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ask-frederick · 4 years

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In regards to that recent ask, do you really think that Chrom and Lissa would have let you lock Robin up even if the brand had been visible? Or Emmyrin for that matter? I think that the royal family of Ylisse is all too aware that the blood one carries does not determine their character. Granted, their father might have locked your tactician up or worse, regardless of if he knew what that mark entailed.

“Ah, yes: I recall that. Good stranger, I believe you may be getting the wrong impression of me. Race and nationality have nothing to do with my chosen course of action. The fact that Robin is Plegian in descent has never been a secret to me nor a problem in my opinion. The matter lies entirely with what the Mark of Grima represents.”

“You see, good stranger: most of Plegia’s population were Grimleal in name alone. Their traditions, prayers, and cultural ceremonies were not dissimilar from the kinds you might see from a Follower of the Divine Dragon. For the majority of the religious among them, they looked upon Grima as a redeemer god; one that would wash away the agony and torment of the old world by ushering in the new with a song of holy fire. On the surface, this was wholly benign. The problem was that more fanatic factions of the Grimleal had always called Plegia their home, and the Mark of Grima was their calling card.”

“These zealots were reputed to regularly engage in human sacrifice. Merchants passing through the Plegian desert claimed to have witnessed Grimleal cultists bringing the dead back to life as inhuman monstrosities to terrorise the living. Others still whispered that they were the ones truly at the helm of the Plegian monarchy, keeping their countrymen compliant as they quietly bided their time for their dark god to regain the strength to make his return. My lieges’ lord father started his war on the premise that he would purge Plegia of these wicked fanatics, but quickly lost his mind in the mindless bloodshed his crusade had wrought upon the innocent.”

“When the war ended, no doomsday cult had ever been uncovered. The Mark of Grima was never once found in any of the cities or towns the Exalt and his armies had sacked, but millions on both sides of the border had perished all the same. I lost my innocence, my sense of purpose, and the formative years of my childhood to that war, and it was for nothing.”

“So many died over that accursed mark. Our halidom nearly lost its soul over it. So, good stranger, if I had indeed discovered the Mark of Grima on some vagrant’s hand that day in Southtown, clapping poor Robin in chains would have been the very least I’d have done. And despite Robin’s amnesia-induced innocence or Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa’s probably protests, I would have been right to do so. At least until a formal inquiry had could be made to prove that Robin was well and truly innocent. So many have suffered and died for what that mark truly represents, and I’d have been a fool to turn a blind eye to it had I known it was there. If saying as much makes me a wicked man, then… well, then I suppose I shall just have to learn to live with that.”

#fire emblem #frederick answers #friendly reminder that Frederick really didn't trust Robin at the start of Awakening #he's a veteran knight who would have been stupid not to have recognised Robin's clothes as Plegian #just remember that recognising red flags doesn't necessarily make you a bad person #it's how you follow up on those warning signs that defines what kind of person you are #and Fred eventually learned to respect and trust Robin #long'queue #Anonymous

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mythicallore · 5 years

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Haunted Places: Bobby Mackeys

Can a place be evil? Can it be so completely saturated and permeated by negative energy and dark, tumultuous history that it becomes infused with malevolence and malice, squatting there like a hungry predator? There do seem to be some places in this world towards which such forces seem to gravitate, making them cursed or haunted by something far less than benevolent. One such place lies out in a rural part of the U.S. state of Kentucky. On the surface it seems like a rather happy place, full of dancing, drinking, and overall good cheer, but beneath this veneer supposedly crouches a formidable force of supernatural evil, and it has become ground zero for all sorts of supernatural mayhem.

The establishment now known as Bobby Mackey’s Music World is in its present form a small honky tonk country nightclub in the town of Wilder, Kentucky, now owned by local musician Bobby Mackey, who opened it in September of 1978 as a venue for bands to make their music known and a place for people to kick back and have fun. It is a lively place regularly full of patrons enjoying drinks, dancing, and country music, and at first glance would not seem to have much to do with the world of the paranormal at all. Indeed, taking in the fun-loving atmosphere of the place ghosts would likely be the furthest thing from anyone’s mind, yet this modest nightclub has carved itself a reputation as being one of the most haunted places in the state, if not the entire country, full of dark history, murder, suicide, arcane cult rituals, wild tales of the supernatural, and a purported portal to Hell itself.

Bobby Mackey’s Music World

The very land the club is built upon has a rather tragic past that had tainted the land with blood and woe before any building had ever existed there at all. Sitting right up next to the Licking River, the area was once the gruesome scene of brutal fighting between Native tribes of the area, and this bloodshed continued on when the white settlers arrived, who went on massacring Natives. The area that would be called Wilder then became a bustling railway nexus in the 1800s, with much of the town being built over the unnamed graves of fallen, forgotten Natives. Although the land here had already been saturated with blood, the exact location of what would become Bobby Mackey’s got even more when a slaughterhouse was built here in the 1850s. During its grim 40-year period of service, thousands of animals would make their final journey here, and the nearby river turned red from the blood being dumped there. When the slaughterhouse was shuttered it is said that this blood stained land was used by satanic cults and the scene of human and animal sacrifices. Whether this is true or not, it was certainly the scene of a brutal murder, that of a woman named Pearl Bryan.

Pearl had supposedly fallen in love with a dentist named Scott Jackson and had gotten pregnant with his child, but the two did not want to go through with the pregnancy. Jackson allegedly made arrangements for them to take a trip to Cincinnati in order to have an abortion carried out, but he decided he did not want any publicity and so enlisted the help of his roommate, Alonzo Walling, to try and perform the procedure themselves. They drugged Pearl and went ahead with their plans. The procedure was a tragic failure, leading to Pearl’s death when they realized they had botched it, allegedly cut her head off while she was still alive, and dumped her body in the backwoods near Fort Thomas, Kentucky. Jackson would be found guilty of murder and hanged for the incident, adamantly proclaiming his innocence until the very end.

Pearl’s head was never found, but legend has it that the men threw it into one of the wells once used to contain animal blood, guts, and feces in the remnants of the abandoned slaughterhouse. Other details have been added to the lore surrounding the story over the years, such as that the men had always intended to murder her or that Jackson and Walling were actual satanic cultists, that the head had been found in the center of a pentagram etched onto the slaughterhouse floor in blood, or that Jackson with his dying breath vowed to never rest and to haunt those who had wronged him. It is unclear how much truth any of these eerie details have, but one thing for sure is that an innocent young woman was killed and beheaded, and the legends stubbornly remain, adding a bit more grimness to the area.

By the 1920s the mysterious murder of Pearl Bryan had mostly been forgotten, and the old slaughterhouse building was torn down and rebuilt to become a roadhouse that was soon after turned by mobsters into an illicit bar and casino called The Primrose. This was the era of Prohibition, and The Primrose was by all accounts a hive of bootleggers, gangsters, and other unsavory elements. It would also come to be a magnet for violence, as other gangs tried to muscle in on the territory, bringing down gang warfare that left many dead. In the 1950s the notorious roadhouse changed hands and was renamed The Latin Quarter. It was here that another famous death would occur at the seemingly accursed place.

The story revolves around a woman named Johanna, who was dancer at the establishment and also the daughter of the building’s owner. According to the lore, she fell in love with a local musician named Robert Randall, and their tryst ended up with her pregnant, which did not sit well at all with Johanna’s father. He took it so badly, in fact, that he had Randall killed by his mob connections, which in turn caused his daughter to spiral into a deep depression. She is said to have finally snapped, and after trying to poison her own father she supposedly scrawled a last poem professing her love on the walls of one of the rooms, went down into the darkened basement, which was a leftover from the slaughterhouse days complete with that grimy well of blood, and killed herself. How much of this is spooky lore is true has been constantly debated, but whatever the case The Latin Quarter would survive and stay in operation until 1978, when a series of violent shootings among patrons caused it to shut its doors. Not long after that, Bobby Mackey bought the joint and turned it into Bobby Mackey’s Music World.

Although the establishment and indeed the land it sits on had long been absolutely dripping with blood, violence, and murder, any record of paranormal activity up to that point remains unclear, yet after Bob Mackey acquired it supernatural forces seem to have besieged the place with a vengeance. Almost as soon as Mackey moved in there were intense unexplained phenomena, one of the first being a terrifying incident in which his own wife claimed to have been clawed at and pushed down the stairs by a malevolent unseen force. Workmen and contractors renovating the establishment also reported all manner of paranormal activity, such as moving objects, anomalous noises, and in more sinister cases being pushed, slapped, punched, or scratched by unseen hands, to the point that some of them refused to come back to work.

For his part, Bob Mackey was rather skeptical of all of this talk of ghosts at first, and even discouraged people working there to stop spreading such tales as it had the potential to scare people off before they had even opened for business yet. After all, Mackey had spent everything he had on his dream to have this club and he was not eager to see it all unravel because of some spooky tales. Nevertheless, the ominous phenomena continued on. One of the most well-known incidents revolves around then 20-year-old Carl Lawson, who started work there cleaning and painting, later moving into the attic of the building and becoming a permanent caretaker there. Lawson immediately began to complain of being absolutely tormented by supernatural phenomena, even going as far as to say he was being actively attacked and even possessed by demons that he believed to be crawling out through the slaughterhouse well in the basement, which he was convinced was a “portal to Hell.”

After the club opened to great success, Lawson continued to live there, believing that it had to be cleansed of its evil, and although Mackey was very strict with him not to talk about his supernatural experiences, patrons and employees at the bar began to have their own strange brushes with the paranormal. Besides seeing objects move, having electronics or lights turn on or off by themselves, catching glimpses of shadowy apparitions, and often being overcome with a thick overpowering sense of dread and malice that would descend upon them, many of these witnesses claimed to have been physically attacked by invisible entities, often brutally shoved or even pushed down the stairs. In particular, this activity seemed to intensify greatly the closer one was to the well in the basement, cementing the idea that it was somehow the epicenter of all of the ghostly phenomena.

Such phenomena have gone on to become commonplace at the establishment right up to the present, making it more well known for its hauntings than its music. Some of the spirits said to dwell here and harass patrons and staff are the ghost of Johanna, who likes to hang out in the former dressing room, often appears in mirrors, and leaves the smell of perfume in her wake, as well as the headless specter of Pearl Bryan, who appears without her head and exudes a profound sense of melancholy. There is also an extremely malicious entity fully dressed in cowboy attire and a cowboy hat who attacks people and has even been said to beat people into unconsciousness, a man with a handlebar mustache who haunts the restrooms and is said to repeat “”Die game, die game” (Latin for “Die well”) over and over again, and a very angry dark shadow that likes to break things and seems to especially target women with its nefarious attacks. Indeed, paranormal investigators and psychics who have poured in here have claimed that there are up to 40 different spirits prowling Bobby Mackey’s Music World, all of differing personalities, temperaments, and danger. Even police officers have allegedly seen some of these spirits.

Speaking of paranormal investigators, Bobby Mackey’s Music World has attracted them in droves, and the place has become a popular place for ghost hunters both professional and amateur alike. Many of them have produced all manner of photographs and EVP phenomena, and according to them the location is absolutely swarming with crackling paranormal energy. The club has been visited by several TV shows, and one of the most infamous is a 2008 episode of the hit series Ghost Adventures, who featured it along with host Zak Bagans. During their investigation Bagans claimed to have made contact with the murderer of Pearl Bryan, and even to have been possessed by a demon while poking around down in the murky basement. Bagans was apparently so convinced that he was possessed that an exorcism was carried out on him, and he also claims that he was physically assaulted by a demonic entity down there in the gloom, which left behind claw marks across his chest. The episode proved so successful that there was even a follow-up episode called Return to Bobby Mackey’s in 2010.

Zak Bagans at Bobby Mackey’s Music World

Many of the ghost hunters who have come here have made note of the high concentration of negative energy down in that basement, and some have speculated that it is actually some sort of portal or vortex channeling these forces in, although why that may be is not known. With these shows, along with the popular book outlining it all, Hell’s Gate: Terror at Bobby Mackey’s Music World, by Bobby’s friend Douglas Hensley, the place has become widely known as being one of the most haunted places in the country. In the meantime, Bobby Mackey’s Music World has sort of embraced all of the paranormal attention, setting up ghost tours and even posting a sign in front of the establishment that reads: “Warning to our Patrons: This establishment is purported to be haunted. Management is NOT responsible and cannot be held liable for any actions of any ghosts/spirits on these premises.”

Considering the boost for business that all of this ghost talk has provided, it has definitely become ammo in the skeptical argument against the legends. Many of the tales revolving around Bobby Mackey’s Music World have been related by Bobby himself, and a lot of the supposed incidents were first brought to light in Henley’s book, raising concern that they are stoking the fires of urban legend. It has also been pointed out that, while some of the historical violence described has its roots in reality, much of it cannot be concretely verified, and so it remains rather murky on how true any of it is, and where the real converges with exaggeration and myth. As for the numerous witness accounts, this is chalked up to being “primed” for spooky occurrences considering the sinister history and dark lore pervading the establishment, and the ghost shows could just be playing it all up. Regardless, there are plenty of people who insist that Bobby Mackey’s Music World is the most insanely haunted place they’ve ever experienced, so it is hard to know what to make of it all.

So what are we dealing with at Bobby Mackey’s Music World? Is this all an ongoing urban legend built up upon the violence and blood spilled here in the past? Is it all just a scheme by the owner to pull in customers? Or is it something more? If this place is indeed as haunted as advertised we are still left with many questions, such as why should the ghosts, demons, or whatever congregate here with such potency and generally violent intent? Is there something inherit to this location that should make this so? And what about the well in the basement, the “portal to Hell”? What part does this have to play in all of the strangeness and does it really funnel in evil forces from beyond our understanding? It is of course at the point where it is practically impossible to disentangle all of the lore and history, but one thing for sure is that Bobby Mackey’s Music World has become somewhat of a legend in the paranormal world, with its grim history and macabre lore, and it is perhaps a place worth checking out if you are ever in the area and are feeling brave. Just remember, as Bob Mackey likes to say, “Come for the ghosts, stay for the music!”

#haunted places #spooky #ghosts #supernatural #paranormal #zak bagans

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mazurah · 6 years

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Journal of a Buoyant Armiger in Valenwood

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21st of Sun’s Height

Oh sweet Lord… Blessed Almsivi, Mercy, Mastery, Mystery… hear the prayer of your supplicant. I fear this trial may yet prove to be too much for me.

I delivered the book of Bosmeri stories to the storyteller at the carnival today. He was absolutely delighted, despite--or possibly because of--the language in which it was written. My mind had only just begun to form the first wisps of thought regarding what I should do with the rest of my day, when a sound like a deafening foghorn the likes of which will haunt my nightmares resounded throughout the firmament. When the reverberations faded somewhat, and I regained full employment of my hearing, I heard a sound halfway between a thunderclap the likes of which I have never before heard and a tonne of metal falling onto solid bedrock from a great height, swiftly followed by the sound of gargantuan chains clanking taut over the solid surface of the largest windlass Nirn has ever accomodated. My gaze snapped to the tree canopy in the direction of the sound only to witness what was unmistakably a Dark Anchor portal hovering over the landscape to the southwest, spiked metal chains already straining to drawn Nirn into its hungry maw. Clouds darker and more menacing than those producing the slow drizzle of rain around us crept toward the gaping hole in the sky as though it was sucking the life out of even the air of that vibrant jungle.

I nearly succumbed to panic in that moment, but the pandemonium in the carnival around me drew my focus out of the intrusive memories of Coldharbour and the knowledge of everything that Anchor represented. I swiftly located the carnival mistress and told her to take the entirety of her troupe to Elden Root while I scouted the Anchor. I told her to send someone to alert the Fighters Guild as well.

I made my way through the underbrush toward the Dark Anchor. It took me what must have been over half an hour to get there from the carnival grounds. I had overestimated its closeness because of the sheer enormity of the thing. When I arrived I clung to the side of an embankment, hidden in the foliage, and observed from above as I witnessed Daedra crash to the ground beside a small group of cultists. I made note of the variety; first, Dremora, as expected; next a trio of Clannfear plunged to earth beside the self-condemned cultists that had summoned them and began ripping them to bloody shreds; and finally a hulking Ogrim descended with a bellow and an explosion of smoke and dust.

I did not stay to watch their forces accumulate. I had ascertained the Anchor’s exact location and enough information about the invading force to flee back toward Elden Root. After a very long, three hour trek in which I was constantly glancing over my shoulder for pursuers, I made it to the Fighters Guild with a breathless report. They had already mustered over a half dozen people into full gear by the time I had arrived, and my account sent their already hurried activity into a frenzy.

I made a mad dash back to the Den to try to recruit Fayrl’s assistance, and, after failing to find him in the entirety of the Den, I finally discovered him in his room. Honestly, I should have checked there first, but I was not thinking as clearly as I should have, fighting as I was the panic that clutched at the tail of every rational thought. I don’t know why my emotions spiraled so out of control. I have training almost my entire life for how to conduct myself in an emergency. I’ve been in worse situations before, situations with more immediacy and tension to them, and never had this kind of all-consuming fear inhibit my thinking. It must have something to do with my previous encounter with Coldharbour. Perhaps I am not coping as well as I thought. I wish I could talk to my captain about it. She would know what was wrong with me. She always has the answers.

Upon hearing Fayrl’s answering call through the door, I opened it without thinking, only to discover him stark naked, cock in hand.

I closed the door immediately of course, but didn’t let my respect for his modesty prevent me from relaying the necessary information. I told him I would get my armor on and meet him by the front door in five minutes.

Of course, he had to go and take what seemed like a quarter of an hour instead, and nearly made us miss the Fighters Guild heading out toward the Anchor’s location.

It was nearly dark as we began the long hike to the Anchor, and the Fighters Guild handed me and Fayrl a lantern and a handful of night vision potions for use once we got to the site. The day’s rain had slowed, and finally stopped by the time we got there, for which I was grateful. It was not a clear night, but at least the sky wasn’t drenching us.

The fight was…. Actually, I’d rather not talk too much about the fight. It went better than it could have, but you never get used to losing comrades in arms, even ones you only just met. May the Three, or whatever gods they worship shelter their souls. Fayrl and I were the only people who could use any kind of offensive magicka in the entire group, and I stayed back and hit the Daedra with mostly ranged attacks. When it was over, three of the nine Fighters Guild members were dead, and I didn’t have a scratch on me.

There were injuries, but I was fortunate that the Fighters Guild was so well prepared that I didn’t need to offer my healing abilities. The battle fatigue hit me like a charging Ogrim as soon as the Fighters Guild successfully unmoored the Anchor and we were no longer in danger of attack. I felt nearly dazed as they informed us that they were going to leave a pair of guards at the Anchor base, take their dead back to Elden Root, and send for stonemasons and volunteers to begin dismantling the stone of the ritual circle so that Molag Bal could not send the Anchor down again. I desperately needed rest, so I told them I would return in the morning to assist them. Fayrl was already urging me back to the city.

I walked the long, tense road back for the fourth time that day in full darkness. The Fighters Guild lent me a lantern, for which I was grateful, because I easily imagined Dremora jumping out of the blackness to capture me and Fayrl again, despite the fact that we had only just finished closing their doorway to Nirn. The pool of lantern light was an island of safety in that dark jungle, and my fatigued mind conjured all kinds of fantasms, mostly from Oblivion, to pursue us just out of sight in the shadows of the trees. I was grateful too that Fayrl agreed not to touch me, because I would have probably jumped out of my skin, or pissed myself, or broken down crying, or something equally embarrassing had he tried.

This is not the conduct of a Buoyant Armiger! What is wrong with me that makes this emergency so much more difficult to cope with than any other emergency I have previously encountered? Rationally, I knew that the likelihood of Daedra popping out of the underbrush to take me and Fayrl captive was very slim, but the possibility tormented my mind. I prayed to my Lord under my breath for comfort almost the entire way home.

“The fire is mine: let it consume thee, And make a secret door At the altar of Padhome, In the House of Boet-hi-Ah Where we become safe And looked after.”

When I got back to the Den I requested a bath in my room, and let myself soak away the stench of sweat and panic. The silence was finally too much for me and I broke down in tears in the bath, sobbing to my Lord for forgiveness for my weakness. It is not weakness, I know. I did everything right; I did not abandon my training. I did not let my fear prevent me from performing the tasks I needed to perform, but it feels like such weakness to return from a battle and cry about everything that might have happened, both good and bad, had I done even the slightest thing different.

Could I have saved those three that died at the hands of the Daedra today if I had entered the fray instead of relying on my ranged abilities to fight? I don’t know. I am better at ranged fighting, so probably not, but the possibility torments me. What is worse, I am plagued with the troubled thought that I have destroyed yet another pathway to reclaiming my soul. What should I have done though? Was I supposed to climb up the chain? Leaving the portal open would have been an act of supreme selfishness. I engrave upon mine eyes the image of injustice; I cannot suffer it to stand. Besides, what would I even do once there? I could not predict what I would find, and thus I had no plan. Nothing good could have come of it. I know better than to gather seeds in the fields of hell.

I spent over nine hours today in a state of abject terror, not to mention the time spent in full-scale battle, and my body was so exhausted that I nearly thought I couldn’t lift myself from the bath. Tomorrow I am returning to the Anchor base to assist the Fighters Guild in its dismantling. I don’t know how well I will cope. Hopefully, better than I did today. I suspect the anxiety will not diminish until I have completely wiped that accursed artifact from the face of Nirn. I have never been more fully aware that the slave labor of the senses is as selfish as polar ice. I have often heard the concept preached as an admonition against excess, but it works the other way as well, with feelings we don’t want, and can’t get rid of.

I know what I must do. I shall let faith be my only law. I shall forge my faith most keen in the crucible of suffering. It is not something I enjoy, but it is something that I need. Faith conquers all. I shall yield to faith.

That is not to say I shouldn’t take care of myself. Fayrl has kindly left me a plate of food outside my door. I should avail myself of it.

Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry

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