#gathering storehouse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 1

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 3.5k Rating: PG-13 Tags: Werewolf! Konig, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Witch Laswell, Traditional German Fairytale setting, Price x Reader if you squint, F! Reader, Me making up lore for this series as I go Warnings: Mentioned gore and offscreen death A/N: Part 1 of a limited series with a unique take on a classic fairytale!

Things started changing after the October moon.

Small things at first. Farmers at the edge of the village started noticing their stables were disturbed overnight. Loose hay bales in the lofts, livestock skittish and nervous. Hunters reported deer and other game being hard to find. The animals in the forest started becoming scarce, quiet, as if the woods themselves were trying to silence themselves. These woods, the ones you knew, seemed to be harboring a horrible secret.

Soon it was the storehouses, the smoked meats and harvest tucked away from the brutal winter months being raided. You heard rumors in the village square of drifters, thieves that were lurking in the forest and planning to raid your little town.

Then the sightings began.

"Bigger than a stray dog." The village gossip had whispered to you. "By the northern pastures. Dark as night, gleaming eyes."

You had scoffed, rolled your eyes. A monster then, of course. It made sense in a little village like yours that people would instantly try and exaggerate, try to make their story seem grander than it was. Anything to break up the monotony of daily life in the countryside. Really, the thing as likely nothing more than a lone wolf, in search of a pack to join and wandered far beyond the realms of the ancient Black Forest to where it belonged.

Rumors began to fly. The thing was seen stalking sheep at sunset, when fog rolled through the glades and obscured shapes dancing at the edge of the woods. At midnight a hunter saw it dance beyond his lantern as he hiked to his cottage. A guard dog barked at a strange shadow in the middle of the night. A young girl saw it pause and look back at her, a bloodied hare hanging limp from its gleaming jaws.

You paid it no mind. You knew better by now than to indulge in fairytales. The wolf was an uncommon sight in these lands, but not entirely unusual. It wasn’t some strange omen as your neighbors had made it out to be, spooked by the low, golden, full moon on Hallows Eve. Soon enough the thing, the wolf, would migrate, move on from the area around the village and into the hills, and soon your neighbors would forget such a thing ever existed.

You thought that, at least, until one day a farmer's son was found dead at dusk, claw marks ripped through his chest and blood seeping into the dark, untendered soil upon which he lay.

A werewolf.

Or so they said, as you hovered with several other village girls outside the door of the tavern, where the village elders gathered in deep discussion. Your scarlet cloak did little to ward off the chill of oncoming frost, the shudder of dread at the thing that stalked the periphery of the village. The warm lantern light filtered through the cracks where you and the other young women gathered, casting in slants across your vision as the others around you hushed, pressing their ears flat so as to listen to the words of the wiser inside.

"We need to hunt it down."

"Form a group."

"But then who will watch the livestock?"

"The woods are too vast."

"It will pick us off like flies."

Through the cracks you could see her, Katherine. Known only as 'Laswell' by many, hands folded under her chin, grey eyes hard in contemplation. Her cloak hung heavy from her shoulders, muddied at the hem from her trek through the woods. Yet despite her journey she had arrived untouched, without so much as a scratch upon her. The others eyed her suspiciously for that, her strange immunity to the wolf that stalked the forest.

She was an interesting character, a woman who seemed to know far more than she let on. You once heard tales from a traveler of a goddess from a far land, grey eyed and wise, an owl perched on her shoulder as a sign of wisdom.

“Athena.” He had said in utter wonder, eyes blue like the Adriatic Sea. Yet where he described a woman with a plumed helmet draped in linen robes and holding a shield, you only saw Laswell with her grey, muted dresses and twinkling, knowing eyes. The others seemed to be suspicious of her knowledge, her craft, and yet now they turned to her for the very same, silent as she contemplated all she had heard. Yet unlike them you looked upon her with reverence, a wide, keen gaze that took in the rise of her chest as she raised her head, staring forward at the others.

"We shall call the Witchers."

The Witchers.

Monster hunters. You thought they were the stuff of legend, mercenaries who roamed the land in search of powerful prey, hunting down goblins and ghouls and creatures of the night. Born and raised by the silver blade, swift, cunning, strong, nearly invincible. The closest thing to a demi-god you'd ever heard of.

You shouldn't have been surprised Kate knew of them, with her glinting eyes and many mysterious secrets. The wise woman, they called her, the one who lived on the other side of the woods all by herself, and yet seemed to know more than the rest of the elders combined. It turned out Kate not only knew of the Witchers, but how to contact them.

Cost, she said, was no concern. For she knew the captain, an old friend, one who owed her a debt. If she called him, he would come.

And come he did, before the next moon.

You were in the village square when they arrived. There's chatter and then the sound of hooves, and the sudden motion of their arrival made the scarlet hem of your cape flutter in the breeze. On black horses who chuffed at the frigid autumn air, their withers looming over your height, a man with a beard, a cap and a grim gleam in his eyes stared down at you, flanked by three other riders. Brawny men, scarred, serious, emanating danger from their mere presence. You stare up at them in a mix of apprehension and awe, feeling the air shift around you, whisper a warning you don’t heed.

"We were summoned by Laswell." The man with the cap tells you with no introductions, not that any are needed. You know from the mere sight of them who the men are, with their ink dyed cloaks and silver blades, the dulled armor glinting in the scant afternoon sunlight. Soldiers, warriors, of a different breed. Ones who had earned their titles from years spent seeping their swords in black blood.

"On the other side of the forest." You reply to him unflinchingly, refusing to back down from his unwavering stare.

"Guide us." Is all he supplies in return, offering a single leather gloved palm down to your form. You eye it suspiciously, but at last place your smaller palm in his. With a jump and a hoist, you find yourself sat behind him as his steed nickers and shifts uncertainly under you. You clutch at his rider's cloak nervously for a moment, at which point a coy glance is spared your way, and you settle yourself, offering only a small, indignant silence in return.

"Go on then, Rotes Mädchen." Price encourages gruffly. "Lead us to our summoner."

You wonder then, briefly, if the summoner he mentions truly is a witch of the woods as he seems to suggest.

There's no time to ponder upon it, for as soon as you point Price urges his steed onwards and you are both off down the woodland paths, followed quickly behind by his three men. You surrender yourself to wrapping your arms around his middle in an effort to not fall off, the bumps and grooves of his armor digging into your skin as the troop rides through the forest fog and onwards to Kate's secluded home.

You arrive just as the sun sets. Mist clings to the clearing of the old mill where Laswell lives, shadows whispering at the edges of trees and the canopy growing dark with fading light. The ride is shorter than you expected, but by the end of your journey you feel your rump grow tender with the constant cantering pace that the captain urged his horse upon.

So you're surprised then, when Price slides down off his gelding and offers his hands to you, firmly holding you as your feet slide back to earth. It's a chivalrous gesture, one you thought was beyond a gruff, grim soldier such as the captain. Yet it is with surprising care that he allows you to descend from the saddle, straighten you as your feet wobble on earth.

Laswell greets you all at her doorstep, her thread picked shawl fluttering in the breeze as she ushers you all inwards without so much as a word. There's hardly any greetings, not until you are all settled close to her hearth, which glows bright and welcoming in the growing cold.

You gaze at the men around you from where you perch atop a stool, poking at the tender, licking flames. Body half turned away from them, you regard the strangers out of the corner of your eyes, taking in their dark cloaks and sheathed blades, the glint of their dulled, iron armor as it reflects the fire. There's an uneasy silence that hangs over the room, filled only by the shuffle of boots and low murmur of voices as Laswell vanishes into the direction of her bedroom.

When she emerges at last, there's a hushed, reverent silence that washes over the group, as if she commands attention with her mere presence. There's few words exchanged as she withdraws something small enough to fit into a palm, offers it to the man called Price. You catch a glimpse of it as it passes hands. A tuft of hair carefully wrapped in a cloth, something that looks like it belongs to an animal- dark, coarse, matted with blood.

Price turns it over in his hands, hums a rough, displeased sound.

"This happened during the half-moon?" He asks, voice a grinding sound in his chest, like smoke caught in a chimney.

"I know the signs, John." Kate replies, quieter, firm, grave. "I wouldn't have called you here otherwise."

You watch then, as Price's eyes slide from your friend to you. A silent question. A warning.

Kate only shakes her head. "She's safe." She tells him, and then turns to you herself. Two of the men instantly step aside to make way for her as she paces over, gently takes both your hands in hers to lift you from your chair.

"She picks herbs for me in the forest." Kate explains, voice gentler now as she's closer to you. "Brings me things from the village. She's a friend."

You turn your gaze from Kate, from her steel-eyed grey stare to the four men before you, shifting anxiously on your feet.

"Hello." You offer simply, voice quiet.

"That would explain the red cloak." The one with the quiver strapped to his back chuffs after a moment from where he sits on his chair, across the table. He nods at the cape that drapes behind you. "So hunters can spot you, right?"

You nod, swallowing and feeling your throat go dry as four witchers suddenly fix their gazes onto you. Their eyes rake over your form, and you suddenly feel as if their prey is not monsters, but you.

It's the man with the strange haircut that steps forward first, offering his hand with a grin that tugs to one side of his face.

"John." He tells you with an accent you can't place as you take his gloved hand in yours. "You can call me Soap."

What kind of name is that? You wonder silently and offer only your name in reply. His smirk broadens, and he turns to reveal his fellows.

"That archer there is Gaz." Soap tells you, and said man gives you a friendly, gentle wave from where he sits, face tugging into a smile. "But you can call him ‘dunderheid’ for the time he's spent falling out of trees."

"Twice." Gaz seethes, rubbing at his brow with mild irritation. "Only ever twice."

You hide a small laugh behind your hand, and then follow Soap's gaze to a figure standing in the dark corner of the room, freezing as your eyes land upon him.

A bone white mask. A curved beak. A pitch-dark stare that bores into your marrow.

Cold dread settles over your limbs, and you take an instinctive step back, closer to Kate to seek reassurance from the huge, looming stranger that occupies the shadows of the room.

A Poltergeist. Your mind whispers in horror.

Kate gently brushes her hand across your shoulder, and your eyes dart from her to the strange figure. Yet her smile is kind, gentle in the face of the phantom.

"Ah-" Soap supplies. "That's Ghost." He briefly turns to shoot the man a withering stare, to which the phantom only shrugs nonchalantly, as if unconcerned or perhaps bemused by your apprehension.

"Sorry, he's an odd fellow. Dannea mean you any harm. Spooks the hell out of us sometimes too."

You relax a little at Soap's jovial tone, shoulders going slack and a breath releasing from your chest. Ghost catches your eyes again, offers a silent, respectful nod before mercifully redirecting his stare elsewhere.

"-And of course, you've met our brave captain." Soap finishes, and you lift your eyes to Price, who leans near the door. You lock eyes from across the room, and blink at the scrutinizing weight of his stare. You wonder if he's been looking at you like that the whole time. Heavy. Fixated. Unwavering. Yet in this moment he gives you a slow, respectful nod, and as he raises his head his eyes take you in from the bottom up, coming once more to rest on your face.

"Kate." He says, and it isn't until a moment later that he breaks his stare with you. "We should discuss details. We only have two weeks before the next moon. if we don't hunt down the thing before then..." He trails off, and in the silence, the fire crackles, allowing your mind to fill in the void with ruinous images of destruction.

Kate nods, but instead of moving to discuss the issue at hand she turns to the hearth, reaches for the pot hanging above the fire.

"We shall." She declares with a sigh, and the lid comes way to reveal a simmering stew. "But first you shall all eat, and bathe. You smell like horse manure."

---

It's well past dark by the time you rise to leave. The evening is spent crowded around Kate's table, Gaz and Soap bumping elbows and exchanging good-natured insults with the occasional comment from Price and Kate. They push each other aside to regale you with stories of their hunts, of times spent in distant corners of the kingdoms pursuing creatures you couldn't dare to imagine. After the meal is over Price sits back in his chair and withdraws a pipe, stuffs it with tobacco and idly listens to the conversation. You watch him from the corner of your eyes, eyes tracing the smoke that billows past his lips like dragon’s breath.

Kate watches on with a smile. There's a fondness in her eyes you rarely see. It takes you a moment to realize she regards these men as family, the younger of them as her sons, of their captain as a friend, an ally. There's a history there you don't fully recognize, one you want to pull on the thread of and watch it unravel. Yet you know it's far too soon. There’s many things you’ve yet to learn about your friend, and this secret among these will only be revealed with the passage of time.

There's questions you want to ask, things you thirst to know. How does Kate know these men? Why do they turn to her with such reverence and respect? Why does the captain trust her word with few, if any questions? Just how much does Kate know for these men to come to her aid so quickly?

Such things will have to wait, for you yawn and rise to reach for your cloak. You pause to offer a brief goodnight to the men at the table, who in turn offer theirs. Yet before you make it to the door there's a hand that settles gently on the handle before you can touch it.

"Allow me." A smoky voice grumbles at you, and you turn into the eyes of Price, who tilts his head down at you to better regard your blinking, wide-eyed expression.

"The woods are dangerous, love." He murmurs low between the two of you, words laden with caution. "Especially now, at night."

Especially for a woman like you.

Normally, you'd excuse yourself, tell him you know the woods like the back of your hand. There is nothing within them you aren't familiar with. Every rise and dip of the gulches, every hollow and rotting oak tree- they are mapped within your mind. The woods raised you, kept you safe. They won't betray you, not even to a monster.

Yet you allow yourself to be escorted anyways, deciding not to test your trust of the forest in the face of a creature of the night. Price helps you onto his horse before rising himself, and rather than canter in the direction of town he chooses instead to walk quietly so you can listen to the owl in the trees, the rustle of foxes in the underbrush.

You talk. Quiet conversation. Words not meant to disturb the sanctity of the forest at the midnight hour. You ask Price about his men, how he met them, learn more about the strange hunters who have entered your village. He tells you about how he began as an inquisitor, hunting witches, before he met Kate. He tells you how she helped him save Ghost from a cult, how they weren't soon enough, and now the man is forced to bear a curse that has left his face a horrifying scar of itself. He tells you how he oversaw Soap and Gaz's training, saw them find their best skills and hone them until they themselves were living weapons.

You listen to the quiet but sure pride in his voice as he tell you of his men, of the things they've done. You leech warmth from his back as the road passes under you, form rocking atop his horse, head nodding downwards as fatigue begins to overtake you.

Then, down the path, a branch snaps.

It sounds like the impact of an axe against wood, ringing sharply out into the forest. Your head shoots up immediately, arms clinging tighter to Price's back as he too stiffens, voice cutting into silence as you both listen.

A rustle.

You feel your heart beat at your chest like a tiny, trapped bird, fluttering and frantic as you peer past Price-

-and see the huge, mammoth shadow hiding in the mist.

Taller than you both atop Price’s draft horse, a silhouette that seems to blot out the light of the moon itself. Dark, coarse fur the same as Kate’s relic, and the smell- of something wild, untamed, of rotting carrion and a thing that has no place in the forest you called home.

You freeze, feeling the icy grip of dread wash over you, pinned beneath the stare of glowing, yellow eyes that latch onto your form huddled behind the witcher in front of you.

A growl.

Price's horse whinnies then, shrill as it rears in the face of the strange shadow. You scream just as loud as you nearly lose your balance, gripping tightly to the captain as you begin to slide backwards in the saddle.

"Hold tight!" Price bellows at you as his steed comes down, hooves beating against the forest path. Within moments you and Price are bolting down the path atop his horse, hooves thundering into the night as you wrap your arms securely around his middle. You shake, clutching onto him with a bruising grip, eyes glassy as your mind replays the image of what you've seen.

Taller than any man, a huge, lumbering thing. Its arms too long, ears standing atop its furry head, huge spine hunched forward as a pair of gleaming, yellow eyes gaze at you from the trees. Fangs snarl at you in the confines of your mind, and you feel yourself caught between yellowed teeth as the thing crunches down in a killing blow. You think for a moment you hear the sounds of it giving chase above the rapid echo of your own terror, and despite yourself you venture a gaze behind you as Price’s horse thunders down the misty midnight path towards the safety of the village.

You see just a glimpse of it from beyond your fluttering red cape, a shadow that dwarfs your thoughts, a gaze that fixates on you from afar, seeming to promise ‘Soon, little maiden. Soon.’

A werewolf.

Taglist: (If you'd like to be tagged in future updates please REBLOG this post)

@writeforfandoms @zwiiicnziiix @soapskneebrace

#König #König x reader #konig x reader #konig x you #König x you #reader insert #fic: rotes madchen

1K notes · View notes

hello-vampire-kitty · 4 months

Text

Servamp chapter 133 translation "One"

Read the chapter on MangaDex!

Oh boy, while this chapter doesn't have as much dialogue like the rest that I have to work on, I had some lines that gave me trouble, like you will see in the TL notes, so please look over them. Translation notes

Although it's trivial and I'll be going over something from an early chapter but hey, you'll see just how bad the English translation is, especially with the early volumes.

Some time ago I asked on Twitter if people recalled the nickname Kuro had for Sakuya, because I had the impression he had one for him in the early chapters, similar to how Kuro calls Misono "kisama-chan", which I translate as little bastard xD Kuro refers to Sakuya as 外ハネ "soto hane" which I translated simply as "curly hair", rather than "flipped hair" which is what you'll see if you google the term. I looked into the anime subs and it was translated as "side flare." I could have used that, but to quote Mahiru, "Simple is best" xD

IIn the official localization of the manga it's not even translated T_T

The 2nd and 3rd panel are poorly translated, like the "grungy" joker part, Kuro just calls him "joker" and that's where he also calls him "soto hane. Oh boy but the last two lines in the 3rd panel are soo bad. What Kuro said originally was "I don't think little bastard and him would get along", to which Mahiru replies "Little bastard...you mean Misono?!" Yeah, so it's quite different. Okay, so let's move on to the other notes I have for this chapter.

Tsubaki's last line had me like "What?" Hopefully I haven't misunderstood it. So, Tsubaki uses the word 貯蔵庫 which means storehouse which sounds weird...The way it's written in Japanese, his line could also be translated as "Put away the "prototype" used for storage", but that doesn't make sense, right? Also, I can't say if it's singular or plural regarding the word prototype. I used the plural only because he said "siblings", cause I think it refers to them. So yeah, it's weird, what does he mean regarding storage? We'll have to see if it's brought up in other chapters.

While most of the characters' abilities have two different readings to them, in this case, the furigana reading which is the intended reading is actually used to show the pronunciation of the kanji.

Tanaka-sensei used different kanji with the same pronunciation to spell the words "shura" that is written as 修羅 and "sousou" (funeral) which is written as 葬送 Shura (or Asura), has been brought up before by Tsubaki, but with another meaning, such as fighting; carnage.

Tsubaki's ability in Japanese is written as 朱羅葬想

修=朱

送=想

So instead of the usual kanji 修羅葬送 (shura sousou) in this case, the first and 4th kanji were replaced like I showed above, both having the same pronunciation and you can't exactly get a translation for the words, so I will just breakdown each kanji to see what they represent.

The first kanji 朱 means "red; vermilion; cinnabar; scarlet". This one is probably used to make a reference to blood in my opinion.

The fourth kanji 想 means "thoughts, emotions, feelings".

So yeah, written like this 朱羅葬想 it can't be translated and the kanji that were used are most likely meant to be representative for Tsubaki. That's my opinion.

He also says the word 迎え (mukae) which means "meeting; greeting; welcome". I can't say how it relates to "shura sousou", but I thought that maybe his ability has styles? Perhaps the "welcome" is one style like from what we see, he makes some kind of barrier and when he's attacked, he vanishes and appears behind Kuro Maybe he has other fighting styles used for close combat.

Oh my God, like maybe it sounds dumb but I legit didn't know how else I could adapt what Kuro says about the counter-attack, because there were hardly any examples of how some of the words in Japanese were used, like one of them was from what I gathered, a term used in sports that translates as "take the field first" and another one basically meant ""going second" and there was another example that basically meant "going second", then there was another word that I only found in a single example...It was awful.

Cleaning the speech bubble was tough and I think it looks decent.

As you might have seen, I added this page again at the end of the chapter on Mangadex to show the other reading of the ability, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" because I couldn't add it because there wasn't enough space in the speech bubble. So, when I looked up the word, it was interesting that Wiedergänger share similarities to strigoi from my country's folklore. I think others might have brought this up regarding inner Kuro, but the fact that he uses a stake to pierce himself and uses it as a weapon that takes the form of the thing that was used to kill Kuro, a stake is used to kill a strigoi to keep them in their coffins.

Regarding inner Kuro's last line, the intended reading is "let's talk" but the other reading says "let's fight".

Also, he uses the verb 引きこもる "hikikomoru" and when you make it into a noun, you get hikikomori which is how Kuro is described. I had to chose a word that would fit both character's lines, because I couldn't have inner Kuro says "hey come on, don't be a shut-in", "or "don't seclude yourself from me", it would have sounded weird.

I think it's clever how Tanaka used that specific verb instead of just saying something like "Hey, don't stand so far away" So yeah, hopefully my insights were helpful :)

#servamp #chapter 133 #my translation

184 notes · View notes

tokidokitokyo · 2 months

Text

埼玉県

Japanese Prefectures: Kantō - Saitama

都道府県 (とどうふけん) - Prefectures of Japan

Learning the kanji and a little bit about each of Japan’s 47 prefectures!

Kanji・漢字

埼　さき、さい、みさき、キ　cape, spit, promontory

玉　たま、～だま、ギョク　jewel, jade; ball

県　ケン　prefecture

関東　かんとう　Kanto, region consisting of Tokyo and surrounding prefectures

Prefectural Capital (県庁所在地) : Saitama City (さいたま市)

Saitama is Tokyo's neighbor to the north. Much of southeastern Saitama is considered a suburb of Tokyo, but the western parts are mostly rural with mountainous forested areas, and include a castle town and the Chichibu-Tama-Kai National Park. Saitama has historically been a fertile agricultural region and is currently the major food supplier for the metropolitan area of Greater Tokyo. Some of the first currency in Japan came from copper discovered in the Chichibu area in the 8th century. Saitama's central location has made it a historical hub for transportation to all parts of Eastern Japan, and the modern radial roads and railroad system are designed for ease of transportation to all parts of Japan. Saitama is also the backdrop to the famous Miyazaki Hayao (Studio Ghibli) film "My Neighbor Totoro."

Recommended Tourist Spot・おすすめ観光スポット Kawagoe - 川越

Kawagoe

The Edo-period castle town of Kawagoe is also known as Ko-edo (小江戸 or "Little Edo") because of its many traditional buildings dating from the Edo period. The streets have been maintained as-is since the Edo period (1603-1867). The weekends are the most popular times for visitors to gather here and experience the atmosphere, shops, and popular seasonal events. In the third week of October, the Kawagoe Festival is held with a parade of traditional ornate floats and a musical competition.

The Warehouse District is lined with old earthen storehouses, which are unique two-story buildings that have remained unchanged since the days when the city was a major transportation and commerce hub for Eastern Japan. The Toki no Kane, or "Bell of Time," has marked time for the town for centuries, and continues to ring four times daily. Candy Street is a street lined with stores where traditional Japanese sweets are made in the old-fashioned way.

For more recent history, the Taisho-Roman Street has old, retro western-style buildings from the Taisho and Showa areas. There are also no overhead power lines, which makes this a popular spot to shoot many Japanese period films set in these eras.

There are severable notable temples and shrines in Kawagoe, especially Kitain Temple, which was built over 1,000 years ago. This temple has 538 stone statues of Buddha, each with its own face and unique posture. No two statues look alike, and the popular belief is that there is a statue to resemble any visitor to the temple. Kawagoe Hikawa-jinja Shrine is a Shinto shrine dating back to the 6th century that boasts a torii shrine gate that is 15 metres tall. Kawagoe Kumano-jinja Shrine has fortunes, lucky charms, and also boasts the "stepping health road," which is a path to walk barefoot to stimulate the acupuncture points on the soles of your feet for health benefits.

Regional Cuisine - 郷土料理 Miso Potato - 味噌ポテト

Miso Potato (source)

Famous in the Chichibu region of Saitama, miso potatoes are a well-known winter treat in the area. This dish is similar to a baked potato covered in sweet miso sauce and is traditionally from the rural areas in the mountainous part of the prefecture. It is now a popular street stall snack that combines the sweet and savoury miso flavours with the earthy baked potato texture.

Saitama Dialect・Saitama-ben・埼玉弁

1. むじっけー　mujikkee　cute

むじっけー猫だね。 (mujikkee neko da ne)

Standard Japanese: かわいい猫だね。 (kawaii neko da ne)

English: What a cute cat.

2. ああみぃ　aahmii　no good, can't do it (also, ああみ, aahmi)

ごめん、明日ああみぃ。 (gomen, ashita aahmii)

Standard Japanese: ごめん、明日行けない。 (gomen, ashita ikenai) or ごめん、明日はダメ。 (gomen, ashita wa dame)

English: Sorry, I can't go tomorrow. or Sorry, tomorrow is no good.

3. かみぎっちょ　gamigiccho　lizard

庭のすみっこにかまぎっちょがいたで。 (niwa no sumikko ni kamagiccho ga itade)

Standard Japanese: 庭の隅にとかげがいたよ。 (niwa no sumi ni tokage ga ita yo)

English: There was a lizard in the corner of the garden.

4. うちゃる　ucharu　to throw away

そこにうちゃるなよ。 (soko ni ucharu na yo)

Standard Japanese: そこに捨てるなよ。 (soko ni suteru na yo)

English: Don't throw that away there.

5. こわい　～kowai　hard

このおせんべいこわい。 (kono osenbei kowai)

Standard Japanese: このおせんべい硬い。 (kono senbei katai)

English: This senbei is hard.

*Note: senbei is a Japanese rice cracker

6. えらい　erai　a lot

今日はえらい食べるな。 (kyou wa erai taberu na)

Standard Japanese: 今日はたくさん食べるな。 (kyou wa takusan taberu na)

English: Don't eat a lot today.

#japanese prefectures #日本語 #japanese #japanese language #japanese langblr #langblr #studyblr #都道府県 #埼玉県 #saitama

63 notes · View notes

klbwriting · 2 months

Text

Broken Prism

Chapter 17

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x female!Reader

Warnings: some suggestions of outing someone

Summary: Penguin has Jason and YN goes to get him back

You had gotten back to the manor around 1AM and had gone right to bed. Nothing was amiss, Jason wasn’t expected back until later and the rest of the family were either asleep or out patrolling. What was strange was when you woke up and checked Jason still wasn’t in bed. He slept late into the day and normally you were having to pull him out of bed to function after a long night. Today he was already gone. You shrugged and headed down to the dining room, passing Bruce’s office and noticing the elevator to the Batcave was open. This stopped you. That elevator was closed up during the day most of the time, unless there was an emergency, and someone forgot to close it. You walked over, getting on and heading down, not sure what to expect.

No one noticed you coming up behind the Batcomputer. Bruce was seated with Alfred, Dick, and Tim watching the screen. You weren’t sure why until you saw Jason’s bike crash. He looked alright but then he stood and was soon surrounded. Then they started beating him. You let out a gasp, trying to remember that the color was still around you, he was alive, but clearly in bad shape. Dick turned around and saw you there and walked over.

“Listen…” he started, breaking you out of your trance. You looked at him, then at Bruce and Tim.

“Where is he?” you asked. “Where is Jason?” you demanded again when no one answered. The video was still playing, and you saw men dragging him away and then Tim dropping in to find his guns and jacket. “Tim, where did they take him?”

“I don’t know, the tracker goes to an old meat packing plant in Otisburg and then disappears,” he said. “They were already gone when I got there, I tried tracking them but…I couldn’t.”

“Ya, I bet you tried really hard…” you snapped before realizing that was a shitty thing to say. “I’m sorry…I know you actually did try.” You looked at the rest of them. “Well, what are we doing to get him back?”

“I’m going to head to the Iceberg Lounge, see if I can sneak into his office, find out anything,” Dick said. “We know that Jason was gaining territory on Penguin, but this is a little extreme, even for him.” You had the sneaking suspicion Jason wasn’t the only problem. Bruce could see your mind whirring and frowned.

“Care to share?” he asked, and you shook your head. “Don’t do that, don’t keep ideas to yourself, we all want to help. You don’t have to do this on your own.” You sighed, hating that he was right in this case. If what you suspected was going on was true, then you would need backup.

“I think this has to do with me more than Jason,” you said. “For the last few months, I’ve been gathering intel on Penguin’s different enterprises, trying to find enough proof for the GCPD. He does weapons sales, but actually registers the weapons and only sells them to those who can legally buy them, so even if after the sale the buyers use them for a crime, or if they scrape serial numbers off and resells them, it can’t land Cobblepot in prison. He has storehouses full of drugs, but none of them can legally be linked to him, only to those who are willing to take the fall for him. None of it holds up in court. Last night I met with a scientist from CADMUS who gave me proof that Penguin has been harvesting organs from the houseless all over the city, sometimes killing them, sometimes not. CADMUS has been buying them for experiments and this week Cobblepot chose greed over smarts and accepted a check written out to him for sale of the organs. The scientist had a copy of the check and the order form with the same amount for organs. Another damning piece is that listed on the manifest for delivery is a heart with a pacemaker attached, that pacemaker is linked to a body that was found yesterday in an alley in Old Gotham. It still needs work, but it can be tied back to Penguin. He might have taken Jason because he knows that Red Hood protects Lady Red. Without him Penguin can come after me. So, I’m going to go to him instead. Trade the information I have for Jason.”

“You can’t give Penguin the proof, it took so long for you to find it,” Tim said. You shrugged. You really didn’t see what else you could do. You weren’t going to abandon Jason to whatever Penguin had in mind for him.

“Miss YN, Master Jason was working on something with me for this occasion,” Alfred said, and you looked at him. “He knew that you gathered information that many in the city would do anything for and he thought that perhaps one of your friends would be in danger. So, he and I developed a specialized hard drive, one that you have to be holding a button on or else it will self-destruct so to speak. You can go in with it, they can scan it, it will have the information needed, but be unable to be copied, only viewed. If you are to take your hand off the button because they have killed the hostage or you yourself then the information is first sent directly to the GCPD and then destroyed on the hard drive.”

“That’s pretty ingenious actually, taking a tactic for a pressure-controlled bomb switch and making it work for information, you have an info bomb essentially,” Tim said. You smiled a little, there was Jason trying to protect you again.

“Well then, let’s get him out of there."

It took some doing but Tim was able to get Jason’s tracker back online, showing him near the meatpacking plant where the signal stopped, in what looked like a processing facility for the meat. That was terrifying, and you hoped Penguin wasn’t going to try to grind him up when you threatened to destroy the evidence. As you approached the facility you saw two men outside, watching the front entrance. Once you were inside Dick would drop in and take care of them while Tim would handle anyone watching the back door. Bruce would get in through the roof, ready to help inside and apprehend Penguin before he could escape. The GCPD was on standby, evidence already in their hands. Even with all this help and planning you were still scared that Jason would get hurt, would die again, and you would fail to save him.

“Who are you?” one of the guards at the door asked, pointing his gun at you. You rolled your eyes, really not wanting to deal with this right now.

“Lady Red, I believe I have some information for Penguin, something he wants,” you said. The guard turned to the other, who was talking on a walkie talkie. He nodded and the other guard let her in. “Good luck boys,” you muttered before the door closed. You walked down the aisleway between machines out of a Saw movie, everything rusted and covered in grime. You would need to get so many shots if you survived this. There was only a couple dozen henchmen inside the facility, Penguin at the head of the group, pacing the room by the back door, and you saw Jason tied down beside Penguin, helmet still on. That was a relief, at least his identity wasn’t compromised. Making the helmet code word compliant was a good idea Tim had. His armor was gone, and you nearly threw up at the sight of his body, clothes torn, blood down his front and you could hear a wheeze through the helmet as he was breathing. You hoped you could get him out of here before he collapsed.

“I’m glad my suspicions have been confirmed,” Cobblepot said as you approached. “Lady Red, really giving your alliance away there.”

“That was intentional, Red Hood is my protection,” you said. Cobblepot let out a bark of laughter.

“Ya, really doing a good job there isn’t he,” he said, taking a pipe and hitting Jason in the stomach with it. You took a step forward and every henchmen raised their guns at you. “O no, don’t come any closer, they will kill you.”

“Then you won’t get the information I have,” you said, holding up the hard drive, finger pressing the button. “Think of this as a bomb, you hurt him and I let go of the button and all the information I have is sent to the cops and then destroyed. I die I let go of the button and the same thing happens. I want him and I want us to leave alive. If that happens, I disengage this device and you get all the information on you I have, and you can do whatever you want with it.” Penguin glared at you.

“Why didn’t you call your bat friends?” he asked. You rolled your eyes. You were keeping a distance from them. Being in league with Red Hood was one thing, but being completely tied to the Batman was a different story.

“I don’t have bat friends,” you said. “I only have him.” You looked at Jason again, swallowing, before looking at Penguin. “I want him back, now.”

“Aw, cute, you’re sweet on him. What must you be thinking getting into bed with such a hated vigilante,” Cobblepot shook his head. You caught sight of a shadow near the ceiling but kept your eyes on Penguin.

“Well, you know as well as I do its hard to find good dick these days,” you said. He froze in his tracks and looked at you. That information was very hard to find indeed. “I mean, Riddler isn’t exactly on speaking terms with you anymore is he? I mean he seemed very annoyed in his last email to you, next time Oswald, listen for the safe word…”

“Shut up,” he snapped, walking over to you, pointing the pipe at your head.

“Let Red Hood go and all of that information, the emails, the pictures, it goes away. Although, you could just come out about it, no one would judge you,” you said. You knew that Cobblepot came from a very traditional family in Gotham, one that probably made him into the monster he was now. You hated using this information against him, but seeing Batman, Robin, and Nightwing swooping in, quietly taking and disposing of the men surrounding you, all while you kept Penguin’s focus on you, was what was needed.

“You little bitch,” he said, raising the pipe to strike. You closed your eyes, expecting the blow but it didn’t come. When you opened your eyes Bruce had Penguin in a chokehold, forcing him to pass out, dropping the body hard to the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, hearing the sirens nearby as the cops came to round everyone up. Dick picked up Jason and they fled back to Wayne Manor. On the way over YN rode on Tim’s bike.

“Would you actually have done that, outed Penguin?” Tim asked into the communicator. You scoffed.

“Never! I found that information but deleted it immediately,” you said. Tim nodded. “I’m an asshole, not a scumbag.” You heard the boy chuckle and smiled.

Jason groaned as Bruce set him back in bed. Two broken ribs, a collapsed lung that they needed to call in Dr Thompkins to check out, 100 stitches all over the place, he was a mess. And he had to find a new jacket, pain in the ass. He could hear Bruce in the hallway arguing with YN.

“He needs rest, those pain meds are going to kick in any second and make him sleep anyway, just wait…”

“Fuck off Bruce, I’m going to him. I promise I won’t make him do anything strenuous,” she said, shoving past him and closing the door behind her. “Hey,” she smiled, coming over and sitting on the bed next to him. “How bad is it?”

“I’m fine, could run a marathon,” he said, making her laugh. “Thank you, for saving me, that took some serious balls to do.”

“It was nothing, I’ve been looking into Penguin for a while, figured something like this might happen,” she said, gently taking his hand. Jason squeezed it to show he was fine.

“Ya, but I wasn’t supposed to be the hostage, should have been Jocelyn or Aura or something,” he said. You laughed. “I know, very sexist to assume only the ladies are hostages.” He felt a yawn coming on, trying to suppress it, but it didn’t work, only became bigger.

“Go to sleep,” he heard YN say. “I’m not going anywhere.”

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #brokenprism

44 notes · View notes

archetypal-archivist · 7 months

Text

Notes for Outer Wilds World-Building

-head canon heavy, but grounded in reason I think-

Healthcare: Lots of treating symptoms but not a ton of fixing the thing that caused the initial problem as the Hearthian body is remarkably sturdy and when self-healing can't take care of it, it would take some advanced healthcare to fix it (ex. punctured lung, strong infection). And that's not always something the Hearthians have, as why would they put a ton of effort into advanced pharmaceuticals like penicillin and invasive internal surgeries when it's so rare that someone gets hurt to that point and doesn't immediately die from it in a matter of days? I picture most medicine is herbal in nature, plant-derived and highly concentrated if necessary, such as opioids/morphine for pain that can be taken by injection until you get home and can patch yourself up. Bandages and bed rest and going off of what's taught to you (with a dose of improvising) are key to Hearthian healthcare. For the Hearthians, it's less unwillingness to help in cases of disability and more not being sure how, as the tech to do so would need to be jury-rigged or made from scratch. How well this helps varies as some things like missing limbs and damaged hearing can be accounted for but things like malfunctioning kidneys can't. Ironically, diabetes would spell bad news for a Hearthian.

Food: They don't have birds on Timber Hearth or else we'd see a lot more primitive wings for flying, so that means the animal life differs from earth. Lots of bugs and amphibians and fish, but very few mammals if any as fur is weird to the Hearthians. Hearthians are likely omnivores, given their history, but no trapping of land animals beyond insects. I imagine mostly teams of gatherers picking food from known locations and being careful about how much they take, and maybe some "controlled burnings" to clear out unwanted brush and give room to grow for the plants they actually want. The burnings may be more of an accident but the effect is the same regardless. Berries, nuts (especially pine nuts), cattail tubers and pith, water reed shoots, edible wild greens, and bread made from the flour of ground up tubers/acorns/pine nuts is common. This is supplemented by fish, the fat of which (Google candle fish) and the gelatin formed by boiling their bones are also used in many things. Marshmallows are made the old way, from mallow roots and sugar cane. Snow covered in sap or molasses is a treat, made more common with the invention of rockets that let you grab snow and fly it back to the village before it melts. Chera (borrowed from the fandom) is a tough, fibrous fruit that is sort of bready and is used much like apples are as a thickener in bread and eaten as mash on its own. Pickling, smoking, and canning are very common in Hearthian culture and are key ways of preserving food for when certain key gathered plants are out of season. During the insect mating season when the flies are out in full force, people will smack the clouds of bugs with sap-covered sheets of metal, scrape the bugs off, and grill them up into patties like burgers. This time of year is all hands on deck and not everyone likes eating fly patties but as food, it's incredibly nutritious and ground up flies are sometimes added to food that is lacking. Cooking is communal for the bulk of it, with a town cook pot and storehouse being open to the public to pull from, but if you want to eat beyond standard hours or mass-produced fare, you're on your own and you best hope you know how to cook over a wood fire stove. Filling the communal food pot is often a job foisted on hatchlings and the elders supervise. Specialty foods like sap wine are a trade item or are saved for celebrations and traditions.

Travel: Hearthians don't have wheeled carts as getting things into their crater via wheeled cart would be difficult at best. Instead they'll drag chopped down trees where they need to go via sleds or float them on the rivers or lower them into the crater with elevators. Anything else they'll carry down personally. To get around the planet, Hearthians just walk and if it takes more than a day, they camp along the way. Now that ships are a thing however, travel has shrunk the world by a lot- not that it does the average Hearthian much good. The ships are dangerous, prone to causing fires if one tries to land on Timber Hearth proper as rockets plus grass equals bad. A skilled pilot can pick a decent landing spot that's damp or barren enough to not be a problem, but it's usually so far from where you want to go that it's better to walk anyway. Said average Hearthians also do not like dealing with g-forces or potential death. Those are the only reasons why it's not normal for astronauts to ferry average Hearthians around like a taxi service or to take materials from point A to point B across the planet. None of this matters on the Attlerock however, as there's nothing to catch fire there, so ships will haul stuff up there all the time at Esker and Hornfels' behest. Rocket fuel is made from flammable gases pumped up from underground by the mining equipment as waste. It used to be released into the atmosphere to keep the miners from suffocating or exploding (a problem, sometimes those spouts would catch alight) but Slate had the bright idea of storing it in tanks under pressure. They already had pressurized air for the miners at the deepest depths to breathe where air was hard to come by, why couldn't they bottle up the waste gases to dispose of more safely? Like burning it elsewhere?

Clothing: Fabric is made from the fibers of a linen-like plant called flush, names for the purplish hue at the base of the reed's stem. The weavers' house is filled with Hearthians whose job it is to separate the fibers out and spin them into thread. From there, the weaver in charge of the loom will dye the thread with plant-based dyes and use a flying loom to quickly weave bolts of fabric. It takes a LOT of thread to make fabric but thanks to the weavers' bugging Slate into making them into a machine running off water power, the thread-making time has been cut down significantly. However, the whole process still takes a while so most Hearthians only own a few pieces of clothing and they're expected to patch it, hand-me-down it, and wash it until it is literally in rags before they get more. Hatchlings get the worst of it, they get pretty much nothing but hand-me-down clothes as they outgrow things too fast for unique outfits for each of them. Scarves, hats, and handkerchiefs are an exception and are often the only piece of clothing a hatchling has that survives to adulthood, which makes them all the more precious. Dresses- which take more fabric- and anything patterned or multicolored is a sign of indulgence/finery or a very nice gift and is such relegated to fancy clothes for fine events. Shoes are made of fish leather or treated fabric strips wrapped around a wood sole and structure and then sewn in place.

Economy: Hearthians run on a trade economy, with every person expected to contribute in some way. You are always guaranteed food from the communal cook pot and shelter in either a house of your own or on someone else's couch/floor, but beyond that you get side-eyed if you ask for things too often without offering something in return. Fortunately, Hearthians have a strong oral tradition and a very relaxed (boring) lifestyle so most are happy to trade gossip and stories for basic amenities. Building houses, weaving fabric, gathering food, working in the mines, and watching the hatchlings and tasks like those are ones that are never required for people to do, you can walk off and take a break whenever. However, it's seen as poor taste to do that for more than a few days at a time without cause because if you aren't working, you're letting your fellow Hearthians down. If you can't do big work for health reasons or lack of skill, you're expected to pick up small work like knitting, patching things up, cooking at the communal food pot, etc. What most hatchlings end up doing is they either find a passion and just continue with it into a proper "job" that helps the village in some way, they get an apprenticeship, or they get picked up by an adult and pretty much conscripted in order to "keep them out of trouble." Fire watch and astronaut and jobs like it are jobs of high prestige and are very demanding in the body, and as such run as apprenticeships with Gossan and Tektite selecting who they want to teach from those that come up to them and ask to learn. Such jobs don't do much to physically help the village (beyond bringing back space relics but those aren't always useful to the village at large) but they do bring in a ton of interesting stories and those are prime currency for the Hearthians.

Life Cycle: Hearthians are hermaphrodites that breed like fish do- during certain times of year, Hearthians may feel the urge to slip down to the river and release sperm and eggs into the water. Couples can go together, but most don't make much of it, seeing them as temporary dalliances or choosing to put up with being a little hot and itchy for a few days, refusing to go, and then the season is done for them for the year. The sperm and eggs mingle in warm underground pools and incubate there until they get hard and heavy enough to be picked up by the current. Due to how the waters of Timber Hearth run, the eggs more or less end up being carried to the same place every year where Hearthians in charge of raising hatchlings go to pick them up. The eggs are candled to check for life, then swaddled and placed into cribs to hatch. Hatchlings are raised in batches together in the Hatchling House, with sick ones quarantined in a back room to keep the rest from getting ill (so things like measles don't wipe out a whole generation). Hatchlings are fed mash until their baby teeth fall out, then they are fed real food like fish with bones in it. They only are named when the caretaker is sure that they will survive their first month or three of life, then they are introduced to the village by that name. They are allowed to go outside for the first time once they can walk and talk a little bit, an occasion marked by giving them shoes. After that, a hatchling may leave the Hatchling House to live on their own once they have a place to stay lined up, work, and they either can drink sap wine (which hatchlings don't have the enzymes to digest) or meet a certain height. As Hearthians age, the ears droop more, the skin pales, and the body starts failing. Past a certain age a Hearthian just kinda stops healing, as if all their sturdiness is limited to their younger years, and if they survive past even that, then their mind begins to go. Deaths are grieved and the dead buried with song and music being played with a space being left in the song for the deceased to "play a solo" and the rest of the band picking up after as a reminder that life goes on. In a few rare cases, hatchlings can imprint on an adult and vice versa, which gives rise to more "standard" parent child bonds and frequently, apprenticeships.

Calendar: The Hearthian planet does have seasons, sort of, but mostly a "hot and dry" vs "cool and wet" divide. No snow, their winters are just slightly more rain than usual and their summers are slightly warmer and with a chance for thunderstorms. However, there are still holidays involved with the changing of the seasons, mostly tied to when food is more or less available and when the solstices are. The alignment of the planets is also celebrated but that's a more recent celebration that popped up and it intensified into a major holiday only when the observatory got built with its ability to lock down alignments to exact dates. Breeding season is an informal holiday, being a few days in Spring and Autumn where sap wine is plentiful and people are expected to take some time off from work to relax. Hearthian formal holidays involve getting everyone in the village to sing, dance, and play music together around a bonfire. Stories and sap wine flow thick and fast and the best storytellers and musicians are treated to the best food and treats. Musicians will sometimes "duel" for funsies to see who is better at improvising and technical skills, to the joy of the crowd. Informal celebrations, like when an astronaut launches for the first time or one comes home or a batch of hatchlings are given a name on their name day lead to similar events, just scaled down some with only non-busy people attending. However, Hearthians love a good party so many will make time for such gatherings if they can.

#outer wilds #world building #my writing

63 notes · View notes

maniculum · 3 months

Text

Bestiaryposting -- Kengliwa

As a reminder, all previous entries in this series can be found at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting .

The Kengliwa has three characteristics. The first is that they march in line, each one carrying a grain of corn in its mouth. Those who have none do not say to the others: ‘Give us some of your grain', but follow the tracks of those who first went out to the place where they find the corn and carry it off to their nest. The Kengliwa's second characteristic is that when it stores grain in its nest, it divides its supply in two, lest by chance it should be soaked in the winter rains, the seed germinate and the Kengliwa die of hunger. The Kengliwa's third characteristic is that at harvest time it walks through the crop and finds out by nibbling the ears whether it is barley or wheat. If the crop is barley, the Kengliwa goes to another ear and sniffs it, and if it smells wheat, it climbs to the top of the ear and carries off the grain to its nest. For barley is food for beasts. For the Kengliwa has no knowledge of cultivation; it has no-one to force it do anything; nor does it act under the direction of a master, telling it how to lay in a store of food. Yet it gathers in its harvest from your labours. And although you often go hungry, it lacks for nothing. It has no locked storehouses, no impenetrable security, no piles of supplies which cannot be touched. The watchman looks on at thefts which he dares not prevent, the owner is aware of his losses but takes no revenge. They carry their booty in a black column across the fields, the paths swarming with the convoy as it passes; the grains that cannot be held in their narrow mouths in narrow parts are consigned to their shoulders. The owner of the harvest looks on and blushes with shame at the thought of denying such frugal gains won by such conscientious industry. The Kengliwa has also learned to watch out for periods of fine weather. For if it sees that its supplies of corn are becoming wet, soaked by the rain, it carefully tests the air for signs of a mild spell, then it opens up its stores, and carries its supplies on its shoulders from its vaults underground out into the open, so that the corn can dry in the unbroken sunshine. Finally, you will never on any of those days see rain spouted from the clouds, unless the Kengliwa has first returned its supplies of corn to its stores.

Remember to tag posts with #Kengliwa so folks can find them.

#maniculum bestiaryposting #Kengliwa

31 notes · View notes

jeannefostergoriot · 4 days

Text

The Prophecy x Sophie Foster

(How that, it’s my third analysis of the day?)

« Hand on the throttle, thought I caught lightning in a bottle »: she literally caught starlight as one of her first accomplishments. And then unending fire. Lightning here as a symbol of power. Fire as the fact that she is right.

« Oh, but it’s gone again »: but no one ever let her decide, she always have opposition, whether it’s the Council, the Black Swan, her bodyguards, even her friends, she has to argue. Power never stays hers.

« And it was written, I got cursed as Eve got bitten »: all her life was thought before her, her wars exists before her. She’s cursed from beginning to end.

« Oh, was it punishment? Pad around when I got home » is how she feels after every defeat, after every time she couldn’t keep things from going bad, every time Keefe left.

« I guess a lesser woman would’ve lost hope »: she is still a fighter. As of the end of Unlocked and Stellarlune, we see that awakening, and she starts to take pride in it.

« A greater woman wouldn’t beg »: she has yet no trust in herself. Almost no confidence. She isn’t as great as she could, thinks she.

« But I looked at the sky and said »: through the panakes branches, Sophie is looking at the sky every night, and she is begging.

« Please, I’ve been on my knees, change the prophecy »: everyday wishing, waiting for a change, hoping it could be easy for once.

« Don’t want money, just someone who wants my company » *look to Keefe*. And it’s not just someone, it’s peace, she wants peace by her side.

« Let it once be me… »: let her be just a normal teenager. She deserves it.

« Who do I have to speak to, about if they can redo, the prophecy? »: she’d bargain for so long. If she just knew who to address. She’d bargain for everything and if she’d get a rebuttal for peace for herself, she’d ask for her friends…

« Cards on the table, mine play out like fools in a fable, oh » is about how she’s feeling about the fact that the Neverseen always seem so much further in their plans and their attacks. Like they always know what Sophie will do next.

« It was sinking in, slow in the quicksand »: the progressive realization over the four first books that she has, not only a whole world to discover, but secret organizations to deal with. And in background the fact she actually has to *stop* one.

(Also, yes, I thought of the access to Atlantis and the cover of book 6)

« Poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand »: post Neverseen, post Unlocked. Even more Unlocked. Cause Keefe ran away, refused to stay, to be helped, and even if it’s not treason this time, it hurts. And she doesn’t know who to trust. She doesn’t know who she loves. She doesn’t know who she is.

« Oh still I dream of him ». Sophie, if you ever get sleep, we all know Runaway Boy is in your dreams.

« And I sound like an infant »: she prays, she hopes, she doesn’t want this place. But she gets remorse from this, calls herself an infant who has to grow up and stop complaining.

« Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen »: she’s alone. The story can’t continue without her, the ink has to be used, but she is terribly lonely and vulnerable. The last on Earth able to do something.

« A greater woman stays cool, but I howl like a wolf to the moon »: Sophie is over-achieving and going to burnout. That’s pretty clear. She has that idea in her mind of the greater woman she has to be. But she’s here, crying, praying, trying to go on, having panic attacks, insomnia, anxiety.

« And I look unstable ». She often looks very tired, it’s said multiple times. Also, at the beginning of Stellarlune, everyone looks at her like she’s crazy for the storehouse fire.

« Gathered with a coven at a sorceress’ table »: her coven is her friends, her team, all around her, doing planes. And the sorceress table is that magic thing Mr Forkle showed us with different views of places and options.

« A greater woman as faith, but even statues crumble »: that’s when she will realize she can actually be enough.

« If they’re made to wait »: and that’s the reason she starts burning. Fighting. Attacking. Cause she doesn’t want to crumble anymore.

« I’m so afraid I sealed my fate ». Sophie is thinking that constantly, about every decision she makes, wondering which one could be fatal.

« No sign of soulmates »: cause she’s unmatchable

« I’m just a paperweight »: useful, a little, but a weight, how she thinks.

« Spending my last coin so someone will tell me it’ll be ok »: she needs so much to hear it. And it’s not said enough in this series.

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #sophie foster #kotlc sophie #the prophecy #ttpd #the tortured poets department #taylor swift #yeah I’m conscious it’d fit even more with PJO #but I’m rusted on PJO #even more than Kotlc #and I have to post on kotlc

14 notes · View notes

jesus-is-lord-and-savior · 5 days

Text

1 Shout for joy in the LORD, O you righteous! Praise befits the upright.

2 Give thanks to the LORD with the lyre; make melody to him with the harp of ten strings!

3 Sing to him a new song; play skillfully on the strings, with loud shouts.

4 For the word of the LORD is upright, and all his work is done in faithfulness.

5 He loves righteousness and justice; the earth is full of the steadfast love of the LORD.

6 By the word of the LORD the heavens were made, and by the breath of his mouth all their host.

7 He gathers the waters of the sea as a heap; he puts the deeps in storehouses.

8 Let all the earth fear the LORD; let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of him!

9 For he spoke, and it came to be; he commanded, and it stood firm.

10 The LORD brings the counsel of the nations to nothing; he frustrates the plans of the peoples.

11 The counsel of the LORD stands forever, the plans of his heart to all generations.

12 Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD, the people whom he has chosen as his heritage!

13 The LORD looks down from heaven; he sees all the children of man;

14 from where he sits enthroned he looks out on all the inhabitants of the earth,

15 he who fashions the hearts of them all and observes all their deeds.

16 The king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength.

17 The war horse is a false hope for salvation, and by its great might it cannot rescue.

18 Behold, the eye of the LORD is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love,

19 that he may deliver their soul from death and keep them alive in famine.

20 Our soul waits for the LORD; he is our help and our shield.

21 For our heart is glad in him, because we trust in his holy name.

22 Let your steadfast love, O LORD, be upon us, even as we hope in you.

(Psalms 33, ESV)

#Psalms 33 #Bible #Bible verse

9 notes · View notes

cheapsweets · 3 months

Text

The assiduous Kengliwa

My response to this week’s BestiaryPosting challenge from @maniculum

Was slightly rushed with this one, been trying to get ideas without leaning too hard into what this creature is probably meant to be...

Jinhao shark fountain pen with a fine, hooded nib, with Monteverde Raven Noir ink, over initial pencil sketch.

As ever, reasoning under the cut…

Okay, three core characteristics - marches in line, divides grain in two in its nest, and likes wheat, not grain. I can see how if I were to write a bestiary, and especially if I had a handy illustration beside the text, I may also be inclined to focus my writing on the behaviour of this weird critter, rather than its physical description. However, that does not help me work out even remotely what manner of animal the Kengliwa is...

...or does it? Clearly, this is a social animal, that lives in large groups. It's quite risk-averse, but most importantly, it doesn't eat barley, "For barley is food for beasts"...

Silly Kengliwa! Barley is for Beasts!

Now, generalising massively, we can categorise medieval creatures into a number of types; beasts (which live on the land), birds (which generally have feathers, and generally fly, except when they don't), serpents/reptiles (which crawl, including snakes and amphibians), fish (live in the sea) and worms (including insects). We specifically know it isn't a beast (since it turns its tiny nose up at barley), isn't a fish since it's clearly not keen on water, so its a bit of a toss up between serpent, worm or bird. We do know that it lives in a nest though, and you know what else lives in nests? Birds! Bingo!

We don't have any indicator of size, but given that each Kengliwa carries a single grain of wheat in its mouth, I've deduced that they must be pretty small; as amusing as emu-sized critters rampaging through a field would be (for me, not for the farmer...), I don't think that a creature as industrious as a Kengliwa would find carrying a single grain of wheat at a time particularly efficient unless it was pretty tiny!

For the Kengliwa has no knowledge of cultivation; it has no-one to force it do anything; nor does it act under the direction of a master, telling it how to lay in a store of food. Yet it gathers in its harvest from your labours. And although you often go hungry, it lacks for nothing. It has no locked storehouses, no impenetrable security, no piles of supplies which cannot be touched. The watchman looks on at thefts which he dares not prevent, the owner is aware of his losses but takes no revenge. They carry their booty in a black column across the fields, the paths swarming with the convoy as it passes; the grains that cannot be held in their narrow mouths in narrow parts are consigned to their shoulders. The owner of the harvest looks on and blushes with shame at the thought of denying such frugal gains won by such conscientious industry.

I'm getting slightly mixed messages from the author here - the Kengliwa gathers food from others labours, even as they go hungry, but we also have acknowledgement that what it does take is meagre, and we almost have a mote of admiration at the end. If this creature has some kind of religious symbology (and its a medieval bestiary, so changes are, yes...), it's going to be weird...

We also know that it has quite a narrow mouth (which fits with having a beak). I've drawn them carrying the grains on their shoulders/backs (supported in some cases by their wings) when they are making their way through narrow underground tunnels, and beaks when they are outside or maneuvering the grains in their vaults.

We also have a little more details about the colouration... not so useful for me with the (tiny) lineart, but it all helps!

Have a slightly confused looking farmer, observing the Kengwilas as they make off with some grain...

The Kengliwa has also learned to watch out for periods of fine weather. For if it sees that its supplies of corn are becoming wet, soaked by the rain, it carefully tests the air for signs of a mild spell, then it opens up its stores, and carries its supplies on its shoulders from its vaults underground out into the open, so that the corn can dry in the unbroken sunshine. Finally, you will never on any of those days see rain spouted from the clouds, unless the Kengliwa has first returned its supplies of corn to its stores.

Okay, we now know that they keep their grain underground... A bit weird for a bird, but not unknown (we get puffins, burrowing owls, etc, even if some of them do steal burrows from other critters).

Have some underground grain vaults! Note that one of them is higher than the other, so if the nest does get flooded, at least one of the chambers should be okay. I drew the nest in a similar style to the nest of the Rubkawat, though I wonder if these nests are lines more with roots than with twigs...

Yes, I now know more about the difference between wheat and barley than I ever hoped for!

#kengliwa #maniculum bestiaryposting #bestiaryposting #my art #Silly Kengliwa! Barley is for Beasts!

13 notes · View notes

officialyourdailyinspiration · 2 months

Text

Nehemiah Dedicates the Wall

27 Now at the dedication of the wall of Jerusalem they sought out the Levites in all their places, to bring them to Jerusalem to celebrate the dedication with gladness, both with thanksgivings and singing, with cymbals and stringed instruments and harps. 28 And the sons of the singers gathered together from the countryside around Jerusalem, from the villages of the Netophathites, 29 from the house of Gilgal, and from the fields of Geba and Azmaveth; for the singers had built themselves villages all around Jerusalem. 30 Then the priests and Levites purified themselves, and purified the people, the gates, and the wall.

31 So I brought the leaders of Judah up on the wall, and appointed two large thanksgiving choirs. One went to the right hand on the wall toward the Refuse Gate. 32 After them went Hoshaiah and half of the leaders of Judah, 33 and Azariah, Ezra, Meshullam, 34 Judah, Benjamin, Shemaiah, Jeremiah, 35 and some of the priests’ sons with trumpets—Zechariah the son of Jonathan, the son of Shemaiah, the son of Mattaniah, the son of Michaiah, the son of Zaccur, the son of Asaph, 36 and his brethren, Shemaiah, Azarel, Milalai, Gilalai, Maai, Nethanel, Judah, and Hanani, with the musical instruments of David the man of God. And Ezra the scribe went before them. 37 By the Fountain Gate, in front of them, they went up the stairs of the City of David, on the stairway of the wall, beyond the house of David, as far as the Water Gate eastward.

38 The other thanksgiving choir went the opposite way, and I was behind them with half of the people on the wall, going past the Tower of the Ovens as far as the Broad Wall, 39 and above the Gate of Ephraim, above the Old Gate, above the Fish Gate, the Tower of Hananel, the Tower of the Hundred, as far as the Sheep Gate; and they stopped by the Gate of the Prison.

40 So the two thanksgiving choirs stood in the house of God, likewise I and the half of the rulers with me; 41 and the priests, Eliakim, Maaseiah, Minjamin, Michaiah, Elioenai, Zechariah, and Hananiah, with trumpets; 42 also Maaseiah, Shemaiah, Eleazar, Uzzi, Jehohanan, Malchijah, Elam, and Ezer. The singers sang loudly with Jezrahiah the director.

43 Also that day they offered great sacrifices, and rejoiced, for God had made them rejoice with great joy; the women and the children also rejoiced, so that the joy of Jerusalem was heard afar off.

Temple Responsibilities

44 And at the same time some were appointed over the rooms of the storehouse for the offerings, the firstfruits, and the tithes, to gather into them from the fields of the cities the portions specified by the Law for the priests and Levites; for Judah rejoiced over the priests and Levites who ministered. 45 Both the singers and the gatekeepers kept the charge of their God and the charge of the purification, according to the command of David and Solomon his son. 46 For in the days of David and Asaph of old there were chiefs of the singers, and songs of praise and thanksgiving to God. 47 In the days of Zerubbabel and in the days of Nehemiah all Israel gave the portions for the singers and the gatekeepers, a portion for each day. They also consecrated holy things for the Levites, and the Levites consecrated them for the children of Aaron. — Nehemiah 12:27-47 | New King James Version (NKJV) The Holy Bible; New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved. Cross References: Numbers 1:8; Numbers 18:21; Deuteronomy 18:8; Deuteronomy 20:5; 1 Kings 8:63; 2 Kings 7:10; 2 Kings 14:13; 1 Chronicles 6:40; 1 Chronicles 9:16; 1 Chronicles 9:33; 1 Chronicles 25:1; 2 Chronicles 8:14; 2 Chronicles 29:30; Ezra 3:11; Nehemiah 2:13-14; Nehemiah 13:4-5; Nehemiah 3:8; Nehemiah 3:11; Nehemiah 3:15; Nehemiah 3:26; Nehemiah 11:23; Nehemiah 13:10; Nehemiah 13:22; Nehemiah 13:30; Psalm 9:2; Psalm 92:4; Psalm 137:4; John 5:2

#Jerusalem #wall #dedication #service #Temple #provision #Nehemiah 12:27-47 #Book of Nehemiah #Old Testament #NKJV #New King James Version Bible #Thomas Nelson

11 notes · View notes

silvermoon-scrolls · 6 months

Text

Bloody harvest

GatheringFiKi Trick or Treat 2023

Trick: "The God of Harvest receives whatever sacrifice God of Harvest desires."

Pairing: Fili x Kili (AU) Words: 624 Content Waring: Blood, Character death, rated Teen.

It had been a lean year, with the last harvest being as poor as it had been. But they had managed. They were a tight-knit community, and everyone had helped out. Fili and Kili might be kin to the magistrate but they had not been eating any better than anyone else in the village. Almost men they were, and if they could not eat properly, at least they could sate other hungers.

With this year's harvest moon soon upon them, and the crops once again failing to grow, the atmosphere was a solemn one. Their storehouses were empty – they could not survive another year like this one.

In the gathering dusk, it was with heavy hearts the Elders decreed that a sacrifice had to be made. Not of corn and fruit, nor of gold and gems, not even of cow and goat, but of human life and blood.

And who better to appease the harvest god than the one among them with hair flowing as if spun by golden wheat, they said. Fit of body, in the prime of their life; the gods would not be satisfied with anything less, they said. A small, collective gasp went through the gathered crowd then, from fear and relief alike. Not a word raised in protest.

Kili would have spoken. Kili would have screamed – if not for the hand that was squeezing his own with a deadly grip, soundlessly asking him not to interfere. Fili was staring straight ahead, his golden head held high. Kili could sense the fear radiating from him, but also his resolve. Fili had already accepted his fate.

With a shaking voice, Kili begged for the knife then. If this was to be done, it should be done by him and no one else - by him who loved Fili the most. There could be no argument made against that, and the intricately carved knife hilt was solemnly pressed into his outstretched palm.

They walked away in the growing darkness. The silent eyes of their kindred watching them leave. Into the wheat field they went. Hand in hand – shoulder to shoulder. The stars and the waning moon giving them light to go by.

In the middle of the barren field they sank to their knees, facing each other, foreheads touching, their breathing forever in sync with the other’s. The fingers of Kili’s right hand were curled around the knife whose sharp blade gleamed and mirrored the sliver of the moon above them. The fingers of his left hand were intertwined with Fili’s, their grip unbroken since the reveal of their fates.

“I will follow you,” Kili told him.

“You should not,” Fili said in a barely audible whisper. But the grasp of his hand did not waver.

“I will.”

In low voices they addressed the God of Harvest, asking him to accept this gift of life in exchange for growing fields, plentiful harvests and the continued lives of their people. The words were carried off on the wind into the darkness, and when it returned it held the scent of fertile soil, growing grass and sweet, delicious nectar.

Their friends and families would eat. They would be together. That was enough.

As their lips brushed against each other’s, Kili sank the knife first into the heart of his lover, and then into his own – though they were the one and the same.

Pain and darkness enveloped him, but the only thought in Kili’s head was to not let go, that as long as he could hold on to Fili’s hand they would find each other again, in the next life, and the next.

The life-bringing blood seeped into the soil, coloring the earth red, and the God of Harvest was well pleased. For now.

#GF’s Trick or Treat 2023 #fiki #fanfic #fili x kili #spooky season #silvermoon writes #gatheringfiki #blood

25 notes · View notes

inaris-mage-of-storms · 1 year

Text

Thank you to @mewhoismyself for the idea of Scott confiding his story and feelings to Sausage! It took a little bit of a different direction than I first planned, but I hope you'll still like it.

(Content warning for swearing and suggestive conversation/brief discussion of a previous intimate encounter.)

Scott gave the gathered cornflower petals one last rough chop before dumping them in the bowl and picking up a pestle. Sausage sat next to him with a bowl full of dandelion petals, and they sat together in the sunshine streaming in through the open windows of the flower barn as they ground down the flowers.

"Jimmy was asking about you the other day," said Sausage, and Scott glanced up at the sly tone in his voice.

"Was he? Why?" asked Scott, keeping his voice steady and disinterested even as his heart fluttered.

"He said you haven't been by lately for any gunpowder or terracotta." Sausage added a splash of linseed oil to the bowl and continued grinding. "Asked if I knew if you'd be in Tumble Town again anytime soon."

"I haven't needed any," said Scott, certainly not disappointed that the sheriff was only concerned about business. Chromia's storehouses were overflowing with Tumble Town exports, and he'd finally had to give in to his advisors' demands that he stop making unnecessary trips to the mesa for supplies they didn't need.

Sausage rolled his eyes. "I know that, silly. And I guarantee he knows that. It was his way of saying he misses you!"

"Nonsense," said Scott. "Hand me the oil."

Sausage passed it over. "Honestly! How long are you going to keep pretending you aren't interested?" Scott only hummed noncommittally, and Sausage huffed at him. "You like him, he likes you. Someone needs to make a move already."

"I think you're misreading the situation," said Scott, tilting the bowl to check the thickness of the forming dye.

"I think you're scared," said Sausage. "Don't give me that look! Does this need more oil?"

Scott glanced over. "A little bit. I'm not scared. You're just wrong."

"I'm never wrong about love!" said Sausage confidently. "You know, my offer to give you some seduction tips still stands," he grinned. "Jimmy and I have gotten awfully close during a meeting or two."

"That's nice. I don't care."

Sausage scraped the sides of the bowl and continued mixing. "You wouldn't think it with how easily he gets embarrassed, but he's a vocal little thing once you get him going."

"I don't want to hear it, Sausage."

"There's this spot on the inside of his thighs that's really sensitive, and if you get your mouth on it he absolutely sings - "

"Sausage. Enough." At the waver in Scott's voice Sausage stopped talking and looked at him in surprise. "I know, okay? I know how vocal he can be. How he likes to nibble on your neck. He always goes for right here first." He touched a spot under his jawline before continuing.

"I know the way he keeps his attention on you, even when he's so lost in pleasure he can't think clearly. How he likes his hair pulled, and likes to be praised. The way he wraps his legs around your waist and tells you exactly what he wants." The air around them felt thick, even as a breeze stirred the flowers around them, and he felt like someone had slid a frozen knife between his ribs at the memories of things he would never experience again. "I know, Sausage. And I don't really want to hear all about how you know."

Scott took a deep breath, regretting his outburst immediately. His hands were shaking, and he set the bowl of dye down beside him. In, out, he reminded himself, reaching desperately for the composure that shielded him at all times. He closed his hands into fists, and when he opened them they were steady again.

"Oh, Scott." Sausage's voice was mournful. "I'm sorry. I was only trying to tease you, maybe make you a little jealous so you'd do something. I'm so sorry. I didn't know it would upset you that badly. Or that you and he had ever been..."

Scott rubbed a hand under his eye to hide the tears that he would never admit were forming, not caring about the blue smear it left on his cheek. "It's fine. It's not like I've ever said anything about it." He attempted a smile. "I have to keep some secrets. Being mysterious is part of what makes me so sexy."

Sausage launched himself at Scott and wrapped him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry," he apologized again. "I won't mention our uh, private meetings, again."

Scott patted him on the back awkwardly. "I appreciate it. Let go of me."

Sausage sat back and they resumed working on the dyes. "There's something I don't understand, though," he said. "I've known you both for a long time now. When on earth did the two of you get that close in the first place, and then go through what I can only assume was a nasty breakup judging by the way you both avoid each other while exchanging longing glances across rooms?"

"We do not exchange - " He sighed at the disbelieving look Sausage gave him. "It was a long time ago." Satisfied with the consistency of the dye, he set it aside and picked up more petals. "You remember me telling you about how Fwhip and I first met?"

"Yeah," said Sausage. "That was a long time ago, right?"

"It was," said Scott. "It was years before I lost my eye. Years before I was an acrobat. Can you work on a batch of magenta if you're done with that one?" He handed over some lilac petals. "After I left Gobland, I kept going south. By summer I was crossing the savanna that borders the mesa, and one day I spotted a little farmhouse by the river."

As the day went on, Sausage and Scott continued making dyes while Scott told his story. When he reached the end and fell silent, Sausage wiped at his eyes. "Oh, Scott."

"Please don't hug me again," said Scott warily, and Sausage laughed. Scott turned to look at the door, thinking he heard a noise, then relaxed as he saw a stray cat curl up on the window ledge outside. "But now do you believe me, when I tell you Jimmy is absolutely not interested in a relationship with me?"

"Nope!" Scott stared at him in disbelief, and Sausage shook his head. "Scott, he loved you. That much is obvious. Now I won't lie, you really fucked up - " He ignored Scott's noise of complaint. " - but that doesn't mean it's hopeless."

"No, it..." Scott sighed. "There's more."

"Oh, no."

"Not long after I established Chromia, I wrote to him under official capacity. I didn't mention my name, just requested a meeting to purchase some gunpowder and discuss an alliance." He found a rag and wiped at the dye stains on his hands, knowing it was a futile effort. "He didn't recognize me. He doesn't know who I am. And no, I'm not going to tell him," he said, cutting off the next sentence he knew was about to come from his friend.

"You are the worst at communicating your feelings," said Sausage. "It's not healthy! You need to talk to him. It'll probably suck, but once you apologize and talk it out - "

"I can't," said Scott softly. "What do I even say? 'Hi Jimmy. Remember that time my fear of imprisonment was stronger than my love for you and I walked away after breaking your heart? So sorry about that. Let's get dinner sometime.'" He shook his head, and began putting away the dye-making supplies they'd been using.

"I mean, I'd say it with a little more sincerity than that, but - "

"No." Scott's voice was firmer this time. "He'll hate me. And he has every right, but I can't bear to face that. Ever since we met again, I've only loved him more every day." His voice wavered again. "I'd rather live in this purgatory of getting to see him and never be close, than the hell that would be never seeing him at all."

"This isn't sustainable," said Sausage quietly, putting away the last pestle and stepping back to let Scott lock the cabinet.

"Maybe not," admitted Scott. "But I'm no stranger to walking a tightrope for as long as I can, even if I fall in the end. I want him to be happy, Sausage, and he won't find that with me."

He walked over to the window and leaned out to pull it shut, startling the cat into jumping down. He looked down the path after it, then down at the ground to see a figure sitting under the window with his back against the wall. The eavesdropper looked up at him with a wide-eyed guilty look, startled at being caught.

"...Jimmy?"

series masterpost

#file: storm writes things #farmboy au #empiresshipping #flower husbands #esmp fanfic #this goes under non-canon for now but we'll see how the plot develops

61 notes · View notes

tisiphonewolfe · 3 months

Text

Where do you live in The Tectomancy Saga?

Pick what sounds nicest from the options below to find out which major settlement you live in from the world of The Tectomancy Saga!

Locations and descriptions unveiled below the cut!

1. Leirsham

You live in the ringed city of Leirsham, the human capital. It's built into a hilly island, raised out of Lake Simul a millenia ago by King Artol Tectus. The city falls in tiers, rings around the island divided by walls; The docks and storehouses; the merchants' district; the residential area; the academics district; the upper city, and the palace. As a hub of human trade and travel across the gigantic lake, it's always bustling!

2. The Genom University

The Genomic people take 'university city' very seriously. The entire city is a university filled with lecture halls and libraries and laboratories, where Genemos study hoping to attain their people's divine magic through rigorous scientific research. Its central feature is the archive, a library where all of Genomic history is stored - through the power of conjuration, this is quite literal. It is said that entire historic buildings can be summoned from the archive.

3. Ipurrol

Ipurrol lies in Versewelt, near the edge of the world. It was cut off from the rest of human civilisation 400 years ago, when a plague swept the land, turning its victims into various forms of bloodthirsty ghoul. Those who remain have learned to live with their condition and keep living on, rebuilding their community together. The Vismoores are the local nobles, who live alone in the castle that looms over the village - even among oddities, those two are odd.

4. Athyran

You live in the Alvian city of Athyran. On its surface, surrounded by desert, its grand architecture dazzles tourists, and baffles them by appearing to be abandoned; most of the city resides below the surface in cool caves, hidden by an illusion. The buildings extend below the earth, making it a forest of towers among glowing formations of crystals. Their cuisine is quite mushroom-heavy. This city represents the centre of the 'pattern' which Alvians bury their dead in across their lands.

5. North's Edge

North of human lands, in arctic tundra, wintery wastes, and snow-covered rocky mountains, the Droichs live in peaceful alliance with Dragons. The Dragons fled from humanity, their former allies, 900 years ago, and formed a partnership with Droichs. The Droichs mine to maintain the dragon's scales and hides with metal and stone; the Dragons serve as defence and transportation for the Droichs. They make their home nestled into a cave-pocked ravine, where Dragons and their Droichish riders gather around the fire together.

6. Hell

The Demonic city of Hell is far below the suface, near the very axis of the world. Its sloping side is marred with holes like a honeycomb, through which the swirling blue mists of the edge of the world creep. Lit by glowing plants and lava flows, the city is built into the rock like a warren, with only gothic spires and roofs peeking out above the ground. Due to the Demonic magic of enchantment, you have to be very careful who you talk to and what you say. Demons though, have this down to a fine art, and natter endlessly to each other.

7. The Hollow

Formally 'Colossus' Hollow', because it looks like a giant kicked a huge hole in a hill and people built a city there. Sat on the border between human lands and Alvian ones, and with a clear view to the Arboric Ocean, just about anyone and everyone could turn up there. With nobody quite able to lay a claim to its leadership, it is more-or-less ruled by an organised crime gang known as 'The Robes'. Their own operations take place in other cities, but their rules for everyone else just say "If you fuck this place up for everyone else, we're coming for your head."

8. Gorzlun Kudh

One of the largest Orken communities; its name means 'Risen City'. Made almost entirely of drenchwood, a form of moisture-resistant wood, it rises out of a great swamp on thick stilts. It is home to the Oracles, wizened Orken elders who have practised the art of future-sight for centuries. It is also home to the battle-mothers, and their endless raiding gangs of battle-sisters. Most older Orkus remember a time when it was not like this. They farmed, they relaxed, they made things with their hands, and they helped their neighbours. Maybe one day it'll be like that again.

#writeblr #the tectomancy saga #writing #bbs&b #mwc&c #made with crown and claw #writing fantasy #writers of tumblr #writeblr poll

9 notes · View notes

eorzeanflowers · 5 months

Text

The Archeologist's Journey

Oh... Where to begin. Ah, well. I guess the beginning...

Created as a Allagan Weapon, something hidden in plain sight. Something that couldn't die.. Well, not outright. He was a second generation model, of which there were seven of us. He wasn't the Archeologist yet, he was much to young and childish! I don't fault him for being like that. He hadn't lived more than the sheltered life the scientists gave him.

The Soldier always scoffed at the young in's. He was the last first generation model, one that the scientists keep trying to fix. The war with Merycidia was in full swing, and all of the espionage models were about to be deployed... At least I think we were? He got shoved into a storage cache by the Soldier. The Soldier said he'd be back with the others... Well... They never did show up.

I guess the cache got forgotten, since no one found the first me. No scientist, not a single one of my siblings. I pieced together why, later. The Dalamud project had gone live, and destroyed the empire. Not necessarily a bad thing, but... Well, its not my place to judge.

He restored power to the door after months of moping and using up the supplies. The yellow haze that was the sky that greeted me was unexpected. Azys Lla was fully detached... He got so dizzy looking at the clouds that he, well, fell off.

And that was my first death.

Falling was exhilarating. The crunch of the ground... Not so much. I woke up minutes, hours, days... I'm still not sure. The self I became after was strong, righteous. So he went searching for civilization. He found an old army storehouse, and gathered a set of armor and a blade.

He decided to act on the silly ideas my siblings and I had promised each other after we were done fighting. I was... to become an Archeologist. Bit silly now, but... a name is a name. My second self figured he needed some sort of a name for when he found people.

He wandered the land, protecting those in need, helping others with their problems. He was a remnant of the old Allag to the villages I encountered, but a welcome sight. His prowess with the blade saved many a people. But not every monster can be bested alone.

And that was my second death.

The self I became after, well, she was cautious. She turned to the summoner's art, something easier to disguise. She became a sort of recluse, living alone for a very long time... So long, that astral era passed her by with nary a hint of her involvement.

The Age of Endless Frost brought her out of hiding. She made her way to settlements to assist in keeping themselves warm. She, while cautious, still had a warm and giving heart that hadn't frozen over in her solitude.

She was right to be cautious however. There was a faction that opposed her efforts to be a light to everyone regardless of allegiance. They sabotaged themselves to get her back and stabbed her in the back. She didn't even register the pain, that is how surgical this assassination was.

And that was my third death.

Waking up in a hastily dug grave, my fourth self was angry. She broke free of her prison and went to the nearby settlements. With her knowledge and charisma, she bent them to her ear. Forging herself new armor and a massive blade, she went to become the darkest of my selves. I understand her actions... But I wish they hadn't come to be.

She went and conquered those that had murdered her. Then she conquered their allies. Her bloodlust and anger still not sated, she conquered the entire continent. Ruling with an iron fist and a deep anger, my fourth self became a tyrant.

Thankfully, her rule was short lived. Magick was created, and the fledgling nations of Amdapor and Mhach defeated her, destroying her with their destructive magicks.

And that was my fourth death.

My fifth self regretted the actions of her predecessor. She vowed to never directly influence history as my fourth self did. She knew that her immense knowledge and aether stores would make for another tyrant in the Age of the Magi. So she settled herself into an apprentice position to who would become a great archmage of Mhach.

A bit of a prankster, this self was a joy to be. Freely sharing her knowledge to those that asked, she was a delight to all who knew her. That did not stop her for fighting for her new homeland, but she did so with a great sadness in her soul. She accidentally let slip how Allag summoned voidsent to the wrong person and Mhach started down a dark path.

She thought nothing of it for years, her master becoming a the greatest voidmage of her generation. The War of the Magi that started, sat as a vile taste in her mouth. She worked with her master, following orders, but always showing mercy when she could. She was reprimanded many a time, but that did not stop my idealistic self.

A grand summoning occurred, and she was imprisoned alongside her master. When the flooding began, my fifth self and her master forged the Void Ark, a place of refuge. Unfortunately, the voidsent queen broke her bonds and she sacrificed that life with her master and all the other voidmages to keep her sealed.

And that was my fifth death.

Upon my next self awakening, she teleported back to the world below, leaving the sad memories of Mhach behind with that ship. She became a wanderer, an explorer. She became very worthy of the Archeologist name. Far more than I have been doing. But I feel the help I have done for people is worth just a little bit more... Just a little bit.

My sixth self's life was not very grand. But it was full. She lived solely in the past, exploring old ruins, and gathering like minded souls. She was very beloved for the centuries she keep popping up in. Her end was quiet. On an exploratory dig in the wilds of Othard, a cave in crashed around her as her allies watched in horror. A rock split her head open and she was laid to rest under many fulms of rubble.

And that was my sixth death.

That brings us to me! I'm a bit old now, been this face for the longest of any of my lives. I chose to live in the here and now, not bound by anything my past selves did. Well, I guess you could say I'm just continuing my previous self's lust for adventure. But I am going about it in a different manner. She was very solitary, gathering small groups of dedicated allies.

I just enjoy meeting new people and going on grand adventures with them. I know I can't stay long... Being centuries old does make things a little bit difficult when you barely age, even among Viera standards. But I've met so many interesting souls, and loved more. This realm is full of interesting people and I want to meet as many as I can! I do meddle in current affairs a bit more than before now. I can't help it! I want to keep people safe as best as I can.

For this world is a beautiful place, and I won't rest as long as I can keep protecting it and its people. After this many centuries of living, its the best I can do.

#the azalea #the azalea's past selves #I've been meaning to get this out for a very VERY long time #Hope it was an interesting read. ^.^

14 notes · View notes