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campaignskyjacks · 7 months

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The more I think about piracy, the more I believe it is the most structurally sound work situation under capitalism.

Every pirate ship was a worker owned company. If you were part of the crew, you were a literal shareholder. You got paid at least one share out of whatever venture you were involved with, and you got to vote on what the ship would do and who would be captain. That's already a pretty ideal situation, but it gets better.

The Captain is paid a double share as the position was seen as difficult and important work. But that is only twice as much as your general crew. Compare that to today's CEO and it's laughable how much more reasonable it is. It goes even further than that though.

The Captain is likely actually working way more than the rest of the crew. Most pirate ships were heavily overstaffed. The general strategy was you would catch up to a prize, board their ship and have like 200 guys. Merchant ships were staffed by capitalists, so they favored lean staffing. They wanted to pay as little wage as possible to maximize profit on the cargo they were transporting. A ship that would be comfortably staffed by 40 was probably being run by 25 to 30. Pirate ships would have way more people, so if they caught up to you there would be absolutely no way you could fight them off.

All of that means pirates didn't actually have to work that hard¹. There were way more people than actual things to do on a pirate ship. Even considering the fact that there is alot to do to keep a ship running, it's diffused over so many people that you really have a lot of down time as a crew. People like the Capitain, the quartermaster, the navigator, the doctor, or the cook all got somewhere between 1.2-2 shares, but they are working so much more than the average buckaneer.

I know some of you must be thinking "well that sounds very nice but the job gets pretty ugly when you're raiding." And the answer there is sort of. Pirates most certainly engaged in some pretty unsavory work and as crew you would be on the front lines of a lot of that. However situations where crew were actually getting in fights and putting their lives in the line were not the norm. A lot of the time pirates were hitting merchant ships, which once again were really understaffed. These people aren't crazy these people are hired to do a job so they're not going to throw their lives away over a couple dozen barrels of coffee or spice. Most of the time a pirate ship would catch up with a merchant ship, raise black flags, and and the captains of each ship would negotiate a surrender. Most of the time pirates were not requesting all of the cargo because the ideal situation is being able to hit the same ship over and over. You want to skim enough cargo that whoever commissioned the merchant ship isn't going to gripe too much about cargo being lost and complain to the navy. That way your crew can have a steady stream of whatever goods coming through to keep your vessel afloat. So most pirate merchant relationships were pretty transactional. The pirates would show up the merchants would give up abortion of their goods and everybody would go on their way.

Which means most of the time your average crew didn't have to do shit!

Pirates also had benefits. Remember when I mentioned you were going to be paid out "at least" one share? Well, if you lost a limb or something in the line of duty you would be afforded bonus shares to compensate the loss. They had entire systems of calculating disability compensation based on what injuries could be expected and how they saw it affecting your life. So if something bad did happen, you'd have pay to cover it.

It gets even better than this. The name "buckaneer" comes from "barbacoa" which was a type of mobile grill that was popular aboard ships². The folks who sailed were so commonly associated with these grills that people created a nickname for the profession based on the grills they used all the time. You'd see a privateer or a pirate at Port Royal and go "oh look, it's one of those guys who barbecues all the time."

Also, they were fucking queer. You've probably already heard that the term "matey" was a form of piratical gay marriage. If you designated someone else on the crew as your mate, if you died your share would go to them. I have to acknowledge that there is a slight chance that this isn't a 100% gay practice, there are conceivably reasons that someone might identify another person as their mate that doesn't have to do with romance or sex. Not a lot of pirates were literate and not many of them kept records of day-to-day life that really survived for historians to document. We can guess but in most circumstances we don't know for sure. But come on, grow the fuck up. These seadogs were banging.

Piracy and the type of sailing adjacent to piracy was a way for a person to make a life for themselves very far away from most of European society. And because of the way gender roles existed at the time, it's pretty much only men hanging out with men. If you happen to have desires that are unpopular at that time which involve other men, this is a pretty good situation for you.

So yeah piracy is a worker owned endeavor with reasonable compensation for management, benefits, frequent barbecues, and plenty of downtime to have all the queer sex you want.

It's one one those things that only exists because of capitalism, but as a response and a rebuke to it. These were endeavors that were so much more reasonable and fair then the legitimate businesses operating at the time.

And yes there were horrors. There was fighting and killing, torture, and worse. That is what the capitalists and colonizers would like us to remember. These things did really happen. However part of that was an effort to preserve and defend this better life people had made for themselves. To keep it alive inspire of the corporations and nations who would exploit or destroy their way of life.

So yeah, there was a lot about piracy that was violent and fucked up. But the truly wild thing is that it probably made more sense for the people involved then whatever you do right now. The next time you get bummed about your job or place in the world remember that piracy makes more sense.

Then go eat some barbecue and have queer sex.

¹This means in OFMD when Izzy was being a little piss baby about the Stede's crew not working hard enough he was 1000% wrong that's how the vast majority of pirates live their lives.

²Worth mentioning that these grills were originally used by native people, so this cool thing was adopted/appropriated by sailors. It did not originate with them.

#skyjacks #campaign podcast #pirates #our flag means death #anti capitalism

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mapsontheweb · 3 months

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Spaniards and Portuguese in India and the Malay Archipelago, 1498-1580.

“Historical atlas”, William Shepherd, University of London Press, 3rd ed. 1924

by cartesdhistoire

Muslim merchants from Gujarat, based in Cambay, dominated maritime trade in the Indian Ocean in the 15th century, supported by Hindu and Jain financiers and an organized network of correspondents. The Malabar coast, a major pepper supplier, served as a hub for commercial interactions between Arab merchants from the Gulf of Aden or Oman and Chinese merchants – or their intermediaries – from Sumatra and Malacca. Muslim merchants primarily engaged in the spice trade.

The arrival of Vasco da Gama in Calicut in 1498 disrupted this system. In 1502, King Manuel entrusted him with commanding a second expedition aimed at eliminating all Muslim presence in the Indian Ocean. The Sultans of Gujarat and the Deccan sought assistance from a Mamluk fleet to counter the Portuguese, but it was defeated before Diu in 1509, paving the way for Portuguese conquests of Goa in 1510, Malacca in 1511, Hormuz in 1515, Diu in 1535, and Daman in 1539.

The Portuguese occupied the southwest coast of Ceylon from 1505 to access cinnamon, establishing a fort in Colombo in 1518. They controlled the north, west, and south coasts of the island, key areas for the cinnamon and precious stone trade.

The Moluccas were another target because the Banda Islands produced nutmeg, while Ternate and Tidore produced cloves. The Portuguese established privileged relations with the sultans of Ternate and Tidore, facilitating their settlement in Amboyna and Timor, despite the capture of Malacca from Sultan Mahmoud Shah.

The Portuguese monopoly endured until the emergence of the English East India Company and the Battle of Swally in 1612.

Meanwhile, Spain remained engaged in the spice race, aiming to connect America to the Moluccas and their spices. Following expeditions in 1525 (Loayza) and 1528 (Saavedra), Spain secured a definitive return route in 1565 (Urdaneta) and established settlements in the Philippines in 1571.

#maps #cartesdhistoire #igsourced #india #portugal #spain #16th century

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hey-august · 5 months

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I'll Be Your Whatever - Chapter 1

Description: Life is full of all sorts of characters - some who come and go, and others that stay. After propelling yourself into a lie you can't (won't) take back, a certain pirate captain may have a reason to come by more often. (Chapter 2)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: SFW, some profanity. Buggy x afab!reader. No use of Y/N.

A/N: I've been so excited to write this story using one of my favorite relationship tropes. For now, I expect this to stay SFW. There might be a little angst and spice in the future, but nothing Rated R. I'll update the warnings if that ever changes.

The title comes from "your whatever" by lovelytheband.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

As a port town enroute to other, more popular, destinations, there was never a lack of variety with the visiting travelers and explorers. Sailors, merchants, pirates, voyagers, and more made up the guests who patronized the town. They stopped to make repairs and keel hulls, purchase supplies, and plot courses. Most ships only stayed for a day or two. Others wanted a longer reprieve before moving on to busier, dramatic adventures.

Despite living in a town with more assortment than the corner candy shop, it was the locals that made you grit your teeth on a daily basis. You could put up with unapologetic rudeness, aggressive flirting, unnecessary bargaining, and other sour, temporary distastes. This type of behavior was expected from visiting seafarers, but you found it less excusable from those you saw every day of your life.

So when you noticed the two locals who you found particularly unsavory, you considered hiding in the shop you just vacated. Despite years of brushing off their advances and refusing to drop a crumb of attention that’s nothing more than polite, Reeves and Bolsti were stuck on you like butter on toast. Before you could take shelter in the shop, they caught up and were thickly spreading the compliments and attention.

“Hey lovely, I thought the sun was blinding today, but it’s actually your beauty.”

“I think there’s something wrong with my eyes…I can’t take them off of you.”

“Are you tired from running through my mind all day?

“Your hands are too beautiful to be carrying those shopping bags, why don’t you let me take care of them for you?”

Blinking away the expressionless glaze coating your eyes, you gave the men a tightlipped smile and shook your head. You explained that you still had stops to make and couldn't stay.

“You make me wanna follow my dreams,” Bolsti said with a wistful sigh. He hooked arms with you and continued, “So, where am I following you?”

A pit caught in your throat, hot and heavy. The words burning you inside weren’t worth the resulting ripple effect. Gossip and rumors move through town like fire and you wouldn’t be able to tamper the words threatening to burst out. Swallowing the impulse, you extracted your arm and stepped away.

“I really do have to go-”

Reeves interrupted and offered to keep you company, which you swiftly declined.

“There are a lot of pirates around today and you can’t be too safe. I’m sure your dad-” The rest of Bolsti’s remark died under the hard look you sent his way. Shuffling his feet, he continued with a mumbled, “we just want you to be safe.”

“I’ll be fine. The pirates aren’t the worst ones around here,” you said, hoping they got the message. Their rolling eyes said the message was delivered and ignored.

“Please, we’re better than those disgusting thieves. Just give me - I mean, one of us - a chance. We know you’re not seeing anyone.” Reeves stepped closer and flashed what he thought was a charismatic smile. There were poppy seeds in his teeth.

“I am seeing someone.” The words came from your mouth but you didn’t remember saying them. Shit.

It was obvious neither of them believed you. They were arming themselves with follow-up questions that would only sink you deeper. You had to get out of this situation. You excused yourself, yet again, and moved to sidestep the duo. Bolsti reached out and you pulled your arm back, away from his grasp and into the stomach of someone behind you. Hands on your shoulder and the offending elbow prevented you from delivering another accidental blow.

“Fuck, watch what you’re doing,” said a winded voice. You felt annoyance in the words and in the hold on your body, but not danger.

Reeves eyed the hands on your body with anger and jealousy. You didn’t look uncomfortable and he wondered whether this person was actually a stranger to you.

“Is this who you’re seeing? Your…boyfriend?”

All eyes were on Reeves. Bolsti’s, in shock, because he hadn’t entertained that thought yet. Yours, because those were the kind of follow-up questions you wanted to avoid. And the new addition to the group, because he had no idea what the hell was going on. The hands fell off your body at the accusation.

You shook your head to everyone’s relief. Except yours, because Reeves couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut. A growing smirk and an inhale likely preceded a snarky comment about how you’re lying and you couldn’t stand to hear it. Whatever possessed you to say you were seeing someone reared its stupid head and spoke up again.

“We don’t use labels like that.”

Even the stranger knew you were lying and couldn’t hold in a snort. You’re a joke. This is a nightmare. What the fuck. Before anything worse could happen, the door to the shop swung open.

“Is there a problem here?” asked one of the shop owners, eyeing the group.

“No, Mr. Inslo, we’re leaving,” you said quickly, unwilling to languish any longer in the hole you dug.

You grabbed the arm of the person standing next to you and pulled them down the street, blinking back your frustration. The sounds of Reeves and Bolsti explaining the situation - spreading your lie - faded into background noise. Once you two were a decent distance away, you stepped down a side street to release your unwilling conspirator and wipe the tears blurring your vision.

Finally, you looked at the stranger and were greeted by a face you recognized from the bounty posters. Of course. Not just a pirate, but a pirate captain. Instead of the fearsome grin from the poster, however, he currently wore a different look. The clown-y face paint and red nose probably influenced how you read his expression - he appeared irritated but also bemused.

“You’re shit at acting.” His hard tone stung. That was a fair review. You deserved it.

“Whatever, things got out of hand. Sorry for dragging you into it,” you grumbled, deeply embarrassed that your awful performance had multiple witnesses.

“And…?”

You stared at the pirate, unsure what cue you must be missing. Realizing you needed another prompt, the pirate held his stomach and feigned an injury. He leaned to the side weakly and contorted his face, letting out a groan of pain. The odd blue tassels on his hat swung with his movement. You bit back a smile at his dramatic retelling.

“Sorry for assaulting you.” The forced apology was enough to put a stop to his charade. “I guess you do know something about acting.”

“I should, I’m known as the ‘Genius Jester’ after all.” The blank, placid smile on your face annoyed him. “I’m Captain Buggy, the Star Clown!” He held out his arms in a welcoming gesture, which did little to elevate the tightlipped grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Mmm, clown. That explains the…” You waved your hand in front of your face, which seemed to make Buggy even more pissed. “...face paint,” you finished with a confused mutter, which was met by a small sneer.

You didn’t understand why the pirate was getting so fired up when you already apologized and absolved him from the shitty situation you created. Feeling tears well in your eyes again, you took a shaky breath to try and calm the agitation and exasperation flooding your body.

Buggy watched as you tilted your face to the cloudless sky. Your overfilled eyes reflected the bright sunlight before you closed them and inhaled. When you opened your eyes, a few tears escaped.

“Listen, you can go. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“What were you trying to do?”

You didn’t expect the question, but reasoned with yourself that he probably wanted to know how he got involved. It didn’t take long to share the full backstory. You hoped talking about it would alleviate some of the stress. Afterwards, you still felt the oppressive weight on your shoulders, however, it was nice to have someone who knew the truth.

A soft breeze carried voices down the side street. Buggy noticed how you tensed and correctly assumed you heard the two shitheads you were trying to avoid. Panic was written across your face as your eyes darted back and forth, contemplating different scenarios. This was like a cheesy soap opera and the clown could hardly hold in his laughter at the scene. Unfortunately for Buggy, the chuckle that escaped his mouth made him a target.

Without warning, you grabbed Buggy’s coat and stumbled backwards until you met the wall. The momentum threw the pirate off his balance. He threw up his arms to stop from crashing into you or the wall, which was your plan. You were caught between his arms while he leaned towards you - to anyone passing by, this would look like an intimate moment between lovers. And that orchestrated sight is what Reeves and Bolsti saw as they slinked past.

You let go of Buggy’s jacket, letting him step away. Your face was flushed and your eyes sparkled with the momentary victory. You were surprised to see the pirate was smiling as well.

“Not mad?”

“No, that was surprisingly effective. I think they believed it.”

“It only worked because you were still here,” you sighed, resting your head against the wall. “Honestly, a small part of me wants to ask you to keep playing along.”

“Sounds like a role I don’t want.”

You appreciated how Buggy met the energy of your half-hearted remark. It was nice to joke about your predicament.

“That’s fair. What’s in it for you… What do pirates want? Treasure? A treasure map?” you mused.

“Sure, I would do it for treasure.”

You froze. And Buggy noticed. You locked eyes, parallel thoughts running through your minds.

“Would you really? “Do you actually have treasure?”

Another pause. The two different questions managed to answer each other.

“A map. It belonged to my dad,” you finally clarified.

“A real treasure map?” Buggy asked in a low voice you felt compelled to answer. You nodded.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” the pirate waggled his finger, admonishing you for answering. “Telling pirates that you have a treasure map is a very bad idea.”

Fuck. He was right. This was a bad idea. Multiple bad ideas. This was not your day. Your face scrunched in anxiety and disappointment. Another expression that garnered an amused huff from the clown. The subsequent glare you sent him didn’t diminish his amusement.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. I know how to keep a secret,” Buggy said with a wink. “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

And with that, the pirate left. He heard an agonized groan and stomping feet fade as he walked away. He shook his head and chuckled as he imagined the frustrated tantrum you were throwing behind his back.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x you #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #buggy fanfiction #buggy the clown fanfiction #hey-august i'll be your whatever #x reader

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ltwilliammowett · 6 months

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The East India Company ships

The East and West India Company ships were not ship types in the usual sense. They were generic terms for a series of merchant ship types that travelled between Europe and the overseas colonies in the East and West. Common features of these ships were three masts, several cannons and a high bulwark to make it more difficult for attackers to board them. Their valuable cargo made the ships attractive targets, so they often travelled in convoys, accompanied by medium-armed merchant ships or frigates for protection. But let's go into more detail.

The East Indiaman 'Earl of Abergavenny', off Southsea, by Thomas Luny 1801

The ships of the East India Company were the ships of the English East India Company, a public limited company (shipowners at the early time of the East India Company contributed their ships to the company and received a certain share in the company in return. They received a proportionate share of the company's overall profits and received a dividend even if their own ship was lost, since the 18th century the company build their own ones as well.) which traded with Asia from 1600 to 1834. The company had a monopoly on trade with the East Indies, China and other regions, and its ships carried goods such as spices, tea, silk, cotton, porcelain and opium. The company also played an important role in the colonisation and administration of India and other territories.

East India Company ships at Deptford, by English School, c. 1660

The ships of the East India Company were known as East Indiamen or as Indiamen and were among the largest and most modern of their time. They were designed to withstand long voyages, carry heavy cargoes and defend themselves against pirates and enemy ships. They were also equipped with cannons and muskets and had a crew of sailors, soldiers, officers and passengers. Because of the need to carry heavy cannons, the hull of the East Indiamen - like most warships of the time - was much wider at the waterline than on the upper deck, so the guns on the upper deck were closer to the centreline to increase stability. This is known as a tumblehome. The ships usually had two complete decks for accommodation within the hull and a raised aft deck. The aft deck and the deck below were lit by galleries with square windows at the stern. To support the weight of the galleries, the hull lines were full towards the stern. As mentioned above, the ships were armed and painted to look like a warship and an attacker could not be sure if the embrasures were real or just painted, and some Indiamen carried a substantial armament.

Two views of an East Indiaman of the time of King William III, by Issac Sailmaker, 1685

The Royal Navy acquired several East Indiamen during the Napoleonic Wars and made them fourth rate ships (e.g. HMS Weymouth and HMS Madras), perpetuating the confusion of military ships with merchant vessels as prizes. In some cases, the East Indiamen successfully fended off attacks by the French. One of the most famous incidents occurred in 1804 when a fleet of East India ships and other merchant vessels under Commodore Nathaniel Dance successfully fought off a squadron commanded by Admiral Linois at the Battle of Pulo Aura in the Indian Ocean. And during this time, some of the ships were even travelling under the protection of a Letter of Marque, which allowed them to make their own prizes.

The East Indiaman 'Prince of Wales' disembarking troops off Gravesend, 1845, by John Lynn, 1845 or later - She was built by Green's of Blackwall in 1842 to a design known as that of the "Blackwall Frigates" - Indiamen with the single-decked appearance of frigates.

The ships of the India Companies were not only involved in trade, but also in exploration, diplomacy, warfare and scientific research. They visited many harbours and islands, built factories and forts, fought in battles and wars, negotiated treaties and alliances and collected samples and data. With the advent of the smaller and faster Blackwall Frigates in 1834 came the end of the great Indiamen as these small frigates sailed much faster.

#naval history #east and west india company #ships #1600-1834 #blackwall frigate #age of sail #merchant vessels

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hyperactively-me · 11 months

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on the run

“Ah, it's fine, I’ll just need some bacta patches and it’ll be fine. Besides, it's just a bruise” you say quietly, your face flushing. “I’m going to kill him” Din rasped, taking your hands in a movement to pull you to standing.

just wanted to ask you guys to please read this

(asks are open)

happy reading

warnings: canon typical violence

You were uneasy about this job from when it was first proposed. You felt a pit in the depths of your stomach that signaled that something did not feel right. Although you understood why Din was so eager about accepting the job. He wanted more credits to upgrade parts of his ship and armor. You tried everything you could to push these feelings of doubt away but to no avail. Approaching Din about the job only turned into a heated argument about how it was necessary to ensure a few weeks worth of credits.

Things got a little dicey. Okay, more than a little dicey. You were currently fending for yourself against two cronies employed by a prominent spice lord on Nar Shaddaa. Nar Shaddaa, of all places. Din could have picked any other planet, but no, there’s too many commissions on Nar Shaddaa to turn this down, besides, with this mission, I could earn a lot of credits. I’ll be fine, I’ve probably encountered worse before.

Nar Shaddaa is a cosmopolitan planet practically owned by the Hutts, crime and lawlessness was bursting from every sidewalk, market, and building. An overabundance of illegal activity permeated the streets, every nook and cranny of the metropolitan planet corrupt.

Din took on a job hunting down the leader of a high profile crime ring in the heart of the city. He took on the assignment knowing the risks and dangers, but, who was Din if he ever turned down an opportunity like this? An opportunity to return to the company after taking down a criminal that no one else could take down. Coming back to the guild and earning an even higher degree of respect? Oh, he said it was just too good to turn down, we’ll be fine, I can handle it. You decided to help him on his mission because the more muscle he had, the higher his chances of success were.

So of course, he managed to infiltrate the ring and blow it up from the inside out, creating pandemonium in the streets.

In the midst of the chaos that arose from the raid, you both managed to get separated, desperately fighting for each of your survival, focused on coming out alive.

So here we are now, you’re shaken to your core as you play a lethal game of tag. Your heart threatens to beat out of its chest as you snap your head backwards only to see how hot on your tail the two bounty hunters were to you.

You touch your earpiece connecting you to Din and cry out “Din! I’m being tailed by two guys, where the kriff are you?”

A tall and burly Trandoshan was gaining on you whilst an orange-skinned Twi’lek dodged the crowded street. Deep and heavy breaths escape your dry throat as you focus all your brain power on formulating a plan and escaping without getting yourself killed, or worse, taken.

“Din, I don’t know if you can hear me, but so help me Maker, I need a little assistance right now so it would be wonderful if you showed up.” You tried to make yourself sound angry and demanding, but in truth, you were scared for your life.

Continuously dodging innocent bystanders and merchant stands take a toll on your stamina, slowing you down as you concentrate on where your feet are landing. The ringing noise of blaster shots rang out from behind you, causing you to duck your head in an attempt to protect yourself, just for precaution. You start heaving, trying to gulp air into your lungs like it's the last thing you can do to save yourself from collapsing from exhaustion. You look back once more and let out a loud yelp as the Trandoshan’s grubby hands were barely grazing the back of your shirt. You felt your blood run cold and your heart stopped beating for a split second, the adrenaline pumping through you fading.

It was too late before you realized you lost sight of the Twi’lek when an orange blur came hurtling into your side, effectively ending the pursuit and toppling you over onto the uneven stones.

Your vision goes hazy and you realize you can’t breathe. Your breaths are shallow and labored and your eyes struggle to focus.

No no no please no I can’t stop now you panic, trying to set your brain straight after the impact.

A haze of orange and a mass of an alien face clouds your vision before you feel rough hands yanking your arms up in an attempt to set you up straight. Your head lurches forward and you screw your eyes shut in an attempt to focus your vision. The Trandoshan is manhandling you, and as a final attempt to break free, you resort to a classic self-defense trick. You knee him right in the groin.

He drops your arms quickly and doubles over, groaning in pain, and before he can stop you, you take off running. Or at least you think you’re running. Your head is pounding and your vision is streaked with black dots. You only get so far before the Twi’lek tackles you again, this time effectively taking you down.

Everything is too much, the scene around you is too much. Everything hurts. Everything is too bright, too loud, too rough. The Twi’lek lets out a cruel snicker and slaps binders on your wrists before dragging you standing upwards. You falter, not capable of standing on your feet after the two collisions by two men who are much larger in stature than you.

“Well well, you thought you could do that and just get away with it?” the Trandoshan sneers as he stalks over to you and the Twi’lek. As your vision begins to clear, you take note of the large, shiny knife in his possession. Your face pales a bit as you look up at the angry Trandoshan’s face.

He raises his hand, and without hesitation, slaps you straight across the face. You falter from the contact as the Twi’lek catches you before you crumple over completely. He laughs maniacally before throwing your body over his shoulder. Tears flood your vision, your face stinging like a million wasps stung your face.

Well that’s gonna leave a lovely mark. You winced at the thought of Din seeing the hand print on your face, not because you were scared of him, but because you were scared for the well-being of the Trandoshan.

Your world bobs up and down as your two captors navigate back to their base. You catch bits of the mens’ conversation, trying your best to piece together any useful information you could. You send out a silent prayer that Din is alright, and that he’ll show up and you’ll both be fine, because right now, you were panicking. Usually you both had each other's backs in strenuous situations like this, and more often than not, you were both able to withstand more hits and blows. But being carried back to a now dead crime lord’s haven led by Maker knows who was a new low for you.

You start to thrash in your captor’s grip, smacking your bound wrists against his stiff back with all your might.

“What the- hey, cut that out” he grumbles, not amused with your poor attempts to stop him.

“Kriff you” you bite out angrily, upset that you’re now their hostage, upset that you weren’t capable enough of defending yourself in this situation, and torn over the fact that you haven’t heard anything from Din in a while. You hadn’t heard anything from him in a while…

Maybe he was captured? you thought. Yeah, a guy like Din, a man notorious for his elusiveness and strategic logic is definitely captured right now. But he wouldn’t leave me, right? Right? Unless…he probably did leave you, like how everyone else you cared about in the past did. Maker, I really thought we had something. You hold back a sob as it builds up in your throat. You had hope that Din saw you as something more, after everything you’ve been through. Or maybe he was captured. Or even worse…don't even think about that.

The side of your cheek where you were slapped begins to throb, swelling from the harsh impact of the greasy slimeball’s burly hand. A bruise was bound to erupt from the site of damage.

All of a sudden you hear the Trandoshan scream out, followed by a crunch and a thud. The Twi’lek becomes rigid, fingernails digging harshly into the back of your knees as he slowly backs away from whatever or whoever attacked the Trandoshan. You tense under his grip, unaware of what is presenting the danger, and you begin to squirm under his grip.

Next thing you know, the Twi’lek body slams you onto the cold ground, knocking the wind out of your lungs, leaving you dizzy and disoriented from the sudden aggression. He digs his steel-toed boot deep into your chest, pressing against your abdomen with enough force to cause potential bruising. You glance upward at the Twi’lek hovering over you and a glint of metal catches your eye. He has a blaster pointed right at your chest. Your breath catches in your throat and your mouth dries.

“I suggest you don’t take another step towards me, otherwise I’ll shoot her” the Twi’lek calls out to the mystery person in front of you.

Your heart halts in your chest, breath slows as you realize the gravity of the situation. You were practically helpless, incapable of making any move without potentially ending your life. You still under his boot, attempting to assess the situation.

The air around you stills, a chill runs up your spine.

“I think you’ve got someone that doesn’t belong to you. If you return her to me unharmed, I might just let you live” a gravelly and husky voice calls out lazily. That voice. Din’s voice.

He came you practically cried out of desperation and relief. You strain your neck backwards to look at him. As soon as you make eye contact with his visor you flash him a weak smile to let him know that you’re relieved and glad to see him.

His form relaxes slightly as you hope you make eye contact with him through the dark visor of his helmet. Something seems to flash over his demeanor, but the moment is gone within a second. He turns back to the Twi’lek, who still has the blaster trained at your chest.

“Oh, you might just let me live. How wonderful. But I’m afraid I can’t let that happen, so either let me get through or the girl dies” the Twi’lek shouts out as he shoves the blaster closer to your chest.

“Alright, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you” Din calls out quickly before whipping out his own blaster. Before the Twi’lek can even register what’s happening, Din shoots the man straight in the chest.

The Twi’lek crumples, folding in on himself before falling over onto his side, lifeless. You scramble on the stones, pushing yourself away from the body as fast as you can while still restrained.

You hear Din call out your name as he rushes to your side, dropping to his knees without hesitation.

“Are you hurt?” his hands roam up and down your body, assessing it for any damage before sighing with relief that there were no broken bones or blood.

You let your head rest on the ground, taking gulps of air as your anxiety lessened.

“I- I guess I’m fine. Just shaken up a bit” you croak out, pulling at the metal cuffs rubbing away at the skin around your wrists.

He gently grabs hold of your wrists, his eyes narrowing as he inspects the cuffs.

“Give me a sec” he says distractedly, rummaging through his utility belt for a tool that could free you from your confinements. A moment goes by before he whips out a lock-picker of some sort. He slots the gadget into the small keyhole on your cuffs, jiggling it around before a small click rang through the air. The cuffs dropped to the ground and you let out a hiss at the raw skin.

“Thanks” you whisper before gently sitting up, grimacing as you go.

“Your face…” Din points out, his voice hushed and severe. “What did they do to you?” He sounds ready to pounce, prepared to tear apart anyone who hurt you.

His hand reaches up to touch the mark that’s now flourishing into a bruise on your cheek, and you wince as he applies a slight pressure to the mark.

“Ah, it's fine, I’ll just need some bacta patches and it’ll be fine. Besides, it's just a bruise” you say quietly, your face flushing.

“I’m going to kill him” Din rasped, taking your hands in a movement to pull you to standing.

“I think you already did…” you grimace as you look over to the Trandoshan laying face down lifeless on the ground.

“Oh…less work for me then” he huffed out.

You slightly falter when he pulls you completely up, head still spinning from the hits you took while trying to fight them off. Din catches you with a quick inhale, wrapping his strong arms around your back and under your arm to support you as you both walk back to the ship.

As you continue to walk in silence, you can almost feel the anger rolling off Din, his helmet set straight ahead.

As your adrenaline wears off from the scuffle, you remember how you even got in this situation to begin with: Din was nowhere to be found and unresponsive.

“Din, where the kriff were you? I needed you back there” you implored, your mind was racing and hot tears began to prick the corners of your eyes.

“I was-” he starts quietly before you relentlessly cut him off.

“Where? I really needed you back there, I was so scared and I thought you died! What happened?” you cry out, a wave of emotion crashing down on you. You try to pull yourself away from his grip, slightly thrashing in his arms.

“Stop, you’re only going to worsen your injuries” he says slowly, eyes looking everywhere but yours.

“No, I thought you left me. I really thought you felt nothing between us, thought you were using me for your own benefit! Don’t you understand?” you successfully free yourself from his stronghold on you and you begin hitting his chest with your hands fisted.

Din stares you down, unmoving from his position. He sighs as he grabs hold of your fists, pulling them away and holding them to stop your attacks.

“Listen, I did what I had to do back there. If I hadn’t diverged from where you were going, neither of us would be alive” his jaw ticked as he seethed.

You stopped and gazed up into the darkness of his visor, the strong grip he had on your fists loosen until he dropped them completely.

“Okay…but don’t pull stupid stunts like that without telling me first. I really thought you left me” a watery voice replaces your anger like whiplash.

Din relaxes, and pulls you tight against his chest in a reassuring hug.

“I would never leave you. Ever. I have a responsibility to protect you, and I didn’t fulfill that responsibility. I’m sorry” he reassured, arms tightening around your torso.

Your arms wrap around his own torso, and you turn your un-bruised cheek against his chest, eyes overflowing with tears.

His right hand comes up to rest in your hair, pressing his chest more firmly into it.

“You swear?” you question through a sniffle.

“I promise.”

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howtomuslim · 4 months

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The Fascinating Impact of Islamic Trade Expansion

In the rich legacy of Islam, trade emerges as a vibrant thread, stitching together diverse cultures and societies. The profound impact of Islamic trade on the spread of Islam, and its transformative influence in regions such as East Africa and Indonesia. Through engaging insights, we uncover the beauty of Islam as a unifying force that transcends borders and fosters connections among people.

Trade Routes as Pathways of Faith

Islamic trade flourished along the ancient Silk Road, acting as a conduit not only for goods but also for the exchange of ideas and beliefs. The Quran emphasises the importance of knowledge and learning, encouraging the pursuit of wisdom through interactions with different cultures.

O humanity! Indeed, We created you from a male and a female, and made you into peoples and tribes so that you may ˹get to˺ know one another. Surely the most noble of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous among you. Allah is truly All-Knowing, All-Aware. Quran 49:13

Prophet Muhammad’s teachings promote fair and ethical trade practices, emphasising honesty and transparency in all transactions. These principles laid the foundation for a positive image of Muslims in the trading world.

‘Deal not unjustly, and you shall not be dealt with unjustly.’ (2:279)

‘God loves those who are fair and just.’ (49:9)

‘A truthful and trustworthy merchant will be in the company of the Prophets, the upright and the martyrs.’ (reported by Tirmidhi)

East Africa: Islamic Trade and Cultural Fusion

Islamic trade played a pivotal role in the cultural and religious fusion along the Swahili Coast creating a melting pot of cultural influences. The exchange of goods was accompanied by the exchange of ideas, leading to the flourishing of Islam in East Africa.

Muslim traders in East Africa became integral members of local communities, contributing to the socio-economic development of the region and making it one of the wealthiest regions in the world at the time. This interaction exemplified Islam’s emphasis on community and mutual support.

The maritime routes of the Indonesian archipelago served as conduits for Islamic traders, bringing not only spices but also the teachings of Islam. The Quran encourages exploration and appreciation of the diverse creations of Allah.

We will show them Our signs in the universe and within themselves until it becomes clear to them that this ˹Quran˺ is the truth. Is it not enough that your Lord is a Witness over all things? Quran 41:53

Islam took root in Indonesia, fostering unity amidst the diverse cultures of the archipelago. The Quran celebrates diversity of cultures and people, recognising it as a divine manifestation resulting in the spread of Islam to a plethora of different cultures worldwide, making a religion that started among the Arabs become a religion where only 20% of the Muslim population are Arab.

The beauty of Islam unfolds through its impact on trade, acting as a catalyst for cultural exchange, knowledge dissemination, and exchange among diverse communities. As we reflect on the historical journeys of Islamic traders, let’s appreciate the way Islam’s principles of fairness, honesty, and community building have left an indelible mark on the regions they touched.

References:

Quran 49:13

Quran 96:1–5

“Islam in East Africa.” BBC Religions, www.bbc.co.uk.

#islamdaily #muslim #allah #quran #islamic #islamiyet #islamicreminders #islam #mosque #new article #new blog #newblog #trade #history #culture #human history

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aitaikuji · 18 days

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Spice and Wolf: merchant meets the wise wolf Good Smile Company POP UP PARADE Figurine Holo 2024 Ver.

Release Date: September 2024 Pre-order: on Aitaikuji

#spice and wolf #aitaikuji #holo the wise wolf #anime figure #good smile company #pop up parade

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duckiez · 9 months

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going too far

Jedi!Nobara x f!Merchant!Reader — fic — 3047 words — part one

this is part of @strawberrystepmom's star wars x jjk crossover event 'It Takes A Galaxy'!

cw: the Jedi code being oppressive (as it is), mentions of previous drunkenness, mentions of spice/drugs, nonsexual undressing

Coruscant: the center of the Galaxy and a hub of beauty, excitement, and wonder.

“Yeah, right…” You scoff at the obnoxious phrase plastered on the upper wall of the airbus you find yourself seated on each and every morning.

Sure, such a phrase might ring true for those wealthy enough to explore the surface levels, but you would never in a millennia describe Level 3349 as any of those things.

Not that you would have it any other way.

The aging bus slows to a halt as it reaches the next stop on its schedule, prompting you to shuffle your way through the crowd over to the exit. With a noisy puff of air, the airbus door lifts up and opens, smoggy air greeting you. An immediate flow of humans, Twi’leks, Rodians, and a few others spill out of the cabin along with you, everyone doing their best to go their own ways as they try to navigate the bustling early morning walkways. Tucking your hands into the pockets of your sweater, you start toward your shop.

Years ago, back when you first opened, you would find yourself riding your trusty speeder to work. It’s fast, not too expensive to keep running, and it takes you straight from your shabby apartment complex to your equally-as-shabby shop. There's a good reason you stopped though… a reason that has warm eyes and the most charming smirk you might have ever seen.

“Good morning!” A familiar voice appears beside you just as the woman does.

You turn your head to meet her gaze as you keep walking, smiling as you notice she’s got that classic smirk on. “Hey, Nobara. How was your patrol?”

She shrugs, “It was alright. Nothing to let the Temple know about. Though I did help a drunk Twi’lek back home!”

“Oh! Should I be jealous?” You half joke, not wanting to come off as too interested in the events of her night.

She forces some air through her nose as she laughs, “No, no, you’ll always be my favourite drunk Coruscanti to escort home!”

You try to ignore the rising flush in your cheeks as you roll your eyes at her. “Good! I better be!”

“Of course you are. Nobody else I’ve helped home makes an effort to keep me company and give me free coffee every morning after work!”

“Not even the other Jedi?”

Nobara shrugs, her smirk faltering, “Not usually. Most of the Jedi in the Temple are in the mess hall by the time I get back, but they tend to prefer to eat their breakfast quietly.”

Your eyes flicker over to her face as you continue on your walk, sensing more hurt than she’s ever willing to let on. You can feel your heart begin to sink in your chest, desperate to make her smile again, to make her pain go away.

“I got a shipment that came in last night… would you want to help me go through it all?”

She perks up a little, turning her head to look at you again, “You really want a Jedi to help you go through your wares?”

“Yeah! Why not?”

She gives you a look, one as if to call you foolish for asking such a question.

You burst out laughing, “What? It’s not like I sell illegal goods.”

Her look just deepens.

“I don’t!”

She lifts her hands up, as if the subject became tangible and she’s elected to drop it. Her voice is noticeably up a pitch, “Okay, whatever you say!”

“I’m hurt, Nobara!” You reach your shop, moving single file into the alleyway next door to reach the side entrance.

“Oh, you’re hurt?”

“Wounded, even.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Maybe even maimed.”

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes at you, letting out a long sigh.

You chuckle at the way you’re able to get under her skin as you begin to type in the passcode that allows you access to your shop.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?”

The large metal door clicks and then whooshes open once you input the final number of the code, the motion activated lights on the inside of the building flashing offensively a few times before turning on completely.

Looking back over at your Jedi companion, you give her a smug smile before walking inside, “I know.”

Nobara follows you inside, the sounds of both your footsteps against the tile flooring echoing through the hall. The door you came in through clicks once again as it closes, leaving the two of you to the privacy of your store.

“So what exactly did you get in last night?”

Nobara looks around at the hallway as if she hasn’t seen it countless times before. You assume it’s a Jedi thing, always scanning areas for danger. The only danger she can see are grimy walls that are in desperate need of a wipe down and a concerningly adorable merchant with a silver tongue and a heart of gold. Not that she would ever utter any of that aloud.

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that. There should be some candies from the Outer Rim in there, which I’m beyond excited to try!” You enter another passcode, allowing you access into your backroom. The walls are lined with shelves and the shelves are lined with organized containers, each one labeled with names of different items you typically carry in your store.

“Oh wow, I haven’t had candy since I was a youngling.” She speaks with a bit of shock, a large part of her forgetting that such foods even existed.

You head over to the box that was delivered the day before, swiping your delivery card through the card reader to gain access to your new merchandise.

Tucking her short hair behind her ears, Nobara steps closer to you in order to get a better look at what’s in the box. The two of you stand shoulder-pressed-to-shoulder as you look at the contents of the box.

The dark grey of the sizable metal box contrasts harshly against the brightly coloured boxes of candy, clearly manufactured to entice younglings into screaming at their parents until they relent and purchase multiple dozens of credits worth of the sweets. It’s not a terrible marketing strategy, you think to yourself, but you couldn’t imagine having shouting youths in your shop disturbing your other customers so you make a mental note to store the candies in different containers.

Along with the packages of candy, you notice the real reason you invited Nobara back to help. Next to the candy is a wooden chest with an ornate design carved into the top and sides of it, the markings painted in blue and gold. “What’s in there?” Nobara looks at you, her expression difficult to read.

“Spice.”

She rolls her eyes again, nudging you a little. “I’m serious!”

“Let’s take it out and look.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her as you move around the box, leaning over to grab one side of the chest.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

Nobara reaches her hand out, thumb and first two fingers outstretched as her ring and little finger fold down toward her palm. She blinks and takes a breath, clearing her mind.

You stand watching her in silence, fascinated by what she’s about to do. You’ve never seen anyone, not even Nobara, use the Force before.

The Jedi’s eyes fixate on the chest inside of the delivery box, the object lifting in tandem with her hand. She takes a step back, holding the chest in the air for a moment before moving it away from the container that held it and placing it on the floor in front of her. She immediately looks over at you for approval, and you can feel your heartbeat quicken.

“Wow… maybe I should hire you.”

“You’re telling me I’m not getting compensated for this?”

You both grin at each other, starting to laugh.

You nod your head at her, gesturing for her to open the chest. “Hopefully this will make up for it.”

She squints her eyes at you, trying to figure out what you’re up to. She foregoes that though, understanding the soonest she’ll get her answers is if she simply follows along with your questionable plot. Focusing her attention on the chest, she kneels down and flips the latch up, lifting the lid cautiously. Despite a moderately musky scent, Nobara senses nothing to be concerned about and opens the box all the way. Peeking inside, she notices layers and layers of dusty blue and purple fabric layered on top of itself.

Her hands reach in and meet the fabric, the material cool and smooth against her fingers. She stands up with the unknown item remaining in her hands, unfolding from itself as she moves. A few short moments later, a floor length dress is revealed to her, consisting of a corseted bodice and a skirt with layers upon layers of luxurious cloth. Nobara’s eyes wander along the garment endlessly, admiring everything from the seams to the beadwork on the bodice to how the skirt seems to flow even with the lack of wind.

You startle her out of her trance when you break the silence.

“Isn’t it beautiful? It once belonged to a Queen from Rishi.”

“How did you manage to come into possession of this?” Her eyes don’t leave the gown.

“Some clones who just so happen to be regulars of mine found it while stationed out there.”

“Lucky find…”

“I’ll say. Though I don’t think I’ll sell it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to give it to you.”

Nobara’s face turns serious, her gaze finally moving from the dress and toward you, “I can’t take this dress.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not. Jedi aren’t allowed material possessions like these.”

“What’s one dress?”

“It’s not about the dress.”

“Then what is it about?”

“The principle! It’s forbidden.”

You give her a slightly irritated look, “Well you tried to tell me our friendship was forbidden the first night we met. Now look at us.”

“That’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“Because…” Nobara pauses, redirecting the conversation, “This is a very elegant piece of clothing and I’m meant to wear these robes day in and day out.”

“And you don’t think you’ll have just as genuine a connection to the Force in something you actually want to wear? Something that makes you happy?”

Nobara goes silent.

You didn’t mean for this to result in an argument.

Your voice softens when you go to speak again, “How about you just try the dress on. Put it on for two minutes and then take it off. No harm done, right?”

She swallows hard, “I don’t know.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fine. Besides, who says you can’t admire exquisite fashion while also being the best Jedi the galaxy has ever seen?”

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘the best’…” She finally laughs a little.

“Please? For me? I need to know how it looks on someone anyway if I’m to even consider selling it. Look for tears and whatnot.”

Nobara takes a deep breath in before sighing. “Alright. I’ll try it on.”

A grin spreads across your face and you clap your hands in excitement.

Handing you the dress, Nobara laughs again as she goes to unbuckle her toolbelt, placing it and her lightsaber on one of the shelves.

“Oh, you’re… you don’t mind that I’m in the room?”

Your mouth goes dry as you try your best to speak.

“Of course, I trust you. Besides, it's just our natural form.” She shrugs, in doing so her robe falls to the floor.

“No, that… that makes sense!” You smile a little awkwardly at her, trying not to stare as she begins to undress further.

Next comes her boots and her waist sash, placing the latter with her belt. Once the entire process is over, she stands in front of you in neutral coloured underclothes and there is a fairly large pile of Jedi garb resting on your merchandise shelves. Her eyes go to meet yours but she notices you’re looking away, up toward the ceiling.

“Hey?” Her voice is as soft as ever.

You finally look over at her, your grip on the dress tightening as you do your best not to look her up and down.

All she does is smile at you, giving you a comfort you don’t think you’ve ever felt before.

Smiling back at her, you give her the dress, watching her as she just holds it. Now she’s the awkward looking one.

“Do you need help?”

She tucks her hair behind one of her ears, nodding as her face heats up, “Yes please.”

You take a step closer to her, doing your best to lift the dress up over her head, “Arms up.”

“Straight up?”

“Mhm!”

Her eyes widen as she smiles, “if you say so!”

Following your directions, her arms go up above her head, finally allowing you to slip the bottom of the dress onto her, helping it down her toned form. She allows you to move her body and the dress how you need, trying not to disturb your process. Once the bodice is properly on her torso, you start to lace up the corset, your fingers working at the delicate ribbon

“Let me know if it’s uncomfortable and I can loosen it, okay?”

“Okay.” She whispers out, still not wanting to affect what you’re doing.

Your fingers tug at the ribbon, tightening the dress onto Nobara so it fits her just right. Once you reach the top hooks of the corset, you take the remaining ribbon and tie it in a beautiful bow.

You fluff up the back of the skirt somewhat before moving to the front of her, wanting to see how it looks. When you see her though, you’re met with the sight of the most enchanting person you have ever seen.

The Jedi-turned-princess in front of you notices you staring, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Does it look terrible?”

“No, not at all. You look… perfect.”

She gives you a bashful smile, her eyes going to the floor.

“Not that you don’t look perfect in your Jedi clothes!” You go to correct yourself, “I think you look wonderful all the time.”

She giggles, that smirk you’re used to coming back to her face, though a little softer now.

You go to open your mouth but nothing comes out, pausing to look for the words as your tongue touches your teeth, “Hold on… not that I’m always looking at you!”

She purses her lips together to stop herself from smiling too much, tilting her head at you with raised brows.

“You know what? How about I stop talking and bring you a mirror?”

You don’t let her answer before walking off to another part of your storage room, seeking out a fancy new mirror you had purchased just a few days ago. It is a full length mirror created by an artisan on Naboo, one of the greatest the planet has ever seen—or so he was advertised as. Finding it leaning against the wall, you pick it up and bring it over to Nobara.

“Okay, close your eyes while I set this up!”

She does as you tell her again, closing her eyes lightly as you prop the mirror up against one of the tall shelving units.

You move to stand next to her again, checking the position of the mirror.

“Alright… open.”

Nobara’s eyes flutter open slowly, her eyes meeting her reflection.

She whispers out a barely audible “wow…”

“It’s like it was made for you.”

“I haven’t seen my reflection in years…”

You turn your head to look at her, waiting for her to compile her thoughts.

“Sure, sometimes I see it in the windows on the street or in the water… but never like this.” She starts to look at the whole picture, not just her face, taking note of how the dress falls on her waist to how the corset hugs her chest. For the first time since she can remember, Nobara is actually able to admire herself, to take wonder in something other than the Force.

“How about I keep it here?”

She gives you a puzzled look in the mirror.

“I’ll keep this dress here for you, wrap it up, keep it in a cool place. You can come by and wear it whenever you’d like.”

Her shoulders relax and her face takes on an expression you've seen many times before—one of thankfulness.

“Are you sure? I know something like this would sell for quite a lot.”

You give her a half shrug, “Yeah, I don’t mind. It looks like it was made for you anyway.”

She smiles, giving herself another lookover in the mirror, but her smile fades again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just that… sometimes I wish I wasn’t a Jedi.”

“It’s no big deal. I can carve out a whole section of this storage room just for pretty clothes you like! I know it isn’t the same as actually being able to wear them all the time and go out and stuff but—”

“It’s not that.” Her jaw clenches.

“Then what is it?”

Her eyes meet yours through the reflection again, she looks almost afraid.

You move so you’re standing in between her and the mirror, looking at her again

“What is it? Is it the war? I know it’s terrifying but Chancellor Palpatine is convinced that the war will be over in the next year.”

“It’s not the war!” Nobara speaks firmly, her breaths deep but laboured, “Or the dress… It’s you.”

“Me?”

“How is it that love is forbidden for what it seems like the only group doing anything to stop hatred and evil from conquering the Galaxy? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

You give the smallest of nods, looking toward the wall, “It doesn’t make much sense to me either.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” The words come out shaky and unconfident, two words you would never use to describe the woman in front of you.

You spare her the stress, the fear of rejection, the agony of waiting.

“I love you too.”

#nobara x reader #nobara x you #wlw nobara #nobara kugisaki x reader #jjk x reader #this is super self indulgent (:#teddy.writes

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the12thnightproject · 9 months

Text

Chapter 15: Mitsuhide POV - Mistake Compounded: (Surprise) Gacha Chapter - Mitsuhide's take on recent events.

All Chapters Archived on Ao3

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

“The usual place?” Goro slung the unconscious priest over his shoulders as easily as if he were carrying a sack of rice from the fields. The man had been a farmer once, before the wars displaced his clan. Eventually, he found his way into Mitsuhide’s service, where his combination of brawn and quick intelligence made him a valuable operative, one willing to do tasks that Mitshide would hesitate to ask of Kyubei.

“No.” Mitsuhide found a handkerchief and swiped at a smear of blood on his knuckles. Normally, he preferred to use less physical methods when interrogating a prisoner. Emotional pressure – at least the sort that was his expertise - was generally more effective than torture. But the priest was creature of anger, who only understood violence, one whose family had condemned him to his church in the hopes that their God would do what a strict upbringing could not. “Arrange for him to be found outside a brothel. His more religious brethren will take care of him from there.”

The Nanban missionaries would be horrified; and eager to send him back west, or at the very least, to the Funai diocese in Nagasaki, where they could keep a closer eye on him. Such a man was counter with their evangelical mission.

“As you wish.” With that, the priest was hauled away, leaving only a puddle of urine where he had soiled himself during Mitsuhide’s interrogation.

Mitsuhide cleaned the mess himself – it would not do for the machiya’s storerooms to contain anything but the very best in spices and lacquerware. Blood and excrement would ruin the atmosphere.

As you wish. Odd how Goro’s respectful acceptance of Mitsuhide’s orders echoed uncomfortably with Kaya’s defiant use of the same phrase. Certainly, he would prefer her to be obedient – their task would be far easier – but he was finding her little rebellions and protests entertaining… at least until this evening when he had discovered that underneath her defiance was very real fear.

What was behind that terror (for it had indeed been terror)? What would it take for her to confide in him? Certainly, he did not require her to trust him, for that was not a thing offered even as easily as obedience (and Kaya was anything but that). However, if she ever did grant him her confidence, he would feel honored.

Mai had trusted him… Mai trusted too quickly.

It was with the spector of Mai in his head that he went to scrub the stains of this night off his body. After that… perhaps he had earned the indulgence of enough wine to scrub his memories for a few hours.

Neither would be removed as easily as the stains from the floor.

Respite had not been earned, nor given. The sliver of the moon was still in the sky when he heard the light tapping of feet, as Kaya crept down the stairs. Annoyed at the interruption to his solitude, he offered a challenge that ought to have sent her scurrying back to her room. “Couldn’t sleep? Or… were you interested in renegotiation?”

Even in the dim light of the staircase, he could see her scowl at him. Or perhaps he knew her enough to know that would be her automatic response to that suggestion. “Never mind. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow when you’re sober.”

Oddly, her statement made him want her company after all. The sake wasn’t working to ease his soul. Arguing with Kaya would at least be a distraction. He placed his cup on the desk, as much to prove to her that he was indeed sober, as to prove to himself the same. “I could drink twice this much and remain unaffected.”

She still seemed hesitant, and now that his eyes had adjusted more to the dimness on the stairs, he noticed she was shaking. “What is it?” He beckoned her closer. “I presume this is important.”

“I think it might be.” She threw herself onto the cushion, even at this hour a picture of vitality. Her hair was poking out of her ponytail in all directions – there was even a piece stuck to her cheek. Had she been crying? He pushed away the urge to brush it off her face and instead offered to share his drink.

She shook her head. “I can’t. It gives me nightmares. Waking nightmares too. And, I already just had a sleeping one that woke me up.”

Ah. It was not a surprise that the events of this evening had affected her. Though trained by Akihira, it was clear that the man had not utilized her in any darker ventures. Mitsuhide imagined that if he had a daughter of his own, he would be much the same, and do his best to keep the girl in the light.

As for the priest, at least Mitsuhide could reassure Kaya that he would not trouble her in the future. “A nightmare about the priest? He will no longer be a factor.” The man had acted on impulse – spotting ‘Kyubei’ and Kaya at the shrine, he had taken a chance to be revenged upon the events of the auction. There was no connection between the priest and the disappearances of Hideyoshi, Mai and Aki. Of that, he was now certain.

“A different nightmare.” Three words. Words that made Kaya look small… and cold.

He noticed that she had fled her room without putting on her shoes… or even a yukata. He could see a vague outline of her body through the thin material of her night kimono. The latter observation had him speaking more honestly than intended. “If you’ve come to me to be soothed, I’m flattered.” But the only comfort he had the right to offer was…. He took off his socks and passed them to her. “Don’t protest. I never feel extreme heat or cold.”

“Alright.” She slipped the socks onto her her feet. “I guess to explain the nightmare, I have to go back and explain why I don’t like boxes.”

Interesting. He would finally learn the reason for her terror of … “The palanquin.” This could potentially be a long conversation, so he poured himself another drink – an action he had cause to be grateful for when he heard her next words.

“Yes. Well. About five years ago, someone tried to kill me, or maybe just get rid of me – by locking me in a crate and leaving it in a warehouse.” Her hands were clenched into fists, knuckles white with tension.

The thought of someone locking a child - and five years ago, Kaya… no, she was Katsu… would hardly be past childhood - into a crate and abandoning her made him wish the culprit were before him right now. There would be no mercy, no attempt at emotional pressure. But that… was for another time. At the moment, he could offer the comfort of quiet logic. “The warehouse that currently belongs to Shojumaru.”

“Yes – that one. I don’t know if he owned it then though. The crate I was in got hidden under a heavy shipment of western muskets. I couldn’t get enough leverage to move the lid.” She faltered in her story as the rest of her became as pale as her knuckles.

Before she fainted, Mitsuhide took hold of those trembling hands, willing to transfer a measure of detachment to her. “Katsu. Look at me. Breathe.”

She breathed.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, until the breathing became easy, until her grip relaxed, until …

She pulled away.

Now Mitsuhide’s hands felt cold. He wrapped them around the sake bottle.

She took one last deep breath and continued. “While I was in there – before I realized I was trapped - I overheard a conversation between a foreign merchant and a man he called Motonari.”

Motonari?

It was the last name he’d expected to hear. The man was dead. Had been so for a long time. Too long ago to make that possible. “Five years ago? The only Motonari I can think of who would have been interested in and able to acquire a large shipment of weapons is Mouri Motonari, and he’s been dead for longer than that.”

Katsu shrugged, and the edge of her kimono slipped lower on her shoulder. “So were Kenshin and Shingen, and they’re still alive.”

“You’re suggesting Mouri Motonari is not dead. That’s… possible. The Mouri clan has been rather active of late. However…” It was an interesting avenue to pursue, but she could have told him this in the morning. Perhaps she had come out here indeed seeking comfort… seeking hi-

“The thing is - I think he’s Shojumaru. His voice. It’s been bothering me about him since we met.” Her words knocked the other avenue of thought out of his head. “Shojumaru was the man in the warehouse back then. The one that they called Motonari.”

Shojumaru is Motonari? It… should have come as more of a shock. After all, he had been certain that Shojumaru was hiding something… even the man’s name. Shojumaru. It was a child’s name. Many men discarded their childhood name when they came into leadership. Or repurposed it as he was even now with his own childhood name of ‘Juubei.’ “You are certain about this?” When she bristled in protest, of his questioning, he added, “I do not doubt your story, only what time does to the memory. As you say, it has been five years.”

“Five years of a memory that regularly appears in my nightmares. He could not have been aware that I was trapped in there. That was just a coincidence on his side.” Her voice was calmer, clear with certainty, and he found himself inclined to accept the story.

Inclined to accept it, and curious to know how she had been freed. “How did you escape?” She looked surprised at that – but the Shojumaru revelation could keep for a little while longer. What he needed to know now was how she had escaped that ordeal, and if anything from that escape was likely to interfere with their current task. Interfere more than need to avoid palanquins in the future. “It’s not such an unusual question – someone must have found you, for here you are, sitting with your feet in my socks.”

She glanced at her hands, a sure tell that she was considering lying to him… or avoiding the question somehow. “A person heard me yelling later and rescued me.”

A ‘person.’

“A random passerby to a warehouse that was used by weapons smugglers.” He had a suspicion as to the identity of that ‘person.’ Would she finally tell him? Or even now would she hold back information that at this point was useless. “For if you had been rescued by Aki, you would have mentioned it. And let me digress to remind you that it’s as important to take note of what a person does not say, as it is to listen to what they do. Therefore, the name of your rescuer…?”

“I don’t actually know if those weapons were smuggled. It could have been a legal shipment….” He stared at her until her rambling prevarication reached a truthful response. “It was Kennyo.”

Finally. The truth was too late, far too late, and Kennyo was dead now. Even so, Mitsuhide was glad to have the gift of her honesty. “Ah. The reason for your stubbornness at the beginning of the summer is now revealed. Were you working or him?”

“What? Oh. No.” She sounded surprised enough at the question for him to accept her denial. “But I felt like I owed him for saving me, and that life debt weighed. And at the time you questioned me, I had no idea that he was anything but a travelling monk.”

That… he doubted, but it was also unlikely that Kennyo had told her what he was doing, or what he had planned. She might not have had direct knowledge, but she likely had had her suspicions. “Katsuko, you are far too smart to believe that.”

He noticed she had turned her attention to the teapot he had neglected to dump out earlier. Were this a true interrogation, he might have denied her a drink, or even taunted her with it. “It’s from this morning.”

She shrugged, so he poured poured her a cup, then laughed inwardly at the look on her face when she got a taste of it. I did warn you. If he had been willing to stop the flow of her story, he might have put a kettle on the irori and boiled more water for fresh tea. “Kennyo.”

“He found me, pulled me out, and Aki caught up to us a little while later. Anyway, he took us back to his encampment, found some clothes for me, and… well, he hinted that he might some day come to ask me to repay him, or ask it of Aki.” She coughed, sipped more tea, and coughed again. “Forgetting that I had not seen him when I briefly crossed his path that night seemed like a harmless way to repay him.”

“Harmless. Did it occur to you that if we had been able to capture him at that point, then he would not be able to return and ask a favor?” The expression on her face did not change, but clearly, she hadn’t thought of that. It spoke of a sense of honor. Misplaced in this particular instance, but honor just the same. “Never mind. Sometimes I forget how young you truly are.”

“Besides, there were so many people in the woods that night. I figured someone else must have seen him too, and if so, you were bound to figure things out without me.” That was an interesting statement, and suggested there might have been other people that she hadn’t mentioned seeing. Before he could call that out, she changed the direction of the conversation. “What do you plan to do about Shojumaru? Motonari.”

Until he could determine if Motonari had taken Hideyoshi and Mai and where he was likely to have taken them, there wasn’t much he could do. Yet. With the access to the Mouri fleet, as well as merchant ships, he could be hiding them anywhere. He presumed that at some point the man planned to make a move – the task was to move there first. “Watch him. See if he makes a mistake. Find out if he has any weaknesses and exploit them. For the moment, de Sousa still seems to be a key here. Hideyoshi met with de Sousa. If I can prove a stronger connection between him and Motonari, it would give me a lever to press. If Motonari is involved, it makes the situation political. They could be hostages instead of slaves. If Motonari had… executed them… he would have taunted Nobunaga about that.”

And if Motonari has executed them, whatever hell he has been through in the past is nothing like he will face in the future. He wouldn’t wait for Nobunaga to determine a punishment. The Oda could have whatever was left of Motonari’s body.

“What are they like? Lord Hideyoshi and Lady Mai. What are they like?” Katsu’s voice startled him. He’d nearly forgotten she was in the room.

He poured himself another drink, allowing every drop of the sake to fall into the cup. “Hideyoshi is Nobunaga’s right hand man. He’s a good man… idealistic… devoted… passionate… honest. An all around pain in the ass.”

He didn’t know what Katsuko was expecting him to say, but it clearly hadn’t been that, for she suddenly laughed. He realized that he had never seen her smile before (true, he had not given her any reason to… not that that had ever stopped Mai). “You don’t smile very often.”

It was like getting a glimpse of a completely different person, one that he wanted to know as much as he wanted to know the Katsu who was capable of passionately arguing with him and the one who was terrified of boxes. That thought was rather terrifying in itself. He didn’t want to like her.

He couldn’t afford to.

Katsu covered her mouth. “Um… what? Should I?”

Nor could he afford for her to become self-conscious about her expressions. Her customary ‘neutral face’ was helpful in this line of work. “Dear me, no. Not if you don’t feel like it. It wasn’t meant as a criticism. For what is needed, your face is completely appropriate.”

“I don’t trust smilers. The man who tried to kill me was like that.” She rubbed her arms, and though he was aware that she had done so to comfort herself, the action again caused her kimono to slip, revealing more shoulder.

To avoid being further distracted, he pealed off his own outer robe and passed it to her. He didn’t need it, especially not now, while he warmed by her presence.

Katsu accepted the robe, and curled into it. She looked like a small child wearing her father’s clothing. “And… Lady Mai?”

What about Mai? His greatest weakness… his greatest regret. His greatest victory – one over himself, and his desires – for Mai and Hideyoshi were each half of the same. Light goes to light. “Completely devoted to Hideyoshi and his dreams. At a look, the two of them can enter a world where they are the only two inhabitants.” He lifted his cup, then noticed it was empty. “Hand me that bottle.”

She slid the bottle toward him. “It’s nice that they found each other.”

“He tried not to want her… but with Mai, that’s not possible.” That… was not something he should have revealed to Katsuko, but with any luck she would not think too deeply on the implications of that. Especially if he directed equal praise toward Hideyoshi. “He believed that Nobunaga wanted her for himself, and Hideyoshi is nothing if not self-sacrificing. The man would work himself until he dropped from exhaustion if no one stopped him. And then he would still find time to scold everyone else.”

He watched her burrow deeper into his kimono, feeling gratified that she found it a comfort. And… did she just sniff the sleeve and smile? He filed that away for future teasing. “Does he scold Mai too?”

“Sometimes. If she works too hard. He can’t help it. It’s in his nature to mother everyone. Though Mai at least can get him to rest.” A few weeks prior to their disappearance, Mai had organized something that she had called a ‘dinner party.’ She’d worked closely with Masamune to choose the foods, had decorated Hideyoshi’s manor for the occasion, and then over the course of the meal, had proceed to gently fuss so much over the guests (which had only been himself, Masamune, and Mitsunari) until Hideyoshi sat her down and made her eat too. She’d told him she didn’t need to relax, but that everyone else did, because she knew they were all working hard to build a better world. “Mai is the most idealistic person you will ever meet. Yet, as she much as passionately despises war, she’ll leap into any fight to defend her friends or an innocent bystander, or… even me.”

“I’m having trouble imagining that you ever needed to be defended.” She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands, as if waiting for the whole story. “Who dared?”

“I dared, in fact. I needed to appear to be working for Kennyo, and I carefully constructed matters to make myself look like a traitor. But Mai cut through the entire charade by refusing to believe I was guilty.” He’d never forget the sight of her, defiantly facing him in the dungeon, threatening to reveal his innocence to everyone unless he confided in Hideyoshi. “And the evidence of my guilt was overwhelming – I ought to know, I manufactured it myself. With my reputation, it would have been more than enough to condemn me. But she and Hideyoshi never doubted my innocence.”

There was a long moment of silence, while she appeared to think that over, her lips pursed in concentration. He directed his senses to the feel of the wine in his mouth, for he was becoming far too curious about how her mouth would feel under his. He’d almost banished that odd urge, only to be surprised when she did finally speak. “Well, to be honest, I would have a hard time accepting your guilt too. I mean, ok, I don’t like you, but anyone with eyes and a logically functioning brain can tell you’re loyal to the Oda.”

It was … not that same as Mai’s blind faith in him. Katsu was a creature of logic, and he was certain that were he to ask her what evidence she had used to reach that conclusion, she would tell him in detail. It was still gratifying that she had been able to put aside whatever resentment and rebellion she felt toward him to give him a fair trial in her mind. The, personal dislike, on the other hand…. “What a pity. I believe I have treated you perfectly well. I am a very likeable fellow. Although I suppose it’s flattering that you too would defend my innocence. Flattering. But foolish.” He tapped her on the nose… a gesture that he would give to a foolish child, to remind her who had the power in this room. To remind himself of that as well. “Have you forgotten that you’re my prisoner?”

Absently she rubbed her nose. Brushing away his touch? Or memorizing it? “Don’t worry. I think you’re capable of a great many morally grey things. But in service to a Nobunaga’s cause… not for personal gain.”

His thoughts returned to the blood and urine stains he’d cleaned out of the storeroom. “For this cause there must be someone willing to take on the burden of evil. And someone must be the light to my dark. That has always been Hideyoshi. It’s a delicate balance we make up – Nobunaga needs him, his honesty, as much he needs someone to carry out the missions that no one speaks about. Someone to interrogate--”

Interrogate… perhaps Katsu was more skilled at this than he had imagined. Had tonight been a ploy to discover his weaknesses? He took hold of her chin and looked directly in to a pair of defiant eyes. “Is that what this has been? An interrogation? Looking for a weakness in your captor?”

Her eyes stayed on his. “Always.”Then she shrugged. “Making conversation. Trying to chase away my own nightmares.”

Which had been the truth? Her defiance? Or the need for comfort? For the first time in a very long time, Mitsuhide couldn’t read someone. Maybe both had been true. Maybe neither. Either way, it was a signal to end this conversation. And a signal to return their … association to its prior transactional level. He did not need a friend. He did not need to drag another person into darkness with him. “Have they been chased? For I know that if Hideyoshi were here at this moment, he would tell us both to go to bed now. And to clean our teeth first.”

Understanding his unspoken message, Katsu stood up.

Good. He would stay here, alone, in the dim light where he belonged.

But Kats-Kaya would not leave him even that. “He would be correct… in both. You should go to sleep… Lord Mitsuhide.”

Once again, time to remind her of her precarious position. Of her options. “Will you escort me to my bed? It’s not too late to renegotiate.”

She would refuse him, of course. She must. The other alternative was not thinkable.

“To your door.” Her voice, her posture echoed Kyubei’s. Kyubei, who was obedient, but was confident enough to speak his mind.

“Planning to take on Kyubei’s role?” That would be a workable compromise – a vassal whom he could count on to follow directives. He would be responsible for her, naturally, but there was no need to encourage a friendship.

With that in mind, he took her arm… and the feeling of her skin under his fingertips was like a drug in the blood, more potent than sake.

Over the course of the journey up the stairs, to the door to his room he concentrated only on putting one foot before the other, his own breathing, and not on her warm presence beside him. By the time he stepped inside his own room, where she, as planned, halted at the threshold, he had his pulse in check once again. He could return to thinking of her as Kaya.

He lightly pulled on her hair, then turned his back on her, even as she slid shut the door.

As he heard her footsteps fade away, heard her own door open and shut, he decided to spend as little time with her as possible. It ought to be simple enough to make her hate him again.

Tomorrow… he would ride to Azuchi, and discuss with Nobunaga what they had learned.

Perhaps he would even stay there for an extra day or two.

@selenacosmic @bestbryn @lyds323 @akitsuneswife @tele86 @lorei-writes

#ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen mitsuhide #ao3 link #ocfairygodmother #ten things #ten things I hate about mitsuhide #surprise gacha chapter #mitsuhide not monday

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hosannan · 6 months

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She had thanked him, once, and he'd not any idea of who she was. It had been strange, that dissonant sensation of meaning more to someone than they did to you, to exist peripherally as a character in a fairy tale, rather than the flesh and blood man.

But as she arrived into the hall, following her uncle, her mother, trailing along the rest of her family, Sigurd understood that that sensation was merely temporary – they were disconnected by time and circumstance, but they were family, all the same.

"Young Nanna! It is Nanna, is it not? Princess?" He winked at her, and stooped to pull her into a warm embrace. His eyes creased, glittering as he pulled back to look at her fully. "Please, be most welcome, you are kin – not just as Jugdrali, but of the heart. We will get to know one another in time. Here, first - !"

He scooped from a table containing goodie bags, and placed one into her hands. The bag is of a plush sapphire velvet with braided gold drawstrings. If she were tempted to peek inside, they would find the festive goodies of the typical Chalphy holiday season: roasted nuts coated in a caramelized warming spice mixture, a hand-pulled twisted peppermint stick, decadent candied orange peel, and a holiday cracker to be pulled later with little knick-knacks within.

"Enjoy the party. Please, come to me with anything you need."

"Lord Sigurd! Yes, I--" Her gasp could have rattled half the porcelain bowls on the table, as she rose a dainty hand over her mouth. She was caught off guard with the address, wondering if he was teasing her. Giving her a moment to catch herself, Nanna gave a hearty laugh, like that of budding roses. "Young Nanna, Princess Nanna, or Just Nanna, at your service, my lord."

She fanned out her skirt in a curtsy, the laughter never leaving her eyes. "Truly? It's an honor to be in your company, let alone in your heart, sire. Hahaha!"

"Oh!" The velvet drawstring bag rested sweetly in her palms, running warmth up to her chest. Oh, how she loved this time of year. Her gaze softened, as she clasped it loosely against her heart. "Thank you..."

"And this is for you—" She felt a little shy, fingers gently clasping at a small, handwritten letter in her rucksack. She toyed with it for a moment, twiddling its corners to will herself to hand it to him. Had it been folded? Was her handwriting legible? Her wax seal marked the back with a gold 'N' inscribed in flowers. Paired with it was a sea blue package with a pocket watch inside, of the same rich color.

She beamed.

"May the holidays bring you only warmth and laughter, Lord Sigurd."

In lovely, blooming cursive was the following:

Happy Holidays, Lord Sigurd! The snow leads me down sunken roads, where many merchants in deep green smocks wrap their stalls in cured hide and glass baubles. The colored glass seems to frost over in the cold, and I think it's a sign for the year to meet its natural end. I think resting on the precipice between the end and the beginning is beautiful. It really calls to mind how far we've managed to come, and how far it takes for anyone to truly live their life to the fullest. I hope this letter doesn't take you aback; it's abrupt, yes, but I think there's something magical about writing that allows you to open a window into your heart. And once you look into that window, you'll realize that this is all entirely new to me. Lord Leif and I celebrated the holidays in Fiana, but living on humbler means meant a holiday of the same caliber. I've heard of stories from my father, of the grand holidays held in castles, and the long, sweeping tables filled with gifts and food galore. I've heard of the candles and ivy-lined walls, of the tinsel and velvet. And I've heard about you, of course. But there's nothing like experiencing it for yourself. I suppose it's nothing like living history. It's living life. And I've got you to thank for that. With great regard, Princess Nanna of Nordion

#{ thank you for the 🥜 sir sigurd!!!!! (wholesome nanna vc)#{ all jokes aside this was genuinely so sweet thank you tches I love Sigurd 🥺#{ “i'm going to make this short” how wrong i was #bxldrsdraumar

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 2 months

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A Lament for Tyre

1 The word of the Lord came again unto me, saying,

2 Now, thou son of man, take up a lamentation for Tyrus;

3 And say unto Tyrus, O thou that art situate at the entry of the sea, which art a merchant of the people for many isles, Thus saith the Lord God; O Tyrus, thou hast said, I am of perfect beauty.

4 Thy borders are in the midst of the seas, thy builders have perfected thy beauty.

5 They have made all thy ship boards of fir trees of Senir: they have taken cedars from Lebanon to make masts for thee.

6 Of the oaks of Bashan have they made thine oars; the company of the Ashurites have made thy benches of ivory, brought out of the isles of Chittim.

7 Fine linen with broidered work from Egypt was that which thou spreadest forth to be thy sail; blue and purple from the isles of Elishah was that which covered thee.

8 The inhabitants of Zidon and Arvad were thy mariners: thy wise men, O Tyrus, that were in thee, were thy pilots.

9 The ancients of Gebal and the wise men thereof were in thee thy calkers: all the ships of the sea with their mariners were in thee to occupy thy merchandise.

10 They of Persia and of Lud and of Phut were in thine army, thy men of war: they hanged the shield and helmet in thee; they set forth thy comeliness.

11 The men of Arvad with thine army were upon thy walls round about, and the Gammadims were in thy towers: they hanged their shields upon thy walls round about; they have made thy beauty perfect.

12 Tarshish was thy merchant by reason of the multitude of all kind of riches; with silver, iron, tin, and lead, they traded in thy fairs.

13 Javan, Tubal, and Meshech, they were thy merchants: they traded the persons of men and vessels of brass in thy market.

14 They of the house of Togarmah traded in thy fairs with horses and horsemen and mules.

15 The men of Dedan were thy merchants; many isles were the merchandise of thine hand: they brought thee for a present horns of ivory and ebony.

16 Syria was thy merchant by reason of the multitude of the wares of thy making: they occupied in thy fairs with emeralds, purple, and broidered work, and fine linen, and coral, and agate.

17 Judah, and the land of Israel, they were thy merchants: they traded in thy market wheat of Minnith, and Pannag, and honey, and oil, and balm.

18 Damascus was thy merchant in the multitude of the wares of thy making, for the multitude of all riches; in the wine of Helbon, and white wool.

19 Dan also and Javan going to and fro occupied in thy fairs: bright iron, cassia, and calamus, were in thy market.

20 Dedan was thy merchant in precious clothes for chariots.

21 Arabia, and all the princes of Kedar, they occupied with thee in lambs, and rams, and goats: in these were they thy merchants.

22 The merchants of Sheba and Raamah, they were thy merchants: they occupied in thy fairs with chief of all spices, and with all precious stones, and gold.

23 Haran, and Canneh, and Eden, the merchants of Sheba, Asshur, and Chilmad, were thy merchants.

24 These were thy merchants in all sorts of things, in blue clothes, and broidered work, and in chests of rich apparel, bound with cords, and made of cedar, among thy merchandise.

25 The ships of Tarshish did sing of thee in thy market: and thou wast replenished, and made very glorious in the midst of the seas.

26 Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters: the east wind hath broken thee in the midst of the seas.

27 Thy riches, and thy fairs, thy merchandise, thy mariners, and thy pilots, thy calkers, and the occupiers of thy merchandise, and all thy men of war, that are in thee, and in all thy company which is in the midst of thee, shall fall into the midst of the seas in the day of thy ruin.

28 The suburbs shall shake at the sound of the cry of thy pilots.

29 And all that handle the oar, the mariners, and all the pilots of the sea, shall come down from their ships, they shall stand upon the land;

30 And shall cause their voice to be heard against thee, and shall cry bitterly, and shall cast up dust upon their heads, they shall wallow themselves in the ashes:

31 And they shall make themselves utterly bald for thee, and gird them with sackcloth, and they shall weep for thee with bitterness of heart and bitter wailing.

32 And in their wailing they shall take up a lamentation for thee, and lament over thee, saying, What city is like Tyrus, like the destroyed in the midst of the sea?

33 When thy wares went forth out of the seas, thou filledst many people; thou didst enrich the kings of the earth with the multitude of thy riches and of thy merchandise.

34 In the time when thou shalt be broken by the seas in the depths of the waters thy merchandise and all thy company in the midst of thee shall fall.

35 All the inhabitants of the isles shall be astonished at thee, and their kings shall be sore afraid, they shall be troubled in their countenance.

36 The merchants among the people shall hiss at thee; thou shalt be a terror, and never shalt be any more. — Ezekiel 27 | King James Version (KJV) The King James Version Bible is in the public domain. Cross References: Genesis 10:2,3 and 4; Genesis 10:7; Genesis 10:18; Genesis 14:15; Genesis 25:3; Genesis 43:11; Exodus 25:4; Deuteronomy 3:9; Judges 10:6; 2 Kings 19:12; Psalm 37:10; Psalm 48:7; Psalm 83:7; Psalm 120:5; Song of Solomon 4:4; Isaiah 3:24; Jeremiah 9:10; Ezekiel 26:12; Ezekiel 26:17; Ezekiel 26:21; Ezekiel 28:4-5; Ezekiel 28:15; Ezekiel 32:9; Zechariah 9:3-4; Acts 12:20; Acts 27:14; Revelation 18:3; Revelation 18:9; Revelation 18:11,12 and 13; Revelation 18:17,18 and 19

#Tyre #beauty #splendor #wasted blessings #God #God's sovereignty #God the Father #mankind #pride #dishonor #Ezekiel 27 #Book of Ezekiel #Old Testament #KJV #King James Version #Holy Bible

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ltwilliammowett · 1 year

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Christmas Punch

Some point to the ancient Hindustani word "paanstch", which means five: a great drink prepared from five key elements - sweet, sour, alcohol (arrak), water and spices. Some, however, attribute it to English merchant sailors who, though they did not invent the punch, very much drank it. Men working on British East India Company ships used it as a beer alternative in the 17th century. The sailors were known to consume large quantities of beer on their voyages, but when the ships reached the warmer waters of the Indian Ocean, the beer in the cargo bays became rancid and stale. Once the ships reached the coast, the sailors created new drinks from ingredients native to their destination: Arrack, citrus fruits and spices. Back at sea or at home, rum or brandy or other wines were more likely to be used.

Naval Officers and a Bowl of Punch by Thomas Rowlandson c.1790 (x)

The sailors brought punch back with them to Britain. With its exotic flavours and expensive ingredients, it became a fixture in the elite homes of 17th-century England and then a staple. Some parties, however, tended to get out of hand. Like the celebration of Edward Russel, captain-general and commander in chief in the Mediterranean. On 25 October 1694 he had a garden party for 6000 guests in his villa, and had his marble fountain filled with punch. For this, 4 hogsheads (c. 960l) of brandy, 8 hogsheads of water, 25000 lemons 75l of lime juice. 560kg of sugar, 3kg of nutmeg, 300 toasted biscuits and a pipe of dry mountain Malaga. The punch was served by a ship's boy who rowed through the fountain in a small boat.

Sailors sharing both punch and wenches. Taken from “Grog on Board” by Thomas Rowlandson, 1789 (x)

Punch entered the middle class as ingredients became more affordable during the 18th century. Punch was ubiquitous in the British Atlantic world and spread to the American colonies. So why is it considered more of a Christmas drink. It was because many of the merchants stayed at home during the winter months and made punch for the family on Christmas Day with the spices they had bought for themselves locally. This made it something special and is therefore often associated with the Christmas season, even though it was served all year round, especially when the spices became affordable for many.

And if you want to make now your own punch here is a nice recipe.

Bombay Presidency Punch in Bombay Government, August 13, 1694

Servings: 2 Prep Time: 5 minutes

2 Tbsp sugar 2 Tbsp lime or lemon juice 1/2 cup rum 3/4 cups water nutmeg

In a non-reactive bowl or pitcher, mix together the sugar and the juice and stir until dissolved. (Please use a glass, pottery, or stainless steel bowl or pitcher. Copper, cast iron, and aluminum will react with the acid in the lemon juice.)

Remove any seeds that may have made their way into the bowl. Blend in the rum, and then the water.

Add ice. Then grate nutmeg over the top.

Enjoy your tipple!

#naval history #christmas punch #sailors drinking #advent calender #day 22 #age of sail

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everyones-fangirl · 2 days

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Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers.

Word Count: 3,919

Chapter 2

Cassara

My journey took me to where I learned most all roads in the West lead to: Baldur’s Gate. During my travels, I met someone willing to fill me in on the place’s history—a fiery redhead with a heart of gold named Catalina, though she preferred to be called Caty. She had chosen to leave her home to follow her dream of becoming a bard and proudly told me she already had a job lined up. Her confidence gave me pause; I hadn’t even considered how I would make money. I had no trades. I could heal, but was that even needed in a bustling city like Baldur’s Gate?

Caty and I continued our walk, the summer air filled mostly with her enthusiastic chatter about the city. I didn’t mind, as I was eager to learn about the place I would call home for now. She painted a vivid picture of Baldur’s Gate, describing it as the largest metropolis and city-state on the Sword Coast, within the greater Western Heartlands. It was a crowded city of commerce and opportunity, one of the most prosperous and influential merchant cities on the western coast of Faerûn. She explained that despite its long-standing presence as a neutral power, the leaders of Baldur's Gate were members of the Lords' Alliance of powers in the west. The city’s strong peace-keeping force, known as the Watch, along with the powerful Flaming Fists mercenary company, kept the city generally peaceful and safe. This sense of security allowed the Gate to maintain a tolerant and welcoming attitude towards outsiders, whether they were wealthy merchants, poor refugees, or, as it historically attracted, less-scrupulous individuals such as pirates and smugglers.

As we walked, I took in the sights and sounds of the outskirts of the city. The roads were bustling with travelers and merchants, their wagons laden with goods. The air was thick with the mingling scents of exotic spices, fresh produce, and the faint tang of sea salt from the nearby docks. We continued our way through Wyrm’s crossing before descending into the Lower City, the bustling heart of commerce and daily life. The streets here were a maze of narrow, winding alleys and broad avenues, teeming with activity at all hours. Cobblestones, worn smooth by countless feet and wagon wheels, glistened under the flickering light of lanterns hung from wrought iron brackets on the buildings. The buildings in the Lower City were a mishmash of architectural styles, their facades reflecting the city's long and storied history. Tall, narrow houses with steeply pitched roofs leaned precariously against each other, their upper stories jutting out over the street below. Wooden shutters, painted in bright but weathered colors, clattered in the breeze. Small shops and stalls lined the streets, their awnings flapping, and their goods spilling out into the thoroughfares.

The air was thick with a medley of scents—freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery, the sharp tang of sea salt from the docks, the earthy aroma of herbs and spices from a bustling market. Merchants hawked their wares loudly, their voices blending into a cacophony of sound that filled the streets. Shoppers haggled over prices, children darted through the crowds playing games, and street performers entertained with music and acrobatics, their performances adding a lively rhythm to the city's pulse.

The Lower City was a melting pot of cultures and races. Humans, dwarves, elves, halflings, and even the occasional tiefling mingled together, their different languages and dialects creating a vibrant tapestry of conversation. Many wore practical, everyday clothing suited to their trades, while others donned the distinctive garb of their homelands, adding splashes of color and variety to the scene. Despite the vibrant life of the Lower City, there was an undercurrent of tension and unease. In shadowy corners and down less-traveled alleys, figures lurked, their eyes watching the crowds with a predatory gleam. The Flaming Fists, the city's mercenary force, patrolled the streets, their presence a constant reminder of the city's need for order and protection. They moved with practiced ease, their armor gleaming in the lantern light, keeping a close eye on the proceedings and ready to step in at the first sign of trouble.

The docks of the Lower City were particularly lively, a chaotic hub of activity where goods from all over Faerûn were loaded and unloaded. Ships of various sizes and designs crowded the harbor, their masts swaying gently with the tide. Sailors shouted orders and curses as they worked, their movements a well-rehearsed dance of efficiency. Crates and barrels were stacked high, and the air was filled with the sounds of creaking wood, the splash of water against the hulls, and the calls of seabirds overhead. Caty led me through the maze of streets with practiced ease, pointing out notable landmarks as we went. The Wide, the largest market in the city, was a sprawling expanse of stalls and tents, offering everything from exotic spices to finely crafted jewelry. The smell of roasted meats and freshly baked pastries was nearly irresistible, and I made a mental note to explore it more thoroughly later.

We stopped in front of the Blushing Mermaid, a notorious tavern known for its rowdy clientele and frequent brawls. Its raucous laughter and off-key singing spilled out into the street, a sharp contrast to the more refined establishments we had seen in the Upper City. Yet, it had a certain charm, a rough-and-tumble spirit that was undeniably part of Baldur's Gate's character. I couldn't help but be both overwhelmed and fascinated by its energy. This was a place of endless possibilities, where fortunes could be made and lost in a single day. Despite the challenges and dangers, it was clear that Baldur's Gate was a city where one could truly start anew. And for the first time since leaving my village, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could find my place here.

Caty’s lively narration continued uninterrupted. She spoke of the sprawling markets where one could find anything from rare magical artifacts to the finest silks. She described the grandiose temples dedicated to various gods, each one a marvel of architecture and devotion. The taverns and inns sounded particularly enticing, places where stories were exchanged over mugs of ale and the music of bards like Caty filled the air. I found myself both excited and apprehensive. The city promised endless possibilities, but I was acutely aware of my lack of preparation. Caty’s words about having a job lined up gnawed at me. I had skills as a healer, but I doubted whether that would be enough in a place like Baldur’s Gate. My mind raced with thoughts of how I could make a living, how I could carve out a place for myself in this sprawling, vibrant city.

Caty finally stopped and turned to me, she was a striking figure easily catching the eye in any crowd. Her fiery red hair cascaded down her back in loose, wild waves, a vibrant contrast to her pale, freckled skin. The freckles dotted her cheeks and nose, adding a youthful charm to her otherwise ethereal appearance. Her pale blue eyes were her most captivating feature, often described as being as clear and deep as the summer sky. They held an intensity and warmth that made everyone she spoke to feel seen and understood. Standing taller than most elves, Caty had a slender yet strong build, her movements graceful and fluid, a testament to her elven heritage. She carried herself with an air of confidence and ease, her presence exuding both kindness and a hint of mischievousness. Her long, nimble fingers, calloused from years of playing the lute, moved effortlessly across the strings, creating melodies that seemed to flow directly from her heart.

Her attire was both practical and artistic, reflecting her dual nature as a wanderer and a performer. She wore a simple but elegantly cut tunic of deep green, adorned with intricate patterns of leaves and vines embroidered in silver thread, reminiscent of her woodland origins. Her trousers were sturdy leather, ideal for traveling, yet tailored to fit her form perfectly. Around her waist, she wore a wide, ornate belt with small pouches and trinkets attached, each one a memento from her travels. A lute, her constant companion, hung from a strap slung over her shoulder. The instrument was beautifully crafted, its polished wood gleaming in the light. Caty had decorated it with tiny, hand-painted designs of flowers and stars, making it uniquely hers. She often played it as she walked, her music a soothing accompaniment to her journey.

Despite her refined appearance, Caty was anything but aloof. She had an infectious laugh that bubbled up easily, and her smile was a beacon of warmth and friendliness. She had a natural ability to put people at ease, her voice soft and melodious, capable of conveying both empathy and exuberance. She was genuinely curious about the world and the people in it, always ready to lend an ear or a helping hand. Caty's personality was a blend of passionate determination and gentle compassion. She had left her home to pursue her dream of becoming a bard, a journey that required immense courage and resilience. Yet, she never let the hardships of the road dampen her spirit. She embraced each new experience with an open heart, finding joy in the smallest moments and beauty in the most unexpected places.

Her dream was not just to perform but to connect with others through her music, to share stories and emotions that transcended words. In every town and village she visited, she made friends easily, her songs weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and dreams. She believed in the power of music to heal and unite, a belief that drove her to keep moving forward, despite the challenges she faced. In the dim light of the Blushing Mermaid, with the sounds of laughter and music all around, Caty seemed to glow with an inner light.

"This is me," she said, her voice flitting from her mouth like the delicate wings of a butterfly. She gestured to the Blushing Mermaid, a lively building filled with light, laughter, and music. The sounds of clinking mugs and raucous singing spilled out into the night air, creating an inviting yet chaotic atmosphere.

I bit down on my lip as I watched her wave her hand toward the tavern. Caty seemed so nice, but I had learned many times on the road that people often took before they gave. My stomach flipped with anxiety, and I shouted out for her to stop. "I-I know you don’t owe me anything, but you are the first person to show me an ounce of kindness." My voice trembled as I let out a shaky breath. "I don’t have anywhere to go. No plan for a job or place to stay." My words trailed off, uncertainty gripping me. I didn't know what I was even expecting from her.

Caty paused, her gaze softening as she took in my desperation. The light from the tavern illuminated her face, casting a gentle glow on her features. She looked at me thoughtfully, her expression shifting from surprise to understanding. “Can you sing?” Her voice finally pierced the silence, gentle yet probing.

I blinked, taken aback by the question. Singing? It was something I had never considered. Back in my village, my voice had been reserved for healing chants and lullabies, not for entertainment. Yet, there was something about Caty's question that sparked a glimmer of hope. “I-I can try,” I stammered, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

Caty’s smile widened, and she extended a hand to me. “Come on, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She led me into the Blushing Mermaid, the noise and energy enveloping us as we stepped inside. The tavern was a lively and inviting establishment, its interior bustling with energy and warmth. As soon as we stepped inside, we were enveloped by the rich, intoxicating aroma of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and the faint, sweet scent of ale. The tavern was a sensory overload, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of the forest I once called home. The main room was spacious but felt intimate, thanks to the low-hanging wooden beams and the soft, warm glow of lanterns suspended from the ceiling. These lanterns cast a golden light, illuminating the faces of the patrons and creating a cozy, almost magical atmosphere. The walls were paneled with dark, polished wood, adorned with an eclectic mix of decorations: old maps of Faerûn, intricately woven tapestries, and the occasional mounted animal head, trophies from long-forgotten hunts.

The heart of the tavern was its grand, circular bar, made from rich mahogany and polished to a high sheen. Behind it, shelves were lined with an impressive array of bottles, each filled with colorful and exotic liquids. The bartenders, efficient and friendly, moved with practiced ease, pouring drinks and engaging in lively banter with the customers. Large kegs of ale and barrels of wine were stacked nearby, ready to quench the thirst of the tavern's many visitors. Tables and chairs of various shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the room, each one occupied by groups of patrons engrossed in animated conversation or hearty laughter. The furniture was sturdy and well-worn, bearing the marks of countless evenings spent in good company. In one corner, a group of dwarves clinked their mugs together, their booming voices rising above the din. At another table, a pair of halflings shared a quiet, conspiratorial whisper, their eyes twinkling with mischief.

The stage, though small, was the focal point of the room. It was slightly elevated and framed by heavy, dark curtains that could be drawn closed when performances were not underway. Tonight, the stage was bathed in soft light, and a bard strummed a lively tune on his lute, his voice weaving tales of adventure and romance. The audience clapped and tapped their feet in time with the music, their faces alight with enjoyment.

To one side of the main room, a grand stone fireplace crackled and roared, its flames casting flickering shadows across the walls. A large, intricately carved mantelpiece held an assortment of curiosities: a collection of old, dusty books, a few tarnished goblets, and a pair of ornate candlesticks. The heat from the fire added to the tavern's inviting warmth, making it a perfect refuge from the cool night outside.

Caty introduced me to the tavern’s owner, a burly, good-natured man named Jareth. He eyed me with curiosity but nodded in approval at Caty's introduction. “Always room for another bard, especially if Caty vouches for you,” he said with a wink.

Caty squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Just follow my lead.” She led me to a small stage where the current bard finished his set to enthusiastic applause. Caty took her place, and with a nod to the crowd, she began to play her lute, the familiar melody soothing my nerves.

I took a deep breath and started to sing, my voice trembling at first but growing stronger with each note. The tavern fell silent as the patrons turned their attention to the stage. The song flowed through me, and for a moment, I forgot my fears and the devastation of my past. I was lost in the music, the melody weaving a spell that seemed to captivate everyone in the room.

When we finished, the tavern erupted in applause, and I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the firelight. Caty grinned at me, her eyes sparkling with approval. “See? You’ve got it in you.”

As the night wore on, we sang more songs, my confidence growing with each performance. The patrons of the Blushing Mermaid cheered and clapped, their enthusiasm infectious. By the end of the night, Caty and I sat at a corner table, exhausted but exhilarated. The warm glow of the tavern's lanterns cast a comforting light over us, and the remnants of our last song still echoed in the lively chatter around us.

“You did great,” Caty said, raising her mug in a toast. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with pride and encouragement. “Welcome to Baldur’s Gate, my friend. I think you’ll do just fine here. Are you sure you aren’t part nymph?”

I smiled, a genuine smile that reached my eyes. The tension and fear of the past days seemed to melt away as I lifted my own mug and took a large drink. The ale was rich and smooth, a perfect end to an unexpectedly wonderful night.

Jareth, the burly owner of the Blushing Mermaid, approached our table with two small pouches. He tossed them onto the table with a light clink of coin, his grin wide and infectious. “You two are hired!” he announced, his deep voice carrying a note of genuine excitement. “Your voices made people stop in their tracks and come inside. I’ve never seen anything like it.” His large arms crossed over his broad chest as he looked down at us, clearly pleased. “We can go over the particulars tomorrow,” Jareth continued, his eyes twinkling. “But you get paid by tips, and we provide you with a room upstairs.”

I felt a rush of relief and gratitude. The thought of having a safe place to sleep, even if just for one night, was more than I had dared to hope for. I picked up the pouch of coins, feeling the weight of it in my hand. It was a small fortune compared to the empty pockets I had arrived with. “Thank you, Jareth,” I said, my voice steady despite the surge of emotions. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

Jareth nodded, his expression softening slightly. “You earned it,” he said simply. “Get some rest, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

As he walked away, Caty leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her face. “See? I told you, you’ve got it in you.”

I laughed softly, the sound almost foreign to my ears after so much recent sorrow. “I guess I do,” I admitted. “Thank you, Caty. For everything.”

She shrugged modestly, but her smile remained. “That’s what friends are for. Now, let’s get some rest. Tomorrow’s a new day, and who knows what adventures it will bring?”

We made our way upstairs, the old wooden steps creaking beneath our feet. The room we entered was a small but cozy haven, not what I was used to but definitely better than a mat on the ground. The walls were paneled with warm, dark wood, giving the room a rustic and inviting feel. Soft, golden light from a lantern on the nightstand bathed the space in a gentle glow, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls. Two small beds, neatly made with simple, homespun quilts, occupied opposite sides of the room. The quilts were a patchwork of muted earth tones, their worn but clean fabric hinting at years of use and care. Each bed had a thick, feather-stuffed pillow that looked wonderfully soft, promising a restful night’s sleep after the exhaustion of the day.

Between the beds, a sturdy wooden nightstand held a washbasin and a pitcher of water. The washbasin was made of polished copper, its surface gleaming in the lantern light. Next to it, a small stack of neatly folded towels awaited, their edges embroidered with delicate, leafy patterns that spoke of a craftsman’s touch. At the foot of each bed were simple wooden chests, likely for storing personal belongings. Mine was old and slightly scuffed, a testament to the many travelers who had passed through this room before me. Caty's chest, like mine, bore marks of time but was solid and dependable. A narrow window on the far wall allowed a sliver of moonlight to filter in, the silver beam creating a tranquil contrast to the warm interior lighting. The window overlooked the bustling streets of Baldur’s Gate, and the muffled sounds of the city—a distant murmur of voices, the occasional clatter of a cart—drifted up, a constant reminder of the life teeming just outside.

In one corner of the room stood a small writing desk and chair, the surface of the desk slightly worn from years of use. A quill and inkwell sat ready, alongside a few sheets of parchment, inviting thoughts to be penned in the quiet of the night. A simple but sturdy wardrobe occupied another corner, its doors slightly ajar to reveal a few hangers and shelves for clothes. The wood of the wardrobe matched the other furnishings, its dark grain adding to the room’s cohesive, earthy aesthetic. Above each bed hung a small, framed painting. Mine depicted a serene woodland scene, with tall, ancient trees and a sun-dappled forest floor. It reminded me of my home, a bittersweet touch that tugged at my heart. Caty’s painting showed a lively coastal village, with brightly painted boats bobbing in a sparkling harbor under a clear blue sky.

As I lay down on the bed, the mattress yielded just enough to cradle my weary body, the quilt’s soft texture comforting against my skin. The scent of fresh linens mingled with the faint aroma of polished wood, creating a soothing, homely atmosphere. The gentle flicker of the lantern light cast dancing shadows on the walls, adding to the room's cozy warmth. The bed was a welcome contrast to the harsh realities I had faced. The pillow, soft and supportive, cradled my head, and I could feel the tension in my muscles begin to melt away. Each breath I took was filled with the clean scent of the linens, and the faint, earthy aroma of the wooden beams overhead. It was a sanctuary of tranquility in the midst of chaos, a haven I hadn't realized I needed so desperately.

For the first time in a long time, I felt truly safe from the outside evils. The four walls acted like a security blanket, lulling me into a false sense of security. The soft murmurs of the city outside faded into the background, a distant hum that only added to the feeling of being cocooned in safety. My eyelids grew heavy as I let myself sink deeper into the bed’s embrace. If only I could go back and tell myself to leave now, to escape before the shadow of Astarion's presence fell over my life. But in that moment, wrapped in the comforting quilt and the gentle peace of the room, I allowed myself to believe in the illusion of safety.

The warmth of the quilt and the gentle rhythm of my breath began to weave a web of drowsiness around me. My thoughts grew sluggish, the events of the day blending into a haze of images and sounds. Caty's reassuring smile, the lively tunes of the Blushing Mermaid, Jareth's booming approval—all swirled together as my mind drifted.

The last coherent thought I had was a fleeting wish for this peace to last forever. As sleep claimed me, I let go of the lingering fears and doubts, surrendering to the comforting darkness. For now, in this small room above the bustling tavern, I was safe, and that was enough. Little did I know, this night of restful slumber would be one of the last moments of true peace I would experience for a long time. The shadows were gathering, and my journey was far from over. But for now, I fell asleep, cradled in the comforting illusion of security.

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