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tvandenneagram · 4 years

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American Horror Story Coven: Fiona Goode - Type 8w7

Fiona is intelligent, power-hungry, ruthless and sophisticated. She is the former Supreme of the Coven and desperately tried to hold onto the power that came with being Supreme.

At her best, Fiona does care deeply about Cordelia, even though she doesn’t always show it. For example, when she discovers that Cordelia is the next Supreme she can’t bring herself to kill her because she does love her. She also tries to teach the Coven how to protect themselves and saves them when they are in trouble. For example, she saves Queenie from the Minotaur.

At her worst, Fiona becomes all-consumed with maintaining her power and goes to drastic measures to ensure she stays Supreme. For example, she kills Madison because she thinks she is the next Supreme and wants to absorb her power. She also tries to maintain her vitality in many different ways such as crazy medical procedures. She also sacrifices Nan to Papa Legba in an attempt to gain immortality.

Fiona always believed that she needed to be strong to survive in the world. We can see this as Fiona prefers the witches in the Coven that are brave and can protect themselves (like Madison), over the more emotional or weak witches (like Zoe). When Fiona found out she had cancer, she started to feel powerless and like her greatest fear was coming to fruition.

Fiona is very skilled at manipulating others to do what she wants. For example, she is able to use the Axeman to do her bidding on multiple occasions. Fiona has no qualms about using others for her own gain, and will stop at nothing to ensure she maintains her power. Fiona also decides to team up with Marie Laveau for her own survival and to gain more power.

8s are often very good in leadership positions, as they are able to take control and make decisions. Fiona, for all her faults, was a competent leader of the Coven. She was able to devise plans and eliminates threats to the Coven, showing that she did care about the well-being of the other witches.

Fiona shows her wing 7 as she is very impulsive and sensation-seeking. She is also more sociable, self-confident and charismatic than an 8w9 would be.

Tri-type: 8w7 - 3w2 - 7w8

Some quotes to describe Fiona’s motivations

"The point is, in this whole, wide, wicked world...The only thing you have to be afraid of is me."

“I'm Fiona Goode. I'm in charge everywhere.”

“She would have made a lousy Supreme and that's something this Coven can't afford at this moment in history. It's my duty to stay vital.”

“You girls need to learn to fight. When witches don't fight, we burn."

"This coven doesn't need a new Supreme. It needs a new rug."

“I’m a wretched human being. A miserable, mean goddamn b***h. I always have been”

“Here’s my other offer. You can all just die”

"You know, I've gotta hand it to you. A bus flip? That's not easy. But you were sloppy, little witch bitch."

"Don't make me drop a house on you."

“Tonight I'm going to let the whole world in and get a good look at me. Who's the baddest witch in town?”

Fiona: “You know why I got a female attack dog?” Hank: “Because b*****s stick together?” Fiona: “Because females are more loyal and aggressive when it comes to protecting their families.”

#fiona goode #jessica lange #ahs #ahs coven #coven #ahs enneagram #type 8 #8w7 #8w9 #enneagram 8 #enneagram #enneatypes #ennea 8 #american horror story coven #ahs: coven #american horror story #apocalypse

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planar-echoes · 7 years

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The Journal of Javad Nasrin (Zendikar) By Doug Beyer (10/14/09)

Day 1:

We set out from Kabira today, trailing two horses extra, and a hurda packbeast to carry the rations, trapfinder's gear, barter for the crossing, machetes, and the relic itself, should we prove successful. The sun was relentless all this first day, carving a searing line in the sky over the hedron-strewn flats of Agadeem, its disk like the gaze of an unshuttered eye. Rather than skirt the coast, we set out on the northern road, hoping to reach the shores of the mainland, and the thickets of Turntimber, by month's end.

We are a smaller group than I'm accustomed to, as Kabira's far from most of the expeditioners' routes, but there's no apparent deficiency of talent among them, and I've enough years in the wild to furnish the remainder of skill our troupe may lack. I've hired Ghazzan, the first minotaur I've expeditioned with, a nearly silent but unmistakably strong man who favors the Makindi longaxe to the more traditional machete; Sali Oran, the lullmage, whose talents should prove useful should we encounter any storms or disruptions due to the Roil; and Keeda, "the Quick" as the advertisement read, a goblin trapfinder of the Lavastep tribe.

The terms are standard for relic hunters: what we find is mine by rights, and I shall pay them the other half of their due when we find a safe port again, relic in tow. I have not told them what it is we seek, which is exactly how I prefer it.

Day 3:

The sun mocks us, finding its way around our defenses. We all wear hats or headdresses, and Sali Oran applies some sort of salve to her scales, but the white stone hedrons scattered across this dry-grassed country reflect the sun, casting its rays back into our eyes. In the afternoon we let the hurda lope along on the western side, granting us some measure of shade. Still, I long for the dense, spiraling trees of the forest ahead, and hope Turntimber holds the item, and the answers, that I seek.

Day 6:

We've survived a thrice-unfortunate encounter today. We first chased off a lynx who had attacked our stores of smoked meats, which caused the hurda to bolt, nearly crushing Keeda (who thankfully lived up to his speedy reputation) and necessitating a wasteful chase to recapture the pack animal. In the chase we stumbled upon the lair of the antlered cat, a felidar, a famous resident of the polar regions of Sejiri but here golden-furred to blend in with the savannah. Its den was a cavern formed by the leaning shapes of two immense hedrons, and as our hurda lurched hysterically into its shadows, we heard only a swift crack as the felidar defeated its prey. Ghazzan slew the great cat with grand strokes of his longaxe, aided by my own not inconsequential sword-work, but we had to shove on without our pack giant. We loaded the rations and supplies onto the two spare horses, too much open grassland lying between us and our origin at Kabira to consider returning to purchase another hurda.

The road has long since abandoned us now, but we march on almost due north, and should meet some of the marshlands that surround the famous Crypt soon, and then the northern coast. Sali Oran objected to our route, calling it a "fool's course," but I reminded her of my years of experience traveling the continent of Ondu, and of her contract.

Day 7:

We've kept to the shade of the great hedrons for the midday, and have conducted the majority of our travel when the sun lies low to the horizon. The steeds object to the increased weight, but seem eased by the cooler temperatures of the mornings and evenings, and have borne the hurda's load so far.

Keeda the goblin has a strange approach to riding, crouching in the saddle on his bare feet and grasping the mane of his pony, using his knees to cushion against its bouncing gait. Every hour I'm convinced I'll see him fall off the animal, twisting an ankle, or worse, injuring his trap-finding fingers; but so far, those futures have not come to pass, and he has stayed nimbly atop it.

Tomorrow we journey into the deep ravine that separates the hedron fields from the marshlands, that being the most direct route into Turntimber; so tonight I counseled our party to lace their boots tight, and to sharpen whatever they intend to stab things with. In the cool of this night, I'm aware of a distinct premonition of the importance of our journey, and of a changing of fortunes to come, for me in particular.

Day 13:

Ghazzan died today. For six days we've been beset by the hazards of the marsh: the slimy cliffs of the ravine; the treacherous footing through the swamp route, which we had to navigate on foot, leading the horses; the gloomhunter bats and giant insects and other plague-bearing winged creatures; and the salivating marsh-maw traps, which only went hungry due to our trapfinder's uncanny intuition. The great minotaur had fended our company bravely throughout our time in the marsh, singlehandedly slaying seven large predators that would have dined on our flesh, and countless others that would have proved an annoyance; but in the end our axeman perished.

The tale was this. Last night the Roil disturbed the land as we slept, moving us off course or moving our course off of us, without opportunity for our lullmage to soothe the Roil's forces; and we found ourselves dangerously within range of the Crypt of Agadeem. We woke to Ghazzan's disconcerting, bleating cries, and discovered him being dragged in the direction of the cave-maw of the too-near Crypt. The creature who seized him I took at first to be a large vampire, its eyes luminous and evil and its fangs bared, but its smooth, curving horns and unearthly musculature persuaded me otherwise. I now believe it was a being sprung up from the bowels of the world, who used the cavern as an exit as a spelunker might use it as an entrance. We endeavored to fight off the beastly figure, assailing it with spell and sword, but its strength was immense, and its countenance and ravening roars threatened not unconvincingly that it would devour us every one should we prolong our resistance. We fled then, and later counted ourselves fortunate to have lost only Ghazzan. His pay shall be split among the rest of the company, as is equitable, and is all the same to my finances.

Day 16:

We made satisfactory time on a hard march since the Crypt, putting the remainder of Agadeem behind us and making grateful acquaintance with the northern coast. We are now aboard the Serpentcutter, having bartered our furs and Ghazzan's longaxe to its captain, and a friendlier sun ricochets off of the thin strip of the Silundi Sea between us and the mainland of Ondu. Our lullmage swims alongside the skiff at times, her scales and fins and hair glinting green and magenta through the wind-tossed waters; I can already make out the thin line of the far shore, glistening in colors that match hers. Whether this day was clear by fickle chance or by the imposition of her calming influence I cannot tell. After the marsh, despair threatened to take hold of my mind, but today I am cheered; if we speed at this rate, then there shall be time before the solstice for me to reach my goal.

Day 18:

The sun mocks us once more, sending spears of light down through the canopy of Turntimber, dappling the ground in misleading patterns and confusing the meager trail. The snakes have kept away so far, which is a blessing, but the serpentine shapes of the trees surround us in an almost constrictive manner, and their creaking voices are dire. Sali Oran remarked, and so I have heard it said, that the trees of Turntimber follow unseen forces in their shapes and growth, which set one's mind to hidden things, and to personal peril.

The elves here are wild, and swift of foot and bow, but they and their wolves have kept merciful distance for now. We follow the way that was told to me, renewing our bearings with landmarks as best we can, not letting the ink dry on our maps. Truth to tell, there's only one instrument whose guidance I trust; it is not a sphinx's riddle, nor a bardic saga, but what lies ahead of us in the heart of Turntimber.

Day 25:

Let it be known that I am thankful to Keeda the goblin, once of the Lavastep warren, for his contributions to our expedition. His instincts were enough to save us from the pit of vipers, but not enough to prevent him from falling into it himself, nor to prevent the release of the basilisk that followed; without him, we too would be naught but forgotten casualties to Turntimber.

Sali Oran told me that the omens were poor, and that Keeda's demise, combined with the actions of our machetes through the understory, would only encourage the land's appetites for our own deaths; but at my urging, she agreed to press on. I must admit that I feel the opposite; my blood hurries through my veins as we near the goal, and I feel I can hear encouraging words in the creaking limbs, as if the forest has selected us to succeed. The days stretch lazy and long as the solstice approaches, and I feel that I shall finally discover the device I seek, and learn the secrets that have been hidden from me for so long.

Day 39?:

It has been a span of seemingly ceaseless days and unsatisfying nights as the solstice makes its inevitable march toward us. Sleep has become nearly impossible, and we have had to abandon all but two of our weary horses, as the way has provided us no way to keep them watered. We carry only a trace of the supplies we loaded back at Kabira, and only Sali Oran's grace and calmness of purpose has kept my spirits aloft and my limbs mobile. I have seen such death in one short journey that my mind would drown in a misery of remembered images. I know now that the answers cannot be worth the cost, even were I able to pay my debts from my own flesh.

Day 45:

It was on the day of the solstice, on a stone dais on a hilltop, overlooking the expanse of Turntimber like a lighthouse overlooking a sea of green waves, that we found the device. It was the Seer's Sundial, a massive stone hemispherium whose style and encircling metalwork projected shadows over a rune-inscribed bowl. The sundial was ancient, perhaps older than most of the forest around us, yet the creases in its huge basin were as crisp as sword-blades, the lichens unable to obscure its purpose. The sun cast sharp black shadows in the bowl, and Sali Oran and I gazed down into it as well. We watched the lines dance across the curves, studying the messages they carved and scribing diagrams of their likeness on parchment, hardly speaking.

The day has ended, and our journals and minds are full. It has become clear that, in some sense, the voyage was a success, in that the Sundial had given us answers; but the sun could not chase a chill from my mind, as we found answers to which we scarcely had questions. Careful work will have to be done to decipher what exactly we have seen in the Sundial's shadow; Sali Oran knows relic researchers at Sea Gate whom she believes can help in that regard, although the journey there will be many times as far and arduous. But I can see in her eyes what I feel in my heart: that we have grasped the significance of the Seer's Sundial well enough, and that it portends a future that holds the true measure of darkness, for us and for all people under the sun. In this expedition I sought to know how I would fare in my future days as a relic-seeker, self-interested as that now seems, and I learned that and far more; I learned more things, indeed, than I cared ever to know.

Of course the device itself has turned out to be much too massive to move, so I will have only this document, and what tales you can divine from the memories of my companion, to attest to our travels. We travel north from here, aiming to seek refuge at the trapper community of Graypelt, where can be found some acquaintances of mine. I feel I must unburden myself, not only of my substantial traveling gear, but also of the weight of the augury that I bear inside my mind, which may in time prove to be the heavier.

#magic the gathering #vorthos #zendikar #eldrazi #kabira #javad #nasrin

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