile on your face at the sight of your friend whom you immediately pull into a hug.
“Aang! It’s so good to see you again,” you exclaim before pulling out of the embrace. “Did you get taller?”
“I think so,” he chuckles sheepishly. “It’s nice to see you too, Princess. Or should I say Chief?”
“Please, Chief is only for formal occasions. You can still call me Princess if you’d like, just y/n will do too.”
“I was so sorry to hear about what happened to you,” Aang admits earnestly. “I wish I could have helped.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Aang. It was my decision to keep Koa a secret so that I wouldn’t pull you and Zuko away from your obligations. And everything turned out alright in the end, didn’t it?”
“I suppose it did, and I’m glad you’re alright. The South seems to be doing pretty well,” he notes with a faint smile, enjoying the way your eyes seem to light up at the mention of your home.
“We’ve already accomplished so much in just a short amount of time! The outer tribes are beginning to grow in number and our people have been mingling with those from our sister tribe. Oh, Aang, you have to meet my students! They’ve only been practicing for a few months but some of them have already passed the beginning level and-”
“That all sounds amazing, y/n,” the Avatar admits with a weak smile. However, his strong front doesn’t fool you in the slightest, and you immediately are able to detect that something is wrong, “but I didn’t come here for a friendly visit. There’s... There’s something we need to talk about. It’s about Zuko.”
He doesn’t miss the look that flashes briefly in your eyes at the mention of your boyfriend, and though he can tell how anxious you are Aang admires your ability to remain poised and collected in front of your students.
“Let’s talk in my office,” you utter quietly, and after dismissing the children for the day you and Aang are quick to head inside for a private discussion about the matters at hand.
“I’m so sorry to have to barge in on you like this when you already have so much on your plate but I didn’t have a choice,” Aang explains gently.
“What’s going on Aang?” You ask uneasily, and the worried look on your face doesn’t make things any easier for him. After all you’ve done for him and your friends, he doesn’t have the heart to break yours.
“The night the Harmony Restoration Movement was announced I made two promises to Zuko. I promised him that if things began to get out of hand and history began to repeat itself, I would end his life before he could have the chance to become like his father. The world needs peace and balance, and we can’t have anyone jeopardizing that. You know I’m just a peaceful monk, I couldn’t even kill Ozai, but Zuko is my friend and it meant so much to him that I had no choice but to agree.”
“And the second promise?” You murmur quietly, your mind reeling at the information given to you. Horror and panic flash across your features and you feel nauseous, you feel as if you can’t breathe and the walls are closing in all around you, and a newfound sense of desperation washes over you.
“The second promise was not to tell you. Zuko knew that if you found out you’d delay your return home to try and talk him out of it, and his mind had already been up. He didn’t want to worry you-”
“Why are you telling me this now, Aang? What’s changed?” You interrupt, though you fear you already know the answer. The Avatar refuses to meet your gaze.
“Zuko has withdrawn from the Harmony Restoration Movement and refuses to compromise. If things don’t work themselves out soon I might have to fulfill my promise...”
The room is heavy with tension and deathly silent as you process the news Aang has given you. It doesn’t sound like Zuko at all, and this promise doesn’t sound like Aang either.
“Aang, you’re my friend and I love you. But if you choose to fulfill this promise of yours I’ll never be able to forgive you.”
“Trust me, y/n, I don’t want it to come to that. That’s why I’m here,” he says earnestly. “I’m telling you all of this because I want you to talk to Zuko. You’re the only person he’ll listen to, so maybe you can get through to him and this whole mess can be resolved.”
“Where is Zuko now?”
“The last I heard he’d locked himself away in the palace back at the Fire Nation.”
“Spirits, so much for an honest relationship,” you grumble quietly to yourself. A small, defeated sigh escapes you and you nod. “Alright. Let me get my affairs in order and then I’ll go talk to Zuko.”
“Thank you so much, Princess. I know how hard all of this must be for you, and I wish there was another way but-”
“It isn’t your fault, Aang. At least not entirely. You only did what Zuko asked you to in respect of your friendship, and now in respect of our friendship I ask that you allow me to sway him in the right direction before any decisions are made.”
“Yes, of course,” he nods earnestly, and sensing that you need a moment to yourself, the Avatar excuses himself. “I’ll go make sure Appa is ready for the trip. Just let me know when you’re ready.”
A breath you didn’t know you’d been holding leaves you the moment the door shuts behind Aang, and it takes all of your will power to keep your rising tears at bay. To think that Zuko had gone to the extreme to reassure himself of the fact that he’d never repeat his family’s footsteps broke your heart; Zuko was nowhere close to being the cruel man Ozai had been, and you thought he was past this by now. You were worried about him and how he must be feeling, but you also felt it to be unfair of him to keep such a thing from you. He had been so distraught when he had learned about Koa and after that you had both sworn to tell each other everything no matter what, yet now it seemed Zuko had no intention of keeping that promise to you. Promise. It seemed like such a heavily loaded word now, and you were beginning to resent it entirely. You couldn’t wait another minute, you had to see Zuko.
It takes you no longer than an hour to get your affairs in order— Hakoda and your mother are left in charge to oversee the tribe while you’re away, and Pakku is to continue lessons without your presence. You pack your bag and join Aang on Appa’s saddle, and with the quick utterance of the phrase yip yip the two of you are riding high into the skies and making your way towards the Fire Nation.
The wind blowing through your hair is a bittersweet reminder of your days fighting the war alongside your friends; you had once believed that things would be simpler after the Fire Nation’s defeat, but so far nothing had seemed to be any easier than you had hoped it would be. You wished they were here now, you could really use some reassurance from Sokka or Suki, and you know Katara would probably have just the right thing to say to ease your nerves. Instead, the ride is silent and tense as you journey to see Zuko.
In the throne room sits the Fire Lord, tense and distracted by the millions of thoughts that whiz by in his head. He knew he was making the right decision by allowing his people to remain in Yu Dao, he was their ruler and it was his duty to look after their best interests, and backing out from the Harmony Restoration Movement would prevent the disruption of the peaceful lives they’d created for themselves there. Seeing the Mayor’s family, their daughter born of both Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom heritage, it allowed him to see his own future, one in which he selfishly realized what the movement would mean not only for his people but for himself.
Your portrait sits in his lap, face poised and stoic yet with a hint of a smile on your face, and it is this portrait that brings him solace and comfort during his time of turmoil. He’d purchased the photo from a vendor back in the South during the celebration of your coronation, and looking at it now he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Everything had become such a mess and all he wanted was your comfort; you were busy rebuilding a tribe, and after Zuko had made such a fuss about maintaining honesty between you two he felt foolish to try and tell you now. Surely you’d leave him for it, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand that heartache. Not again.
A knock on the door rips his attention away from your portrait and an immediate scowl forms on his features. He’d made it specifically clear that he didn’t want any visitors and was to be left undisturbed. Where were the Kyoshi Warriors to keep away the arrivals?
“I will see no one,” Zuko bellows, shoulders tensing when the door slowly begins to open despite his proclamation. However, when his eyes take in the sight of his beloved the Fire Lord does a double take before immediately relaxing at the presence of his Princess.
“Will the Fire Lord make an exception for me?” You ask with a meek smile, carefully shutting the doors behind you
“Y/n!” Zuko exclaims before scrambling out of his seat and rushing towards you. You can’t help the delighted laugh that leaves you when Zuko lifts your figure off the ground and holds you impossibly close to his chest. Tears well in his eyes as he nestles his face into your shoulder and breathes in the scent of fire lilies and snow.
“It’s nice to know you’ve missed me,” you giggle softly, though your smile fades once Zuko sets you back on the ground and you’re able to see his face. Carefully you rest a hand upon his face, Zuko immediately melting into your touch. “My love, you haven’t been sleeping, have you?”
“How can you tell?” Zuko asks with quiet surprise.
“I can see the restlessness and turmoil in your eyes. You’re troubled.”
“That’s an understatement,” he scoffs quietly. You frown.
“What’s going on with you, Zuko? Aang told me you backed out of the Harmony Restoration Movement.”
“Is that why you’re here?” The Fire Lord replies, a harsh edge suddenly coating his tone. “Just to talk me back into it??”
“I’m here because I’m worried about my boyfriend,” you emphasize, and you don’t miss the look of guilt that flash’s across Zuko’s face for snapping at you. Quieter now, “Aang told me about the promise he made to you. I want to hear your side of the story, and I want to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t go that far.”
Zuko is silent for a moment, and after a beat passes he nods. No more secrets, it’s time to tell you everything.
You end up in the palace gardens by the pond, loaves of bread in your hands as you enjoy the breeze and feed the turtle ducks. The Kyoshi Warriors stand in the distance to guard you both, and Suki gives you a quiet nod when your eyes meet across the way. You wanted to give Zuko a comforting atmosphere where he could feel safe to talk, the tone of the throne room was a bit too intense for the both of you, and after recalling stories he had told you of his mother you figured this was the perfect spot to do so. It takes him time to gather his thoughts and process his emotions, but you wait patiently until he’s ready.
“I want to start by saying that I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I knew you’d worry and drop everything to try and talk me out of something I’d already decided, and I didn’t want to take you away from your people, not again,” Zuko explains quietly. “But my family, selfishness and destruction runs in our blood, and I needed to make sure that I’d never make the same mistakes they did.”
“Zuko,” you utter gently, your hand coming to rest upon his bicep, “you are nothing like your father or your grandfather. You’re a good person, you’ve already proven this time and time again. Yes, you’ve made mistakes, but you’ve also made changes, good changes.”
“I can’t make any more mistakes, y/n. That’s why Aang is there to stop me. But backing out of the Harmony Restoration Movement is not a mistake.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Because of you.”
“Me?” You repeat in bewilderment. “I-I don’t understand.”
“I had the chance to visit Yu Dao and see what my people had created, the life they spent generations building for themselves. As Fire Lord it’s my job to make sure my people are happy, and they are happy— coinciding with earth kingdom citizens. You should have seen it, y/n. Best friends, business partners, families made up of two different nations. I know Aang believes there can’t be any harmony unless the four nations are separate, but Yu Dao proves that that’s not true, and so do we.”
“The mayor’s wife of Yu Dao invited me to stay with them, her an earth bender and her husband a fire bender. They had a daughter and together they were a beautiful family. And do you know what I saw when I was with them?”
“What did you see?” You ask quietly, your eyes welling with tears as you hang onto Zuko’s every word.
“I saw us. I saw you cradling a baby in your arms while you sat in the gardens and watched the older children play. It was peaceful, and even though the odds have always been against us it didn’t matter that the mother of our children was of the Water Tribe and the father was of the Fire nation. All that mattered in that moment was our family. A family that can’t exist if we keep the four nations separate,” Zuko emphasizes desperately. “If it’s selfish of me to base my decision on my own desires then I’ll take the hit, but I’d rather die than ever have to be kept away from you simply because we’re different.”
Zuko’s eyes have grown wide and his shoulders rise and fall with each anxious breath he takes as he gauges your reaction. You’re silent for a long while, your own gaze settled upon the pond as you watch the mother turtle duck look after her ducklings. You wanted to be a mother some day, and you’d be lying if you said you could picture yourself being with anyone other than Zuko. He was it for you, the only person you’d ever want to be with, and no one had any right to tell you otherwise.
“Zuko,” you say quietly, lifting your gaze to stare into his golden irises, “you’re absolutely right.”
“I-I am?” He splutters in response, surprised at the fact that he’s truly in the right for once. He’s always relied on you as a moral compass, so to hear that you agree with him is a weight lifted off of his shoulders.
“You are,” you reaffirm. “How can you have peace if everyone is expected to keep to themselves? That’s not harmony at all. It’s isolating and it’s lonely and it’s sad. Those families shouldn’t be separated, and you need to do whatever you can to keep them together.”
“I will,” Zuko nods quickly. “Will you help me?”
“I’m on your side Zuko, but I can’t fight my friends,” you lament gently. “I’ll try to reason with Aang, and if it comes down to it I’ll stop him from fulfilling his promise to you, but I’m afraid I’ll have to remain neutral.”
“I understand,” he murmurs gently. He takes your hands in his own and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for hearing my side and having my back.”
“I always will, Zuko. You’ll never have to worry about that,” you reply, smiling as he pulls you into a tight hug. Despite the conflict going on between your boyfriend and your friends, you have a feeling that everything is going to work itself out. It has to. It must.
And it will.
| tags: @rainteslerrrr @simpinforsukka @sirkekselord @protect-remus @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @coldlilheart @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @draqondance @taeeemin @user12345321 @just--artemis--with--ghost @titaniafire @dekahg @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @lozzybowe @izzieserra @melacholy @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @djskfkdkkf @xapham @yeetletzgetitjae @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @neighborhoodpansexualdisaster @noodlesfluffy @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch |
#the promise#zuko#prince zuko#zuko x reader#prince zuko x reader#zuko imagine#prince zuko imagine#aang#aang x reader#zuko and the princess#avatar the last airbender#avatar: the last airbender#atla#atla x reader#atla imagine#fire lilies#au
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Enlightenment (part 1)
Introducing, my latest OC Xenisha (Zen-E-Shuh)! She’s a genius from Earthrealm who moved to Outworld by her own choice and though she would much prefer to keep excessive attention off herself, that becomes less and less plausible when the Kahn and Queen start hearing about her inventions and technical ability. New job with new demands is something she doesn’t care for, but when Shang Tsung gets involved, she decides maybe it’s not so bad.
Part 1, Enlightenment; First Encounter
(Shang Tsung x BlackFemaleOC, No warnings)
The sun scorched landscape stretched as far as the eye could see. The main parts of Outworld were composed almost entirely of the hardened cracked sand that Xenisha’s hover-pack kept her in flight over. A summons had been brought to her door, requesting presence before Empress Sindel and Emperor Shao Kahn. Immediately. Two days, was all she had to get herself together and head for the rust colored mountains, where one of their many lavish palaces was located.
From the moment she discovered the notice pinned to the door of her home, Xenisha had to ensure preparedness and punctuality to the meeting. Heat was a given, the sun was always so relentless, especially when heading into the private properties of the mountains, so she had to dress light and still remain presentable– Though she had no intentions of going overboard to put up any appearances. Never that. A neon green t-shirt with navy blue denim overalls would serve just fine. They were both made from the genetically altered cotton that was grown on her plot of land; As a result the clothes could nearly breath and were resilient to external temperatures. In other words, by her own creation, there existed a fabric that remained roughly an even 60 degrees to the touch at all times. Long gloves that went past her elbows with fingers tipped in soft metal to operate any of her custom interfaces and made of a hardier version of the same cotton accompanied it, as she was determined not to let the sun sear her skin the same way it had the terrain.
As for her hair, she began washing it immediately after her outfit was chosen. This was one part of her appearance that couldn’t be compromised. It was long, impractically so– Although it didn’t appear to be, favoring instead a thick, mass of tight, puffy, dark colored coils that grew from her scalp in all directions and came to rest on her shoulders, with some continuing midway down her back. For the impromptu journey it needed to be fully hydrated, double twisted and then pinned into a bun, to finally be covered with a decorative silk headwrap to keep it from sustaining heat damage from Outworld’s unforgiving climate. It was treated as her crown– One of the few non-science related indulgences that she simply adored participating in.
Lastly, since she had no intentions of showing up empty handed, some of her tech was chosen for the occasion. Hover-pack, teleporter, and sub-space sash with a pair of flexible, comfortable shoes, and she was ready to go.
The whole way there, she tried to think not annoyed thoughts. Not only was the day a complete loss, meaning no time to dig around for parts or work on any of her near finished projects, but this situation was one that she’d found herself in constantly and she hated it. Xenisha didn’t mind inventing and creating things for commoners and poor folk, but when it came to powerful authority figures she’d learned to avoid displaying her talents. She preferred not being a pawn to be bargained with, bought or sold.
The ‘locals’ were near destitute, left to scratch around and work as slave laborers once their home realms were fused into Outworld. Out by the Rust Wall, i.e. the cluster of shantytowns that survivors gathered in to preserve what they could of their culture, is where she amassed hidden influence. It wasn’t on purpose, but after building a permanent home and using gene tampering to grow fruit and vegetables year round, she began to garner much attention. Soon enough, she was handing out free food to beggars and giving away bundles of the specialized seeds to farm and be planted in high traffic spaces. The sudden abundance of plant life earned new nicknames for the area, and soon the Rust Wall became the Green Wall (or any other variation of that name).
People repaid their gratitude by giving her things like books, materials, currency, and whatever else they could get their hands on. She didn’t ask for much, if anything at all, just to be able to hear how this invention and that new plant was working out. If anything needed improvement. Doing things that way helped her research extensively, which was satisfaction enough. It always had been.
But as the Green Wall grew and word of it spread, the Emperor and Empress became interested. Hiring her for small tasks and offering higher and higher payouts whenever she tried to say no, until they started sending Kollector to retrieve her, in lieu of making requests. Now she was abundantly wealthy with a position she never wanted or needed.
She shook her head. This was her own fault. Had she not been so eager to toss her creations at everyone she saw this wouldn’t be happening right now.
But they were all just so dang poor! How the hell was she supposed to ignore them?
She sighed as she touched down. It didn’t make much of a difference at this point.
Now standing before the spear-like rod iron gate that allowed entry on to the grounds, she was greeted by the hulking Shokan guards meant to escort her to the throne room. They would’ve let her walk there on her own, but the place was vast (ugly too), and she’d failed to navigate it more than once (gotten lost).
While it was wise to build around the largest oasis in the area, the 'sharp’ design of everything from the torch holders on the wall to the impractical black spiral staircase that led to (lo and behold) another long hallway and another flight of stairs (this time not spiral) was just ridiculous. Black, green, dark red, with skulls, warped faces, and spikes was the entire motif, and it was… Unbearable; A melodramatic over statement of 'I am Villain, I am King, I will be obeyed’, if Xenisha ever saw one.
Finally, after more stairs than anyone would ever care to walk, they arrived in the throne room. It was large enough to have a troop of soldiers gather and receive orders all at once. Crossing the polished sandstone floor, flanked by two guards on each side, Xenisha stopped just before the (godforsaken) stairs that lead up to a platform that held a set of matching thrones. Two powerful entities sat atop them with one advisor standing next to each seat neither of whom she’d met. They were just high enough, make a person feel beneath them and know who had the power.
“Your Majesty.” Xenisha bowed to each of them, “Your Majesty.”
The proud beautiful Empress Sindel spoke first. “Hmph. The girl continues to offend me,” she scoffed to Shao Kahn before turning to her. “Must your lack of effort always be so apparent?”
The simmering annoyance that she’d had been feeling became a blaze of anger, and she had to bite her tongue to push it down, avoid getting her head taken off. The Empress enjoyed antagonizing those who were 'lower class’ than her, especially appearance wise. She hated Xenisha’s work clothes and made sure to say so every time she saw her in them.
Do not start with me…. Xenisha thought, rolling her eyes.
Bringing a hand up to her ear and twisting the stud earring there, she exhaled slowly before answering. “With all due respect Madame,” she urged herself to say, “The letter didn’t say this was a social call.” She replied, with the tiniest edge of condescension.
Obviously satisfied with herself, Sindel waved a dismissive hand smirking. “I care not for your excuses.”
“Right…” Xenisha grumbled, letting go of her ear to slip her hands in her pockets. “How can I help you guys today?” She sighed.
Shao Kahn spoke. “Some of our 'allies’ require a small amount of monitoring. I gather you are capable of creating such devices.”
“Sure.” She replied.
“Excellent.” He nodded, “The intel will prove to be a valuable asset.”
“Mmmhm. Wonderful.” She said flatly.
“How much time will this take?” Sindel asked.
“3 months– 90 Earth days.”
“Your 'enthusiasm’ is contagious.” Shao Kahn remarked sarcastically. “Very well. Part of your payment will arrive at your home tomorrow.”
“Great.” Xenisha nodded, quickly. “Will that be all?”
This was always how these conversations went; The Queen or the Kahn stated a 'request’, she said 'Yes I can!’, performed said task, and received a massive sum of money. She had more Shao Koins and Sin-Dollars than she knew what to do with, but admittedly it was nice being able to buy more rare and expensive metals. Even if only because it took away some of the time and effort of having to scavenge.
“No.” Sindel said, sitting back and crossing her leg, gesturing to the right. “That will not be all, Xenisha. Shang Tsung will be overseeing this undertaking to ensure quality, as well as personally screening any intel that you may find.”
Xenisha glanced at him, who raised his eyebrows and smirked.
“Actually he can stay here, I don’t need any supervision. But thanks.” She said, uneasily shifting.
“On the contrary,” Shao Kahn interjected, “Since you will be the one collecting the information–”
“I never said I w-”
“–Reporting to him directly will bypass the tedium of having to await your arrival.”
“…..Ya know what? I… Guess that’ll work.” The idea of periodically having to meet up with them was enough to have her agree.
Hopefully this situation wouldn’t carry on for too long, but from Shang Tsung’s expression, he was likely to make this as difficult as possible.
***##***
Hope you all enjoyed my new shit, and thank you for reading❤❤
#shang tsung#oc#ocs#black oc#black ocs#shang tsung x black oc#shang tsung x black character#black characters#black female oc#shang tsung x black female oc#shang tsung mortal kombat#mortal kombat#mk#mc#black mc#dragonmaiden79
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whatever our souls are made of (his and mine are the same), pt. 13
Welcome back to today’s one-shot.
Hope you all like it.
You can also read it here.
See you!
for you, anything
Prompt: sacrifice
Summary: What would you sacrifice for the most important person in your life? Easy. Everything.
Ichigo has never been one to have deep conversations with his father.
He figures that, had his mother been alive, she would have been his closest confidant.
And although good ol’ goat-chin has good advice every once in a while, he has always portrayed this goofy character that doesn’t convince people to rely on him emotionally speaking.
Karin has said so before too.
So when Isshin one day asks him to sit down and talk, Ichigo is not sure what to feel.
He wonders what other deep family secrets his dad might reveal.
Last time they had had a serious conversation, he had unveiled not only his true identity but his mother’s.
What else was there to say?
Was Ichigo some kind of alien on top of everything else?
As one can imagine, he feels nervous when he sits in front of his father on the table.
His sisters are out, so they won’t get interrupted.
A fact that doesn’t give him much confidence.
“So, Ichigo, how have you been?” Isshin starts by saying.
And he doesn’t really know what to say.
His father has never cared much for chit chat, but Ichigo answers anyway.
He’s fine.
Some of his classes can be a bitch and job’s tough, but he can’t complain.
He’s healthy and his Shinigami skills are still top notch.
There’s not much else to inform.
But thanks for asking.
His dear old dad asks him a little bit about college and his work, and he answers as best as he can without it being too obvious he doesn’t know why they are even talking.
“And how’s Rukia-chan?”
So there it is.
The true reason his father wanted to talk to him.
Frankly, Isshin doesn’t need to ask about Rukia.
He had just seen her over the weekend.
But Ichigo answers anyway.
“She’s fine. Probably overseeing training at the moment.”
“I see.”
His father nods as he sips his coffee.
“So I take it you’ll be going to the Seireitei this weekend, correct?”
He’s a little surprised by this question too.
It’s been a routine, that if Rukia comes to Karakura one weekend, the next he’ll visit her in the Soul Society.
It’s been like this for a while now.
But again, Ichigo merely answers.
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
His father shrugs.
“Can’t I be curious of what my only son is doing?”
“Yeah, but you never had before.”
Not even when he was going to Soul Society or Hueco Mundo, risking his life to save others, had his dad asked him about it.
Probably because he already knew.
Isshin smiles at him, but it is a sad sort of smile, unlike his usual grins.
“I guess you’re right. Still, it’s never too late to be curious.”
Ichigo supposes that is true.
“Is that all you wanted to ask?” He enquires, itching to stop with this conversation.
“Actually, no.” His father says.
Now he’s a little bit intrigued.
“So what else did you want to talk about?”
“How’s the Soul Society? Is Byakuya-kun treating you well? What about the other Shinigami?”
It is kind of weird his father is questioning him about the place he had left so long ago.
But he answers as best as he can.
The Soul Society is recovering at a great speed.
Though you can still see remnants of the devastation.
Not to mention some Shinigami are very traumatized by what they had seen and the people they had lost.
Ukitake-san’s presence is still greatly missed.
Byakuya probably treats him better than he treats other people, excepting Rukia.
He always welcomes him for tea time and dinner.
They have sparred once or twice and both have had fun.
Well, Ichigo’s had fun.
It’s hard to tell with Byakuya.
The other Shinigami are mostly cordial.
Ichigo tells his father a little bit about his other friends.
Of how they have taken him to explore other parts of the Soul Society he hadn’t seen before.
And excluding an incident with a few trainees, all Shinigami have been very nice to him and accepting of his visits.
His father listens to him intently, adding a few things here and there.
“I see you’re getting used to life there.”
The way goat-chin says these things makes Ichigo worry.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“And how has Rukia been liking Karakura?”
His dad asks him then.
Ichigo replies as best as he can.
Rukia likes going to the park a lot.
He had taught her to roller skate recently, and you had taken a liking to it.
She likes going to the movies too and eating ice cream at the parlor.
Then there’s a store that sells cute things that she enjoys visiting.
(He may or may not have bought Rukia’s new bunny necklace there)
She’s also taken a liking to video games and they play often.
But most of all, she enjoys exploring places she has never seen before.
Isshin agrees that it seems like Rukia’s having fun.
And that he is glad for it.
She deserves it after all.
“Well, I guess things will be difficult for you two.” His father says at last.
“What do you mean?”
“That when the time comes, one of you will have to leave their world behind. And since you both enjoy each other’s world and are well-received in either, it’s going to be a tough call.”
Oh.
Well Ichigo had never seen it that way.
He realizes that to be with Rukia, there is a lot at stake.
This life of being half in Karakura, half in Seireitei won’t last for the rest of his days.
And eventually one of them will have to permanently move to the other’s world if they want to remain together.
Ichigo just had thought it’d take years until they reached that point.
So he really hadn’t thought about it until now.
“I guess so.” He simply answers. “It’s still too early to know, though.”
Isshin turns serious then.
“I don’t think it’s too early to begin thinking about it. You’re growing up and every day you will become older and older, while Rukia will stay the same for many more decades. Eventually people will wonder why you are hanging out with someone that looks like a teenager.”
That is true.
But if he had cared about what people thought of him, he would have dyed his hair black years ago.
So he lets his father know.
“Maybe you don’t care, but what about Rukia-chan?”
That’s no brainer either.
Ichigo knows Rukia will stand by his side no matter what.
However, his father is right on one thing.
They should talk about that eventually.
“I’m sure we’ll reach a compromise.” He tells his dad.
“Maybe. But remember that Rukia-chan is already a lieutenant and is on the path to becoming a captain, would you ask her to sacrifice all of her achievements to come and live here?”
No.
He wouldn’t ask that of her.
Ever.
“Or would you be able to sacrifice your life here on Earth, literally, to go live in the Soul Society with her?”
Ichigo finds that question a little bit easier to answer.
Yes.
He would.
Because he likes being a Shinigami.
He would live happy if he were one and that was his profession.
He has no qualms living there.
He wouldn’t feel alone.
But most importantly, he would do anything for Rukia.
She has become his priority.
If living in the Soul Society was what benefitted them both, then he most certainly choose to live there with her.
And even if it wasn’t, Ichigo would still sacrifice many things for her.
If someone were to ask him “What would you sacrifice for the most important person in your life?”
It would be easy to answer.
Everything.
“Yes. I would. That and much more.” He tells his father.
Isshin chuckles and shakes his head.
“I see the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. But I can’t blame you. If I were younger and single, I’d totally sacrifice many things for Rukia-chan!”
That comment earns him a punch to the face.
“You don’t have to get jealous! I was just saying!” His dad says while he rubs his injured nose.
“Quit joking, then!”
“But anyway, I’m glad to see you’re serious! I didn’t raise you to be irresponsible with the feelings of a young lady!”
“Of course I’m serious and I’d never hurt Rukia’s feelings.”
Ichigo admits.
“Well done, son! You make daddy proud!”
“Yeah, yeah.” He dismisses his father’s praise and begins to stand up.
“If this is it, I’m gonna leave and─ Wait a minute! Was this a test?!”
“Gotta be sure you’re on the right path! I wanna be a grandfather someday! Just not too soon, so try and be careful, I’ve got a pack of condoms in the clinic!”
Ichigo sighs loudly.
“Whatever. I’m leaving.”
And as Isshin watches his son go upstairs, he can’t help but smile.
“You really do make us proud, nee Masaki?”
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A Padre Pio Inspirational Story
Padre Pio and his Friend from Donegal, Ireland — John McCaffery — Part - II
On John McCaffery’s many visits to San Giovanni Rotondo, he met a number of people who were very close friends of Padre Pio. One was Dr. Guglielmo Sanguinetti. Dr. Sanguinetti was one of the major collaborators in the building of Padre Pio’s hospital, the Home for the Relief of Suffering.
One day when John was at the monastery, he was happy to run into Dr. Sanguinetti as well as one other acquaintance. Dr. Sanguinetti suggested that the three of them go to the small room adjoining the choir loft and discuss some of the upcoming plans for the Home for the Relief of Suffering. At the time, Dr. Sanguinetti was heavily burdened with many difficult decisions that he had to make regarding the hospital. He was trying to raise funds, publish an informational newspaper regarding the hospital, and oversee the construction plans.
The informal business meeting that Dr. Sanguinetti suggested would cause the men to miss the sermon that was about to begin in the church. However, they would be finished with their discussion by the time Padre Pio was ready to preside at Benediction. “You know, the sermons of the visiting Capuchin are boring,” Dr. Sanguinetti said. “I am not able to stay awake when he is preaching. We will just talk together quietly while the sermon is going on. When we hear Mary Pyle and her choir start to sing, it will be our cue to go in the church for Benediction.”
The plan sounded like a good one, but the men would soon regret it. When Padre Pio rounded the corner and saw the three men discussing business together, he became angry. John and his two companions instantly regretted their decision, but it was too late. “How could you do it?” Padre Pio said. “How could you have a discussion while the Capuchin is preaching a sermon? You must go downstairs at once to the church!” The tension in the air was mounting by the minute. To the men, it seemed like Padre Pio had overreacted. Nevertheless, they followed his advice and went into the church. Later, John and Dr. Sanguinetti would recall the incident and see the humor in it, but at the time it happened, it was no laughing matter.
Through the years, John observed that Dr. Sanguinetti always seemed to feel totally at ease whenever he was with Padre Pio. That was rare. Because almost everyone had a certain awe of Padre Pio, it was very difficult for most people to feel completely comfortable in his presence. Not Dr. Sanguinetti. He was able to be truly natural, truly “himself.” Knowing that, Padre Pio could let his guard down and could relax in his company. It was something that he was not able to do with many people.
Once, John and Dr. Sanguinetti were saying goodbye to Padre Pio after visiting him. Padre Pio suddenly became serious. For some time, he stared intently at John and at Dr. Sanguinetti and finally said to them, “Who knows when and where we will meet again.” John wondered what Padre Pio meant by the mysterious comment. Shortly after that and quite unexpectedly, Dr. Sanguinetti died of a heart attack. His death came as a terrible blow to Padre Pio and it left a great void in his heart. It seemed that no one was able to console Padre Pio over the loss of his dear friend.
Several months later, John returned to San Giovanni Rotondo for a visit. When Padre Pio saw John, he began to cry. They went into a private room in the monastery so that they could talk together. “You probably did not think that you would ever see me in a state such as this,” Padre Pio said to John. The tears flowed freely from his eyes. “We lost our good friend,” Padre Pio added. “Unlike you or me, God saw that Dr. Sanguinetti was ready to be with Him in eternal life.” John tried to comfort Padre Pio in his sorrow but no words could
console him.
In addition to Dr. Sanguinetti, another one of Padre Pio’s spiritual children that John felt fortunate to meet was a woman named Elena Bandini. Elena, a Third Order Franciscan, had dedicated herself totally to her faith and to many charitable and apostolic works. She began writing to Padre Pio and seeking his spiritual direction in 1921. In 1937, she moved from her home in Mugello to live permanently in San Giovanni Rotondo. She served Padre Pio’s apostolate in innumerable ways.
When Elena was diagnosed with stomach cancer, her strength of character and her heroic spirit became apparent to all. The suffering that Elena endured was almost unbearable. However, she did not pray for a healing. She offered all of her sufferings to God and united them to Padre Pio’s sufferings, for his intentions. John visited Elena right before she died. His heart was moved with pity to see her in so much pain. Her resignation to her illness was beautiful and her profound spirituality was evident, even on her death bed. Finally, her sufferings became so intense that she prayed to Padre Pio that her end would come. “It will just be a little longer. Just a little more straw to burn,” Padre Pio said. Elena finally passed away on October 5, 1955. John spoke to Padre Pio about her death. “Elena was such a saintly person,” John said. “She lived a holy life and she died a holy death. I believe that she went straight to heaven.” Two large tears rolled down Padre Pio’s cheeks. “Oh yes, that is true,” Padre Pio replied. “Elena went to heaven with no stop at all!”
During one of his visits to the monastery of Our Lady of Grace, John met a man named Giovanni and soon they became fast friends. Giovanni was known simply as Giovanni da Prato, since he was originally from Prato, Italy. He had a deep conversion experience through his contact with Padre Pio and was able to completely reform his life.
Giovanni da Prato drove a taxi for a living and in times past, he had a serious drinking problem. When he drank too much, he would often become violent. Once, after an evening of excessive drinking, he struck his wife and then collapsed in a drunken stupor across the bed. Suddenly, he felt the bed moving. He looked up to see a Capuchin, holding onto the bed rail and shaking the bed. The Capuchin, who had a very angry look on his face, was staring directly at Giovanni. “You have gone too far this time!” the dark-robed figure said to Giovanni. With that, the Capuchin disappeared.
Giovanni told his wife about the mysterious Capuchin who had stood beside his bed. “I have been praying to a priest named Padre Pio,” his wife said. “I have been invoking his presence so that he will protect me against your drunken rages.” Later, she admitted that she had sewn a picture of Padre Pio inside Giovanni’s pillow case. His wife’s words aroused his curiosity. He got in his taxi and made the long journey from Tuscany to San Giovanni Rotondo. He had to find out if Padre Pio was the same man that he had seen in his bedroom.
When Giovanni arrived at the little church of Our Lady of Grace, he noticed many people standing both inside and outside the church with rosaries in their hands. The sight of it was disgusting to him. He assumed that they were all religious fanatics. Giovanni had very little respect for people who claimed to have faith. He had always considered religion to be a matter of superstition. As an active member of the Communist party, Giovanni had spent years persecuting people who professed religious faith.
Giovanni was standing in the sacristy of the church when he saw Padre Pio for the first time. He immediately recognized him as the man who had stood beside his bed. “So, the mangy old sheep has arrived!” Padre Pio said when he saw Giovanni. It was definitely not a warm welcome.
Giovanni wanted to speak to Padre Pio privately. Ever since he had the strange experience of seeing Padre Pio in his home, he had begun to think about the meaning of life. If faith was important and if God really existed, Giovanni wanted to discuss the matter with Padre Pio. He was told that the only way to do so was to go to confession to him. He decided to take the plunge.
In the confessional, Giovanni was shocked to hear Padre Pio say to him, “You must leave at once. I cannot hear your confession. You must find another priest. I do not want to go to hell for you!” After hearing the harsh words, Giovanni had no peace of mind. He was angry at Padre Pio for speaking to him in such a cutting manner, but after a short time, his anger subsided. He desperately needed some answers to his questions and he felt that Padre Pio was the one person who could supply them.
Giovanni felt at a total loss as to what to do next. He could not bring himself to make his confession to another priest. He had heard that Padre Pio’s parents, Grazio and Giuseppa Forgione were buried in the local cemetery. He walked to the cemetery and was able to find their graves. He wanted to say a prayer to them but he did not know how to pray. He had never said a prayer in his life. Instead, he lit two candles, one for Grazio and one for Giuseppa. He spoke to them from his heart, “You are Padre Pio’s parents. Please tell your son to accept me as one of his spiritual children. I want to change my life and I also long to hear a kind word from him.”
One morning, after Giovanni attended Padre Pio’s Mass, Padre Pio spoke to him briefly. He tapped Giovanni on the head and said to him, “It is not true what you were thinking in the church today, ignoramus! I want you to learn how to pray the Rosary!” Obediently, Giovanni went and bought a little devotional book with instructions on how to pray the Rosary.
Not long after, Padre Pio heard Giovanni’s confession. For the sins that Giovanni had forgotten, Padre Pio named them for him. During his confession, Giovanni broke down and cried. Padre Pio cried as well. Giovanni handed his Communist party membership card to Padre Pio and asked him to throw it away. Padre Pio said, “Yes, that is good. I will indeed destroy it.” Giovanni invited many of his former Communist friends to visit the monastery. He introduced them to Padre Pio and many were converted.
Padre Pio explained to Giovanni that he had hurt a lot of people and needed to make amends for his past sins. He told Giovanni that he must go to the last Mass each Sunday until further notice. At that time, the fasting rules of the church were such that one had to fast from midnight until the time one received Holy Communion the following day. That meant that every Sunday, Giovanni would have to fast from the previous night until the end of the next day.
Everyone without exception went to Sunday Mass in the morning, in part because of the strict fasting rules. People were generally quite hungry after fasting from midnight the night before. They usually went directly home after Mass in order to have breakfast. No one received Holy Communion at midday or at the end of the day. For Giovanni, not only was the penance difficult, it was also humiliating. As he walked down the aisle to the communion rail all by himself and knelt there alone, he felt embarrassed. He had to endure the rude remarks of the people in the church who whispered together about him and stared at him curiously.
Giovanni’s penance lasted for almost one year. He never asked that the length of time be shortened and he completed it without a complaint. At the end of the year, he spoke to Padre Pio and told him how happy he was that his penance was finally over. Padre Pio said to him, “Giovanni, I too suffered during that year. I was stretched out on the cross and I shed my blood for you.”
Giovanni wanted to live his new found faith to the fullest. He knew that Padre Pio was interceding for him and helping him to turn away from sin. Most of his destructive behaviors fell away easily. He stopped using profanities in his speech and he made many other positive changes in his life. There were a few bad habits, however, that he found difficult to break. He spoke to Padre Pio about it. Padre Pio said to him, “Giovanni, you put in your good will and I will take care of the rest of it.”
Giovanni visited the monastery as often as he could. Sometimes he would reflect on his life and say to himself, “Why am I so captivated by this elderly priest? Why have I left everything for him?” Giovanni knew in his heart that he would never return to his former way of living. On several occasions, while sitting in the little church of Our Lady of Grace, he had seen Padre Pio’s face shining with an unearthly beauty. He asked one of the pilgrims if he had ever seen the radiance on Padre Pio’s face. “Indeed I have seen the same thing,” the man replied. Giovanni spoke to Padre Pio about it. “Father, your face is so very beautiful.” “Why would you say something like that to me?” was Padre Pio’s only reply.
One day at the monastery, Giovanni was present when Padre Pio and some of his fellow Capuchins were talking together. The subject of Padre Pio’s stigmata came up. “Tell us how you received the stigmata,” one of the Capuchins said to Padre Pio, but he made no reply. Several of the Capuchins gave their opinion on the matter and each one had a different idea. “It was the crucifix in the choir loft of the church that imprinted the wounds of Christ on Padre Pio’s body,” one of the Capuchins stated. “And what do you think happened, Giovanni?” Padre Pio asked. “I have a different thought about it than the others,” Giovanni replied. “I think that Jesus came down from heaven and embraced you. At his embrace, you received the stigmata.” “You are closer than all of the others in your explanation,” Padre Pio replied. But he would make no other comment.
John McCaffery had an adventure with Giovanni da Prato on one occasion that he would never forget. One day, he happened to see Giovanni at the monastery. Giovanni told John that he had a great desire to see Padre Pio that day. “Oh, but it is impossible,” John replied. “Padre Pio is sick and confined to his cell. No one is allowed to visit him today.” “I will tell you a secret if you promise not to tell anyone,” Giovanni said. “I happen to have a key that leads to the monks’ cells.” “How on earth did you manage to get a key?” John asked. But Giovanni would not answer the question. “Don’t worry about how I got the key. Let’s just try our luck!” Giovanni said.
Giovanni’s bold and daring spirit gave John the courage he needed to do something that was very much against the rules. The two men walked past the “no visitors allowed” sign in the monastery and unlocked the door that led to the cloister. They walked down the hall very quietly so as not to arouse attention and then opened the door to Padre Pio’s cell. Once inside, they saw that Padre Pio was all alone. They spent just a few moments with him. Padre Pio received them kindly and gave them each a blessing. Giovanni had received his heart’s desire.
On one occasion, John told Padre Pio about a brand-new book that had just been published in Ireland. “What is the book about?” Padre Pio asked. “It is a book about you,” John replied. At John’s words, Padre Pio became distraught. With tears in his eyes he said, “You are the ones who are good. Not me. I know that God has given me many graces. But it frightens me to think about it because I do not think that I have made good use of the gifts that I have been given. I think that anyone else would have made better use of them than I have.” John tried to convince him otherwise but he was not able to change Padre Pio’s mind.
During John’s visits to the monastery of Our Lady of Grace, he came in contact with a number of people who had received miracles through the hands of Padre Pio. John witnessed some of the miraculous cures with his own eyes, including the complete healing of a man who had throat cancer. The pain of the man’s illness was intense and he was only able to speak in a hoarse whisper. As his disease progressed, his speech became completely inaudible. It even became difficult for him to breathe.
The man and his wife had moved from Milan to San Giovanni Rotondo in order to be close to Padre Pio. Every day, he stood in the sacristy, waiting for Padre Pio as he passed through the sacristy to the church. When Padre Pio came into view, the man would simply look at him and in silence, he would pray to him for healing. But the man’s faith was put to the test. He had been suffering from the disease for over a year, and his condition was growing steadily worse.
One evening, when the man was in bed and trying to sleep, the pain of his disease became intolerable. He had the sensation that he was suffocating. Try as he might, he could not seem to get enough air. He became so desperate that he got out of bed and went to the monastery. The monastery door was locked, so he rang the bell. When one of the Capuchins came to the door, the man pleaded with him and said, “I have to see Padre Pio. I am very sick and I need his help!” “But the church is closed for the night,” the Capuchin replied. “Padre Pio is in the choir praying his night Office. No one can speak to him at this late hour. You must come back tomorrow.”
The man’s pleadings finally touched the heart of the Capuchin and he led him to the choir loft where Pio was praying with the rest of his religious community. At once, Padre Pio saw the pitiful condition the man was in and got up from his prayers and walked toward him. Weeping, the man threw himself on his knees before Padre Pio. Padre Pio then placed his hand on the man’s head in a blessing. At Padre Pio’s touch, all of his pain disappeared. He felt an intense joy coursing through his body. The feeling was so overwhelming that he did not think that he could endure it. He wrenched himself away from Padre Pio and stood up. Padre Pio evidently was aware of the blessing that the man had received for he smiled at him and said, “That surely was beautiful, wasn’t it! But now you must go back to your home and go to bed because it is late.”
Padre Pio later advised the man to have surgery in the city of Bologna and gave him the name of a highly-skilled doctor who could help him. The man followed Padre Pio’s advice and had the operation. The next time he returned to the monastery, his voice was strong and he had regained all of his former vitality. He said that the doctor had given him a clean bill of health. John was amazed to see the complete transformation in the man.
John was a witness to another miracle, which concerned a man from Lecco, Italy who was blind. The man visited Padre Pio and begged him for his intercessory prayers. The man knelt down and implored Padre Pio saying, “Even if sight returns to only one eye, I would be so grateful and so satisfied.” He kept repeating the words. Padre Pio answered him and said, “Do you want healing in one eye only?” Then Padre Pio promised the man that he would pray for him. The man’s eyes had a sunken appearance and John described them as looking like two “dried and shriveled peas.” The man received a miracle, for the next time he returned to the monastery of Our Lady of Grace, both of his eyes were completely normal in appearance. With tears of gratitude, he thanked Padre Pio for his prayers. An interesting fact of the story is that the man’s vision was restored in one eye only. Padre Pio spoke to him later and said, “Remember, do not put limitations on God. Ask him for all that you need. Always ask for the big grace!”
As John witnessed the healings around him, he reflected on his own poor health. He had a heart condition which caused him to experience heart palpitations and made him so uncomfortable that at night he had to sleep sitting up in a chair. He was frequently tormented by severe and recurring headaches. One night he lost consciousness and was rushed to the hospital. He had suffered a partial stroke. He often feared that he would die an untimely death and he worried about his wife and children. Who would provide for them if he should pass away?
One day at Padre Pio’s Mass, John prayed silently and with great intensity, begging Padre Pio to intercede and to heal him of his heart condition. That afternoon, John saw Padre Pio in the monastery. He spoke to John very tenderly and said, “I want you to know that my prayer for you is that you go to heaven. I want you to be satisfied with that. I ask you to pray for me as well, that I might go to heaven. Do you understand what I am saying?” “Yes, I understand,” John replied. He was disappointed at Padre Pio’s words but he tried his best not to show it. Padre Pio had obviously been aware of John’s prayers at the Mass that morning. His comment indicated to John that he was praying for his salvation, not necessarily for his health. Evidently, John was not going to receive a healing for his failing heart.
After speaking to John, Padre Pio continued to converse with the others who were present. John was preoccupied with thinking about the remark that Padre Pio had made to him. He was trying to hide his feelings of sadness. Several times that afternoon, John noticed that Padre Pio was staring at him with a very penetrating gaze. When it was time to say goodbye to Padre Pio, all the men who were gathered knelt down to receive his blessing. Once again, Padre Pio scrutinized John with great intensity. He blessed all of the men and then embraced John in such a way that John’s head rested on Padre Pio’s chest, near the wound in his heart. Padre Pio held John’s head against his heart wound for some time. It was the third time that day that Padre Pio had embraced John in such a way.
After Padre Pio departed, the others who were present told John how lucky he was. He had obviously been singled out for a special blessing that day. Some time later, Padre Pio placed the palm of his right hand against John’s heart. After that, John never again had any signs or symptoms of a heart condition. The next time he went in for a checkup, the doctor informed him that his heart was in perfectly good condition.
After Padre Pio’s death on September 23, 1968, John McCaffery never went back to San Giovanni Rotondo. He had visited Padre Pio countless times over a period of many years. With Padre Pio gone, John could not bring himself to return. He knew that it would not be the same. John had made many good friends in San Giovanni Rotondo. He was not to see any of them again. He went back to his home in Donegal, Ireland where he stayed for the rest of his life. John passed away in 1981.
________
“Death and eternity are the two faces of one great destiny. Nothing is in vain; nothing dies. Our life on earth is completed, crowned, and perpetuated in heaven. Earthly life is beautiful and worthy when it is lived in the service of God. All that is beautiful and good in us and around us on earth and in the universe is a mere pallid image of the kingdom of God. The higher one rises toward heaven, the more he understands the great mystery of life which has as its aim: goodness, happiness, God.” — Giorgio Berlutti
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Carding the Veil
Prologue
Thedas is a world in chaos. And nearly always it has been a world at war.
There have been wars between nations that decimated bloodlines and wars between species that tasted like genocide. There have been Exalted Marches against infidels and civil wars so bloody they threatened to fell the nation in on itself. Now, however, it seems the south of Thedas is embroiled in a war between mages and everyone else. But the south of Thedas is not all of Thedas.
In the North, the Tevinter Imperium has stood strong for over two thousand years, even as whole nations have been carved out from it's once-expansive territory. It still manages to be a powerhouse, a terror - a nation feared by all others - if for no other reason than that it is run by Mages.
Run by Mages on the backs of slaves - the last nation to officially keep to the institution. The majority of the nation is non-magical - sleepers - ‘Soporati’. But it does not matter; the nobles are all Mages themselves, and they live in decadence hardly seen elsewhere. They practice their arcane arts in prestigious colleges and circles, learning and expanding the breadth and depth of what magic can do. All of their progress, however, comes as a price - the lives and blood of elves and non-magical poor alike, reduced to chattel. But for all their extravagance, for all their callous disregard, they also play a vital role in Thedas.
The Imperium is nearly the only thing holding the Qunari in check. ‘Ox-men’ they are sometimes called, but never to their faces, not when they’re armed. Not unless you outnumber them. They are, as a people, tall and broad-shouldered; great horns curling from their heads, and to the Tevinter mindset, they are bloodthirsty savages.
While their appearance may cause fear or distress or disgust, it is their beliefs that cause them to make war against the rest of the world. For the Qunari themselves believe that they were once savages. Once bloodthirsty barbarians - Kossith. And then Ashkaari Koslun wrote ‘The Qun’, and his people fell upon it - consumed it - were consumed by it. It brought order to their chaos and purpose to their lives. They became The Qunari - the People of the Qun.
It is the Qunari’s mission to spread this message, this enlightenment, this order across all of Thedas. And they know what the Tevene know, and what all the rest of Thedas fears: If Tevinter should fall - all of Thedas will fall.
So yes, The Tevinter Imperium is full of slavers and power-hungry mages stabbing each other in the back over land squabbles and slave gifts and seats on the Magisterium. But they are also Thedas’ last line of defense against the Qunari menace, and so they get away with doing as they please.
For no other nation in Thedas can claim that they are ruled by mages. The Rivaini may have their Seers and the Avaar Tribes their Augurs, but these are not who rule their people. They merely provide counsel. The Rivaini have a working relationship with their magics, and the Avaar practice theirs under the watchful eye of benevolent spirits. It is because these peoples do not subscribe to the predominant religion of the continent that they have such a tolerant view of magic.
For the majority of nations, magic is not something that is allowed to run free. It is not something that is allowed to be practiced out on the streets or out from under the watchful eye of the Chantry.
It is the Chantry - the Church of Andraste, blessed Bride of the Maker - that truly holds most of Thedas in an iron grip. It is the Chantry which demands, more than guides, the mores, the conventions in Thedas. ‘Magic is meant to serve man’, cries the Chantry, and with this one snippet crushes magic under heel.
Ferelden, Orlais, Nevarra, The Free Marches, Antiva, and even the vast wasteland of the Anderfels all march to the Chantry’s tune. Mages are rounded up, as soon as they manifest their power, and are taken to be locked away in towers called Circles - for their own good. On the surface, it is claimed that these Mages, these children, are taken there to teach them control. To teach them how to make the magic serve them. But in reality - they are prisoners. For the only way a Mage actually leaves a Circle is by running away - which is never permanent. Or death.
The children are trained up and given a choice. They may participate in a ritual where they are thrust into the realm of magic, facing off against a demon in a Harrowing that will try to possess them (which of course they must resist) - or they can be made Tranquil. Cut off from magic, the Tranquil are also cut off from their emotions. They tend to become alchemists and storeroom clerks in the Circles - for even a magicless Mage cannot leave.
The true horror of the Circles, for most, comes with the arm of the Chantry stationed in every tower to watch the Mages. Templars. Trained in how to resist magic, in how to snuff it out, the Templars are said to be shepherds for their little flocks of Mages. In practice. In reality, they are jailers. They oversee the Harrowings and behead the Mages who fail to resist possession. They hunt down escaped Mages, and collect children to be brought to the Circle. They mete out punishment for any wrongdoing by Mages, and are the ones trained in performing the Rite of Tranquility.
In the best of circumstances, the Templars work with the Mages. They are there to protect them - from the outside world, from demons, from themselves if need be. They only kill who they must. They only make Tranquil those who know they are not strong enough to battle a demon and win.
But anyone alive can tell you how often the best-case scenario plays out. At their worst, they are corrupted by power. Abusing their charges in any way they see fit - because there is no one to stop them. Making Tranquil those who speak up against the abuse, those who would not submit. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. A lesson learned, and a scenario that played out in the Kirkwall Circle, in the Free Marches.
Kirkwall had once been a part of the Tevinter Imperium - as had all of the Free Marches - and it had been a hub for the slave trade. The City still looks it - giant golden statues carved and mounted into the rock face of it's main harbor of slaves in chains. The city itself is physically divided - the higher the social status, the higher in the city you live. Many even live below the city, where the slave pits used to run.
By most accounts, it is in Kirkwall where the flame of the Mage Revolution began. The Kirkwall Circle was more corrupt than most - it’s Templar Knight-Commander Meredith, a tyrant. She wielded the brand of Tranquility as easily as a sword, snuffing out resistance and letting her favored minions do as they would with their new playthings. She only grew more mad and corrupted as the years went on. She was helped by a sword she had commissioned - carved entirely out of red lyrium.
Lyrium in itself was dangerous, as anything in the wrong hands. Useful in the right ones. When distilled and blended properly it gave boosts in magic endurance and strength to Mages. It allowed Templars their ability to suppress magic. It was used in enchantments, and potions, and the construction of magical staves. And always, always, that bright, electric blue.
Red Lyrium was and is still yet a bit of a mystery - corrupting and turning to madness anything that stays too long in its presence. Including the Knight-Commander. Meredith had hallucinated insurrection where there was none and corruption everywhere except within herself. Until finally - she snapped - and ordered the Annulment of the Circle.
Every Mage was to be put to the sword. Every man. Every woman. Every child.
According to most, an Apostate Mage - an escapee of a Circle - was the one who started it all. The one who could no longer tolerate her cruelty and lies and persecution. He blew up and destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry - the supposed seat of power for the Templars, though Meredith had long stopped listening to their edicts. He bombed the Kirkwall Circle and led the Mages to freedom - escape and riot and revenge against their oppressors.
The innocent and the guilty alike burned in those fires, and the outrage was immediate. Those who knew nothing railed against the Mage who destroyed the Chantry - feeling justified in their fear of Magic, in their belief that Mages should be locked away.
The Mages, however, saw their opportunity. Saw their chance. Even without knowing the full scope of the horrors of Kirkwall, every Mage knew what the worst of their situation would look like. Many had experienced it first hand. And so, because the liberation of Kirkwall had succeeded, all across Thedas, Circles rose up in open rebellion. Mages were no longer willing to be shackled and caged - they wanted freedom , and they wanted it NOW.
But the Chantry cannot allow such a thing. For magic to serve man, it needs to be controlled . Regulated. Put in its place. Templars have done their best to fight the Mages at every turn. To hunt down these rebel Mages; they seek to drag them kicking and screaming back to their towers, or else see them dead.
Brutal fights rage across Thedas as the Mages and Templars each try to see the end of the other, and so many innocents are caught in the crossfire. So now, the head of the Chantry, Most Holy - Divine Justinia - has called for a truce. A meeting of minds. To discuss the future of Mages and to bring peace to Thedas. For this war cannot be sustained. It cannot be borne by the common folk without destroying life as everyone knows it.
Thus, the Conclave was called. At the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where the last remains of Holy Andraste, Bride of the Maker, are ensconced. Mages and Templars alike are to come to the Conclave under a banner of truce, to meet, and to discuss the direction they will go into the future together .
There are many who think Most Holy mad - who think this cannot work. But as religion unites countries, so too does it unite people. No one can deny that Divine Justinia is a fair and just woman - chosen by her peers for the position, of course - but also blessed by the Maker.
And so they come - from the Free Marches and Ferelden and Orlais and Antiva and Nevarra and the Anderfels - they come. Up to the Frostback Mountains, up to the Temple. They come to listen to Divine Justinia and what the Maker might tell her. They come and they pray there is a solution to this that doesn’t burn down all of Thedas.
...
Chapter 1
https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582437/chapters/60499582
#dragonage#dragon age#fanfiction#ao3#thedas#fanfic#fandom#da: inquisition#tevinter imperium#qunari#fereldan#orlais#nevarra#avvar#circle mages#dragon age mages#templars#prologue#beginning
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Carpe Vita and Dhoni
1. For seafarers: Carpe Diem
Eschew dry land and go for plush live-aboard options with the Carpe Diem fleet of three ships. The newest and largest is the Carpe Novo, which boasts 12 cabins, all with ensuite bathrooms, over three decks and can accommodate up to 22 guests. A team of local dive instructors will accompany you on a range of seven–10 day itineraries, such as the one to Central Island – popular for its opportunities for manta ray and whale shark sightings. As well as diving and snorkelling, you can also try surfing and paddle-boarding or even help environmental groups with ongoing conservation projects.
Como Maalifushi features overwater villas and beach suites
2. For wave chasers: COMO Maalifushi
With up to 20 pristine surf breaks within a short speedboat ride, COMO Maalifushi in the southwestern Thaa Atoll provides the perfect jump-off point for both beginners and salt-crusted surfers who’ve seen it all. To help you do it in style, luxury surf company TropicSurf has a permanent set-up at the resort from April to October each year.
Ross Phillips, founder of TropicSurf, has ridden some of the world’s most revered breaks, but says the Maldives is his favourite spot. “There are just so many waves here,” Phillips says. “The swell from Antarctica peels around the islands and gives them this predictable shape and a long ride.” TropicSurf has had a presence in the Maldives since 1999, when Phillips says you could have counted high-end wave-hunters on one hand. But that was before resort-based surfing swept the nation.
Each villa at Como Maalifushi comes with a pool
At COMO Maalifushi – the first and only resort on the Thaa Atoll – you’re far from the madding crowds and in a prime position for the predominant swell direction (translation: you’re pretty much guaranteed waves). This is the new frontier of luxury surfi ng – which means a customisable and exclusive experience. In reality, that can include anything from a lesson for first-timers in the glassy lagoon through to your own private charter aboard the resort’s 21m yacht, Cameron, to surf perfect waves without a soul in sight.
For those who just want to eat, sleep and surf on repeat, a “surf pass” gives you access to daily jaunts out to secluded breaks on three atolls. “People come here just to surf Farms [break],” guide Adam Webster says. “For a little wave, it’s got a spicy take-off but a happy ending.”
Mantaray Tree House by Porky Hefer
3. For art lovers: JOALI Maldives
This luxe 10ha retreat located on its own private island, Muravandhoo in the Raa Atoll, has distinctly artistic leanings thanks to founder and owner Esin Güral. “I’m always interested in modern, innovative, authentic and unique works of art and design,” Güral says. “For the art concept, we worked with a young team [Zeynep Ercan and Ala Onur, the curators of Istanbul-based art collective No LaB] trying to reshape the white wall concept and curate unique experiences.” Their vision translates to an impressive assemblage of handpicked art pieces showcased throughout the grounds of the property.
A great way to experience these is to tour the resort by bike or on foot using JOALI’s art map, which highlights artists and their works. These include South African architect and designer Porky Hefer who is responsible for the Manta Ray Tree House – a striking woven creation, elevated five metres above the ground – as well as New York-based sculptor Misha Kahn who worked with Maldivian craftsmen to create the Underwater Coral Sculptures – an installation made with a mix of mosaic tiles to represent the effects of coral bleaching that guests can dive among.
Explore the Rannamari wreck while checking out the marine life
4. For explorers: Angsana Ihuru
This year marks the 20th anniversary of the sinking of the Rannamari, a sand dredger which was brought to Angsana Ihuru in 1999 to be used as an artificial reef. The wreck has since become home to local marine life 28 metres under the sea. To mark the occasion and spread awareness about conserving marine life in the Maldives, Angsana Ihuru and its sister property Banyan Tree Vabbinfaru are organising a 10TO10 dive event from 10 to 14 June. The event, which will be live-streamed, will see their in-house team of dive instructors and up to 100 guests explore the site.
The Muraka is the world’s first underwater hotel villa (Photo credit: Justin Nicholas)
5. For Bond villains: The Muraka
The Muraka made waves when it opened in late 2018, and for good reason. This exclusive two-level, three-bedroom villa is the first underwater abode in the Maldives, with the bottom storey fully submerged five metres below the Indian Ocean. The curved acrylic dome affords extraordinary underwater views, which you can enjoy from the comfort of your bed.
6. For wind riders: Maafushi Dive
A little unexpected, perhaps, but the Maldives is actually one of the best places in the world to try your hand at kitesurfing. There are sheltered lagoons aplenty, but these low-lying atolls are still exposed enough for the wind to propel kiteboarders at speeds of 15 to 20 knots.
“We’re very lucky because practically every lagoon is good for kitesurfing as they’re sheltered by a faru (reef wall). The sandbanks are also good, because you can get one side with flat water and the other side with waves… so if you’re more advanced you can jump the waves and do stunts,” says Asim Mohamed, who runs Maafushi Dive and organises the annual Raalhu Gudi kitesurfing festival, which kicks off on 18 June.
“My favourite gear for the Maldives is the foil – a fast, relaunchable kite you can launch and land on your own, without a buddy – not just because it’s very effective… it allows you to absorb even more of the beauty of the Maldives because you can stay out for longer,” explains Youri Zoon, Dutch kiteboarding world champion and co-organiser of Raalhu Gudi.
Anantara Kihavah provides full moon dinner and stargazing package
7. For stargazers: Sky
The Maldives’ proximity to the equator means you can actually see the stars in both hemispheres from SKY, at the Anantara Kihavah Maldives Villas. It features the country’s first overwater dome observatory housing a research grade 16” Meade LX200 telescope with 360-degree movement and a viewing capacity of 30 million light years away. The resident astronomer helps guide you through the wonders of the night sky.
The tour also includes additional activities throughout the trip, including snorkelling, night fishing, and cultural dancing
8. For water babies: SwimTrek
SwimTrek offers eight-day tours of the Maldives where guests swim up to 5km per day, spending evenings aboard the spacious MV Sharifa. “The great thing is the way it caters for both experienced swimmers and those new to open water swimming,” SwimTrek participant Mimi Munro says. “We do the same routes, but slower swimmers and those who want to look at the coral get dropped off earlier. It is challenging, but there’s no pressure – if you want to laze about on the boat, [you can].”
9. For aspiring scientists: Six Senses Laamu
Reaching out to the next generation of environmentalists, this resort has designed a junior programme geared towards six- to 16-year-olds. An in-house team of marine biologists mentors budding conservationists in a range of programme specialties such as data collection and survey conducting skills through on-the-ground field (well, in this case, beach) research.
Four Seasons Landaa Giraavaru has 103 villas
10. For wellness devotees: Four Seasons Landaa Giraavaru
This 103-villa property set among 18 hectares of jungle offers a complete immersion into Ayurveda, a 5,000-year-old system of medicine developed by the sages of India, throughout your stay.
The 1.2ha Spa & Ayurvedic Retreat complex is grounded in a strong natural healing philosophy and encompasses open-air treatment cabins, an Ayurvedic village filled with fluttering prayer flags and fragrant herbs, as well as a yoga therapy centre, which specialises in personalised programmes. One of their two Ayurvedic physicians – who hail from Kerala and are certified in Western medicine – will give you a consultation and dosha analysis, then oversee your entire seven-, 14- or 21-day Ayurvedic immersion, assisted by the yoga instructors, chefs and therapists.
Words by Jalean Wong, Sarah Harvey, and Celeste Mitchell
Illustration by Twisstii
SEE ALSO: Get ready for the annual gathering of manta rays in the Maldives
This article was originally published in the June 2019 issue of SilverKris magazine
The post A fresh take on paradise: A Maldives holiday for every kind of traveller appeared first on SilverKris.
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Prologue Chapter Three: Others Like Me
Serai Kingdom, Brackenshire County, the Eastern Barracks. The armoury.
After spending most of the evening in the warehouse, Michael had been looking forward to retiring to the comfort of his bedroom (and the luxury of having a room all to himself was not one he took for granted). So he was not terribly pleased to find himself queueing up outside the armoury.
The cacophony of clanging alarm bells did nothing to improve his mood. Each piercing ring of the pendulum relentlessly striking its metal casing knocked around inside Michael’s head until it ached. The trainees shot the bell-ringer filthy looks as they passed by, who reciprocated with shrugs and sorry expressions. He looked about as delighted to be there as they were. Michael kept his gaze low, to shield himself from the offending noise as he reluctantly shuffled inside the building. But he could only prolong the inevitable for so long. His tactics were ruined by the two taller men he was sandwiched between, pushing and jostling him until he was forced inside.
He stumbled into the armoury, and was simultaneously hit with the terrible realisation of what was about to happen, and a warm sticky wave of male body odour.
He was starting to regret putting in those extra hours chopping wood and battling the training dummy. He had expended all of what remained of his strength and energy, and was now heading into battle with heavy eyelids and a pulled muscle. Adrenaline and the anticipation of danger was all that was keeping him on his feet. That, and the putrid smells that had permanently permeated the armoury’s walls and floors. Decades worth of sweat and rusted metal, of blood and vomit, forever burned into the woodwork, and exacerbated further by the stench of alcohol carried on the trainees’ clothes and upon their breath. He pondered if he should forgo his plate armour and sword in favour of stripping a plank of wood from these old walls. He was sure all it would take was one good whiff of that repulsive rotting stench and the barbarians would retreat immediately, never to return again.
Michael wasn’t sure if attacking a man with smells so putrid they would wilt a flower garden would still fall comfortably under the chivalric rule of Forbearance. He decided that such a repulsive weapon was far more vicious than a sword and shield. Fighting the barbarians in the usual manner would be the more merciful course of action.
But as he looked askance at the other trainees in the room, who were busily equipping themselves with broadswords, crossbows and maces, it was becoming increasingly clear to Michael that he was the only soldier in that room with mercy in mind.
Frustration hung thick in the air, mingling with unease and trepidation, becoming a heavy concoction that weighed on the soldiers’ backs and darkened their brows. Most were men of lower breeding, sons of farmers and smiths, who had fallen for the siren song of the military’s call for volunteers, and its promise of fame and middling fortune. They had arrived starry-eyed and greedy, and had grown bitter and grumpy as reality set in like an icy winter. The chances that they might ever achieve their lofty goals were slim, for the prizes they were promised were awarded only to the ambitious and successful few: mages, tacticians, generals, knights. Most had given up long ago, and were content to settle for a cushy guard position instead. They gathered their equipment without hurry, grumbling to one another about how much sleep this was going to cost them.
The scant few veterans housed at the barracks were easy to identify, for they made no noise. They were the silent few amongst a gaggle of babbling amateurs, slipping through the slim pockets of quietude to deftly avoid being harangued by their peers. Their brows were just as dark, their shoulders just as heavy, but theirs was a different anger. They had no desire to fight either, not if they wouldn't be shown the same recognition given to veteran soldiers of higher birth. Nobles inherited estates, land, servants. These poor bastards had damp-ridden beds and drunken incompetents for roommates.
Only a handful were squires, besides Michael, and they would relish the title, unknowingly rubbing in a teeming handful of salt into their peers’ bitter wounds. They proudly bore their knight’s coat of arms on their chest plate or robe, and armed themselves with similarly decorated blades. Michael knew of a boy, David, who wielded a blade specially forged for him by his knight’s most trusted blacksmith. He would proudly remind everyone of that fact at every available opportunity.
Michael could not brag that his knight had bestowed upon him a gift of similar extravagance, though he too had a sword of his own. One that he refused to substitute for one of the barracks’ own lesser blades, no matter how his teacher chided him for it.
He avoided the many eyes of his peers, deafened himself to their chatter, and busied himself with gathering his plate armour. He had spent many years tempering this skill, but no amount of time or practice could be enough to steel him to the unyielding pressure of their presence. He was always being watched. They thought he couldn't feel it, but he did, every day. His very bones knew that feeling.
He wasn’t the shortest, nor the tallest, nor the most or least physically fit of the trainees. He wouldn’t stand out in a crowd, not by much, if he kept his face hidden. He was dark of hair, but not of skin, like a few of his fellow trainees. They hailed from Saragó and Dobá, in the desert lands. Michael had heard stories of their countries, read about them in books. Like wells of life and water and flowers springing up from arid wastelands, their very existence a marvel forged from magic, their culture and religions were a foreign fascination to the people of Serai.
They viewed Michael’s people in much the same way.
He didn't know a lot about them. He knew next to nothing about his homeland’s culture, its religions, what it even looked like. But he knew for certain that the scant knowledge Seraian scholars had collected into meagre “historical” textbooks were bafflingly misguided. Their understanding and documentation of the kingdom (if it even was a kingdom) was based more on grandiose romanticisms than grounded research and true fact.
Michael knew this to be true, because Sir Romanenkov had told him so.
They were here, once. His people. Visitors who had journeyed to the kingdom from a faraway land. They had left, never to be seen or heard from again.
But Michael remained, and he knew nothing of his kin, of their histories, their heritage, how they came to be there. Why they left.
He spent his days trying not to think about it, to avoid anything that might remind him of it. He buried his nose in books about knights and monarchs and great battles, of how lands were conquered and how mighty beasts were driven to extinction. He spent his days training, working, dreaming. Distracting himself. But that feeling was not so easily evaded, for it had no presence. It was in the absence of things, in the silence that followed him even in crowded rooms; it was insidious, persistent. It invaded his thoughts with the same severity that the armoury’s candle lights seared his vision.
There was not a single man in these barracks, in the county, no doubt in the entire kingdom, who looked the way he did.
Some Seraians regarded him with judgement. That Michael could handle. But what he could not abide were the looks of pity from those who looked upon him not as an outsider, but a tragedy, a child left behind. Abandoned. Unwanted.
Michael knew to his very core that they could not have been more wrong.
He had been given an alias by Sir Romanenkov and Sir Leon, Royal Knight and Captain of the Eastern Barracks respectively, the men responsible for overseeing the trainees’ growth. They said it was for his protection; they could make up excuses for his appearance, but his name was too much of a giveaway.
Michael wished they could have at least invented a less boring alias for him. Then again, he doubted he would prefer anything over his real name. But that just wouldn't do, according to Sir Leon. Even his name - his true name - was different, its syllables unheard of, its meaning unknown.
A small part of him felt grateful for this plan only when he imagined the possible repercussions of using his real name in public. The trainees would have mocked him for it ceaselessly. They already found his “flat” facial features hilarious, and had invented such delightfully witty names such as “table-face” and “squinty”. It was his eyes they liked the least. He had the slimmest eyes of anyone in the barracks. The other trainees said they made him look untrustworthy, like he was always scheming something. Through no fault of his own, the other men grew suspicious of him.
It had taken root when he was still of a young age, and as the years passed, that suspicion grew to become their unshakable definition of Michael, and that definition became a justification for getting him into trouble. And when they themselves got into trouble, they pinned the blame on their favourite dark-haired scapegoat. When he at last grew tired of their antics, Michael made a decision. He would not shy away from his peers, but would endeavour to live up to their less than shining expectations of him. He became that scheming ne’er-do-well that they had always known he would be. His face would never change, he concluded, and his peers would remain forever unreceptive to his attempts at reconciliation, therefore, there was nothing he could do to convince the trainees his intents were innocent. So why fight it?
As a result, his skill in sword fighting was matched only by his prowess for pranking.
Michael hazarded a glance at Kale and his ilk, who were glaring back at him from across the room in mutual disgust. His head was already spilling over with ideas of how he could sabotage their equipment. Nothing that would get them killed on the battlefield, of course. Something that was just enough to irritate them, like snapping a few of Kale’s arrows in half, or filling Robert’s helmet with muck from the barn.
And they’d know exactly who did it too. That was the best part.
He would have liked to have glared at them a little longer, until they would turn away first instead of him. But he knew he'd be running the risk of instigating a fight if he didn't relent soon, so he backed down for now. That quiver full of unbroken arrows Kale had strapped to his back was looking awfully tempting though.
“Michael! Michael! Wait for us!”
Just as Michael's plan was beginning to take form, a shrill voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up from tightening the straps on his helmet to see a pair of vaguely familiar faces approaching. Two boys, fellow trainees, both similar to him in age, but vastly different in stature. One was short and squirrelly, with unkempt dirty blond hair, his gangly body caught in the awkward space between childhood and adolescence. The other boy had long since passed through that threshold, perhaps with a little too much enthusiasm. He was almost as tall as the adult trainees, and already wider than most of them, with a rounded face topped with an unruly tuft of chestnut hair. With his tanned skin and burlap jacket, he more resembled a sack of potatoes than a trainee. Looking at him, Michael was reminded of another metaphor: “You are what you eat”. Sir Romanenkov had taught him that one too.
Michael tried, but not for the life of him could he remember their names.
“You're gonna go fight ’em, right?” yapped the youngest, in a cadence that made his lack of education clear. “We’re in the same regiment, right? Don't go without us!”
Before Michael had a chance to think of a response (which was unlikely to have been anything polite), the taller boy bumped his sizable fist into Michael’s shoulder. If it weren't for his smile, so wide it pushed deep dimples into his chubby cheeks, Michael may well have retaliated with a punch of his own.
“We heard you was the first one to warn everybody!” said the boy, jolly and well-meaning. Michael lowered the arms he'd raised in defence. “Nice job, Mike!”
“Ow,” Michael replied, a beat too late, not because he was in pain, but to pointedly remark that he hadn't appreciated the shoulder-punch. It went unnoticed as the smaller boy started yapping again.
“You saw their armies, right? How bad is it? How many of them are there?”
“Liam, don’t panic!” his companion said, patting his shoulder to placate him. “I told you, it won’t be that bad. Think of it like target practice!”
The boy scrunched up his face, not the least bit consoled. “We don't practice targets on real people, Morgan!”
Liam’s complaint only made the taller boy laugh. He was looking oddly merry for a soldier about to head into battle. This unsettled Michael, and he wasn't keen on his overly friendly behaviour either. Morgan bumped his shoulder again, and what scant good will he might have felt for him before was gone in an instant.
“Don't mind him, Mike!” he chuckled. “He only got here a few weeks ago. This is his first real fight and he's feelin’ a bit jumpy, y’see. It'd mean a lot to him if you'd let us go along with you. We're the youngest here, so we should stick together, don't you think?”
Morgan’s cheery smile and easygoing manner weren't enough to brighten Michael’s sour expression. He quirked a brow, and shot down Morgan's proposition with a single, rude question:
“Who are you?”
Morgan’s attempt to put a welcoming arm around Michael’s shoulder was interrupted by a voice barking at them from across the room. It was clipped, haughty, and unmistakable to Michael’s ears.
“Liam! Morgan! What's taking you so long?”
Michael knew him as David Drameh: squire to Sir Leon, orphaned trainee hailing from Saragó, and an all-around infuriating bossy know-it-all. True to form, he was already armoured and ready to go, his specially forged sword hanging from his right side, his custom made shield strapped to his arm. The polished and embellished steel contrasted garishly against his friends’ chipped hand-me-down armour, but Michael refrained from teasing him, as much as his grandeur made him a target for it. They had sparred and trained together many times, and were tied to this day (David kept score). He fought bravely, with drive and vigour, unhindered by his lack of a right forearm. A squire as skilled in combat as David was could afford to show off a little.
But when David noticed who was accompanying his friends, his eyes fixed on Michael and the fire in them was instantly gone. Neither squire looked particularly delighted to see one another.
“Oh for goodness’ sake!” he huffed under his breath, rolling his eyes so he could turn them away from Michael. When he addressed Morgan, he spoke as though the other squire were not there. “You're wasting time! Sir Leon will begin filing soon - you haven't even got your plate mail on!”
He pointed an accusative finger at Liam, who had only a nervous pout to give him in return.
“I don't know how to put it on propply yet,” he mumbled, eyes to the floor. “Morgan said I should ask Michael-”
“Morgan should know better. Why didn't you do his plate mail for him?” he said, rounding on Morgan again.
“Because then he could meet Mike,” the jolly boy replied, with a kind of patience that could only come with practice. “And I figured, if anyone could help Liam right now, it would be him. Two birds, one stone-”
“There's no time for that!” David interrupted, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You do remember we're about to go into battle?”
“No one’s forgotten that, Dave,” he said with an easy laugh, as though they weren’t about to go into battle.
“Then quit your dallying! Sir Leon will be here any moment. If you don’t hurry up and get ready, you’ll make an embarrassment of yourselves - and me! I want to see you two outside in no less than five minutes, understand?”
You two. Michael didn’t have to think twice about which of them he was referring to. Not that it mattered to him. He had his own armour to prepare, helmet straps to adjust. However, he found himself distracted by Liam’s ill-fitting breast plate and the poor manner in which he had strapped his dagger to his belt.
“Come on, Dave, let it go already,” Morgan sighed, his smile at last faltering. “Mike’s in our regiment; we should at least try to be nice to him. Wouldn't you rather be in the good graces of one of the barracks’ strongest fighters?”
That compliment took both David and Michael by surprise.
“Strongest?” Michael repeated, brows furrowed and top lip curled. “Me?”
“I strongly disagree,” David said, agreeing with Michael and yet simultaneously pretending that he wasn't there.
Morgan quirked a brow, lip curled in confusion. “Eh? Why? Didn’t you hear? He fought to defend the Kingdom walls from barbarians- he sent ten men running for their lives!”
“Then he’s just as barbarous as they are!”
Michael didn’t get a chance to confirm nor deny Morgan’s claim before he was once again interrupted, and it was at that point he gave up. Besides, he couldn't ignore the shoddy state of Liam’s armour any longer.
"Wait,” Morgan said, brow furrowed. “Don't tell me you're still pissed off 'cause of that one time Mike tipped gruel in your porridge?"
David hesitated for a moment too long.
"I-it has nothing to do with that!"
"Oh come on, Dave, you did ask for it-"
"What?!"
"No offence, mate, but if you feed mouldy hay to a guy's horse right before mounted archery training, you can't expect him not to get angry-"
"And I suppose you'd be fine with him ruining your breakfast, would you?"
"Better a ruined breakfast than giving someone's horse the runny shits!"
“So says the man who couldn't stop laughing at it!”
The boys were so busy bickering they didn't notice Michael slip past them. Without a word he padded over to Liam and, before the bewildered boy could say anything, he set about adjusting his armour. He could tell Liam hadn't been at the barracks long enough to have armour fitted for him, and was likely having to make do with the smallest pieces of spare armour he could find, but they still didn't fit him. He would have to make do with pulling the straps as tight as they could go. At least then the plate wouldn't bounce up and hit him in the face when he started running. If it fell off in the middle of battle, and if Liam were resourceful enough, he might think to repurpose his breast plate as a shield.
The thought amused Michael, and he let a one-sided smile slip. Liam caught sight of it, and wondered at how it came to be there.
“Let it go, Dave!” Morgan said, distracting Liam before he could ask Michael about his grin. “Can't you swallow your pride just this one time so we can fight with someone who's halfway competent with a sword?”
David crinkled his nose. “That poor excuse for a blade he uses is not a sword!”
For that comment, Michael gave David a rude hand gesture over his shoulder. Liam was the only one who noticed. He let out a squeak of surprised laughter.
“What do you mean “it's not a sword” - it's a long sharp bit of metal attached to a hand-guard and a hilt. Sure looks like a sword to me.”
“Then you need glasses. What kind of self-respecting weapons smith would forge a blade that was blunt on one side?”
Michael knew the answer to that one. Not that he was going to enlighten David with the knowledge.
Job done, he stepped back to check his handiwork. Liam opened his mouth to say something, but was silenced when Michael plopped an oversized helmet onto Liam’s head. He gave it a pat, and it slipped right over his eyes. By the time he had pulled it off, Michael was out of sight.
“Whatever it is,” Morgan said dismissively, “he used that weapon to chase away ten men at the kingdom’s walls. One on ten? Those sound like good odds to me!”
David couldn't argue with those numbers. He huffed a defeated sigh. “Fine. He can handle himself in a fight - but that doesn't mean we can ignore everything else he is!”
“Oh aye?” Morgan challenged, seeing victory. “And what's that then?”
“He's-! He's-!”
“He's leaving!”
Liam’s panicked squeak caught their attention, and they snapped their heads up to look at Michael - or rather, the spot where he had been standing. They caught only a glimpse of the black lacquer sheath strapped to his waist as he passed through the doorway. Morgan started.
“After him, Liam!” he said, barrelling out of the door with his tiny companion hot on his heels and pushing to get past him.
“Wait!” David called after them, finding himself suddenly alone in the armoury. “You can't just-!”
But there were no ears left in the room to hear him. He sighed loudly anyway, forced to acquiesce and follow after his friends.
“If they've made me late for Sir Leon’s arrival, I swear…!” he grumbled under his breath as he finally made it out the door. “They never ever listen to me. They'll live to regret this, I just know it!”
———
The smoke was closer now. It lifted into the night sky, twisting in amongst the dark clouds until they became as one, and together they chased the moon.
The soldiers paid this rising omen no mind. Now they knew that the smoke was rising from barbarian torches, they felt safe in the knowledge, and were filing into their regiments at an easy pace. They talked amongst themselves, chatting and idling and complaining that they shouldn’t have to fight this late at night, and taking sneaky gulps of ale from the canisters they concealed in their quivers and belts. Sir Leon was yet to arrive, and so long as no one was there to chide them for their nonchalance, the trainees would enjoy the peace for as long as it lasted.
Michael had his eyes set on his regiment. They made themselves difficult to identify with the way they kept meandering back and forth between the fields, where they were supposed to file into line, and the perimeter wall, where a few of them were refusing to share their ale flasks with the sober archers, no matter how they bargained. Michael made his way past the mounted regiment, hoping he might lose his pursuers amongst the restless ponies and their equally bored riders.
“Wait up, Mike! We just wanna help you out!”
Alas, they were persistent. Especially that Morgan boy. Michael kept walking.
“You don’t want to fight with me, you want me to fight for you,” he argued, not turning around. “Go ask someone else to protect you.”
“But Mike!” little Liam piped up. “I’ve not been trainin’ with swords for even three days! Morgan said you’re the best and you could show me how!”
That statement was enough to catch Michael’s attention. It was not his ego that was piqued, but his confusion. He turned, lip curled and brow raised.
“You wot? How am I the best swordsman? There are veteran soldiers stationed at these barracks, men who have fought in wars. Why don’t you go ask them?”
Morgan made a casual shrug. “Well yeah, we could, but they’re not as…” He gestured with his hand, searching for the words he needed. “Approachable as you?”
Michael’s brow was low, glaring at him with an expression that was anything but approachable.
“I don’t know what you want,” he said, keeping his tone and temper even, “but I can’t help you. Sorry.”
Liam started squeaking again before he could get away.
“Please, Mike! I just need to know how to hold it propply!”
There was something in Liam’s plea that was too pathetic to ignore. Michael turned back, the bite in his voice replaced by a tiredness.
“I can’t even teach you that much.”
The young boy’s shoulders fell. “How come?”
“It’s like David said.” He patted the pommel of his weapon. “The “poor excuse for a blade” I use isn’t a real sword. You’re better off asking him, mate. He’s not stupid like me.”
“Stupid is right!” David barked, arriving right on cue. “Did you really run all the way back to your quarters just to fetch that thing? There are plenty of weapons in the armoury, but you still insist on using that blunted waste of iron? A true soldier doesn’t waste his time being picky!”
Michael was already walking away, David’s words bouncing off him like arrows from a shield. The squire’s tirades were excellent for two things: providing Michael a chance to practice deafening himself to voices he didn’t want to hear, and raising his temper.
“Be fair, Dave,” said Morgan, in another attempt to be the voice of reason, “everyone has a weapon they prefer over another. Besides, don’t call the kettle black: you wouldn’t be caught dead using anything other than the sword Leon gave you-”
“I’m amazed Sir Leon still lets you use it,” David continued, blatantly ignoring his friend. “The fact that you’ve survived so many battles without a proper weapon at your disposal isn’t a sign of skill, it’s nothing short of a miracle.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Michael replied, not rising to it. “At least someone up there likes me, eh?”
“You’ve had it easy, that’s all it is. I heard the report from the northern wall, you know. Those barbarians were utterly starved after the summer drought. “They practically ran into our spears” - that’s what the footmen said.”
Michael heard that one, and couldn’t hold back a snappy response.
“Of course they did,” he said, nose wrinkled and brow cocked. “It was either that or face the cannons-”
“What I’m saying is,” David interrupted, once again displaying his unrivalled ability for ignoring others, “you have nothing to brag about. You can hardly expect a challenge from such emancipated opponents.”
Michael blinked. His lips and furrowed brows formed tight lines across his face.
“Emaciated,” he said.
“What?”
“You mean “emaciated”-”
“That’s what I said.”
It was too late. Michael couldn’t stop the giggles rising from his stomach, and nor could David.
“No you didn’t!”
“Yes I did!”
He creased up laughing, having to lean over and away to resist the urge to laugh right in David’s blushing face.
“Shut up!” he snapped, his demands useless to stop the squire’s laughter.
“Ya might wanna look that one up in the dictation, mate,” Michael said, straightening himself. “Oh sorry I meant dictionary-” And he fell right back into a fit of laughter.
His merriment twisted into a yelp when David elbowed him in the side.
“Oi!” Michael barked, and elbowed him right back.
Morgan broke it up before either boy could think to draw their weapons. He stood between them, a full head higher than Michael, his arms holding the trainees apart from one another. They were thick enough to drag them both back home should they cause a scuffle.
“All right, you two, that’s enough!” he said, spoken like a true mediator. “Can we agree to get along just for this one battle? A handful of barbarians may not seem like much to you two, but to Liam and I, who haven’t even been in a scrap for bread before…”
He set his jaw, swallowed, looking at Michael.
“We’re a bit scared, all right?” he admitted. “We already asked around. The veterans told us not to worry, most of the squires are out for themselves, and the rest are all drunk. You’re our age, but you’ve been here most of your life, you know what you’re doing on a battlefield, and…”
He trailed off again, looking about himself, as though checking if anyone was listening.
“Is it true, Mike?” he asked, voice hushed.
Michael frowned. “What?”
“You’ve never killed nobody?”
“No, I haven’t.” Michael’s response was immediate and unashamed.
David clicked his tongue. “Oh he’s one skilled fighter all right.”
He was testing Morgan’s patience. “Mind your tongue, Dave, you ain’t ever killed nobody neither.”
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” David said, unperturbed. “You two are looking for stronger soldiers to defend you out on the battlefield. So why are you so dead set on earning the camaraderie of a squire who has been training for most of his life, but has failed to kill even a single enemy?”
“‘Cause we don’t want to kill anyone neither.”
Michael was listening now.
As his friends continued to stare each other down, Liam turned to Michael, wide pleading eyes blinking up at him.
“Mike?”
He couldn’t say no to that. It would be like kicking a stray puppy. And he liked dogs, and so did his dad. He wouldn’t turn a needy pup away.
“All right, I’ll stick with you,” Michael said, much to Liam and Morgan’s relief. But they missed the mischievous glint in his eyes. “If David can coordinate for five minutes oh wait sorry I meant cooperate-”
Morgan’s arm preemptively raised itself to block David’s punch.
“Let me at him!”
The sounding of trumpets cut through the air, demanding the attention of all within earshot. The moment the self-important music struck David’s ears, he relented his attack, and pounced back into line as if pulled by strings. The soldiers reluctantly shuffled back to their regiment. Michael stood at David’s side, Morgan sidestepped in behind them, and Liam flitted back and forth, not knowing where to turn.
“Wait, wot, I dunno where-”
Michael placed a hand on his head, blinding Liam as his too-big helmet was pushed down over his eyes. Without turning, he dragged the smaller boy around to stand behind him, planting him in place next to Morgan.
“Feet together, back straight,” he whispered to him through his teeth. “Sir Leon’s here.”
#Serai: In Living Memory#Serai (VN)#original story#fantasy#knights#prose#long post#Mizuki Shiro#Liam#David#Morgan#Prologue Arc
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World Building June 2017 - Day 28: Major Figures & Important Players
Solevaille
As I already have most of the first draft of Porcelain Wonderland written, I might as well describe the main characters of the story, as well as a few other important ones. Well, all but two of them, whose very existence is kind of a spoiler. But as for the others...
Giuseppe Geppetto: Appropriate last name, eh? Often called Gigi by his initials, this toymaker runs a shop called Gigi's Dolls and Toys, which I briefly mentioned in the Economy prompt. But unlike his namesake from Pinocchio, Gigi specializes in porcelain dolls... which, according to many a customer, look like they may come to life at any moment. (To which he said that there was no way that could happen.) When not in the shop, he lives at home with his wife Vivi and his twin daughters, who he named Dextrina and Sinistrina because he liked to cradle the former in his right arm and the latter in his left. (The words dexter and sinister mean "right" and "left", respectively.)
Lucina Geppetto: Born as Dextrina and changed her name when she became Queen of Solevaille. She rose to fame when she presented her living toys before the mayor on Christmas, and word about them spread that year, culminating into a grand celebration of them at Ludinberg Castle during the following Gallery Festival (see Day 26, Art). At the festival, she turned the mayor into a Marionette and then persuaded him to let her be Solevaille's first queen. Indeed, Lucina is quite an ambitious and charismatic young lady, with a seemingly endless amount of energy, cheer, and drama (of the good kind). However, while she is excellent at coming up with ideas, she is not so good at planning, and even worse at empathizing with people. Those two flaws would lead her to resort to more and more drastic measures to maintain order over the kingdom.
Sinistrina Geppetto: Lucina's twin sister. She has quite a shady reputation in town because of her skill with black magic, with a talent for raising the dead and extracting the souls out of living beings (which kills them). Although she is also responsible for teaching Lucina about magic so that she could bring the dolls to life, she is not in her court, instead being known as "countess" or "town witch". She is also responsible for the Deathly Glade's existence, and would eventually become its own queen. But despite all this, she is much more level-headed than Lucina, and tries not to use her magic to cause harm to people... a tall order given its inherently harmful nature. One notable example of this backfiring horribly is when she “accidentally” places a curse on the Deathly Manor (see, I told you it would be important) that traps all who enter in an intense nightmare. Not a very good end for people who have been banished to the Deathly Glade.
Euler "Winky" van Winkle: The mayor of Solevaille at the time of the story - well, before he is stripped of his power, that is. A refined yet jolly old fellow never seen without a monocle, he considers his own position to be less important than its purpose, that being the well-being of the people of Solevaille and the thriving of its artistic culture.
Emille Laroux: The princess of Solevaille, and the first porcelain doll in history to hold a leading position over a country. Although Lucina oversees most of the work in the kingdom, Emille is notable for carrying out executions (for those who are not banished to the Deathly Glade) and acting as an overall foil for Lucina. Where Lucina will shower the court dolls with affection, Emille will look down on them. Where Lucina leaps before she looks, Emille does the opposite. ...You get the idea.
Krampus: As was mentioned in the History prompt, this evil sorcerer ravaged Ludin, Solevaille's predecessor town, with a zombie apocalypse. Let's hope Sinistrina does not follow in his footsteps, especially since he has been all but forgotten about.
Peter Pedersen: The owner of the Peter Pan Pub, and a very old friend of the Geppetto family. Shows up as part of a small resistance force of human "refugees" aiming to escape the dolls' rule over the kingdom (yet somehow stay in Solevaille while doing so).
Cloud Candyfloss: The Ceramic owner of Cloud's Cuckoo Land, Solevaille's local clock shop. Notable for giving quirky yet meaningful nicknames to the other characters - for example, Lucina is the Queen of Ham (for her hammy demeanor as queen), Sinistrina is Necromantress, Emille is the Hammer Lady (because misbehaving dolls are smashed with a hammer), and Winky is Mr. I Say (after his catchphrase).
Jack "Chrono" Chronopoulos: Cloud's adoptive father. He invented a time machine about a decade before the story begins, and uses it to travel forward several decades in time, bypassing the entire story. In said story, he functions as a narrator.
Orenya
I have a collection of short stories planned collectively called the Tales of the Magic Lands, which all take place on Orenya. Each of these stories focuses on one character (or group of characters) whose existence over the course of history is like an abnormally bright star in the night sky. Some of those characters are as follows:
Durnem: The first fylin to become involved in one of Orenya's major branches of government - in her case, the Oradamin. (Not surprising, considering howstereotypically aggressive fylin women are. Later on a fylin man would become the first of his kind to join the Danramin.) Like other fylin who would follow in her footsteps, she was motivated to do so by being an outcast from her clan.
Nemaforte: A sunestre herbalist from Theani, living in the Modern Era. Her name means "poisoned blood", and for good reason: she specializes in peddling poisonous or (especially) psychotropic herbs. In last year's Flora prompt, I mentioned the extremely-poisonous-but-not-deadly drakima root which causes permanent and destructive psychological damage, and also mentioned an herbalist who ingested it and came out (mostly) sane. Nemaforte is that herbalist, and she is the only person ever known to have not developed such problems despite experiencing the full effect (involving a long and torturous nightmare).
Drima: A hypnotist whose specialty is luring people into the Void and temporarily enslaving them while draining away their aural energies. He is notable for seeking to harness the power of Moredriva (who, as was mentioned in last year's Religion/Cosmology prompt, is rumored to make those who gaze upon her too long go mad) to enhance his hypnotic abilities... which is quite a daunting feat considering he's a sunestre, and thus sensitive to sunlight.
Kinenda: A sune of the Ancient Era, who was envious of the sumi for their ability to fly. Thus, she pioneered the art of psychokinesis, which allowed her to fly just like the sumi could.
Kyomin Sorunor: His name means "dragon master", and he turned out to exceed the name's expectations. A sumiri from the early Trading Era growing up in Kyonin (not surprisingly), he pioneered telepathic communication with dragons, with whom he was particularly talented at empathizing with.
The Four Bardic Sisters: A quartet of sumiri musicians who witnessed the start of the Day-Night War and strove to utilize their performances to stop it before it got worse. A difficult task, of course, which drove each sister to a vision quest of sorts to find their purpose in the war. Even as late as the Modern Era, the story of their quests is widely told, as each sister learns a moral lesson from their quest. Especially notable from other such fables in that the lessons are less kid-friendly and lean toward the cynical side. (They're bards - they deserve it.) Even the origin of their family, the Baoshra family, goes way back, originating with four priestesses who sought to channel the power of the four moons. According to legend, they enchanted the bloodline so that they would have a single daughter, all with the same man (remember that polygamy is common among sumiri, as was mentioned in the Gender/Sexuality prompt).
Melody Clementine: She is especially unique, as she is an astronaut from Earth. She and her crew found their way to Orenya, and began conducting scientific research there. Her presence is especially notable in that A) the natives learned much about things such as the geography of the moons and the stars that are all around, and B) while her crew returned to Earth, she opted to stay on Orenya.
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