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phoenixrisesoncemore · 5 months

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Why Eru Didn’t Trip Gollum: Providence, Free Will, and Con-creation in The Lord of the Rings—Part 5 of 5

[Go back to PART 4: Examining the Threads]

Part 5: Re-weaving The Tapestry

Threads of Fate

Peter Jackson was not wrong to be concerned that the implication (true or not) that the Ring was destroyed by accident would not sit well with some portion of his viewers. We yearn for some sense or meaning in the apparent chaos and happenstance of life; that storytelling exists at all may be sufficient evidence of this. Yet it is also true that we shrink in terror at the idea that our actions are not our own, that fate has us in a deterministic grasp. It is such a deterministic force that Plato in his Timaeus called ananke or “material necessity,” a force innate to matter which even his demiurgic God could not overcome.

The characters in The Lord of the Rings seem interested in and aware of some form of mysterious order at work in the world. “Chance,” “luck,” and “happenstance” are repeatedly invoked in the text and often with a wink and a smile: whether it be in Bilbo’s “chance” encounter with the Ring just before the Necromancer is driven from Dol Guldur, “if chance it was” (250), Gandalf’s “chance” meeting with Thorin in Bree which leads to the events of The Hobbit, the “chance” encounter of the three traveling hobbits with Gildor’s elves in the Shire at just such a moment as to save the hobbits from the Black Riders, Tom Bombadil’s fortuitous and life-saving “chance” encounter with the same hobbits in the Old Forest, their “lucky” meeting with Strider in Bree, Boromir and Legolas’s “fortuitous” arrival to Rivendell at just the right time, or the “good fortune” of Gollum’s faulty footing. Yet, amid all this talk of fate and chance and luck we are given constant references to the fate-altering power of free will.

Choice absolutely does have a real effect on the world of Tolkien’s Middle-earth. Bilbo’s choice to extend pity to Gollum may “rule the fate of many” (59); Frodo realizes that he is “free to choose” (401) on the seat of Amon Hen; Faramir chooses not to follow the summons to Rivendell he hears in his dreams, leaving his brother Boromir to do so instead; most importantly, Frodo’s acts of pity enable the destruction of the Ring. This is no deterministic universe. In Middle-earth free will is absolutely real. So how can forces like “fate” and “choice” interact in a coherent way?

In her paper “Providence, Fate, and Chance: Boethian Philosophy in The Lord of the Rings” Kathleen E. Dubs recalls the words of Galadriel in Lothlorien after she has refused Frodo’s offer of the Ring:

They stood for a long while in silence. At length the Lady spoke again. ‘Let us return!’ she said. ‘In the morning you must depart, for now we have chosen, and the tides of fate are flowing.’” These ideas (free will and fate) are not incompatible if we view them in Boethian terms, for free will operates within the order of the universe, fate being merely the earthly manifestation of that order. And here we can see more clearly than before that free will sets that order in motion; Frodo’s and the Lady’s choices have determined the direction of that order, have set the tides flowing. It has not worked in the reverse direction. For ‘determinism’ to be applicable here, it would have to be defined anew. (40)

Perhaps we might say that in Middle-earth when you choose, you are set on a course to your “doom.” These threads of fate, chosen and redirected by acts of free will, are heading towards something, some destination, some “doom,” and if you’ve been paying attention at all, you’ve likely noticed “doom” appearing a lot among these last several thousand words. It is surely no coincidence that the geographical goal of the quest—the setting for the climax of the action of the plot—is a place called The Cracks of Doom inside a mountain called Mount Doom over a magma pool called The Fire of Doom. It is here that many choices shall finally join together to “produce the situation” that ultimately allows the threat of Sauron to be overcome.

All Rivers Lead to Doom

Perhaps we can also conclude that the climax of The Lord of the Rings is described in passive terms by Tolkien because we are meant to view it as the setting of the revelation and working-out of a long-developing pattern, the outcome of which was clear all along. Tolkien says he “did not ‘arrange’ the deliverance in this case: it again follows the logic of the story” (Letters 251) and that “following the logic of the plot, it was clearly inevitable, as an event” (252).

The actions that take place when Frodo, Sam, and Gollum finally meet their “Doom” are merely the last in a long row of dominoes: most of the necessary actions that would lead to the overthrow of Sauron are in the past, and most of the consequential choices have already been made. We could speculate about where that line of dominoes started. A reasonable place to point to is the moment when Bilbo puts his hand on the Ring “blindly in the dark” (Tolkien, Lord of the Rings 55). However, we could also push it back further to Gandalf’s meeting with Thorin in Bree, or even further still: there’s a lot of “setting up” that Sauron does to himself. The choice to partly incarnate himself in a destructible object made him far more vulnerable, especially as it is an object that engenders in people such overpowering lust for it that they’d do something as unwise as dancing on the edge of a precipice above boiling magma.

As we can see, an important part of this pattern is evil’s propensity towards creating the circumstances of its own self-destruction, a theme so important that Tolkien includes it in his Legendarium’s creation myth. In “Ainulindale,” the first chapter of The Silmarillion, the Ainur are asked to compose and perform a Great Music together, improvising on Themes supplied by Eru. This Music will later become a blueprint of sorts for the universe. When Melkor, Tolkien’s analog to the Christian Lucifer, attempts to disrupt the Music by overpowering the other Ainur with his own repetitive and loud improvisations, Eru admonishes him and warns him that for all he tries to disrupt the Music and make it solely his own, his Discord shall ultimately work against him: “For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument in the devising of things more wonderful, which he himself hath not imagined” (17).

Gandalf’s proverb “oft Evil will shall evil mar” (Tolkien, Lord of the Rings 594) expresses a reality that is part of the metaphysical foundation of Tolkien’s Secondary World. It is, therefore, metaphysically and thematically appropriate that Gollum’s lust for the Ring and glee at its return leads to his literal fall. The necessary conscious act of good intent—throwing the Ring in the Fire—was one no one was capable of. As Paul Kocher explains in his early piece of literary criticism of Tolkien’s work, Master of Middle-earth, “The irony of evil is consummated by its doing the good which good could not do” (45).

The sudden revelation of a salvific pattern—created via the weaving together of a fate derived from choices both good and bad—at the moment when all hope seems lost, represents perhaps the perfected mode of eucatastrophe. “Eucatastrophe” is a term Tolkien coined to describe “the happy turn” in fairy-stories (as he defines them), and it first appears in his essay, appropriately titled, On Fairy-stories. On Fairy-stories was written during the early years of Tolkien’s work on The Lord of the Rings and may be considered the conceptual background to the kind of narrative story-telling at work in his epic (Tolkien On Fairy-stories 15). In his description of eucatastrophe Tolkien says “[Eucatastrophe] depends on the whole story which is the setting of the turn, and yet it reflects a glory backwards” (76). This glory is the sudden realization, whether in the mind of the reader or the characters, that those events which had seemed to be chance or luck—especially bad luck—when experienced within the flow of the story, have in fact worked together for their deliverance.

In light of the above, I would argue that the “Eru tripping” interpretation contradicts both the dramatic intention of the scene and the very notion of this “backwards reflecting” eucatastrophe by adding a singular, direct, and unilateral cause for the Ring’s destruction in the very moment before this destruction happens—a cause which, because it is performed directly by Eru in the manner of a miracle, needs have no regard to the long line of causes which precedes it. This same undermining of dramatic intention applies to the interpretation that claims a curse tripped Gollum. Would a curse need a long line of causes behind it to function? In both cases, these other causes are superseded and become unnecessary. Additionally, the passive approach sounds much more like using Discord itself to bring the Music back into accord with the Theme. But if Gollum’s fall is passive in this sense—the end result of many, many choices woven together into fate—then what does Tolkien mean by his comments about the “Writer of the Story?”

Perpetual Production

Just because the cause of Gollum’s fall is passive, just because Eru didn’t “trip” Gollum, does not mean his fall is truly “accidental,” because Eä—the universe and the entire playing out of the events within in it—is conceived, in-text, as a Story or Drama[8]. In his essay “Over the Chasm of Fire,” Stanford Caldecott notes that Sam’s comments after the climax of The Lord of the Rings have a much more literal meaning than Sam may even realize: “‘What a tale we have been in, Mr Frodo, haven’t we? I wish I could hear it told!’ (…) Sam has bridged the gap, and seen their own lives as part of a great tale full of wonder and meaning, that stretches from the beginning of time to its mysterious end” (32).

When Tolkien uses the words “Writer of the Story” he makes it clear he is not referring to himself (though the humorous comparison may well be on his mind[9]). In this aspect I think the “tripped” interpretation is absolutely correct: “the Writer of the Story” is a reference to Eru. My disagreement comes in what it means for Eru to “take over” the story.

The world of Middle-earth is a pre-Christian one, far more like the fading pagan backdrop of the world in Beowulf than the Christian allegory of Narnia, but Tolkien was also quite devoutly Catholic, his faith a potent and foundational part of his worldview (though it should be noted that to say this is not the same as to say it was the entirety of his worldview or that he was always of one mind on matters of faith and theology). Just as the characters in The Lord of the Rings appear to be aware of some sense of fate at work in the world, many also attribute to that fate a kind of rational intention outside the bounds of mere determinism. As Gandalf says to Frodo regarding Bilbo’s discovery of the Ring: “Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker” (56). This guiding or shepherding—but not controlling—of people and events is Providence. Tolkien repeatedly refers to Providence when describing the events of the climax of The Lord of the Rings.

No account is here taken of ‘grace’ or the enhancement of our powers as instruments of Providence. Frodo was given ‘grace’: first to answer the call (…) and in his endurance of fear and suffering. But grace is not infinite, and for the most part seems in the Divine economy limited to what is sufficient for the accomplishment of the task appointed to one instrument in a pattern of circumstances and other instruments. (454)

Frodo had done what he could and spent himself completely (as an instrument of Providence) and had produced a situation in which the object of his quest could be achieved. (325)

What form Providence takes within Eä is less clear. What or who was “guided” such that Bilbo found the Ring? And in what way? Did Eru “cause” Gandalf to reach Bree at just such a time as to meet Thorin, setting in motion Gandalf’s hunt for a burglar? Or did he “cause” the same for Thorin? Did he make the floor of the goblin tunnels below the mountain crumble under Bilbo, landing him directly in the Ring’s path? Or did he guide Bilbo’s hand “blindly in the dark” until it brushed against cold metal? We cannot say with any certainty. These providential interventions are such that, if they do in fact exist, we do not or cannot see them. We cannot verify them, and in the moment they seem easily attributable to a variety of other causes or merely to “accident.” Unlike The Silmarillion’s explicitly stated and miraculous interventions—the awakening of the Elves or the Drowning of Numenor—we are never told what these providential interventions are or when they take place. We can only, like Gandalf, suspect them, in the way a particularly sharp movie goer might suspect a certain event or turn of phrase was an instance of foreshadowing: we recognize them as making “story-sense.” Thomas Hibbs describes the Eä we are presented with in The Lord of the Rings as a universe in which “individuals can have confidence that there is an order for them to discern and tasks for them to fulfill, since a providential world is one in which human history has the structure of a plot, an intelligible dramatic unity” (178).

Tolkien even wrote an in-universe debate about the very topic of the nature of Eru’s involvement (or lack thereof) in the events of Arda where he makes the nature of Eä as Drama explicit and diegetic. Called “Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth” and appearing in Morgoth’s Ring (the tenth volume of The History of Middle-earth series) this debate between the elven king Finrod and the wise woman Andreth centers around what Tolkien calls “Oinekarmë Eruo (The One’s perpetual production), which might be rendered by ‘God’s management of the Drama’” (329). While nothing in The Lord of the Rings approaches the explicit and diegetic nature of this debate, the early exchange between Gandalf and Frodo mentioned above—Gandalf’s voicing of his suspicion that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring—reproduces to some degree the same opposition of viewpoints. Gandalf ends with the statement “and that may be an encouraging thought,” to which Frodo replies “it is not” (56). Frodo shares Andreth’s cynicism and does not find in the idea the comfort that Gandalf does.[10]

Providence (for Tolkien) is not Miracle

As we have already discussed, some of Eru’s involvements in the Story—the awakening of Elves and Men and the Downfall of Numenor—appear to describe a mode of involvement that is singular, direct, and unilateral and which we might define as “miracle.” In his essay “Conflict and Convergence on Fundamental Matters in C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien,” Ralph Wood notes the attributes of Tolkien’s idea of miracles:

But for Tolkien as not for Lewis, miracles are unique acts of God; they are not special demonstrations of what God always does through the operations of nature. There is, in fact, an implicit Thomism at work in Tolkien’s understanding of miracles. As Brian Davies observes, Aquinas “thinks that miracles come about by virtue of the creative activity of God and nothing else. The whole point about them is that nothing subject to God’s providence, i.e. no cause other than God (no secondary cause), is at work in their occurrence” This is not to say that God does violence to the created order, or that he “intervenes” to disrupt its natural processes. On the contrary, St. Thomas insists that God is totally present to every existing thing, so that all events are always the effect of God’s will. Yet miracles are not worked through secondary causes, not even through their divine compression, as Lewis argues: they are brought about by God alone. (325)

This description of miracles as those events which work through no secondary causes is echoed by Purtill in J.R.R. Tolkien: Myth, Morality, and Religion:

By definition miracles are an intervention from outside of ordinary life that cannot be expected, counted on, or prepared for. Unless you take on the impossible task of writing a story from God’s point of view, there is no way in which you can show a miracle as an event following from the characters and circumstances of the story…. (154)

A “miracle” then is not an event that we could say “follows the logic of the plot,” as Tolkien describes the events of the climax of The Lord of the Rings. For Tolkien, miracles are fundamentally unlike the actions of Providence, which holds free choice among rational creatures as sacrosanct and seems to work within Eä almost as an undetectable force of nature. Christin Ivey uses the image of an “underlying current” to describe this force:

With Providence’s active involvement in guiding Frodo’s free will, Tolkien presents Providence not as stoic ‘clock-work God’ but as an underlying current, flowing together the free will choices that determine the earthy derived plan of fate; ultimately leading into compliance with the thematically cohesive divine design. Helen Lasseter concludes: ‘While guiding all events and actions to an ultimate good, Providence never denies creatures their freedom… [Tolkien] shows that the person is integral to a providential world order; yet the person’s inherent limitations, exposed through personal failure and defeat, reveal the constant presence of a higher and greater authority within the world.’ (196)

For Eru to use a miracle rather than the actions of providence it must be necessary to use a miracle rather than the actions of providence. If Gollum was so near to falling, why not let it be that he fell? What does Eru tripping Gollum say that isn’t better said by allowing Gollum’s own glee to destroy the Ring? Gollum’s madness and lust is a better cause dramatically, thematically, and theologically. And if it were as simple as tripping someone into the Fire, why didn’t Eru do so with Sauron just after he made the Ring? There is no reason for it to happen now rather than then. Alternatively, he could have torn the Ring off Frodo’s finger. He could have prevented Sauron’s fall into evil entirely. Or he could have prevented Melkor from singing at the very start, ending evil before it began. But he doesn’t.

The events in the Cracks of Doom constitute a providential eucatastrophe, not a miraculous deus ex machina. Eru does not “enter” the story to intervene at the last moment—Eru has been present all along. This is consonant with what we know of how Eru deals with concentrated incarnate evils in the world. Eru does not often jump in with miracles, and when he does it is never to stop atrocities from happening. The destruction of Numenor, for example, does not kill Sauron and does not prevent all the harm the Numenoreans have already done.[11] Eru leaves the stopping of evil to others (and to evil itself).

Providence is not a “change of plan.” Providence is the plan. It is not Eru working alone. It is not “miracle.” Eru may not have tripped Gollum, but he gave Gollum, Frodo, Sam and every other rational being opportunities to make choices which, in concert, produced a situation that led to the Ring’s destruction.

Rending the Web of Story

There is one last important point. The universe of Tolkien’s Legendarium is a teleological one. Providence is leading towards… something, some meaningful end, though those who have never been outside of it are at an epistemological disadvantage when it comes to puzzling out what that end is. While Tolkien never completely formulated an entire eschatology for his Legendarium, he did note one important feature of what would come “after” Eä: a Second Music in which the Children of Eru (Elves and Men) would join the Ainur in song.

This Music, like the first, is not merely ornamental, or a work in and of and for itself. Like the First Music it is a pattern, a blueprint of things to come, things that will be made Real, and it is a work that humanity will participate in. This hopeful view of eternity—one that is echoed in Tolkien’s allegorical short story “Leaf by Niggle” when the protagonist sees his own creation given material reality after his death—is one that Tolkien appeared (at least at times) to believe was active in the real world. As Tolkien says at the end of On Fairy-stories: “All tales may come true…” (79).

Most importantly, however, is this: this communal art making shared among all the human beings in the world is not something that happens only at The End. The Children of Eru are fundamentally sub-creative beings, art-makers, who are made precisely in order to express the infinite variety of Eru’s infinite Being through their own unique creations. These creations are not limited to what we would traditionally call “art works.” As scriptless actors in the Drama, the very choices of the Children of Eru are their art, their sub-creations, and that makes their very choices infinitely important. In The Flame Imperishable, Jonathan McIntosh thoroughly situates the metaphysical underpinnings of Tolkien’s Secondary World in the metaphysics of Thomas Aquinas, including the notion that all human action represents a kind of shared creative activity with the Creator:

In our acts of sub-creation, God has chosen to create through us, as it were, not in the sense that we are made the intermediate agents or instruments of his creation, but in the sense of our sub-creative activity becoming the locus at which God carries on or continues his own work of creation. (…) Human praxis, as it were, is a kind of human poesis, human doing a form of human making, inasmuch as every human action seeks to bring about an alternative state of affairs, and therefore to realize a “secondary world” or reality that is alternative to the one currently realized. (181)

These choices, all adding up to join together as the threads of fate—and more importantly these choices made in fellowship—reflect the Music as it was meant to be: a pluralistic effort of infinite variety. The pity shown to Gollum, for instance, the salvific force which, while not functioning alone, is given special attention in Tolkien’s commentary, is not just pity, but many acts of pity by many different players: pity in fellowship.

So who was responsible for the Ring’s destruction?

In a very real sense, they all were. Everyone whose choices interlocked in order to produce the circumstances at work at the Cracks of Doom, even Sauron, even the Ring, itself, is responsible, to varying degrees, for the Ring’s destruction. It may not be out of line to include in this group even every rational being who had ever lived up to that point. Because that is how The Music, the blueprint of Providence, is meant to work.

The stories of Tolkien’s Legendarium are conceived as a kind of mythological history of our own world. Tolkien, in fact, introduces himself to us in the prologue to The Lord of the Rings not as author, but as translator of long lost documents recording the events of pre-history. Tolkien wants us to know that we are living in Eä in an Age long after the fall of Sauron and the fading of the Elves, that we are reading a story about a world that is itself a story—and that story happens to be our own. It’s story all the way down. Which means our choices are inviolable, too; Frodo’s agency is also our agency. The web of story is torn asunder, and suddenly we, like hobbits, are forces that shape the universe. It is our choice-making—our art-making!—that expresses the infinite variety of God just as much as Frodo’s does.

If we allow ourselves to step into Tolkien’s Secondary World we may stop for a moment and take him seriously: one day we will sing the Second Music, but even here and even now we are all—already—con-creators with The One.

And that (may be) an encouraging thought.

Notes in Part 5

8. It should be noted that my intention here is not to explore the moral and ethical questions present in this interpretation of divine beings and their moral duty, or lack thereof, to intervene in the world for the sake of Good, including whether or not this is consonant with the operations of a loving creator, or produces a satisfying or comforting theology. Whether such a “way of things” is Good is its own worthy question (and has been debated for millennia). It may, however, also be a question for which there is no truly satisfying answer.

9. Tolkien is paralleling himself with the Other Writer when he says that he did not “arrange” the action. Perhaps he’s being cheeky: the Other Writer didn’t “arrange” the action either: it “follows the logic of the Other Writer’s story.”

10. In their debate Andreth is of the mind that Eru, if he exists, has little to do with his Children, since Men have no encounters with him or with his regents (the Valar) as the Elves claim they do. Finrod, on the other hand, argues not only for his continual presence but for the goodness of his plans and intentions, a perspective which Andreth, a mortal woman “doomed to die” points out is molded by Finrod’s privileged position as an immortal Elf. It is tempting to see Tolkien in this debate providing a fictional outlet for his own lifelong struggle with the reality of evil and death and the question of how this reality can coexist with a benevolent Creator—that is, his struggle with the Problem of Evil. One wonders if Tolkien is both Finrod and Andreth in this instance, just as one wonders if he is both Gandalf and Frodo.

11. Eru imposes to stop the armada not because they were evil, but because allowing Men access to Valinor was a catastrophic failure of their nature and future purpose.

Works Cited is listed in [PART 1]

#Why Eru Didn't Trip Gollum #tolkien #lord of the rings #the silmarillion #Con-creation #tolkien metaphysics #eucatastrophe #athrabeth finrod ah andreth #providence #free will #miracle #Eru #Gollum #Frodo

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talktomeinclexa · 1 year

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Where the Sky Touches the Sea

By: TalktomeinClexa

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Status: Complete (7/7)

Summary: Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away from here, lived a sweet and beautiful princess. One day, she saved the life of one of the sworn enemies of her people, a young mermaid with mesmerizing green eyes. How could she have known that this fortuitous encounter would change both their lives forever?

***

Chapter 1: Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, on an island far away from here, lived a kind king and queen. No one could remember how and when their people had settled there. Yet, they had. And after several generations, the kingdom of Arkadia was thriving.

Eight years before, Queen Abigail had given birth to a beautiful little girl. With flaxen hair and eyes bluer than the sea, the princess was her parents’ pride and joy. The kindness of her heart was unmatched, and the happy child was loved by all who had met her.

After years of unsuccessful attempts, the queen was, at last, pregnant once more. Princess Clarke could hardly contain her excitement at the thought that she would soon be a big sister. All in all, life was good, and the Arkadians wanted for nothing.

The fly in the ointment, however, were the creatures that inhabited the sea surrounding the kingdom. At first, few incidents had been reported between the mermaids and the Arkadians. Alas, as the island prospered and more ships began to thread the waters, the relationship between the two species worsened. Before long, war broke out, and many vessels never returned to the harbor.

On a beautiful summer afternoon, Clarke was left to her own devices. As the queen, soon to give birth, required more attention from the servants, the princess was free to explore the palace. The guards watched her as she passed by, but none bothered her. The royal family was well-loved, and, apart from the sea creatures, no danger threatened the life of the island’s inhabitants.

Tired as she was of roaming through the same corridors every day, Clarke wished for a change of scenery. The weather was beautiful, and the sweet breeze coming from the open sea called at her. She hurried out of her home with light steps and climbed down the stone stairs leading outside. She did not stop until she was standing in front of the salty water.

Despite the dangers that she knew resided under, the sea was enchanting. With the sunlight, it seemed to glisten. Millions of diamonds danced up and down as far as she could see. Small waves came licking at the earth before drawing back, the tides as eternal as the moon commanding them.

Clarke remained there, her feet buried in the sand, her eyes taking it all in. She had found herself by the cove nearing the palace. To her left, she could see the harbor and hear the many shouts and sounds accompanying any human activity. Ships of various sizes entered and exited, although most were moored. To her right, the small gap leading to the open sea was well-guarded.

The eight-year-old was about to turn around and return home when something caught her attention.

On one side, among half-submerged rocks, a shape moved. At first, Clarke assumed that it was a large fish. However, as she walked closer, surprise and then fear flooded her veins. A mermaid, one of their sworn enemies, lurked in the water less than a few meters away from the shore.

Keep reading

#clexa #clexa fanfic #alternate universe mermaids #disney princess Clarke #mermaid lexa #fairy tale #Where the Sky Touches the Sea

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abyssmail · 2 years

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@annihilyza

Rarely did Caerul have a chance to wander on the surface. The Delving Guild kept her busy these days, and when she did have a free minute, she typically spent it on either her own exploration of the Abyss, or recuperating from her last act of stupidity. But on the rare occasion that she did have the time and energy to spare up above... Caerul hit the bars.

Not to drink, mind you--although she supposed she was finally old enough to do that. No, Caerul lurked in Orth’s dingy, dimly-lit pubs and taverns to pry wisdom from senior delvers who otherwise wouldn’t give her the time of day. It required a good ear for sarcasm. Thanks to her old teacher, Caerul was fluent. It also required a decent budget for bribery. She must’ve bought every Black Whistle in Orth a drink by now.

Tonight, she was bound for the Eternal Fortune Tavern. Over a decade ago, it had been one of the liveliest establishments in the city, but the younger generation had found their own spaces as the previous one dwindled. That made it ideal for seeking out more experienced delvers; Caerul never had to wade through her inebriated peers to find someone who’d survived past their twenties to pester for information.

Tonight though, it was as if half the population of Orth had come to the desolate old tavern. On a Sunday, no less! “The fuck are you lot doing here... don’t you have expeditions to prep for or something?” Caerul muttered, casting an uncharacteristically grumpy scowl about the room. Her hand lingered on the door, keeping it slightly ajar. Was there a birthday or something...?

...Oh.

The scowl melted off of Caerul’s face, and she shut the door behind her. She fought her way to the bar, circling her wings about herself and then forcing them open to unceremoniously shove drunken patrons out of her way. She hijacked a barstool, spread her wings out wide behind her, and called the bartender over.

“Just a water for me, but put Lord Annihilator’s next drink on my tab!” At this point, treating her superiors just seemed like good manners.

Over the din, she called to Lyza, “Fancy seeing you here! What brought you out to the surface tonight?”

#((yikes I don't remember the last time I wrote a proper starter ;;>~> sorry this is a little rough! ^^;))#((what's the drinking age in Orth? ...does Orth HAVE a drinking age? ^^;))#((feat. the laziest tavern name ever pfft))#ic #annihilyza #thread: fortuitous encounter

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bubblesandgutz · 3 years

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Every Record I Own - Day 616: Jawbreaker Chesterfield King

Yesterday I talked about Japandroids, how their Celebration Rock album felt like a snapshot of someone else’s youth, and how that dissociation made it a difficult record to connect with. Today we move on to a band that is very much a snapshot of my youth. And that may mean that if you weren’t there during their heyday, then they might be difficult to connect with. Jawbreaker loomed large in my life, and they continue to be an important band to me, but they are also a band that operated at the nexus of a variety of divergent aspects of the underground in a specific timeframe of the early ‘90s, and while that context is thoroughly embedded in my brain and colors every note of their music, I can easily understand how someone who experienced their growing pains a decade before or after me could find Jawbreaker to be less-than-satisfying.

Jawbreaker initially began as a hardcore band called Rise in New York City at the tail end of the ‘80s while guitarist/vocalist Blake Schwarzenbach and drummer Adam Pfahler attended classes at New York University. Bassist Chris Bauermeister and vocalist John Liu rounded out the line-up, though the band would drop Liu shortly after the group relocated to Los Angeles. The personnel change coincided with a shift in sound and name---Rise shed their more hardcore attributes in favor of a stronger melodic focus and changed their name to Jawbreaker. Based on their debut album Unfun, it’s hard to envision there being any hardcore DNA anywhere in the band’s genetic make-up. It’s an album rife with hooks and catchy choruses, and while it’s certainly more musically sophisticated than, say, Green Day or Screeching Weasel, it’s understandable how the band got pegged as a pop-punk group based on that first batch of songs.

But things changed with the Chesterfield King EP. The title track’s major-key melody and relatively straightforward arrangement fit the mold established on Unfun, but Schwarzenbach’s lyrical vignette of a missed romantic opportunity, a fortuitous encounter with a street person, and a triumphant second-chance with a love interest dwarfed anything they’d previously laid to tape. There are no shortage of pop-punk songs revolving around awkward protagonists and their female crushes, but “Chesterfield King” didn’t sound like some slipshod love song. Instead, it felt like a scene out of Kerouac book, where the author uses small details and down-and-out circumstances to describe the conflict between youthful optimism and the crushing weight of adulthood. A huge component of Jawbreaker’s appeal stems from Schwarzenbach’s literary-minded lyrics, and in my opinion, that skill first came to fruition on “Chesterfield King.”

The remainder of the EP is primarily interesting because it captures the band’s further distancing from their brief tenure as a pop-punk band. “Tour Song” is by no means a highlight of the band’s repertoire, but it does capture the transition from a more jubilant, upbeat sound to the more somber chord progressions and defeated lyricism of their subsequent work. Jawbreaker would also get pegged as an emo band, and you can hear that element creeping into their sound here. Side A closes with “Face Down,” a noisy and bombastic track that feels more in line with the post-hardcore sounds of the Touch & Go roster. Over the course of three songs, Jawbreaker showed how their scope had broadened and how they were able to find a common thread through the electrified bubblegum-pop of the West Coast punk scene, the East Coast’s pained anthems, and the Midwest’s sonic nihilism.

Taken alone, the Chesterfield King EP isn’t exactly a crucial listen. It feels like a band trying on a few different approaches. But taken in as part of their broader discography, it reveals itself to be a dramatic evolutionary step to their sound. If you’re not already a fan, Chesterfield King won’t make you a convert. But if you’re trying to understand why the band became the poster child for the Gilman crowd AND the mechanic-jacket-clad proto-grunge crowd AND the DIY hardcore crowd, this EP may help explain the phenomenon.

#jawbreaker #everyrecordiown

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sanguinesorceress · 6 years

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Marked for Death (Part 2)

[Part 1]

“Porter?! Another cask of Peaked Dalaran White, when you have a moment please!”

Porter. It had supplanted his real name in people’s thoughts, but Oneth Sagestriker didn’t seem to mind the nickname at all. Polite to a fault, the Kaldorei with boyish good looks and eyes as silver as a beam of moonlight always wore a smile despite the burden he carried on his broad shoulders. “Coming right up!” he chirped, springing to his feet with the vigor of a Brewfest wolpertinger being chased by drunken buffoons to fulfil his coworker’s request. Sure he had been offered a position as a bartender in the Ledgermain Lounge, but he declined for ‘personal reasons.’ Which his employer attributed to the rumour that his wife was sick and the change in his work schedule would conflict with visiting hours. It was not entirely false, as there were other reasons for him to actively seek refuge in anonymity. The busboy is but a thread in the Bartender’s tapestry. It was the perfect cover for moonlighting as a hired assassin.

Waiting between two specially designated crates in the back stockroom was his next assignment, and Gods knew he needed the gold. His current position didn’t exactly pay the best wages and the expenses for his wife’s treatment were piling up. It wasn’t honest work, but it was a means to an end— or so he had hoped. The recent diagnosis was handed down with the condemnation of a life-sentence unto an innocent soul. Why did it have to be her? If anything, he should have been the one to fall ill as a form of penance for his unconventional profession.

Closing time was just around the corner, and with the cask tapped and fitted in its proper place, Oneth excused himself from his shift. Finding a moment of solitude, he peeked at the hidden piece of parchment that would direct him toward his next ‘target.’ Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, the porter closed his eyes and took a deep breath to still the hammering in his chest before withdrawing, not one, but two papers stacked neatly together. He recognized the first, it was from his usual employer, but the other was foreign in both penmanship and vellum. Postponing the first in favour of the second, Oneth unfolded the note to read its contents:

Despite what the doctors have convinced you to believe, your wife’s terminal condition is indeed reversible. Meet me on the easternmost island in Stormheim and be sure to come alone. Your every move henceforth is being monitored closely. Breathe a word of this to anyone and she dies today. I trust you will be discreet.

The other contained a name and a location written in code, so if the paper was discovered it would read as meaningless jargon to untrained eyes. Oneth glanced up at the clock, his eyes darting from one number to the next as he calculated the time it would take to fulfill his given assignment as well as the impromptu directive. If he left this instant, he would have enough time to complete both.

Off the coast of Morheim a long and narrow enclave hugs a large portion of the shoreline. Comprised of mostly rocky terrain, the island is largely uninhabitable save for lichens, crustaceans, roosting birds, and a small colony of bilgefin murlocs who are to credit for its namesake of ‘Bilgefin Shore.’

Oneth arrived by nightfall on the back of his trusted nightsaber, Whisper, who was every bit as quiet as her name implied despite the hulking cat’s size. When traveling through a murloc colony, it was best to bring a predatory feline with a healthy appetite for amphibious beasts, since these little monsters tended to move in swarms. Blades drawn and ready to strike, he anticipated an unprovoked attack from the territorial fish-men wielding rudimentary spears as weapons. It did not sound like much of a challenge until one found themselves to be overcome in an instant by a swarm of carnivorous halflings. Razor sharp teeth, webbed digits, and bulging eyes offered a great advantage under water, but on land the only safety found was from gathering in overwhelming numbers. Whisper’s experience took over, and with meals on flippers waddling all around her, she knew she would have her pick of the platter. Already she was licking her chops and crouching low, her tail ticking like a metronome, waiting for the signal to pounce.

A rain of spears swiftly followed the aggressive battle cry of “Mrglmrglmrglll!!!” and one did not need to be fluent in Nerglish to know they had been spotted.

Whisper sprang into action, snatching a cerulean murloc with iridescent green stripes and snapping its neck in her powerful jaws. In a single bound, the nightsaber had pinned five of them to the sand, where they met a violent end delivered mercilessly by sharpened teeth and deadly claws. Oneth dismounted, and immediately jolted from the barrage of frigid water bolts hurled by one of the magic weilders. Before he could retaliate, however, Whisper was on top of the violet murloc in an instant. “Save some for me, will you?!” he teased as he sliced through rubbery flesh, inflicting them with a lethal dose of poison he had anointed his blades with earlier.

“Aaaaaughibbrgubugbugrguburgle!” came the cry of their chieftan, and it was followed in unison with a resounding “mlargh!” from the rest of the tribe. It was unusual behavior for a territorial species, but it appeared as though the angry mob was now... retreating?

The murlocs’ diet consisted primarily of the crimson rockshell crabs co-habiting the area, whatever marine life they managed to spear, and the occasional traveler who wandered too close. As a direct result of their lifestyle, the air surrounding a murloc dwelling was laden with the nauseating stench of rotting fish caracases. Freshly added to this revolting bouquet was the odour of spilled blood from their fallen brethren, and in an attempt to diffuse some of the smell, Oneth pulled his mask over his nose. Shiny bobbles strung into sun-catchers dangled everywhere around the shanty-town, which was the product of repurposed cargo that had washed ashore from passing Vrykul ships.

A chilling breeze blew in from the eastern shore, and with it came a low-rolling fog that chased away the worst of the fetid stench with an aseptic gust of salt sea air. The sudden onset of this nearly impenetrable mist grounded the seagulls overhead, and had murlocs scrambling up the stilts of their grass roof huts in search of shelter. Whether their behaviour was driven by instinct or experience, there was an unsettling change in their mannerisms that could only be described as sheer terror. With a hand resting on the pommel of Whisper’s saddle, the assassin placed his absolute trust in her ability to lead him through the mist using her sharpened senses.

On the horizon, an ambiguous silhouette made manifest within the fog. At first he believed it to be a ship in the distance, but as it neared the shadow gradually took on the form of a tall, feminine figure. “Oneth Sagestriker,” she murmured while approaching the assassin, and her words echoed amidst the waves until they too collided with the inevitable shore, “I do hope the murlocs were not too troublesome.” Her voice was a siren’s song, alluring, yet perilous to those who ventured too close to the water’s edge.

“I have come alone as you have requested. Now tell me what I must do to spare my wife.” Taller the silhouette grew, until the woman stood looming over him with the majesty of a Vrykul warrior, a race native to Stormheim whom are believed to be descended from giants. “Who are you, and why have you called upon me?” Was he, by some fortuitous chance, in the presence of a Val’kyr, a winged spirit capable of resurrecting the dead?

“I have been given many names,” crooned the mysterious woman, “but you may simply refer to me as the Tide Seer.” Slowly, the mists parted to reveal a robust woman with seaweed in place of hair and scales shimmering across her verdant skin. Barnacles clung to her dress, which appeared to be fashioned from the tattered sails of sunken ships.

“I know what you are,” Oneth growled, and the hair on Whisper’s back bristled in response to the contempt seething from her master’s lips as he spat the word, “Kvaldir.” Not only did it explain the mist’s abrupt arrival, but the reaction it garnered from terrified murlocs as they scurried away from the danger it heralded.

“Tisk, tisk,” she chided while focusing a stare toward him as deep and mysterious as the ocean itself. “We wouldn’t want your wife to fall into sudden cardiac arrest over a bit of prejudice, now would we? Mind your manners, assassin, and sharpen your hearing instead of your blades.” Although thought to be folklore, the Kvaldir were actually a ruthless and barbaric race of corrupt Vrykul who had taken to the seas as opposed to the land. Primarily elusive humanoids, the only other location they could be found was on the blistering cold isles off the coast of Northrend.

Oneths’ moonlit eyes narrowed into waxing crescents as he countered with a pointed glare. “Alright, sea witch, I’ll entertain you with an honest question. What makes you so confident you can cure my wife when she has already seen the best doctors gold can buy?”

“There is a way,” she hummed, “ although unconventional as it may seem, the outcome is guaranteed, I assure you.” A slow smile crept across her pale blue lips as she watched his expression transform from malice to intrigue, “and for a man of your profession there should be no contest. A life for a life. Your dearly beloved will live a long and healthy lifespan free of illness, and all you have to do is add one more target to your roster.” Could it really be that simple?

“How do you plan to accomplish that?” By this point, his feline companion had nearly doubled in size. Everything about this encounter rubbed her the wrong way, causing the fur on her body to stand fully erect and tingle with electricity.

“It is a simple equation of give and take, really. By trimming lifespan of one individual, it allows the opportunity to transfer the remainder to another. As for the details, let us simply agree that I have my area of expertise just as you have yours. Do we have a deal or not?”

Oneth gave pause as he weighed his options, studying every possible aspect and outcome of the business transaction. “What sort of guarantee do I have that you will keep your word, Tide Seer?” While he found her offer tempting, the assassin also had enough experience not to bargain blindly.

The creeping mist swirled to life, demonstrating its omnipresence by swallowing the entire coastal shore and the murloc village housed therein. One by one, each of the aquatic monsters burbled and gasped like fish on dry land before flopping to the sand with a lifeless ‘thud’. “The only guarantee I am willing to give… is the promise of carrying out my threats.”

A wave of dizziness swept over him and he leaned heavily on Whisper for support. Unfortunately, the feline was also feeling a bit unsteady on her paws and she hissed, wide-eyed and panicked as her limbs betrayed her, forcing the nightsaber to fall on her belly. A triumphant smirk pulled at the witch’s lips as she watched him choke on the fog; coughing like a man with a fish bone stuck in his throat, as he collapsed to his knees while clutching his neck. Without so much as lifting a finger, she had asphyxiated nearly everything within her realm of influence. “Would you doubt my abilities at the cost of your own life? Perhaps your beloved wife’s? Or are you not motivated enough to save her?”

“Alright!” he wheezed, “You have made your point!” and with his yielding the mists slowly receded. Oneth gulped down several breaths as though he had discovered the only break in a wall of ice trapping him beneath a frozen lake. “Who do you want me to kill?”

“He who hails from the floating city, Magister Jadex.”

“A Kirin Tor magus?” Every burning breath he took scraped like sandpaper against his ribs. “What would a Kvaldir such as yourself hope to accomplish by killing someone like him?” he puzzled while massaging the center of his chest.

“The Violet peace keepers have overstepped their boundaries. I intend to send a message for them to cease meddling in Vrykul affairs. I do not care how you accomplish your task, only that you adhere to the following conditions.” For each directive she named, the seer counted by peeling back one of her knobby fingers. “First, he must suffer a slow and excruciating death, and the second is that you deliver a personal message.”

“What is the message you wish for me to convey?”

“One day I will return and he won't be around to see me rise again.”

“Very well,” he sighed reluctantly. It wasn’t as though he had been given a choice in the matter. “I shall do as you ask.”

“Take these pearls,” she directed, “place one in his home, and the other next to your wife. When the elven magus dies, the disease will depart from her body and the remainder of his lifespan shall become hers. You have precisely twelve hours to uphold your end of the bargain or I shall keep my promise and send her to an early grave. The shifting sands begin their descent… starting now.”

Before he could protest or request more time to carry out such a daunting task, the Tide Seer dispersed with a splash of salt water and collapsed into a lifeless heap of seaweed on the shore.

Desperation was a cruel motivator, and Oneth understood he needed to make every second count as though it was his wife’s last.

( Image Source [1] [2] [3] [4] ) @hmratking @loveherdekay @lazraelbandtherion @safrona-shadowsun @puppet-master-jihye

#Plot: Marked for Death #part two #stay tuned for more to come #sanguine sorceress #Conniving Bitch #i really enjoyed this #I hope you do too #sorceress literature

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weddingdresses689 · 4 years

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abitoflit · 7 years

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A Beginner’s Guide to Malazan Characters

First published within Tor's online newsletter, this guide, written by Laura M. Hughes, outlines each of the major players within Erikson's world. While this guide is intended for the second book in the series, Deadhouse Gates, some of the characters from the first novel appear and made it into this guide. I am posting excerpts from Hughes' guide in order to help my readers who are interested in this series and because I appreciated Hughes' sarcastic and snarky method of describing the "major players" within this series.

Kalam:

Splitting off from his squad as well as his Bridgeburner BFF Quick Ben, former Claw Kalam Mekhar has one goal in mind: to assassinate the Empress. Well, I say “one goal”; he may or may not get distracted by a book at some point, but we’ve all been there…right, guys?

Fiddler:

Accompanying Kalam is fellow Bridgeburner Fiddler, who’s left his own BFF (Hedge) behind on Genabackis. Like Kalam, ol’ Fid’s big beardy face is set towards righting an old wrong. He’s not the only one.

Sorry/Apsalar:

Remember Sorry? The sweet lil’ fishergirl possessed by the Patron of Assassins, then slipped into the Bridgeburners as their creepy-arsed new recruit? If so, you’ll probably recall that she’s pretty pissed off with a lot of people right now. You’ll also remember that she changed her name to Apsalar, after her buddy Crokus Younghand’s patron goddess (though I suspect he would’ve ended up worshipping her even if she’d named herself Bollockface).

Crokus Younghand:

Ironically, Crokus soon decides to change his profession from thief to—you guessed it!—assassin. You know, just like Sorry, who’s now named Apsalar, a.k.a. the Goddess of Thieves. Come on, Crokus. Aren’t relationships complicated enough already?

Icarium:

Half human, half jaghut; with his greenish skin, protruding tusks and tall, muscled, Hulk-like physique, you’d likely shit yourself if you bumped into Icarium in a dark alley. As fantasy fiction is so fond of reminding us, however, appearances can be deceiving; if something glitters, it could be gold or it could just as easily be a turd rolled in glitter, and not all that is green is a Hulk. Yes, in spite of his fierce exterior, Icarium is polite, considerate, and well-educated, a gentle giant with a deep philosophical streak and an earnest desire to explore history’s layers during his never-ending quest to recover his own memories.

Just…don’t make him angry. You wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.

Mappo:

On a centuries-long mission to wrap Icarium in proverbial cotton wool (and—rather tragically—to keep him from recovering the memories he so desperately seeks) is his BFF Mappo. Theirs is a bromance to rival even Rake/Brood, and Mappo in particular is a real cutie. Sure, he’s a bit rough ‘round the edges physical—with his bristled back and his tusks and his overall solid MASSIVENESS, he’s not quite as pretty as his verdant mate Icarium. However, he is arguably even more tragic: caught up in a centuries-long internal conflict between friendship and duty, Mappo is the most philosophical, empathetic henchman you’ll ever meet.

Mappo and Icarium’s quest also sets them upon the Path of Hands, whereupon they (handily) cross paths with Crokus and Co. Less handy is the fact that hundreds of others are following the Path, too . . .

D’ivers:

Gardens of the Moon introduced us to the concept of the Soletaken when Anomander Rake veered into his draconian form. Surely nothing could be more terrifying than facing an opponent with the power to transform at will into something truly monstrous. Right?

Meet the D’ivers! If the name doesn’t immediately give it away, let me clue you in: you know how Voldemort turned his snake, Nagini, into a Horcrux (a living repository for a piece of his own soul)? Now imagine if he’d been able to a) split himself into multiple animagus forms, and b) use those forms as living Horcruxes.

He couldn’t, of course. But these guys can.

Gryllen / Messremb / Ryllandaras

Some bright spark has spread the word about Tremorlor. This same bright spark (or is it shifting shadow?) has also given out directions to the House, essentially sending an open invitation to any Soletaken and D’ivers who happen to be in the area. Of these, there are some—like Ryllandaras the man-jackal and Messremb the bear—whose veered forms are few, but incredibly strong. But as a D’ivers’ power grows, so too does its numbers. When veered into his D’ivers form, big bad Gryllen becomes hundreds of rats that cover the ground like a carpet, overwhelming his enemies by sheer force of numbers and devouring them in mere minutes. As you can imagine, the subsequent clashes on the Path of Hands between Soletaken and D’ivers (and our poor heroes caught in the middle!) are fraught and unpredictable. Who would win in a fight between three bears and five hundred bees? A hundred rats and a thousand ticks? Twelve dogs and a sea monster?

Which is more powerful: an old Shadow priest, or a million spiders?

Mogora:

One of our heroes’ more fortuitous encounters (or less fortuitous, depending on your perspective) sees Crokus and company taking a break from the punishing desert in a long-forgotten temple of Shadow. The temple—built into a cliff and inaccessible but for a rope lowered, Rapunzel-style, by its inhabitants—is home to an elderly couple. Mogora and Iskaral Pust show about as much affection for one another as Ian McKellan’s Freddie and Derek Jacobi’s Stuart in the sitcom Vicious, while their bizarre plots and ceaseless bickering are reminiscent of cartoon nemeses Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner, Dick Dastardly and that smug bastard pigeon, and—of course—Tom and Jerry. The scenes between Pust and Mogora lend the story an air of slapstick comedy which is, quite frankly, delightful – though our heroes don’t see it that way. Especially when they’re woken in the night by Iskaral Pust standing astride them, brandishing his ever-present sweeping brush in a quest to rid the monastery of its eight-legged denizens (a.k.a. his wife).

Iskaral Pust:

His wife might be a literal nest of spiders, but she’s certainly not the only one spinning webs. He’s no D’ivers, but High Priest of Shadow Iskaral Pust is much craftier than his ostensible role as comic relief leads us to believe. Much like Kruppe in Gardens of the Moon, Pust is all about misdirection, using his constant disingenuous monologues to maintain a façade of madness whilst subtly plucking at everyone’s threads in service to his master, Shadowthrone.

You’re probably thinking that this all sounds very impressive. In which case, the less said about the small, monkey-like bhoka’rala who worship and harangue Pust, the better.

Cotillion:

From webs to Ropes: for the Assassin of High House Shadow, Cotillion takes a surprisingly hands-on role in guiding his reluctant protégée, Apsalar, and her companions. Perhaps feeling slightly guilty about abducting her, then possessing her, then forcing her to commit brutal acts of murder in Gardens of the Moon, the Patron of Assassins now appears to have taken on the role of kindly uncle to the knife-artist formerly known as Sorry.

What a nice guy.

Sarcasm aside, Cotillion is a veritable saint compared to this next lot…

Sha’ik:

Possession—or more specifically, possession as a not-so-subtle metaphor for the way religious belief can override an individual’s own better judgement—is a prevalent theme in the first few books of The Malazan Book of the Fallen. We’ve just recalled how Cotillion possessed Apsalar back at the beginning of Book One; now, we have Sha’ik, the mortal incarnation of the Whirlwind goddess Dryjhna. Every time the old Sha’ik gets too, well, old, she’s replaced with a younger girl in an endless cycle of decay and rebirth.

Does the fact that Sha’ik is a willing vessel make her any less of a victim than Sorry? You’ll probably never get the chance to ask her, I’m afraid. She’s protected very fiercely indeed by her two loyal bodyguards: Leoman, and Toblakai.

Leoman of the Flails:

Desert boy. Hardened fighter. Have a guess what kind of weapon he uses.

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cutsliceddiced · 4 years

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New top story from Time: This Twitter Thread About a Man Living in the Walls Is Really Creeping People Out Because ‘Trauma Never Gets Old’

It’s time to gather around the phone screens and read a nightmarish Twitter tale from a man who really (well, purportedly) lived it, as is Halloween tradition. In other words, scary Twitter threads are the new scary campfire stories.

In a lengthy thread full of eye-widening developments, Twitter user Grady Hendrix documents his alleged childhood encounters with a man squatting in his family’s house.

Setting the scene, Hendrix wrote that it was 1981, he was 9, and he was hungry. So, he snuck down to the kitchen for a late-night snack — leftover sweet and sour pork from a delectable-sounding restaurant, “the Fish & Shrimp House.”

What was actually on the menu, however? TERROR.

In the kitchen, Hendrix wrote, he saw “a skinny guy, eating our leftovers, and drinking our milk from the carton.” (The man, Hendrix said, couldn’t see him.)

“I can’t explain how terrifying it is for someone to BE IN YOUR HOUSE,” Hendrix wrote. “I slooooowly backed away, crept upstairs, and woke up my mom & dad.”

He says his parents did not believe him, and continued to doubt his sightings despite repeat appearances from the mysterious intruder — including one moment in which he allegedly caught the man watching him through an A/C vent in his bedroom. The nineteen-part yarn only unravels from there — descending into deeper and darker horror story territory. According to Hendrix, the enigmatic man had been living in the walls, and eventually died in them.

If real, the incident proved oddly fortuitous, or perhaps inspirational: suspense became Hendrix’s specialty. He’s written books including My Best Friend’s Exorcism and the graphic novel Horrorstör.

Here is his chilling thread in full — and decide for yourself whether you think it’s true.

Everyone’s telling scary stories for Halloween so I’ll talk about something that happened to me when I was a kid because hey, trauma never gets old.#ScaryStories