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rainystarters · 10 months

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* ☔ : action prompts inspired by GOTHIC HORROR, DARK ACADEMIA, ETC. some prompts are usfw. add reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. ( adjust scenarios or specify details as needed. )

𝟶𝟷. sender sets a church on fire with the receiver still inside. 𝟶𝟸. sender presses a holy symbol into the receiver's flesh, burning them. 𝟶𝟹. sender declares themselves god to the receiver. 𝟶𝟺. sender begs the receiver for a blessing/prayer before night falls. 𝟶𝟻. sender licks their lips and tells the receiver to confess their sins. 𝟶𝟼. sender takes refuge from a storm with the receiver in an abandoned church. 𝟶𝟽. sender snarls at the receiver, unable to cross the threshold/onto holy ground. 𝟶𝟾. sender laughs, breaking a seal, ward, etc. set by the receiver to keep them out. 𝟶𝟿. sender recites a prayer with the receiver as the shadows darken and writhe. 𝟷𝟶. sender burns the receiver's holy oath away as they pledge themselves to the sender instead.

𝟷𝟷. sender practices calligraphy on the receiver's skin. 𝟷𝟸. sender refuses to speak with the receiver unless it's in a dead language. 𝟷𝟹. sender taps on the windowpane of a café from outside, alerting the receiver. 𝟷𝟺. sender leans over the receiver's writing and makes a noise of disagreement. 𝟷𝟻. sender intimately washes ink from the receiver's hands. 𝟷𝟼. sender worries over the receiver, who has not slept in days. 𝟷𝟽. sender hands the receiver coffee, having learned their favorite without asking. 𝟷𝟾. sender presses the receiver against a bookshelf, needing them now. 𝟷𝟿. sender kisses the receiver in a museum after it's closed. 𝟸𝟶. sender breathes on the receiver's neck as they pick a lock to the secret archives.

𝟸𝟷. sender bites into the receiver's (neck, thigh, etc.) and drinks their blood. 𝟸𝟸. sender's experiment succeeds and brings the receiver back to life. 𝟸𝟹. sender makes an offering at a crossroads to summon the receiver for a deal. 𝟸𝟺. sender digs themselves out from their grave as the receiver reacts in horror. 𝟸𝟻. sender kisses the receiver for a final time, in case their experiment goes wrong. 𝟸𝟼. sender confesses to the receiver that they've promised their firstborn in a deal. 𝟸𝟽. sender cuts their palm and the receiver's to swear a blood oath. 𝟸𝟾. sender forces the receiver to drink their latest alchemical creation. 𝟸𝟿. sender wakes up confused, having been turned into a vampire by the receiver. 𝟹𝟶. sender signs away their soul to the receiver in exchange for a boon.

𝟹𝟷. sender acts out an ancient ritual, with the receiver standing in as the sacrifice. 𝟹𝟸. sender burns the only copy of the receiver's thesis, book, etc. 𝟹𝟹. sender pours wine into the receiver's mouth as the bacchic party grows louder. 𝟹𝟺. sender confesses to the receiver that their parents have cut them off. 𝟹𝟻. sender and receiver try to wash the blood away, but the stain keeps growing. 𝟹𝟼. sender slips their hand under the receiver's clothes in the dark of the opera box. 𝟹𝟽. sender aims an arrow at the receiver and promises they won't hit them. 𝟹𝟾. sender complains to the receiver that a funeral will distract them from studying. 𝟹𝟿. sender dismisses the receiver's concerns that the summoning ritual may work. 𝟺𝟶. sender screams for help as the receiver begins to go mad from reciting the esoteric chant they discovered in a forgotten book.

𝟺𝟷. sender screams at the sight of the receiver's true face/form. 𝟺𝟸. sender offers to hide the receiver as the mob's torches grow nearer. 𝟺𝟹. sender is mesmerized by the receiver and goes to them despite all warnings. 𝟺𝟺. sender is stone-faced as the receiver cries that their lover is no monster. 𝟺𝟻. sender sharpens their blade as the receiver watches in horror. 𝟺𝟼. sender weeps as the receiver tells them they're leaving for the sender's good. 𝟺𝟽. sender proposes to the receiver to provide an alibi for the receiver's pregnancy, even though the child is not theirs. 𝟺𝟾. sender holds the receiver in their arms, the monster now dead. 𝟺𝟿. sender promises not to forget the receiver as they share a final night together. 𝟻𝟶. sender visits the receiver in dreams as they are separated by class, circumstance, etc. in waking life.

𝟻𝟷. sender calls out to the receiver from a distance, their voice echoing in the mist. 𝟻𝟸. sender covers the receiver's mouth as their stalker draws nearer. 𝟻𝟹. sender tells the receiver not to open their eyes until they've escaped the house. 𝟻𝟺. sender kisses the receiver passionately in the middle of a graveyard. 𝟻𝟻. sender tries to light a candle to comfort the receiver, but the flame turns black. 𝟻𝟼. sender locks all the windows and doors, promising the receiver they'll be safe. 𝟻𝟽. sender takes off their jacket and puts it around the receiver's shoulders. 𝟻𝟾. sender reaches out for the receiver's hand in the dark. 𝟻𝟿. sender finds the receiver abandoned for dead. 𝟼𝟶. sender grows confused as they cannot see the will-o'-the-wisps the receiver has begun to follow into the night.

𝟼𝟷. sender's laughter echoes through the halls as they stalk the receiver. 𝟼𝟸. sender lavishes praise upon the receiver's beauty, enraptured by the fresh blood seeping through the receiver's white dress, shirt, etc. 𝟼𝟹. sender catches the receiver snooping and tells them they've been bad. 𝟼𝟺. sender slumps to the floor, realizing the receiver has poisoned them. 𝟼𝟻. sender blindfolds the receiver, promising it's for their own good. 𝟼𝟼. sender locks the receiver in the attic, promising it's for their own good. 𝟼𝟽. sender sings a haunting lullaby to the receiver from the walls. 𝟼𝟾. sender looks in a mirror, unaware the receiver is watching from the other side. 𝟼𝟿. sender sighs, realizing the receiver has found the painting of their former lover—who is identical to the receiver. 𝟽𝟶. sender asks the receiver to swear upon their life that they will not enter the sender's private study, no matter what they hear inside.

#rp memes #rp prompts #action rp memes #rp starters #please don't read or reblog if gothic horror upsets you

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beatingdrumspouringwine · 4 months

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Dionysian Khernips Prayer

I'm popping in two prayers ahead of my Lenaia prep tonight: this one is a blessing of water to make khernips, and specifically asks Dionysos to bless the water. I don't believe khernips are necessary, but for me, it helps to get my mind into a state in which I feel prepared to worship :) The setup isn't super complicated: just a bowl, some water, optionally some salt, and a willingness to pray

[preferably done after a primary invocatory prayer to Dionysos, such as the Orphic Hymn to Dionysos]

Dionysos Hagios, pure and holy God, God who raised Semele from below to become Thyone, God who raised Ampelos to become His very blood, God who raised mortal Ariadne to become the immortal Bacchic Queen, I pray with this water I may briefly be raised as well.

Dionysos Iatros, healing God, May this water be clean like the tears You shed over those You love, May it be clean like clear springs on Your holy mountains, May it be clean like the showers that bring life to Your sacred plants, So that through it I may be cleansed and healed.

Dionysos Lysios, God who frees, Bless this water so it may wash away my aches and pains, Bless this water to imbue it with blessed divinity, Bless this water, and bless everything it touches. Evohe, my God, I praise You for what You have blessed!

#dionysos #dionysian #dionysus #hellenic polytheism #hellenic polytheist #hellenic pagan #hellenism #hellenic gods #dionysos deity #dionysus deity

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coinandcandle · 1 year

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Dionysus Deity Guide

Content warning: Dionysus is linked heavily with sexuality and sexual themes will be prevalent throughout this post.

Who is Dionysus?

Also spelled “Dionysos”, he is the Greek god of wine, ecstasy, and theatre to name a few of his areas of expertise. He was later adopted by the Romans who referred to him as Bacchus. Dionysus was known as being “twice born” due to the story of his birth(s).

The story of Dionysus’ birth is a tragedy, beginning his life with his mother’s death. The story goes that Hera caught wind of Semele’s pregnancy with Zeus’ child and convinced her to ask Zeus to show her his true godly form in order to prove that he really was Zeus. This true form was too much for a mortal to handle and Semele was consumed by fire—or the heat Zeus’ lightning bolts. Not wanting his child to die with her, Zeus sewed Dionysus into his own thigh (thought to mean his testicles).

Parents and Siblings

Zeus (Father)

Semele (Mother)

Demeter (Mother, at times)

Persephone (Mother in Orphic mythos)

Siblings

Aeacus

Angelos

Apollo

Ares

Artemis

Athena

Eileithyia

Enyo

Eris

Ersa

Hebe

Helen of Troy

Hephaestus

Heracles

Hermes

Minos

Pandia

Persephone

Perseus

Rhadamanthus

Tantalus

the Graces

the Horae

the Litae

the Muses

the Moirai

Lovers or Partners

Ariadne (Wife/Consort)

Aphrodite

Aura

Beroe

Cronois

Nicaea

Althaea

Erigone

Pellene

Physcoa

Ampelus

Polymnus or Hyplipnus

Children

HYMENAIOS/Hymenaeus (Son)

IAKKHOS (Iacchus) (Son)

METHE (Daughter)

PASITHEA (Daughter)

PRIAPOS/Priapus (Son)

SABAZIOS/Sabazius (Son)

TELETE (Daughter)

THYSA (Daughter)

DEIANEIRA (Daughter)

EURYMEDON (Son)

KERAMOS/Ceramus (Son)

NARKAIOS/Narcaeus (Son)

OINOPION/Oenopion (Son)

PEPARETHOS/Peparethus (Son)

PHANOS (Son)

PHLIASOS or PHLIAS (Son)

STAPHYLOS/Staphylus (Son)

THOAS

Epithets

Note: Dionysus has many epithets and to create a list of all of them would make this post WAY too long so I’ve added as many as I could while retaining a good length for the post. :,>

Dionysus Eleutherios ("the liberator")

Acratophorus, Ἀκρατοφόρος ("giver of unmixed wine"), at Phigaleia in Arcadia

Acroreites at Sicyon

Androgynos Ἀνδρόγυνος (androgynous, specifically in intercourse) referring to the god taking both an active male and a passive female role.

Bassareus, Βασσαρεύς a Thracian name for Dionysus, which derives from bassaris or "fox-skin", which item was worn by his cultists in their mysteries.

Braetes, Βραίτης ("related to beer") at Thrace

Cistophorus Κιστοφόρος ("basket-bearer, ivy-bearer"), Alludes To baskets being sacred to the god.

Dimetor Διμήτωρ ("twice-born") Refers to Dionysus's two births.

Dendrites Δενδρίτης ("he of the trees"), as a fertility god.

Enorches ("with balls"), with reference to his fertility, or "in the testicles" in reference to Zeus' sewing the baby Dionysus "into his thigh", understood to mean his testicles). Used in Samos and Lesbos.

Iacchus, Ἴακχος a possible epithet of Dionysus, associated with the Eleusinian Mysteries. In Eleusis, he is known as a son of Zeus and Demeter. The name "Iacchus" may come from the Ιακχος (Iakchos), a hymn sung in honor of Dionysus.

Lenaius, Ληναῖος ("god of the wine-press")

Phleus ("related to the bloοm of a plant").

Pseudanor Ψευδάνωρ (literally "false man", referring to his feminine qualities), in Macedonia.

Tauros, Ταῦρος ("a bull"), occurs as a surname of Dionysus.

(Wiki)

Notes

Dionysus may have been worshipped as early as c. 1500–1100 BC by Mycenaean Greeks.

After birth Dionysus was said to have been sent to be cared for by Nymphs at Mount Nysa, the identities of these Nymphs varies by source.

His wife, Ariadne, was abandoned by Theseus on the island of Naxos. In some myths she is slain and/or ascends to immortality to live with her husband on Mt. Olympus.

Once he was an adult, Dionysus traveled to the underworld to bring his mother back with him to Olympus where it’s said that Zeus then turned her into the goddess Thyone—Goddess of the Bacchic frenzy that his female followers experience.

Dionysus is regularly found with groups of satyrs and maenads.

Another name the Greeks had for Dionysus was Bacchus, this was the name the Romans would later adopt for the god. Bacchus means “the noisy or riotous god”, fitting for this buck-wild deity! (Said with affection, of course.)

Along with wine, ecstasy, and theatre, Dionysus was known as a god of vegetation, madness, and frenzy along with quite a few other specializations.

Once a group of pirates kidnapped Dionysus who planned to sell him as a slave (or other unsavory things, depending on the myth); he overran their boat with creeping vines and beasts, and caused the men to go insane, then turned them into dolphins as they jumped overboard.

Dionysus has been depicted in many ways over time but two prevalent depictions are either him as an androgynous youth or an old, bearded man.

Apparently Dionysus hates owls; rather he hates the “sight of an owl” (Theoi)

As Bacchus he was commonly depicted as having ram or bull horns.

Dionysus had many cults throughout the ancient world including not just Greece, but in Scythia, Eastern Europe, Libya, North Africa and Gaul, Southern France as well.

Modern Deity Work

Correspondences

These are not all historically accurate. Anything that has a background in ancient tradition will be marked with a (T).

Rocks/Stone/Crystals

Grape Agate

Amethyst (it was believed that this stone could protect you from drunkenness)

Antimony

Gold

Garnet

Ruby

Herbs/Plants

Pinecone & Pine tree (due to his staff being tipped with a pinecone) (T)

Grapes/grapevines (T)

Ivy (T)

Asphodel (T)

Animals

Leopard or Panther

Tiger

Bull

Serpent

Dolphins (T)

Fawns (his followers were said to wear fawn-skins)

Important Dates

Dionysia

Haloa

Ascolia

Lenaia

Bacchanalia

Offerings

Wine (T)

Objects or imagery of the aforementioned items and animals

Fruit or fruit salad

Honey

Beer

Acts of Devotion

Go buck-wild (half joking here)

Dance

Host festivities

Sing

Attend, write, or act in a play (T)

Sign, create, or recite Hymns to Dionysus (T)

Protect or be an ally for queer, androgynous, and gender non-conforming folks

Dress up in costumes

Make a mask for him (T)

Have sex or solo sex

As the god of comedy he'd also probably enjoy stand-up comedians just sayin

Be yourself!! Dionysus is especially known to love on outcasts.

All in all, how you interact with a deity is up to you, these are simply a few suggestions for you based on my readings!

References and Further Reading

Dionysus - Britannica

Dionysus - Wikipedia

Dionysos - Theoi

The Bacchae - Ancient-Literature

The Masque of Dionysus by Helene P. Foley

The Frogs - Aristophanes (wiki summary, but there are free pdfs of the translated story!)

Misc Myths: Dionysus - Overly Sarcastic Productions

Ecstasy and Possession: The Attraction of the Women to the Cult of Dionysus

Cult of Dionysos - Theoi

#cw: sex mention #Dionysus #Bacchus #Hellenic #hellenic polytheism #deity work #Deity deep dive

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cryptotheism · 2 years

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Hey this might be a weird question but what are some good resources on the beliefs and practices of traditional sex cults? (not the modern "everyone is now my wife and pays me money to do so" ones) I'm playing a devoted member of one in an RPG and I wanna be accurate and respectful about it

Anon, I need you to know that "I want to be respectful to traditional sex cults" is one of the funniest things I've ever been asked.

Thats not a thing. Whatever you're thinking exists here definitely does not exist.

Traditional, home grown, salt of the earth, organically grown sex cult.

You might be thinking of the Bacchic cults?

The idea that literally anyone could ever disrespectfully depict a Bacchic cult.

The idea of a Bacchic cult taking offense at anything ever.

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diaday333 · 2 months

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Hymns/prayers for the Dead

I’ve never really considered reading/ writing hymns for the dead because I guess I never “needed” them, but with the tragic events going on the world right now, multiple gen-c-des and atrocities, I’ve felt moved to write these. Like I said in my last prayer post, keep speaking up, b0yc0tting, and keep praying! You can technically apply these prayers with any dead, but I had the m@rtyrs of Su-dan, Con- go, Ethiopia, and Pale - stine (breaking them up on purpose) in mind, as well as anyone else who have lost their lives due to the terrible events going on in this world and from their oppression. Also, sorry for any spelling or grammar errors.

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We call to Hermes Kαταιβάτης (he who leads souls down to the underworld), guider of souls. Immortal guide, lover of humankind, you take special care of us when we leave this earth, and your involvement shows the Gods’ love of humankind, as there is a God with us every step of the way, even after our deaths. Gracious God, during these times we ask for your grace, and for you to take extra care of the souls that find their way past the river Styx. Everyday now, thousands of people die from acts of cruelty from oppressors emboldened by hubris. We ask you to treat these souls with added care, especially those of children, taken from life too early, while you escort them to the dread queen's home or wherever their final resting place may lie. Charm them with your wand and bless their heavy eyelids, bringing them a peaceful end for their final rest. Oh Lord, guider of mortals, grant a sacred end to those who lived the best they could.

(Greek pronunciation: Kah-teh-vah-tiis(ees))

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To the Savior of the dead and the noble queen herself, we call to you! Dread Persephone and shadowy Hades, though you may not take every soul into your wide walls, you watch over the dead nonetheless, those who wander your fields of flowers. We thank you for your mercy towards our souls, notably of the most restless ones. We ask that they can find joy in the afterlife, especially those who were robbed of it. Not only do you take in these souls, Lovely Persephone, you exact justice on their behalf, with your kindly attendants, or daughters in some ways, the Erinyes, especially during these harrowing times. All we ask is for justice and a peaceful afterlife for the many martyred people of all the atrocities going on. We thank you, Hades and fair-tressed Persephone!

—————————————————————————————————————

“Fear the prayers of the oppressed.” I heard that today and I thought it fit. The Gods are with us and the oppressed during these times 🤲 They hear every prayer and they are outraged as we are. Keep up every action and don’t forget about our fellow humans suffering and don’t stop fighting!! No act of oppression goes past them and they hear everything. It’s been almost a year for Su-Dan, almost 6 months, 160+ days for Pale - stine, and years for Con-go. The Gods count each day and count each person who say and do nothing. I just want add some of my favorite excerpts that get me through these hard times and reminds me that the Gods care (which we already knew, but yknow).

“The gods are not blind to men with blood upon their hands. In the end the black (kelainai) Erinyes bring to obscurity that one who has prospered in unrighteousness and wear down his fortunes by reverse.” - Aeschylus, “Agamemnon”

“Hear, Tisiphone, Allekte, noble Megaira, revered goddesses whose Bacchic cries resound. Nocturnal and clandestine, you live deep down in the dank cave by the sacred water of the Styx. Men's unholy designs do incur your anger; rabid and arrogant, you howl over Necessity's dictates, clothed in animal skins, you cause the deep pains of retribution.” - (First part of) Orphic hymn 69

“Hear me and be gracious, 0 renowned Eumenides, O pure daughters of the great Chthonic Zeus and of lovely Persephone, fair-tressed maiden. Over the lives of impious mortals you keep a careful eye, in charge of Necessity, you punish the unjust.”

(First part of) Orphic hymn 70

“For whoever knows the right and is ready to speak it, far-seeing Zeus gives him prosperity…” - Hesiod “Work and days”

“You princes, mark well this punishment you also; for the deathless gods are near among men and mark all those who oppress their fellows with crooked judgements, and reck not the anger of the gods. For upon the bounteous earth Zeus has thrice ten thousand spirits, watchers of mortal men, and these keep watch on judgements and deeds of wrong as they roam, clothed in mist, all over the earth. And there is virgin Justice, the daughter of Zeus, who is honoured and reverenced among the gods who dwell on Olympus, and whenever anyone hurts her with lying slander, she sits beside her father, Zeus the son of Cronos, and tells him of men's wicked heart, until the people pay for the mad folly of their princes who, evilly minded, pervert judgement and give sentence crookedly.” - Hesiod “Works and Days”

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bacchant-of-dionysus · 1 year

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ABOUT @BACCHANT-OF-DIONYSUS

hi! I’m Dorian, the person who runs this blog. My main account is @neuro-die-virgin so my follows and likes and PMs and asks come from there. I have a patreon linked in my bio where I post exclusive Dionysus related content.

Here’s some basic boundaries and rules of interaction:

Labels I use for myself and what they mean:

Transgender - someone who identifies with a gender other than what they were assigned at birth

FTM - someone transitioning from female to male

Transsexual - another word for transgender but usually applying more to those who seek medical transition to change their sex

Autistic - someone on the autism spectrum

ADHD - someone with attention deficit and/or hyperactivity disorder

Level 2 - a term used by diagnostic professionals to describe an autistic person whose symptom severity and support needs are moderate (as opposed to level 1 or 3, which are low and high, respectively)

Moderate support needs - an autistic person who requires moderate levels of support (generally cannot live alone and needs help with basic tasks like cooking, cleaning and hygiene).

Henotheistic - worshipping one god but believing in the existence of many

Greco-Roman magic - magical practices taken from Ancient Greek and Roman tradition such as gemstone amulets, curse tablets, potions, spells, vocus magae and work with Daemons.

Do not send me asks, talk to me or reblog my posts - thank you:

T*rfs

N*zis and n*zi sympathisers

Folkists

Conservatives

Anyone who likes Ben Shapiro or Matt Walsh

Andrew Tate sympathisers

Anti-feminists

Anti-lgbt folk

LGB who do not include the T

All lives matter sympathisers

Things that will not be tolerated on this blog:

Antisemitism

Anti-Roma racism

General racism

Folkist beliefs

People who invade closed living practices

Coloniser shit

Sexism

Misogyny

Transphobia

Transmisogyny

Queer phobia and homophobia

Pedo apologists

Preaching or attempting to convert to another religion

Toxic love and light rhetoric

Classism

Ableism

Cringe content

Tik tok shit (I’m sick of tik tok)

Sorry for such a long post. It’s just that as this blog gets more popular I thought it was important to lay some ground rules for interaction. Please know I’m a chill person and if you accidentally break a rule I won’t be angry or block you - I’ll just give you a friendly warning. If you have any questions or are confused at all, please send me an ask or a DM. I won’t bite.

Bacchic Blessings and Dionysus be with you!

#hellenic polythiest #dionysus #hellenic pagan #bacchus #witchcraft #witch #paganism #greek gods #helpol #hellenic gods #deity worship #devotional #pagan prayer

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brownshoes · 1 year

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Don't ask me why but rending your son limb from limb in a bacchic frenzy and parading his head around Thebes is very she/her and sacrificing your daughter to Artemis to kick off the Trojan War is very he/him

#euripides #tagamemnon #iphigenia #agave #iphigenia in aulis #the bacchae

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senkothewarlock · 3 months

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DWC #3

@daily-writing-challenge

Day 3: Bargain & Myth

Night had crept over the sky following a busy day weaving around the endless threads of the markets. The lengthy trek from the plains into the big city meant that a stay-over was needed. Loa forbid the notion of walking for several hours into a city, shop and walk all the way back. Far too gruelling for these paws. Within the residential, stoney spires of Valdrakken, resided one of the caravanners from Senko’s caravan.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, dear?” Oonee asked, arm around Senko’s.

“It’s either this, or we pay these extortionate fees. Thirty-five silver per night? They can fu-“ Senko and her profanity were cut off sharply.

The large, draconic-sized door swung open, only catch itself on the several locks that held it tight. Within the crack that had formed, a purple eye twitched and darted around within the lens of the glass. The sounds of dry heaving and fidgeting filled the hallway as the locks slowly begun to loosen. One by one, the chains slid back, and the door widened.

“Ah. Senko. Senko and Oonee. Hi, hello.” The voice replied, more of his ghastly white frame came into view as the door opened.

The Vulpera was wide eyed and erratic. His body was thin as the stick he used to prop himself up. Assorted dust lined across his snout. From what little of the apartment was on view past the resident, it was a dark room. Curtains and fabrics blotted out the windows, swaying only with a gentle breeze that snuck past both the drapes and the door. The vulpera hurried the duo in, glancing up and down the wide hallway.

The room itself was rather pleasant. The ceiling had been decorated with esoteric markings that carried a glow about them in the low lighting. The upholstery was a soft, deep red on wooden frames – wide enough for dragonkin to lounge about. The kitchenette, however, was a mess of wrappers and stains of dark chocolate.

The lovebirds barely had time to take in their surroundings for the night before Vedda, their gracious and bacchic host loomed into frame. His eyes fluttered opened and closed like the lens of a camera, snap, snap, snap! It was a gaze of curiosity. The apartment missed but one thing, rather, one individual. Vedda’s other half, a shaman named Lupo.

“So, Vedda. I-… I like what you’ve done with the ceiling.” Oonee said, offering a warm smile. She dug deep to try and say something nice about the labyrinth of intoxicants before her.

“Thank you! Painted them myself.” Vedda replied, chipper as his gaze no longer bored holes into the duo. “They help with the visitations.” He added.

Vedda was always the cryptic sort. The man was a profound seer, a proud silvercoat within the ranks of the Twin Tail Caravan. Yet he harboured a passenger in life. An entity of the void. Latched onto him like a parasite from their time in Uldum. It would be unfair to blame the eccentricities on this entity, but they certainly didn’t help alleviate them.

“You wish to know where Lupo is, hm?” Vedda asked, cutting his glances between his corporeal visitors. “He will be back soon. I sent him shopping. The chocolates, they ground me between my-“

“Between your highs.” Senko said, finishing the statement without any tact. As the words slipped past her lips, she realised perhaps those weren’t the best words to use. Alas, she could not take them back.

Vedda looked furious. Upset. Wrothful. For the whole of five seconds before a great grin burst onto his lips. “Quite so! We all need our anchors, after all – you know yourself how they can be.”

Senko shuffled awkwardly, a paw brushing her head. She had partaken in the coalescence of the dream that sprinkled across the Dragon Isles, however her state of being at that time was quite embarrassing. To save her from a memory, the door opened. It took the whole of a half-second before Vedda was prepared to cast some eldritch blast before lowering his hands.

“Oh, hi honey.” He greeted the visitor.

Lupo stood awkwardly at the door, realising that he was less than two seconds from having pure shadow blast into his hauberk. His hands wrapped around cheap, tatty bags made from plastic by-products that the goblins churned out. Various different boxes of chocolate stuck out of them.

“Were you really going to shoot me while we had visitors over?” Lupo teased, handing over one of the chocolate bars to his partner before giving a wide hug to the trio.

Some hours had past between the four meeting up. Night had now set across the city. A crudely made sofa bed was given to Senko and Oonee as the two rested on the quilts as Vedda offered his lodgers a drink. A tea that fizzled and crackled with some form of energy. As everyone hunkered down for the night, Vedda gave Senko an uncertain stare before his purple eyes flickered and flashed.

“You know, Senko,” He began to speak, slow, and deliberate with his words. “You remind me of a myth from back home. Of a firestorm that consumed the Sethrak…”

SEVEN YEARS AGO, VOL’DUN

The viceroy hushed his adjutant quickly before hurrying himself and the Skycarver out of the room. He barrelled through the doors and got clear of the guards. A glossy sheen, comparable to sweat, now drenched the brow of the serpent. As his eyes darted past the Skycarver towards the door and the bemused guards, the hissing tone of the schemer grew low.

“You fool! You nearly wasssted our bessst bargaining chip before the pretendersss!” He shouted into the ear of his minion. “Are you certain you have the right name?”

“Posssitive! I even brought a witnessss, from the docksss of the Zandalar!” The Skycarver replied, wrenching himself free of the tightened grasp of his superior. “I would not fail you, Viceroy.” He affirmed.

The viceroy’s fangs birthed a grin of malice. This was his in. The heirs of the empire all voted for themselves, and that kept the imperial throne out of reach. No-one would prostrate themselves to another claimant unless the situation was dire.

“I know I cannot be the only one who lossst ssssomeone in the ruin.” He mused out loud. “Oh. Oh yesss. Poor, darling, Fangcaller Ssssorikth. Lossst her lover. Revenge for allegiance. Walk with me, Ssskycarver.”

The Viceroy tapped the tips of his calculating fingers together, he drummed them against each other as he walked back down the hallway. The guards remained motionless and silent, excluding the eyes. Amber eyes peered from their helms as they watched the Viceroy saunter into the chambers once more. The guards had heard it all, sworn to silence, they could only watch as their new leader walked past.

The duo entered the chamber once again, wordlessly, the Skycarver walked forward to beckon the Fangcaller. Wearily, she followed in kind, refusing to leave the halls whilst the rest bickered amongst themselves. The doors moved slightly as the witness was brought in. The Zandalari was gigantic compared to the Sethrak. His azure robes flowed from hunched body. Wispy, white hair hung from his scalp and a pair of venerable, solid gold tusks hung on his jaw.

“Who issss thisss, Viceroy? And what do you want?” The Fangcaller asked, crossing her arms across the toga.

“A witnesss.” He stated, stepping slightly to the side to allow the frame of the Zandalari to fill the lady’s sight. “He saw the one who butchered our people.”

“Dat be true.” The troll spoke, his voice was low and carried an ethereal bass with it. Like war-drums on the wind.

The Skycarver looked furious, to speak in such a hallowed space without permission was sacrilege, but before he bore his arms into striking, he was calmed by the Viceroy. He wasn’t the emperor yet, but he was sworn to obey his liege’s commands.

“You know who killed my husssband?” Sorkith asked, her eyes grew wide. “Who?! Who’ssss blood sssshall I ssspill?!” She continued, her hushed whispers breaking the silence.

The viceroy raised his hand to order silence, to stop the troll from revealing the bargaining chip.

“Not sssso fassst, madame. We both lossst ssssomeone in thesssee cowardly attacksss… If you want the name, I want ssssomething in return.” He stated, still wearing a twisted grin on his serpentine face.

“You are bargaining for the livesss of countlesssss dead?! Are you sssssick in the hood?” Sorkith asked. Her purple eyes bulged with anger at this indignity. “Do you feel nothing?!” Her temper flared and the lines on her body flashed with lightning.

“Perhapsss I am. But I am alsssso the only one with a lead to our revenge, you know what I want. What any of ussss want.” He said, hands locking behind his back as he leaned in, invading the personal space.

“The Throne.” They said, in unison. The seat of a dying empire, stagnating in legal and lethal disputes.

At first, Sorkith looked reviled. She had lost her husband; he had lost his daughter. Revenge shouldn’t be something to bargain with. But here they were.

“If you think I am jusssst going to break the deadlock without proof, you mussst be inssssane.” She said, glancing at the Zandalari. “… and I trussst that isss why he isss here.”

The Zandalari reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment.

“Dis… ting, be de one responsible for the slaughters.” He said, offering it towards the Sethrak.

“And now you have ssssseen it, I expect your loyalty, Fangcaller.” Ts’kon said, placing a hand on Sorkith’s shoulder. “You are a woman of your word, are you not?”

Sorkith examined the paper. Her eyes darting over the bounty poster. A rational person would’ve caught themselves and wondered how a bounty got made so quickly. It mattered not. Why would it? The devil is in the details, but the only demon she cared about was the one in the poster.

“Bring me thisssss… Sssssenko’ssss head, and I sssshall bring you the throne.” Sorkith said, hissing to the last.

#februarydwc2024 #dwc2024 #vulpera #world of warcraft #roleplay

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madam-melon-meow · 1 year

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The Good, The Bad, and The Alternative: a homestuck fanfic. Chapter 11, an excerpt:

“Can we actually get in? I thought Hunters protected their nests like a fortress.” Eridan asked warily, and Feferi felt his wing nudge her back. She knew what that meant- he wanted her to try using her magic, for real this time, to evaluate the protections they were facing. She took a deep breath, readying herself.

Trying to see the magic of the world, while presenting as a humanoid, was a little odd, for Feferi. She could only explain it as going underwater in her false-skin, in her “human” suit, and looking around while the salt burned. The air took on a wavey, hazy, blurry quality, and each movement of her eyes brought a stinging burst of pain. But she dragged her eyes up the apartment building, watching the harsh golden light of wards spring up around it.

She wasn’t exactly trained in human wizardry, but she could tell something was… off. Feferi was pretty sure that some of these pieces were supposed to spin, to resemble “angelic” clockwork, concentric rings and gears of light, all neat and orderly . She thought that if the wards were working at full strength, they might have made her puke, just to gaze upon them. Order was abhorrent to her nature- to both her natures, as the primordial sea was the world’s first source of chaos.

But the wards were not at full strength, did not glow with the false light of heavens. Instead, they flickered weakly, their sickly golden light blessedly dampened. A dark, iridescent nectar seemed to ooze its way down the dome of light, a soothing balm to Feferi’s senses. It was blessedly cool, compared to the harsh heat of the wards, and as it dripped further, the soothing discord strengthened with each droplet falling, dissolving through some of the circles, causing those still spinning to shoot off into the sky instead of curving back in on themselves. The salty-sweetness of rotting nectar either emanated from the top floor, or perhaps the roof itself- she couldn’t be sure, it was too thick. It was beautiful and pure , the way it moved organically, not following orderly grid lines or perfect circles. It simply was , and what it was was something that sang to her. The complexity of the darkness reminded her of the deepest of seas, the glimmering motes within it of the stars in her mother’s eyes.

When Feferi finally put her second sight away, she found that she was consumed with manic laughter, a bright sound that spilled from her lips like blood from a wound.

“The wards- the wards will not trouble us. My heirloom is too strong for Hunter tricks, it seems!” she giggled, unable to halt her burst of bacchic mirth. It was so very much a sign of her mother, a sign of ocean madness , as the sailors called it. Only the chaotic beauty of her mother could destroy something so brutally orderly as wards created by the Hunters.

curious? Read on, here:

#feferi peixes #feferi #Feferi fanfiction #eridan #eridan ampora #Equius #equius zahhak #jade harley #nepeta lejion #karkat vantas #the good the bad and the alternative

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bacchicly · 2 years

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Important question...does Afternoon Delight sound to anyone else like something delicious? Maybe a dessert or a cocktail or even some sort of appaling yet beautiful jellied salad?

I mean google has yielded recipes... Most aphrodisiacally a Afternoon Delight Clam Chowder... But google has a recipe for pretty much everything... So I thought I'd take a poll.

#bacchic asks #garvez

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elegyforiphigenia · 1 year

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KRONOS.

⚠️ trade offer ⚠️ : next time i visit the burnt city i finally get to know what that 1:1 is all about and i'll rewrite this with that in mind. i joke. anyway, shamelessness aside! here's a piece inspired / telling the brand of weird guy loop that is kronos. so, all the usual punchdrunk triggers apply on top of spoilers for his loop - this is specifically based on milton lopes interpretation of the role, and i believe kronos is one where the loop can differ greatly! also potential spoilers for things people have said about hades.

He sweeps a little.

One must wonder if he was always a beast. After all, how does Tartarus craft the caretaker who will stalk its tenements? Perhaps before Prometheus was liver-bitten, he made him like mankind; crafted him from clay and then let the kiln be the fires of Hades. He shares his name with a Titan – it makes the picture come together clearly: maybe Hades ordered the bones of that first Kronos to be powdered into the clay that would forge the second Kronos. And so the first would have his own ribs encage him. We will never know. In spite of Kronos taking care of that infinite resting place, finality does not mean all answers are known. It only begs that we ask more. Even uttering Tartarus stirs up more falsehood than truth: fifty pairs of underwear hang from washing lines and a feast waits never eaten, but – but there is little use in theorising now. The boulder will always stumble to the foot again.

Pinboards of franticising is such a trivial thing to the one who finds obsession amongst only the thread upon those boards. Red string. It never leads him anywhere. Still, though, he likes to take out a small torch and shine it upon the string threaded across the tenements he cares for. The pattern it takes – the writing surrounding it – if those way down were given hours, he would spend hours staring at those threads. All to a fruitless end – each cock of his head, each forward inspection, he is always led back to the tenement square. The most innocuous item is a constant source of distrust for Kronos. With dice, his constant pocketed companion, he experiences similar puzzlement. Too many a glad time spent pacing amongst the various rooms of Troy, slipping into an absent corner. He will take them, hold them in his palm, and occasionally, he will lightly throw them up. Only numbers fall back down. And still he will watch them with enough furrowed brows to make any watcher believe they are full of a higher purpose.

He sweeps a little.

Corridors possess the strangest of things. Kronos delights in this one for it is a collection of ordinary items. Bending down, the display is careful disarray, with a spillage of cutlery asleep near cans. From this heap, he picks up a knife, clutches it around his fist, and meanders onwards to where ordinary once more approaches him. On this occasion, it is ordinary death; even electric sheep must die and so a toaster must be broken. He sticks a knife into where bread should go. He feels nothing for nothing happens. The caretaker knows that his city is decaying, for it is not his city. Nearby, in a different room, he unfurls some paper near potpourri and a lamp. Yes. There is something he must do. Something grand in design, yet done as many times as he tosses a dice. It is only fools who think a caretaker offers entirely up that first half of his title to the population bleeding around him. Kronos is deliverance.

He sweeps a little.

In the uppermost level of Troy, confusion pounds blindingly through Klub. The sorts of men who attach a space of Bacchic potential to their office are the sort who make themselves a model citizen of Troy; the city is on the verge so let us drink; dance; drug ourselves into oblivion like the writhing snake in leather who is sharpening red under their eyes. Within this space, Kronos leers up against any who might provoke him with a look. He is a zoetrope spun at a faster speed, lunging harsh as the strobes make each second appear a changed picture. Beast! Not a god. Not a man. A young man, casually smart, watches this terror through the windows. The man – the boy – thinks it looks like a bull thrusting. When it is over, Kronos stands, looming over him, and cranes his neck from one side to the other. He watches the boy. From his pocket, he pulls out a necklace made only of red string: he ensnares the boy in it.

He sweeps a little.

To be a caretaker is to have access to all the rooms of the tenements. Most of the rooms appear abandoned. In one, he reduces the puzzlement of his world to a jigsaw. In another, he sits at a mirror. Whilst he sits there, girls and boys are being sacrificed and all the flowers have gone away to make their weeping graves. He looks at his reflection – worn-out clothes licked by sweat, a face peppered with slow days tiring – and raises a handheld mirror so that he might gaze around him. Flickering just a little are his lips as he catches the eyes of the strangest creatures from the corner of his own. These shadows of people reflect in the small mirror. Slowly, smiling slightly as he does so, he guides the mirror from side to side. He sees them. He briefly acknowledges their gaze when meeting their fearful-loving awe. It is all he can see of their face, and it is beautiful. He likes to make them scared. Terror is not always a threat; terror is the vulnerability of being known. In one pretty way, he admires them – so he lifts a masquerade mask adorned with a feather from the dressing table he sits at. He wears it and practices smiling in the larger mirror. Whereas his ones to the ghosts are minacious, his ones to the mirror are sickening in their forced, bright falsity.

He sweeps a little.

Kings receive floods of crimson, but a prince only receives a sprawled out sheet. Polydorus is a boy and he claws at the red string around his throat as his eyes bulge purple. When his sister dies, she will be stroked onto a sheet by a lover, but he stumbles onto the white sheet awaiting him and is unceremoniously tugged into a locked room by Kronos. Moloch must be sated. Child after child, Kronos takes them as provided sacrifice, feeding the golden bull god. Speak it again – beast! Not a god. Not a man. He understands the machine he is instructed to feed; he pumps it full of the unfortunate youthful blood who by birth are trapped in the labyrinth of Troy. Kronos smiles again for he sees the beautiful strange creatures process their despair at death like they should: the machine operates on too many levels he does not care for, but he understands that even the unseen feed it. Polydorus is left dead in his room. He hopes Moloch is satisfied for now. His task is done; odd jobs and business, he takes care of it all.

In a dark corner, he plays with dice, and stalks red thread. It will never lead him out of the labyrinth. Instead, it loops back round on itself: he does not register time beginning again as the red traps him. But it begins again.

He sweeps a little.

#the burnt city #kronos #punchdrunk #milton lopes #i actually do not think i saw milton!kronos sweep really. but i have heard it is a kronos trait so here goes.

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actually-the-antichrist · 2 years

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Wait what's this about transmasc Pentheus? 👀

😂😂I'm so happy to see this ask since I can ramble abt my writing. It's a short story I finished last week, it's a retelling of the Bacchae from a Pentheus perspective, and in it he is a gay teenager who undergoes conversion therapy as his coming of age ritual bcs Cadmus needs a straight grandson to be heir. It's set in a 1984-esq society (reminiscent of the school structure I was raised in). Pentheus is a rational highly achieving student and member of the Culture and Morality department who hates tragedies but can't help reading them. For the yearly Autumn Festival the school puts on a play as a collectivist ritual, and in one year someone sent in the Bacchae as a suggestion. Pentheus dismisses this as an insult but cannot stop the play's events from unfolding as Bacchic activity pick up around the school. Eventually, Dionysus confronts him directly, undoes the repressive hypnosis (which Pentheus does not even remember until it's revealed at this point), and finishes the play. I wrote this, and then, realizing I had the exact same feelings of horror around male gay conversion therapy, consequently realized that I love men in a gay way, and that I'm a man. So it's not exactly a transmasc Pentheus story but it is how I found out. (really, if you don't want unscheduled epiphanies about your identity, do not become a writer)

#pentheus #bacchae retelling #my trans coming out #asks

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paganimagevault · 2 years

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The bezel of the Ring of Scyles 500-400 BCE. National History Museum of Romania.

"Scyles was the heir and son of the king Ariapeithes and a Greek woman from Istria. His mother taught him to read and speak the Greek language, which distinguished him from other Scythians, who were illiterate. Because of his mixed heritage, he was ambivalent toward the culture of his father and displayed many Hellenic traits. For example, he built a large house in Pontic Olbia and married a Greek woman, both unheard of practices because the Scythians were largely nomadic and polygamous. He also publicly took part in Bacchic rites, to the anger of other Scythian chiefs.

According to Herodotus, it was because of these unconventional traits that the Scythians rebelled against Scyles, and he was forced to flee from his homeland. He escaped to the Thracian king Sitalces. However, he was pursued by his brother Octamasadas, who raised an army and marched on Thrace. In the midst of the war between the Scythians and Thracians, it was agreed upon by Sitalces and Octamasedes that Scyles would be given over to his brother, in exchange for the release of Sitalces' brother, who was being held prisoner by the Scythians. Scyles was handed over and executed.

Coins bearing the name of Scyles have been found in Niconium, where it is thought that Scyles was buried.

From Herodotus:

This nation also is very averse to adopting strange customs, rejecting even those of other tribes among themselves, but especially those of the Hellenes, as the history of Anacharsis and also afterwards of Skyles proved. For as to Anacharsis first, when he was returning to the abodes of the Scythians, after having visited many lands and displayed in them much wisdom, as he sailed through the Hellespont he put in to Kyzicos: and since he found the people of Kyzicos celebrating a festival very magnificently in honour of the Mother of the Gods, Anacharsis vowed to the Mother that if he should return safe and sound to his own land, he would both sacrifice to her with the same rites as he saw the men of Kyzicos do, and also hold a night festival. So when he came to Scythia he went down into the region called Hylaia (this is along by the side of the racecourse of Achilles and is quite full, as it happens, of trees of all kinds),—into this, I say, Anacharsis went down, and proceeded to perform all the ceremonies of the festival in honour of the Goddess, with a kettle-drum and with images hung about himself. And one of the Scythians perceived him doing this and declared it to Saulios the king; and the king came himself also, and when he saw Anacharsis doing this, he shot him with an arrow and killed him. Accordingly at the present time if one asks about Anacharsis, the Scythians say that they do not know him, and for this reason, because he went out of his own country to Hellas and adopted foreign customs. And as I heard from Tymnes the steward of Ariapeithes, he was the uncle on the father's side of Idanthyrsos king of the Scythians, and the son of Gnuros, the son of Lycos, the son of Spargapeithes. If then Anacharsis was of this house, let him know that he died by the hand of his brother, for Idanthyrsos was the son of Saulios, and Saulios was he who killed Anacharsis.

However I have heard also another story, told by the Peloponnesians, that Anacharsis was sent out by the king of the Scythians, and so made himself a disciple of Hellas; and that when he returned back he said to him that had sent him forth, that the Hellenes were all busied about every kind of cleverness except the Lacedemonians; but these alone knew how to exchange speech sensibly. This story however has been invented without any ground by the Hellenes themselves; and however that may be, the man was slain in the way that was related above.

This man then fared thus badly by reason of foreign customs and communication with Hellenes; and very many years afterwards Skyles the son of Ariapeithes suffered nearly the same fate as he. For Ariapeithes the king of the Scythians with other sons had Skyles born to him: and he was born of a woman who was of Istria, and certainly not a native of Scythia; and this mother taught him the language and letters of Hellas. Afterwards in course of time Ariapeithes was brought to his end by treachery at the hands of Spargapeithes the king of the Agathyrsians, and Skyles succeeded to the kingdom; and he took not only that but also the wife of his father, whose name was Opoia: this Opoia was a native Scythian and from her was born Oricos to Ariapeithes. Now when Skyles was king of the Scythians, he was by no means satisfied with the Scythian manner of life, but was much more inclined towards Hellenic ways because of the training with which he had been brought up, and he used to do somewhat as follows:—When he came with the Scythians in arms to the city of the Borysthenites (now these Borysthenites say that they are of Miletos),—when Skyles came to these, he would leave his band in the suburbs of the city and go himself within the walls and close the gates. After that he would lay aside his Scythian equipments and take Hellenic garments, and wearing them he would go about in the market-place with no guards or any other man accompanying him (and they watched the gates meanwhile, that none of the Scythians might see him wearing this dress): and while in other respects too he adopted Hellenic manners of life, he used also to perform worship to the Gods according to the customs of the Hellenes. Then having stayed a month or more than that, he would put on the Scythian dress and depart. This he did many times, and he both built for himself a house in Borysthenes and also took to it a woman of the place as his wife.

Since however it was fated that evil should happen to him, it happened by an occasion of this kind:—he formed a desire to be initiated in the rites of Bacchus-Dionysos, and as he was just about to receive the initiation, there happened a very great portent. He had in the city of the Borysthenites a house of great size and built with large expense, of which also I made mention a little before this, and round it were placed sphinxes and griffins of white stone: on this house Zeus caused a bolt to fall; and the house was altogether burnt down, but Skyles none the less for this completed his initiation. Now the Scythians make the rites of Bacchus a reproach against the Hellenes, for they say that it is not fitting to invent a God like this, who impels men to frenzy. So when Skyles had been initiated into the rites of Bacchus, one of the Borysthenites went off to the Scythians and said: "Whereas ye laugh at us, O Scythians, because we perform the rite of Bacchus and because the God seizes us, now this divinity has seized also your king; and he is both joining in the rite of Bacchus and maddened by the influence of the God. And if ye disbelieve me, follow and I will show you." The chief men of the Scythians followed him, and the Borysthenite led them secretly into the town and set them upon a tower. So when Skyles passed by with the company of revellers, and the Scythians saw him joining in the rite of Bacchus, they were exceedingly grieved at it, and they went out and declared to the whole band that which they had seen.

After this when Skyles was riding out again to his own abode, the Scythians took his brother Octamasades for their leader, who was a son of the daughter of Teres, and made insurrection against Skyles. He then when he perceived that which was being done to his hurt and for what reason it was being done, fled for refuge to Thrace; and Octamasades being informed of this, proceeded to march upon Thrace. So when he had arrived at the river Ister, the Thracians met him; and as they were about to engage battle, Sitalkes sent a messenger to Octamasades and said: "Why must we make trial of one another in fight? Thou art my sister's son and thou hast in thy power my brother. Do thou give him back to me, and I will deliver to thee thy brother Skyles: and let us not either of us set our armies in peril, either thou or I." Thus Sitalkes proposed to him by a herald; for there was with Octamasades a brother of Sitalkes, who had gone into exile for fear of him. And Octamasades agreed to this, and by giving up his own mother's brother to Sitalkes he received his brother Skyles in exchange: and Sitalkes when he received his brother led him away as a prisoner, but Octamasades cut off the head of Skyles there upon the spot. Thus do the Scythians carefully guard their own customary observances, and such are the penalties which they inflict upon those who acquire foreign customs besides their own."

-taken from wikipedia and The Histories by Herodotus (Book 4.76 - 4.80)

#scythian #ancient greek #antiquities #literature #history #ancient jewelry #scythian gold #ancient history #pagan #paganism #dionysos #5th century bce #herodotus

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candlemystar · 1 year

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Do you remember last fall, in Julian’s class, when we studied what Plato calls telestic madness? Bakcheia? Dionysiac frenzy?

Well, as far as I knew, it hadn’t been done for two thousand years. After all, the appeal to stop being yourself, even for a little while, is very great. To escape the cognitive mode of experience, to transcend the accident of one’s moment of being. There are other advantages, more difficult to speak of, things which ancient sources only hint at and which I myself only understood after the fact.

Well, it’s not called a mystery for nothing. But one mustn’t underestimate the primal appeal—to lose one’s self, lose it utterly. And in losing it be born to the principle of continuous life, outside the prison of mortality and time. That was attractive to me from the first, even when I knew nothing about the topic and approached it less as potential mystes than anthropologist. Ancient commentators are very circumspect about the whole thing. It was possible, with a great deal of work, to figure out some of the sacred rituals—the hymns, the sacred objects, what to wear and do and say. More difficult was the mystery itself: how did one propel oneself into such a state, what was the catalyst?

I suppose in a certain way I was misled by accounts of the Pythia, the pneuma enthusiastikon, poisonous vapors and so forth. Those processes, though sketchy, are more well documented than Bacchic methods, and I thought for a while that the two must be related. Only after a long period of trial and error did it become evident that they were not, and that what we were missing was something, in all likelihood, quite simple. Which it was.

Only this. To receive the god, in this or any other mystery, one has to be in a state of euphemia, cultic purity. That is at the very center of bacchic mystery. Even Plato speaks of it. Before the Divine can take over, the mortal self—the dust of us, the part that decays—must be made clean as possible.

Through symbolic acts, most of them fairly universal in the Greek world. Water poured over the head, baths, fasting—Bunny wasn’t so good about the fasting nor about the baths, either, if you ask me but the rest of us went through the motions. The more we did it, though, the more meaningless it all began to seem, until, one day, I was struck by something rather obvious—namely, that any religious ritual is arbitrary unless one is able to see past it to a deeper meaning. Do you know what Julian says about the Divine Comedy?

That it’s incomprehensible to someone who isn’t a Christian? That if one is to read Dante, and understand him, one must become a Christian if only for a few hours? It was the same with this. It had to be approached on its own terms, not in a voyeuristic light or even a scholarly one. At the first, I suppose, it was impossible to see it any other way, looking at it as we did in fragments, through centuries. The vitality of the act was entirely obsfucated, the beauty, the terror, the sacrifice. Quite simply, we didn’t believe. And belief was the one condition which was absolutely necessary. Belief, and absolute surrender.

It was heart-shaking. Glorious. Torches, dizziness, singing. Wolves howling around us and a bull bellowing in the dark. The river ran white. It was like a film in fast motion, the moon waxing and waning, clouds rushing across the sky. Vines grew from the ground so fast they twined up the trees like snakes; seasons passing in the wink of an eye, entire years for all I know.… I mean we think of phenomenal change as being the very essence of time, when it’s not at all. Time is something which defies spring and winter, birth and decay, the good and the bad, indifferently. Something changeless and joyous and absolutely indestructible. Duality ceases to exist; there is no ego, no “I,” and yet it’s not at all like those horrid comparisons one sometimes hears in Eastern religions, the self being a drop of water swallowed by the ocean of the universe. It’s more as if the universe expands to fill the boundaries of the self. You have no idea how pallid the workday boundaries of ordinary existence seem, after such an ecstasy. It was like being a baby. I couldn’t remember my name.

What if you had never seen the sea before? What if the only thing you’d ever seen was a child’s picture—blue crayon, choppy waves? Would you know the real sea if you only knew the picture? Would you be able to recognize the real thing even if you saw it? You don’t know what Dionysus looks like. We’re talking about God here. God is serious business.

- Donna Tartt, The Secret History (1992)

#the secret history #donna tartt #book quotes #greek mythology #dionysus #the bacchae #euripides

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