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love-sapphirerose · 25 days

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Yashahime: Awful Sequel

When the first of the information came out that Inuyasha was getting a sequel, everybody was excited but it was a really awful show that was overhyped. It became a failing sequel to the Inuyasha franchise just like Boruto became to the Naruto franchise. It's a show about a hanyo version of kagome and/or rin who inherited the obsessive clingly nature, a hanyo female version of sesshomaru who barely has a personality that doesn't involve slaying and playing the violin, and a weak comic relief shihanyo who inherited her parents worst traits, who are majority of the time always winning fights.

Rushed

Just like with Inuyasha the Final Act, Yashahime was extremely rushed and boring. The Final Act was quickly wrapped up in 1 season as the manga was longer.

2. Constant Copying

In one of kohakuxrin's post there is massive recycling from the previous inuyasha content and especially the final act manga material that wasn't made in the rushed anime. As they

Ex.

1) Mistress Centipede with Mistress Three-Eyes

They're trying to remake the first villain from the past.

2) Hitokon

3) Bone Demon and a Father

4) Cat Demon

5) Meioju

6) Ginka and Kinka

7) Mizuchi and Nuwamatari

8) Nikosen

9) Sayo

10) Yuki and her brother

11) Wakana

12) Kodoku

13) The two onis

14) Snow Panther

15) An incarnation of the main antagonist interested in a member of the dog demon clan

16) Not alone anymore

17) A moth demon destroyed by a hanyo in a mindless state

18) Kao and the bug in the chest

19) Shibugarasus, Toads, Kumogashiras

20) The giant bug with someone within

21) The Rainbow Crystals

- The Silver Crystal was split into the seven Rainbow Crystals so as to seal away Seven Great Yōma. And as Sailor Moon shed a tear for her lover Tuxedo Mask who was mortally wounded, it caused the seven Rainbow Crystals to react and merge into one, forming the Silver Crystal itself. - As Zero shed a tear onto the Sacred Jewel, upon learning the death of Toga whom she was fond of, the seven rainbow pearls came out of it.

22) Chibiusa and the Door of Time

- Chibiusa has a key that leads to the door of time which leads to the future, and she was being hunted by bad guys. - Akuru has a pinwheel that activates the windmill of time opening a path to the future, and he was being hunted by Kirinmaru.

No question in those two because Katsuyuki Sumisawa was involved in the first anime version of Sailor Moon and in the same episodes in which the rainbow crystals assembled and Chibiusa took the Sailor Warriors to the doors of time (episodes 34 and 82).

23) Walking Around Naked

24) Pulling Out A Sword

25) Wondering About Name and Bullying

26) Recycled Moves

In episode 20, 2 lizard yokai attempting to break into the hanyo village look very similar to the two lizard yokai in the original series.

moroha trying to touch rion's ears like kagome with inuyasha's ears.

3. Contrived Powerups

Majority of the time, you would notice that towa, Setsuna, and moroha get these power ups to easily defeat an opponent by emotions or hearing about something.

4. Miroku and Sango's Family

Other than Hisui, they are barely seen.

Miroku spent the majority of the series on a 1000 day training and in the last episodes of the season he was suddenly powerful and taking on the grim butterfly. In episode 22, miroku was easily defeated by zero and had kin'u take his place.

Sango, who was known to be a strong female fighter in the original, was reduced to simply miroku's wife and hisui's, kin'u's, and gyokuto's mother. In the last episode of the final act, sango retired from being a demon slayer but could've come out of retirement to lead the new demon alongside kohaku but instead she's reduced to making mask and supplies. In the last episodes of season 2, sango comes out of retirement to fight with a rushed weapon called the black hiraikotsu.

Hisui could've continued to learn under miroku while being a demon slayer despite kin'u being a monk first. Sango, who was the original owner of the hiraikotsu, should have been the one to inspire hisui to be a demon slayer instead of kohaku. The hiraikotsu doesn't have the abilities it achieved in the final act.

The creators of yashahime decided in season 2 to give hisui feelings for setsuna, making it offiical in episode 48, to make it opposite of riku and towa since hisui is a full blooded human riku is a incarnation of a full blooded yokai.

Kin'u and Gyokuto, who appeared the least in the show, only appear to make a character shine. sango, who is a skilled fighter, didn't even train kin'u and gyokuto in combat as the only thing they do is throw sutras and powders. The creators didn't put any thought into their character designs as kin'u and gyokuto should've had different hairstyles and lengths from each other as the only difference in kin'u's hair was the small ponytail and gyokuto's hair didn't change at all. While kin'u's attire did change, the difference between gyokuto's attire from childhood was her apron and woven sandals.

They could've appeared more in the series and developed their personalities and abilities.

And when shippo appeared again especially in episode 48, kin'u and gyokuto reverted back to their personalities when they were little children.

5. Kohaku and the Demon Slayers

kohaku's face looks like iruka from the naruto franchise. Despite opposite character designs and weapons, rokuta and nansuke barely have personalities and don't even have backstories

How could the demon slayers, especially kohaku and hisui, not know setsuna was a hanyo after seeing her abilities and sensing her aura.

Kohaku and the Demon Slayers really don't think things through sometimes and aren't very bright.

Ex. Nikosen was poisoning a mountain and instead of thinking of other ways to defeat him, the only way they thought to defeat him in their minds was to burn the mountain.

6. Secrets

It seems to me nobody wants to talk about the past.

Despite living in the modern era for 10 years, the higurashi family never mentioned or seen pictures of kagome to towa until she was about to leave for the feudal era.

kaede never told kohaku, hisui, and the other demon slayers that setsuna was a hanyo or was sesshomaru's daughter. After 10 years of not seeing setsuna, kaede never once told her about sesshomaru, rin, or towa and even when she returned she still didn't explain. It only took 21 episodes for kaede to tell towa about rin and even then it was quick information about how they lived together for many years and she disappeared shortly after she and setsuna were born.

kaede never even told moroha about inuyasha and kagome.

I wonder why nobody especially miroku and sango told kohaku about towa and setsuna being sesshomaru and rin's daughters and not even a letter.

Even when kohaku found out about towa and setsuna being sesshomaru's daughters, he only mentioned something to them in episodes 5 and 31.

When miroku first met towa, he was informed that she was setsuna's older sister and instead of telling her about their parents he just stood there silently.

When the higurashi family realized that moroha is kagome's daughter, they never told her information about her and inuyasha and tried to fix this in season 2 especially in episode 28.

7. Underage Pairings

The creators of yashahime really don't care about the sick relationships.

sesshomaru and rin, knew her ever since she was 7-8 years old.

riku and towa, he knew her before she was born

homaru and tamano, kidnapped and tried to force her to love him.

moroha flirting with bokuseno.

I don't have an opinion on hisui/setsuna or hisui/aiya.

8. Rushed and Failed Backstories

They really didn't think much into the childhoods.

In episode 15, towa and setsuna were taken away and placed in a forest for 4 years and moroha was sent away to the koga and ayame by hachiemon.

In towa's childhood after being separated from setsuna, there's not much known as we see her meet sota, have a weight set and trophies to explain her life, a flashback of a pinky promise, and they gave of these rushed memories in episode 36 like they gave kagome rushed memories in the final act.

With setsuna, her being taken away from the burned forest, being accepted into the hidden hanyo village, training under 2 orders, defeated 2 lizard yokai, flash forward 6 years later, a recycled flashback from episode 3, returning to the hanyo village, a quick copy and pasted of episodes 51 and 52 except the soldiers are yokai, and leaving the hanyo village.

With moroha, a quick flashback of her last training day with yawaragi, battling a recycled character kodoku, being sold to jyubei, battling the birds of paradise, and giving quick images of her as a baby in episode 39.

9. Contrived Emotional Moments

The scenes that are supposed to be emotional are bland, rushed, and cringe-worthy.

Ex.

sota and towa's relationship wasn't sad for me as in season 1 and 2 they had very little interactions and were forced.

Ex. in episode 4, sota and towa talking and saying goodbye and in season 2 sota and towa meeting again and goodbye again after he tells he will always see her as his own blood daughter as they transform appearance when they first met.

A female wolf yokai named yawaragi was mentioned in episode 14, appeared as a small cameo at the end of episode 15, and official debut. She has a few flashbacks, a quick fight, then they tried to give us this emotional dying scene of her with moroha but i'm not attached to the character and everything goes back like nothing ever happened except for a new ability.

towa and setsuna tearfully hugging each other and apologizing when setsuna regains her memories.

riku tearfully killing zero.

moroha reuniting with Inuyasha and kagome while towa and setsuna, which is weird for her, tearfully watched.

moroha keeping the black pearl with the beni.

towa and mei's moments plus the final goodbye.

riku confessions of love to towa especially before everyone battles the grim butterfly and him dying.

Inuyasha, kagome, and moroha having a family moment on the bone-eater's well.

rin hugging towa and setsuna while sesshomaru and jaken having a conversation while 2 other families watched them.

towa and Setsuna hugging moroha in their new attires.

towa confronting a disguised riku in jyubei's shop.

moroha hugging Inuyasha and kagome before leaving their home.

Basically episode 48 was one of the worst episodes in the entire two seasons.

10. Terrible Characters

Majority of the yashahime series characters were boring and confusing.

Ex.

In season 1, she looked more like she was the big bad of the series than Kirinmaru, who didn't even act like the villain.

Zero possessed much more of a threat to our main characters, as she is responsible for the forest fire that separated Towa and Setsuna and indirectly separated Moroha from Inuyasha and kagome. She's done various other things, blackmailing Sesshomaru by cursing Rin. She feels very much that she had the same level of connection that she had that the same connection Naraku did with Inuyasha.

zero's back story as well seemed uninteresting and confusing, having feelings towards Toga, and when he dies her love for him drives her to kill his descendants. She could have become more interesting as the series progressed. If the rainbow pearls sealed away her emotions, then why is zero taking revenge on toga's descendants and got angry at sesshomaru's mother.

But that was not the case, as when season 2 aired, is when Zero started to run down downhill by gathering the rainbow pearls, for revenge, kidnapping towa, and basically holding rin's life hostage, and it all ends in episodes 36 and 37.

To start with, Setsuna learns from Rin that she must save Zero to stop the curse from killing her. Really wished we knew that before. Thanks, Rin, which leads into the next episode.

At this point, Zero has been emotionally torturing Towa for the entire night by reminding her of her sadness and suffering, and is pretty much trying to get Towa angry enough so that she can kill her, and in doing so kill Rin. She's almost successful when Setsuna shows up, shows Towa the dream butterfly, and suddenly Towa loses all the anger she has towards zero in a matter of seconds.

towa then thanks zero for what she's done and it is really annoying. zero prepares to kill herself and Setsuna cuts the thread of fate tying Zero to Toga and she removes the curse from Rin and commits suicide by Riku.

All of these in a matter of minutes, they make Zero, this threatening and uninteresting villain and rendered her more pathetic. They had to give her a redemption arc when she's been the most villainous character in this sequel. Kirinmaru felt more like an obstacle the same way Koga was in Inuyasha. But this, this was so dumb, and when I was watching episode 36 and heard what Rin said, I knew what this was leading into but it was so much worse when Towa thanked her for it. She really didn't need to thank the person who separated her from her twin sister and tried multiple times to kill her, sister, and rin because it's just wrong.

The creators of yashahime couldn't even give zero an actual conclusion that fitted with her character, and she's forgiven so easily. You didn't see Inuyasha thanking Naraku for setting him and Kikyo against each other and killing Kikyo, Sango thanking naraku for killing her village and controlling her kohaku, and miroku thanking naraku for cursing his bloodline. Could you imagine how messed up that would have been?

11. Timeline Error and Wrong Ages

The story takes place after 18 years after the final act but they keep getting the timeline wrong.

In episode 3, kaede said the bone-eater's well stopped working after 15 years.

In episode 39, kagome said she hasn't seen her family in 14 years.

Despite the yashahime creators making jaken and the tree of ages saying that rin is supposedly 18, she is really 15.

The true creator, Rumiko Takahashi, explained in databooks that rin is 7-8 years old in the beginning, sota is 8-9 years old, and kohaku is 11 years old.

In the 3 year time skip at the end of the final act rin is 11, sota is 11-12, and kohaku is 14.

4 years later when towa, setsuna, moroha were born, rin would be 15, sota would be 15-16, and kohaku is 18.

When they were 4 years old, Rin was 19, sota was 19-20, and kohaku was 22.

10 years later in the present as they are 14 years old, rin is 29 not 32, sota is 29-30, and kohaku is 32.

The reason the creators tried to age sota and rin up is because they forgot.

12. Copied Information

If you watched yashahime, you would immediately notice the constant copy and pasting from the original series and the final act. They're trying to do this to bring back memorable feelings to the new series.

Ex.

Even though the rainbow pearls were created from the sacred jewel and have its essence, as they just copied lesser powerful versions of it.

towa, setsuna, and moroha fighting mistress three eyes to remember the fight between inuyasha and kagome with mistress centipede.

setsuna not wanting to be a hanyo is a reference of sesshomaru disliking hanyo.

towa being controlled by the hitokon like the little boy, but how did it appear in the modern era without being seen.

setsuna remembering mei thanking her is to remember rin smiling at sesshomaru.

moroha appearing in the room naked without shame just like inuyasha.

grandpa higurashi giving moroha, who had a weird look on her face, a kappa foot just like he gave kagome, who also had a weird on her face, a kappa foot as well.

13. Sesshomaru

Personally, I've never really liked sesshomaru as just like miroku, jaken, sango, especially shippo and kagome. As in yashahime, sesshomaru became bland and terrible.

Out of all of the characters whose personalities and motives changed from the original series, The one who got it the worse was Sesshomaru. Despite him not being on screen for very long in the first season and the currently ongoing second season, he's barely said anything. To be fair, Sesshomaru wasn't having full-blown conversations with everyone, but he at least has some conversations with other characters. Here he barely says anything.

He's also not very emotional, which was the same in the original series, but with what has happened in the second season of Yashahime, you'd think the writers would give him some kind of emotional moments not the sick ones of sesshomaru holding rin when the curse was placed on her in episode 27 and it being taken off her in episode 37.

In season 1, sesshomaru has barely appeared and mostly made short cameos and flashbacks.

Ex. In episode 18, sesshomaru only appeared for a short time to quickly fight kirinmaru, orders jaken to not say anything then they leave.

The plot for him is really bad and doesn't make any sense, sesshomaru takes towa and setsuna shortly after they're born, stay away from them and refuses to help them when they were 4 years because homura and zero, who he can easily defeat, who kill them herself and kill rin, who said she would rather die than let them be sacrificed for her sake, but changed his mind when they were 14 years old. And sesshomaru idiotically listened to jaken sealing into the tree of ages and sealing inuyasha and kagome away into the black pearl because they thought they would go after zero and killer which would also kill rin, even though they would find another way to save her.

Even though, sesshomaru secretly gave setsuna items and tasks over the 6 years she's lived in the hidden hanyo village, he's a terrible father as he doesn't tell them anything, basically an absent father, left towa and setsuna to face kirinmaru and setsuna was killed, completely left the task of setsuna saving rin to her and didn't do anything as kohaku and sota were more fathers to them instead of himself.

The creator of yashahime could've made janis or kaname kururugi canon in the series and giving them a story of how they came to permanently live the feudal era, or a new female character with a background but instead they disgustingly chose rin, a girl he knew since she was 7-8 and mostly treated like a daughter.

In Yashahime, sesshomaru is a terrible husband as he doesn't see rin as an equal and majority of the time still has the father-daughter dynamic and treats her like a pet.

Ex. shortly after towa and setsuna, sesshomaru didn't say a word to rin and took the twins without a single explanation to anyone other than a rite of courage and cowardice, commanded her to follow him and stay like a dog especially in episodes 46 and 47 when he commanded her watch him battle kirinmaru, and even in episode 48 when he still ordered him to follow him. The only time sesshomaru is ordered around is in episode 35 by rin.

In season 2, sesshomaru majority of the time just stands and watches things happen for plot, even when he's in the grim butterfly, in a coma, and letting others such as towa, setsuna, and moroha to do the work.

For an example, In Inuyasha, the final act, when they are in the underworld and Kohaku tells him that Rin isn't breathing. Sesshomaru shows genuine fear and concern, which I believe is the only time he acts this way. Then when he learns that Tenseiga can't revive her, he blames himself for it and says that nothing was worth losing her. It's one of the most powerful moments for Sesshomaru and shows just how far he's come. Whether you see Sesshomaru care towards Rin as Fatherly or not, this scene shows just how much he cares for her.

Let's compare that to in Yashahime.

After Sesshomaru kills the dream butterfly, it causes the Silver scale curse to spread more quickly, which will eventually kill Rin. She's pretty much dying in front of him, and he has no way to stop it himself. So how does he act?

He says nothing, even when she talks to him and he keeps the same face.

sesshomaru separated moroha from inuyasha and kagome for 14 years and the one who gets scolded for badmouthing him was inuyasha, who was rightfully so, and he was instantly forgiven, kagome saying 'i'm sure he had his reasons', sat inuyasha, and scolded him for blaming towa and setsuna, even though he wasn't. setsuna also shouldm't have to apologize on sesshomaru's behalf.

He later kills the dream butterfly to motivate Setsuna to be able to use her Yukari no Tachikiri, which nearly causes Rin to die because of him and finally, he doesn't go and save Towa when she is being tortured all night by Zero and Nanahoshi by his minature galaxy.

It feels like they were trying to frame it as Sesshomaru could be genuinely working with Kirinmaru, but in doing so, they make him look like he's the worst father of the year. And with how long this mystery dragged out, it didn't make Sesshomaru look any better.

It definitely it's completely different writing when it comes to Sesshomaru in both series, with Inuyasha, Rumiko wrote him a clear goal and a conclusion. In Yashahime, they're trying to one-up the audience with their mystery and are unintentionally wreaking his entire character.

14. Not Naming Characters

Despite new characters such as moe higurashi, mei higurashi, and aiya receiving names there are lot of characters that still don't have names such as sesshomaru's mother, weasel man, gokoku village headman, northern demon slayers leader, the granny, the lady, the muscle, the ninja, and so many others.

Despite knowing that his name is toga, they still refer to him as the great dog demon.

15. Nerfed

Just like Boruto and Dragon Ball Super, the power scaling doesn't make any sense. In Super, beerus, who is a god, is fighting goku, who turned into a super saiyan god, after a period of time transforms back into a simple super saiyan but doesn't make any sense that he can still can fight beerus, they tried to explain away this through beerus but it doesn't work. In Boruto, there have been many multiple fights where the older generations are nerfed to make the younger generation shine like when jugo hit konohamaru and he couldn't move for a few days but when jugo hit boruto he easily recovered, when karin had to become weak with her chakra chain in order for sarada to be strong, or when in the time travel arc with urashiki that sasuke was constantly weak in order for a genin naruto, boruto, and jiraiya to shine. It also happens in more sequels like in yashahime.

Ex.

kirinmaru, who is equal to toga, can receive massive injuries from towa and setsuna, hanyos, and moroha, a shihanyo.

Zero, who possessed all of her 7 rainbow pearls that contain her immense yokai power that can summon an even greater demonic power that is far too strong and dangerous to even exist and the essence of the sacred jewel, can easily be killed by a feral towa.

The grim comet/grim butterfly, that has vast amounts of demon energy that it took toga, kirinmaru, sesshomaru, and inuyasha to defeat small fragments of it, was being completely held back by miroku and kagome, not even combined can match midoriko and kikyo.

towa creating the twin azure dragon wave but not sesshomaru.

16. UnInteresting Fights

Majority of the fights are boring and rushed.

Ex.

In season 1, you would notice that more than half the fights are recycled from the final act manga and the original series.

towa battling the human boys.

totetsu battles against miroku, hisui, towa, and setsuna.

totetsu and riku battling each other.

In season 2, the fights are stale and lack originality.

towa and setsuna battling rock fiends.

riku and rion battling kirinmaru.

osamu battling riku and towa.

Ex. In the final fight against kirinmaru and sesshomaru, the fighting moves sesshomaru uses are recycled from his fight against magatsuhi.

17. Bland Characters

Most of the yashahime characters lack character and are boring.

Ex.

Despite Raita and Futa having their parents killed by different species, different abilities, and opposite appearances, they're basically the same as one said something and the other agrees and repeats what the other said, they say 'take this' and attack. Raita and Futa's appearances didn't put much thought into them and when they're older the difference they get is armor.

With Mei Higurashi, we're told about her personality from towa but she's annoying and reminds me of kagome and rin when she wants to run into dangerous situations to resolve problems, bossy, and whiny.

Moe Higurashi rarely has a personality as the naive overly cheerful person that reminds us of ms. higurashi and her appearance looks like a light brown haired kagome and the only thing we know about her is that she's a traveling violinist.

takechiyo wasn't much of a character as is a less annoying version of shippo and a boring background story with his twin brother.

18. Sudden Recovery

In the original, inuyasha sustained damages from powerful and mst of them took him a while to heal but in yashahime mostly everyone, including towa, setsuna, and moroha, heals instantly from their injures even hisui.

It feels like when characters are facing powerful enemies they instantly get up without a scratch despite having injuries. I know they're hanyos from a powerful dog demon but it's contrived.

Ex. setsuna becomes injured after being restrained by mistress three eyes but quickly recovered to defeat her.

towa was weak after being released from hitokon's control but instantly recovered when setsuna wanted to remove the hitokon from mei's face.

miroku battled gaga gozen and was instantly defeated and weakened but instantly recovered when he battled setsuna.

In episode 18, towa, setsuna, and moroha battled kirinmaru and easily lost but instantly recovered.

19. Plot

The plot was really stupid and to be dramatic.

Ex.

In season 1, ever since episode 2 when towa and setsuna separated, they constantly remind us for drama by memories and/or through other people in episodes 3, 4, 8, 10, 11, 14, 15, and 20, especially episodes 8, 10, and 14.

placing a seal on setsuna and her main weapon to keep her demon blood in check but during the series she's never fully tries to master it, only a small piece of it known as the blood blade. they made setsuna have a seal but not towa, that's not fair.

Throughout season 2, everyone was saying that towa needed to fight with a demon weapon and not something made by humans but at the last episodes she's fighting with the kikujmonji, a weapon made from humans.

moroha getting through mount musubi's barriers.

In episode 17, setsuna, who doesn't even know anything about sesshomaru and the dog demon clan, suddenly knows the dog demon clan is capable of discovering demonic energies from a distance with their unusually sharpened sense of smell but in episode 23 she questions her clan.

In episode 24, riku stabbing kirinmaru, who had his guard down, to weakened him for towa, setsuna, and moroha and towa stabbing kirinmaru.

In episode 24, setsuna dying so towa and moroha can instantly power up.

In episode 38, towa, setsuna, and moroha attacking kirinmaru and sesshomaru taking kirinmaru's attack and sending them into the black pearl.

In episode 39, kirinmaru showing up and demanding sesshomaru to come out before battling inuyasha, kagome, and moroha.

osamu kirin, who barely appeared in the series, was suddenly the villain of the last episodes of season 2.

riku and rion battling kirinmaru and later riku, who was heavily injured, easily taking rion away from kirinmaru.

In episode 47, towa dying so rion can face fear who ended up dying again anyway.

It doesn't make any sense, Rin was stuck in the tree for 4 before the silver scale curse slowly started to spread but suddenly when the dream butterfly was killed it spread all over her body within a few episodes.

20. Rushed Abilities

The abilities within the yashahime series are quickly inherited and lackluster.

Ex. towa instantly receives the energy blade after meeting the mistress three eyes.

towa receiving the azure dragon wave.

after myoga explains inuyasha's tessaiga absorbing demon energy, towa instantly receives the skill to absorb demon energy with her energy blade.

moroha receiving the crimson backlash wave.

towa receiving twin azure dragon wave.

In the original, the tenseiga was able to revive people once with no time limit as it revived goshinki and rin but in yashahime they decided to give it a stupid 1 hour time limit.

setsuna quickly mastering the yukari no tachikiri after 2 incidents with sea snake woman and mayonaka.

towa instantly mastering the zanseiken.

setsuna instantly achieving vermilion bird ambush.

moroha instantly mastered the bow she received from her parents.

21. Background Characters

The creators of yashahime really didn't put any thought into what to do with the characters.

Ex. The higurashi family basically didn't do anything as in episode 2 they were just get kidnapped and standing there and in episode 3 when towa, setsuna, and moroha were interacting with each other, all they did was silently standing there and didn't speak to them.

With shiori, they barely changed anything about her appearance except she now wears woven sandals and different hairpins and worst short as she doesn't and let's little children fight for her.

With koga and ayame, they only make a very small non-speaking cameo at the end of episode 15 and don't even have children of their own.

22. Hairstyles

The creators of yashahime really didn't put much thought into most hairstyles such as takechiyo, kikunosuke, kin'u, gyokuto, rion, and futa have the same styles.

23. Bad Animation

In episodes of season 1 and 2, you can see multiple terrible animation mistakes.

Ex. Setsuna flying away from towa and moroha.

zero laying on the ground and rin coming out from her slumber when zero died.

#anti yashahime #anti princess half demon #anti hanyo no yashahime #anti sesshomaru #anti sessrin #anti sesshomaru x rin #anti kagome higurashi #anti kagome x inuyasha #anti kagome #anti inukag #anti miroku #anti sango #anti riku #anti rion #kirinmaru #anti shippo #anti mei higurashi #anti mei #anti rin

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skyloftian-nutcase · 3 months

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Pick a blorbo vibe!

In the Forsaken AU, Zelda and Gerudo Link are conspiring how to get Mystery Link to reappear after vanishing in the Lost Woods (Zel: Ok, so what we need is a damsel in distress--you'll do just nicely // Gan: I AM NOT PRETENDING TO BE A DAMSEL). They're whispering heatedly in Zelda's fancy royal tent (that Gerudo Link has to assemble for her) just outside the Lost Woods.

In Breath of the Sky, Cloud and Zel are slowly making their way over to the picnic that Princess and Champion set up for everyone. Champ is nervously eating all the food. Mipha is hovering in the distance hoping everything is ok. It's sunny and warm and pleasant outside, at least, despite all the drama.

In the Imprisoning War Era, Hemisi and Link snuck out of the castle while he's still sick because Link wants to spend time with Hemisi and she 100% plans to kidnap him to the desert (or at least to the Gerudo designated quarters so he can be taken care of until he gets better). Ganondorf is exasperated. Impa is too. Hemisi and Link look like drowned cats because it's pouring outside and they definitely were not crawling across the walls and roof of the castle haha nope!

In the Wild Spirit AU, Abel, Link, and Lyra are getting ready to fight Calamity Ganon. Abel hears his boy's voice again for hte first time, but there's a giant malice monster to deal with, worry about that later, Abel! The castle is dark and ominous and cold, it's starting to storm outside, it's time to get to business!

In a Hyrule fresh from the Calamity, Abel and Tilieth are starting to make plans for the next part of their journey. Abel definitely keeps waking Link up simply because he can, because he needs to after going to Blatchery Plain, and Til has to eventually get on his case about letting their poor son sleep. It's daybreak in Kakariko, it's time to hit the road again.

In Zora's Domain, a little four-year-old is about to explore the great world around him and his father will absolutely have a heart attack over it. But Link's ready to have an adventure!

In the Dad Squad, the dads are having an intense game of rummy and literally nobody can get the rules right. Abel's pretty sure Rusl's cheating, Rusl can't be cheating because Abel's playing it wrong, and Fierce just wings it while also wondering what the purpose of this entire ordeal is (this doesn't seem very conducive to strategy building, but perhaps it's for little immature mortal minds and the adults just do it to keep up the skills they learned as boys).

In LU in Healthcare, Sky's napping and therefore misses Wind frantically texting him about Warriors, but the rain is so gentle on the roof, the forest is quiet, and he's exhausted. Time, however, gets the messages before going into surgery, and soon it'll be time to pick up the pieces.

#random rambles #y'all I tried to play rummy with coworkers recently #and I could not remember how to play #it was tragic #anyway the forsaken au is once again making me laugh #HOW MANY AUS DO I HAVE AT THIS POINT THIS IS RIDICULOUS #anyway where would y'all want to chill/have an adventure?#I can't decide #but Zelda dragging Gerudo Link into chaos is making me laugh a lot #and Hemisi being an agent of chaos and Link 100% going along with it is also cracking me up #Ganondorf's gonna get an aneurysm #Fierce will never figure out how rummy works because Rusl and Abel keep teaching him different rules #breath of the sky my poor neglected beloved #I have no motivation for that story at the moment sigh #I have too many ideas my brain is scrambled #gonna probably play totk and see if ambience puts me in a better mood sigh

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modern--nights · 5 days

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Verily, the Lasombra stand as chieftains and seers, monarchs and sages, warriors and holy men. They weigh with care who merits the Embrace, yet show no mercy to those of their ilk who prove unworthy. Indeed, the sole menace to the dominion of clan Lasombra may well be clan Lasombra itself. Montano, eldest childe of Lasombra, now governs from the distant Castle of Shadows in Sicily, his rule extending as a shadow over his Sire's troubled repose, haunted by visions of darkness and the Abyss.

Deep-rooted in religious fervor, perchance due to their profound affinity with shadows, many among the Clan tread the Path of Heaven. This fervent piety kindles strife within the Clan, turning their gaze inward. In Iberia, the Shadow Reconquista rages—a clash between Christian and Muslim Cainites, dividing the Clan. Its echoes reverberate far beyond Iberia, ensnaring distant allies. Christian Lasombra within the Church rally resources for Christian forces, whilst Muslim brethren seek alliances, especially with the Assamites. They implore their Jewish kin to join their cause, for fear of dire reprisal should Christians seize power in Iberia.

Yet, the schism without mirrors the schism within. The Cainite Heresy festers within the Church, a heretical cult dominated by Lasombra priests and bishops. These apostates claim Cainites, marked by God, akin to angelic beings, with the Curse of Caine sanctifying them. Naturally, even non-Christian Lasombra decry this doctrine as blasphemy, striving to expunge such heresy wherever it takes root.

Moniker: Magisters Visage: The Clan of Shadows boasts a diverse assembly, with members hailing from Spanish, Italian, Jewish, North African, or Arabian lineages. Most Lasombra garb themselves in opulent attire, bedecked in silks from the Orient, sumptuous French brocades, or the resplendent fabrics of Arabia. Even those within the Church, though it eschews worldly riches, often don regal vestments befitting their high station.

Refuge and Quarry: Some affluent Lasombra opt to dwell amidst their familial estates, masking their true nature to retain control over their holdings. Here, they find ample sustenance amidst kin, servants, and retainers. Others, averse to the complications of concealment amongst throngs of mortals, establish solitary abodes of opulence, sacrificing convenience for secrecy and security. Some adherents of the Cainite Heresy feed upon their congregants, veiling their actions as sacred rites. Nonetheless, such practices demand utmost discretion, lest they incur the wrath of more orthodox Christian Lasombra.

The Embrace: Lasombra often select their progeny from among the affluent, powerful, or politically astute. Yet, Magisters may equally embrace those of humble origins, whose ambition and intellect shine bright. Birth alone cannot gauge one's mettle or capacity for leadership.

Clan Disciplines: Dominate, Obtenebration, Potence Weaknesses: Lasombra cast no reflection in reflective surfaces, rendering it arduous to conceal their supernatural essence from mortals. Moreover, they recoil from bright light, suffering additional harm from sunlight.

Organization: Within the Clan exists the Amici Noctis, the Friends of Night—an exclusive fraternity admitting only those who have proven their worth to the Clan. Presiding over the Courts of Blood, the Amici Noctis grants leave for Amaranth, serving as the final arbiter of its application. Unsanctioned Amaranth invites swift retribution, as decreed by the Amici Noctis. Predominant in central Europe, Montano staunchly opposes the Friends of Night, forbidding their presence in Sicily and the Castle of Shadows. In Iberia, the Shadow Reconquista impedes the Amici Noctis's authority, rendering it powerless to quell the discord.

Stereotypes: High Clans: A meaningless distinction, espoused by the equally pointless. Our ascendancy stems from merit, not lineage. Their classification as High or Low speaks volumes of their discernment. Low Clans: Let other High Clans spurn them. Only a fool rejects a valuable asset or indispensable ally. Assamites: More akin are we to the Children of Haqim than to most others. Let prejudice blind others. They are honorable and worthy allies. Ventrue: The Scions misconstrue power and position, to their detriment. Let them pursue lofty ambitions; it renders them pliable. Followers of Set: Let them strive to revive worship of their defunct deity. Time marches on, and those who resist progress are trampled beneath its stride. Tzimisce: Godless pagans, one and all. They spurned the chance to forsake their heathen ways. While we acknowledge their might, we cannot place our trust in them.

#vampire the masquerade #vampire: the masquerade #white wolf #brujah #camarilla #lasombra #vampires #onyx path #v20 #dark ages #clan lasombra #sabbat #rpg #world of darkness

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kohakuxrin · 1 year

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Trashahime: Massive Recycling!

1) Mistress Centipede

This one frankly seemed alright to me, but the rest...

2) Hitokon

3) Bone Demon and her Father

4) Cat Demon

5) Meioju

6) Ginka and Kinka

7) Mizuchi and Nuwamatari

8) Nikosen

9) Sayo

10) Yuki and her brother

11) Wakana

12) Kodoku

13) The two onis

14) Snow Panther

15) An incarnation of the main antagonist interested in a member of the dog demon clan

16) Not alone anymore

17) A moth demon destroyed by a hanyo in a mindless state

18) Kao and the bug in the chest

19) Shibugarasus, Toads, Kumogashiras

So the demons Inuyasha fought were actually aliens!? 🤦🤦🤦

20) The giant bug with Naraku within

And not just Inuyasha, also Sailor Moon

21) The Rainbow Crystals

22) Chibiusa and the Door of Time

I know there are some similar materials and characters designs in Rumiko Takahashi’s manga series, but that’s from one work to another that she does some reuse and she still comes up with original materials which makes her mangas differ a lot between each other. In the case of a continuation of one story, it’s really pathetic, which is one of the reasons why Trashahime was a cheap what if made by amateurs.

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zeciex · 5 months

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Vow of Blood - 52

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 52: The Funeral of Boris Baratheon

AO3 - Masterlist

Boris Baratheon’s lifeless body lay upon a meticulously sculpted wooden bier, thoughtfully crafted to facilitate the ease of transporting his mortal remains. The bier itself was set upon an altar, which had been adorned with sheets of silk, their hues a solemn blend of yellow and black. Surrounding his body were candles and petite bundles of herbs, carefully placed to create an atmosphere of mourning. Additionally, small bowls filled with incense were distributed around him, releasing a potent fragrance that saturated the air, its intensity almost overwhelming and sticking to the back of the throat.

Funeral stones, intricately painted to mimic his once open eyes, now rested upon his closed eyelids, serving as a symbolic gesture to honor his soul. His sword, a silent testament to his supposed warrior life, was positioned upon his abdomen, securely held in place by his hands which were clasped together for his final rest.

The sept was steeped in mourning, every detail meticulously arranged to pay respects to the fallen lord, the very air seeming thick with grief for someone that, to her, hadn’t earned it.

Daenera’s gaze fixated on the lifeless form of her late husband, her senses assaulted by the pungent aroma of the herbs that had been packed into his cavities, treating him as though he was mere poultry. His vital organs, or what was left of them, had been meticulously removed, now resting in small vessels positioned adjacent to his corpse.

In a futile attempt to conceal the relentless advances of decay, herbs and incense had been used. However, the state of his remains, particularly the damaged state of his bowels, rendered these efforts nearly fruitless. Despite the work of the Silent Sisters, their ministrations could only stave off the inevitable for a short period.

Boris Baratheon was, quite undeniably, decomposing from within, a grotesque reality that no amount of aromatic herbs or incense could fully mask.

Daenera’s expression twisted subtly, her features contorting as she grappled with the overwhelming odors and the stark reality of her husband’s physical state. The scent of death lingered heavily in the air, a constant reminder of the crude scene before her.

The High Septon initiated his prepared oration, proclaiming, “My fellow brothers and sisters I welcome you here in the light of the Seven, as we gather today to mourn the passing of Lord Boris Baratheon, second son of Lord Boremund Baratheon and Lady Emolyn Penrose, brother to the Lord of Storm’s End, Lord Borros Baratheon.”

Daenera’s gaze narrowed as she strained to discern her surroundings through the opaque black veil shrouding her face. Her lips pressed together in thinly veiled irritation at the boredom she felt. She couldn’t help but question the necessity of such elaborate introductions. The assembly were well acquainted with her husband and his House; such details seemed redundant.

“Lord Boris Baratheon has left behind this earthly realm to be judged by the gods,” The High Septon continued, his voice resounding through the hallowed space. “In his lifetime, he bestowed honor upon his family name and brought glory to his noble house. He demonstrated unparalleled bravery and prowess in battle, securing a legacy that will be remembered for generations to come.”

Daenera maintained her stoic exterior, though internally, she found herself wrestling with the High Septon’s words and the picture it painted of her husband’s life–one that seemed almost foreign in the light of her own experience with the man.

Boris Baratheon had been far from a warrior; his life had been devoid of real war. His most notable victories were confined to tournament arenas and minor skirmishes against ragtag groups of bandits and poachers. He epitomized the archetype of a pampered noble, one who wielded his sword more for sport than duty.

Somewhere in the back of the sept, a baby cried inconsolably.

“Let us not forget, he was not solely a warrior. He was a devout believer, a true adherent of the Faith of the Seven. He held his ideals of chivalry, justice, and mercy close to his heart.”

Daenera had to stifle a snicker, quickly covering it up by bringing her hand to her mouth, feigning a sob. The irony of the High Septon’s words was almost too much to bear.

Boris Baratheon’s devotion had been as one could expect from a man who squandered his wealth and seed in the brothels. His sense of chivalry was as genuine as it could be for a man who would raise his hand to his wife in a fit of rage. As for justice, it was as fair as it could be from a man confronted with the consequences of his own wrongdoings. There had been no trace of mercy in his heart; only a festering entitlement.

“Let us find comfort in the belief that he shall receive his just rewards in the afterlife for his unwavering faith. It is crucial for us to remember, death is the inevitable conclusion to life, a fate that awaits us all. The death of lord Boris Baratheon serves as a poignant reminder–to cherish every moment granted to us in this mortal realm, to lead our lives with honor and compassion, and to forever hold the gods close to our hearts.”

A priest quietly navigated the space around her deceased husband’s form, artfully swinging the censer as he went. The resultant smoke from the incense billowed around, creating a heavy, cloyingly sweet curtain in the air.

Daenera fought against the urge to cough, attempting to draw breath through the oppressive smoke that clung to the air, acutely aware that the entire congregation within the sept had their eyes fixed upon her.

“May the Father deliver unto lord Boris Baratheon his just due, and may the Mother envelop his soul in her caring embrace. Let the Warrior bestow upon him the fortitude necessary for navigating the trials awaiting him in the life hereafter, while the Smith charts his course to eternal peace. May the Crone endow him with wisdom, and the Maiden adorn him with eternal beauty. And in the face of the unknown, may the Stranger extend him the mercy we all shall hope to encounter in our time. In the name of the Father, and of the Mother, the Warrior, the Smith, the Crone, the Maiden, and the Stranger, we say our farewells to lord Boris Baratheon. May he find peace and eternal happiness in the embrace of the Seven.”

Daenera moved to stand vigil beside her husband’s body, lifting her veil to behold him in his final repose. They had applied a fine layer of powder to his face, attempting to mask the deep red blotches left by burst blood vessels. Yet, even with these efforts, the pallor of death clung to him, rendering him unnaturally pale.

Her gaze drifted to the high neckline of his ornate doublet, catching a glimpse of a dark, shadowy hue where the blood had settled and coagulated beneath the skin of his back. It was a shade undoubtedly as deep and morose as the bruises that marred her own back, a tapestry of blues, purples, and blacks, each telling a silent story of his violence. The stark difference lay in the fact that her wounds, unlike his, held the promise of healing over time.

“Grief agree with you, s ȳndor hen bantis rūklon ,” Aemond murmured, his voice a low timbre that resonated along her spine, sending shivers in its wake. Night shade . “Or should I say, widowhood.”

“You ought to remain silent,” Daenera rebuked, shooting him a stern look through her peripheral vision. As if navigating through the funeral’s tension wasn’t enough, she now had to contend with Aemond’s unsettling charm. He stood there, ever the epitome of grace, though his features were slightly obscured by the incense’s heavy smog.

A soft chuckle escaped Aemond, unfazed by her reproach.

“Can you not see that I am grieving?” Daenera said, keeping her face still as her eyes remained on her corpse of a husband.

“Clearly,” he responded, his tone cold and nonchalant, which only served to heighten her irritation. His voice lowered as he continued in high Valyrian. “ He resembles a roasted pig, all laid out amongst the herbs. Just missing the apple stuffed in his gob. ”

Daenera studied her dead husband. “ I’d argue the pig would be more enticing. ”

“ The decay’s setting in fast; he’ll be a maggots banquet before long ,” Aemond added, his tone laced with dark amusement. “ Recon he’d have any gripes about me taking you right here, while you keep vigil ?”

“Hold your tongue,” Daenera retorted sharply, forcing down her rising indignation, even as her cheeks began to flush at the audacity.

Daenera’s gaze momentarily shifted, slicing through the sea of onlookers before returning to her departed husband. Every glance sought to unravel her, meticulously picking at the seams of her composure, hoping to pull it apart and lay her bare for the world to see.

She continued in high Valyrian, “ This is neither the time or place. The eye’s of the court is upon us and my husband is not yet cold in the ground.”

Daenera bore the mask of mourning as she had borne the mask of happiness on her wedding day. Then, she had been the blushing bride, radiant and seemingly untouched by the wicked deeds of the world. She had smiled and danced and embodied the joy a bride should feel. It had been a performance of innocence and bliss.

Now, amidst the somber tones of her husband’s final farewell, society demanded her sorrow.

She was supposed to grieve the future they would never share, and the children that would never be. She was expected to inter her dreams and desires alongside him in the cold ground, surrendering a piece of her soul to the grave.

Yet, as Daenera’s gaze lingered on her deceased husband, her heart remained untouched by sorrow or regret. There was no well of grief waiting to spill over; no silent whisper of ‘what could have been’ echoing in her mind. In stark contrast to the expectations pressed upon her, she experienced an overwhelming surge of relief.

Aemond always seemed to take perverse pleasure in her reaction.

“ Perhaps I shall visit you once his body is bloating and festering with maggots, and you’re about to keel over from the stench of decay and this sickly incense, ” Aemond carried on, unabashedly crude, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “ And give you a good fuck to help you forget your sorrows. ”

His words were laden with a brash audacity, and the air between them thickened with the unsaid, the impropriety of the situation hanging heavily as they shared this moment of unabashed disdain for Boris.

“The gods are like to send a bolt from the heavens and strike you down for your insolence,” Daenera mused, her tone laced with irony.

Daenera could sense his gaze upon her, a weight that was both unsettling and thrilling. She pivoted to meet his eye, catching a glint of something dangerous within it–a spark that hinted at intentions as yet unspoken. It was as though his hand hovered in the air between them, each unmade gesture charged with the promise of a touch that might trail across her cheek.

The air crackled with tension that seemed almost tangible, and in that moment, Daenera’s voice cut through, sharp and unyielding. “Touch me, and I will gouge your other eye out.”

Aemond’s reaction was a subtle dance of his features, his lips curling into a more pronounced smile, betraying a hint of amusement. It was a response that acknowledged the danger and the allure that lingered in that unbidden touch.

“Aemond.” The voice of the Queen, authoritative and clear, sliced through their exchange, widening the gap between them. Alicent placed a gentle hand on her son’s arm, offering him a soft smile. “May I have a word with the princess alone?”

With a curt nod, Aemond excused himself, leaving Daenera to navigate the treacherous waters of conversation with the Queen alone. She turned to face her, dipping into a respectful curtsy, while discreetly observing her ensemble. Alicent was clad in a gown of luxuriously heavy fabric, a green so deep it verged on black, yet it was decidedly not black.

Alicent placed a comforting hand upon Daenera’s arm, her touch feigning solace.

“My heart goes out to you in your time of sorrow,” she offered her condolences, her voice laced with a subtle undercurrent.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Daenera replied, her tone steady as she adhered to the norms expected in such a somber gathering.

“How tragic it is, to lose your husband so young, and not even a full year into the marriage,” The Queen continued, her voice dripping with a thick sweetness. “It’s truly a shame, you being so young and now draped in the cloak of widowhood, with absolutely nothing to show for your short-lived marriage. No children, no title or lands.”

“Widowhood hardly offers itself as a matter of choice,” Daenera responded, her gaze shifting back to her dead husband, silently acknowledging her own ironic choice in the matter. She could feel the Queen’s scrutinizing eyes examining her every expression.

“It does strike one as strange, doesn’t it? A man of your late husband’s prowess in horsemanship meeting his demise in such a manner. It begs questioning, the likelihood of it all. He was after all an avid hunter,” Alicent remarked, her tone rich with insinuation.

Daenera perceived the sharpness in the Queen’s words, akin to thorns delicately concealed amidst a sprawling vine, poised to ensnare the delicate fabric of reality and truth in their deceptive grasp.

“He was not merely thrown off; the horse crushed him,” Daenera’s voice remained steady, though she internally reflected on the brutality of the scene that would be revealed if they were to undress the body–bones shattered, hips caved in, a canvas of black and blue across his torso. “Regrettably, my husband had quite the fondness for wine, and as the old adage warns, drinking and riding seldom mix well…”

“Be that as it may,” Alicent interjected, her voice remaining deceptively sharp, “one could still find the circumstance rather extraordinary.”

Meeting the Queen’s gaze with a frosty intensity, Daenera replied, “That, Your Grace, is precisely why they call it an unfortunate accident, is it not?”

“I imagine this wasn’t the reunion with your husband’s family that you had envisioned. As difficult as it might be, I commend your decision to accompany your husband on his final voyage to Storm’s End,” Queen Alicent said, her words carefully crafted and woven together in a facade of casual conversation, yet brimming with underlying implications. Her voice resonated with an air of assumed virtue, brandishing it as a weapon while she cloaked herself in her own sanctimoniousness. “Undoubtedly, his brother will find solace in your presence.”

“Oh, I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding,” Daenera clarified, her voice carrying a tone of gentle astonishment. “I have dispatched a raven, expressing my apologies and explaining that I will not be able to accompany my husband on his final journey to Storm’s End.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed as she probed further, her tone laced with evident irritation and a hint of exasperation. Her gaze swiftly dropped to Daenera’s abdomen before lifting again.

“Is there a particular reason that prevents you from undertaking the journey?” She inquired, her voice carrying an undertone of weariness. “Could it be that there is a sliver of joy amidst these sorrowful times?”

Daenera subtly laid her hand upon her stomach, adopting a contemplative demeanor. “Should there be any joyful tidings, it is presently too premature to confirm. I implore you to maintain confidentiality on this matter, as I wish to avoid fostering false hopes in the event that there’s nothing to hope for.”

“Naturally,” Alicent responded, her words clipped and delivered with a brief nod.

The queen’s thumb caressed Daenera’s arm in a feigned gesture of comfort. “But I believe that, perhaps, this journey might bring you a measure of peace in these difficult times. I understand that your marriage may not have unfolded as you desired, but what is important now is to uphold the dignity of the position you hold and honor the memory of your husband.”

Queen Alicent extended her hand towards Daenera, gracefully capturing her hand within her own, her piercing dark eyes quickly flicking down to notice the bandaged wound on her palm. Her eyebrows arched subtly, a silent inquiry dancing in her gaze, yet as her eyes met Daenera’s once again, she chose a different path for her words. “Moreover, perhaps departing from King’s Landing might just be in your best interest. A period of respite and distance could potentially bring you some much-needed clarity and peace.”

“Why?” Daenera countered, her gaze narrowing slightly as she assessed the woman standing before her. She could sense a hidden sting in her words, a subtle jab masked behind a veil of concern.

Queen Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, her head subtly tilting as she allowed her eyes to traverse across Daenera’s face, scrutinizing her with an intensity that echoed Aemond’s piercing gaze – sharp and evaluating, with the same bite as a blade. “I have no intention of giving credibility to simple rumors, but I believe I should bring this matter to light. I am aware that your marriage has been… less than idyllic, but it is our duty as wives to stand by our husbands, even if their attentions have been wandering.”

Daenera felt a wave of apprehension wash over her, her posture straightening as she prepared herself for what was to come.

“But, regrettably, there are murmurs circulating, suggesting that he might not have been the sole one seeking comfort outside of the marriage bed,” Queen Alicent articulated with an eerie smoothness, her words cutting through the air as sharply as a dagger through flesh. Her condemnation carried an elegance, a venomous sting that hinted at a deep-seated resentment, harbored with a cruel intensity.

Suppressing the tides of discomfort and the tight knot of dread constricting her chest and stealing her breath, Daenera maintained the facade she had crafted. “It appears the be groundless slander with a familiar intent, aking to the allegations once cast upon my mother. Pray, Your Grace, are these whispers backed by any semblance of proof? Or are they simply the same, tired rumors wielded against every high-born woman as a means of subjugation?”

“Some might argue that the proof is evident, right in front of our very eyes, wouldn’t they?” Alicent proposed, her hold on Daenera’s hand intensifying.

“What we have before us is the lifeless body of my husband,” Daenera retorted, infusing her words with a steely resolve. “And I must say, I find it distasteful and utterly disrespectful that you would utilize his unfortunate demise as a base for such wild and, frankly, unbecoming insinuations.”

With a swift motion, Daenera extricated her hand from the Queen’s clutches, cradling it against her midriff as if to soothe an invisible ache.

“I assure you, I am leveling no such charge,” Alicent responded, her voice laden with frustration. “I am simply ensuring you’re aware of the circulating conversations and what is being whispered in hushed tones.”

Daenera harbored a deep-seated conviction that the primary source of these supposed rumors was none other than the Queen standing before her. What eluded her, however, was discerning the truth of the matter–whether these whispers were genuinely pervading the court, or if it was merely a manipulative tactic employed by the Queen to sway her to her own purpose.

“Your mother had the wisdom to escape the coming storm. Perhaps, by accompanying your deceased husband to Storm’s End to lay him to rest might allow these rumors to fade away,” the Queen suggested, her words seemingly dipped in concern.

“The issue with such a tempest, however, is its persistence, isn’t it?” Daenera retorted, stepping closer to the Queen with a defiant expression upon her face. “Another characteristic of these storms is their indiscriminate nature. They rarely limit their fury to a single individual. It wouldn’t surprise me if this storm were to ensnare your son in its violent whirlwind.”

The Queen’s eyes took on a sharper edge, narrowing perceptibly.

“If these unfounded rumors were to hold a grain of truth, an affair would implicate two individuals, not just one,” Daenera continued, feeling her palms dampen with perspiration as she clasped her hands together, summoning her inner fortitude. “Should you choose to lend credence to these allegations, the very least you owe to yourself and your position is to unearth the identity of the other party involved.”

From the periphery of her vision, Daenera detected a subtle stir, and she turned to regard Joyce as the woman approached her, her features etched with a frown. With a differential dip of her head towards the Queen, Joyce swiftly shifted her focus to Daenera, her demeanor earnest. “Everything is set for the afternoon service.”

Daenera summoned a gracious smile on her face, turning back to the Queen. “I appreciate your concern, Your Grace. It means a great deal to me in these trying times.”

With that, Daenera excused herself, gracefully making her way around the altar, where she would resume her vigil beside her late husband. The air around her felt heavy, laden with unsaid words and covert glances.

“I know who told Boris,” Daenera confided in Joyce as they walked.

With a discreet motion, Joyce extended her hand, transferring a heavy pouch brimming with coins into Daenera’s grasp. Daenera’s gaze met Joyce’s, and without a word exchanged, the message was clear.

The role the Queen had played in enlightening her husband became glaringly apparent. Yet, what also crystallized in that moment was the realization that cunningly provided him with insinuations, a mere smattering of hints, rather than solid proof. Not only that, she seemed at a loss who the affair had been with.

Their attention followed the Queen as she stood near the Sept’s entrance, engaging in a hushed discourse with Lord Larys Strong. In a fleeting instant, Alicent’s gaze landed upon Daenera. Though her countenance was somewhat obscured from Daenera’s view, she could sense the smoldering indignation emanating from her. With a swift, graceful turn, Alicent exited the Sept and fell entirely out of view.

“There isn’t a whisper in the Queen’s ear that the Lord Confessor hasn’t voiced himself,” Joyce subtly grumbled under her breath.

Daenera’s gaze darted towards Lord Larys Strong, locking eyes with him for a brief, chilling moment. His gaze, sharp and calculating, acknowledge her with a curt nod before he seamlessly fell into step behind the Queen, exiting the sept.

“Find out for me, would you, if these whispers has traveled beyond the Queen’s ear?” Daenera implored.

“I’ve kept my ear close to the ground among the servants,” Joyce responded, her voice low. “So far, the corridors are silent on this matter. If the servants remain oblivious, the nobility is likely in the dark as well… but we mustn’t forget, silence can be broken, especially with the Queen and Lord Confessor holding the knowledge.”

A burgeoning headache throbbed at Daenera’s temples as she processed this. “The Queen, she won’t tarnish her own son’s name in the process. She won't let this rumor spread any further.”

“Can you really be certain?” Joyce aueried, her own uncertainty and concern palpable in her voice. “She might very well use this situation to her advantage, discreetly laying the groundwork for suspicion, carefully trimming away any leads that could identify her son in this scandal, all the while subtly casting doubts upon your involvement in your husband’s demise.”

“Let her lay the seeds of doubt,” Daenera retorted, her voice laced with a steely resolve. “But if I’m to be thrust into the fires of scrutiny, I’ll make damn sure he gets dragged through the embers with me.”

As their conversation dwindled to a close, Daenera’s demeanor shifted seamlessly. She donned a warm, compassionate smile, turning her attention to the commoners who had begun to trickle into the sept to offer their condolences.

Generously, she handed out coins to both the pious and the impoverished, seizing the opportunity to garner their sympathy and bolster her reputation among the populace. She reasoned that if she had to endure the vigil for her late husband, she might as well capitalize on it, demonstrating to the smallfolk just how benevolent their princess could be.

The sept, awash in golden hues of the afternoon sun, stood solemn and majestic, its towering windows casting long, ethereal beams of light across the intricately tiled floor. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, enveloping the sacred space.

Murmurs and whispers reverberated through the vast expanse, creating a low, continuous hum, as the line of commoners, stretching from the princess’s side all the way to the imposing doors of the sept, waited patiently for their moment to step forward. Their expressions of sympathy and respect, each carrying the weight of the occasion in their hearts.

The sept’s ornate walls, adorned with stained glass and iconography, stood as silent guardians, bearing witness to the outpouring of grief and support. The light filtering through the windows played upon these images, casing colorful patterns upon the ground and walls. But in spite of the tall windows and the inpouring of light, the shadows clung to the sept, thriving between the columns and at the corners of the rooms.

Daenera, positioned near the altar, appeared as a beacon of strength and grace amidst the sea of condolences. Her presence commanded attention, and her demeanor exuded a sense of regality and composure.

As the line of commoners moved, the atmosphere in the sept seemed to breathe with them, each step forward accompanied by a wave of whispered prayers and shared sorrows.

Daenera’s limbs ached with fatigue after the long hours she spent standing, her back in a state of discomfort and her facial muscles sore from the incessant smiling.

A venerable old man approached, extending his rough, weather-beaten hands to clasp Daenera’s delicate ones. His skin, marked by years of hard labor, created a stark contrast against her softness, as he held onto her tightly, expressing his condolences. He was notably missing several teeth, and as he spoke, a faintly sweet and decayed scent wafted from his mouth.

“Thank you,” she responded, managing to infuse warmth into her voice as she slipped a silver coin into his palm.

“No, no, it is I who should be thanking you,” he replied, his voice cracked and aged, yet filled with genuine gratitude as he fervently shook her hand. “Thank you, Princess, for your compassion and benevolence.”

From behind Daenera, Fenrick emitted a low, throaty noise, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword as his discerning and weary eyes scanned through the gathering for any potential threats.

The elderly man finally relinquished his hold on Daenera’s hand and moved aside, paying his respects to the deceased with a deep bow before pivoting and making his way down the lengthy aisle, exiting the sept.

Feeling the strain in her lower back, Daenera subtly adjusted her stance, attempting to alleviate the mounting discomfort.

The following person to approach Daenera was a woman with a full, round face, cradling a child tightly in her arms. Her hair, the color of straw, was neatly arranged atop her head, adorned with a silver clamp amidst the curls, emulating the style of a noble lady. Her eyes, rimmed with red, bore the signs of recent tears, and her nose shared the same flushed hue. She adjusted the child in her arms, which eagerly stuffed a chubby hand into its mouth, creating a wet, slobbering mess.

With a strained smile, Daenera turned her attention to the woman.

“I-I am truly sorry for your loss, Princess,” the woman stammered, her voice laden with sorrow. “He–he was truly a good, kind man.”

Daenera maintained her gaze on the woman as she once again shifted the child in her arms, causing the little boy–with his mob of black hair–to express his discontent. A surge of irritation welled up within Daenera; the audacity of this woman to attend her husband’s funeral, and to bring his illegitimate child along, was staggering.

“M-may I… could I have a moment to see him?” The woman tentatively asked, her gaze flickering past Daenera’s shoulder towards the altar.

Daenera found herself at a crossroads, uncertain why she should consider indulging this request, and yet, a twinge of pity resonated with her.

Turning to Joyce, Daenera kept her voice hushed as she spoke, “Could you take my place for a moment?”

Joyce’s expression mirrored Daenera’s, her eyes exuding a frosty demeanor while her brows knitted together tightly. She gave a brisk nod, seamlessly stepping into the space Daenera had just vacated.

Daenera then ascended the steps leading to the altar, where her deceased husband resided. The woman, trailing closely behind, wore her grief openly, and she couldn’t decide whether it was a ploy or not. Fenrick adjusted his position to maintain a vigilant watch from the periphery, his eyes steadfast on the two women.

A choked sob escaped the woman as she laid her eyes upon her late lover and the man who provided for her and her son.

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Daenera stared down at her husband, her expression etched with icy detachment. She couldn’t muster even a shred of feigned emotion; her irritation at being confronted with her husband’s weeping mistress overshadowed all else.

Daenera addressed the woman with a frigid tone, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I…I just needed to see him, just one final time,” the woman whispered, trying to pacify the fussing child in her embrace. The child was notably robust, with plump cheeks and a soldering build, unmistakably bearing the features of Daenera’s late husband, from its black hair to its blue eyes.

“He was a good man. He looked after us, treated us with kindness–”

“Why have you come here?” Daenera interjected, her patience wearing thin, unwilling to entertain any semblance of deception.

“I just–”

“Do not lie to me,” Daenera sharply retorted, her gaze piercing as she stared down at the woman, with little compassion in her eyes. “My husband was far from good or kind. He was a drunk with a temper, one I doubt he was unable to hide even from you. Nevertheless, he was my husband– My husband , and I will not tolerate his mistress and illegitimate child making a scene at his funerals, so, tell me, what is your intention? ”

Daenera scrutinized the woman’s features intently, attempting to discern what might have drawn her husband to her. She was moderately attractive, Daenera conceded inwardly, but she couldn’t help noting the stark contrast between them.

While she herself boasted a fuller figure, adorned with generous curves and pronounced hips, she was nowhere near as voluptuous as the woman before her, who sported rosy, round cheeks, breasts that seemed disproportionally large for her frame, and a thick waist that flared into wide, childbearing hips. Daenera’s features were characterized by their dark allure, a stark contrast to the woman’s lighter attributes, their skin tones being the sole point of similarity.

None of this came as a surprise to Daenera, aligning seamlessly with the information she had gathered regarding her late husband’s specific taste.

The woman’s gaze remained fixed on Boris’s lifeless form, her eyes filled with something Daenera found baffling.

Observing this, Daenera couldn’t suppress the scoff that escaped from her lips. “Don’t tell me you loved him.”

“He treated me well,” the woman softly asserted once again, shifting her gaze from her deceased lover to his living widow. “He showed me kindness when he didn’t have to, and when he discovered I was carrying his child, he was elated. He chose to provide for us.”

“I don’t believe you,” Daenera said, regarding her with incredulity that bordered on repulsion, finding it hard to digest her words.

Caught off guard, the woman’s brows furrowed in confusion as she stammered, “Wha–why?”

“You’re a whore,” Daenera clarified, her tone laced with an icy cold as she stepped closer, ensuring her voice would remain unheard by unwanted ears. “I won’t demean your circumstances; I understand you may have had little choice in the matter of your profession. But with your line of work, one would assume you possessed the knowledge to prevent such… entanglements.”

Gently, Daenera extended her hand towards the child, letting her fingers graze through his soft, black hair. the child responded with a bubbly giggle, his drool sliding down his chubby chin, his resemblance to Boris painfully evident.

“You may have grown fond of him,” she continued, her voice softening slightly, “and I genuinely pity you for that. However, I cannot help but doubt the innocence of your pregnancy. It’s hard for me to believe that it was all just a twist of fate.”

Daenera held a glimmer of sympathy for the woman, should her story truly be a tragic tale of shattered hopes and genuine affection. Yet, she couldn’t rid herself of prevailing skepticism.

“You saw an opportunity and you took it; I cannot begrudge you that,” Daenera said, her words carrying a weight of honesty. “You glimpsed a path out of a life of prostitution, an opportunity to secure a future for yourself and your child as a mistress of a lord… I can only blame my foolish husband.”

Her hands came together, resting poised in front of her, her demeanor emanating an aura of steely resolve. “Now, tell me, what do you want?”

The woman, cradling her child, appeared to ponder for a moment before responding. “Living in a world where you perceive everyone to be driven by self-interest must be disheartening. It has made you cold.”

Daenera’s eyebrow arched inquisitively. “ Am I wrong?”

“He spoke of you,” the woman said, the grief in her expression subsiding, transforming into something weathered and hardened, “labeling you his little, docile wife, while to me, he gave the endearment of his love. He depicted you as dull, stating all he desired from you was offspring. He deemed it your obligation, one that you couldn’t fulfill. He branded you ungrateful and a bastard, asserting he wed you solely for your position to the crown.”

Daenera regarded the woman with an air of indifference. The venomous words, intended to wound, merely grazed the surface, unable to penetrate her armor. Nonetheless, Daenera’s gaze sharpened, and she inquired with a composed tone, “And what else did he share with you?”

The woman inched closer, her voice taking on a conspiratorial whisper, “He said that he discovered marks upon your body that he knows he didn’t leave. He believed you might be unfaithful… He said he was going to confront you… and then he died…”

“I would be careful, if I were you,” Daenera hummed, head tilting to the side, “If I were capable of the heinous acts you accuse me of, what makes you think I wouldn’t simply eliminate you and your child from the equation?”

“Would you truly harm a child?” The woman’s arms encircled her child protectively, turning her body away from Daenera to shield the young one, as though this physical act could provide a barrier from potential harm.

“I have no desire to,” Daenera confessed, her voice weary as she shifted her stance to stand alongside the woman. “I also have no wish to end the life of his mother. Therefore, I am sure we can come to an agreement.”

“I can’t bear the thought of going back to a life of prostitution,” the woman voiced, her words quivering as she revealed her vulnerability. “You cannot fathom the lengths I’ve gone to just to survive… The men I’ve been with… The horrors they’ve subjected me to. You can’t possibly understand the degradation of selling your body for a pittance, nor the depravity of the men who pay for your time.”

The woman paused to shush her cooing child, bouncing from one leg to another. “I dreamt of being a singer; I have a remarkable voice. I know I might not appear the part, but it’s the truth.”

Daenera’s words died on her tongue, unsaid. Despite the disparity in their situation, Daenera’ couldn’t help but feel a sense of sympathy for her. She realized that given the same dire circumstances, she might have made similar choices to secure her own survival and that of her child

“I know he had a temper,” the woman continued, “and that he could be… unkind. But he could also be charming and affectionate, and he loved his son. He was going to provide for us and make sure that we’d never be on the streets again.”

The woman turned her head to meet Daenera’s eye. “I know he wasn’t a good husband to you, that he was violent and cruel, and I am sorry for that. I truly am. And I know he might have deserved what fate befell him… but he was my security, my way out.”

The woman continued, her voice laced with both sorrow and candidness, “I am aware of his volatile nature, and I won’t deny his capability for cruelty. Yet, he possessed a charming and tender side as well, and he held genuine affection for his son. He was our security–our future, ensuring that we would never have to face destitution again.”

Shifting her gaze to lock eyes with Daenera, she continued earnestly,” I recognize the ordeal he put you through as his wife, I know he was violent and cruel towards you, and for that, I offer my sincerest apologies. I truly mean that. I understand that perhaps he met a fate he had coming… but to me, he was a better life, my escape from the life I desperately wanted to leave behind.”

The authenticity in the woman’s demeanor was unmistakable; her voice trembled with sincerity, and her eyes shimmered, barely holding back tears. She sniffed, looking down at her child and giving him a sweet smile.

Daenera was resolved to keep her hands clean of their blood. With this in mind, she proposed an alternative solution. “Tell me, where would you go?”

“What?” The woman uttered, caught off guard by the question.

Daenera released a breath tinged with impatience, her neck rotating in an attempt to alleviate the mounting stress that crept from her back to her temples. “Staying in King’s Landing is not an option for you.”

The woman momentarily lost her voice, seeming to grapple with the gravity of the situation. In that quietude, Daenera also weighed her options.

Though she harbored no desire to harm them, she questioned the prudence in letting them leave unscathed. The prospect of the Queen incorporating the mistress’s account into her growing suspicions loomed large in Daenera’s mind, instigating a gnawing sense of unease and causing a heavy knot of dread to settle ominously in her stomach. If this were to happen, Daenera was acutely aware that the dungeons would likely be her next grim destination.

Daenera pressed further, the solution momentarily forgotten to assess the threat. Her eyes flicked over the woman’s round and puffy face, searching for signs of deceit. “Has there been any contact from the Queen or anyone else?”

“A man approached me,” the woman confessed, a hint of trepidation in her voice. “He was inquiring about my relationship with your husband and if he had confided in me about your marriage.”

“And your response?” Daenera prodded, her tone edged with intensity.

“I kept my silence on most matters,” the woman assured, and strand of hair escaping its confines from a delicate silver pin. “I only spoke of your husband’s discontent; I revealed nothing else.”

“Can you describe this man?” Daenera demanded, her voice now sharper and more urgent.

“I don’t know him. He was tall, with a bald spot,” the woman provided, her expression earnest. “He was unfamiliar, but his demeanor… It was harsh. Such men are commonplace in the taverns of Flea Bottom. Criminals.”

“Did he bear any distinctive marks or symbols?” Daenera persisted.

“He wore a pin,” the woman recalled, releasing her hold on her child momentarily to gesture to her chest where a brooch might be fastened. “Right here. It was a copper insect. It resembled a toe, but who would wear a toe as a brooch? I believe it was a fly, or something of that nature.”

“Has anyone else reached out to you?” Daenera continued her line of questioning. “The White Worm, perhaps?”

“The White Worm knows only what I disclosed to the man,” the woman confessed, a tremor of fear now evident in her voice. “I wanted to approach you directly–”

“Why?”

“Because you’re his wife,” the woman remarked, shifting the infant in her arms, as the little one battled the grip of sleep. “Regardless of his words about you, I’ve heard tales of your benevolence, and for that, I am grateful and apologetic for being the other woman.”

Daenera, feeling a pressure building up in the temples, massaged the bridge of her nose. “You’re better than most, then.”

“I hope to be,” the woman replied, gently kissing her son’s forehead in a tender display of motherly love. “I want to be better, for his sake.”

“That’s… commendable,” Daenera acknowledged.

“Once you experience motherhood, you’ll understand,” the woman said softly, offering Daenera a sympathetic smile.

Daenera let the words linger unanswered, choosing instead to focus on possible resolutions. “I’m willing to provide you with respectable employment. I have connections with the Blackwoods in the North, and I can secure a position for you in their household. In addition, I will ensure you are provided with a generous sum before you leave King’s Landing. Alternatively, if you prefer, I can arrange for you to travel across the Narrow Sea, although I cannot promise you what life awaits for you there.”

Daenera adopted a stern, no-nonsense tone as she outlined the conditions, “Your silence is linchpin of this agreement. Should I discover that you’ve divulged anything you think you know, I assure you, the consequences will be severe.”

“The North is said to have its own charm,” the woman remarked, a faint smile playing in her eyes, almost as if she were relieved. “I’ve never really taken to the heat, and I’ve yet to experience snow.”

“Does this mean you’re in agreement?” Daenera sought confirmation.

“I am.”

“Then you must leave King’s Landing without delay,” Daenera commanded, descending the steps with purpose towards Joyce and the guards that surrounded the table filled with pouches of coins to be given out. Retrieving a hefty pouch of coins, she placed it firmly in the woman’s hand, her grip lingering. “One of my men will accompany you to your residence and ensure your safe departure from the city. He will also provide you with additional funds to secure your passage and protection on your journey North.”

“Thank you, Princess,” the woman said and the expression upon her face was one of genuine gratitude.

As Kevan Mertyns led Teya away from the sept, Daenera’s gaze lingered on their retreating forms. Her hand subconsciously fidgeted with the ring on her finger, while her brow was drawn in a line of deep contemplation. She was acutely aware that immediate action was necessary to ensure Teya’s safe departure from the city, lest the Queen or others get to her.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond smut #A Vow of Blood

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tobiasdrake · 3 months

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BONUS: A religious experience for the last remaining follower of a long-dead faith.

(I just was mulling it over in the car on the way to dinner and wanted to add onto that scene in my characters' voices)

I'm such a huge fan. I can't believe this is even happening. I found this super old book in the woods one day and it talked about how cool you were and-and-and I've dedicated my whole life to--

Don't take this the wrong way but shut the fuck up. I don't have a lot of energy to burn and for once, this isn't about how cool I am. I don't need your praise right now. ...well, okay, maybe a little praise.

Your hair looks amazing.

Thank you, I love the way it glows. ANYWAYS. Not the point. It's all on you right now, man. And that's going to be a problem. Because what exactly are you supposed to be?

I'm... I'm a ninja. From the Mesa Island Ninja Clan. Which... I guess is now the Mesa Island... Soldier Camp....

Cultivated person from a cultivated society built to feed an endless recursion of people into a cultivated cycle. That's a whole lot of nobody in my book. What else have you got?

I'm... um... I'm the Messenger

Okay. Sure. I'll walk with you to that pier. What is the Messenger? What does that actually mean? What does it mean to you? Is it something you aspired to? Something you spent your whole life wanting? Did you train for this, specifically?

...I'd never even heard of the concept before a guy handed me the Scroll and said I'm the Messenger now.

Uh-huh. And if i put a bag on your head and called you Lord Shitpaper would that become your life's ambition?

...if you did, ma'am?

Every world and every timeline, it's all the same. People like you get bent over and stepped on by an endless cycle of cosmic assholes.

With all due respect, should a goddess be saying things like this?

Do you know where I come from? Sure you do. You memorized my biography and mistook that for a personality. It was a "town" called Mooncradle, and I use that term loosely. The entire thing was an engineered social structure. An assembly line of Solstice Warriors, cultivating people like you just so there'd be enough serfs doing the work of cultivating people like me.

That's all you are to the people who would tell you where to go and what to be. I've met all manner of eldritch beings and immortal entities over the course of my life. And you know what? I've also known nobody mortals from the asscrack of one world or another worth a hundred of those people.

You haven't been following any of those beings. You've been following me. So you want my guidance? My heavenly wisdom? Here you go: Fuck 'em. Fuck what they think. Live fast, fight hard, hug a robot. Make friends in weird places. Do what feels right because it feels right to do it.

Because none of it means anything. The fancy titles and the celestial powers and the great battles of good and evil. It's all just another game between two pitiful mummified assclowns with nothing better to do with their lives than play games of human suffering. We win this one and they just put the board away and set up a new one.

I don't understand. One of those guys is supposed to be on our side, right? So don't we want him to win? Does it really not matter which is which?

Oh no, it matters. It matters a lot. Don't get me wrong. One of these guys want to turn people into flesh horrors and exterminate societies and the other wants him not to do that. There is a difference.

But you need to understand that there's rules in place. And those rules? They're only there to fuck you over.

See, that's the difference between me and Resh'an. He wants to win the game. He'll use underhanded tricks to get it, but that's what he wants: To have all the chips on his side and capture his opponent's last piece, then sit smugly in momentary triumph before they set up the next board.

Me? I want to throw the board on the ground and punch the other player in the throat.

...I think I understand now why you were considered legendary at Wheels.

HEY, I never....

ONE TIME. That happened one time and I was still learning.

The point is, none of this is going to work if you're just chasing propriety. You've fucked up hard enough to stall out the system. You put a crack in its hull. That's good. That means you have a chance to pry the whole goddamn mechanism apart.

But you can't do it for those clowns in blue hoods. You can't do it because the Prophecy said so. And you can't do it for me. I mean this in the nicest way possible: You need to get a fucking life, man. Find a hobby. Make actual friends and not just... cosmic coworkers. Do you even have a name?

I'm... I'm Ninja.

That's depressing.

Look, play the game or don't. You know what's at stake. I don't have to tell you. But whatever you do, it needs to be because you wanted something. Whether that's a friend or a goal or just to slide a knife between an asshole's ribs, you need to be doing it for you. That's the only way to win.

You know, this isn't what I thought meeting you would be like. It's strange but it almost feels like a weight is lifting off my shoulders. Like I don't have to try and be some cosmic champion or whatever. It's okay to just. Be. A guy.

You're right. I've been so busy chasing what I'm supposed to do. I haven't stopped to think about what I want out of life. Truth is, I'm lonely. All of my relationships are just about the work. Working the job. Being the guy. Doing the thing.

But I guess we all are, aren't we? Gods and heroes and even monsters. We're all just people looking for connections. Bleeding the same blood, even if it takes the form of fire or something.

The world looks a lot smaller when you've got someone's head up your ass. But if you come down off their shoulders, you might just find yourself in company you can enjoy.

Hahaha that's so gross. I don't know if anyone ever told you this. But you're kind of an asshole.

Yeah. Well. I'm a goddess.

Who the hell are you?

......

Hey. We're outside of time and space, right? Which technically means there's no rush.

This place is full of centuries of old junk. I found a deck of cards while I was rifling through the "merchandise" we don't actually sell to anyone. There's some other old stuff that looks recreational in there too.

Shot in the dark. I'm throwing a game night. Would you like to come?

#the messenger #drake plays the messenger

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12pt-times-new-roman · 1 year

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the one time I can't catch a stream is when we get the biggest lore drop about the fucking moon, I swear to god---

There are Judicators patrolling around the Yios Seminary, accompanying a representative from Vasselheim. Presumably, their presence -- or the presence of whoever they're guarding -- has to do with the texts stolen by the Grim Verity.

The Judicators are humanoid creatures formed from once-mortal souls transformed by the rituals of the gods to become weapons for them. In peacetime, they are wardens, bodyguards, and hunters in and for Vasselheim's high temples; in wartime, they are fearsome and near-immortal warriors.

Dr. Baryn Vestisho, who specializes in Exandrian history from the times of the Founding and the Schism, was one of the people who stole the documents from Vasselheim. She had discovered a "trail" of information leading to the texts, and assumes that the Judicators are there because of her.

She and Professor Kai are friends with Planerider Ryn, and they -- along with the Hells -- took a teleportation circle to Ryn's place of study in the elemental plane of fire.

"Exaltants" are Ruidus-born people who exhibit a particularly strong connection to the moon, and begin to develop certain capabilities related to it. Imogen's markings are similar to others', including her mother. The Grim Verity was spearheading the development and expansion of the Omen Archive before the Paragon's Call interrupted their funding and shut the project down.

I get the feeling that Ryn would've gotten along great with the Mighty Nein.

Her primary area of study is with the planes and their movements, both within Exandria's cosmology and outside of it. She has discovered inconsistencies in the way the leylines have been moving -- the movement seemed to correlate with bursts of energy that coincided with Ruidus' flares. She also discovered abnormalities in Exandria's parallel planes, the Feywild and the Shadowfell, specifically with things being built and tested there.

The texts -- some of the oldest books in Exandria -- spoke of two deities that have been forgotten by history: Ethedok, the Endless Shadow, and Vordo, the Fate Shaper. The former oversaw the domains of darkness and winter, while the latter was the god of fate and order. They were destroyed before the Schism, but Ethedok was more of the evil-aligned type, while Vordo was more neutral.

The text also spoke of the creation of Ruidus. It was created by the gods during the Founding because they were afraid of something from beyond the stars. They called it Predathos, which resisted their miracles and hunted them, spawning its own twisted life as it did. It devoured the two forgotten gods, and afterwards, the gods struck a deal with the primal elementals to seal away Predathos and send it far into the dark, but it clung to Exandria and became Ruidus; they thought that spinning tales about Ruidus would keep attention away from it, which did work for a very long time, until the flares started happening. This tracks with the information about the "otherworldly influence" that started leaking into the world that was mentioned in Call of the Netherdeep.

Otohan was once an extremely devout follower of the Matron of Ravens, but when the war ended, she lost that faith. She's also an exaltant, a "scion."

Droves of Ruidus-born people are being drawn to Marquet, to the Hellcatch Valley specifically. Kai thinks that, through the Ruidus-born, Predathos is amassing anchors to Exandria, which could allow it to break free.

Liliana was extremely powerful, and the first true exaltant the Grim Verity was able to study and work with; she volunteered to be experimented on and with, but grew frustrated with the Verity's inability to provide answers. Otohan found her, as did the Cerberus Assembly, and her personal need for answers overrode her better judgement.

As Predathos went about its "hunting," it left forms of twisted life in its wake -- Kai theorizes that it has continued to do so within its prison, and life has evolved on Ruidus concurrently with life on Exandria, hence the city.

The Cerberus Assembly and Otohan have been building identical devices in both the Feywild and the Shadowfell, in the exact same place: where both planes overlap with the Hellcatch Valley and Ira's device (the same place the Ruidus-born are flocking to).

That same site is an excavation site that was commandeered and bought by the Cerberus Assembly three months ago (before that, it was a dig led by the Seminary). Underneath it is a pre-Calamity ruin, the site of a ritual during a solstice many centuries ago. The thing was constructed to be a lightning rod of sorts, a channeling point for this solstice energy; it appears to have ties to the Tishtan culture, who were once a nomadic, magic-obsessed, Founding-era society who went around building ritual sites. Not much is known about them because they mysteriously vanished with little record.

Using this information, Ryn has proved that leylines move in a very slow cyclical pattern, rather than randomly.

There are leylines traversing all three of the Prime Material echoes. The Hellcatch Valley is the only place during this particular solstice where a nexus point will overlap in the same place on all three planes. The Exandrian site seems to be the central focus of the Assembly and Otohan, while the site on the Shadowfell is the least guarded of the three (likely because the plane is dangerous enough as it is).

Ryn has heard of Morri. She's a guardian of one of the fanes of the Feywild, a keeper of "one of the hearts of the land." Fearne was left with Morri because the Unseelie Court was looking for her parents, so it's unlikely Morri is working with the Unseelie. However, Ryn notes that Morri is powerful enough to manipulate the time dilation of the Feywild, so if the Hells wanted to go that route it could take them a very short time on the Prime Material Plane.

There are two ways to avoid the time dilation effects of the Feywild: have an archfey grant passage back to the Prime Material Plane (like Vox Machina did with Artagan), or get the help of someone with a "strong enough life-tether to the realm" to facilitate an exit. Morri would be more of the latter.

Sending to Morri: "Hello, Fate-Stitcher. Here with Fearnie bear-cub-banana. She wants to come visit, desperately. On a time crunch. Can you get us back without the wibble-wobbles?" "Oh, well it's nice to hear you, whoever you are. Please tell my little bear-banana baby to come visit. I can help, always." She has a raspy Scottish accent, and a tone very much like Isharnai's.

So essentially, the Bells Hells have three options. They could go back to the Hellcatch Valley and try to figure out what's going on there with Imogen's mother as their "person on the inside" -- the Exandrian site is the most well-guarded, though, and there's the possibility of running into Otohan again (or, worse, Ludinus). They could go to the Shadowfell, and while that's the most lightly guarded site, it's also the most dangerous plane to go to, and they have no way to really get there. Lastly, they could go to the Feywild, where they'd have Morrigan's help to avoid the time dilation and the Unseelie but still run the risk of encountering Otohan, the Cerberus Assembly, or Yu's people.

#critical role #critical role liveblog #critical role spoilers #note watches c3 #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #ruidus #planerider ryn

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duhragonball · 1 year

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Dragon Ball Super 049

Who wants fish sausages?

Last time, Trunks arrived in the present, and his reunion with Dragon Team turns out to be very awkward. He mistakes Goku for his nemesis, Goku Black, and Bulma has to smack him to snap him out of it. Then Trunks sees Bulma and breaks down crying because in his native timeline, she just got killed by Goku Black. Also, Kid Trunks is here, and he’s confused by the way his parents call the new guy “Trunks” and he calls them “mom” and “dad”.

Also, the Pilaf gang won’t shut the hell up, and also Beerus and Whis are intrigued by all of this, and quickly deduce that this is some sort of time travel business.

Back in the alternate timeline, Goku Black is still trying to figure out where Trunks went, when his Time Ring starts reacting to something. Yeah, Time Rings are a thing now, and Goku Black has one, so this is another mysterious trinket of his.

Back in the present, Whis explains that meddling with time is a serious offense. Only certain divine beings are allowed to mess with time travel at all. To be fair, no one imagined a mortal would ever invent a time machine. Also, it was Future Bulma who actually built the thing, and she’s dead now, so who’s left to punish?

Beerus considers meting out some divine justice, but Trunks begs for his forgiveness, and Goku points out that no one told him it was wrong. Beerus offers to let this go with a stern warning if they can give him some tasty snacks, and Bulma produces fish sausages.

And that seems to do the trick. Beerus continues to voice disapproval of the time machine, but he doesn’t destroy it or punish Trunks. I guess that’s appropriate, since he knows of the rule, but enforcing it isn’t his department. Let me pause here to discuss the Supreme Kai of Time.

So when this arc was first announced, I was very interested to see if Dragon Ball Super would acknowledge the lore established in Dragon Ball Online, where Trunks went on to join the Time Patrol, a group of warriors assembled by the Supeme Kai of Time. The Xenoverse games and Dragon Ball Heroes manga explored that idea further. It was the Supreme Kai of Time who first confronted Trunks about his temporal crimes, and he agreed to serve in the Time Patrol as “penance”. She also agreed to allow his changes to history stand, and to preserve his own timeline, which is how both worlds continue to exist.

But DBS appears to ignore all of that, since it’s Beerus and Whis who confront Trunks. Also, in the recap segment of this episode, the narrator specified that Trunks has traveled 17 years to reach the present-day in Dragon Ball Super. So for this version of Trunks, it’s been several years since he defeated Imperfect Cell in DBZ Episode 194. I thought maybe his Time Patrol career could have begun and ended before this Goku Black business, but that doesn’t work if Trunks has no idea who Beerus is, or what Goku and the others have been up to since he left them.

And that isn’t too surprising, since it wouldn’t make a lot of sense for DBS to suddenly reference a bunch of side characters from video games. Except I do find it curious, because Akira Toriyama had a lot of creative control over the story elements in Dragon Ball Online, where the Time Patrol was first introduced. So it seemed weird to me that Akira Toriyama would retcon himself like this.

Then again, now that I know how this arc turns out, maybe the discontinuity was the whole point, and the reason Chronoa and the Time Patrol don’t get involved in this arc is because the arc itself is the sort of time anomaly they would have to correct. They just haven’t intervened yet.

“So yeah, I just need you to go to the middle of Dragon Ball Super and just beat the crap out of it.”

“Sure! Wait, beat up who, exactly?”

“No, the entire saga. Go and kick its ass! No survivors! <3”

“You're the boss!”

Well, enough horsing around. We’re stuck with this shitty arc, with it’s lack of Chronoa goodness and Xeno Trunks trenchcoatitude. Bulma takes a look at the time machine, but it’s infested with annoying comic relief characters.

The Time Machine is out of fuel, and Bulma doesn’t know how to recharge it or carry out other repairs. Fortunately, her future self put a notebook in the glove compartment, and it contains all the information she needs to get the time machine up and running.

Meanwhile, Goku and Vegeta ask Trunks what was so bad that he had to come to the past for help. Vegeta suggests it might be Majin Buu, but Trunks says he already dealt with that crisis some time ago. The Supreme Kai of his world prepared him for Babidi and Dabura, and he was able to defeat them, preventing Buu’s resurrection.

No, the real problem began about a year ago, when a man claiming to be Goku showed up and declared his intention to eradicate all intelligent life on Earth in the name of justice. He also claimed to have already done the same on other planets. It would be kind of odd that Trunks would have gotten this much backstory about his mysterious enemy, but we all know Goku Black never shuts the hell up, and Trunks has been fighting this guy for like a year straight.

Vegeta accuses Trunks of using the time machine to flee, but Bulma insists that Trunks planned to return with reinforcements. The notebook in the time machine proves it, because Future Bulma left a note to her younger self, explaining that it would be up to her to prepare the time machine for the return trip. The notes don’t address her right eye drifting off to the side of her face, however.

Beerus finds the whole thing kind of dumb, but he’s off in Flavor Town so he doesn’t care.

Goku asks Trunks to spar with him to get an idea of how powerful this Goku Black guy is. The script says he and Trunks have powered up to Super Saiyan 2, but the bangs don’t lie. They drew Goku in Super Saiyan 1. Trunks looks pretty much the same whether he’s SSJ1 or SSJ2, which is kind of a shame, but they can’t even draw Bulma on-model most of the time, so no use crying about it.

Goku turns it up to Super Saiyan 3, and I think this is the second time in the whole series he uses this form. I mean, it’s kind of obsolete at this point, but they show it in the opening credits, which implies it gets a lot of use.

Anyway, Trunks is amazed to see this new form, since he thought SSJ2 was the limit of Saiyan power.... sort of like how he never considered ascending beyond SSJ1 until Vegeta brought up the possibility. Trunks is a little too modest for his own good.

Then a temporal rift appears in the sky and Goku Black emerges. Well, I guess we can settle this right now and save some trouble, right? Right?

“All right, losers, pack it up. By order of the Supreme Kai of Time, I’m shutting this little shitshow down, permanently.”

“Awww, do we have to? Wait, what if we give you some instant ramen and a fish sausage? Huh? Huh?”

“Instant ramen? Don’t insult me.”

“Forget it, Kakarot, she’s one of those damn food snobs. I know what she really wants. Listen. They can draw you as tall as you want.”

“Yeah...?”

“Think about it. They don’t even bother with reference sheets on this show. They can’t even remember what fingers look like most of the time. I’ve grown eight inches since this turkey started.”

“Is that why your face looks so messed up?”

“Look, everything comes with a price.”

#dragon ball #dragon ball super #2023dbapocryphaliveblog #goku #vegeta #trunks #beerus #whis #bulma #goku black #emperor pilaf #mai #shu #dabura #fuck the zamasu saga forever

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autumnslance · 2 years

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Prompt #22: Veracity

((Revised on Ao3. Had this done last night but birthday shenanigans with the FC & a call from Mom delayed me. Idea inspired by a Babylon 5 ep...))

“We simply cannot verify these records,” Pentalamus argued. “And we especially know Count Edmont’s record to be biased.”

“Biased, perhaps,” Deadeali said. “Yet still invaluable as a primary source of the history.”

“I cannot deny that, I merely point out that the Count was writing from a very favorable viewpoint.”

“All history is biased,” Gray Swallow stated. “But you seem determined, my dear colleague”—no one missed the sarcasm in the large man’s tone, their academic rivalry well-known—“To deny that the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and the Warrior of Light especially were the heroes every record says. Particularly considering we have here today a living witness.”

The eyes in the chamber turned to the small, elderly Viera woman sitting quietly among them, her clear turquoise eyes flickering between each speaker, gray-tufted ears twitching at each sentence. She cleared her throat.

“I have already stricken the lies and exaggerations, or pointed out where the truth was stretched or hidden, often for specific reasons. I was not present for the end of the Dragonsong War, or many other adventures, but I knew all of those involved, and stood beside those heroes many times in battle.” Her eyes swept the room again, pinning on Pentalamus. “And they were heroes—certainly better people than I could be, especially in mine own youth.”

“Removed the lies, you say. And likely uncomfortable truths as well, no doubt, to prevent your fellows’ memories from tarnishing,” another scholar in the assembly said; Iyna forgot his name, but knew him to be a crony of this Pentalamus.

Iyna glowered. “I see no reason to hide the flaws and mistakes made by the Scions in those times. They were, after all, mortals. They had their limits, their doubts. But they always strove for better. You seem to have a difficult time believing that, young man.”

Pentalamus snorted; he was well over fifty, though to the Viera woman he yet seemed a swaddling babe. “I don’t believe in mere altruism. Man always wants something to motivate him.”

Iyna laughed. “Ah, I used to believe as you!” She said. “But I grew up a ward of Garlemald, at a time when it was a despotic empire under control of an ancient madman, not the fair republic it is now, centuries later. Still with its faults, of course—and yet its current course can be traced back to the Ilsabard Contingent’s humanitarian efforts to save the survivors of the Empire’s downfall. I was not among them; my pain and anger was still too great, back then.” She took a sip from a water glass.

“That the lady’s story hasn’t changed in any way, no matter how many times she tells it, should count for something,” quiet young Terrianette said.

“Only that she is well-practiced,” Deadeali said, before Pentalamus could.

“The question seems to be the veracity of not only the many records of the Warrior of Light and the Scions, but also my word as a witness,” Iyna mused. “In which case, t’would be best to have more witnesses.”

“Unfortunately, my lady, there are few so venerable as yourself who can claim to have known those people and the events in question,” Gray Swallow said gently.

Iyna snorted. “Because, my dear children, you forget man shares this world with others, and there are far more elder memories than mine.”

At that, she let out a loud, piercing whistle that made the various academics in the room wince.

The sound was answered; by the roar of a great cat, a large bird’s shriek, and a dragon’s roar.

A man entered the room; a tall young Raen by all appearances, though his impressive horns shone green, and his eyes were an unnatural burning red. Skittering at his feet was some sort of black beetle-like machina. Behind the Raen came a Kojin man and a strange woman with hair and dress of fire; they were flanked by a massive snake and a white tiger. Dragonets and a myriad of other animals bound into the room in their wake as the assembly of professors and students watched in alarm. The few sleepy reporters found themselves paying much more attention to the debate.

“That—isn’t that the Satrap of Radz-at-Han?”

“His mortal vessel, I think…”

“What are those creatures?

“Auspices from my homeland in the East…Kami preserve, they are—“

The not-Raen made it to Iyna, gesturing for her to remain seated. He took her hand, bowing low over it in greeting as she eye-rolled and shook her head. He grinned at her, then straightened and looked around the room, all mirth faded. His gaze carried more age and authority than even the Viera’s.

“You wish to hear the truth of the Warrior of Light and fellow Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” he said in a quiet voice that carried to every corner, and his power with it. “Then let us tell you what we saw, what we remember, of our friends—and sometimes enemies.“ He glanced down at the machina, as its devices seemed to scan the room. The Satrap looked up again.

“Let us tell you of the true history of the saviors of this star.”

#FFXIVWrite2022 #Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Iyna Cauld #Future Fic #Varshahn #Four Lords #Omega

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archfeyworkshop · 7 months

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World of Arturium: Orcs & Hobgoblins (name under construction)

So I was intending to cover Oberstyre today, but the sixteen-character piece has eaten up my time so instead here's a quick thing today for some more of the modified species of my setting, the Orcs and Hobgoblins, though the latter may get renamed.

Before I launch into them, there's something I want to explain. There was at some point a post, I think on this site, that talked about how fantasy species are defined by how they're different to humans. It's the reason that Elves are often tall, long-lived, aloof and magically-inclined and Dwarves are short, broad, axe-wielding metalsmiths and masons. It comes with the principle that if you decide to really revamp those species, they stop being those species because...those features are what make those species themselves. So when I look at altering a species for my setting, I try to figure out what concepts I consider core to them and retain those when I rework them.

So let's look at the species born to fight demons. During the Dark Convergence, Demons attempted to invade the material plane and the mortal world was hard-pressed to fight back. Though it was a time of unprecedented cooperation between all nations, they simply lacked the forces and the means to fight the invasion in all places it reared its head. These species are thus born at around the same time for similar purpose, by the goddesses Adelaide and Sirona. Goddess of Strength at Arms & Honour, and Goddess of Beasts & Hunters respectively, they were given leave to find means to defend the world, to halt the Demons at the walls and within the hidden places.

Adelaide, patron of a great many heroes and legendary warriors, chose to look to the past, to the thousands of years of history, and petitioned the vault of legendary souls for the weight of their experience. Not allowed to resurrect the souls themselves, she instead legendary took samples of countless heroes great and small and mixed them with a few droplets of her own blood and cast them into the world. This fell across the world as a rain of blood, a week long, drenching the land and collecting into great pools. From these pools rose red-skinned sharp-featured warriors, bearing the names of the heroes of ages past and assembling into companies and legions to combat the armies of Demons. This was the first and most legendary march of the Hobgoblins, but it would not be their last. The blood that drenched the world soaked in well, and even once the Convergence came to an end and there was no need for the Hobgoblins, they were not gone from the world. Many died it is true, but in later years they would emerge again in twos and threes whenever a place knotted with the tension of conflict.

This is what defines a Hobgoblin - not born and not even truly a species of their own, they form from mysterious blood pooling in the presence of brewing conflict and rise to meet it. Each Hobgoblin bears the name of a hero past, one great or small from folk hero to world-saver and loosely bears their likeness and a smattering of talents, and once thrust into the world must build their own transient legend. Each one is only a mere reflection and so what they may accomplish in life will not always mirror their past reflections yet they are always effectively fated to do things to effect change. This isn't some cosmic force, simply that the kind of person that has a legend to inspire a Hobgoblin is the kind of person who will not sit idly by. Similarly as a result, most Hobgoblins die fulfilling this fate, driven to martyrdom in pursuit of their beliefs. But it's not always the case that a Hobgoblin will die alone. Less regularly a Hobgoblin will be given the opportunity to fall in love and have children, able to bear progeny. Curiously though, the child will not be of Hobgoblin descent even if both parents are such. Rather, the child will instead bear the lineage of the hero the Hobgoblin came from, resulting periodically in the reintroduction of ancient heroic lineages back into the world. Needless to say, it annoys the people who do those books of family trees.

Hobgoblins were formed to provide the world with its legions. Orcs, by contrast, were formed to give it its peerless hunters. A problem that arose during the Convergence was that while the gateways through which demons poured could be found in the open spaces and closed, it was not from where most stemmed. The majority of demons slipped into the world through doorways hidden deep underground or within mountains where no army could hope to traverse and survive in fighting form. Settling this threat was given to Sirona. A deity of simpler manners than Adelaide, she chose to offer her power in a more direct manner, a test of faith. She bade a group of daring hunters into a hunt of a great beast, and though many died the survivors were given the boon of her expertise, transformed into the first Orcs, keen survivalists and demon-hunters. Like Hobgoblins they were simply left to survive once the Convergence fell, but unlike the Hobgoblins they found themselves with much closer ties to their goddess.

To be an Orc is to be somewhere between a natural species and a given title. Orcs and Half-Orcs are born as any other - through the union of two, bearing children. But any child of Orcish descent is born without the ability to themselves have children. To gain the ability and 'right' to do so, there are the trials of the huntress; an Orc must undertake a hunt to best a foe of significant ability compared to their own, be this a personal hunt the likes of which adventurers may embark upon, or one of the two rites of Sirona. The first, the coming of age ritual, is one organised roughly every twenty years in Orcish communities, a community festival of totems where those to participate are spirited away to the goddess's hunting grounds to hunt the beasts there, survivors earning the right to reproduce. The final alternative is the Kada Adara, a specific hunt to track down and slay a demon of worthwhile power. All such hunts grant an Orcish adult the ability to have offspring, but the Kada Adara is granted a second boon of shifting form, affinity with an animal that makes their skin a mix of their original selves and the creature with which they have affinity.

This necessity, these hunts which dictate an Orc's ability to have kids, puts their culture in a difficult place. Death is nearly guaranteed for at least some in these hunts, and it makes them unusual amongst the mortal species for how they interact with life and death. Orcish families are typically large as a result, with many children so that the line will survive, with tests of strength and skill being commonplace growing up. Scars are well-respected as marks of survivorship, and their very attitude towards death is irreverent and gregarious, with the cultural belief that one should laugh at death and celebrate the foolishness and the successes of the dead. With these tribalistic rituals and hunter society and open attitude towards living, Orcs are often viewed by outsiders as more primitive or simplistic, but those who examine the culture more closely realise that they simply pay homage to a god who prefers certain ways of living, and are bound to rituals that lean on such aspects of a community.

Pardon this one being a bit haphazard; it's been a busy time.

#pathfinder #fantasy #ttrpg #dnd 5e #worldbuilding #fantasy worldbuilding #Orc #Hobgoblin

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agentqv · 2 years

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“We Will Speak Again After”

A Binx/Andhera Fanfic

Part II: Lion and Cub

Andhera laid there for maybe an hour, watching their beloved weaver’s slumbering form rise and fall with every breath. He thought about sleeping, but a wisping wind stayed his mind. When they were certain Binx was asleep (with a gentle snore), the prince sat up from the bedroll. The fire was still rustling and they watched it flicker, flames dancing northward.

The forest extended a long way, under the gaze of a waning crescent moon.

He told the yeth hound to take care of Binx, they’d be back soon. Grandpa Dog simply said “Sure.” Andhera recognized with what was going on, they didn’t have time to mentally interrogate that.

As they treaded through the dark forest, Andhera pulled from their shadow a pair of black scimitars, assembling them into a double-bladed one. He slashed them into the open air in preparation, focusing on forms and footwork. The prince was getting into a warrior’s mindset. His mind grew anxious, like before when they went to war.

Andhera remembered that fear, the quiet terror… but their fear had been worse at a time during the Bloom. He experienced sheer terror when Binx had been injured by his sister’s machinations. But before that, earlier that day… another terror had confronted him.

The young prince walked for several nervous minutes, until they reached a distant clearing in the trees, Moonlight was streaming down on a patch of wild flowers. The tree branches above swayed and the wind whipped at his face, almost playfully rustling his hair.

Andhera cleared their throat, to finally speak and make his fears real.

“That was a cheap trick, but that has always come with the territory, has it not?”Andhera huffed, pressing the weapon’s handle into his other hand and stabbing one of its end-blades into the ground. “You can show yourself now, Mother.”

A chilling winter wind erupted, rustling through the prince’s robes and harshly ringing the nearby trees. Any nocturnal animals present took notice and fled. Andhera pressed a sleeve to his irritated eyes, and looked again to see the wind had taken form before him.

For the first time in countless eons (if it had ever even happened), the Queen of Air and Darkness could be seen in the Mortal Realm. Her dark skin was almost bluish gray under the moonlight. Her long hair was weedy and unkept, draping down her dark sylvan form like an uncontrollable waterfall. A pair of sharp crimson eyes peered out of shadowy skin towards him. She walked barefoot, her robes dragged behind her and he saw grass sour and darken from her gait.

She was beautiful and unknowable. Sustained but chaotic. Darkness personified.

And she seemed especially playful this night.

“My son, you finally permit your poor mother to grace you with her presence.” Her slick voice echoes into the wind and haunts his very core.

“It’s not up to me to allow you to show up, that’s the unfortunate consequence of growing up under the tutelage of a perpetually uncaring helicopter parent.” Andhera was so proud of that zinger, but the Unseelie Queen seemed unaffected, her lips raised.

“I see letting that Crafter rid you of your sister’s spike has healed your confidence after our last meeting.”

That Crafter. Andhera’s eyes narrowed.

“Why are you here?” They asked, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“While I may abhor debasing myself with corporeality… This little visit is a fulfillment of my word. I promised we’d speak once you’ve had it out with your sister.” The young prince knew she saw no value in lying, keeping her word was essential.

Because a threat isn’t a threat unless you’ve been known to back it up.

“And are you impressed Mother? I beat her. I secured my inheritance from that jackal.” Andhera puffed out their chest, blade-end shifting in the grass. The Queen stepped past him, as soon as he turned, she was seemingly on the other side of him. “I figured you must be proud of that at least.”

Her feral scarlet eyes danced at the mention of pride. He tried to insight that, but it was such a fickle flicker of emotion. Was that gratification? Or was it embarrassment. After all Suntar was still alive and as thus an evergreen threat.

“Perhaps I am proud.” She said. “You performed your role exceptionally well, my little pillar boy… my little cub.” The Queen said that so delicately, it was cloying. Andhera sneered away at her mockery. “Broke bread with your old enemies and became allies to send your rival away to the Mortal Realm. Where you find yourself now, alone with your Crafter.”

“Her name is Binx.”

His mother knelt down to the bed of flowers, her dark finger sliding by the stem like a wisp. Andhera watched as black ichor erupted from the flower’s petals, rotting it away, the corruption spread to the other flowers, producing the same effect, black tears streaming from the flowers and mixing into the moonlit dirt.

Andhera grew frustrated, “Apologies Mother, but all this villainous posturing is entertaining to a point.”

“Why did you come with her? Why come all this way to this mortal infested cesspit?” The Queen asked, looking up to him from the flower bed. “Is it because the chaos from a restored Court of Craft could provide value to the Unseelie?” A frustration overtook Andhera in being analyzed like an ant. “No… not that.”

“What does it matter what my methodology is? As your heir it is my choice to lead the Unseelie Court in the way I see fit.”

“You’re being sentimental.” His mother announced, reading him like a book borrowed from the library. “It’s all bright and new what this Crafter has pulled out of you.” She rhymed, unexpectedly.

“She’s a Weaver of Fate.” Andhera corrected her. “The last one, in fact”-

“And you want to put a crown on their head.” His mother’s black carnivorous teeth glimmered in a venomous smile. “And I don’t mean just as knight serving their lady.” Andhera froze at the sudden turn in this talk. He hoped by leaving the Bloom they could escape these expectations. Seems it wasn’t meant to be.

“Well, erm. That’s kind of reductive, if you ask me-“

“But you’ve thought of it. Marrying the Crafter, making them your consort, uniting your peoples and ruling my throne together.” Her voice was insidiously slick and oily. Andhera found himself momentarily embarrassed that their mother wanted to talk about their love life.

But then again why wouldn’t she? Binx could be a wonderful pawn in their games.

“Depending on if your quest in this blighted sphere goes well that is…” As much as the Prince wanted to read that as a threat, the way it was announced wasn’t as much so matter-o-factly as it simply was a fact. Their fey magic waned here, outside their domain, and that made them vulnerable.

There was a reason why young lions didn’t last long outside the safety of their pride.

“Are you going to intervene?” Andhera asked. His mother unknowably continued to gaze at him, tendrilled hair blowing in an unnatural unfelt wind. “No. That’s not your way.” She drew closer to him, hand nearly reaching their cheek, but stopping just before contact.

“If this Crafter is to be your Queen someday, then know that she will always be in danger because of your sentimentality.” Her feral teeth were razors, viciously cutting the dark air and chewing the scenery.

In the few times they spoke, Andhera’s mother had a way of enunciating with an intense specificity. Much like the way her unloving wind could communicate everything in a breeze… her words however were far sharper.

“Love compromises everyone. Makes us weaker, like my sister. It makes us just like everyone else.” A target, she meant.

“Gee,” Andhera interrupted. “This sounds like more of a talk between you and Aunt Titania that you are desperate to have, I really shouldn’t intrude”- their mother snapped at them.

“Careful boy. I do enjoy you and your boldness… but not that much. You could indeed be my successor, my heir. But so were countless others, replaceable just as easily as your sister.” The prince groaned, he’s heard this lesson before.

“And in case you’ve forgotten, I beat Suntar.” Andhera challenged.

“And now you’ve tasted her ambition. Scions far greater than you have played this game and lost, and you’ve savored but a piece of it. Be careful not to choke on your greed, my little cub.” His frustrations grew as his mother turned away, ready to end the conversation.

And out of sheer idiocy, Andhera pushed his luck.

“And what of you? And your greed?” He challenged, his mother paused. “I do not apologize for my apparent avarice, and I make no efforts to dissuade you, Mother. I will never live up to your expectations and will always be a thorn in your side. If you wish me destroyed, do so and be done with it.” The Queen’s gaze became that of incredulous irritation.

“You hit me pretty hard in that fucking cave. Come on Mom, get it out of your system. Kill your boy, start the cycle over.” The wind surrounding them began to pick up, but Andhera didn’t care to notice. “After all, this weird ass lion and cub thing we’re doing here has gotten quite tedious.” A cold wind chilled the air once more.

“Tedious…” The Queen whispered. “You call me tedious?”

And Andhera could do her one better.

“I call you BASIC!”

It was a brazen valor that Andhera had recently discovered. The courage of beating his sister emboldened them. He thought by removing Suntar’s spike that they commanded the storm.

But she was the wind that fueled that storm, it was her that coursed through it all.

At his insistent insolence, the Unseelie Queen effortlessly flicked her hand and Andhera was pulled by wind like a fish caught on a line. He bolted across the field into a tree, dropping his double-bladed scimitar in the confusion. Just as a sudden blunt pain coursed into their nerves, he was whisked away into another tree, and then another.

And then he fell, prone on the ground if not for the wind pulling him up by his neck. It pierced the skin of his chin with a sharp biting cold, dark blood dripped from his neck. The Queen could smell it like a shark in water. She was an apex predator. She was a lion.

And Andhera realized they made the greatest mistake one in the Fey Realm could make.

He called the Unseelie Queen’s bluff.

Author’s Notes:

Okay I just need to take a moment to snicker. The dialogue originally ended at “You call me tedious?” But it occurred to me... that the funniest thing I could see Omar/Andhera doing in this situation (that would serve the story), was calling the Queen of Air and Darkness “Basic.” Like it’s such a brazen pop culture thing, and I love it.

When I conceived this story, I originally just wanted to do this scene and call it a day (because Aabria and Omar’s scene was so good and I wanted to see that promised second conversation). But I expanded and I’m glad I did.

There is a level of OOC I will admit for this. as much as I loved what Aabria was doing as the Queen, I really wanted to dig a little deeper into the potential psychology of this relationship, and that meant it couldn’t be all creepy posturing and letting Andhera do most of the talking.

I also figured there was some leeway because even though she’s emotionally distant and rarely speaks, it’s hard to reconcile that with the weird ways she treats Andhera in the form of wind (like she’s almost loving in that way). So for the sake of this story, Andhera’s mom is in as good of a mood as she can be.

As for the title of this chapter, I liked thinking of the Queen as akin to an evil Mufasa. She probably doesn’t love her children as much as she cares for the legacy of her throne (but in the right circumstance will feign love). Even though Aabria never said “My little cub,” I liked the idea of the Queen being more playful as if they had been looking forward to this conversation after Andhera proved their mettle, and calling Andhera her cub was such a cloying thing to say.

I’ve been on a Disney Renaissance binge and might have rewatched Lion King lately... I fucking loved it.

I also wanted to see Andhera’s mom dissect them (maybe literally) and their intentions with Binx and the Court of Craft (since the show treated it a little too ambigiously).

If we’re going based off the genre of ACOFAF, the idea of Binx someday becoming a the Unseelie Queen Consort, or even an unseelie princess is a big deal. But I also get why it wasn’t elaborated on in the show because that is heavily intertwined with Andhera’s storyline and Binxhera was an unplanned organic pairing and we don’t even know if a Binxhera wedding will ever happen (because I feel marriage for them is something you do for other people). And of course Binx’s own Court of Craft situation is complicated enough as is. Which makes it perfect to examine in a fanfic now that ACOFAF ended (unless we get a season 2, in which case nvm none of this matters).

Please tell me what you think.

#binxhera #andhera x binx #Prince andhera #Binx Choppley #Dimension 20 #Acofaf #A court of fey and flowers #the queen of air and darkness #grandpa dog #Lion King apparently #Unseelie #Princess Suntar

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kaijusrpgbrainstorm · 1 year

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New Year, New Character 2: Week 4

Age of Sigmar: Soulbound

The High Fantasy, highly weird, high action successor to Warhammer Fantasy Battle Warhammer: Age of Sigmar got an rpg from Cubicle 7 a couple of years back. In Age of Sigmar: Soulbound, you play mortal champions brought together to defend the realms against the kind of threats that armies and gods aren't suited to dealing with.

Also, you get to punch the Grimdark in the face.

Seriously. The game has mechanics for the PCs actually trying to go out and help make life better for people between quests. It's not a huge focus, but I think it's great that this sort of thing is included.

Anyway, one of the interest things about Soulbound is that many of the playable options would be adversaries in other settings; here they're protagonists because they are brought together in mutual interest against mutual foes. So it would be very easy to make a Suicide Squad-esque team. This isn't quite that, because I don't have some of the supplements (why oh why did I not pick up Champions of Death already) but its definitely not your usual line up of shining heroes.

Quick note: Skills in Soulbound have separate ranks in Training (add dice to the pool, noted a T) and Focus (improves results after a roll, noted with an F)

“Priest Gage, welcome.” “Lord Arcanum, this about the Soul Binding plan?” “It is. We have assembled a list of potential candidates. These are the most promising.” Adria takes a scroll from the Stormcast's hands, reading the descriptions. “A murder aelf too murdery for the murder aelves?” “An angry tree spirit?” “A death mage?” “Aelf with a gun?” “Emotion draining mage?” “And,” the towering semi-divine figure adds, “while not a candidate for Binding, one of the Seraphon warriors is rather insistent he be part of the mission.” “This is my team?” “I will admit, it is quite an eclectic group.” “What you mean,” Adria says, “is that they're a bunch of ars-”

#New Year New Character #character creation challenge #character creation #age of sigmar #age of sigmar soulbound #warhammer age of sigmar #cubicle 7 #rpg #rpgs #roleplaying game #roleplaying games #role playing game #role playing games #warhammer

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skxrbrand · 1 year

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The First Host of Murder

Exalted Bloodthirsters of Immaculate Wrath (Skarbrand’s Tenure)

God-Butchers of Kharneth

The very First Host of Murder, founded by Kharneth, it’s members hand-chosen by the Blood God. The God Butchers, as their name suggest, were assembled chiefly to deal with the rivals of Kharneth: Nurgle, Slaanesh, and Tzeentch. Each has taken untold mountains of skulls from mortals and daemon alike and serve as Khorne’s honor guard. As well as being warriors, most of the warriors were the capable messengers and diplomats of the Blood God. Given his creed of eternal war, it may be surprising such daemons exist at all, but Kharneth’s desire for eternal war doesn’t necessarily translate into war uninterrupted. Though chiefly warriors of the Blood God, these daemons are capable of playing a variety of roles as needed and it is this range of uses that sets them apart from other Greater Daemons of Khorne.

After it’s decimation by Skarbrand, the Butchers rise again under a new Sigil and Leader: An’ggrath.

Key: True Name / Use-Name

I. Uhll’yr’khar’shysir-ni’nyth / “Skarbrand Ragefeaster”

II. Ijyaan'eknix'ro'z'an / “Khazaan Bloodtippler”

III. Zhann'm'ooorxz'zioil / “Kha’xanzyr Coldrage”

IV. Isyr’yaksa’akami’alil / “Ullgorath Godeater”

V. Xika’xiyaksi’llk’thl’ak / “Xhianxhi Drakebane”

VI. Va’rk’amort’haarh’ath / “ Vaxithor Brassclaws”

VII. Ork’hamak’ko’azyy’r / “Raaxthor Bronzecrown”

VIII. Rhak’khar’gthor’khak'hyshk-neth / The Octagonal Beast

#The First Host of Murder (God-butchers of Kharneth);#warhammer fantasy #khorne #hell yeah baby #Blood For The Blood God (Khornate Legions);#Liber Daemonic (General Headcanon);

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kharrneth · 1 year

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BLOODFIRE FALLS, INFERNIUS

Khazaan pulled his axe from the head of the unfortunate beast the Crimson Skulls had dragged from the Chaos Wastes to duel him. It had been a short battle, unfulfilling, like the dozens before it.

“Another.” Bellowed the Blood Daemon and, obediently, the marauders obeyed. The Bloodthirster snatched his skull cup from the mortal he had designated his cup-bearer, drinking deeply of it’s contents. This realm was light on challenges. He was barely bleeding, half-sober, and still every beast mutated and not fell before his axe.

Several times, his eyes would flick over to Z’ruhgl’s prison and he’d have to quash the urge to release and duel the old Bloodthirster. There would be consequences for that. If only the old dog hadn’t been tied down so tightly! If only he could wiggle free on his own. Then Khazaan would have no choice, his claw would be forced, he would be compelled to obey his brother-Lord’s orders.

A scream split the sky, mixed with the grunts of men and the rattling of thick chains. Khazaan all but tossed his skullcap to his cup-bearer, winding the poor mortal he hit with it. Another beast-- bigger and nastier. Hopefully, that meant a challenge worthy of his axe. Spinning the weapon in his hand, the Gore Gorger felt hopeful....and then he caught the scent of his brother on the wind.

Against the dark sky came a darker shape, gliding towards them. Instantly, the Tippler scented the bloodlust that wafted off of his brother. The blue-eyed Bloodthirster landed...directly on the beast he was meaning to duel, splattering all assembled liberally in it’s blood.

Khazaan fixed him with an unamused look (that had been his entertainment, dammit), but it died away when he caught Kha'xanzyr’s own. He saw the bright glow of the Architects eyes and the blood-stained whites of a jagged grin. The taller daemon practically marched up to Khazaan, seizing his horn as he spoke.

“ I’ve seen it! I’ve seen it!” He said to Khazaan, then to the surrounding mix of mortals of daemon, “The sky bleeds red in the Chaos Waste! The Blood God acknowledges the killing we do in his name against the hated pleasure daemons!” He raised his axe as he announced it and as he did, the Crimson Skull host raised their voices in furious pride. Kha’xanzyr shook his brother as he spoke, never once releasing that horn.

“ The Blood God has spoken! He has given us his blessing to March South and claim the head of the traitorous cur known as Skarbrand, the Wrathful Reaper.”

“ And when that task is complete, the Blood God will bless us all! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!”

The warriors answered in kind, quickly preparing for the journey South. Kha’xanzyr finally let Khazaan go. The pair looked to Z’rughl.

“ Prepare him. But keep his maw and claws bound.” Whatever rageful madness the Keeper had induced in the Brassbound had no yet left him, but no matter. The Bloodthirster could still be useful in a myriad of ways...

#Plot Point #longpost #CHAMPION; Kha'xanzyr (The Architect of Slaughter);#CHAMPION; Khazaan (The Blood Tippler);#warhammer fantasy #khorne

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this-is-the-salivation-army · 2 years

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Genesis P-Orridge’s introduction to The Salivation Army Black Book – Freedom ov Salivation:

[reprinted in Thee Psychick Bible:] “This text was originally written for Scott Treleaven, as the introduction to his compendium 'THIS IS THE SALIVATION ARMY BLACK BOOK'. This book is/was an anthology of every issue of his tremendously influential and effective radical queer/occulture fanzine....We are re-printing the piece, in its introductory form, as we feel a it deals with a lot of important issues and strategies that remain central to the mission of both this site, our process of Breaking Sex and demystified, functional and practical methods for maximising potential within ones L-if-E. A Next New Way On...”

FREEDOM OV SALIVATION: A DISCOURSE ON BEING RADIQUEER...

This radiqueer publication demands an unusual, but pleasing perspective of its readership. The anthology archives that you are now entering, “This Is The Salivation Army”, assembled in print with teeth and claws (and BIG LOVE) by Scott Treleaven from 1996-1999; and in video form as “The Salivation Army” in 2001, requires a level of trust and intimacy unequaled and feared (with good reason) by the lowest common denominator, ultra- commodified, faux-culture, within which you are usually immersed. Naturally, and I choose that word with care-aforethought, this is not just a good suspension of collusion (by which I suggest your everyday submissive acceptance of so called consensus reality), but it is also a psychic purge, and a revelation, beneficial to your potential identification of, and with, your own private and unique concealed SELF.

What you have, right NOW! In your hands, is more than a book, I.T. is a direct attack upon gender oppression and chance biological circumstance. It is an howling, screaming, blood curdling denunciation of every past, present and future bigotry, real or imagined tearing at our throats and hearts with it ruthless honesty and vitriolic integrity. I.T. is a call to arms for all those wandering, idealistic, nomadic souls wounded by inherited dogmas, primitive moralities and mindless fundamentalist ignorance of any and all persuasions anywhere, at any T.I.M.E, across this entire, wonder-full, vandalized, and unjustly suffering planet. This is a definitive subculture rallying cry for all occultural warriors represented herein by the metaphor and righteous madness that is, and all-ways will be THE SALIVATION ARMY!

OUR AIM IS WAKEFULNESS – OUR ENEMY IS DREAMLESS SLEEP —Old TOPI Proverb.

Let there be no mistake, we have reached a place in our popular culture that requires us to face, (giving) head-on, this new intimacy, this knowing and sophisticated privatization of desire and fetish. Our survival as (eventually) intelligent sentient beings and our (optimistic) capability of achieving self-esteem as a species programmed to evolve, depends upon courageous individuals proposing inspirational new metaphors and 21st century behavioral maps as soon as possible, without recourse to any previous or current status quo. The greatest leaps of faith, comprehension and metaphysics are driven by an irresistible compulsion to execute the inevitable against all odds. Usually this is accompanied by persecution in advance of acceptance after the fact. So are martyrs born and lone wolves hunted which explains the drive to locate like-minded others for the added safety of a temporarily anomalous “pack”. What we are voluntarily seduced into by the assembled texts by is a contemporary, and timely, heresy. A compulsive explosion of dreams made flesh, meticulously designed to catalyze an apocryphal social, deviant sexual, unorthodox magickal and unapologetic “queer” unfolding of the central issues of mortality, mystery and creativity. These are core drives of the engine that is SELF, the process of building a SOUL, and address the newly redundant concepts of gender and authorship, authority and authenticity. Scott Treleaven has aspired to build in public his perfecting reality, sharing, without extreme prejudice, his most cherished and occasionally painful discoveries within the context of his chosen people, an often overlooked; misguidedly ostracized (by both “straight” and “gay” establishment) yet most surprisingly common; media-invisible; disarmingly familiar and charming, radical “queer” and proto-pagan alternative community. His tribe, your tribe, a chosen family rather than a confluence of familial disjunction laced with the institutionalized bigotry of betrayal.

A singular message is revealed by implication, omission, collision and unity of intent, proposing convincingly that for the first T.I.M.E. in Human Astory we have enough information at our global disposal to allow us the privilege of a real choice to deny the biological unfolding bequeathed to us; to refute the genetic program of a “GOD” (an/the original author) and enabling us to choose to rewrite his DNA (AND) book of (so called) L-if-E. For the first T.I.M.E. (Time Is Measured Energy) each of us actually has the power to deny the inherited body type and birth-given gender pressed unilaterally upon us by nature. We have entered the dawning of the age of the “cut-up” in all its forms; cosmetic surgery, genetic engineering, sampling of audio-visual data, omni-lateral access to the world wide web (or global neuro-system) and to all other methods and processes that include the demystification and deconstruction of linearity. We, as magickal, creative, soul builders are inherently empowered to truly decide which physical, sexual, or inspirationally creative components to include or discard in order to build whatever identity or biological container we chose, no matter how bizarre or physically unlikely, or how socially uncomfortable or disliked. An era of maximized SELF control is upon us. The dematerialization of identity is the last taboo.

Need evidence? Look no furthur. Our endless curiosity has generated the first age of the genuine co- authorship of reality and with it we have given our SELF the absolute right and the ability to co-author all information ourselves, defeating predestination by cutting it up and owning the narrative, the original material.Science tends to conclude that the past begets the present. The past being what is recorded and what is stored in memory. The present is experienced as a sensory intersection, taking place within the immediate consciousness of any individual. Each person, is in that very particular sense, the epicenter of their own, private universe. Change the way to perceive and change all memory. Once the tyranny of linear rationality was disrupted by the various methods of cutting-up, reality was revealed as a constant state of flux, a malleable and infinitely fluid construct, practical for primitive larval stage humans content with satisfying basic neo-animalistic needs. But dangerously constricting and misleading for sentient creatures aspiring to unlimited physical evolution, expanded consciousness and moral greatness.

In the 20th century emotionally grounded artists who actually were involved in humanE feeling and experience being integrated with aesthetic process became disconnected/alienated from the product in and of itself...in this new way on we are pushed by events to manipulate and rebuild with self determined elements alone the information society thrusts upon us that have become, surprisingly a new form of solidity and inertia. In order to be anything one might label as free and liberated, anarchic and chaotic in a fundamentally positive sense, one has, as an artist and writer, to accept LOVINGLY the state of constant flux as a more viable description of personal reality, as validated more and more by the more intelligent application of particle physics and advanced mathematics.... Once the atom was split, and consciousness

was split by psychedelics, and literature and painting were radicalized by the process of the “cut-up”, and behavior was made malleable by contemporary, functional and intuitive new magickal ritual by collectives like T.O.P.Y. all preconceptions had to be suspended once and for all in favor of an immersion in possibility and individual refuting of the despotism of all forms of conceptual and media ideologies of linearity. Once Burroughs and Gysin split the cultural atom in a meticulous and methodical manner, all models of reality were up for grabs. Linearity is defunct, long live particularity. This Is The Salivation army is both prophetic and practical. A manual of discontent, built from the individually validated and selected building blocks of consensus stagnation in order to co-opt and author language and SELF, both as a protest against bigotry and creative denial, and as an example to all. What we are totally engaged in right NOW! is a battle over authorship of our own story. “Over narrative” itself, as my dear friend Douglas Rushkoff puts it. Existence, experience is no longer a fixed and linear program. We can re-engineer the genetic text, adjust absolutely our inherited behavior, and attack the very foundations of pre-modern culture and stasis. We have become capable of, and responsible for, asking the correct questions. At last...we are given the impeccable revelation of infinite malleability of incontrovertible subjective reality as an experiential validation. Everything is true, and everything is permitted.

In this new way on, that has democratized every aspect of what world we might chose to build with our reactions to, and critique of, the great mystery of L-if-E, certain techniques are necessarily applicable for the “queer” (for “queer” please read, mark and earn ANOMALOUS in every possible, witch, way, especially sexually, AND PROUD OF I.T.). I think that the “queer” core, that one will absorb as an immediate message during reading these texts, demands of us all a discipline of vision and a quality of fantastic but validated dreaming into autonomous existence new forms and varieties of diversity. This is not just wishful thinking (although thinking a wish in order to see what happens IS a great place to begin) but, rather, the following series of suggestions for creative brains everywhere, who are aspiring to adjust the atrophied data presets of our pre-apocalyptic times, are techniques and motivational drives concerned with both our survival as a larval species AND the optimistic faith that this same young species might flourish and grow without (separate from) destruction and ignorance as its over-riding principle of action. AT LAST...

With your kind indulgence may I preface these thoughts with a, “Dear Scott, forgive me if I am wrong...but I feel these are some of the reasons This Is The Salivation Army was brought into rabidly intense being.”

1. Never forget (and this is hard, especially during adolescence) that you are most certainly NOT alone, you merely have to signal and find each other. A good place to look is wherever the enforcers of education that decries the learning of how to process thinking by using bogus authority and slight of mind to misdirect you. For me, discovering the BEATS was the first time I knew in my gut that it WAS possible to live a wildly eccentric, outsider, experimental and bohemian L-if-E (life if evolution...love if energy) no matter what I had been told, indoctrinated, or programmed with by the status quo. Not only did I have an epiphany that a L-if-E built upon, and with, creativity enhanced by travel was viable, but I was compelled simultaneously to believe, as a metaphysical by-product in ART as an Holy calling, a mission, or quest, that once recognized could never be discarded or abandoned, no matter what the consequences. You cannot forget once you have felt this, and it becomes your duty to serve with honor this campaign as you survive and interact with others of your “army”, “tribe” and rogue genetic kind.

2. Next, go looking for these unorthodox, like-minded individuals, have undying faith that they exist and are probably looking for you too. Offer stimulation, speculation, exchange ideas, collaborate, co-ordinate, share information and theories, recommend sources and names of activators you admire who have come to your attention via media, myth or synchronicity. Nothing is stronger in its anarchic potency and cultural resonance than a pack of previously “lone” wolves. Be prepared to do mundane, tedious, and dull tasks to demonstrate to your SELF and those co-operating with you both your understanding that you are in voluntarily bonded service to a higher calling, ART, and that your ego and public recognition are not your motive, nor can they will to seduce you. Nothing is uglier than a person who actually wants to be rich and famous and thinks those “qualities”; those all-consuming contemporary norms have any actual meaning or value in terms of human evolution measured against divinity, infinity, or the creation of a soul.

3. Then, aware that you have chosen a thankless, endless task (by consensus reality standards), due to madness, bad training, neurotic trauma, gender confusion, or your parents, or peer group (or both) don’t EVER kid your SELF about why you chose to be an artist, writer or otherwise creatively driven being. You

have become part of the metaphor not part of the problem, no matter how under siege I.T. (Imaginary T.I.M.E.) might feel! Having already worked so hard to intersect with, and collaborate with, your contemporaries and any worthy icons you have unearthed that you still respect after initial contact, all ways keep in mind that no one person, in this post-tech society, can have, or supply, as much inspiration as the sum total of an interacting group, even if that group is primarily a loose knit ad hoc collective unable to work together on a daily basis. Just as sampling and cutting-up reality gives us a randomized picture, that nevertheless shows us more accurately than is apparent, what sense based material existence looks like; so too, the interconnecting of two minds will produce as its sum a “THIRD MIND”* that, by avoiding singular, individuated solo strategies and agendas, preconceptions and blind-spots, is far greater in total, and more relevant in effect in our era than any solitary brain can achieve, no matter how visionary. In order to combat the conceptual and economic programming of conglomerate global alliances, it is an absolute necessity of declaring and consolidating liberation as each one of us conceives it by shamelessly sharing energy and mutual communication systems (yes, even Xeroxed zines). Know thine enemy. Steal their tactics, raid their resources and turn their weapons of mass media destruction and biological and neurological tyranny back on them.

NOTHING SHORT OV A TOTAL WAR —Old TOPI Proverb.

4. Finally, in terms of thematic content, decide what really OBSESSES you, YOU. What really turns you on, your deepest (possibly most secret) fetish (sexual, paradoxical, philosophical, political, literal, mechanical, it really doesn’t matter), and make that central to your work either directly or obliquely, regardless of medium, accepted traditions of talent, or any other practical considerations. If you analyze your SELF effectively, with brutal honesty, this core integrity will charge your work with REAL individuality, charisma, influence and longevity of power. Surrender to a greater group does not erase self-esteem, ironically, and magickally, it accelerates a flow of matchless integrity into a consciously constructed personality. (By the way the most effective tool I can recommend for discovering and directing “true will” with minimum deviation or self- delusion is the ritual “SIGIL” process described in this r-evolutionary manual). Tell your SELF that you will make the entire world agree with YOU, rather than compromise by trying to figure out what the world will like and agree with I.T. in order to please and be pleased. The process is the product and regardless of how long it takes, one day the clarity of intent permeating your work WILL be recognized and your L-if-E will have purpose. Always and ONLY create based upon the assumption and sincere recognition that you may be so old that you really don’t care if they ever “get it”, and that it doesn’t matter because the worst thing that can happen is that your physical body dies of starvation or neglect in the meantime.

Genesis P-Orridge, New York City 2002

#Genesis P-Orridge #salivation army #this is the salivation army #scott treleaven

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