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monsoonblooms12 · 3 years

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Belamour (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Set after Book 3, Pooja finally gets Ethan to dance in the rain.

A/N: A silly something born out of my love for rains and my binge listening to 80s Bollywood classics (I have no idea what kinda mess this is tbh). Also, my first song based fic🤎

A/N 2: The song lyrics are indented (Translation in parenthesis)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Rating: General

Word Count: around 1.5K

Category: Total fluff

Warnings: None that I noticed

Song Inspiration: Aaj Kal Yaad Kuch by Mohammed Aziz

READ ON AO3

A pair of summery blue orbs insistently stare at the world beyond the glass windows.

A world that was now being washed by the consistent droplets that came down from the adobe of clouds to meet their origin.

Their drum was usually henotic, tranquil for him.

But at the moment, it only added to his irritation and deepened the void of disappointment that had formed in his chest.

In another room of the same house, a pair of amber orbs watched the magic of nature with a child-like wonder.

The pleasant, dewy petrichor spread around her, and the mellifluous tunes of Earth's own orchestra made her forget the fast turns her life went through in the past day.

In the faint light, she picked up her hand and let the jewel, the stone that was nothing less than a promise of forever, shine like the billion stars that dot the sky at nights that are devoid of clouds.

As the iridescent lights make her eyes sparkle, a vague idea forms in her brain.

Her thoughts float to reach the person who gifted her happiness, and a smile lit up on her face.

There was a mix of challenge and love in the quest she was about to partake and she was determined to succeed.

In slow, soundless steps, she made her way out of the room and out of the house.

A blur went past and his trained eyes were quick enough to catch the motion.

Shaking his head with realization, he followed behind.

As the steps took him down, and he stood under the shade of the multi-floored skyrise, she stayed yards away from it.

Her hair was wet, her skirt twirling, her face bright and beautiful.

He felt his heart race, whispering an urge to join with hers.

He restrained himself, but the scene in front of him was so spectacular that he doubted just how long his restraint would last.

After what felt like an eternity, she turned to him, half of her face golden under the street lights, the other half bearing the monotones of black and white.

She looked like the personification of their love.

Her life the golden, and his the black and white.

He could write sonnets to describe the picture-perfect scene that played before him like a film, but all he did was stand still, unable to tear his eyes away, unable to speak the words that hadn't already been spoken, his well-thumbed thesaurus gathering dust in the labyrinths of his mind.

She looked at him with a longing, a spoken call for him to join her as the rains continued to fall and purify the earth.

All he did was shake his head in silence.

She took it as a challenge, and he already knew how it was going to end.

For a minute he got lost in her memories, reminiscences from a time, from a moment that passed too quick, yet slow enough for him to remember every moment of it.

And suddenly, the faint tunes of a song brought him back to the present.

Every word of the foreign seeming language lucid clear, setting in a cascade of emotions and bringing pictures etched in past pages of the novel of life, making him go on a trip down the memory lane.

Aajkal Yad Kuch Aur Rehta Nahi

(Nowadays I don't seem to remember anything else)

Ek Bas Aapki Yad Aane Ke Bad

(Once your memories enchant me)

Yaad Aane Se Pehle Chale Aaiye

(Please come to me before the memories reach me)

Aur Phir Jaiye Jan Jane Ke Bad

(And then leave only after my breath leaves me)

The truth of the words came with an epiphany.

Every day of knowing her had been a way of painting the monotones of his life in colours he thought didn't belong to him.

Every moment she had ever spent away from him had made him yearn for her more than ever.

And yet he was foolish enough to think that miles of distance and hundreds of hours could make him forget her.

All the distress he felt could have been so easily ended if she had been with him then.

And now, as he dreams of an aeon with her, he promises to only let her go when his breath leaves him alone.

Apni Aankhon Me Mujhko Basa Lijiye

(Allow me to settle in the world of your eyes)

Apne Dil Me Mera Ghar Bana Dijiye

(Make a home for me in your heart)

Kya Karu Dil Kahi Aur Lagta Nahi

Pyar Me Aapse Dil Lagane Ke Bad

(What's the fault of mine if I can't concentrate on anything other than you, since our hearts connected by the string of love)

As the minutes pass by, melting into each other to form an hour, he loses all tracks of time.

And amidst the sweven he was living in right now, at a moment he could not pinpoint, she had taken his hand into hers and now he stood, lost in the amber of her eyes, forgetting all about the shower that now fell upon him.

As she continued to mutter the tunes in a harmony that went on in rhythm with the rain, he wished he could live in the world of her orbs.

To see the world as she saw it, to live the life from her perspective.

All he wanted was home in her heart, a tiny place on the lands of her soul.

Ishq Ke Maine Kitne Fasane Sune

(I have heard many tales of epic romances)

Husb Ke Kitne Kisse Purane Sune

(And stories about beautiful people from bygone eras)

Aisa Lagta Hai Phir Is Tarah Tut Kar

Pyar Hamne Kiya Ek Zamane Ke Bad

(But I feel I have been broken and got mended by love after centuries)

In muted harmonies, the two of them twirled, forgetting the world around them.

The way their eyes held onto each other, as if holding onto their lives, reminded him of the tales of love the folklores talk about.

The romances of princesses and maidens, and of beauties who earned their fairytale.

But as her palm stroked his cheek in a feather-light motion, he concluded that all those tales faint in front of the story of theirs.

There were no royals, no cruel witches setting up spells and no poisoned apples.

There were just two people, broken by the storms life made them navigate through, fitting perfectly as if parts of a whole.

He tried to remember if he had ever experienced anything as he did now, his lip tracing her ear as his hands wrapped around her waist.

It didn't even take him a second to know the answer.

He hadn't.

Aapka Naam Dil Se Nikalta Nahi

(Your name never leaves my heart)

Dillagi Me Koi Zor Chalta Nahi

(No force is strong enough to stop the meet of two hearts)

Aapko Bhul Jane Ki Koshish Bhi Ki

(I tried a hundred times to forget you)

Aur Tadpa Hun Main Bhool Jaane Ke Baad

(And suffered a suffering of pain and agony once I forgot you)

The rains accelerate and become a downpour. The mist envelops them but there was no care for the changing environment.

The distance between them ceases to exist as their hearts finally get the pleasure of beating in unison.

In the next moments, she whispers close to his ear, the last of the melody, and it's his story.

The story of how he couldn't get rid of the five-lettered name since the first time he ever came to know about it.

Of how no force in the world could stop two hearts from meeting if that's what destiny had in plan for them.

Who one loves and who loves them back determines so much in one life.

And for him, it was a chance, a risk he was scared to take, dreading the destruction it may cause.

After all when had anything ever-blossoming flowers in the city of his soul?

But this time not only did spring finally arrived with its flowery footsteps but also led to a discovery of himself, a part of him that was buried under layers of snow from the winter that reigned in his life for years.

She taps twice on his heart, indicating how he had tried to forget her, all those years ago. And how he broke himself in the process.

As she hummed the last lines, he bowed down in front of the forces that brought the two of them together.

He thanked the stars which aligned the way did to let him fall for her and agreed to hide, to let the rains fall, to let him have this night with her.

And looked in awe at the woman who brought about the sweetest catastrophe mankind has ever known.

And without uttering a word, he picks her and kisses her, saying all that was left unsaid with it.

PS: I actually have another version of the song, that I sung specifically to go with this, but Tumblr is giving me troubles to upload it. Do let me know if you would like to hear it someday.

Anyways, If you are reading this, I am very grateful for you. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day🤎

Tags🤎(Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed):

Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @izzyourresidentlawyer @phoenixrising308 @adiehardfan @quixoticdreamer16 @a-crepusculo @cordonianruby @gryffindordaughterofathena

Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010 @headoverheelsforramsey @estellaelysian @shanzay44

Ethan x Pooja: @aleynareads @choicesaddict5 @stygianflood @mysticaurathings @jamespotterthefirst @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey @takemyopenheart @mm2305

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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thanekrios · 3 years

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A desert of his own

Summary: Shepard dreams of a dead planet. Irikah tells Kolyat a myth of creation. And Thane sees a desert.

Note: I wrote this many years ago. Posted it here when I was galifreyas, so the original post is lost. This is still up @ my much abandoned AO3.

Let us start with a planet that has been dead for centuries. Let us tell some fictions and some realities about it. It is up to you to believe which ones are true.

What about a woman who dreams of the deserts of Rakhana? Deserts carpeted with purple weeds that are inhabited by silvery lizards she has named the afa’el. In her dreams, the afa’el sing – no, that’s not what they do, the old melodies once sung by burning stars echo in them. Sometimes it sounds like they are humming and others, they appear to be reproducing three songs at once. She watches the ira, cactus-like succulents, glowing in announcement of the dawn of a new season as the cavernous voices of an ancient creature or a sinking sun make their way across the planet, from afa’el to afa’el and finally they reach her. She hears and understands their wordless mellow stories.

They tell her of the Endu, the biggest flower to ever exist in any world, which according to legend had bloomed in an unforgiving desert and was encountered by a group of nomads who sought it as a symbol of Arashu and built the biggest civilization around it.

She learns of how Rakhana came to be. How it was once a frozen egg, drifting away in the Sea of Stars, and how a maiden made of gold nourished it back to life.

The woman, whose name is Shepard, visits the great desert of Alasere religiously. She enjoys standing there, sinking her feet in a golden ocean, listening to the afa’el murmur words in Rakhani long forgotten.

She learns of fihanda, which roughly translates to the guilt a child feels when they recognize dishonesty in their parents or in an older authority figure. There is amuefto, the gift of finding beauty in a person and seeing it reflected in their faces, regardless of their looks. Taverena, an expression of gratitude only used when someone has made a true impact one’s life, making it out of the ordinary. And then, tah-sehe.

“I will miss you, Shepard. Tah-sehe,” had been the last thing she heard from Thane’s lips before he left the Normandy. For a while, she whispered tah-sehe to herself while embracing the mundane. It would fill the room in the form of a silly melody muttered while she watched the rain pour; or as a gurgling sound while she took a shower. It was imprinted on her mind. It isn’t until the afa’el sing morosely about the last chapter in their planet’s history, that she discovers tah-sehe is not a word to be said lightly.

She comes to understand why Thane, who turns the simplest of sentences into splendid verses, had felt it necessary to utter that word – because I will miss you was but a fragment of what he wished to convey. Tah-sehe meant more than to miss someone; it was a profound emotional state of infinite yearning, of not being able to experience life to the fullest, of having lost the most significant part of oneself. The concept originated during the great exodus of the 1980s, as the first generations of drell settled in Kahje carried the name of the tah’sehen, the ones who dwell in what’s lost.

It didn’t matter whether those were dreams weaved by longing. Tah’sehe migrated from her head to her heart.

During the days, as the Vancouver rain attempts to wash away her dreams, she convinces herself that if she can capture at least a fraction of the beauty of the deserts she wanders in and if she can translate it into a form, any form, the dormant planet of Rakhana will be awaken.

For a while, Shepard considers writing about every beast, plant and insect she has come across in her journeys but she has never been one to confuse her desires with her abilities. Writing, just like dancing, does not come naturally to her. And while she is a gifted saxophone player, she was never much of a composer. Yet, she tries.

Thane had caught her once practicing one of her unpolished pieces, one she referred to as “if calluses were a song, this would be it.” He had asked her to play it for him. She knew he’d listen, he’d truly listen, and not just that…he’d remember.

“Ugliness is abundant in this galaxy. Let’s not add up to it.” She said, putting down her sax.

“When you play, I hear a reminder of beauty and laughter and life. What you do is extraordinary, siha. To transform the dreadful slices of the universe, its eruptions and its vast darkness into a stream of ecstatic sounds, a blast of playful rhythms. You create things when there is but destruction around you. There is value in that. I hope you see it someday.”

Encouraged by his words, she composes a few songs that don’t come to even faintly remind her of the fierce and dry winds scattered across the planet. She can’t feel its vibrant colors in her slow and melancholic tunes, as they are permeated by the city she sees through her window and a sky that won’t stop weeping.

That is when she starts making terrariums resembling the deserts she visits. She thinks, if she is ever lucky enough to see Thane again, she’ll hand him a desert of his own. She can still hear him:

“I would much like to see a desert.”

* * *

After Kolyat leaves Huerta Memorial, so does Thane. He sees him walk away in a pristine white hallway and at the same time, a young Kolyat attempts to step on his father’s footprints. He can smell salt and iron and antiseptics and detergent, and hear machines beeping and waves crashing. Kolyat is saying something, he wants to be heard, but what might have been the most important words ever spoken are drowned by the roaring of the sea. He just stares at him and waits for his father to react and after a pause, disappointment is written all over his face. Thane asks him to hurry up and a young Kolyat walks reluctantly towards him, this time ignoring the trail of footprints left by his father.

He wishes his recollections were malleable, he often hears of humans enriching their past with fictions; or of conflicts among them springing from a poor recollection of events. But a drell’s memories are unforgiving –they can, on occasion, overlap with reality–but never be rewritten.

His mind takes him to that same evening, after Kolyat asked him to dance with him but he refused, as he was getting ready to go to work. He doesn’t see blighted hope but despondency in his child. Kolyat still wishes him a pleasant journey, as he always does, and runs to his room. He should have kissed his forehead. He should have made him feel like he was the brightest sun in the Zahel Sea cluster, the most vital spring of energy in his life.

As he is lacing up his shoes, he hears Irikah’s voice. Whenever she puts Kolyat to bed, her voice is soft and gentle. Like most nights, she is telling him a story. Irikah was always the better storyteller. Irikah was always the better everything.

“Now as everybody knows, the Land of Whistling Dunes was the child of a maiden made of gold, whose heart’s one desire was to drink from the Sea of Stars” says Irikah.

“The Milky Way” Kolyat mouths the words as his mother speaks them.

Irikah nods gently before continuing her story:

“The maiden, who shoned in silence in the skies, knew her womb was barren for a blazing flame lived inside of her. She watched the ages pass and her younger sisters descend to the Sea and drink from its starry tides; and one by one, they all bore and gave birth to the Sea’s children. And as eons passed, the children danced around their mothers; and the mothers swayed gently in the Sea.

The maiden, lonely and scorching, continued to long for the Sea’s kiss, until the day all eyes turned to the death of her older sister, whose cries of pain were carried by the waves, scattering them across the galaxy. And with her passing, her children came to perish too. It was then the maiden dove into the Sea of Stars and gulped its darkness greedily, for she desired children of her own.

The waves whipped her mercilessly as punishment for her insolence, tearing her flesh open. But the maiden didn’t yield; she drank until no more fire dripped from her mouth, she drank until the tides had dragged her sisters and nieces and she had swallowed them whole, she drank until the radiant sea was almost pitch-black.”

Irikah pauses. Something is happening.

Thane hears a gasp that doesn’t fit in their house, it doesn’t belong in the past. A horrified gasp. He recognizes the padding of shoe soles brushing against the floor and the sharp rhythmic piercing sounds of heels. There are many of them. Nurses, patients, visitors, doctors. They’re gathering near him. A man raises his voice, demanding everyone to be quiet. Another voice protests, only to be followed by Doctor Michel shushing the crowd and asking someone to turn down their hand terminal’s sound, so everyone can listen to the same thing.

Then, Irikah’s narration comes to him in long, heavy echoes.

He wants to be home as much as he wants to discover what is happening around his body. He can feel reality piercing its way through, the white pristine light of Huerta Memorial filtering through a crack in the wall he always meant to fix. Another voice slides in, distant and resonant, and he can’t make out what it says. He ignores it. He needs to hear the end of Irikah’s tale. That memory must remain unspoiled, uninterrupted. It’s the last story he ever hears her tell.

He hangs onto it; everything else must wait just a little longer.

“The Sea, heartbroken after witnessing the death of so many of his kin, felt conflicted as he desired retribution but didn’t wish to feel emptiness any further. He then presented the maiden with a choice: he would spare her life if she looked after an egg that had lost its guardian centuries ago; and if she was able to give life to a daughter who existed suspended in a shell of ice and yearned to see the light, her crimes would be forgiven. As the maiden accepted his offer, the pale egg rose up out of the sea. She held it tight, keeping it warm until the day it hatched and came to love it. And so, a winged silvery lizard was born. Her name was Rakhana.”

“Reports are coming in from the cities of London, Seoul and Vancouv—“

She is almost done. Let her finish.

“It’s said that Rakhana’s mother could not stand her daughter flying far away from her, for she was terrified that her only companion would abandon her. So Rakhana, who very much loved her mother and wished to make her proud, danced near her despite the sultriness she felt around her. Eventually, her entire body blushed with red desert flowers and her skin blistered and turned hot and dry. The lizard curled up and fell into a deep slumber as her skin turned to soil; and her breath became wind; and from her backbone a mountain range was born; and while she gave life to many, she failed to save them from the maiden’s fire. And so, Rakhana’s body continued dancing around her mother and her mother swayed gen...”

He sees a large group of people gathered a few feet away from where he is sitting. It takes him a moment to put together the pieces of the situation, of what it is being broadcasted through every terminal, of why Doctor Michel is shaking while she buries her face in her hands.

A myth of creation is replaced by news of destruction.

* * *

Thane always enjoyed looking at her fish. Once more, he sees them travel with glee from one side of the tank to the other. He used to feed them whenever she forgot, which was more often than she would care to admit. Half a lifetime ago.

He presses one of his fingertips against the fish tank’s glass and draws small invisible circles. A Thessian Sunfish follows his finger, even when he begins to trace unpredictable shapes. Shepard can’t see his face but she likes to think he’s grinning, greeting his old friends.

From all the stories and words that spun inside her head, tah-sehe is the only one she has felt pounding violently inside her. She wonders, even if she doesn’t know its true meaning, if perhaps there’s a word that encases an opposite feeling, the sensation of her chest being cluttered with emotions; and the impulse she is struggling to oppress, of talking about everything at once, the things she has seen and done and felt. And on the same time, she doesn’t want to talk at all, she wants to reach out and touch and caress and experience.

So, she asks.

“Is there a word in Rakhani for…this? Say…what you feel when you are reunited with someone? Like you with the fish right now.”

Thane turns around slowly; his hands are behind his back. The hint of a smile turns the corners of his mouth.

“I believe the closest word is sehifa. Even though I wouldn’t use it to describe my reunion with the fish. Is there a similar word in human language?”

“I don’t know if there’s a word for it in one of the human languages, but there isn’t one in English. At least the translator didn’t find an equivalent.”

“Ah. I see. Sehifa is a hard concept to condense into a single word. Perhaps it can be defined as the dusk of missing someone. Although it means more than that. It also refers to what you feel and what you do when you are reunited. The emotional closeness that is rekindled. Perhaps even physical intimacy. The warmth you feel in your chest. And what is exchanged. A memento or a present perhaps. Even the stories that your loved one wished to tell you for a long time, when they are finally said out loud and heard by the person who was meant to hear them. How each action or touch is meaningful.”

The dusk of missing someone. That’s it. That’s what it is.

Her cheeks feel warm and her heart full. She smiles the brightest of smiles and starts to laugh. It is a deep, explosive burst of laughter. The sort that seems to pour out like liquid gold to illuminate an entire room.

When Shepard runs out of laughter, she holds his gaze:

“I have something for you. A memento or a present or something of sorts.” She disappears for a couple of seconds and emerges from the bathroom holding something round made of crystal, around the same size as a fishbowl. “Remember what you told me? About creating? It’s funny. All this time I believed all I could ever make were bad songs. But in truth, there were worlds I could create. I can’t really share them with you, not with words at least, so I made a thing. It’s not really finished and it’s not as pretty as what it looked in my dreams but reality rarely pairs up with your expectations, right? I wanted to work on it for a while longer but, after what you just said, I just can’t wait anymore. Here.”

She shakes her head and hands it to him.

Thane holds it up.

It’s a terrarium.

She had created a harmonic ecosystem, filled with lively-colored succulents and cacti, each of them she handpicked herself to resemble the desert of Alasere. She knows that Rakhana will remain arid and dormant; and the worlds that live inside of her aren’t supposed to be more than just dreams. Yet, somehow, Thane is holding a slice of one of them between his hands. One of the things he wished he could see with his own eyes has come to him. In a way, a dream they dreamt of together became real.

He puts the terrarium down with care, next to her terminal, and he reaches over and cups her cheeks with both hands. He calls her by her first name, as he rarely does. He leans down and presses his forehead against hers. He smiles a very rare smile. He is somehow doing it with his entire face. His eyes are deep pools of bliss and warmth and tenderness.

“A desert” he says. She can even hear the smile in his voice.

She nods calmly. He knows Shepard is good at locking her nostalgia away behind more curtains than just her eyelids, but right then, her voice breaks.

“I really wanted you to see that desert, Thane.”

He utters a word in Rakhani used to convey a specific form of gratitude. And while taverena escapes from his lips, Shepard hears him say:

“Thank you for giving me the extraordinary.”

#thane krios #shrios #thane x shepard #kolyat krios #irikah krios #mass effect #i wrote this 4728473 years ago and i’d change some things now after playing mele but i’m going to leave it as it is #also while i had a lot of shrios feelings when i wrote this #i just wanted to make up a few words!#long post #galifreyas writes

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foxghost · 3 years

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Joyful Reunion, Chapter 69

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 2, Chapter 16 (Part 3)

“Wait for me, Wu Du!” Duan Ling chases after Wu Du through the corridor, keeping close behind him.

“Wu—” Before Duan Ling can finish his sentence, Wu Du turns and draws his sword without any warning.

Duan Ling’s heart instantly stops beating.

He’s never seen that deliberate, calm expression on Wu Du’s face before. Wu Du’s eyes are as still as a placid lake, the tip of his sword is heading right for his throat.

Duan Ling’s words die on his tongue, fear surfacing in his eyes as a sharp pain hits his stomach — it’s an entirely subconscious response, as though his body had already built up this reflex mechanism a long, long time ago.

He wants to kill me.

No, he won’t kill me!

He …

Three successive thoughts flash across his mind in mere moments, then Wu Du’s sword flicks towards the side of Duan Ling’s neck and brushes past him by the hair. A bright metal on metal sound rings out behind his ear and Duan Ling stops breathing.

A sharp, black iron hook that has been aiming for his collar is flicked aside by Wu Du’s sword.

Wu Du wraps his left arm around Duan Ling and strikes his sword outwards again, but he doesn’t even bother to see where it’s pointing at this time. The force with which Wu Du has pulled Duan Ling towards him has Duan Ling tipping over, falling backwards.

But with a cold and detached look in his eyes, Wu Du has turned to face Duan Ling long enough to check over him, making sure that he hasn’t been injured.

With a rumble that sounds like thunder going off in his head, Duan Ling feels his heart may have stopped.

Wu Du wraps one hand around Duan Ling to make sure he’s steady on his feet, then the sword move he’s thrust towards Helan Jie’s throat earlier finally lands — Helan Jie backs away quickly, twisting the iron hook, bending Wu Du’s Lieguangjian into an arc and the two of them pull back at the same time with the inertia of their weight.

Clang — the resonant ring of weaponry striking each other sets Duan Ling’s eardrums stinging.

Helan Jie doesn’t say anything else as he scrambles forward. In two hits of his sword, Wu Du seals off the iron hook’s advance. Only now does Duan Ling realise that Helan Jie had nearly grabbed him by the collar and dragged him off. All he sees is Wu Du standing in front of him, exchanging blows with Helan Jie; with the length of the Lieguangjian giving it an overwhelming edge over the iron hook, Helan Jie is forced to back down again and again.

“Scram!” Wu Du says coldly.

With malice in his eyes, Helan Jie retreats without a word.

The fight is over in seconds, but Duan Ling is already covered in cold sweat, bloodlessly pale and hyperventilating, leaning back against a pillar in the corridor. He raises his head to look at Wu Du, his stomach hurting so much his insides feel like they’re being twisted.

Still angry, Wu Du returns his sword to the sheath hanging by his waist, the slide of metal lasting for ages, then he turns away to keep walking towards the end of the corridor. With his eyes closed, Duan Ling’s stomach hurts more with every moment, so much so that he can’t get a word out.

“Move it already!” Wu Du snaps from the other end of the corridor. " Are you waiting for me to carry you back?"

Duan Ling doesn’t even have the strength left to speak anymore, and he has no idea why he’s suddenly reacted in this way either; that very instant earlier of seeing Wu Du pull his sword on him seems to have awakened a sense of dread buried deep inside his memories.

“Lang Junxia, my stomach hurts …” He murmurs.

From where he stands Wu Du gives him a baffled glance, and realising that Duan Ling looks like he may have been poisoned, quickly comes back to put a thumb on his pulse, pushing up his eyelids to check his eyes.

“But you’re not poisoned,” Wu Du says. He gives Duan Ling a couple of pats on the cheek. “Hey, what’s the matter with you?”

Duan Ling stares sorrowfully at Wu Du.

Wu Du says, “Hey! Stop playing!”

“Wu Du, my stomach hurts …” Duan Ling says weakly.

It suddenly occurs to Wu Du that Duan Ling is probably acting like this because he’s had a fright from the way he drew his sword without warning earlier. Some people go into spasms under shock, and in this way extreme nervousness can also lead to stomach pains. Wu Du quickly picks Duan Ling up and puts him on his own back so they can get back to the room, then he picks out a bunch of medicinal herbs to decoct a bowl of strong medicine, making Duan Ling drink it all down. Once Duan Ling is back inside, his stomach starts to feel better, and as the medicine spreads to his limbs, he finally recovers.

“Feeling better?” Wu Du asks.

Duan Ling nods then, watching Wu Du, his eyes stinging with tears.

“I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Alright alright.” Wu Du doesn’t know what to say to him at all. “Helan Jie was right behind you. What else was I supposed to do?”

Duan Ling is lying on the bed on his side, and once Wu Du makes sure he’s fine, he busies himself with cleaning up. Duan Ling watches Wu Du, feeling quite complicated about everything.

“I’m sorry,” Duan Ling says.

Wu Du doesn’t speak; he quietly picks up the medicine bowl for cleaning, and suddenly gives Duan Ling a glance.

“Are you …” Wu Du is frowning slightly, but after asking the question halfway, he stops himself.

Am I what? Duan Ling’s heart begins to beat faster as he can feel that Wu Du seems to be aware of something.

Neither of them speak for a while. Wu Du stops what he’s doing and starts looking Duan Ling up and down, but Duan Ling has just had some medicine and he can barely keep his eyes open. Before Wu Du has a chance to ask, he’s already asleep. Seeing that he’s fallen asleep, Wu Du doesn’t say anything else, and soon after making sure everything’s tidied up, he climbs onto the bed and lies down next to Duan Ling.

The warm sunlight of the afternoon spills into the room. Once he’s slept for a while, Duan Ling abruptly shouts for his dad, surprising Wu Du.

“Hey.” Wu Du gives him a small shove. Duan Ling is still asleep though, and at the motion he turns over and wraps his arms tightly around Wu Du’s waist, burying his head in Wu Du’s shoulder, and holds on with surprising strength. Wu Du is used to this by now; he lies there unmoving with a rather helpless look on his face, but when he looks down at Duan Ling he gets to thinking that this young man doesn’t have it easy either. None of this has anything to do with him in the first place, and he’s only come all the way to Tongguan so he can keep Wu Du company. After their rough afternoon, all of his anger has faded away.

Wu Du reaches out to pat Duan Ling then, the way one would put a child to sleep. As though he can feel it in his dreams, his hold on Wu Du grows even tighter.

“Where did that young man in your estate who knew Yao Jing come from? He Mo wanted me to ask you,” Shang Leguan questions Bian Lingbai as he sips his milk tea.

Bian Lingbai is frankly half hassled to death by these Tangut already — they’re hands down the most troublesome guests Tongguan has ever had. One moment they want to see a bride-to-be who’s still a maiden confined to her quarters, the next they’re off to harass the young man who’s come to rely on him for shelter. He’s heard often enough that people from Xiliang are uncivilised and warlike, without any sense of shame, and now that he’s actually met some, everything he’s heard turns out to be true. They’re marrying a daughter of the Yaos but thinking about taking the boy away with them as well — honestly he can’t even imagine where these customs of theirs are coming from.

“That’s my nephew.” Bian Lingbai pauses to think for a moment. “But I wasn’t the one who assigned him that bodyguard of his. That guy has a bad temper, so please do forgive us if he’s offended you.”

Shang Leguan hums something in assent.

Bian Lingbai continues, “This kid has had a rough childhood, and he’s never enjoyed anything like luxury, and uh … if Mister He would like to show him his regard and become close to him, for him that would be a blessing, yet …”

“Money?” Helian Bo cuts to the chase with a single word.

Bian Lingbai was just pondering how he’s supposed to put a price on the kid as well; the Marquess of Huaiyin has no need of money, so when Yao Jing’s bride price arrives he just has to send some off as a token gesture to Jiangzuo. Now if they happen to take a fancy to the pretty young man Zhao Rong, that’s perfectly fine! They just have to add a bit more to the bride price, and this way he can also curry favour with the Shangs who are in power at the moment. Presumably this He Mo is someone quite important as well …

As this conversation carries on, Helian Bo and Shang Leguan exchange a look. Shang Leguan gives Helian Bo a slight nod — do as you see fit.

“His … name is?” Helian Bo is holding Duan Ling’s half a sleeve, subconsciously turning it over and over in his hands. Strips of cloth have been stuffed into his nostrils in an attempt to stop the nosebleed Wu Du gave him.

“Bian Rong,” Bian Lingbai says, “he hasn’t been given a courtesy name yet.”

Helian Bo frowns. That doesn’t seem to match what Duan Ling said to him. But since he’s already gone from a Duan to another surname, it’s not a big deal if it’s been changed one more time.

“Money.” Helian Bo re-emphasises this word to Shang Leguan.

Shang Leguan signals to Helian Bo not to say anymore, as he already understands. All at once, Bian Lingbai is over the moon — are these two Tangut about to head back to get the money ready? First it’s three hundred yi of gold, then it’s talk of “money, money”. All Bian Lingbai can hear for a while between his ears is the metallic, ringing sound of silvers being tossed to and fro.

“Um … Mister Shang.” Bian Lingbai says, “The portrait?”

Helian Bo waves a hand, and Shang Leguan repeats the gesture. Bian Lingbai understands this to mean that perhaps the Tangut hasn’t finished the portrait yet, so he doesn’t press for more details. He could never have known that Helian Bo had only said “money” because he thinks Duan Ling lacks money, and the hand waving means there won’t be any more use for that three hundred yi of gold either.

When evening comes, someone outside whispers, “Mister Bian?”

Wu Du carefully lifts Duan Ling’s paw away and comes down from the bed to get the door. He finds a Tangut man standing outside with the estate’s steward, who’s led him here.

“Mister Shang extends his invitation to you and Mister Bian for a visit.”

“No time.” Wu Du says, disinterested, having already lost the motivation for the lesson he wanted to teach these barbarians. “Mister Bian is ill.”

The man outside questions the steward in Tangut, and once the steward answers, the man hurries away. With a deep furrow between his brows Wu Du leaves the steward instructions to bring dinner to their room before sending him off.

But by the time he gets back inside, Duan Ling has already awakened. The afternoon’s incident has sapped him of all his energy, and he sits there like a wilted plant, sneaking glances at Wu Du to see if he’s still angry. Wu Du though, looks the same as always. He’s grabbed a long stick in the courtyard to practice his staff fighting with.

“Hey, Wu Du.”

“What?”

Duan Ling wants to make conversation, but he’s not sure how to begin. He racks his brain before saying out of the blue, “I miss home.”

Wu Du pauses for a beat.

It’s true Duan Ling does somewhat want to go back to Xichuan; living here is simply uncomfortable, as though nothing feels right. Even if there’s a Lang Junxia in Xichuan who wants to kill him, Wu Du’s courtyard house in the chancellor’s estate compound just feels more familiar.

“Then let’s finish up here as soon as possible so we can leave,” Wu Du replies.

Duan Ling scrutinises the look on Wu Du’s face but can’t tell what he’s thinking. “When?”

Wu Du finishes practising, bringing the staff to his side. “I’ll go tonight.”

“Then …” Duan Ling is about to say something, but holds his tongue.

Wu Du puts the stick away and something occurs to him — should he take advantage of the night to steal Bian Lingbai’s secrets? But then what about Duan Ling?

“Should I go with you?” Duan Ling asks.

If Wu Du leaves Duan Ling in the house, what’s he supposed to do if Helan Jie shows up later?

“What does Helan Jie have against me?” Duan Ling asks, baffled. “I never did anything to provoke him.”

“The sight of you offends him.” Wu Du says impatiently, “He wants to get revenge on me, therefore he wants to hurt you.”

“Oh …” Duan Ling nods.

In the midst of their conversation a bunch of Tangut shows up at the door again. Alarms go off in Duan Ling’s heart, oh no, what is Helian Bo trying to do now?! He’d better not come in here yelling “Duan Ling Duan Ling” because then everything is over for him. When Duan Ling woke up earlier he came up with another flaw-ridden story to give Wu Du in case he notices anything — wasn’t he and his father under Tongguan purchasing medicinal ingredients? He’ll just say Xiliang’s Tangut prince had been captured by bandits as well, and somehow in a twist of fate he saved the prince.

Worst comes to worst, he’ll just stop Helian Bo from talking by speaking Tangut to him as soon as he shows up. At any rate, Helian Bo stammers, so no matter what Duan Ling says he’s just going to nod. Even if Wu Du gets suspicious he won’t be able to get anything out of him.

And yet Helian Bo hasn’t shown up, but the Tangut are here to bring two lunch boxes full of food, then there’s two big hunks of lapis lazuli, a platter of gold bars, ten sheets of deerskin, two sticks of young deer antlers, and lastly the messenger presents him a goose feathered hat.

Wu Du is speechless.

Duan Ling is even more speechless.

Duan Ling tells the Tangut messenger, “Bring it all back! I don’t need any of it!”

The Tangut man says to Duan Ling, “His Highness prepared this for you. Please accept it — it represents his friendship with you.”

“You can speak Tangut?!” Wu Du asks incredulously.

Duan Ling stares at him blankly for a moment.

“I’ve been … to Xiliang.” Duan Ling can only lie to Wu Du with the set of lies he came up with earlier. “Since we had to buy things in the market, I learned a bit. ‘Sure’ is ‘qiji’, ‘thank you’ is ‘tuji’. Wasn’t I singing in the afternoon earlier as well?”

Wu Du is skeptical, but he’s already completely befuddled.

The Tangut messenger says to Duan Ling, “His Highness says he’ll wait for you outside his courtyard house at midnight.”

He leaves as soon as he finishes saying this. Duan Ling picks up the goose feather hat and finds a dyed-blue tail feather of a bar-headed goose sticking out of its top.

“What was that last thing he said?” Wu Du asks.

“I didn’t understand him.” Duan Ling quickly plays dumb.

Wu Du walks outside and beckons at the Tangut messenger. “Come on, come on, come back over here, don’t just say something and leave. What did you mean by that?”

The man must have been given prior instructions by Helian Bo, and immediately runs off without a trace.

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

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howler518 · 3 years

Text

FAYE x KRATOS CH 14: THE ENDLESS

PREVIEW:

"Sto kalo, sto kalo...kala nea na me feris," Kratos murmured. Nevermind that he was praying, more he was thinking about the souls of the lost. Would they still hear him so very far from home?

"What's that you said?" There was the familiar bite of suspicion in Faye's tone. "Just now, to the ravens. What did you say?"

Kratos shifted to her, but not before looking back at the sky one last time. It was too late - the ravens had all flown away. He released a long breath and wondered if his beloved's still waited for him at the banks of the River Lethe before their final crossing into the afterlife. Before they forgot him completely.

"Fly and bring back good news," Kratos translated. Faye did not sheath her dagger.

"Why do you bid the ravens to bring you news?"

Kratos noticed her grip tighten on the weapon and she maintained her distance from him. He shook his head, not in the mood to entertain interrogations with the hunter.

FAYE

BEFORE

Salka informed the Jotuns of the entrances to the Undir that had been hidden across Midgard. Immense caverns that turned into narrow, submerged cave-systems and passageways that stretched for endless distances. Odin had designed the labyrinth for the worst of his enemies and the most heinous criminals so that they would spend eternities wandering the unknown.

That was until Rán birthed her daughters there in the ocean beneath the world. It changed them. Molded them into twisted, cursed shapes. When young giants come of age in Jotunnheim, they could choose which shape they may take - be they human or beast. These daughters had no choice in the shapes they took. The Undir decided for them while they were still in the womb. In their different bodies they were able to withstand its crushing pressures and swim through its rushing currents. With their changed eyes they were able to navigate their way through the impenetrable depths. And with the stolen knowledge they inherited from their mother, the daughters of Rán eventually freed themselves from their imprisonment and claimed dominion over the seas of Midgard.

Seafarers attributed many names to the monstrous creatures. The Drowned Exiles. The Nine Maidens. Wave Daughters. Keepers of Hidden Treasures. These were tales told to Jotun children to fill their imaginations with lost hoards of glittering riches or feed their nightmares with toothy creatures with snapping, hungry jaws. The naughtiest children were threatened with watery punishments, others learned to be wary of what lurked below.

Salka led the Jotuns to a steep mountainside, where a horrible gash had been made in the snowy crag. The wide mouth of the cave yawned open. Hana inspected the massive, monolith at the entrance. She ran her slender fingers along the weathered surface of the stone carvings. The details had been washed smooth by time and the elements. Her brow scrunched together as she made out the inscription.

"Well?" Yrsa stood close behind with her hands resting at the head of her warhammer, grey eye scanning the shadows inside. Frode had his back to the cave, poised against the forest behind them with his sword and shield drawn. Barren, crumbling earth shifted beneath the Jotun's steps. They could all sense it. The unnatural magic that created the Undir was hewn from raw, primordial chaos. Corrupted. It hung in the air with a low, unyielding thrum that set them all with unease. Like the beat of a ravenous, hateful heart.

Faye stood even further from her companions. She swayed slightly with the dizzying tumult of desecrated magic. Her teeth were clenched so hard it made her jaw ached. The others had barely spoken to her through their trek to the mountainside and they kept their distance. Faye's only company had been the Aesir. It was an acute irony that not even her own kind would have her.

Faye wrung the chain between her hands as she watched Hana translate the ancient words carved into the monolith's surface.

"Yfirgefðu vonina, þér sem hingað komið," Hana said and turned back to face the others. Her serene features were marred with dread.

Abandon hope, ye who enter here.

The utterance of such an execration sent a wave of apprehension over the Jotuns.

"Well," Yrsa said, hefting her warhammer over her shoulder, "This is the right place."

"No kidding," Frode muttered. Faye shifted, the feel of this place left a sour taste in her mouth and a nauseous grip in her stomach.

"Do you know what we will face once inside?" she asked Salka. Unlike the Jotuns, the Aesir stood in reverent awe of the structure. Faye could tell the archivist's ruined hands itched for charcoal and parchment to document this trove of knowledge. She shook her head.

"Only those cast to the depths truly know," Salka said, "We will be the first to tap its secrets."

Faye shot the Aesir a doubtful glance.

"Surely there have been others."

"Maybe so," Salka said grimly. Faye ground her teeth down with a heavy breath. If there were others, they never returned to speak of what they'd seen.

Faye turned away with a tight grimace and watched the sun dip lazily below the bleeding horizon. Time was already growing short and they couldn't spare any more of their efforts searching for another path.

The forest had grown so still with the heavy fall of snow. Animals retreated to their dens. The pines and birches were slumbering with their roots entwined with each other, holding on til the thaw of spring. Faye savored the last bits of fresh, clear mountain air. The gentle whir of the wind past her ears. The chill in her lungs with each breath. Closing her eyes, she imagined the tall peak of Jotunheim reaching up into golden skies.

"We will return," Faye said, more of a promise to herself than to the Aesir. They would retrieve Tyr and she would bring them back home. And at last, there would be hope for the dark days ahead.

I will not fail, Faye told herself. I cannot.

Faye gave the chains a gentle tug, leading them forward.

"Come," Faye urged the Aesir.

The others parted before her, offering Faye a wide berth as she made the first steps into the cave's mouth. Faye and Yrsa shared a look as they passed each other. Faye's stomach lurched, still sick with shame. She couldn't hold Yrsa's gaze for longer than a moment. She could not blame them for their coldness toward her. Not after Faye had been so willing to sacrifice them on the altar of her vengeance. How willing she'd been to pay any price for her cause. It was only right that she lead the charge.

The rest of the Jotuns filed behind Faye as they ventured inside. Their footsteps were careful and measured.

Mineral formations, like razor sharp teeth, stretched down from the ceiling and jutted up from the rocky floor. As if they were entering the belly of a great beast. Wind whipped past the entrance and elicited a low trembling moan from the throat of the cave. The Bifrost at Faye's hip provided a small glow of bluish light but it would not be enough to withstand the dark. Once inside, she fought against every natural impulse to flee. To cling to the light, to the day.

Though Salka seemed to admire the structure at first, there was a growing hesitancy as they moved in deeper and the light shrank at the imposing darkness. She slowed and looked over her shoulder, face paled in the last vestiges of light reaching into the cave's mouth.

"Shouldn't someone else lead?" she squeaked and gestured to Hana and Frode. Frode shoved her forward.

"Don't forget your place, Asgardian," he snarled. The chains rattled and their echo shattered down the cave's gullet. They all stopped and seemed to take a collective breath as they listened to the hollow, endless echo. There was a long bracing moment as echo faded into the dark.

"We ought to keep quiet," Yrsa said, "We wouldn't want to disturb our hosts."

When the light of day extinguished, Hana took Yrsa's satchel and pulled four torches from within. It was dwarven-made, making it larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. Contained within were all of the field supplies they would need for their journey to the undersea. Including the Asgardian disguises they would use once they made landing in the realm of Odin's kin.

Hana laid four cuts of wood before her with flint stones in hand.

"Edlur." Hana said, cracking the stones together and the torches roared to life. Light filled the shadows around them and penetrated the heavy miasma of discordant energy. The air cleared somewhat, breath came a little easier to their lungs.

Yrsa strode over to Faye and passed her a torch. The warm glow of the fire danced over Yrsa's stony face. The wound that claimed her eye was healing well. A slice of red stretched out from under the cloth. It cut through her eyebrow, reaching her forehead and down her sharp cheekbone. Faye gave a curt nod of thanks. She didn't trust her spiteful tongue with speech. Yrsa placed a hand on Faye's shoulder, squeezing as she leaned into Faye's ear as the others gathered themselves. Faye's heart began to gallop in her chest at the closeness. Juniper spice washed over her senses and she found herself leaning into the warmth of Yrsa's hand.

"I will be right behind you," Yrsa murmured. The low gravel of her voice anchored the unsettled tides in Faye. She swallowed hard over the growling lump in her throat. She should say something. But what words would be enough to undo the damage she'd done? There would come a time for all the things she wanted to say and do, but it wasn't here and it wasn't now. Faye gave a stiff nod and continued forward.

The passage of time faded as they continued on. There was only the impenetrable dark beyond the light of their torches. Off the main road were several small, damp corridors and tunnels spreading out into the deepness. They walked what felt like eternities measured in the steps of their feet against the gravely stone and the mixture of their breaths in the dank air. The air was thicker with every step and moisture dripped from the stone. The steady drip drip drip bounced off the walls and swirled in their heads like a spell. The oppressive weight grew heavier on their chests as they went on.

"Hold." Yrsa stopped at a heap tucked in between two jagged stalagmites. She lowered her torch.

It was a skeleton with ancient armor still clinging to its form. She squatted down and inspected it, Frode coming beside her while Hana guarded their flank.

"Fuck's sake." Frode poked at the remains with his sword. "See those little marks? There, on the skull."

Yrsa's features twisted in a grimace.

"Teeth," Hana agreed from over her shoulder.

"There's more," Faye said, lowering her torch toward the floor. Strewn across the length of the corridor was enough remains for a company of soldiers. Faye tried to count their exact number but it was hard to tell. They lied in scattered, dismembered clumps. Faye ground down against the dread pulling in her guts.

"Perhaps they went mad with hunger and took to eating each other," Salka gulped. Faye shook her head, lowering to inspect a piece of rib. Clutching it between two fingers, she brought it to the firelight.

The tiny scrapes were too small for the teeth of men.

"Rats maybe?" Salka's eyes darted around the dark corridors leading beyond, shifting uneasily from side to side.

"I'd like to see the rat that can do this to grown warriors." Frode scanned the floor. They were tightening their ranks. The quiet around them became imposing, like the deep breath before the plunge.

"There are no battle wounds upon the bones," Hana said, "They were not killed by arrows or blades."

"Look at this," Frode pulled a chest piece up into the light. It was slashed across the front, the metal and leather shorn apart. Peppered with more of those tiny scrapes. The cut was too jagged for the slice of a blade. Faye took a knee and sampled the moist earth between her fingers. She sniffed then prodded her little finger with her tongue.

"Bears?" Salka kicked a piece of a skull away from her. Faye spat with a tight grimace. Certainly not bears. The scent in the air was a sour musk foreign to Faye's knowledge of the Midgardian creatures. Even the fouler sort like wulvers and tatzelwurms.

Faye hovered her palm over the stone and recoiled. There was the faintest bit of warmth.

She shot up and saw with renewed eyes with where exactly they were standing. They had stumbled into a den, the feeding ground, for whatever lived in these caves.

"You know as well as I," Yrsa said with a side-glance down to Faye. She had a white-knuckled grip on the warhammer.

They were being hunted.

"Are we even going the right way?" Frode snapped. "The Aesir could be leading us to our deaths!"

"Keep your voice down," Yrsa hissed.

With that, Faye tugged the Aesir toward her and undid the chains binding her wrists.

"What are you doing?" Salka shot a nervous glance at the other Jotunns.

"Too noisy," Faye said, eyes scanning the dark as she lowered the chains to the floor. "She will not stray far," she reassured the others.

"Oh? And why's that?" Frode said.

"We have the light," said Faye. Still, Frode was eyeing Salka the way a gyrfalcon sized up its prey. Ready to dive at any moment, sickle-like talons drawn to rip through flesh.

Yrsa began digging in her pouch for their rations and she stuffed them into a separate satchel. Frode gave a dissatisfied sigh, knowing what Yrsa was up to.

"There is still the hardtack and forage," Hana said but it did little to soothe his disappointment. It wouldn't be as appetizing or as filling but it would have to do. Yrsa drew their jerky and salted meats from the pouch and shoved it into the satchel. She passed some to the rest of them.

"Eat it quickly," she ordered. Faye tore off a chunk of her portion and fed it to Salka.

"Shame." Frode sighed and took one last greedy mouthful of jerky.

When their rations were secured in a separate pouch, Yrsa reached up and fixed it to a low-hanging stalactite with rope.

"Should keep them off our tail for now," she said.

"Do we know what 'them' is?" Hana asked, considering the swaying bag of meats hanging from the cave ceiling.

Faye prayed to the ancestors that they'd never find out. Faye turned back toward the main path, looking to Salka. Her wrists were red and irritated from the chains, bleeding in some places.

"How much farther?" Faye asked.

Salka paled further than Faye thought possible for the wisp of a woman.

"We need to move. Now," Yrsa urged.

They were all too eager to depart that wretched section of the path. But as they moved on, Faye couldn't shake the sensation of many eyes on her. She could feel them from the offshoot tunnels and passageways, the darkened corridors leading off into the unknown. Her only comfort was that she was not alone. Hana and Frode were following close, and Yrsa was just behind her as she promised to be. Her massive stature was a shield at Faye's back. Her entire presence was like a balm to Faye's uncertainty.

They knew they were traveling deeper as the incline of the stone beneath them intensified. Beyond, there was a hushed roaring reverberating up the cave walls toward them. Then came the petrichor scent of water upon stone like a spring rain. It felt like hours until the path took a sharp curve into a thin spiraling ledge downward that circled a gushing waterfall. It's rushing waters fell into an open chasm, pouring itself down into the nothingness.

"We rest here," Yrsa declared and began pulling out supplies from the pouch. There was no protest from the others and the noise of the waterfall would mask their presence from the creatures lurking in the tunnels. From the ache in her bones, Faye guessed they'd been walking for more than a day. Faye's muscles strained with every uneven step upon the stone floor. Her body went slack with exhaustion, as did the others. They would need to preserve their strength and keep their wits about them.

Hana and Frode got a fire going while Yrsa tossed out their sleeping pallets. Frode, face drawn with fatigue, was careful not to let his hands brush Hana's as he passed her wood and kindling from the pouch. Hana was equally as cautious to not let her eyes meet his.

Faye stood at the edge of the chasm, peering over into the deep. Once they'd rested, they would delve farther into the depths of the cave. She wondered how far under the surface of Midgard they would have to go to reach the Undir. Deep enough to for the Allfather to hide an entire ocean beneath the world.

"I have seen more spine on the floor of this gods-forsaken cave than in that one," Yrsa said as she stood beside Faye. She glanced back to see Salka sagged against the wall, head lolling as she fought exhaustion.

"Hm," Faye grunted in agreement. She hugged her arms around herself, finger tapping her bicep. Say something, her insides roared. The silence stretched between them but it didn't seem to perturb the giantess. Yrsa waited patiently for the words to form in Faye's hesitant mouth. But nothing Faye thought of sounded adequate to fully encompass the depth of her regret.

"I should not have said what I did," she spoke low, voice mixing in the gush of the waterfall, "They were words spoken in haste and anger."

It wasn't enough. She knew it.

Yrsa nodded as she considered the half-apology. Faye waited for what felt like an age. Heartbeat thundering in her throat.

"You speak of sacrifice but you do not know what they gave up to come here." Yrsa said, a storm cloud gathering in her eye. "What I gave up."

"What did you sacrifice?" she asked.

Yrsa shook her head.

"All that could have been is clouded now," she said, sagely. As if she already possessed the gift of foresight to see that this plan was doomed from the start. Faye gulped. She wasn't sure if that was an acceptance of her apology or not. She tried to convince herself that it didn't matter either way. They still had a job to do whether or not they all got along. Even so, Faye longed for the comfort of Yrsa's forgiveness. That boundless rage inside her rose up again.

"You think I gave nothing for this?" Faye ground out.

Yrsa settled her heavy gaze on Faye.

"What does this mission really mean to you?" she asked. "Speak freely. It is only us."

Faye dug her teeth to the inside of her cheek and glanced back at the others. Frode and Hana were crowded around the fire, palms braced behind them. Though they didn't look at each other, Faye saw that their little fingers were laid over on others. The tiniest bit of affection that they could spare each other.

"Why are you asking me this?" Faye's chest was tight as if she was bound with ropes. Like a spider caught in its own web. A fool tangled in a mess of their own making.

Faye used her honor and sense of duty as crutches to her doubts. When she needed purpose, he gave it. When she needed direction, he showed her the path. She realized too late that she had filled all the emptiness inside her with Tyr. And when he was gone - she had nothing. There was still so much work left unfinished. There was so much more she had left to learn from him. Faye didn't know how else to carry on without his guidance.

Yrsa drew in a tense breath.

"I ask because I need something of you, Laufey."

Anything, said a small voice inside Faye. It was against every instinct that told her to be wary of giving more of herself than she could spare, wary of making promises she knew she could not keep.

"What I am about to suggest is going to be unpleasant. But I have a solution to our problem," Yrsa continued.

Faye shrugged.

"As Frode said: We have no secrets between us," she said.

"Don't we?"

Faye let loose a dry laugh. Faye knew what Yrsa was suggesting, but she couldn't be serious. It was madness. All Jotuns had but one secret. One that hundreds of thousands fought and died for and the reason for all the chaos across the realms. The thought of betraying that secret sent a dizzying shock of repulsion through Faye.

"We are running out of time," Yrsa said, "I don't see another option for us."

Faye held her head, shaking it. They were desperate, but she didn't think they were so desperate as to give up something so sacred as that. To even consider it felt like blasphemy.

"There must be," Faye hissed.

"This is what this mission has come to so remind me - what more are you willing to sacrifice to get him back?" Yrsa asked again in earnest. The storm in her eye swirled, a restrained tempest in her gaze.

"Our sacrifice will mean nothing if we trade Tyr for the pathway to Jotunheim. We'd be chopping off one hand to save the other!" She stole a glance back at the others to ensure no one would overhear Yrsa's insanity. Beyond complete insanity - it was reprehensible.

"We cannot weather this alone," Faye added.

"We are not alone." Yrsa said and Faye wanted so badly to believe her.

"Aren't we? Who will rally to our call when the Asgardians are baying at our doors?" Faye seethed and counted the ways they were well and truly fucked. "They have Mjolnir. Now the Valkyries and the forces of even Hel itself. We have no more allies, and none that are reachable now that the ways have been shut."

Yrsa was unphased by Faye's sharpness.

"We have each other. We have hope."

"Hope," Faye chuckled. She didn't think Yrsa was so naive.

It had to be these endless, winding tunnels getting the better of the woman's senses. Faye shook her head, feeling so unlike the person she used to be when she had been beside Tyr. It was this place. The heaviness of the air, the crippling dread weighing in her heart. Faye had never felt so far from hope than she did now.

Yrsa stepped closer, bearing down on Faye as she spoke.

"You forget yourself. You forget that you and I were chosen for a reason."

There were so many others more worthy of Groa's gift. Yrsa being first among them.

"It should be you," Faye said without thought.

Yrsa's brow drew together, face drawn in confusion. As if to think that this was not the Faye she knew, the one she had fought countless battles beside for more than a century. This was not the Faye that snuck past Aesir battlements to free their prisoners or tend to those she could not set loose. This was not the Faye that single-handedly slew dozens of frost trolls for the ingredients to her enchanted axe, whom she named Leviathan. Where went the fearless warrior? Where went her courage? Her unbendable will? Faye sensed Yrsa's thoughts lurking beyond her gloomy eye.

"It is not for us to decide," Yrsa said, and Faye sensed disappointment. The creeping shame peeled away Faye's defenses, leaving her bare to Yrsa's scrutiny. Faye knew it was wrong of her to say, but all the same she couldn't shake the feeling that the elders had made a grave error in naming her a candidate for Groa's gift.

"What do the others think of your plan?" Faye jerked her head to Hana and Frode. Hana was slumped against Frode's shoulder. They had fallen asleep like that, sitting beside the fire together.

"They will follow your lead."

Faye huffed a doubtful laugh.

"They still believe in you, Laufey," Yrsa said, then paused, "I believe in you."

Faye whirled on Yrsa, throat tight. How could she still have faith even after all Faye had confessed? Faye's chest throbbed with an overwhelming dread. She couldn't help but feel that their belief was terribly misplaced. She was an imposter, a cheap charlatan and their hopes were wasted on her.

"How can we ensure that the Exile won't betray this secret?" Faye demanded.

"We can't."

"And who's to say we aren't playing right into the Allfather's designs?"

"No one."

Faye scrubbed her face with her palm.

"You aren't making this plan sound very appealing."

A faint smile played on Yrsa's lips and Faye fought the desire to reel her in and capture that smile. To feel her. To taste her. Just this once.

Anything, anything, that voice inside Faye prodded.

"Let me think about it," she said.

Yrsa smirked and clapped Faye hard on the back.

"Good girl."

Yrsa left Faye to join the others by the fire. Faye stood watch while the other slept.

There was something wrong about the darkness. Faye wasn't sure if it was her own fatigue or the cursed magic of the place. Perhaps a combination of both.

It was deeper. Contorted. Shadows quivered in the firelight and shapes materialized from the jagged cave structure. They took the form of every nightmare that had ever haunted Faye's dreams.

Bloodsoaked battlefields. Limbs hacked from bodies. Companions turned to crow-fodder. Eyes plucked out by vicious beaks.

It was everything that would come to pass in the wake of her failure. In her dreams, Faye would scream in the infinite black. But now she was too numb, too tired, and too frightened to even shiver. She stood, paralyzed.

I cannot fail.

For their sake, I cannot fail.

FAYE

NOW

The rain had come in the night. Faye felt the icy drops pelt her cheek and a shiver rose from her chest as the rain slid down over her skin. She woke to darkness with nothing but the cold drip of the rain all around her. The pitter-patter sound seemed to echo, bouncing around Faye as it would off the walls of a cave.

For a moment Faye had forgotten where she was. When she was.

In a flash, the world turned white. Ear-splitting thunder boomed overhead. Faye shot up, her heart stuck to the downbeat.

"Yrsa!" she gasped as lightning cracked across the sky in a blue streak.

Night returned. The thunder rolled, deep and undulating like the growl of a hungry beast. Faye's heart galloped in her chest like stamping hoof beats against her ribs. She'd drawn the dagger and was holding it out against the darkness. Trembling, she watched for the shape of monsters in the shadows. For the sparking blue energy of Mjolnir.

But Faye was alone. The fire beside billowed with thick plumes of smoke as the growing onslaught of rain extinguished the flames. She lowered the dagger as the sounds of the forest pooled around her. The tap of the rain against the leaves. The musk of wet wood and moss.

Faye noticed that a wool blanket had been tossed on her while she slept.

"Farbauti?" she asked the shadows but there was no answer from among them. He would be off hunting or patrolling the camp's perimeter.

As Faye's raging pulse slowed, she was aware of the distant, croaking call of ravens.

KRATOS

Daybreak had come clouded and dismal. The rains had turned their path into a immpassible mire. With each step, the clansfolk sank into their heels and calves. The earth sucked at their boots with an iron grip, resisting any movement like it was trying to consume them whole. The wagons at the head of their formation became cemented in the mud, wheels sunk deep into the mud. The horses pulled and strained to carry their burden until they nearly collapsed with exhaustion. The caravan halted and it took almost all of the abled-bodied clansfolk pushing and pulling for Kratos to finally step in to reel it from the mud. The clansfolk both marveled and feared Kratos' incredible strength and the ease in which he hauled the wagon as if it weighed nothing more than a feather. There were whispered about him amongst clan. They wondered by what power of the gods he came to be blessed with the strength of twenty men. If they only knew.

Faye returned on horseback with the forward scouts.

"It's no use!" Faye called to him, "The road ahead is impossible."

Strands of soaked, rust-colored hair stuck to her mud-streaked face.

Kratos eased the wagon back to the mud where it began to sink in. Faye swung down from the horse, still wincing as it rattled her injuries. As her foot brushed the earth, she began barking orders to make ready a camp until the skies cleared and the road became traversible.

"Are you so certain there is no other path?" Kratos did not doubt her prowess and knowledge of the forest but he was eager for their continued journey.

"Not unless you are content to pull the entire clan on your shoulders," she said. He could. That wasn't the problem. He could not both pull their weight and defend them at the same time. Kratos relented. He didn't like the idea of extending the length of the trip but it was this or risk the safety of the clan.

Kratos tensed as thunder barrelled across the sky. The low flicker of lightning hid in the dark, swirling clouds. Kratos found himself waiting for the screech of an eagle. He steeled himself, amber eyes scanning the skies for the burst of white wings. But then he remembered. Even now he felt the oppressive weight of the sky above him as if he was Atlas holding it aloft. Even in death. Kratos still felt the echoes of his father bearing down on him.

A shift among the tree branches shook Kratos' focus from the sky. Shadows shifted among the leaves. Faye half-turned and bristled, a snarl on her lips. She snatched the dagger from her belt and hurled it. There was a high-pitch screech and a flock of ravens scattered out from their cover. They retreated into the sky and Faye spat a curse after them.

"Farðu!" she growled and approached the tree to retrieve her dagger. A small black thing flopped on the mossy forest floor. It was a raven pierced through the chest with Faye's dagger. The bird croaked a throaty death knell as blood leaked profusely from its wound. Faye she planted her boot into the wing and reclaimed the blade. She muttered something in her language and cleaned it on her forearm.

Kratos watched the ravens and was reminded of his mother, Callisto. He often wondered how she filled her days when he was taken to agoge to be shaped into a soldier and citizen of Sparta. She endured many weeks and months without word from her only remaining child. It was common for mothers and wives to ask the ravens to ferry their sweetened sentiments to their sons and husbands as they suffered for the glory of Sparta.

Sto kalo, kala nea na me feris, the beloveds would say. He imagined Callisto at the reedy bank of the Eurotas, watching and waiting for high reaching sails of a trireme to break the horizon and herald the return of her victorious son.

"Sto kalo, sto kalo...kala nea na me feris," Kratos murmured. Nevermind that he was praying, more he was thinking about the souls of the lost. Would they still hear him so very far from home?

"What's that you said?" There was the familiar bite of suspicion in Faye's tone. "Just now, to the ravens. What did you say?"

"Fly and bring back good news," Kratos translated. Faye did not sheath her dagger.

"Why do you bid the ravens to bring you news?"

Kratos noticed her grip tighten on the weapon and she maintained her distance from him. He shook his head, not in the mood to entertain interrogations with the hunter.

"Stories from my homeland. Entertainment for fools and children," he said as if to scold himself. Faye softened slighty.

"Huh," she mused, seeming more relaxed. She flipped the dagger in her grip and sheathed it. "Didn't think you were one for superstitions, Farbauti."

"Hm," Kratos rumbled. He'd rather her call him by his name.

With the exhaustion and the pouring rain, it was a mighty effort for the clan to form up a camp for them to recooperate their strength. Fires were slow to start with nothing around for kindling but soaked wood. There would be no hot meals tonight. Only damp, unleavened bread and salted meats. Kratos and Faye helped where they could. Kratos hauled supplies from the sunken-in wagons while Faye secured the horses. She calmed them with gentle hushed words when thunder and lightning spooked them into a panic. But Kratos noticed the way she shook with every crack of lightning and growl of thunder.

The camp would be vulnerable to predators who were usually kept at bay with fires so Kratos went to secure the perimeter of the forming camp. Faye followed by his side, the deep blue of her eyes still watchful of the trees.

"Tell me about the ravens of your homeland. I have a fool's eager ears," she said.

"I am no storyteller."

She seemed anxious for distraction. He knew she had nightmares the same as he did. He knew the names of the ones she called out for when she woke shivering and sweating alone in the dark. Her nightmares were only getting worse the further they ventured from the homestead. Kratos held a low-hanging branch aloft for Faye to pass under as they circled the clan's camp.

"There are worse ways to pass the time than to fill the hours with stories," Faye said and passed under the branch.

" - and good company," she added with that wry grin.

It felt like a jab of sarcasm so he ignored it.

Lightning flashed overhead and shattered the forest with a burst of piercing light. Faye shuddered and her feet seemed to sink into the earth where she stood. Anchored her to the spot, she was pale and wide-eyed. He'd seen that kind of look before in the soldiers who'd seen too many blood-soaked battlefields. Thunder followed, low and rumbling. Kratos could tell by the long breath in between lightning and thunder that the storm was moving away.

"In the land of my people, ravens were messengers of the sun god," Kratos said.

There was a slight pause of surprise from Faye. It was information she didn't have to pry from him and she didn't seem to trust it at first. As if he'd tricked her somehow.

The earth's grip on her feet gave and she continued on by Kratos' side as he spoke.

"The ravens returned with news that the god's lover had taken another he scorched their feathers black. They learned to never return without good tidings."

Usually Kratos had no need for such expansive speech. To say more than a few words even felt verbose to him. But it was different when he spoke with Faye, he just didn't know why. As Kratos spoke, he could see Faye relax some. Her shoulders softened and he could hear the rate of her heart slow back to its normal rhythm.

"When war dragged on and my soldiers were feeling…" Kratos struggled for the translation. "Nostalgia - weary and longing for home. They would ask the ravens to bring news."

The troubled seas in her eyes grew calm at the mention of 'home' and he wondered what kind of distant life Faye longed for.

Kratos had learned enough about her to know that she was not meant for a lonely life in the wilderness. Her weathered armor, her innate battle-sense, and the axe of devastating power hitched to his shoulder. He could feel the axe's will at his back, yearning for the grip of its true master.

He sensed that Faye had been meant for something more but for whatever reason - she chose a different path. He wondered if she regretted that choice to live a simple life rather than take vengeance for her kin. He couldn't understand how someone could set all that hate and rage aside and embrace something else. If she could do it, then was there hope for him as well?

Even as Kratos imagined himself scraping out an existence in his own isolated cabin somewhere in the northlands, he knew that it was not a life meant for him. He was what the gods had made him to be - a weapon honed for a singular purpose.

Killer. Monster.

The dark tide inside him rose up again. He tried to swallow it back down but it only formed an aching lump in his chest.

"Where is home for you, Kratos?" The sound of his name in her mouth sent an unwelcome shiver through him.

"Far from here," he said, shifting his focus away from her and back to the task. Faye wasn't put off by his dismissiveness.

"What do you call your native tongue?" Faye asked but Kratos pressed on in silence. She was asking the same question with different words. They were all roads to the same destination. Who are you and why have you come to this land?

"I am skilled with languages. I could learn some if it would ease our conversations," she pressed.

Kratos slashed at a cluster of brambles blocking the way forward and considered. He supposed it would do little harm to at least tell her that. If stories of the Ghost of Sparta had reached this far north, she would have already had enough reason to put him down when they first met. And it would be a small comfort to speak to someone in his own tongue. It had been a long, long time since he'd last done that. He thought of the last words Athena had spoken to him as she drove the Blade of Olympus deeper into his abdomen.

"Me apogoitéveis, Spartiáti," she had said. You disappoint me, Spartan.

The pain had been all consuming. Kratos managed a defiant snarl in reply before Athena tore the Blade from his body. His vision went white as he fell back against the hard stone of the cliffside. He laughed, lying there with his blood pooling around him. At last, he would free from his torments. There was pain, but then... relief, as he breathed out his last, ragged breaths.

Kratos shook himself from the memory.

"It is called Hellenike," he said, "From the land of Hellada."

Kratos turned and waited for her to catch up. Faye narrowed her ocean blue eyes as if she was waiting for him to reveal some kind of ruse. Then a smirk broke the seriousness of her features.

"I would like to know more about your homeland, Hellene," Faye said with surety as she strode forward to meet him.

"Hm," he grunted. Of course she would. It was an answer that left a craving for the ever-curious hunter. For a while she seemed to be sufficiently distracted by the patrol. They walked side by side and ccasionally Faye would make mention of a predator's tracks or pause to listen to the whisper of the trees.

Then she prodded again.

"Will you tell me?"

"No," Kratos replied sharply.

He couldn't tell Faye about the snow-capped peaks of the Taygetus range or the lush olive groves without telling her how it all came to ruin. He couldn't tell her about his home, his family, without telling her how they'd died by his own blade. One question after another with Faye and she would know his past and know what he'd done. And though Kratos did not doubt Faye's wisdom, he knew she would not be able to reconcile his actions.

There was still the longing to tell her, speak to her in his own tongue, and release himself from the torment of his secrets. As if by telling her, that far away place was resurrected from the ashes. It was a fleeting, selfish, thought to foist the burden of his memories onto the hunter.

A look of disappointment crossed her face at his harsh refusal. For a moment he thought he felt her presence against his mind. Like the invisible tether he shared between her and the axe. Then her look darkened. Kratos was reminded that she was like the scorpion and he waited for her poisonous barb. The lash of her vicious tongue.

"The ravens in the Northlands are bad omens. Do not speak to them. Do you understand?" Faye said, all her mirth and wonderment gone. Replaced by that grim, viciousness of hers. It felt like punishment. Who was this woman to him anyway? He owed her no obligation to his secrets and she would not absolve him of his sins.

"I understand, kynigos," Kratos said. Faye cocked her head at the word, confused. But then her lip quirked with a hint of that smile.

"It means: hunter," he added and led the way back to the camp.

FAYE

The Hellene was always so careful with his words. He dolled them out like precious, limited resources. Other times, they were delivered like the precise, calculated strikes of a sword. Seeming to have spent his limit on speech, he was as quiet and gloomy as the darkened skies as they made their way back. It was tiring work to draw out more information about him. And the more her revealed, little by little Faye was forming a clearer image in her mind of who Kratos was.

At the same time, Faye felt like a hypocrite.

She understood his particular kind of lonliness but she could never reveal her secret. That fact alone kept her isolated.

Faye thought these past ninety winters were her first years truly spent alone. But with the wave of new memories, she realized she had been alone long before she came to Midgard. She had not meant to be so solitary, not at first. But when she was alone she wouldn't hurt anyone else. She alone would suffer the consequences of her actions.

There was so much she had forgotten and still her mind was like a shore wiped clean by the tide. Details emerged slowly, murky and strained. With Faye's own people gone, Farbauti was the only other being, besides her enemies, that understand the eternal echo of immortality. He knew the weight of watching all those he held dear extinguish long before he could join them. His wife. His daughter. Everyone, he'd said. Everyone. How did face down the length of time without them?

Faye always thought she'd have the time she wanted with Yrsa to live the life they never got to have. Faye had her time now, but without Yrsa, without anyone - it felt pointless. Faye didn't know what twist of fate had decided that she should live while everyone else she loved died. For a long time she thought she'd live all the years that they left behind. But Faye didn't know how to spend eternity in a way that truly mattered. What did it matter when everything else would be washed away in fifty years, a hundred, more? Mortals didn't waste their time, they had so little of it.

When they approached the camp, the clan members had gathered to sulk under their tents gnaw on leathery dried meats. The day had cost most of them their energy and they would need a good night's rest to make up the time they lost. Faye prepared a tent for her and Farbauti but he was already leaving to take the first night watch.

Watching Farbauti, she was reminded of words once spoken to her by the previous possessor of Groa's gift.

"Maðurinn sem gengur sinn eigin veg, gengur einn," Runar had told Faye, as it was told from every predecessor to their successor.

The one who walks their own path, walks alone.

Faye knew they each had their own path to walk, their own burden to carry through the endless years before them. Still, Faye felt a gnawing, desperate fear to cling to the only other being that understood that impossibly.

Better instincts took hold in Faye. Though she felt a kinship with Kratos, he was still dangerous. He was a survivor, and he had nothing to left to fear.

He was a god with nothing left to lose.

ELSEWHERE

The raven and his flock returned to their master with one less among their number. Svana held her arm aloft for her raven to perch. He held a strip of cloth in his beak and offered it to Svana with a low cooing sound. He dropped the strip of cloth in Svana's open, waiting hand. The moment it made contact with her skin, her lips curled into a wolfish smile.

God's blood.

The power of it tingled against her skin. She pressed the cloth to her nose and inhaled deeply with a growl rumbling in her throat. She pulled away, dizzied by the intoxicating scent.

The witch threw her head back and let loose a high-pitch howl. The hollow, somber sound echoed across the settlement. Reavers stilled and reared their heads where they stood while the prisoners shook in their cages, falling silent and clinging to each other.

A number of reavers strayed from where they stood, following the sound as if entranced. They were the chosen, the elite among White Wolf's tribe and they could not ignore the call of their alpha.

Svana's warriors gathered inside the hall and knelt before the straw-made icon at its center. Svana walked past each one of them, offering them the strip of cloth from her open palm. Their pupils expanded as they inhaled the scent. Bodies quivered with the excitement of a blood frenzy.

Svana stood before them and stretched out her hand.

"Ekki meira hefur þú mannslíkama. Verða úlfur."

As she spoke the incantation, the bodies of the warriors shifted.

They fell forward, convulsing. Claws sprang from their fingernails. Thick tufts of dark fur emerged from their skin. Bones cracked. Limbs lengthened and snapped into inhuman angles, tearing through their clothes.

They reared their heads back and screamed, their voices twisted in their changing throats. Screams became howls.

What stood before Svana was no longer human. They had become something else. Taller than any full grown Northman and covered with a black sheen of fur and eyes turned dark and beady with bloodlust. Their skulls had become canine with maws full of long ivory teeth that could snap a man's leg in two.

They'd become half-man, half-beast. The northernfolk called them wulvers.

Svana strode forward and reached up to caress the muzzle of her lieutenant.

"Bring him back alive," Svana commanded.

"Do not fail me."

#kratos and faye #kratos x faye #kratos #laufey #faye #god of war #god of war 2018 #god of war ragnarok #fanfiction #romance #slowburn #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #finally finished this chapter good GOD

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reblogthiscrapkay · 4 years

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The Myth of Persephone in “The Narcissus And The Pomegranate”

Instead of a retelling of the myth, today we talk literary analysis!

Chapter one is an introduction to the Hymn of Demeter and this book itself. I read the Hymn a while ago and expressed my thoughts, which you can find by searching The Persephone Project tag so I won’t explain that.

Chapter two is about looking at the myth as a means of establishing Zeus as head of a Greek pantheon of gods. It analyzes the diction and the narrative aspects to conclude that one of the primary purposes of the myth was this elevation of Zeus due to patriarchal standards of the time. The reason why Zeus would even need to be elevated is that the idea of worshiping Demeter and Persephone independently was common at the time and that Persephone might actually have been worshiped even longer than Demeter but sometimes as a goddess of a different name who represented both the underworld and fertility and the duel nature of life and death before being placed subordinate to Demeter. However, although it does place Zeus as an authority by having him be the one who arranged the marriage and being the one who Persephone calls out for when she’s being taken underground (something I previously pointed out as being kind of weird), the myth also makes it seem like Zeus had no idea about the pomegranate thing while Demeter does. It also talks about Persephone’s retelling of her story when she gets back to Demeter and how she shifts the narrative and how the two goddesses have the longest speeches in the story, implying authority.

Chapter three looks at the myth with psychoanalysis and specifically the object relations theory. This is all about the idea of coming of age for a girl by following the example of the mother and then separating from her while still looking to her as an example of how to form her own womanhood. This is emphasized by how Persephone starts the story hanging with her friends away from her mother. It also talks about the narcissus being called a “toy” and how Persephone goes to pluck it as a sign of her choosing her maturity, which is then completed in a sexual maturity way by eating the seed, which is not really shown to be unwilling or willing but she later has a “me thinks the lady doth protest too much” moment when she insists to her mother that it was by force. This gives Seph a lot of agency in choosing her fate even if she didn’t technically go to the Underworld willingly. It also compares Seph to Demophon and how after losing Seph, Demeter becomes an old woman (her daughter growing up makes her old, get it) and then tries to basically replace her with Demo since her daughter has “died” but she can try to make him immortal.

Chapter four looks at the myth through anthropology and different rituals and coming of age rites that used the Hymn (the Eleusinian Mysteries obviously, the Haloa, and the Thesmophoria). Ultimately the author concluded that while there are some similar elements and stages, they don’t fully add up with what we know about ancient history. It talks a bit about how Persephone doesn’t start the story with her mother but with her friends, putting her already in a liminal state between childhood and adulthood. It also talks about how a lot of the similar rituals of the time that weren’t coming-of-age focused on fertility but Persephone doesn’t ever become pregnant and doesn’t even stay in her husband’s home as one would expect from a marriage ritual (although it does emphasize that sex did happen since they are on a bed and she eats the seed but that marriage is actually kind of ambiguous unless it’s supposed to be implied by the sex).

Chapter five looks at the myth as a hieros gamos, a “sacred marriage” rite common in a lot of early religions (I actually know of it best through the modern Wicca representation but even when I first heard about the Wicca version, I was like, “hey, this is kind of like Hades and Persephone”). The idea is that the coupling of an earth goddess (both above and below) and her kind of useless male consort brings about the fertility of the earth and people. It does mention that this coupling is usually on earth and not underground but that this speaks to the duel nature of nature and death in the Hymn (also cool is how many modern interpretations have them actually coupling in her garden instead like “Hadestown” and Allison Shaw’s comic; it’s more traditional). It mentions how Demeter and Persephone were once probably one goddess and Kore and Persephone were the two split ideas and how Zeus and Hades were one god of different aspects but then split into two gods (I’ve read about this before with Orphic tradition). Even Poseidon was part of this as water leads to vegetation. All these cults got smushed together and altered. Apparently, like with the Wicca idea, the god is usually the subordinate who has a coming of age and the sacred marriage to a powerful goddess but that patriarchy lead to this role being given to Persephone. It also compared the hieros gamos of Seph to one of Demeter and Poseidon (the one with horse rape and Desponia) and talked about cults where the marriage was between Kore and Plouton, a grain god who’s name is very similar to Pluto. There’s a cool footnote where the author notes how another author saw Persephone’s lack of offspring as a result of her being a goddess of death but the author contests that she is a goddess of the dead, not death and that her role is that of receiver and caretaker, not the bringer of death. This was a really interesting chapter to me as it heavily discusses the evolution of myth over time.

Chapter six discusses potential earlier ideas that would eventually be shaped into the Hymn. It again brings up the idea of Persephone as a Bronze age goddess without Demeter or the idea that Demeter as mother was a different aspect of Persephone who is also a maiden in one aspect (citing Homer mentioning her without Demeter and as just Underworld Queen). It discusses the ambiguity of who actually is responsible for the earth’s fertility, addressing that in the Hymn it’s Demeter and that Persephone only brings about the seasons and specifically mentions flowers, not things like food (although she probably did both in earlier history). There were a lot of things in this chapter mentioned before just in a more focused form. One of the new ideas was in an Orphic tradition version, Demeter went into the Underworld herself to get Persephone. It is also suggested that the part of the Hymn where Demeter goes to Eleusis, which doesn’t really have anything to do with the main narrative, was an effort to include rituals that were already present there and establish Demeter as an authority there over Persephone (known as Kore/Thea).

Chapter seven talks about the linguistic history. It discusses when the Greeks started speaking Greek and mentions how Persephone’s name is older, not Greek, and not really understood. It discusses how her previously common adjective as “dread/awesome” is dropped for the Hymn to only describe her as young and beautiful while Demeter is given more power-based descriptions in addition to her appearance. It breaks these words into list form in Appendix B, which I find helpful. It then discusses Demeter’s name, which is Greek, with the first syllable either being connected to earth or water and the other two being mother and it talks about the name Hades, which is usually seen as Greek and translated just “unseen one” but there is some debate. It ends with a lot more discussion of Demeter.

Chapter eight discusses archaeological evidence to find the source of Demeter and her joining with Persephone before the Hymn was written. The book discusses early Persephone concepts in a cup found at Phaistos in Crete from 1900 BCE (and other Minoan goddess concepts), frescos at Akrotiri in Santorini a few hundreds years BCE, and 9th century BCE art in Arkhanes Crete but there’s no indication of names or of any worship of Demeter or Persephone specifically and together until the fifth century BCE. Then the book looks at grain goddess ideas in Mycenae dating back to the 13th century BCE and potential art of paired goddesses who could be early ideas of Dem and Seph. Then it looks at Sicily where Persephone, the life and death goddess of another name, was heavily worshiped independently from the third millennium BCE (and the island was seen as a wedding gift from Zeus). Then it goes to mainland Greece to talk about Eleusis (I enjoyed a mention of clay pomegranates at Eleusis) and Corinth (and some ambiguous two women figures from there). Ultimately, a lot of the results are very interesting but also very speculative because how could we know?

Chapter nine mostly sums up a lot of points in the book in regards to the formation of the myth and its history.

Overall, this was a really interesting read! I don’t know how accessible it is to people who don’t have a large background in this stuff so I’m not sure if I’d recommend it but it’s probably a solid read if you like the myth, archaeology, anthropology, or any of the other things it talks about.

#the persephone project #the narcissus and the pomegranate #personal #persephone

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toasttz · 5 years

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From the Tabletop #7

For all my one (1) reader(s), I apologize for the delay on this instance of From the Tabletop. Everything I said at the end of the last post was clickbait, too, as this time, we're actually going to ping-pong back to Exalted with a brand new circle! FUNTIME! This go-around, our circle composition was markedly different to start, as two of our players from last time dropped out - one couldn't make the first session of the new campaign due to work and the other decided to become a total bitch-baby and pussed out entirely. However, at the same time I recruited two close friends to take their seats. And, due to other meatspace shenanigans, our usual GM had to be gone for the session as well, so Valentinian's player once more took on the mantle of GM for the campaigns kick-off. To begin, let's introduce the first batch of characters we'll be following. First is Rakis. Rakis, according to his player, was inspired by Desert Punk, if you're familiar with that at all. He's a short, wild-child, driven from his desert town into the desert wastes as a child by a mob who murdered his family in cold blood, leaving just him and his brother. His brother then got eaten by a massive sandworm (mechanically, for those who care, a reskinned River Dragon, just replacing the words "water" for "earth"). The worm then seemed to take on a totally different demeanor toward Rakis, and the boy began to believe the worm was his brother reborn. Rakis is a Solar, a survivalist who battles with tricky melee tactics, in tandem with his worm, but struggles in social settings. Then there's Doran, a metalsmith of some repute, whose family was held hostage by some mafia-esque organization until he followed very specific instructions to forge a fairy weapon to their specifications. However, due to not fully knowing the origin of the materials at play and the true nature of what he was making, the weapon took on a ghastly and dangerous set of properties, making it extremely lethal but draining to use. When he went to make the exchange, it was already too late, and his wife and children were already brutally slaughtered. Doran thus swore a quest for revenge. Also a Solar, Doran is a skilled melee fighter, who tries his best to not use the dark artifact in his bag, knowing full well what it can do. And lastly (for now), was my character, Albin. Albin was a design I've had in the wings for a long time, as a scholarly sort who ended up being really heavy into craft, loving both first-age tech and woodworking, from whence he created his main weapon - a wooden longbow. For emergencies, I also have a Prayer Piece firewand, a sort-of rifle but one powered by prayers to Sol Invictus and very, very expensive ammo to make. I play Albin as incredibly deadpan and flat, as some of his flaws include that he doesn't understand metaphor or people very well. And despite that, this character ended up as the face of the party (due to Rakis being socially inept, and Doran being socially hostile) for the first session, at least. Anyway, we agreed the three already knew each other, as Albin worked as a field scholar for Great Forks University (Slogan: Go Fork Yourself!), and the three had reasoned that the MO of both groups that hounded Rakis and Doran made it sound like they might very well be one and the same, so the three agreed to pursue this lead best as they could. Rolling into a random town in the 100 Kingdoms, we asked around about local legends at the guild building, which got us sent to... a crazy hobo who began spouting UFO and "evil shadowy government cabal" conspiracy theories at us. Rakis, quickly tiring of the man's ranting, used his knife to intimidate the man, ultimately causing him to pass out from the shock of the threat. However, we did gleam some useful information - something about the castle outside of town, full of murderers and thieves. Which sounded just like the men we had been tracking. So, off we went. We ventured toward the castle as the sun sank (to mask our approach, this decision was made consciously) and we were accosted by zombies. Which Albin has a distinct advantage over, since Prayer Pieces deal Aggravated damage to undead and creatures of darkness. I also seem to roll freakishly well when I have a firewand on my character. I can't begin to account for that. But we mopped them up and in short order, were making plans on how we were going to enter into this dreaded castle, guarded by spirits and clearly a not-good place to be. Rakis leaped up over the castle wall and stealth'd his way inside, narrowly evading patroling spirits with really wicked-looking knives. Eventually ninja'ing his way around to open the door from the inside for Doran and Albin to enter. The three snuck past a sort of enclosed dungeon area, with a blond(e?) person inside, being beaten by a huge brick house of an aggressor wailing on them. The following exchange actually happened: Rakis: Yeah, this isn't for us. This is probably their fetish. Blond: No, it isn't! Albin: They might have consented to this. Blond: No, I assure you I didn't! Doran: We should ignore them. Blond: No, you shouldn't! Albin: My goodness, that prisoner has opinions on this. We actually started to walk away at this point, and then the captive began singing "All by Myself". So, eventually, we relent (somewhat for meta reasons and also because the GM made us laugh pretty hard on this), and provoke the prison guard to open the door, whereupon Albin lit them up with his Prayer Piece. It took some doing, but we eventually killed the guard and liberated the ma... wo... uh... Lunar within. For the sake of this session, a GMPC, but a welcomed member of the team, Kharas the Blade. Kharas also has a tragic backstory, but it involved markedly less familial homocide. He was betrayed by his old team, who left him to die, hence his Lunar exaltation. Anyways, as the four of us moved up the stairs, we got chased by one of the guards and backed into a room, whereupon I had the idea to invoke the gods for help. This roll was... passable but not amazing, as the god I summoned was a Mouse of the Sun. However, its presence was still antithetical to our pursuer, forcing him into a bottle-neck in the doorway, where Kharas attacked from one side and Albin, Doran, and Rakis held him from the other, eventually leading to our victory. Heading up the stairs, we eventually overhear a discussion between two of the "Six Guns of Black Heaven", which ultimately results in us having a shootout, and capping at least one of them (I actually had to step away from the table for a brief moment, and I missed part of this), and the other came back with us as a hostage. As we escaped the castle, just in time to learn that the castle's original intent was to be a portal between worlds... and it sank into a dark void abyss, just in time for us to learn its name: Castle. Vania. Hahaha... For context, this transitioned into session 2, our GM was back and Kharas was in full player-character role now. Returning to town, hostage in tow, we awkwardly make small-talk to get past the innkeep (barely worked), and then began interrogating her (didn't work), then she launched a surprise attack with a dark-enchanted weapon, which attempted to strangle Doran. She bolted for it, with Albin and Rakis in pursuit of the hostage while Kharas and Doran attempted to disarm the wire-weapon that was in hot pursuit of Doran's neck. Kharas: Wait, it's going for me now?! Wait! I'll turn into a snake! Snake's don't have necks! GM: But, Kharas, snakes are nothing BUT neck! Kharas: ... OH CRAP! Meanwhile, Rakis and Albin are tearing down the hall in hot pursuit. This exchange happens, nigh-verbatim. Me (OOC): I have an ability that can translate sentences into languages I don't know. You speak Flametongue, right? Rakis (OOC): Yeah. What's your idea? Me (OOC): I'll shout out our strategy in Flametongue using my charm. Thus, she won't know what we're up to. Rakis (OOC): I'll hit her high. Can you shoot low? Me (OOC): Yeah. That'll be our plan. I'll use a burning arrow on the floor to prevent her from evading your attack. GM: *Makes a noise that I can't tell is a sob or a laugh* Kharas (OOC): What's up? GM: We have a circle that DOESN'T SUCK!! Ultimately, we managed to plug an arrow into her head, ending her futile struggle. And we probably could've done something about the mess and gotten away largely undistracted, but Rakis then began bragging about what we had done to the barkeep, and we had to skip town. Kharas was even kind enough to transform into a dinosaur and gave Albin a lift, as Doran and Rakis piled onto Mr. Wormsworth and rode out of town. Ultimately, we planned to go to A'Barr up in the north, a large city where we could lay low and maybe find information on our group of serial murderers. En route, Kharas requested Albin make a hurdy-gurdy. Yes, that's a real instrument, look it up on Youtube. Albin, being very hard into craft, easily cobbled one together, and accompanied Kharas in a rendition of Maiden by the River. This means nothing to you, but let me explain about this song. Every time - and I mean every time - this song was performed, someone botched SOMETHING and it usually resulted in a town burning down or something. It was reportedly the song that played before the terrible plague wiped out Scarlet's hometown of the better part of its population, giving the pirate an extreme phobia of the piece. However, we both... rolled 5 successes each! We broke the curse of this damned song! Doran and Rakis didn't fully understand why this was such a milestone for us, but it was an amazing moment for us all. In fact, Doran's player was kind enough to WRITE AND PERFORM THE DAMN SONG. I include the link for your enjoyment: https://www.mediafire.com/file/adyf20gdd3cp5jd/MaidenByTheRiverDraft.mp3/file Not long after, we arrived in A'Barr and began setting to work. But this has gone on quite long enough for today. Join us next time in Exalted where: Rakis tries to burn down half of Great Forks! We battle an Indominus Rex! A fifth Exalt joins the circle! We meet one of Albin's siblings! Doran dies in boiling magma! See you there!

#Tabletop RPG #Games #Exalted #Not a That Guy Story

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venus-says · 5 years

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Aikatsu! Episodes 01-05

It's weird that I'm feeling nostalgia for a thing I technically never watched before? XD

So the first episode of ogkatsu is one of the few episodes I've watched back in the day. And boy now watching this again after slany years I'm feeling SO NOSTALGIC. Like, it has been what? 6~7 years, but I remembered every single thing that happened on this episode??? The obentou dude, Raichi being a Mizuki otaku, the same weird feeling of Ichigo saying Aoi's her best friend and still Raichi doesn't know her, everything is here in the same way I remember from years ago AND IS SO MAGICAL. Even Mizuki's live is very magical even though her 3d model is dreadful.

Okay Ichigo's model doesn't seem as bad as I remember. Like she looks very cute here. XD

Anyway, this is a great first episode, it makes me sad that I couldn't keep up with the show since the beginning because of internet issues, but oh well. Into episode 2!

Okay this is precious. QUESTION! Did Orihime recognize Ichigo during the entrance exams? Like, even if she and Ringo didn't kept contact after Masquerade disbanding and had no knowledge of Ichigo existence she would still be able to recognize her because of the surname, right? Also thinking about it, was Ringo already married when Masquerade started? Or instead of she changing her maiden name Ichigo's father was the one who made the change and now the whole family is Hoshimiya?? Gosh I have so many questions!!!!!! Oh damn they're already going all out with how cruel the entertainment industry is?? I thought this was going to happen only later after having a few happy-go-lucky episodes.

The fuck? XD Man, Aoi's story about her dream is so beautiful ;-; it makes you immediately want to support her with all your might ;-;

TOO PURE Drinking game: take a shot every time someone says "to performers, these cards are life itself." (I don't drink so i'll just sip some cold water instead) Episode 3 next!

Okay there's something wrong here, if it's 5am it shouldn't be this bright outside 😅 I think your clock is wrong Aoi 😅 Ichigo, sneaking up like that is creepy, you know? You could get arrested for that Boy she was discovered so easily, what a shame. XD Jesus Mizuki is giving economic advice, this is wild. Man what's up with these last two episodes ending so gloomy geeeez

Okay I think I still have time for one more let's watch 4. Okay this boy is pretty cute XD

Ichigo you're way too pure to our world. Nice to see the trend of unnecessary detailed food reviews is a thing that happens since the beginning of this show, it makes me think Mio and her food reports are a little less annoying now XD RANNNNNNNNN Ok this whole story about conveying your feeling to your audience and encouraging your fans while they encourage you is pretty and all but like Can we get another performance please? 😅 Not that I have any problem with the Idol Katsudou song but like, we've seen this song in 3 of the 4 episodes 😅 and they've used the same coords for them 😅 it gets a little boring 😅

Ok I was going to end up here but next episode is Ran's official debut so I NEED TO SEE MY GIRL

Sharp like a blade indeed XD I get that doing a lucky draw is a fair way to pick students but if the teamwork between the two has to be at least decent for this audition this doesn't seem like the best way to put up a winning team 😅

What's that supposed to mean Mizuki? XD I'm just as confused as Ichigo.

NEW SONG!!! PRAISE THE LORD!!!!

Okay I know that by the original nature of the game the idols didn't sing during fashion shows and they translated this for the show. but like they could at least had put either Waka or Sunao to sing the song y'know? Because why would Aoi be singing that song If we never had any indication before that Aoi had a song recorded?

I know it's a dumb nitpicking but this got me a little off, I must admit 😅

ANYWAY they passed and this is what matters.

Good to know the show cared to give us an enlightment about Mizuki’s statement eralier. Also, RAN LET ME HUG YOU MY POOR CHILD.

Aoi represents me with her fangirling over Ran XD also this back and forth between Ichigo&Aoi and Ran is just priceless 😂 "Rantarou", honestly? 😂😂😂

Okay, I had a few general comments to make, but is already too late and I need to post this before midnight so I'll wrap up here. If I remember I’ll add my general thoughts in the end of tomorrow’s post.

See ya~

#Aikatsu!#aikatsu

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mononoke-no-ko · 6 years

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Emperor x Lelouch, Comparing Objects

Requested by https://gelinepot.tumblr.com. This is a short story from “Talkin’ Rebellion” novel that was featured in The Complete (2008) guidebook with C.C. narrating her brief interaction with Charles and then with Lelouch at separate times. Translation below.

In a wide corridor at the deepest part of Britannia court, I was leaning against the marble wall doing nothing, as I heard footsteps began to echo from far away. The owner of the footsteps is a combination of a large build in full apparel. He stopped before me, so I decided to say some words to him. "Oi, Charles." "You... it's been awhile. How did you come in here?" "'How'? Foolish question. I'm C.C. you know." "I see." "I've had enough of admiring flowers and butterflies in Aries Villa. Once in awhile I want to amuse myself by looking at your stiff face." "Well, it's natural to quickly get tired of beautiful things." (TN: the word he used can also refer to "beautiful maiden") He's the common example of emperor's bad habit. Because we're talking about women, I decided to ask. "By the way, I heard you’ve taken another new royal consort. What an amorous guy." "Just some lower class people willingly offer their woman... Well, it's a flow of nature for female to cling on to powerful male." "And so you shrewdly accepted the offering, was it not for your own convenience?" "Peasants conceived the wrong idea just like a peasant they are. When did I ever agree to accept their deal?" "...impressive, Charles. Good for you. Did you get a good woman?" "There's no good or bad for a woman whose face or name I don't know." Huh? What is this? "Oi, it's your own wife right?" "There are too many of them, I can't visit every one of them." "...Charles, how many spouses do you have?" "Hmm... still not up to one hundred yet." ... What a remarkable thing to happen. One hundred wives you say? "...good grief, not even those from medieval era would go that far." "Exactly. There’s no modernity in the heart of this country. Just like primitive organism, it simply grows excessively from eating other nutrients." "It's your country, right? Is Britannia Empire a slime mold?" "Yes it is." Stated matter of factly huh. To my amazement, as if he just suddenly remembered something, Charles said, "....Did Marianne say something?" "Curious?" "I'm not. That person is a woman who will come to me directly if there's something she wants to say." "She laughed heartily. 'Lechery is a hobby for heroes, as expected from Emperor, the scale is enormous' she said. Good for you, your royal consort has a big heart." "C.C., do you also want to join my beloved harem?" All of a sudden, Charles said some really dreadful thing. "What a joke. My body is not for the likes of you to touch." "Well, I thought you were waiting here for that purpose." "To think so conveniently for yourself, you must have lived an enjoyable life." "Is that how it looks?" "That’s how it looks. Though what you're thinking inside that huge skull of yours, I'm not interested to know that far." Really, Marianne. What's so good about a stiff man like this? Only her taste in men I could never understand. As for me... right, I like them to be a bit cuter and more refreshing to look at.

***

...after seeing a dream from distant past, I open my eyes. Turning over my body to look around, I'm in my room in Ikaruga. Just a little while ago I lived together with Lelouch, but now that person is in Tokyo doing this and that work. Talking about Lelouch, I was asked by him to look for the whereabout of Geass cult. Although the cult's general position had been narrowed down, the exact location couldn't be identified yet. Sigh, he will probably nag and complain, but it couldn't be helped. Let's give a report to Lelouch for once. Ah, working this diligently, I'm really something. I get up slowly and stand in front of the video communication terminal. I get connected to Ashford's communication channel, right when there's only Lelouch on the other side. He's in panic while talking to someone on the phone. He told me to "wait and be quiet for a moment" with a gesture. For some reason his face looks deeply troubled. "...As I said, on Cupid's Day with Shirley... No, even if you said you can't give up... I'm already... That's why, it’s no use, that's the rule after all... No, it's not just because of the rule... hmmh... (piip)" Ah, he ran out of patience and ended the call one-sidedly! Piririri piririri. Lelouch's phone rang again. "Yes... Oh, it's you... eh? As I've said, at that event with Shirley... No, even if you said I'm lying... Even if you said it doesn’t matter..." Haha. Somewhat, I understand the situation. Oi, Marianne. What's with your kid? Or rather, this must be running in the blood. As I listen, I catch an urge to do some mischief. With a shrilly voice, I look at the other side of the monitor to make sure my voice could reach the mic of Lelouch's phone, and try to say this following line. If it's just acting, I can say this kind of line without much trouble. "Mm geez Lelou~ch who are you calli~ng? When you're alone with me, if you don't make sure to look at only me, I hate☆it☆" At the moment Lelouch showed a ‘good’ expression, I wanted to keep it as a picture. He immediately pulled the phone away from his ear. From his phone's speaker, a deafening hysterical voice of some girl could be heard even from here. Hahahaha. Trapped in a quagmire. (TN: I used the Chinese translation for this, since I don’t know how to translate “死沼だなー”) Lelouch tossed his phone into the safe and securely covered its lid. He squared his shoulders and came in front of me on the monitor. "...what did you mean by that, C.C.?" "'Look at the person's eyes when you talk to someone', I was talking about very basic common sense, you know?" "That's NOT the tone you used!" "As always, looking closely, you seem to be leading an interesting life." "...is that how it looks?" "That's how it looks." "For me it's not interesting at all!" Hoho. "Lelouch, let me tell you something good." "When you put that kind of pretense, there's no way it could be anything decent." "Lelouch, lechery is a hobby for heroes, isn't it?" As soon as I said that, Lelouch regained his composure and sneered. "Hmph, as expected from immortal witch, even the things you said are ancient." ....hoho, pleased to hear that, Lelouch. What an uncute boy. Just now that was quite expensive you know~ Well well, I wonder how I will make you pay for that. Look forward to it, Lelouch~

Fin.

#code geass #lelouch #c.c.#charles zi britannia #marianne vi britannia #Miscellaneous #translation

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ginnyzero · 4 years

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Booktober 2020 Week 4: Classic & Myth

Welcome back to booktober! Booktober is the month I talk about books; in particular I’m talking about horror and paranormal books. Okay, so Booktober isn’t a thing but we can make it a thing. Anyone is welcome to join me in booktober at any time. Just use the hashtag booktober and if you at me, ginnyzero, on social media I’ll reblog your post.

This week it’s time to delve into the past, classic and historical horror and paranormal. Fun fact about Ginny, I was born on November 8th. Who else was born on November 8th? Bram Stoker, the writer of Dracula. This could partially explain my early obsession with vampires and my necrophobia; the fear and fascination with death.

Dracula, the story itself, is one of those stories that’s been so regurgitated by popular culture that the basics of the story are known by about everyone. The book itself is written in an expository way and so if you like that type of reading, then you’ll like the book. I like watching or reading different remakes of the idea rather than the book itself. Hellsing, Van Helsing, NBC’s 2013 Dracula, and so on and so forth.

My favorite classical horror story is from Edgar Allen Poe, and is ironically rather appropriate for these telling times as it is the Mask of the Red Death. And in the Mask of the Red Death, plague haunts the land killing everyone, so the nobles lock themselves away in a castle with a beautiful and fancy imperial suite and they determine to party the plague away. Until the man in the mask of the red death comes and they all fall down.

It’s a beautifully written and chilling story that I’ve enjoyed since high school. You can’t run away from pandemics and death.

Poe enjoyed drawing on real historical stories for his works, such as the black plague in the Mask of the Red Death. But he also drew upon one of the stories in Glamis Castle, considered one of the most haunted castles in Scotland. Glamis is popular enough to show up in a lot of horror books because of the different tales in it are so outrageous ranging from secret rooms a la the folktale Bluebeard, to the devil coming to play cards, and horrifically, a group of men or a family being bricked up inside the walls until they had to commit cannibalism.

Castle ghosts are some of absolute favorite real life paranormal phenomena because they come with such rich stories behind them. Most of the paranormal phenomena in castles are audial. Hearing voices, such as the Lord of Glamis and the Devil playing dice and laughing at Glamis. Or even hearing pipers, such as the doomed Piper of Duntrune Castle who played his pipes to warn his clan of the Campbell Clan’s treachery, and they cut off his hands and buried him under the flagstones of the courtyard. (And yes, they did find a skeleton without hands buried within the castle grounds of one castle with a piper ghost.) There is an entire phenomena called grey or green ladies, these are ghosts of women who protect castles and castle ruins. Many of them were young women who fell in love with the wrong man and committed suicide when their families wouldn’t let them marry them. Very common theme.

The United States doesn’t have many castles. Not ones with the history of Europe, we do have a lot of penitentiaries and insane asylums that are haunted by the inmates, residents, and employees that look like castles. And if you watch the Dead Files, there are places in the states the land is bad. There’s no other word for it, people should not be living on the land. I think the most detrimental thing Protestantism has done is convince people spiritual and paranormal phenomena aren’t real. Catholicism has a heavy focus on mysticism and the influence of the devil.

If you watch the Dead Files, there are so many interesting things going on with ‘normal’ homes in the states from homes being situated on pathways for the dead, to bad land, to malevolent earth spirits, to even portals to alien dimensions that can’t be closed. That one was freaky because the spiritual alien entity was scratching the side of the house. And the worst thing that can happen is when someone doesn’t believe in it. 9 times out of 10 it makes things worse.

The one phenomena I’ve had some personal experience with is one of our naval ships, called the USS The Sullivans. Now, the USS The Sullivans is named after 5 Sullivan brothers who died at sea during World War Two after their ship was sank by a Japanese submarine. The Sullivan brothers became the reason for the important policy of not putting family on the same ship. They built a Fletcher Class destroyer, a small destroyer, in their honor and it was sponsored by their mother. The ship served in World War 2 and the Korean War and ended as a training ship in the 6th fleet before being designated as a museum ship and eventually stationed in Buffalo.

Sometime after being commissioned and being docked at the Naval Museum, the spirits of the Sullivan Brothers found their way to the ship named after them. Employees have reported lights turning on and off, they’ve seen the brothers, they have come upon locked doors that should be unlocked and vice versa. I think they’ve also heard voices and footsteps when it was supposed to be empty at the end of the day. Pretty typical stuff for a haunted ship and haunted places in general.

I have been to the naval museum. And I got through the tiny submarine the Croaker, and walked through the larger destroyer the USS Little Rock and everything was fine, lovely day, until I got to the ramp of the Sullivans. I didn’t know the ship was haunted at the time. They don’t warn you about this. As soon as I got to the ramp, something felt off. You could not pay me to go on that ship. No way. Absolutely not. I decided having seen the Little Rock and being reassured by my dad, the Sullivans was more of the same, I would not risk my skin and go on board the Sullivans. I stand by this decision.

I love my dad, but I’m not sure how spiritually sensitive he is to these type of phenomena.

Now, I have been on board the Aircraft carrier in New York City and felt a little weirded out on the electronic section because of the heat and static in the air but never since have I felt that sense of dread I did at the end of the ramp of the Sullivans.

Horror has been going on from the very beginning of storytelling and it’s older than dirt at this point with tales such as Beowulf and stories sanitized by the Grimm Brothers as they translated them from oral tradition for the Victorians. My personal favorite which how horrifying it is depends on your point of view and interpretation of the story is Hades and Persephone.

Now, the basic gist of the myth is grim Hades wants a wife and he decides on his niece Persephone asking Zeus, her father, for her hand. Zeus goes to Demeter. Demeter says absolutely not. Zeus goes back to Hades and is like “well, bro, her mom says no, but um, you’ve got my blessing to carry her off in traditional Greek style and marry her.” This was completely legit in Greek culture as long as dad’s permission was granted. (Great time to be a woman, not.)

Hades does so and well, we all know what happens is Demeter gets angry and causes a famine. Zeus panics and goes “hey, bro, we need Persephone back, my wife is going to kill all of us.” Since, you know most of Olympus’ problems are created by Zeus. And Hades is like “Fine, she can come back, as long as she hasn’t ate anything.” And Persephone, had ate 3 to 6 pomegranate seeds and they ended up compromising where Persephone lived with Hades part time as his cold queen, and the rest of her time with her mother, as the personification of spring.

So, the horror comes in on if Persephone was actually involved in this or not. Did she know anything? Was this a surprise? Was she looking to escape her overbearing mother? Did she love Hades? Was she in on the plan and ate the pomegranate seeds on purpose? Were they actually pomegranate seeds? Your interpretation may vary, so the horror could be having to go back to the overbearing mother or her being taken away without her consent to the grim Underworld.

It all seemed to work out in the end. There seems to be only one myth Hades cheated on Persephone and she turned that woman in to mint. (Don’t mess with Persephone.) But otherwise, Hades was faithful to Persephone and they had a lot of children included the personification of nightmares.

Obviously, my favorite folklore creature is the werewolf. Now, I’m talking about the werewolf in the context of folklore only. I’m not talking about the werewolf as presented by Universal Studios or any of the movies after 1935. The folklore werewolf was not considered evil or associated with the devil until the later Witch Hunts of the late 1500s to the 1700s. Before this, the werewolf was considered mostly benign and quite possibly someone who had been cursed by the church itself for punishment of perceived misdeeds.

The culture of the middle ages didn’t view being able to turn into an animal as bad or even evil. In fact, the church itself, most likely relying on the story of Nebuchadnezzar in the Old Testament, was thought to be able to curse people into take the shapes of wolves. The fear of curses and poxes had real power back then. It wasn’t shameful to be a werewolf, it was shameful to act like an animal without thought or reason.

Conclusion: You could be an animal, as long as you spoke with reason and didn’t attack people indiscriminately. Go ahead, be wild. Just don’t act like you aren’t civilized.

The Werewolves of Ossory in Ireland meld most of the ideas of middle age werewolves into several stories. They were warriors who would take on animalistic traits while fighting similar to Norse berserkers, or were able to transform into actual wolves using a wolf pelt much like a selkie or a swan maiden have pelts and capes, or they projected their souls from the bodies to be wolves. They were looking to make up for past misdeeds. Some stories say they were forced to change every seven years. Cursing men into wolves is a common trick of St. Patrick apparently. Or if you angered your wife by cheating on her for instance, she could curse into being a werewolf.

There were other ways to be turned into a werewolf. Some people were considered born as werewolves. You could drink water from the paw print of a wolf. Or as an adult, pass under a birch arch entwined with a wild rose briar three times. Or even by sleeping out under the full moon for three nights. The Yule werewolves, would like to come out during the holiday of yule and party drinking and dancing.

There were “cures” for werewolfism, mostly the use of wolfsbane or even exorcism and some torture because the Spanish Inquisition. But most werewolves lived peaceably with their neighbors and outside of what you might consider the “uglification” of the ‘savage’ before being converted to Christianity, no one noticed until they went on a wolf hunt and hurt the wolf or hurt the body of a soul traveling wolf and it was converted into an injury on the human.

Like Middle Ages witchcraft, unless it involved heresy, werewolfism was ignored and in some places such as Norway, female werewolves were even venerated. There were even laws instituted about to protect them unless it involved blasphemy and heresy.

Folklore and legends are extremely interesting because the way they changed over time and even by location and the way they were written about in Christian sources of the time, which outside of some written down oral tradition and actual laws are the only way we know about these creatures.

Next week is personal week! Time to talk about personal paranormal and horror things related to my writing and what I’d like to see in the future and just go wild. If anyone wants to join me in promoting themselves this last week of October, here is a handy dandy image!

#writing tumblr #wrtrblr #booktober #books #classic stories #classic horror #dracula #werewolves #the USS Sullivan #ghosts

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