#the devil luring you away from your sacred path | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thusspeaksdingdong · 4 years

Text

On Songs of the Soul

Verily, it is difficult to transform one's depth into one's height. For that there is need for much inversion, introversion and isolation in hermit's caves.

It is only in the rigorous and cold mountain air of the spirit that one may contemplate his soul. Far above the clamor of tumultuous thunderclouds and the foolishness of April rain, one is free to see himself as he is in a clear and perfect mirror.

Such clarity speaks in the language of sparkling wines, reserved only for the most reserved and select: those who know the secret of life within the body, and its parable of exaltation and elevation.

Forgetting myself, remembering myself, so I spoke and prayed thus to my soul before the rosy morning sun:

"O my soul, you sing to me in my solemn nights and poverty, when the envious moon is too negligent even to illuminate, as my nightengale and singing bird of pain...

"O my soul, how often have I come to you in tears, and yet your sweet melancholy always brings me to mirth! You soften even the hardest hearts with your gentleness, for in your eyes there is always the glance of stars and eternity. But despite my happiness, I rarely thank you...

"O my soul, you speak in riddles too soft to hear. And whenever I sought to cast my net upon your colorful shells, you always scuttled away like bashful crabs into the depths of the sea.

"O my soul, in you have I drained my sorrow and hopes and maledictions, and as an amphora of the sun you always blessed me with your secret golden happiness, you murmuring fountain of my highest hope!

"O my soul, you creep into my solitude as a nimble, testing stealthcat. You do not offer your friendship so easily. A creature of silence and craft, you tread on lion's paws, and walk with grace even upon broken glass. You are too proud even for hunter's ploys: innocent in your stalking, your craft is a game and not a murder.

"O my soul, you do not bed too easily with the soft. Accustomed to hardship and long journeys, you rest in peace even amongst caltrops and thorns. You endure enmity, pain and malevolent storms, and yet you are no fakir. Whereas most only bear their crown of thorns, your crucifixion speaks of roses and benediction.

"O my soul, never would I dare to pluck out the heart of your mystery: we know too much of each other. Upon the porticos of the temple we always walk together, as lovers walk, through stone archways and quiet gardens. You know the sacrament of taciturnity and silence: you meditate even when you speak with idle words. You always stupify the loquacious with your bright silence.

"O my soul, your heavenly pranks always soothe my delinquency: I, the most sarcastic and somber of delinquents! Too often have you visited me in prison for me not to dream of your smiles. For you sanctify even dead stones with your happiness...

"O my soul, you gave felicity and eloquence to my words... I, a stammerer and defiler of the Word! You offered honey to me as a somber growling bear, a hybernating beast too long accustomed to the isolation of cold mountains.

"O my soul, you always wake me toward my dawn, for you are my dawn. When I was but a nemesis and flitting ghost, you demolished all nocturnal day-dreams and insubstantial silliness, and instilled in me your holy, gay sarcasm.

"O my soul, you have brought me to tears... I, a warrior scarred by too many battles and the stings of poisonous flies. Even the greatest warrior has his tears, but rather would he bleed first then cry in fear of blood...

"O my soul, it is through blood and knowledge that I am sanctified: the altar of my affliction is founded on funeral pyres. The song of the soul is always heightened through martyrdoms and slaughter. But little do people comprehend that kindness is the greatest slaughter...

"O my soul, you are the gentle precurser to my Spirit ― your star-gowns and shell-tressles prophecy the happiness of a divine marriage. Upon your immaculate finger rests the ring of a perfect matrimony: such a serpent swallows itself in its wisdom, and all things gravitate to it as their sun.

"O my soul, you speak too candidly for candy ears: therefore you needed cleverness for gaping jaws and dumbshows. No one has the ears to understand your songs, therefore you blush when the deaf hear you as muffled tones. Out of shame and bashfulness you glow in your dawn; your petals shine too purely even for their dew. In your simplicity you have always called unwonted attention to yourself. Blushing from your flood, you seek not to put the blighted drought to shame...

"O my soul, how shameless I am before your holiness and sincerity! Your sanctity does not proclaim itself in words ― therefore your speech runs more honest. And how heart-wrenching is it that before you and shrouded gods I must still only be a poet?

"O my soul, how often have I wanted to kiss you, but for my blasphemy of wanting to bless the most sacred and beloved...

"O my soul, you are too kind even in my coldness: you forgive me even when I have forgotten you. In dark rooms have I hid in my hardness against myself, and yet you always sought me as my redeemer, with honey-combs, truffles and roasted lamb. You always lure me from my shadows with tender songs toward the golden playground and gymnasium of the Spirit.

"O my soul, whenever I have been error and confusion and dreadful futility, you always came as my harbringer and necessity: my becoming into purpose out of accident. You shatter all musty tombs and rotten sepulchres. As the hammer of my will, you reprimand me with gentle blows.

"O my soul, in dreams you came to me as my flock of sparrows; your flight heralds the advent of lions and doves. Such are the divine emblems of ultimate love and sacrifice. And what lover would not sacrifice himself for your sacrifice, which does not even ask for anything in return?

"O my soul, despite paint and absurdity, and the noise of too many parrots and circus clowns, I always distinguish your parables and silent inclinations. It is too easy to become small and miserable in crowded doctor's rooms: but you always kill time with your innocence. Your graciousness absolves all childish need for magazines and trivial newspapers. How could I want to read anything anymore but your words of fire, which inoculate my ashen heart?

"O my soul, you shatter my hopes and dreams for comfort and security, and always draw me to secret, blessed paths. Although you take me into hell to view its razor gardens, how could I not endure them in order to be with you? You are tranquil even before fallen gods, who have long since burned out their stars. You shake hands and drink a toast to the devil, because you are too overwhelming in your kindness...

"O my soul, you have always been a gambler: you play dangerously with divine dice and dice players. You do not make small bets, but give everything your all, because you always cast golden hopes before your deeds. In your confidence you know the result of all things, even when they be on a razor's edge.

"O my soul, you guide me as my lantern through wild and barren deserts. You draw my wisdom from exasperated wells with your water-divining powers. You are fortune and fortune's strife, my destiny that shatters all destiny, for you write my true name upon a perfected stone..."

Thus have I contemplated my soul upon the mountain, high above the foolishness of April rain.

But even after I concluded my prayers and solitude, my soul once again came creepingly unto me. She always knocks unexpectedly at my door: thus have I the need to constantly remain vigilant and overawake. And after our usual greetings, she whispered this wisdom in my ear: "Once a fool, always a fool ― regardless of the season."

It is not only in April where one is seasoned a fool, although Spring initiates much foolishness for our season. To those who look for antagonism and strife from this fool, thus do I have to say unto you... April Fool's!

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

#ding dong #ding dong the clown #thus speaks ding dong #thus spoke zarathustra #friedrich nietzsche #frederick nietzsche #gnosis #gnostic #gnosticism #samael aun weor #esoteric #soul #inner wisdom #april fools

2 notes · View notes

neko-shinigxmi · 5 years

Text

.: First Meetings: Dante :.

In which a demigod met the half-demon... @blackquills-wife

It was said that thousands of years ago, in a small, forgettable forest town, a goddess was created. So many prayers offered to the forest and nature, that a deity so sprung from their faith and prayers. The people worshiped this goddess in earnest, especially when she summoned a great tree as proof of her divinity. So became their small religion, focused around this nature goddess, complete with her own temple-home within the forest, nearby the sacred tree.

However, she was alone in this small town. It had been the faith of humanity that brought her to life, but without knowing of the other deities of the world, she was left feeling...empty. Lonely.

Because of this loneliness, she sought out a man from the village, requesting a cauldron. If he could get her one, she would further bless the village. No one else was to know of this, so when he found the time, the man delivered a cauldron to the temple, leaving it there in a rush.

It’s said that she used ingredients from all around her- the furs of certain animals, a few plants- and even her own blood to create new life. A young child, her own legacy. A demigod, in every way a friend to nature and animals alike.

The town delighted in such an honored guest- a blessed child- and praised this child as if they were their mother. Pleased with this, times were blessed with peace and prosperity....

Though not for long.

When the wars of Sparda were come to pass, even the goddess of such a small town set to protect this earth and defend her home... There are no stories of what happened to her. One day, she swept out of the village in the finest, green silks billowing behind her.....and she never came back.

The village, her legacy, and the child were all forgotten to time. Until a call came in to an agency within a City...

Dante found himself in a taxi for this job, practically pouting as he watched nature breeze by his window. He’d gone as far as he could, yet still not far enough... Why would such a small, out-there town have such a terrible demon problem, anyways?? What was there to steal? Pottery?!

He sighed, slumping in his seat. Maybe he just needed a nap...

“We’re here, sir!” Dammit. Dante sat up straight, looking at the small walkway of road, a short path through the trees to the town. Some things never changed...and a town like this- for all it’s improvements- surely had listened to the notion.

“Well, you know the drill... Put it on my tab. Unless you come back for me, anyways; I can pay you, then.” The taxi cab driver opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, and proceeded to keep his mouth shut.

Wise guy, that one. Dante could end up liking him.

Getting out of the cab, he strolled down the slight tunnel of leaves and branches with ease, sword once again- plain as day- hitched onto his back as he went to go get further details of the job from the townsfolk...but something immediately felt off. A scent in the air that seemed to sickly-sweet, as well as the joy on the people’s faces the second he stepped in. Nobody was ever that happy to see a half-demon walk into their town, no matter who the half-demon was. Demons be a demon, after all.

“Thank you so much, Dante!” A man said, hurrying over. Dante recognized him as the same one who’d called him up for this job. “Already, we’re seeing results from those troublesome creatures... We promised $500 once the job was done, I know, but you acted so much faster than we expected, so...” The man- probably the mayor or something like it- pulled out a thick envelope, handing it off to Dante without a word from him.

“Hey, look-”

“We’ve agreed that the $500 now shall be suitable, and when the remaining are wiped away, an extra hundred for such speedy work! You are a gift among us, Dante! Thank you, thank you...” Bows were made his way, the half-demon finding himself incredibly uncomfortable and not allowed to make a word in edgewise. As proven after that mayor-guy left, nobody would accept his words, either.

Nobody believed he only just got into town that day; the one who’d killed off those demons couldn’t be him! He’s not usually one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but something fishy was up around here, for sure...

So when night fell, Dante made sure to clean up what remained of a once bothersome pack of demons, then do some investigating of his own.

It took him to the outskirts of the town, to the forest’s edge... He would’ve turned back around and given up, but it was at the edge that sweet smell came back to him on the wind. The scent of a being he couldn’t place... So before he could think much about it, Dante went rushing in to find the source.

Stumbling over shrubbery and tree roots that had risen above the ground, it took him some time before he accidentally found the ancient pathway to the deeper woods. A few minutes more before he would come into a clearing where the sweet-smell was strongest, at the base of an old, giant tree. The branches were so wide, they were even bent down slightly, like any year it’d morph into a weeping willow on a massive scale.

Looking around, Dante couldn’t spot anyone in the area...but there was a lit temple just to the left. The scent was far stronger that way, so once again, he instinctively followed it.

The grand hall was still hosting polished marble, though it hadn’t been cleaned in many, many years. The doors had been broken open, though the torches were all lit, suggesting life somewhere within. Along with it all, that ever-present sweet smell that kept Dante on high alert, drawing out Rebellion as he creeped further in.

There were a few doors on long, sprawling pathways on either side, but he ignored them to focus on the presence of a living being he hadn’t sensed before. Not due to his nose being overpowered by the smell they were giving off. It was irritating at a distance, but since drawing closer, it had become...almost addictive. Like it was luring him in more than trying to confuse his senses, now. It was because of this he rushed through the gardens so fast, to the farthest room in the temple--

Inside, a vast mural of a woman. Wearing a dress of white and greens, elegantly poised among nature, long, light brown hair cascading around her. At the base of the mural was someone else. A living being, the one who Dante had sensed all this time.

When they noticed him, dark brown hair largely covered their face. Their skinned was slightly tanned from sun, but still pale, like they’d never gotten enough of the light; certainly not enough to match the deity above them. They, too, wore a dress sort of style in greens, golden bands on their wrists and ankles.

When they finally turned to fully face him...dark green eyes that glowed slightly brighter focused on him, a hand pressing to the feet of the mural. Seeking comfort, maybe?

“Who are you?” Dante demanded, grip tightening on Rebellion. Now, now...don’t lose focus because of a pretty face... (He already knew that wouldn’t last long.)

“I could ask you the same thing,” they said, voice soft, but echoing in this final chamber. “What are you doing here, in the temple of my mother? Nobody comes here anymore.”

“Well, I guess I do,” he quipped, decidedly sheathing Rebellion away and putting his hands on his hips. (Exactly.) “That town back there hired me to take care of a demon problem... You know anything about why so many disappeared before I even got here~?” They looked away, seemingly embarrassed.

“I... I hadn’t noticed them, at first. I’m not my mother, after all...and nobody prays to this temple anymore. It’s from here I can hear them...nowhere else. Someone remembered this place and prayed. Probably the same night the mayor called for your help. My mother protected this village, so it was my duty to help them, as well.”

“That seems unfair. They barely even remember you and I’m the one getting paid for your hard work?” Dante reached into his coat, pulling out the envelope, and the other person- this little demigod- shook their head.

“Oh, no!! I don’t need money... I still have everything I could ever need of here. Food and water is fresh from nature this deep in. My mother’s clothes are magic, so I can wear whatever I wish and it shall fit me as well as the day it was made. I need for nothing here, not money, especially.”

“...There’s gotta be something I can do,” Dante said, huffing an amused laugh and a brow raising. “I’m not going anywhere until I can pay you back somehow. You deserve some credit here, too.” He pauses, thinking... Then smirks, striding across the hall to the little demigod’s side, watching their innocent face of open confusion and curiosity. They barely flinch when he slams his hand next to their head, leaning into their personal space.

Beneath the mural of their missing mother, Dante has their child pinned. It’s an odd scene, but not the oddest one he’s ever ended up in.

“Or...suppose I could keep you company. Devil May Cry gets pretty lonely...”

“Devil...May Cry?” They echo, head tilting. “Is that where you live?” Dante shrugged, mildly offput that they ignored his attempt to hit on them, but even more amused he hadn’t been punted away yet. Or outright rejected, really.

“Eh, kinda. It’s my business. I live in Redgrave City.”

“Somewhere...new,” they mused, head tilting back to look up to their mother...as Dante stared at their bared neck, suddenly tempted to go to a different kind of town. “...I’ve never left this place. I thought I would never have need to...but I never expected to be left alone and become forgotten, either.” They refocus on him and Dante pretends like he wasn’t just about to lean closer for a bite of their neck.

“So-”

“I’ll go,” they agree, a smile blooming onto their face. “I’ll...go. I’ll go to Redgrave with you, mister!!” ...It was only then Dante realized they’d gotten this far without proper introductions. Man, what a way to go...

“Heh, the name’s Dante, sweetheart. So, what will I be calling you~?”

“Rahela, of course,” they hum, bouncing on their feet. Dante’s still got them pinned and he notes with amusement that- with him leaning down like he is- there’s enough of a possibility for kissing when he’s like this...

Good to know for later down the line.

“Well, then, Rahela... Get what you want to bring and let’s head out. Redgrave ain’t exactly close to this little nugget out in the middle of nowhere.” He pushes himself away from the wall then, giving them room to rush away and down the halls to...wherever their room was. Dante would very likely find it soon enough. Hands on his hips, he looked up to the mural above, looming over him like a dreaded prophecy.

The bright green stones used for the goddess’s eyes seemed to gleam a moment, and the room was empty again. Was she still around? Or truly gone forever, like....?

Dante left the hall, never turning back as he went to find his new companion to bring home. Smiling a little in amusement as it occurred to him he’d be taking the last line of their old goddess away from them...and with her mind as made up as he’d hoped, they would be plenty more fun shenanigans in Redgrave with them around.

...Maybe a demon’s luck could even change along the way.

#self insert #self insert community #self ship #self ship community #Aki Stories #Devil May Cry #otp; demons and destinies #I'M BOLD ENOUGH TO MAIN TAG?!?#yes I am #THERE I DID IT YEEHAW

17 notes · View notes

thatwhichdoesnotsuffer · 6 years

Photo

On Songs of the Soul

Verily, it is difficult to transform one's depth into one's height. For that there is need for much inversion, introversion and isolation in hermit's caves. It is only in the rigorous and cold mountain air of the spirit that one may contemplate his soul. Far above the clamor of tumultuous thunderclouds and the foolishness of April rain, one is free to see himself as he is in a clear and perfect mirror. Such clarity speaks in the language of sparkling wines, reserved only for the most reserved and select: those who know the secret of life within the body, and its parable of exaltation and elevation. Forgetting myself, remembering myself, so I spoke and prayed thus to my soul before the rosy morning sun: "O my soul, you sing to me in my solemn nights and poverty, when the envious moon is too negligent even to illuminate, as my nightingale and singing bird of pain... "O my soul, how often have I come to you in tears, and yet your sweet melancholy always brings me to mirth! You soften even the hardest hearts with your gentleness, for in your eyes there is always the glance of stars and eternity. But despite my happiness, I rarely thank you... "O my soul, you speak in riddles too soft to hear. And whenever I sought to cast my net upon your colorful shells, you always scuttled away like bashful crabs into the depths of the sea. "O my soul, in you have I drained my sorrow and hopes and maledictions, and as an amphora of the sun you always blessed me with your secret golden happiness, you murmuring fountain of my highest hope! "O my soul, you creep into my solitude as a nimble, testing stealthcat. You do not offer your friendship so easily. A creature of silence and craft, you tread on lion's paws, and walk with grace even upon broken glass. You are too proud even for hunter's ploys: innocent in your stalking, your craft is a game and not a murder. "O my soul, you do not bed too easily with the soft. Accustomed to hardship and long journeys, you rest in peace even amongst caltrops and thorns. You endure enmity, pain and malevolent storms, and yet you are no fakir. Whereas most only bear their crown of thorns, your crucifixion speaks of roses and benediction. "O my soul, never would I dare to pluck out the heart of your mystery: we know too much of each other. Upon the porticos of the temple we always walk together, as lovers walk, through stone archways and quiet gardens. You know the sacrament of taciturnity and silence: you meditate even when you speak with idle words. You always stupify the loquacious with your bright silence. "O my soul, your heavenly pranks always soothe my delinquency: I, the most sarcastic and somber of delinquents! Too often have you visited me in prison for me not to dream of your smiles. For you sanctify even dead stones with your happiness... "O my soul, you gave felicity and eloquence to my words... I, a stammerer and defiler of the Word! You offered honey to me as a somber growling bear, a hybernating beast too long accustomed to the isolation of cold mountains. "O my soul, you always wake me toward my dawn, for you are my dawn. When I was but a nemesis and flitting ghost, you demolished all nocturnal day-dreams and insubstantial silliness, and instilled in me your holy, gay sarcasm. "O my soul, you have brought me to tears... I, a warrior scarred by too many battles and the stings of poisonous flies. Even the greatest warrior has his tears, but rather would he bleed first then cry in fear of blood... "O my soul, it is through blood and knowledge that I am sanctified: the altar of my affliction is founded on funeral pyres. The song of the soul is always heightened through martyrdoms and slaughter. But little do people comprehend that kindness is the greatest slaughter... "O my soul, you are the gentle precurser to my Spirit ― your star-gowns and shell-tressles prophecy the happiness of a divine marriage. Upon your immaculate finger rests the ring of a perfect matrimony: such a serpent swallows itself in its wisdom, and all things gravitate to it as their sun. "O my soul, you speak too candidly for candy ears: therefore you needed cleverness for gaping jaws and dumbshows. No one has the ears to understand your songs, therefore you blush when the deaf hear you as muffled tones. Out of shame and bashfulness you glow in your dawn; your petals shine too purely even for their dew. In your simplicity you have always called unwonted attention to yourself. Blushing from your flood, you seek not to put the blighted drought to shame... "O my soul, how shameless I am before your holiness and sincerity! Your sanctity does not proclaim itself in words ― therefore your speech runs more honest. And how heart-wrenching is it that before you and shrouded gods I must still only be a poet? "O my soul, how often have I wanted to kiss you, but for my blasphemy of wanting to bless the most sacred and beloved... "O my soul, you are too kind even in my coldness: you forgive me even when I have forgotten you. In dark rooms have I hid in my hardness against myself, and yet you always sought me as my redeemer, with honey-combs, truffles and roasted lamb. You always lure me from my shadows with tender songs toward the golden playground and gymnasium of the Spirit. "O my soul, whenever I have been error and confusion and dreadful futility, you always came as my harbringer and necessity: my becoming into purpose out of accident. You shatter all musty tombs and rotten sepulchres. As the hammer of my will, you reprimand me with gentle blows. "O my soul, in dreams you came to me as my flock of sparrows; your flight heralds the advent of lions and doves. Such are the divine emblems of ultimate love and sacrifice. And what lover would not sacrifice himself for your sacrifice, which does not even ask for anything in return? "O my soul, despite paint and absurdity, and the noise of too many parrots and circus clowns, I always distinguish your parables and silent inclinations. It is too easy to become small and miserable in crowded doctor's rooms: but you always kill time with your innocence. Your graciousness absolves all childish need for magazines and trivial newspapers. How could I want to read anything anymore but your words of fire, which inoculate my ashen heart? "O my soul, you shatter my hopes and dreams for comfort and security, and always draw me to secret, blessed paths. Although you take me into hell to view its razor gardens, how could I not endure them in order to be with you? You are tranquil even before fallen gods, who have long since burned out their stars. You shake hands and drink a toast to the devil, because you are too overwhelming in your kindness... "O my soul, you have always been a gambler: you play dangerously with divine dice and dice players. You do not make small bets, but give everything your all, because you always cast golden hopes before your deeds. In your confidence you know the result of all things, even when they be on a razor's edge. "O my soul, you guide me as my lantern through wild and barren deserts. You draw my wisdom from exasperated wells with your water-divining powers. You are fortune and fortune's strife, my destiny that shatters all destiny, for you write my true name upon a perfected stone..." Thus have I contemplated my soul upon the mountain, high above the foolishness of April rain. But even after I concluded my prayers and solitude, my soul once again came creepingly unto me. She always knocks unexpectedly at my door: thus have I the need to constantly remain vigilant and overawake. And after our usual greetings, she whispered this wisdom in my ear: "Once a fool, always a fool ― regardless of the season."

#spirituality #soul #gnosis #psyche #philosophy #mystic #mysticism #esotericism #nietzsche #cupid and psyche #poetry #ding dong

14 notes · View notes

heahmundandivar · 6 years

Text

001.

Words: 1763 Tags: Knives, blood, prisoner Heahmund. Summary: Ivar has some fun mocking a captured Heahmund and his faith...

His head still hurt when he awoke. He had been stuck somewhere in between awake and nearly unconscious ever since his path had crossed with the pagan leader at the gates of York. The searing pain that seemed to haunt his skull appeared to be the culprit behind his misery. The bishop felt weak. He tried to hide it whenever he was awake, knowing that the heathens would be watching him. They were always watching, and the devil was with him. He fears no man and until his path had crossed with the cripple, he had always thought the devil to be of a monstrous kind and no man. But the Bishop did not cower in fear. The pagan leader was but a man and if this was the shape of the devil, then he shall not fear this evil but face it instead.

He could feel the eyes poking at him, the gazes of the guilty and the cruel. The pagans were eyeing him like hawks would lure at the mice in the forests that laid near the city of Jorvík. Heahmund knew this feeling - or at least the feeling of being watched. He does not mind people watching him, for it brought him power and confidence - and it made him feel so much closer to the Father. But here, in this moment, it all is different.

The Bishop knew where he was. The smell, however, he did not like. For such evils and dishonour to be brought upon the house of God - he will make the pagans pay for their sins! A church, once so peaceful and a home to many more than just God and Christ, was now but a barn - but at least the rats were gone. If he had anything left in his stomach, he would have thrown up at the thought of rats littering and rustling through the deepest root of his darkened heart.

Silence ruled in this house, and the Bishop preferred it this way. What was left of the church should not be harmed further by these vile pagans. It should be kept and restored. But first, he must kill them all.

There was no scratching and squeaking of any rodent. But he could hear the scraping of other things, a sound so eerie to the tired Bishop’s ears that he did find the strength to open his tired and aching eyes. And there he sat - the devil in a crippled man’s disguise. Heahmund’s mouth was dry. He could not spit at the man, but he would as soon as he could. For now, a lousy grin would do.

And the heathen grinned in return. Ivar the Boneless sat with his pet priest and observed him with a smile so kind and welcoming it would have frightened any other Christian - but not this one. The young prince found it quite interesting, but kept his surprise for his own and displayed a look of seriousness instead. He licked his bottom lip slowly, showing the prisoner bishop that he had quite some time on his hands this time. Their first encounter had been brief, and they had not been alone. But now was different, and so was the pagan leader. Not a single word had been spoken between the two of them, yet Heahmund could see that the boy did not behave the same way he does when he is among his people in moments where he can be on his own, free from any spying eyes. It brought a thought to the Bishop’s mind - Perhaps this heathen is more man than animal after all, but how could one commit such crimes and cruelties? It must be that their pagan gods lack the concept of love, the Bishop nearly pitied the child.

A child, indeed. This boy could not be much older than the brave prince Alfred the Bishop knew so well. But this child was in charge of an army, and Alfred was not. In a sense, it could be intriguing, but the Bishop found it foolish. Had these pagans any sense of doing just...about anything right?

The men looked at each other in silence. There was a silent battle between them, a game of observation to see who could pick up the most from the other by only watching them. Neither of them owed the other any hint of emotion though, both men perhaps being equally stubborn in their own ways. Ivar found it pleasant - almost like a child, indeed. Heahmund found nothing special about it and soon chose to wait instead. Surely, this heathen must have something up his mind if not only a turd.

“I have heard many stories about you,” Ivar the Boneless then stated. “Just like you must have heard them about me.” Heahmund remained silent and watched the pagan. He wanted to hear what this evil child has to tell him. “I have heard that you fear no evil, and that you fear no man.” Ivar pushed himself up, moving closer to the bishop so that he could reach out to the man if he wanted to do so. He found no threat in the prisoner. Ever since he had returned to him, the Bishop had not moved one muscle. It could of course be a trap, but Ivar was confident that he could easily end this man. It would be a shame, however, and it made the prince wonder if this man fears death just like his people.

Their eye contact broke for the first time when Heahmund’s gaze moved down to watch what the crippled boy pulled from his belt. He did not cower when he saw the blade. He would not allow the child such pleasure and met with his eyes in return. Heahmund did not fear the boy - a child perhaps young enough to be a son he could not have. “But, you see-” Ivar commenced, speaking slow but clear. One might just ask themselves where this boy had learned the language of his enemy, for he could easily make the Bishop feel like he is being put under a pagan spell by speaking his heathen tongue. Yet even if he had such power, Ivar would not want to use it. He wanted the Bishop to understand him, and smirked. “This, is not a man.” Ivar finished his sentence by lifting up the blade and bringing it to Heahmund’s cheekbone. He poked the sharp tip at the man’s skin, just hard enough to create a small drop of crimson red. Heahmund didn’t budge, and Ivar hummed pleasantly. “Oh, so your god does bleed!” the young prince mocked. It angered Heahmund that he lacked the strength to fight this heathen and teach him a lesson of his own. He could only roll aside and away from the blade, exhaling a deep grunt. Heahmund tried to block out the boy’s childish giggle.

Ivar crept closer again, the blade clutched in his fist and a grin plastered on his face. He could not let the Bishop get away with this so easily...

“Is your god a coward, priest?” Ivar asked, but his question seemed to fall upon deaf ears. “If you choose yourself to be godly, then is it not your duty to act in the name of your god?” Heahmund tried to block out the annoying sound of the pagan’s voice, but it was difficult, for this child was insulting him and his religion. It fueled the anger in the Bishop’s heart, but it did not spark the energy he needs in order to silence this heathen by himself.

The blade returned. This time, Ivar left its cold metal on the other cheek the Bishop had offered him - and Heahmund wished he could beat himself up over this foolish martyr’s move. “They say your god has a sign,” Ivar mused, teasing the Bishop’s skin with the sharp edge of his dagger. “I saw you do it. Perhaps I should cut off one of these hands of yours, hm? So you can no longer reach to your God. So that he can abandon you.”

“Heathen.” The word was exhaled in a sigh from the Bishop. Ivar snickered briefly. It seems to be the only word this Bishop knows apart from the angry shouting of what seemed to be the poems of his people. Ivar had caught up that these Christians believed for the Vikings to be angry, ruthless and mindless beasts, but it stood in sharp contrast with how this particular priest has acted among his enemies thus far.

Ivar pressed his lips together and grinned. His thumb carressed the knife handle patiently while he waited for the priest to seek eye contact with him from the corner of his eyes, for he chose to not move against the blade - like a coward, perhaps? “I believe your sign goes like this,” Ivar spoke in a whisper. His eyes were hard, wide and set on his blade when he pushed its tip down, into the Bishop’s flesh. Another speck of crimson red escaped from the man’s cheekbone before Ivar trailed the knife downwards, leaving a cut on the Bishop’s cheek. Heahmund could only grunt like an old pig at the pain the heathen child was inflicting on his sacred skin. He would make this wretched heathen pay for his sins!

“And then... I believe, it went like this.” Ivar placed the knife on the Bishop’s skin a third time, now starting on the right side of the cut on the man’s cheek. He did not wait before he drew the blade towards him, slowly, but with enough pressure in order to draw another red cut in the Bishop’s skin. When finished, Ivar could only laugh at his own creation and he cheered up visibly. He drew back his dagger and grabbed the starved and weakened Bishop by the shoulder in a manner a friend would do and flashed him a wide grin.

“See! I have carved the sign of your god in your skin! Now he will be with you every day,” the young prince mocked. He pat the Bishop on the shoulder before he turned and left, dragging his heavy, but deformed legs behind him. Bishop Heahmund said no more, but he thought plenty and cruel. The ache in his arm was minor to his need to stroke his cheek there where the pagan boy had maimed his skin and when he could see the blood on his fingers, the Bishop could feel the rage burn within him...

#001 #heavar #heahmund x ivar #bishop heahmund #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #vikings fanfic #ivar's heathen army

26 notes · View notes

thelightprevails · 7 years

Text

All Vestal Barks

Thanks to @creepazoid-class-s for pointing me in the right direction

All Vestal Barks under the cut (you don’t want a post that long, trust me)

Afflicted

Note: Quotes come from different events after affliction (camping skill usage, moving forward/back, not accepting healing, etc)

Fearful

I am not up to this task, Light forgive me! I will not fear martyrdom. I will not! Light, grant me passage through these cursed halls… Verse XXI: Heathens alone fear death... Spare me this one time, oh Light. Please spare me... Has the Light forsaken us? Deliver me, oh holy Flame... The shadows are crawling. This place is alive with evil! The Light is eclipsed! No! NOOO! They are too strong! Get back! Their eyes are cold with murder! Dark whispers bind me! Blackness... so much paralyzing blackness... I... I can't move... Light protect me! These shadows are unnatural - unholy! I have had a vision! Our deaths are imminent! The holy Flame whispers of torture and misery! Flame... oh Flame... why do you forsake me? I have been so very faithful! And yet... now I suffer!? No! No, please, NOOO! Leave me be! PLEASE! No! NOOOO! Keep away from me! Now I know my end has come.... No... No, please... (bursts into sobs) (tears streaming) Spare me... spare me... spare me... I have known despair. Yet the fear of imminent death... (shudder) Gods, how I long for the safety of the convent... The sacred Flame flickers... The path falls to darkness. Verse LXI: When all is lost, stand firm. The Flame endures. I... I cannot read the ritual while I shudder so... I am trying... but the Light denies a disquieted soul. There's no time for that. Evil is drawn to my purity.

Paranoid

You are all godless, luring me to my end! You test me? Shall I demonstrate the power of faith? Stop staring at me. I know your mind! Verse XXV: trust not armed men, for they seek to wound. You mock me behind my back! Do not deny it! That stone...it gazes at me! Must watch their eyes. They all know of my vows... There is a presence here. Dark and foul. They will sell us to slavers if they defeat us! Ugh! Their foul taint is anathema to my virtue! Sin swirls about them... Do not breathe their air! I alone am the bearer of the Light! The Verses command patience! I'll not defy them! The darkness plays tricks, I will hold fast. Cowards! You reject the Light! I can decide for myself! I am no scullery girl! Hands off! I command myself, thank you! Conspiracy, all around me... Something disrupts my prayer. An unholy presence... Verse XII: quick-burning fires herald pain and torture. Don't deny your lust, it's… fully apparent. I will not sit idly by and wait for your betrayal! I can smell deceit. I've lived among much worse than you! And betray my honor? Is that what you want? My virtue far outweighs your falsity. So we stay. They know I serve the fire! They seek my death! I KNOW them! They are foes of the Flame! My purity is attracting them! They can smell it! I like not how that one is looking at me! I know a liar when I see one. You missed on purpose! Traitor! You could not have missed so easily! TRAITOR! Someone has trained them... We have been tricked! You LET yourself be hit... Why would that be? Ha! I see your mind! Stay there, you... filthy lech. Oh, yes, any chance to brush by the virgin. I see. Why? To tarnish my pure soul? You are jealous! Stand away! Faith alone will heal me! Don't touch me! The Devil works through you! The Light is quite enough for me, thank you. I deny your shamanism, kind though it may seem. Don't touch me! The Darkness works through you! Verse XII: Forbid thyself from incurring debts! I cannot trust you! And reveal my secrets? I think not. ... No. This is intimacy masquerading as aid. I'll not sully my virtue like that. It's... improper. Verse CXI: The pure shall refuse all strangers' gifts. We are becoming too familiar. I shall cope alone. The Verses forbid me to eat this... whatever this is. The Verses say nothing about fuzzy bread... hmmm... "Going without" is the chief tenet of vestalhood... I decline. The Light shall nourish me.

Masochistic

Through suffering, I will know my faith! Verse XIII: only the faithless fear death. My mortified flesh armors me against your hate! My blood is my penance. Take it, heretic! Ha! The Light has already burned away all feeling! Only through pain shall we know forgiveness! The pain only proves my devotion! Only the unfaithful fear death! I am the Light's martyr - strike me down! You cannot harm me! I bear the holy Flame! Their lashes will fuel the hearth within! I relish my trials, I relish my wounds! Spill my blood! Its purity shall exorcise you! I hurl myself on the altar of faith! Pain is the gateway to divinity! We die today. Consumed in the Flame of hope. Pain is the gateway to divinity! I sacrifice myself for the good of the Light! My blood will purify you! The Flame grants power through sacrifice! Hear me, Flame! This blood is yours! Now grant me POWER! These marks reveal my faith. The Flame fears nothing -- no pain, no defeat. (deep inhale) Yes... again! It hurts, yes... But also... (blesses herself) Please, please! End this life of slavery! I BEG YOU! NOOO! The Flame calls to me! Send me to the Flame! Yes... Your pain makes you powerful. No! Take me instead! I... I have sinned so grievously! No. The Flame tests my fear of death. I must face it. My resolve is weak here. I must train it more fully I thrive on pain. It's the way of my order. Let me endure it a bit first. It rejuvenates my soul. No! The Light commands my pain! Take your hands off me... unless you seek to wound me further! My vows demand I refuse. You wouldn't understand. The Light demands my blood! Stay back! My power wanes grows as my wounds mount! Save your blessings! The Light relishes in my suffering! A brush with death can truly purify the spirit. The Mother Superior would be right to impose ten lashings instead... In my life, suffering has been a potent motivator... Pain is a gift from the holy Flame. I cherish it. I can take more yet. Save your folksy charms.

Abusive

I am chosen - you are nothing! May the Light bring courage to you pathetic cast-offs! Stop soiling yourself and fight! Blasphemers! You offend my ears AND my eyes! That I should be made to breathe the air AND your stink.. Appalling! God favors not the meek! Find some courage or burden me no more! Light forsake you, you fiends! Burn and die, craven beasts! You are faithless, but the Light gives me strength! I banish you, demons! Holy Flame, cauterize the wound of their existence! I'll strike you all down if you get in my way. Silence! I am praying for your worthless souls! Your rude tongues offend the Light. And me. Unholy wretch! I will teach you some propriety! Burn! Burn in effigy to the Light! Impressive. But the sacred fire grants superior power. ... I could do better. Given half a chance. Eight year-old girls in the convent are better trained... I could fight better in my temple garments... I am ashamed to be in your presence. How uninspiring you are. Sigh. Don't touch me! I know your.. type. Oh yes, a simple touch on the shoulder now. But what later? I'll not lay my hands upon you... defilers. Oh? Shall I next bless the innkeeper's wench? The Light prescribes my blessings upon the worthy alone! I see you worrying that stone. That is idolatry. Ugh. And will you read my palm next, you vile peddler?

Selfish

The Light guides me, and only me. Pay a donation to the church and I will bless your weapon. Cast aside your gods. Mine alone is the one holy Light. Give me your jewels and I will absolve you of idolatry. Collection plate! Please give freely! Surely the Light has grander plans for me? Your grunting and crying is disturbing my focus! Silence, all! I will now sing a battle hymn! I am chosen! Their souls must suffer the flame! I cannot see the enemy! Move over! The Light... commands me to serve in other ways. Curses, my hair is tangled in my gorget! A moment! I can't read the Verses in this light! Ah, that's better. My faith alone is the measure of purity! I walk my own path! No. The time is not yet right. The Light's rewards are for me alone! My power came at a great price. I use it as I wish. The Light alone commands me. None else have the right. I alone hold this pitiful group together. Yes, ten percent for the church! This was discussed! Give your share to the Light and all will be forgiven. For that, I claim your soul! FOR THE FLAME! Ungh! For these injuries, I require a greater fee! Let me kill it! Its soul must perish by my hand! Leave that one to me! I must cauterize its existence! You know, for a donation, the Flame may grant you skill. Yes, distract that one while I do the real work. I am quite used to keeping what is mine, thank you. Verse VI: Preserve thine own virtue above all else. Feh! Only the light can guide my actions!

Depressed (Hopeless? It’s called Depressed in the files)

There is no higher purpose here... This mission frays my spirits... Why does everyone hate me? Even the mother superior... Even the destitute of spirit refuse the Light. Why? Verse LXVIII: Pray to the Light, for it will grant you joy... Why have I been abandoned? Verse XXXIV: pride is the path to foolishness... I feel cold. Dark... My faith... is a lie. Why slow the inevitable? Damnation awaits me. What is the point of life, of faith? I am unworthy. I cannot carry the Light. I cannot lead. I am too... inexperienced. Take my place. You are stronger than I. Where there is no Light, there can be no hope... Shhh... not even the Light can save us now. Call down the Flame yourself. It heeds me no longer. I am just a shadow in the dark - nothing at all. I am no hero! Just a little girl in a woman's garb! Poor experience begets poor decisions... The holy Verses no longer resonate, all is lost. Dark times, these. Demons and undead plague the land. The holy flame flickers. 'Tis a black omen. I will burn in blackness... And so shall you! Join me! Join me in the black world, denizens of evil! I care not about judgment... I tire of slavery. Flame, consume me. What cowardice. No. I shall at least die with some dignity. If the Flame cannot suffice, then the Flame has done with me. The power of virtue will save me... I hope This is my destiny, let me be. I am well enough. Go, help the others. Verse CXV: when health wanes, only prayer can restore it. There is nothing without the Light. Stop. I am tainted enough already... With every touch or glance, my resolve is corrupted... No blessing in the world will make any difference now. Verse LXI: Always know -- never exceed -- thy limits. The Light cannot illuminate one shrouded in black... My life, wasted. There is no power in faith. I have defied so many Verses... It is futility. Why do they scoff at the Verses? Do I misrepresent them? Not unlike the last meal of an unchaste vestal...

Irrational

There is Light in the stones! And in the smiles of flies! My eyes are on fire... So beautiful, I must gouge them out! The Versebook is in my hand. I tear a bit and eat it. Mmm. Verse XVI: the meek shall... Lords, this scroll is heavy. Fetch me a newborn lamb. I must make an offering. Now! A fine crystal shatters! Pottery cracks! My flesh turns black! My eyes splinter! You are but children! Motherless children! The verses number 36 and so too the constellations! There is music in the air! LA, LA-LOO, LA-LOOEEOOOAAA! Take my arm, like the ladies on the promenade! Weee! It was a beautiful hymn, sung by the pigs of St. Martha's. My gloves are soiled, and they in turn soil the holy pages! A candle in the dark! Burn, burn, BURN! The stars and sun are of the same Light, yet I see neither... One stunted tree in a fruiting orchard... The Flame flickers... I see now... Shadows are the children of Light... That Sister Abigail... always a cheat. Lord, this chastity belt chafes. Pass the lamp oil. Mutilation is a most holy act. Any takers? Demons, all. You, my mother, my father... all. Anoint yourself with my holy blood, and be damned. The fire burns within me! I wield it like a blade! You all seek my virtue! But it is not mine to give! FIRE AND DEATH! I will be no mother, "superior" or otherwise... HOLD YOUR GROUND! YOU SHAME THE FIRE! FLEE NOW, YES! AND MAY THE FIRE DAMN YOUR COWARD SOUL! Mother! MOTHER! Please! Be kind to me, Sisters! The hissing embers... like a choir of the faithful. I am a Flame -- a beacon to the devout. Mother - Father! Too late! The convent has taken me... Hah! Even the pigs of St. Martha's can carry that tune! But I am only a child. How can you ask that of me... How... I ask thee, oh Flame: is it privilege... or slavery? You will burn for that. .. BUUURRRRRRRRNNNNNN! (sobbing uncontrollably) I hear the song of the sisterhood. The burning women... You too shall burn. There is no escape. You touched me... you touched me... you touched me... Your heat... it is noticeable... Does the Flame also feel? I don't need anything, not even my faith! Hahaha... I have known much darkness. But this seems so very... inky! It's full of stars - beautiful and horrifying! Nonsense! I need only bay leaf and cow urine! The whip. The cat. The lash. The scourge. I cannot accept help from the faithless... I descend into the black lake below. I am lost... Horrors! The Flame turns glaucous and crepuscular! My versebook pages flutter on the wind - like butterflies! They whipped us in the Convent, day and night... I am tired, and the sunset is beautiful, is it not? I can't hear you, I've fled this place on wings of light! I-I've lost a page...it sits atop the steeple, hee hee hee! Temptation is a wild snake; its venom, my release. I'll not eat that! It swarms with dragonflies!

Virtuous

Stalwart

My faith shall be my guide! My purity shall burn away all blackness! I cannot be extinguished when fire burns within. Power is purity!

Courageous

Worry not, friends. We are protected from above! The night is black, yes -- but the Fire burns bright. The fire stands with you. Fear not the black. Do not despair. As the black deepens, my power grows...

Focused

My path is illuminated! By the holy Flame, I shall persevere! What grace has given me, let it pass to you, hero. The sacred fire whispers your name. You are most blessed.

Powerful

Holy power courses through me! It is as the Versebook says: purity is power. Our actions have pleased the sacred Flame. This is a holy boon. Use it wisely.

Vigorous

Though caged in steel, my faith burns through. I set my soul aflame. Nothing can extinguish it. As mother said... my suffering has prepared me well. No ill wind can snuff out the sacred Flame.

Critical Hits

Attacking

Light take you! Blacken our world no longer! Begone, foul thing! You shall suffer as I have! Burn in the holy Flame! You are DAMNED!

Recieving

It steals my breath! Fiends from the Pit, you shall not have me! Must it all end in such blackness?!

Encouragement

General

Breathe from this censer and recite the Verses. Now! Verse XXXVI: the Light shines brightest in darkness. I anoint you with oil warmed by the holy Flame. All is well.

Battle Aid

The ashes of this incense will consecrate the wound You very nearly entered the Light. Be more careful. I will petition the Light for your quick recovery.

Pep Talk

The Light touches us even here. I see victory in your eyes, though you are blind to it. Verse LVI: The Light e'er rises.

Hobby

Busy yourself elsewhere. I am praying for your soul. Yes, I shave my legs. What of it? Have you thread? I've torn a seam in my temple garments.

Death’s Door

I am ready, Light!

#Have you ever been this determined to learn more about your character #Also doing this directly to try and figure out Junia's past ngl #I don't know when or how to quit #OOC #Vestal #Darkest Dungeon #This took me literal hours

5 notes · View notes

jasondarejourney · 6 years

Text

If Ba Den mountain – the highest and most challenging summit in the south of Vietnam seems too much painful for you, so Chua Chan Mountain in Dong Nai province, the second highest peak, probably your perfectly alternative choice.

[toc]

Introduction

Located in Dong Nai, Chua Chan mountain (aka Gia Lao) is about 100 km away from Saigon. Standing as 837 m high, it is also the second-highest peak in the southeastern region of Vietnam, just after Black Virgin Mountain (Ba Den) in Tay Ninh, whose height is 996 m. It was recognized as a national heritage site in 2012.

It is interesting that Chua Chan used to be a volcano (so typical is the conical shape), and you may see it when taking a bus from Saigon to Phan Thiet as it locates close to the mainway.

In Vietnam, wherever there’s a mountain, there are temples or pagodas. Sharing the same fact, Chua Chan is home to three main pagodas Buu Quang, Linh Son, Lam Son.

Road to the mountain

There are 2 routes, depending on your vehicles: Fastest is on a car/ bus via expressway but I go for a motorcycle ride of freedom on 1A highway.

Anything Interesting?

Vendors by the staircase

The stone staircase upward the pagoda is steep and fully occupied with stores and food stalls. Some vendors might ask you to buy some goods, especially incense and candles if you are Vietnamese or Asian as they think you come to pray.

Despite the fact that stores ruins the sacred atmosphere of a pilgrimage, but they are beneficial somehow that provide travelling people with delicious food and cool drink, along with clothes, shoes, souvenirs. Someone says it hosts also so-called “spiritual services” including palmistry and fortune telling cards. Entertaining in karaoke rooms and resting overnight in hostels are also available.

Yeah, I think the “very special village” plays very well a role of the dedicated food street in a manner of “staircase to heaven”

The trail

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

After leaving the cable car station behind, you start following a trail paved, which is sides with cajus and other lush trees. Be noticed that sometimes forks show no direction signs, and the general advice is to opt to the wider routes as they are likely towards the peak. If you go wrong way then it is also very short time to realize that situation and come back, which means, you may get lost, for a while, so no worry.

Wooden house by the spectacular view

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

En route to the peak, you probably stop by a cottage hosting many hammocks for beautiful resting. Actually, when we came here, we saw a little garden full of baby pine so it is hopefully expected to be very green next year.

You could set up camp and cook there, a lot of campfire traces on the ground and you can collect big stones nearby for a temporary stove.

Cable car station

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

With 1 km in length, the Cable car system hosts 72 cabin (8 pax /cabin), constructed by an Australian company. The surrounding is so colorful with flowers and plants neatly grown and take good care on a daily basis.

A return ticket costs 160,000 VND/ adult and 90,000 VND/ child (0.9m-1.2m ) and free for under 0,9m but charge as a adult if he is taller than 1.2m. You can buy bottled drink and ice-cream by a vendor inside for at least 15,000 VND for a 500ml bottle of coke.

It is hardly occupied by campers but we did it and enjoyed a wonderful night. In the next morning, someone told us that the night watcher thought it was devil as he heard our laughs but failed to see us. Amazing! I reveals more details in a below section.

The peak

Truth to be told, I didn’t make it for the very first attempt to the summit, below is collected information that would be useful for you and my second trial.

Depending on the season so the land is colored by green or yellowish brown look-like burnt grasses or lush plants. The breezes lure you into a calm nap with floating clouds rolling by near and far. It also provides a spectacularly panoramic view downward the neighborhoods below.

Camp fire

There are two suitable grounds to camp: At the summit and by the cottage.

For night trekkers

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

As we planed to camp at night, so the experience was totally different from day hiking.

It was a little bit weird.

Starting at 10 PM at the foot of the mountain (10,000 parking fee/ night at a nearby house), you would see no one while taking step-by-step to the peak, but some prayer when you are close to the pagoda. Dogs everywhere and they are barking at you fiercely but nicely without any bites.

The vendor just resting on beds or hammocks but you hardly see them, little altar along with smell of incense. After the pagoda, you will experience a complete darkness of trail, and it should take you 1-2 hour to reach the summit.

If you don’t want to take risk (due to weather or so) then camp at the cable car station is pretty ideal but you may need a permission.

Bring home

It’s definitely crunchy banana chips with ginger that is a specialty as you see many many of them on the way back and local vendors ask if you would like to buy them as souvenirs.

“What’s your plan”

A typical plan for a day trekking should be like below:

5:00: Departing from Ho Chi Minh City

6:00: Have a breakfast (in Bien Hoa city)

9:00: Reach foot of the mountain, park your motorcycles (if any), prepare your backpacks and ready to start the staircase journey.

9:30: Starting the hike, head to the pagodas

10:30: End of the staircases, reach the pagoda, take rest then start the mountain trekking

12:00: At the summit, have lunch, take nap

14:00: Start descending

15:30: At the foot of the mountain, have drink and relax

16:00: Ride back

17:00: Have dinner in Bien Hoa city

17:30: Continue riding back to HCMc

19:00: In HCMc

For the night trekking, generally share the time schedule, if you departs from HCMc at 16:00 then you’re likely to reach the peak at midnight and welcome the sunrise at dawn on the next day (luckily you see a stunning sea of cloud) and get back at 8:00 then arrive in HCM at 14:00.

Outfit

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Pants and long sleeve better as the trail has a lot of tall grasses that makes you irritated, along with mosquitoes.

Weather does matter. We have a very bad rainy night and couldn’t make it to the summit, so, you’d better watch out for weather forecast before departure. It’s safe to trek on dry season but packing along a raincoat usually a good idea.

The path is easy to go, and it may have a little muddy terrain in rain season that probably makes you fall.

It is extremely comfortable to wear sandals in rain season. Normally, trekking shoes play pretty well, too.

Wanna protect your skin? A sun cream is perfect, though mostly you are covered by the shade

If you plan to camp overnight then a optional clothes to change is advised as it keep you dry while the cold and fog at night may make you get sick.

Hiking on a budget (2018)

100,000 VND Gasonline

60,000 VND two on-the-way meal (Pho is good option)

10,000 VND parking fee (per motorcycle)

100,000 VND self-prepared meal for one person at peak/ camping

30,000 VND water (3,0L)

10,000 VND raincoat

320K VND in Total ($15)

Alternative Choice If Ba Den mountain - the highest and most challenging summit in the south of Vietnam seems too much painful for you, so Chua Chan Mountain in Dong Nai province, the second highest peak, probably your perfectly alternative choice.

0 notes