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gerdy-sertorius · 14 days

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For They Know Not What They Do

The Story that is Christianity

Many have written pages on pages on pages of how to understand Christianity. Two of my favorite books of all time, “Mere Christianity” and “Orthodoxy”, both approach the issue of what the core of Christianity is for the layman. The intellectual (or perhaps a more accurate term would be “armchair theologian”) has even more access to works ascertaining precisely what Christianity is. I would say that is a fantastic way of getting to know our place within the world and our relationship with the God that ensures every atom moves properly. I also tend to view these works, seminal as they may be, as incomplete. But I suppose they aren’t trying to be complete, really. That’s because they are only building upon a completed text, of course, one they can hardly re-establish while remaining true to it and simultaneously expanding. They aren’t going to have the spark of the original.

But that’s not my problem with the modern discourse around Christianity. I understand that they lack the spark of the original. When dealing with direct divine inspiration, I would imagine that tends to happen. My problem is that, beyond lacking the spark of the original, it doesn’t even try to come close, it doesn’t *search* for that spark. There is nothing ventured back to the original composition except as intellectual evidence for a broader thesis. That is, the Gospel, the single most important piece of literature in history, is no longer a piece of literature but a manuscript. Because the core of Christianity is not praxis or hermeneutics or any other ten dollar word. It was passed from carpenter to fishermen. Christianity is, with all else stripped away like chaff in the wind, a Story.

It is a Story of love and betrayal. It is a Story about good vanquishing evil. It is a Story of a Bridegroom united with His Bride, finally redeemed after constant failure and everlasting patience. It is a Story of a Father and Son, and how they, despite the pervasiveness of wickedness, would save the world from itself. It is a Story of love and the sacrifice that would naturally pour out from that love. It is a Story of undeserved grace by one party and an undeserved outburst of fury on the part of the other. It is, as odd as it is to say it, a grand Romance, one that spans across the entire history of man and especially the history of one Man in particular. It is a Story.

And like all stories, this one has a beginning. In fact, it has something before the beginning, before the very concept of time. It has a God, triune in nature, omnipotent and wholly benevolent. Now, this God is a creative God, and as such shapes the world. He forms what would become reality, all the laws of nature and mathematics, the ideas of time, of space, of matter itself, ex nihilo. He makes light and life, seas and earth and celestial bodies, animals and plants in an explosion of what can only be described as art. And He makes man, defined to be with a soul, in the imago Dei, His very image, capable of creation, capable of love, capable of making a sincere decision. The crown of what exists.

And with that, the very next day He rests, surveying His creation. He has done a good work, shrouding the world in the radiant light that He is. He has made something that continues on its own in a way, yet in another way is still eternally dependent upon Him for every action, every movement, every moment in time. Something has been created and with that beauty arises where there was none before. There is a completion to what was to be done, man being what was finally needed for the world to be properly finished. He loves the world, and He loves man. And so He rests.

After that, He graces us with something magical. You want to know what was the first thing He gave man beyond the very life we hold so closely? The concept of romance, of marriage. Of giving one’s life over to another, of being able to truly understand another individual in a way that nobody else can. Of living your life for someone other than yourself, of being, in a way, one with another individual, fully free and without fear or reservation, only sheer, insurmountable love. It is the closest thing that we have to a relationship with Him with another individual. It is the epitome of a relationship among us, one that if we are lucky enough to have it, is the most beautiful thing we can have within the confines of this world. And He gave it to us because He loves man.

And man loves Him, the only creature able to love establishing their love first and foremost. God created a garden, one in which it is declared that He walked with man. At every point man was covered by who God was, engaging with Him and with each other in the beauty of merely being able to speak, to talk, to be in conversation with the being behind everything that happens at any point in time, to talk to someone unimaginably beyond the world yet still willing to interact with it, with His greatest creation. And He offers but one demand – do not eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

And, of course, they do so anyway and as such are blemished by sin and therefore must be driven out of the garden, out of the sight of the God that loves them so much. With the knowledge of what evil is, evil becomes an everyday occurrence rather than the quite literally unthinkable action that it was within the garden. Their love for God is tarnished like silver being exposed to oxygen. It is still silver, no doubt, but it is difficult to tell that it was the same thing as the genuine article, and while the value inherent within it will still be present (the silver atoms aren’t leaving anytime soon), it would require the level of atomic precision to return it to its original form, something we are entirely incapable of doing.

With that, God can no longer speak with them, walk with them, be with them in the same way He used to. For sin cannot exist within the sight of God, the idea is a logical impossibility. Just as matter and antimatter cannot coexist within any one location, neither can the absence of God and the presence of God. There’s one theory that the reason God was no longer able to be in the physical presence of humanity is because the sinful nature of ourselves would quite literally destroy our very personages if exposed to the sheer holiness that is Him. I don’t know if it’s true or not, and it is impossible to know, but it sure does preach well.

Most of the remainder of the Old Testament squarely places a focus on the Jews. For his devotion to God, Abraham was given an assurance that his descendants would be specially protected by God as long as they remained faithful, and as such the Jews became the “Chosen People”. This assurance is referred to as the Abrahamic Covenant. They were gifted with the Law, which essentially was a document of divine nature that established what they could and could not do as a nation. One of the most important parts both for their society and Christianity wholesale was that of animal sacrifice, something both commonplace and unique among the Jews. Rather than in other societies, where an animal sacrifice was there to satisfy the gods and not much more, the Jews symbolically placed their sins upon the blood of a pure white lamb and then killed it as a symbol of repentance (where we get the term ‘scapegoat’ from). And if they continued to abide by that Abrahamic Covenant and showed a dedication to faithfulness, then God would accept that symbol.

Throughout the Old Testament, an intriguing turn of events would begin to rear its head – they did not remain faithful. Throughout the history of Israel, the Jews would remain stubbornly in a constant flux between faithfulness and the complete denial of basic morality. Many times they would clean up their act, so to speak, and less than a decade later fall into depravity. The majority of the Old Testament is them doing terrible stuff, getting punished, getting better, and then returning to exactly what they were doing before. As it can be understood, for a society solely existing due to God’s special favor, this was less than heartening. I want to take what may seem like a sharp turn into one of the more overlooked books of the Bible, one of the (very many) stories about a prophet attempting to bring Israel back to God and one of my favorites.

The Book of Hosea, at least the beginning of it, is a love story between a man and his wife. Throughout the section you find this book in, it is filled with books that essentially amount to a whole bunch of sermons being combined. This is not that. This is a genuinely beautiful story, this is something that I would want to read, this is *real*. And it may well be the best summation of the Old Testament in the entire Bible. This is exactly what I was searching for with the rest of my readings, something that so perfectly encapsulates the relationship between God and those who He loves.

Hosea was a prophet, someone who was given direction from God to return Israel to its worship of Him. Many had come before him, many would come after him. One could even say that his actions were entirely futile. But he had a calling, despite the truly unrepentant nature of Israel, and he was not exactly going to tell God of all people “no” – that was the very thing he hated so much about the society he found himself in. So he decided to follow that calling, becoming the newest prophet of Israel.

With that came instruction from God. He was to take a certain individual as his wife, one by the name of Gomer. She was a prostitute, and more or less written off when it came to marital prospects, perhaps understandably so. But Hosea was commanded to do so, and as such took her as his wife. And Hosea took care of her, fully and totally, as a husband should, providing for her economically, emotionally, generally being an all around good husband. Why? Simply because he loved her. He loved Gomer more than anyone else within the world. Certainly more than anyone else would within the nation, what with all of the social devastation from her peers of both sexes.

And as I’m sure you can tell, the infidelity continued throughout the marriage. Constant heartbreak on the part of Hosea, who loved his wife, with the constant rejection of the wife incapable of loving him. Yet Hosea did not cease loving her. Even when the provisions he offered to her went to those she would cheat with him on, Hosea did not cease providing for her, something that was well outside of the norm within society, when at the very least divorce was the status quo. Hosea was continuously loving his wife, and he was continuously being emotionally destroyed by her. One day, Gomer disappeared for longer than she usually did. Hosea went looking for her, and found that she was being sold into what amounted to sex slavery. And once again, against *all of the* standards of the time, he went and gathered together a small fortune to purchase her and free her. And why was that? *Because he loved her.* And the absolute kicker is, there is no record of her ever stopping her activities. Despite all of his love for her, despite everything he gave up emotionally and physically for their marriage, she would always let him down. It was her nature. To fail and hurt in the process but to always be able to return to one who would always love her, it’s heartbreaking in its tragedy.

It’s not difficult to see the allegory between this and Israel’s repeated falls from the graces of God. A nation chosen by God in particular, one that is provided for and taken care of more than any else in the world, one he frees from backbreaking slavery, one he offers bountiful land to despite everything. A nation that is truly blessed among all others. It of all countries should be one not to turn away from the path that has been consistently positively reinforced and consistently negatively punished. Yet it still does. Because men loved darkness rather than light. Because the love offered towards us is something they took for granted. Because it is our nature to spurn that love.

Yet there would be one moment to establish that love forever in the eyes of God, and it began with one man, by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, the King of the Jews. The humiliation of the Incarnation is something that deserves to be talked more about. God becoming man and all the wonder inherent in that is highlighted in various Christmas events and the like, but it rarely goes anywhere beyond the surface level. Another way to say it would be that the substance is highlighted, but oddly enough not the sacrifice of the thing that would eventually become Calvary. For in the Incarnation was the stripping down of Christ long before His arrest. Taken from the omnipotence of Godhood to the inability of a child, forced to flee to Egypt just so He wouldn’t be killed before He turned three years old. Losing omniscience for the insight of an infant, losing omnipotence for the physical ability of a baby. The Incarnation was the deliberate elimination of anything especially divine He had, with the sole exception of his relationship with his Father. It is hard to overstate exactly how drastic a change like this was. Imagine losing any and all sensation, sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, all at once, and then entering into the world and being told to go out and live, get stuff done, have a proper life. The thought is quite frankly absurd.

Yet all of this and more was suffered for love. For the chance to live as a person to save all people. For the beauty in finally freeing mankind from our nature of destruction to all we come in contact with. For love. Love for us, broken and fallen as we may be, entirely covered in the ink that obscures what we could be from what we are. The entrance of Christ alone into the world is a sacrifice for our sin, and it would not be the last, as I’m sure you are aware. Everything, absolutely everything orchestrated throughout the Old Testament lines up towards this moment. Everything evil and redeemed and evil and redeemed and evil and redeemed, fluctuating back and forth and forth and back for a purpose, for the ultimate evil and the ultimate redemption. All that was needed was for that very redemption to enter the world. And so He did, incapable of speaking, incapable of walking, incapable of bending the entire cosmos to Himself with one thought. The birth of Christ to Mary was, in essence, His first death.

Jesus Christ had lived life as a man among men, with one exception. He had never sinned, not once. The evil that had plagued humanity as a whole was absent from Him, not a speckle on His fleece, for the entirety of His life. All of the absurd wickedness, every disgusting thing mankind suffers from, it was all gone from His personage. He was, morally speaking, perfection. And with that perfection comes something important. With that truly pure fleece, He was able to be a sacrifice that was more than symbolic. No longer would man slaughter a lamb, a symbol of sin, and obtain a symbol of repentance. Instead, man would commit the ultimate sin and slaughter The Lamb, The Son sent among them, and with The Son's sacrifice gain the possibility of True Repentance.

Eventually, He would begin to teach. A message of adhering to the spirit rather than the letter of the Law, which Israel was just beginning to follow. He taught forgiveness beyond what the Law said, commitment to marriage beyond what the Law said, being willing to help the fellow man beyond what the Law said. He did not supersede the Law, but He was the completion of it. Everything the Law said, He went beyond, not because He added to it, but because He fulfilled it. Everything He said was the intention of that Law, the meaning of it that had been lost to tradition for centuries. Israel had finally established a dedication to the Law and Jesus swept that rug from underneath their feet. It was the acceptance of the thought that went behind the Law rather than exactly what it said.

And yet the position was unpopular with the people whose opinions on the subject mattered. The local Jewish ruling classes were quite comfortable with the acceptance of established law and tradition, leaving the more learned and established classes at the top. The local Roman ruling classes were quite comfortable without more religious zealotry breaking out in an area known for it. The idea of expanding upon existing Law and riling up support for and against it in an endless cycle of polarization was not in either of their interests. Yet the movement continued to grow, and it increasingly became an elephant in the room when it came to politics within the area. With that, quite reasonably, the decision was made to kill Jesus on charges of sacrilege.

While they were taking such an action, Jesus was doing something entirely different. He was preparing Himself. He went over to a garden and began to pray, to beg, to plead for any other option. He did not want to die, He was genuinely scared of the suffering that would await Him. He sweated drops of blood throughout his prayer, such was the fear that took hold of Him. He was in agony. There was nothing He wanted less than to die an excruciatingly painful death. Yet He declares that it is His duty, that He must accept death. And that is what He does. The Romans and Jews arrive to take Him away. He does not resist.

They brought Him before the Romans, because they, as rulers of the area, were the only ones who could prescribe capital punishment legally. There was an issue, however – nothing within Roman law actually enabled them to kill an individual for blasphemy against a god not recognized by Rome at all. So they simply decided to go with charges of treason. A similar issue arose – there was basically no evidence for a statement like that. So the governor of the region more or less tried to weasel his way out of it. He summoned Jesus, desperate for any sort of denial that would allow him to say there wasn’t enough evidence. Jesus, for his part, was cryptic, of absolutely zero help to the governor, Himself, or anyone, really.

The governor called for something, anything to assuage the crowd from a death penalty with no evidence, something guaranteed to look bad to his higher-ups. Bargaining – citing a Jewish holiday about to come up, he offered a choice between two prisoners to be freed – Jesus or a murderous thief. Those who were present for the choice, a mob at this point, called for the freedom of the murderer. The crowd did not yield. Humiliation – a beating, fine clothes, a scepter and a crown of thorns. The crowd did not yield. A “lesser” punishment than execution – nine and twenty lashes from a cat o’ nine tails, each tail burying itself in muscle rather than skin and more or less skinning Him alive, with immeasurable pain coursing through every single second of trauma to his rapidly shrinking back. For some point of reference, the standard death penalty within the region was thirty lashes from this very whip. The crowd. did. not. yield. There would be no option other than crucifixion. They would never be content with anything else. And so the order went.

In the most damning moment in the history of humanity, we determined we would commit Deicide. And the deed was done. Christ, God Himself on the earth, innocent in the truest sense of the word, slowly dragged His own cross through the streets of Jerusalem towards a hill called Calvary, where He would meet death. He stumbled, weak from blood loss and unable to continue to carry anything, let alone a cross. The pinnacle of mankind, brought down to being no more capable of preaching than a corpse like any other; He was thirty-three years old. And behind Him followed the very crowd that put Him to death, some jeering, some disgusted by He who would attempt to destroy Judaism, some even weeping over the demise that they themselves caused, any semblance of righteous fury gone from their eyes.

Eventually the procession was able to make it to Calvary, at which point the crucifixion began. There are two tangentially important facts about crucifixion as a means of execution. The first is that Jewish Law states that any who die by being hanged on a tree have been cursed by God. It was considered that anyone who goes through that was abandoned by God, and it’s a generally bad omen. The second fact, somewhat more well-known, is that “crucifixion” is the root of the word “excruciating”. Crucifixion was not the means of execution generally used; it was always used in cases where an example was going to be made, due to its incredible cruelty as an execution device and its incredibly public location.

A brief overview of how exactly an individual dies would begin with both arms secured in place to the cross with nails, hammered into the wrist between the radius and ulna and directly through the median nerve. This would leave the body hanging from the overextended arms, which, apart from the immense pain such a position provides, physiologically makes it impossible to inhale. That’s where the legs being kept in place (with rope or nails) would come in, pushing the body up whenever oxygen was needed, and allowing the diaphragm to do its job. This had the added effect of causing even more pain from the scraping of the oft-scourged back against the rough wood of the cross. The process would continue until either the victim would die of asphyxiation due to exhaustion of the legs or until their legs were broken, making them incapable of continuing breathing. In total, time to die was varied but could last up to several days.

As the nails hammer into the flesh of Jesus Christ, He does not resist. As He is hoisted into an upright position as the death knell tolls and His minutes upon the earth begin counting down, He does not resist. As an innocent man being killed for a crime He did not commit, He does not resist. He is simply a Lamb walking quietly to the slaughter. The cross is beyond painful, there is nothing that could have prepared Him for such physical torture. But He does not resist. He shouts out the opening line to a song He knows well: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” He does not believe He has been abandoned by God, but in the moment, it certainly feels that way. It is hard to think of anything outside the pain of the moment.

Voices resound around the crowd watching Him. Cries taunting Him to save Himself if He could supposedly save so many others. The apparent desecration of God is unthinkable within Jewish culture, no god of theirs could die like that. And so, in their denial of such a concept, they desecrated the only God they could ever have laid their eyes upon, the only God they ever could have spoken to, the only God who lived among them, who ate and talked and laughed among them. The Human God and the Divine Man, being scourged, crucified, abused with all manner of insults. He does not resist. The only thing He offers up out of His battered, gasping chest is a plea, not even to them: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

While I may have offered the Book of Hosea as the clearest summation of the Old Testament, those ten words are the clearest summation of the New. For despite everything, all of the suffering that we placed upon each other, for all of our sins, for everything. For the very execution of the only perfect man to ever live, for the very execution of the God who knows and loves every single individual, we are forgiven. Yes, it is in our nature to betray that love constantly, it is in our nature to harm everyone we come in contact with, it is in our nature to hate and kill and lie. But we are forgiven regardless.

Jesus Christ makes one final shout to His Father, a proclamation that He is coming, if you will, and dies, the last breath of oxygen leaving His lungs long before the expected time of death. And in that moment, everything changes. The scapegoat is slaughtered. All the sins of mankind, past, present, and future, are placed upon His shoulders in a horrific mask of wickedness. Mankind has had their own sins cleansed in the greatest show of love possible, the brutal self-sacrifice required to keep all of us away from the fruits of our own actions. With Jesus shrouded in the infinite sins of humanity, God is unable to even look at His own dying Son, forced to turn His face away from the evil that has subsumed Him. Even the fury that would have been leveled at the crucifixion is placed on no other shoulders than the victim of it. We as a collective have, through the most heinous act in history, been redeemed of our heinous acts.

The eternal salvation of mankind is not the only thing that happens. The sky goes black instantly. Tremors begin to shake the earth and thunder shakes the skies. Dead men stand up and begin to walk, reunited with their family in a way that the Christ who just died could not be, carrying the sins of man and unable to stand within the presence of God. And within the temple, something curious happens. The veil that blocked the room to where the Jews believed the physical presence of God resided was torn asunder. No longer is man forced to use a proxy to commune with God, no longer is man separated from the One who loves them so much. Mankind, it could be said, is back in Eden, back before everything started.

Jesus died quickly, so unlike those beside Him who had their legs broken, there was yea, a spear piercing His heart also. He was taken down from the cross and buried in an actual tomb, courtesy of a rich follower. Several days passed, and on Easter, the tomb was found by a contingent of women to be empty with the exception of burial wrappings, much to their eternal surprise. Despite the remainder of Jesus’s followers remaining in a combination of shock and depression, they too eventually made their way to the tomb and found it empty as described. It was empty.

At the crucifixion, at the condemnation of God to death and His willingness to do that for humanity, the devil rejoiced. In God’s love for us, He did exactly what the devil wanted. To remove Himself from the picture, to call for the death of Himself. But there was something that a created being like the devil could never understand. For death was artificial. It was not in the original world, it was not inherent to life, as much as it might seem otherwise. Death was a consequence of man’s sin, and while that sin was upon Christ, His death had washed it away. In one glorious, triumphant moment, the enemy of man for so long, death itself, was defeated by Jesus Christ of Nazareth, the Son of God.

For God was not constrained by institutions that only exist as a consequence of evil. He was the one who established those institutions, and in the death of Christ, He could overthrow those institutions while simultaneously ending mankind’s eternal culpability for sin. And so Christ erupted out of the grave, and with it the grave ended. Death, the bitter rival of humanity from the beginning of time, was never going to have an impact again. For love, God died an excruciating death. For love, God refused to die. For love, we have been saved by Him.

The most common analogy offered by Jesus between Him and those who follow Him is that of the Bridegroom and the Bride, each desperately in love with the other, each willing to give everything for the sake of the other. We can never be the perfect Bride, that much has been made clear. But in the eyes of the perfect Bridegroom, we’ve already been made perfect. No matter how much evil we purvey, no matter how broken of an individual we are, we are made perfect in the cleansing blood spilled from the sacrifice of the Lamb. All the grime that is us, every evil action we take, it has all been scrubbed clean off. For love.

#jesus christ #christianity #salvation #jesus #faith #god #something i feel has been lacking is the beauty that is the christian story #there's a reason the christological allegory is such an important and widely used trope #and that's because the story itself is beautiful

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tortiefrancis · 1 year

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Soo I have a few specific questions if that's okay?

- Do you worship gods other than the Triune?

-How do you view the Holy Spirit?

- How do you feel about certain more problematic things the Papacy has ruled on?(believing being gay is sinful, premarital seggs, being Trans etc.)

I'm asking bc I've been feeling drawn to Catholicism but in a more spiritual way lately, but I struggle with some of the before mentioned topics.

Of course, I'm happy to help!

-> Yes, I do, though not as frequently as I took a break for a long while of religion as a whole and am making my way back to them and God as well. It's a bit complicated to explain how this works for me, but I kind of believe all gods and entities exist, or are somewhat related to one another, I just feel drawn to specific ones and certain incarnations of them.

-> I have a complicated relationship the Holy Spirit due to... not actually being taught about catholicism and christianity while I was raised in a Christian Catholic household. I never learned anything beyond "God is real and you should follow Him", I found out about the existence of the Holy Spirit, beyond mentions in prayers and the few masses i atended, from my friend, who at the time, was an evangelical (she's not anymore, for context). So for a long time it felt distant and confusing.

I haven't done much research nor had any experiences related to the Holy Spirit I could point to, so it still feels distant, unlike with Jesus and God- though I feel much closer to Jesus due to a few spiritual experiences I've had. I guess my current view on them is just... a curious and mysterious energy that I can't make sense of properly yet.

-> Honestly I feel like it comes down to two things: People misunderstanding the Bible and people ignoring the most fundamental teaching in it, to love one another. The Bible is very complicated, yes, and there's a lot of weird stuff in it, some contradictory, some a product of its time, others a product of conscious mistranlations and editing, but if you choose to live by its word, there's one thing that's a constant: God loves you and wants you to love Him and all of His other creations.

So I fully disagree with any stances by the Church that are against people's existences, their autonomy or that disrespect them in any way. Literally, you're not harming anyone? Good, I love and respect you. Also, I don't know, I don't agree with the Church as an institution, just having power over people and what they do and who they are, specially when a lot of it goes against the Bible, despite what they say.

#sam.asks #anaphroditedevotee #religion tw #religion #me and the holy spirit are social distancing

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christ-our-glory · 2 years

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Our hope is concrete evidence for the one with faith. The world calls it "foolishness" and yet "to us who are being saved it is the power of God" as 1 Corinthians 1:18 tells us. Many people see heaven as being the reward for this hope we have but heaven would be just another place —although a very good place— if God wasn't there. The reward a Christian should be looking for isn't merely going to heaven or escaping eternity in hell; the reward a Christian should look for is getting to spend eternity with the triune of God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit! To spend eternity with the Godhead, that’s the true reward for any Christian.

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books-of-the-great-leviathan · 2 years

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Chapter 31- Alois

***

Alois picked himself up and dusted grime from the front of his shirt. He'd fallen, and stayed there for long minutes, after they'd at last stopped running. His legs hadn't wanted to keep holding the rest of him up, so he'd let them do as they pleased, and what pleased them to do was send him to the ground.

"Huh," he panted. "Guess you were right, Elias. Isabella- your Highness-" He turned, and his words died. Isabella was on her knees, and she was weeping. Her hair was tangled with sweat, her skin weltered by red marks in the shape of handprints. Both her hands were over her eyes- the flesh one, and the one that had turned partially to black crystal. She wept not like Elias had wept, but inwardly, silent sobs wracking her body and filling the cavern with choked echoes. Elias hung back- at last he looked his age, an uncertain, nervous boy scrubbing at his curls with his fingers- but Alois knelt by her and touched her shoulder. A soldier would have snapped at her to get up. A king would have commanded her to straighten her spine, to not shame herself. But he wasn't a king.

"Isabella," he said.

"He had her," she said, her voice ground between clenched teeth. A fresh wave of sobs choked her, and she curled over, rocking back and forth. "He...he had my mother's ghost. He had so many of them. Trapped. My people, trapped."

"He's witchborn," Alois said. The word sent a shudder through him. He hadn't seen the assassin, Sirin, until Luca sprang her from her cell, and then she'd looked like a dirty young woman, nothing to mark her fell power. To command the dead, to use them against the living, tethered to a soul...he couldn't fathom. His mind reeled, failed, scrambled for scraps of sense. "What else did he say?"

"He intends Lapide's destruction," Isabella said. She lifted her head. Tears glittered on her cheeks. A purpling bruise spread across one cheekbone. "And Estara's. He's heir to both of them. He's your father's half-brother, Alois. And my aunt's son. Your grandfather...my aunt. Some mad affair. And now he wants his vengeance against us all."

Bellana save us. "He won't stay in Lapide," Alois murmured. "Not now you've found out the truth. He's hamstrung it already, killing your mother. Now..."

"Triune," Isabella whispered.

Alois understood, too. Enzo Acier had killed one country's regent. Estara's was next. Daval was next.

His father was next.

Cold plunged into his guts. Let him die, he wanted to spit. How many times had he wanted to see his father lain low, how many times had he dreamed of crushing him into the dirt? How many more had he groveled at his father's feet, begging him to love him, to forgive him for his host of disappointments? Let him be torn apart. Let the sea-orks devour him whole.

But there was another way. Peace, like an ember in these dark seas.

"If we can warn him," Alois said, "get to him before Acier does, then maybe..." Friendship, armistice. Not yet. But the beginnings of peace, of reparations between their two countries. Trust, at least. There would be nothing without trust.

"Would he listen?" Isabella asked.

"He might," Alois said, sounding more confident about the matter than he felt. He had to have faith in his father that he wasn't blood-mad, war-mad, not entirely. That there was still something in him that yearned for calm seas and clear skies.

That he could be saved, too.

Isabella gave a short nod. "Then we don't have much time."

She got to her feet. Her shadow rose with her, fluttering across the cavern walls in the fading light of the alchemic command. They'd run- through a tangled web of tunnels, leading down, down, closer to the roar of water, then away again. Some were man-made, walls whitebrick, arched doorways and carved steps. Most were natural, wending this way and that, deeper into the earth. Water wept through these walls, slicking them with prismatic sheen of phosphorescent fungus, turning the stalactite teeth of them into glowing pillars hanging far overhead. The caverns swelled like the diseased organs of some great pale beast, rivulets of water trickling through cracks in the stone, the occasional roar of a subterranean canal vibrating through a wall, inches away. One day, it might split, and fill these caverns with water; they'd belong to no one but the cave fish, then.

"Which way?" Alois asked. His voice whispered back to him- which way, which way. Several tunnels led off from their cavern, which they'd stopped in to catch their breath, for Alois to collapse in and gulp mouthfuls of cave water to wash the bitter taste of ghosts from his throat.

"There are ways out of these tunnels," Isabella said. She brushed past him, clutching her crystal arm. "Luca and I...we explored this place as children. I don't know the tunnels as well as he does, but I think I can get us out of here."

"Someone's coming," Elias said.

Alois held his breath. Isabella raised her head, her aquiline profile sharp as a hawk's against the pale cavern walls. Alois clapped his hand over the alchemic command, dousing its light. Voices echoed from the tunnels behind them.

"Falcii," Isabella whispered.

"This way." Alois nodded toward the nearest tunnel.

Voices came again, louder, closer. Isabella didn't argue. She plunged in, a step ahead of Alois, her hand clenched on her sword hilt. Alois glanced at Elias, and together they hurried after her, Elias hunched over and hugging his arms over his chest.

Tunnels, stone walls, weeping water. The sunlight ebbed moment by moment, each pulse weakening in Alois's hand. He cupped it to his chest. What would happen when the light gave out entirely, when the darkness crashed in? He couldn't imagine a worse place to be lost in- stumbling through the dark, feeling his way by touch, not knowing if the next step would be on solid ground or send him plunging into a sinkhole, to be picked apart by cave-dwelling horrors.

That will be you, he told himself, and shame gripped his heart. Some day your sight will die, like the light, and you'll be left to wander the dark forever.

Voices again.

"This way!"

"Sir, there are footprints..."

"They're not far."

Isabella twisted round, then motioned Alois toward a narrow gap in the cave wall. Through it, Alois heard the roar of water. Icy spray spackled his face as he turned sideways and squeezed through. Stone scraped his shoulderblades; his breathing caught. One shift in the cave system and the two walls would crush him between them. Trapped. He scrambled faster, and stumbled out the other side, slipping down an incline of loose stones. Sunlight skittered over water: a broad river, some twenty feet wide and white with rapids.

Spume rose from the black surface of the water like mist, feeding the pale, finger-like growths of glowing fungus clustering thickly over the rocks that broke the river's surface. Enormous ridged tubes grew at the water's edge. Great fans covered in fine cilia blossomed from their upper ends, waving gently in the breeze off the river.

"There they are!"

"After them!"

Isabella burst through the gap in the wall, then Elias. He barely had to turn sideways, he was so skinny. Lanternlight chased them, and the scrape of drawn swords. Isabella bolted toward the river, then skidded to a halt, her eyes wide.

"Go," Alois yelled.

"Is anyone bleeding?" Isabella demanded.

"You are," Elias pointed out.

She snarled, shook her head. "Stay close. Close, I said."

Alois plunged into the river. The cold sucked all feeling from his legs. The tube-things sucked in their feeding fans as he brushed past them, sloshing knee deep into the river. He heard the others follow.

"Stop!"

He looked back. Falcii spilled onto the riverbank, blue and flashing silver and drawn blades. "Stop! Now!" roared their leader, and motioned. A gunshot split the silence; the river burst at Alois's feet, and he jerked back. The opposite bank wavered, so close.

"Come back, Highness," the Falcii called. "Captain Acier is prepared to grant you mercy."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Alois yelled.

"Mercy?" Isabella called. She backed away, toward the center of the river. The water rose to her hips. She lowered her hand into the water; blood unspooled. "And you believe your captain, do you? You believe his every word?"

Falcii stepped into the river. Alois heard it: subsonic, a bass shudder like a tapped drumhead. The river vibrated. He cast a glance downstream, where the water widened into a still pool, stalagmites jutting from its surface like a mouthful of cuspid teeth. In its center: a ripple, no more than gust of wind over its surface.

"Isabella," he said.

"Captain Acier saw what you did," the Falcii called. One of his men, standing knee deep, narrowed his eyes, looking down at the water.

"Believe what you will. I can't stop you," Isabella called. "But I promise you I'm not to blame. And I promise you I'm coming back. Lapide will never be abandoned, not while I still breathe."

"Sir," the Falcii in the water cut in.

"What are you doing? Get after her."

"Sir! Something's in the water!"

A shadow hurtled underwater, toward Alois, toward Elias and Isabella. Water surged, a glassy swell. Alois caught a glimpse of a pale, spiked carapace before the swell broke and the monster exploded from the water. A hooked mass of chitinous forelimbs, hooked claws and gripping mandibles burst toward them, mouthparts glistening dark gray, splayed wide. Alois yelled and threw himself backward. He fell, hard, going under; the cold closed over his head. He thrashed, panicked, clawing to the surface, eyes wide, nerves shrieking with cold.

More of the things dragged themselves from the deeps, one after the next. A half-dozen, more- the water thrashed and boiled with jointed crustacean limbs, eyeless things with mouthparts wide and starving, rising from the river. Falcii twisted, slashing with blade and dagger, taking aim. Gunfire lit the cavern like day, blasting craters in the cave-beasts' carapaces, sending chunks spinning into the current. Thin bluish blood spattered; Alois jerked back from the spray.

One of the creatures broke off from the pack and surged toward Elias, swimming-paddles pushing it sleekly through the current; mouthparts slithered, claws snapping for the boy. He was stiff, rigid, unmoving.

"Elias!" Alois lunged for the boy. No time; the monster would reach him faster. Alois spun toward the creature and slammed his boot straight into its mass of mouthparts. They latched on, and the creature reared back, yanking Alois off his feet.

He went down; the river sucked him under, swallowing him whole. All sound cut to a muffled roar. He felt the pressure of the thing's mouthparts around his ankle, the current sweeping past him, flashes of blurred light and the report of gunshots from somewhere above. He brought back his free leg and kicked the thing, hard, where he thought its head might be. Its shriek stabbed through him, all the worse for its hold on him.

It didn't let go.

No-

He kicked again, panic surging. He twisted; his head broke surface, and he raked in a starving breath. He didn't want to die down here.

He wouldn't die down here.

Steel flashed down, impaling the beast through the joint between head and carapace. The monster let go. A hand seized Alois's collar and dragged him to the surface. The current was already carrying the dead cave-beast away, and Isabella had him. She flung him past her, toward the opposite bank. Her sword was slicked blue with monster blood.

"I told you to stay close," she said.

Behind them, the river thrashed with pale carapaces, with the cries and commands of Falcii, with the rattle of gunfire. It chased them from the water, deeper into the tunnels. Alois squeezed his eyes shut until the sounds faded, lost to the dark.

The last light of sunset filled the sky when they emerged from the tunnels. The rocks were blue with dusk, the tunnel exit a narrow cleft in the ridge, spitting them onto a cascade of loose stones and scrub that led down toward the thundering surface of one of Valeris's many canals. Trails switchbacked down to a border of cedars and wild growth in the ridge's lee face. Past the cedars, the great pale boulders rising like sea-beasts from the scrub, Valeris glittered, caught under the haze of summer heat that shimmered off its roofs.

Alois wanted to stop, to stare, to stand forever in this warm, clean wind and watch the city. Birds of prey circled lazily on the updrafts, graceful as dance. Somewhere down there he heard the slow ringing of a chapel bell, saw the thread-thin unspooling of smoke as people lit cooking fires. After the darkness of the tunnels, he wanted to drink in the sight, to seal it inside him. Maybe he could convince his father things like this were worth saving, were worth fighting for. Were worth giving up fighting for.

"Come on," Isabella said at last. She jerked her head downslope. "We can't stay in the open for long."

Alois and Elias and Isabella stumbled down the trails. Cedars enfolded them, trunks like pillars: the sweet-sap wood scent of them, and of loam, and clean water. A small rill burbled through the needle litter, and night birds had begun to sing, filling the air with the hish-hish of their calls. Isabella sank to the streambank to scrub water through her hair. Elias simply climbed a boulder, standing in a lingering shaft of sunlight to watch the birds flit and flicker through the cedars.

Alois leaned against a trunk, head tipped back, and closed his eyes. In his hand, still cupped to his heart, he felt the pulse of the command like a dying bird.

He thought again of Cereza, worlds from here. She'd showed him the birds in the Palace gardens, and had names for each of them- glimmits, and starmice, and ember thrushes with glowing orange throats. Little yellow veterai, whose feathers could be ground and eaten to make the voice of the eater sweet as birdsong for a time. The war had not taken her wonder from her, nor her mercy. He hoped it hadn't taken all of his, either.

"We need a ship," he said, at last, after minutes of water-rush, of wind and birds and gloaming sky. "Where can we get a ship?"

Silence. He opened his eyes as Isabella stood. Her gray gaze was steely, her hair hanging in wet ropes around her face. Welts dappled her throat, hand prints encircling it like a collar. "I know where we can get a ship. That's the least of our worries."

"And the worst of our worries?"

"Getting across Bellana's Arm, for one," she said. "Outstripping Enzo, for another. He'll have already left."

"Then what are we doing here? We're wasting time-"

"No," Isabella said. "We'll just rush straight into your father's naval blockade. We need to slip through. Like a dagger between ribs."

"Not literally, I hope."

She gave him a dry smile. "Triune willing, it won't come to that."

"You're a soldier, aren't you? You've been out on the bloodied waves."

"That doesn't mean I know how to get through Daval's blockade, Daval's bolt cannons. If I did, Pavaloir would be flying blue flags." She cut a look at him. "No offense."

"A little taken, but I'll forgive it. You saved me, down there. Not a bad trick, with those..." He raised his hands and mimed wriggling mouthparts.

"Just blood in the water. If it spares more, I'll gladly give it."

Alois nodded, then reached into his waistcoat and pulled forth a bundle, wrapped in a kerchief. Isabella narrowed her eyes.

"I don't know if this will help," Alois said. "But...I thought it might be better than leaving it behind."

"Is that..." Isabella started.

She didn't finish. Alois unwrapped the bundle. The fading light struck its hilt, jet and tarnished silver. It struck its blade. Whaleglass, prismatic, blue and flame and silver, translucent as crystal. Cereza's blood still lingered on its edge.

"I got it from your room," Alois said. "I hope you don't mind."

"That thing should be thrown in the ocean," Isabella said.

"Then do that, if you want."

She let out her breath, but didn't answer. After a pause, Alois wrapped the whaleglass knife again and stowed it inside his waistcoat.

"I'm...I'm sorry," he said.

"About what?"

"Your Falcii."

She shook her head, like she was flicking off a fly. "They can handle a few deepghasts. They'll be fine."

"Not just them."

Isabella let out her breath. She strode over the stream. "Elias," she barked. "You all in one piece?"

He nodded.

"Come on, then." She moved past him, deeper into the cedar grove. Alois followed, pausing to help Elias down from the boulder. The twilight faded from the woods, and stars began to spangle the sky. Alois took a last breath of the warm sap-sweet breeze.

"You never answered how we're going to get through the blockade," he called.

"I know a sparrow," Isabella called back.

***

Night in the Valeris docks districts was a dark and simmering thing, knifeglint and beggar's fingers, night fishermen pushing flopping loads of phosphorescent fishes to their stalls, smoke twining from long pipes and dark deals haggled in corners. Alois had seen it in daytime on his way from the docks, and had stared, fascinated, down crookback cobbled streets of smoke-stained buildings, at the Rashi salt grannies as they crouched in doorways smoking long pipes, at the merchants and tarnish and grime.

Then, Lapide had been on the brink of hope. Tonight was different. Tonight held an edge, tension in every gaze, in the way the salt grannies clutched their pistol hilts, the way city guard stared into the faces of passersby and gripped their rifle straps. Doors that had before been open were now shut and barred, low conversations swapped across fryhouse tables, fingertips never far from a stiletto hilt.

Isabella kept her head down and face hidden by her cloak hood. Alois had a scarf, and Elias went undisguised, just another rigging spider pushing through the crowd. With their clothes dirty and finery abandoned, they looked like nothing more than a trio of dock workers eager to get home.

The stream of people thinned, and Alois caught sight of a mural splayed across a wall. Daval Belmont, impaled through the heart; the same spear impaled Captain Azare, and their blood flowed thick as rivers, red paint daubed so thickly it formed smears and crusts across the warehouse bricks. With a pang Alois saw he lay there dead, too, and a caricature of a young blue-eyed woman and little boy that could only be Queen Adele and Marin.

Isabella glanced sidelong at him as he sucked in a gasp.

His little brother. Lapide was calling for his blood. For a moment the prospect of what he was setting out to do seemed overwhelming, the weight of the sea, and sky, and all things. Too heavy to bear.

No, he told himself. That's Father talking. But he couldn't look away from the face of his little brother, crudely rendered, spattered in red.

Someone touched his shoulder. Alois flinched. Isabella stood by his side, fingertips light on his arm. He could just make out her gray eyes under the cloak hood.

"We need to keep moving," she murmured. "Can you do that?"

Alois tore his gaze from the bloody mural and nodded. His little brother, dead. Cereza, dying, her long hair streaked with blood. His own face, again and again, far from Bellana's light. So many lost, so many dying. He remembered the three-faced woman in the shrine, the play of candlelight off quartz, the gods that never seemed to listen.

Please, he prayed. Please let this be right.

They wound down alleys coiled like a nest of snakes, under ceilings of carpets put out to air in the cool night breeze, past racks of drying fish and children prowling and beggars slumped in corners, some dressed in ragged remains of soldiers' uniforms. Isabella took them under a portico, aclatter with hanging sailor's charms made from crab claws and small bones. The portico shadowed the arched entryway into a small courtyard, a whitebrick building rising three or more stories to a sloped, tiled roof.

It looked to be one of Valeris's older buildings, its walls belled and sagged, roof much-mended and sunscoured, bleaching the color from the tiles- one of many fryhouses and wayside watering holes strung along this edge of Valeris's harbor. Music threaded from green shutters. A sign swung over the entryway: a pale gray bird with long, pointed wings, crimson blood weeping round the arrow that pierced its heart. Words below in coastal Lapidaean read The Mollymawk.

The door was open, an urchin girl perched on the steps, singing as she whittled at a lump of orkbone. She looked up as Alois, Elias, and Isabella approached.

"Anything to spare?" she asked.

"Only fish-scales," Isabella said, and pressed a mark into the girl's hand: a heavy brass coin stamped with the dead queen's face. The girl made it vanish, then scrambled away.

"What was that about?" Alois asked.

"I fancy a drink," Isabella said. "I'm buying."

Inside, the air was dense and humid with sweat, with the scent rising from the lush spill of veil orchids down one crumbling wall. In a corner, someone picked at an off-key balalaika, and the tables were filling fast with a crowd of dock workers, ork-butchers stripping gorestained gauntlets from hands, painted girls and boys knocking shoulders with hulking herring crews. A glimmit sang from its cage over the bar. Shadows lurked, untouched by the sputtering amber glow of low-grade ork-oil.

Isabella shouldered to a free corner table, by the veil orchids. She flashed three fingers to the approaching barmaid.

"This sparrow," Alois said once the girl was gone, tugging down his scarf. "Can you trust him?"

"He doesn't answer to Enzo. Barely to me."

"Then who's he answer to?"

"Lapide," Isabella said. "And yes. We can trust him."

She surveyed the room and drew a breath. "Luca loved places like this," she muttered. "He'd come down to these docks as much as he could to listen to salt grannies spin tales of the high seas, gawk at anything and everything. If it was strange, or monstrous, he loved it. Sometimes I think he'd have been happier as a fisherman."

Alois' heart twisted. "My little brother's just the same."

"Prince Marin?"

Thinking of him was difficult. Alois dug his thumbnail into the table. "And what about you?"

Her mouth thinned. "I always preferred order. Swords in racks, all things in their right place. My mother trained me well."

Their drinks arrived in handleless earthenware cups. Isabella didn't touch hers, but Alois sipped at the strong stuff; he needed all the courage he could get. He glanced up as a group entered the cantina, then froze, cup poised at his mouth.

"Isabella," he whispered.

She looked and tensed as the trio of city guards, laughing, joking, off-duty and uniforms unruly, settled at the table alongside theirs. Alois ducked his head; Isabella tugged her hood lower over her eyes, one hand slipping beneath the table. Alois didn't need to look to know she was reaching for her stiletto.

"Hey. You there."

Alois flinched as one of them tugged at his scarf. He half-turned. Elias watched him, eyes huge in his thin face.

"Gio here wagers he's the king of catsbones," the guard said, hooking a thumb at one of his comrades. "I say he's a gull-brained fool who any old ork-butcher can trounce. What do you say? Want to take me up on an honest bet?"

"He's no good at catsbones," Isabella said, her voice hard.

"Oh, come on, just one game. What's the matter? You scared?"

"We have to go." Isabella made as if to rise.

"Late for the...fish," Alois cut in, lamely.

"Wait." The guard straightened, his grin flickering. His comrades did, too. "There's something familiar about you. I seen you before?"

Isabella stood. "We're going. Now."

The guard caught her arm just below the elbow. "Not before you take off the hood-"

Isabella's stiletto gleamed as she flicked it from its sheath and pressed it to the guard's underarm. Her eyes burned. "You want it that badly, do you?"

The guard's breathing caught. "Triune," he said. "You're-"

Alois heard a hiss. The guard's eyes sprang wide, then slid out of focus. He slumped, all at once, over the table; his head struck wood with a smack, and he sprawled, out cold.

A man stood behind him, slight, shadowy, clad in scarf and tricorn and oilskin half-cape.

The guard's companions stumbled from their chairs. The stranger lifted his hand. A needle-thin knife glinted between his fingers.

"Looks like your friend's had too much to drink," he said. "Wouldn't want to cut your fine night short like he has, would you?"

He turned to Isabella and inclined his head. "Follow me."

The stranger led them from the cantina, down steps and under bridges, winding through narrow alleys and along canals until they reached the back stoop of a warehouse, stained whitebrick and rotting old barrels, the smell of fish strong enough to make Alois's eyes water. The stranger pulled off his mask and tricorn and shook out his rumpled black hair. His face beneath the mask was pointed, foxish, his olive skin latticed with healing cuts.

"Highness," he said.

"Ren," Isabella said, clasping his hands.

"Apologies for the scene back there. I figured a jab of adderhasp to the neck would expedite the situation faster than alternative solutions."

"And I'm grateful for it." She turned to Alois and Elias. "This is Renard Irio. The Sparrow."

Alois knew the title. This was the man who'd gathered Estara's secrets for so many years, had flown them across Bellana's Arm, had whispered intelligence in Sofia Valere's ear that had put countless Estaran soldiers in their graves. Alois's mouth was dry, but Ren simply gave him a polite nod, dark eyes lingering on his face.

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said after a pause. "I wasn't the only one to grieve at the news of her death."

"You weren't," Isabella agreed. "I assume, then, you don't share the common belief that I murdered her."

"Did you?" Ren asked. "Murder her?"

Isabella's hands tightened on his. "No."

"Then I don't believe you did."

"Thank you, Ren." She drew a slow breath. "I need your talents."

His eyes flicked to Alois again. "I should say so, if you have the heir to Estara with you."

"You slipped me the sunlight commands, I assume?"

"I'm sorry it couldn't have been a knife."

"There isn't much time, Ren, so let me be blunt," Isabella said. "We need to get across Bellana's Arm, through the Estaran naval blockade, and into Pavaloir. And fast."

Ren arched his eyebrows. "That's all? You wouldn't like a private audience with Queen Valeria along with that?"

"No," Isabella said crisply. "I don't know how much you've heard, and I don't have the time to explain. All I ask is for this, and for you to trust me."

"You intend to flee Lapide, on the heels of your accusations?"

"We intend to save Lapide," Alois said. Both Ren and Isabella turned to face him. "And Estara. I intend to warn my father of a threat the likes of which he will have little defense against. I intend to heal this break between your country and mine for good."

He set his jaw. "And that's all."

A smile ghosted over Ren's face. He sighed, stretching. "You ask for the luck of legends."

Alois swallowed past the knot in his throat. "Can you give me such luck?"

"Only the gods and the Great Leviathan can grant miracles, Highness," Ren said. "But it takes mortals like us to be bold enough to try. Follow me."

#togl #tales of the great leviathan #original fiction #fantasy fiction #serial novel #chapter 31

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nirahsaooc · 1 year

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Diablo IV Speculation

After viewing the release date trailer that came out the other day I’ve been mulling over possibilities about Inarius and Lilith in the game.

“I am here to kill demons and chew bubblegum, but I ain’t got no mouth to chew bubblegum with.”

Firstly, I don’t think Inarius is going to be a good guy for us in game at all. He and Lilith created Sanctuary and brought on the Nephelam. But Inarius’s main goal in creating Sanctuary was to escape the Eternal Conflict and avoid being discovered by the High Heavens.

The release trailer really gives me the vibe that Inarius is just out for blood and potentially wants to set himself up as the ruler of sanctuary again as he was in the past.

His army has a symbol that emulates the sun, fire, light which makes me think its a rebuilt Cathedral of Light.The faction he created during the Sin War to fight against the Prime Evil’s Triune.

The priestess in the trailer was depicted as essentially a devoted Fanatic(Least in my view). To the point that she is walking barefoot on ground that is burning hot and so devoutly believes that she is protected that she literally starts to kneel and pray in front of the Armored Soldier’s Tower Shields as they start butchering demons with lances before they reach her.

Like this is not behavior that a good Angel like Tyrael would encourage, he’d probably be telling her, “Hey, I appreciate the attitude, but put some shoes on and stand behind the shields not in front of them.

However this does not mean that Lilith is going to secretly end up being a good guy either. As we don’t actually know what her full motives are. We know that she has manipulated Inarius from the start, but does seem like she did fall in love with him at some point like he did with her.

But her motives for creating sanctuary with Inarius was not to permanently escape the Eternal Conflict, as while Inarius tired of the conflict and sought escape. She hated how her father Mephisto and his brothers were leading it, she saw it as pointless as a victory might stand a day, a year, a hundred years but in the end gained ground would be lost as it was essentially a permanent stalemate. She was looking for another way to end the eternal conflict, and we do know that she saw the Nephalem as a means to an end to do just that. So while she did regard them as her children and went on a rampage over the prospect of their destruction. We also know she saw them as tools she could manipulate to her own ends.

-------

So my current theory is both Inarius and Lilith are going to have a Lover’s Quarrel throwing their armies at each other trying to come out on top while wrecking the world even more. And our character along with everyone else on sanctuary is going to be caught in the middle of it and we may end up having to deal with both of them.

Also just to throw it out there, somehow Diablo is going to return and we’re going to have to punch him as well. Because its Diablo 4 and there has not yet been a Diablo game that doesn’t have him in it. Where there is a will there is a way and Diablo has the will. Though this could be a catalyst for Lilith and Inarius to join against him maybe, as if Diablo came back even if its as himself solely and not the singular Prime Evil like in D3, then its unlikely Inarius or Lilith could stand against him by themselves since he is a beefy fellow as one of the three Prime Evils. And we know Lilith hates the prime evils so she wouldn’t really want to side with him willingly.

#Diablo 4 #Speculation #Might be wrong and if I am oh well #The enjoyment from speculation isn't from being right or wrong its just from mulling over the possibilities.

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buggie-hagen · 2 years

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Sermon for Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost (10/2/22)

Primary Text | Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4; 3:17-19

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Dear People of God,

The prophet Habakkuk is truly the prophet of faith. In our lectionary cycle his comet only comes once every three years. Today’s the day. It is a three-chapter little book, earning it the title of a Minor Prophet. Don’t let that word “Minor” mean to you of little importance. In spite of being a few pages long compared to the rest of the Holy Bible, Habakkuk’s quake can be felt tremoring throughout the rest of scripture. What he writes is of great significance to this day, for we live by the very same faith that he lived by. After all, we have the very same God he had. He writes in a time of great turmoil in the land of Judah. His little country is riddled with problems, both from the inside with corruption and from the outside—caught between the warring empires of Egypt and Babylon. He begins his book bringing his complaint to God. He says: O LORD, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? Or cry to you “Violence!” and you will not save? Why do you make me see wrongdoing and look at trouble? Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention arise” (Hab. 1:1-3). Frankly, Habakkuk’s complaint is relatable. We too ask similar questions, at least at one time or another. When will our trouble end? When will our God act? Why do all these bad things happen? All around Habakkuk sees trouble and violence. The people are like fish caught hook-line-and-sinker by the wicked. The prophet Habakkuk turns to God with all that is troubling him.

Turns out, God doesn’t give an answer as for why bad things happen. Instead he says, “Look at the proud! Their spirit is not right in them, but the righteous live by faith” (Hab. 2:4). Instead of snapping a finger and taking all bad things out of this world right now, he gives a promise. God says, “Look, the proud, those who distort justice, those who bring ruin to others, they might think they have it all, but their time will come. As for you, I’ll have you cling to this: My gracious promise to rescue you. Don’t trust your eyes. Turn not to your experience. I make to you my promise that can never fail.” And so our God goes about putting his promise in people, in words, and in things. Namely, his promise that he puts in the word and the sacraments. That is, he puts himself in these things. God is in these things. When it says, “The righteous shall live by faith” it is to say that our life runs not by what we see but by what we hear. The righteous shall live by faith because the risen life of Christ comes to us by faith. Wherever God puts his word we are assured of God’s goodness in spite of all things to the contrary. It is his promise that enables us to wait quietly for all things to pass. When someone speaks God’s word, God puts his word into our ears. That word of God will flower and be more beautiful than all things that will ever be.

And that we have in the sacrament of holy baptism. Dear Reba & Edmund, today is the day of your holy baptism. (I say these following words specifically to you, yet they apply to all who have been baptized in the name of the Triune God.) Here, in baptism, God will give you a little seed. It is called faith. Baptism is not plain water, but water that God puts his word into. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit you will be plunged into this water to your very death. But then, something else will happen. You will be raised from the dead. That is what God uses holy baptism to do. In this way you will be connected to the same death and resurrection of your Lord Jesus Christ. And, when you are connected to your Lord in this sacrament, you have what your Lord gives you: Forgiveness of sin, life everlasting, salvation, hope, joy, and all God’s goodness there is. You shall live by faith. For now this all comes to you in the form of a promise. God’s promise. You will live the rest of your years going through the roller coaster of this world. But take heart, dear ones, for Christ has conquered this world. All its troubles, all its violence, all its darkness cannot take God’s good promise from you. You shall be redeemed from the pit. Take heart, for the promise of baptism will remain with you until you make your dying breath. And then your baptism will be completed. For on the day you die the Lord Jesus Christ will take you under his wing, wipe your tears away, and you shall know peace as it truly is, forever.

I would be remiss if I did not include this last tidbit from the prophet Habakkuk: “Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines; though the produce of the olive tree fails, and the fields yield no food; though the flock is cut off from the fold, and there is no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will exult in the God of my salvation. GOD, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, and makes me tread upon the heights” (Hab. 3:17-19). This is how he ends his little book. It could not be a more beautiful way to teach faith. Habakkuk is indeed the prophet of faith. And I encourage you, all of you, again and again in your life to read this little book, that you may be strengthened to face whatever troubles come before you. The devil, the world, your very flesh may all attack you. God’s word of promise remains true. Your hopes and dreams may be dashed to pieces. God’s word of promise remains true. You may feel helpless and forsaken. God’s word of promise remains true. For God cannot lie. You may never see the fig tree blossom, the olive crop may never come in, the fruit of the vine may never give fruit—yet God’s promise in Jesus Christ to be gracious to you will come about no matter what.

#names changed to protect anonymity

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dfroza · 4 months

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i think there is “value” in words

incalculable value in illuminated truth.

yes, we need Love. we need acceptance. we need affection. we need connection. and we need grace for mistakes and correction, which comes from knowing and believing something.

the Wisdom of our Creator is called the Word of God (through whom the universe was made) which makes Wisdom more valuable that gold, even the purest gold on earth. and gold itself is a sacred metal, and rare. it is of great value, and it stores it. it retains it better than inflationary paper dollars that are manipulated by central banks. having an honest money system (such as based on honest weights and measures that don’t change) certainly would help keep things in check rather than being manipulated by a government that runs on amassing debt.

but we’re all in debt to our sins and we owe the price of a death sentence. yet, it was already paid through sacred Blood, beyond what any amount of gold can purchase. even though the Ark of the Covenant itself is made of the wood of a Tree covered in pure gold, although the earthly Ark and Temple were “copies” or a “mirroring” of the heavenly originals.

and we see the human desire to build another Temple on earth in Jerusalem to offer sacrifices again using the Ark, but then we also see Ezekiel’s documented vision of a different form of Temple that doesn’t mention the Ark but does include specific offerings. the Blood of the Son finished the work of Atonement by the heavenly Ark, yet Ezekiel’s writing points to the restoration of the sons (tribes) of Israel in the land and a Temple used to point to the finished work of the Son (to mirror as a constant daily reminder) which could be done during the thousand-year millennial Kingdom on earth that precedes the grand design of A new heaven and earth. because then, when the new Jerusalem comes to “rest” upon a pure earth, there will be no Temple as a building since the Son and eternal King is the True Temple.

but in the eternal [here, & now] we have the silent and invisible Spirit (of holiness) with us on earth forming the Body of our heavenly King, for those who allow the entrance as an internal baptism (rebirth) of the human heart and spirit to become the Spirit’s Temple and to be known as a child of our Father in Heaven who is on a majestic Throne (just as a glorious mountain before our eyes, yet in such brightness of Light that we cannot see His Face)

but we do see the Face of God in the Son (Yeshua) who perfectly “mirrors” our Father as the exact image of His glory shared in Triune form

And we see the beautiful mystery being “unveiled” in the significance of a spiritual marriage of A new Adam & Eve with Christ (Messiah) and His Church Body (and Bride) who will rule as One in heart & mind (A pure King and Queen)

which points to the earthly significance of the marriage covenant shared between husband & wife, in the lifelong bond made between a (man & woman) when kept (guarded) in faithfulness. for we do share in a certain form of spiritual intimacy with the Lord (a closeness in the presence of Love since God is Love itself), yet of course this is not a sexual form of intimacy. but God did form the human body, in male and female, even blessing marriage with sexual intimacy that is shared as a guarded secret. our eyes are not meant for sexual images outside of this, of a spouse, nor are our bodies meant to be sexual with another when it is outside the marital bond.

surely, sex is the path to bearing children but it is also a form of human intimacy given to the marriage relationship. virginity is also a guarded “secret” to be shared with a spouse, for those who can keep it.

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gtunesmiff · 11 months

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We Need People

Life is complicated.

We learn early on that our time on this earth will be full of joy and sorrow, ups and downs, mountaintop views, and valleys filled with shadows.

There are many uncertainties in life, and God did not intend for us to face them all alone.

He gives us the gift of people and invites us into a relational way of living. He does this because it mirrors the relational dynamics of His triune nature: Father, Son, Holy Spirit- three persons, yet one God.

From the beginning, community was a part of God’s nature and design for mankind.

That is why the Scripture commonly refers to those who believe in God as a people.

“For you are a people holy to the Lord your God. The Lord, your God, has chosen you to be a people for his treasured possession, out of all the peoples who are on the face of the earth.” – Deuteronomy 7:6

God didn’t have to do it this way.

He could have singled out one man or woman, but instead, He chose a group of people.

There is something about communal living and connection that God knows we need.

If we are to reflect His glory to the world, live a holy life, and finish the race that He’s marked out for us to run, we must link arms with others.

There have been times in my life that I have felt it’s all up to me.

In years past, I thought I had to be the hero, and if I involved anyone else, it showed weakness.

This way of living left me isolated, alone, and vulnerable to the enemy’s attack.

But when I reached out past myself and let others in, I found a strength I didn’t have before.

When I was weak, I could lean on my brothers for support and strength.

When my brothers were weak, they could rely on me for support and strength.

Through this community, we call one another up to the truth of who we are in Christ.

That is why the Scripture says:

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.” – Proverbs 17:17

“As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” – Proverbs 27:17

“For just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.” – Romans 12:4-5

God has given us the gift of community to help us through times of trial but also to help us grow into the men and women that He made us to be.

You don’t need to attempt to be the hero because the truth is, none of us can do this alone.

We need people.

~ Kristian Stanfill || Make It Out Alive

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yhwhrulz · 1 year

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Morning and Evening with A.W. Tozer Devotional for May 18

Tozer in the Morning Being Still in God's Presence

In coming to God we should place ourselves in His presence with the confidence that He is the aggressor, not we. He has been waiting to manifest Himself to us till such time as our noise and activity have subsided enough for Him to make Himself heard and felt by us. Then we should focus our soul?s powers of attention upon the Triune Godhead. Whether One Person or Another claims our present interest is not important. We can trust the Spirit to bring before our minds the Person that we at the moment need most to behold. One thing more. Do not try to imagine God, or you will have an imaginary God; and certainly do not, as some have done, ?set a chair for Him.? God is Spirit. He dwells in your heart, not your house. Brood on the Scriptures and let faith show you God as He is revealed there. Nothing else can equal this glorious sight.

Tozer in the Evening The Power of Godly Living

The most effective argument for Christianity is still the good lives of those who profess it. A company of pure-living and cheerful Christians in the community is a stronger proof that Christ is risen than any learned treatise could ever be. And a further advantage is that, while the average person could not be hired to read a theological work, no one can evade the practical argument presented by the presence of holy men and women. To the sons and daughters of this tense and highly mechanized age a holy life may seem unpardonably dull and altogether lacking in interest, but among all the fancy, interest-catching toys of the world a holy life stands apart as the only thing slated to endure. The stars make no noise, says the Italian proverb; yet they have outlived all man's civilizations and in their unassuming silence have shone on through the centuries, preaching their simple doctrine of God and enduring things. Francis of Assisi composed some sublime hymns and preached some quaint sermons, but for none of these is he known and by none of these has he captured the moral imagination of mankind. The utter purity of his life it is which has won him a lasting place in the hearts of every seeker after God.

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itsyourchoicedevotionals · 1 year

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Prone To Being Negative

“By the word of the Lord the heavens were made, and by the breath of his mouth all their host.” Psalm 33:6ESV

God, ‘Star Breather,’ because “the breath of His mouth” created stars. Imagine, He ‘said.’ Man is still finding new galaxies that suddenly appeared where nothing was before. Had He said ‘stars stop’ at some point, galaxy creation would’ve stopped.

In Eden, God made man in the image of Himself, as Triune— three parts— spirit, soul, body. Then Yahweh gave Adam two jobs, name the animals, tend to the plants in the garden with his words. Science has discovered plants respond to tones.

With sin entering the picture, words became perverted. Rather than speaking uplifting words, man’s words became harmful. The prophet Isaiah realized the depravity of words, when he wrote, chapter 6:5ESV— “…“It’s all over! I am doomed, for I am a sinful man. I have filthy lips, and I live among a people with filthy lips. Yet I have seen the King, the LORD of Heaven’s Armies.”

Lou has a habit of thinking out loud— not a good thing. Much trouble tumbles out of his mouth. The latest is concern over his passport. We filled everything out for our renewals in February. Lou began saying, ‘you just watch and see, I’ll not be able to go see Mom, (end of June), because they’ll not get my passport back to me.’ Six weeks later, my passport arrived. Another two weeks and Lou got a letter saying he needed a different picture. Lou angrily reiterated his negative statements. The post office can’t tell us, IF his new picture, sent ‘certified mail,’ was delivered or not, (a month after date of post). Try to speak to a human at the state department— meanwhile the clock is ticking.

Why is the human mouth prone to speaking negatively? Is it the sin nature which hasn’t died completely? Consider the Israelites in the wilderness. They complained about the food, about the lack of meat, spices, and water. After seeing mighty miracles— the Red Sea opened up, having dry ground to walk across— no sick Israelites— all the wealth of Egypt in their coffers— there wasn’t gratitude or contentment—just gripe, grumble and complain. In the time of Malachi, they still spoke negatively— God charged them in chapter3:13ESV “Your words have been harsh against Me,” Says the LORD, “Yet you say, ‘What have we spoken against You?’”

Are you beginning to comprehend why Jesus said— Mathew 12:36-37ESV “I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak, for by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned?”

King David figured out the secret of being positive— “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer” Psalm 19:4ESV. Throughout Psalms, David’s words honored God. Study this out at length. We find David —a warrior— never killed in battle— died of natural causes at a ripe old age— unheard of for a warrior. He guarded his words as seriously as his life.

Solomon wrote Proverbs, which man broke down into 915 verses. I did a personal study, finding 278 verses, almost one-third of Proverbs, dealing with the spoken word. Chapter16:24ESV “Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, Sweetness to the soul and health to the bones.” Little wonder, science is now discovering— speaking positively brings good mental and physical health.

Being made in God’s image says what we speak creates something. You might not be able to create stars, but are you creating good things, or trouble? It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: LORD God I’m just beginning to understand how important the written and spoken word is. Please help what’s written here to begin chipping away the walls satan has built around the truth, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

#Jesus Christ #lord of lords #word of god #Holy Spirit #God #it's your choice #devotionals #prone #negative #spoken #miracles #gratitude #wealth #positive #sin nature #love #hope #faith

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yarnreader · 1 year

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Podcasts and Blogs. (8/22/14)

So if you were someone who knows me in person (or read a few posts of mine about a year or two ago), you would know that I listen to quite a few podcasts. And by a few I mean a lot. If you don't know what podcasts are, they are audio/video "talk shows". At least that's how I would describe them. I listen to knitting podcasts (shocker!), but I also listen to some book theme, news, photography, film, cooking, and pop culture ones. Now note that I listen to a lot of podcast and I like to listen to the older episodes if they are in my iTunes or if I can find them, which means I'm not caught up with most of them yet. But the ones I am caught up with I'll tell you about them (if they have a description on iTunes, I'll post what they say), give you a brief review, and let you know if they're still updating their feeds.

Podcasts that I recommend

Start Cooking- This podcast is short 5 minutes or more video showing you how to make certain recipes and new tips and tricks. I really like how the women explains each step clearly and she tells you some things you can replace other foods with. I'm not sure if this feed is up to date, I haven't gotten a new episode from this one in a while and I might have to go to the iTunes store page to update it my self.

Film Riot- "Film Riot is a how-to trip through filmmaking from the hyper-active mind of Ryan Connolly. From how to make great effects to following Triune Films through production, Film Riot explores the art of filmmaking in a way you've never seen."They have two episodes a week one on Mondays; where they answer questions and recommend a short video, and one on Thrusdays; where they review a new product/show how they do a certain effect/talk about a new short film they released. This is one that I make sure that I'm getting all the new episodes. The host and the camera man make the show very entertaining and interesting. Even though I don't do anything with film making I still find everything interesting. If you want to know more about this podcast, they are on iTunes and Youtube. They also have a Twitter account.

CaffeinatedKnitting- "Talk about knitting, spinning and crochet." The hostess is from TN, which was one reason why I checked her out, but I really enjoy her show. I'm always interested in what she talks about and love everything she makes. WARNING: She is an enableer, big time. Every time she shows some new yarn or fiber I get a major case of grabby hands. She updates as much as she can, to know when there is a new episode join her Raverly group and/or blog. Also follow here on Twitter.

The Knitting Den- "A weekly podcast about knitting, spinning and lots of girl chatter." Another lovely hostess, she also is really interesting and a big enabler. She sews project bags and creates some beautiful stitch markers, and she has an esty shop where she sells them. To contact her, join her Raverly group and her Youtube channel.

A Night Bird- "A video podcast about kntting, crafting and homemaking through the seasons." This is a monthly podcast based in Germany. The hostess talks about what has happened with her crafty wise in the past month.(Knitting, sewing, etc.) She is such a lovely lady, part of me wishes she would podcast more then just monthly, but hey people have their own lives it can't be about knitting all the time. To contact her, join her Ravelry group and check out her blog.

KnitBritish- "Sharing woolly notions!" This too is a monthly podcast by Louise Scollay, who obviously is British. She's been knitting with only local British wool and she talks about how she does it in her podcast. To contact her, join her Ravelry group and check out her blog.

Knitting Butterflies- "Join me for my adventures in knitting, crochet, spinning, photography, and of course, parenting." The is a some what new podcast. I enjoy hearing about the hostess's projects and other adventures, and hearing her photography tips. To contact her: join her Ravelry group, follow her on Instagram, and her blog.

SkeinAfterSkein- "Yarn! GIMME YARN! NOW! YARN! YARN! YARN! GIMME! NOW!" This podcast was really fun to listen to, but there hasn't been a new episode in a few months. Just two friends talking about all their projects from knitting, crochet, and sewing. To contact them: join their Ravelry group and/or their blog.

This American Life-"Official free, weekly podcast of the award-winning radio show 'This American Life.' First-person stories and short fiction pieces that are touching, funny, and surprising. Hosted by Ira Glass, from WBEZ Chicago Public Media, and distributed by Public Radio International. In mp3 and updated Mondays." Well, the iTunes description pretty much sums up everything. The short stories they tell are really entertaining and fascinating. If you enjoying hearing people tell their stories then you will enjoy this podcast. You can find this on iTunes.

A Homespun House- "Homespun knitting podcast is hosted by your friend Molly. Stop by every Thursday for chatter, knit-a-longs, project sharing, questions, and your own personal enjoyment !!!!" Molly is an american living in Germany and she is super sweet. I really enjoy hearing about her love of knitting and making handmade things. To contact her, join her Ravelry group and/or check out her blog. To watch this podcast find it on iTunes or Youtube.

NPR: Snap Judgment Podcast- "Snap Judgment is the smoking-hot new show from NPR. Winner of the Public Radio Talent Quest, Gylnn Washington delivers a raw, musical brand of storytelling, daring listeners to see the world through the eyes of another." Also another descirption that pretty much tells you everything about the podcast. Again if you love storytelling, then this podcast is for you. You can find it on iTunes.

Books on the Nightstand-"A conversational podcast about books, from two longtime veterans of the publishing industry. If you love to read, this podcast is for you. Listen in to hear what's new, what's great, and the books we just can't stop talking about." This is one of my favorite podcasts, it definitely is my favorite book podcast. I highly suggest you to check them out. To contact them: join their Goodreads group, their website, and follow them on Twitter.

NPR Programs" Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me! Podcast- "NPR's weekly current events quiz. Have a laugh and yest your news knowledge while figuring out what's real and what we've made up." This is pretty much my favorite news podcasts. It's super funny, I love it. You can find it on iTunes.

Yarncraft- "Join us for a knitting and crochet talk show, brought to you by Lion Brand Yarn Company. Featuring persona stories, pattern recommendations, and interviews with industry insiders including expert teachers, designers, and artists. Stop by twice a month for new content. Find show notes at http://yarncraft.lionbrand.com!" This was a really nice podcast about the Lion Brand Company, but they no longer release new episodes. If you want to listen to the older episodes find this podcast on iTunes.

NPR: Books Podcast- "NPR book reviews, news and author interviews -- for people who love to read. The best of Morning Edition, All Things Considered and other award-winning NPR programs." This is my second favorite book podcast. It's shorter then Books on the Nightstand but you still get a lot of information. You can find this podcast on iTunes.

CRAFTCAST- "On Craftcast.com, host Alison Lee takes you through the world of Crafting, from interviews, product reviews, and do it yourself tutorials. Craftcast.com is the only podcast where you can listen, learn, and create!" I've learned about a lot of other crafts from this podcast over the years. She hasn't posted a new episode in a while but she does every once in a while. You can find this podcast on iTunes.

Stash and Burn- "Nicole and Jenny, two San Francisco knitters, talk about yarn, books, patterns, blogs, and ways to deal with life under the weight of the stash. Jenny has been knitting since 2005 and Nicole's had work on the needles since 2002. Join the duo as they get together each week to talk about the subject that consumes them." I really like this podcast, it was one of the first knitting podcasts I had listened to. They don't podcast as much as they just to but when they do I really enjoy everything they say. To contact them: join their Ravelry group.

Drum Corps International Field Pass- "Drum Corps International (DCI) is the world leader in producing events for the world's most elite and exclusive marching ensembles for student musicians and performers. Field Pass presented by Zildjian is Drum Corps International's official podcast featuring award-winning host Dan Potter. With fresh episodes available daily throughout the summer on iTunes and DCI.org, Field Pass gives you an inside look at Marching Music's Major League; from the parking lot, to the stadium tunnel to the 50-yard line!" Of course I would listen to this. I've listened to this since I found it my 10th year in high school. Being in Marching band I loved this and still love it. It makes me miss band more and more I listen to it. To find this podcast, follow the links in the description above.

Knit Picks' Podcast- "Kelley Petkun, owner of Knit Picks, carries on a one-side conversation as she ponders the joys, challenges and rewards of complete immersion in today's fiber community. Find camaraderie and understanding as Knit Picks employees confess to their own knitting triumphs and complete blunders. Does any of this sound fimiliar? If so, tune in weekly for the further adventures of the gang at Knit Picks and any other knitter we can round up." This is like Yarncraft. Kelley no longer hosts but the employees try to release a podcast when they can. You can find this podcast on iTunes.

Alohomora!-"Alohomora! is an interactive and creative collaborative project between fans world wide and MuggleNet staff. Join us as we re-read the entire series, spin wild theories, and share content all influenced by our love of Harry Potter." I love Harry Potter, so I really love this podcast. They are currently on book five. If you want to join the re-read find this podcast on iTunes and follow them on Twitter.

Stuff You Missed in History Class- "What's the story of Andrew's Raid, also known as the Great Locomotive Chase? Join Holly and Tracy as they bring you the greatest and strangest Stuff You Missed In History Class in this podcast by HowStuffWorks.com." The title is pretty much what you would expect for the podcast. If you want to heard about something you may have not known about something, then give the podcast a listen. You can find this podcast on iTunes.

Since this is already a pretty long list I'm going to stop here for right now. Look for the next list soon and if you decided to check any of these podcasts out, let them know where you heard about them from.

Happy Listening!Sam<3

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