Context: The Planet Crafter (Game)
Fanfic Blurb: Short entry format from the POV of a Planet Crafter through the Terraforming process.
Update: Sporadic (as I get time to play, I will update accordingly)
I woke today and saw a sight I never thought I'd see again. Blue sky. Clear, gorgeous, and unclouded. The sands sparkled like diamonds under it. The winds stopped blowing and I could see that this was not just a simple "rock" but it had shapes, structures, a beauty all it's own, savage though that beauty might be. I was so struck by the sight, I journeyed further than I'd ever traveled before, and that's when I found them - derelict ships.
Sentinel corps, to be sure. You could tell that just from the structure of the hulls. But this wasn't a prisoner pod, no. It was a transport ship. There was no telling how long it had been here, long enough to be partially buried to be sure. I searched but there was no indication of survivors. What happened to them? With the doors cracked open, they must have looked for shelter, but there is nothing here.
Part of me felt bad for scavenging the wreck for anything I could use, but I was alive and the crew wasn't using it, so I took everything I could carry and made a few trips back. I am here. I am alive. And I will use every advantage I find to stay that way.
I don't know if it was sentimentality, or a sense of defiance, but when I got home, I upgraded my heaters and drills, added more plants and a beacon that said "Home" with the resources I found. I have a place. My actions are making an impact, small though it may be. This is my home.
Context: The Planet Crafter (Game)
Fanfic Blurb: Short entry format from the POV of a Planet Crafter through the Terraforming process.
Update: Sporadic (as I get time to play, I will update accordingly)
I felt daring enough to try venturing further away from home today. I found a cave with brilliant white-blue spires jutting from the floor and the ceiling. The wind quieted and everything was just still in an eerily beautiful way. I don't know how long I spent there simply breathing, but it was long enough for my air alarm to sound.
On my way back I found sand falls. I don't know how to describe them other than waterfalls made of sand. I found iridium that I used to make another heater.
Just past the falls is a vast plain filled with uranium and zeolite. I don't know what I'll use it for, but I took it anyway. Better to have and not need than to need and not have in my mind.
I gathered enough supplies to expand my little "hut" to a 2x2 two-story structure. Living on this planet makes such a space feel like a palace. I moved all the heaters and the vegetubes upstairs and split the lower level into a work space and a home space. Something inside me released. It feels like I'm making a claim, staking my mark on this place.
Prime is full of resources. Which would be great, if I needed aluminum, osmium and sulfur. Don't get me wrong, they'll be great - in the future. What I need right now is iron, magnesium and silicone. I got lost looking for those. Almost didn't make it back!
I found enough resources to make the basics - a habitat pod, some rudimentary power, and a vegetube for oxygen. It means I won't want for breathable air outside the shelter. It's a start.
I stopped fearing the meteor strikes after the second one, when I realized these same strikes carried the very ores I needed most. Now, as soon as I hear them coming, I gear up and prepare to go hunting for resources once they end.
My fastidiousness is proving to be a boon. I have three chests, one for basic ores, one for the ones I will need later, and one for food/water/plants. This organization is not only keeping me sane, it's helping me upgrade easily when I can do so.
Context: The Planet Crafter (Game) Fanfic
Blurb: Short entry format from the POV of a Planet Crafter through the Terraforming process.
Update: Sporadic (as I get time to play, I will update accordingly)
Planetfall - HPrime
A convict. Let it be known they labeled me a convict and sentenced me to "terraforming" a planet. What was my crime? The crime of speaking up, of refusing to be silent.
Vesta was dying. That was the uncomfortable truth I refused to be silent about. My report showed clearly the effect of the systematic abuse of the planet's resources. My report was either extensively redacted or never saw the light of day; who knows after my "trial."
My sentence served two purposes. First, it put me where my voice could not be heard. Second, it forced me to make a home my people could move to when the inevitable happened.
So I'm here, on a planet named Prime. My sentence is to turn this baked dust ball into something livable.
Dust ball is the accurate term. The red clouds of dust would be choking if the atmosphere were breathable.
They were kind enough to give me enough resources to last about a week. I need to find what resources I can to make a sustainable base.
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Pairing: Thancred/WOL/Urianger
Rating: NSFW
Word Count: 5840
CW: 5.X spoilers, OT3, DP, Light Dom/Sub undertones, Thancred/Urianger established, fellacio, teasing, feelz and fluff, DP, Urainger is a Sly Dog, don’t let the fancy speak throw you.
iNSPIRED BY: https://twitter.com/djyuuji/status/1151620062123560961
Authors Note: So I don’t post a lot of my longer works here (out of respect for people’s dash) and I also figure few people will actually click over to AO3 unless they are VERY familiar with my work. So I’ve made the choice to repost this here.
Also, I say that I’m a crap writer when it comes to smut. This one I’m very VERY proud of. There are some turns of phrase or a few edits I might make based on reread, but all in all, the feeling, the emotion and how caught up they all are in one another, I would not change a damn thing on that. This is the smut I write because this is the smut I love.
The Story In Our Stars
You sit at a small round table with Urianger. There were things you were still getting used to in the First. Seeing your friend without his goggles and robes was one of those things. The two of you were waiting for your other ally to join you and the silence had grown slightly awkward.
Urianger started to speak more than once before stopping himself. Finally, he seemed to gather the courage to speak what was on his mind. “Considerist thou the stories written in the stars, warrior of light?” He asks the quiet question, pale gold eyes studying you.
After the recent dealings with the Crystal Exarch, you thought of little else but your dear friend didn’t need to know that. Instead, you smirked and offered a lighter rejoinder. “Could they tell me a tale worth hearing, Urianger? One that would allow me to set my worries aside for a while and enjoy the company of friends?”
Thancred chuckled and dropped a tankard in front of each of you. “Watch your step with our resident Astrologian. He’d like you to think he’s honorable, but he has a scoundrel’s heart.”
It was an amusing observation considering the source. Not that you could blame those who threw themselves at Thancred’s feet. The hyur was charming, no doubt about it, and an accomplished flirt. He was perfectly your type. Someone safe to joke with and share innuendo-laden comments, knowing it would never lead to anything more. At least, until you were faced with his loss, not once, but twice. It stung on levels you knew weren’t superficial and it troubled you. But Thancred was Thancred, and his trials left him unchanged for the most part, so you kept your thoughts and feelings to yourself.
“Save thy insinuations for one given to such impropriety. T'was mine intent to offer our companion a glimpse of that which might buoy her spirit in days to come.”
You smiled at Urianger. Of course, anything from him would be innocent. Loyal, dedicated, ever oblivious, Urianger. Your heart ached as you watched him come to terms with the loss of the only person he showed more than a passing interest in. During that time, the two of you shared more than a few nights reminiscing about days long gone and the antics of misbegotten youth.
He was intelligent, cunning and you could listen to him talk for hours. Truly it was enough to sit with him and read. His presence was one of the rare places you found peace, and if you felt something deeper, well you locked that away deep in your heart.
“Ah yes, what was I thinking?” Thancred’s tone was mocking.
You interrupted their playful banter. “What would you have me do Urianger?”
rebloging because this is fucking PERFECTION but also:
“You leaned back and let your eyes travel over his form appraisingly. Lifting your tankard, you drink deeply. In for a poetics, in for a goeta. You think to yourself. You lean forward just enough to let your breath ghost over his lips.”
I had to look up the actual definition of Goeta because in Ohio “Goetta” means a sausage made of pork & oats LMAO I cackled
hahahaha! Its funny you say that. I knew once I put those tombstones in there i was dating the piece HARD with how they retire the damn things, but it worked so I left it. I'm glad you enjoyed the piece! Thanks for sharing and commenting
As luck would have it, we didn’t make it to Whiterun before we found a lead on Captain Serano. Let it be known that bandits in Skyrim are a lot like wolves. They don’t know how to size up their targets and they always think today is a good day to die.
I picked up some letters that were on a barrel and glanced them over. “Huh. Lucky break.”
“What did you find?” Kaidan walked over and read the letters over my shoulder. “Well, well. Looks like the good captain is supplying animals for fighting rings.”
I answer with a noncommittal grunt. I don’t care what he’s doing or why. I have a job to do and I intend to do it. “Where would someone go if they were transporting ice wolves?”
“Well now, let’s see…” Kaidan looks off toward Whiterun. “Dawnstar, Solitude or Windhelm are all good options. Solitude is the capital of Skyrim. There would be lots of traffic in and out of port. Easy to hide or get lost in the crowd.”
“Sounds like a good place to start. I’m assuming we can find transport from Whiterun.”
“Aye, we can at that.”
“Then we have our next stop.”
The travel to Solitude was blessedly uneventful. It was a two day trip, but at least we didn’t have to deal with bandits every few miles. I idly wonder if someone pays them to leave the carriages alone. Regardless of the reason, I was glad for peace for the first time in a while.
Kaidan seemed unwilling or unable to relax. He kept watch at night a few feet from my bedroll. I don’t know if he thought I would be unable to fend off the unwanted advances of a carriage driver, but his insistence at taking his oath seriously made me smile. He really is too good for this world.
Solitude ended up being a good option. While we didn’t find the pirate captain, we did find some good clues. We still had to trek all the way across Haafingar and back to get anywhere, but we finally got a clue about a brawl by the Solitude arch. I found a bloody note that led me to someone I didn’t expect to meet until the job was done.
“Fathis? You look like shit!”
“Heh…” The Dunmer coughed. “You should see the other guy.”
“You know this person, lass?” Kaidan asked, his hand releasing his sword.
“Yeah, he’s the one who put a contract on his boss.”
Fathis shook his head. “It’s not what you think.”
I dig around in my pack looking for a healing potion. “What I think is Serano got wise to you and you lost.” I hold out a healing potion. “Drink this.”
Fathis shakes his head and coughs again. “Keep your potion. It had to be one of us.”
“Where is Serano?” I growl, eyes narrowing. “I’m finishing this contract.”
“I left him at sea. Tell him, tell him I’ll see him in Oblivion.”
I close my eyes and stand in silence. I don’t pray, the divines don’t listen to us anyway, but I do wish him peace.
“Was he a friend?” Kaidan asks, his voice soft, respectful.
“No. He was an employer but that doesn’t mean I think he should die at the side of the road, alone. This is the best I can do for him. I wish peace for him in death. The peace he could not find in life.”
Kaidan’s eyes sharpen as he looks at me. “Do you hold vigil for each of your bounties, lass?”
That question made me stop. We stared at each other for a minute. He was content to wait for an answer and I had to find it. After a few minutes, I focused on him.
“Yes. I do. Even if it’s nothing more than letting them know it’s business and not personal. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s a comfort to myself. If they understand, maybe they will not seek revenge in their own way.”
Kaidan’s lips bow into a small smile. “The cold bounty hunter has a heart! I knew it was in there somewhere.”
I narrow my eyes in a glare. “I do not. And if you keep that up you will be my next target.”
Fathis had a map to an island. Based on his comment of “leaving him at sea” I decided to take a calculated risk and head out.
The island was desolate. Nothing more than an empty rock with some grass, a tree, and a few mudcrabs. Whomever dumped him here had a sense of humor. There was a book on waterbreathing.
As we made our way around the island, we found a man sitting under the tree staring out to sea.
“You must be Serano.”
“Depends. Who sent you?”
It felt like time stood still. This certainly wouldn’t be the first time my target looked me in the eye as I took their life. ‘It’s not what you think.’ Fathis’ words came back to me. If he wasn’t the one who put the contract out on Serano, who did? Something about the whole deal didn’t sit right with me. Maybe that’s why I lied.
“No one.”
“So you just sailed out to an abandoned island?”
I crossed my arms and quirked a brow. “Perhaps you’d like to stay here and build a summer home?”
“You know what? You’re right. You get me back to the mainland and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
I sigh and shake my head. I should have killed him. I know I’m going to live long enough to regret this.
Six weeks. That's how long I've been here. Six, godforsaken weeks.
Two weeks was travel time. That was easy enough to get through. The additional four weeks... Four dreadful weeks of staring at the same stone walls, listening to the incessant water drop, feeling a cold breeze from somewhere caress the stones and brush against your skin like death. It's enough to drive you mad if you let it.
My wardens, the Thalmor, left me alone once they threw me in here. That thought brings a smile to my face as it did every time I remembered it. Seems they weren't eager to test my skill with a blade again. The last time it cost six of them their lives. had the spellcasters not summoned the blasted dramora, I might have gotten away. They did. I didn't.
A few weeks ago there was something of a riot. Several of the prisoners made a break for it. No one opened my cell. I guess what I did got around and no one wanted to take the chance that I would be indiscriminate with my blade. The prisoners didn’t make it. The stench of death filled this place for days after.
A scream erupts from the newest resident of the prison. Cyrellian is at it again. Sadistic bastard. I don't know what the new guy did, but he's been here for about the last week I think. The Thalmor seem to have a special interest in that one. This session sounds especially punishing. I don't know the man, but if he survives this, he might make a worthy ally until I finish my mission.
My mission. I sigh to myself. I'm not surprised that no one has come looking for me. When you're a member of the Morag Tong, you're on your own if you get caught. Take too long to report a successful mission and they send someone else.
My eyes narrow at the thought of someone else taking out my target before I find him. The client was paying well to kill that pirate, and after all the hell I’ve gone though to get this far, I was due a payday. I grit my teeth at the thought that “someone” could be one of the Dark Brotherhood. That would be a cold day in Oblivion.
A soft light glows brighter from the side of the empty bookcase. A statue of Mara? I tilt my head. Slowly I rise from the bed and walk towards it. It wasn’t here when I laid down.
My cell is eerily quiet. I can’t even hear the wind that normally blows. On light feet I approach the statue.
“Approach my child, and choose where your new life will begin.”
I balked at that. Who the hell? On a lark, I said the first thing that came to my mind.
“I want to escape this cell.”
“So be it.” Three lockpicks appeared on the table next to the statue.
I blinked. Twice. I don’t know if it was Mara or not and frankly, I wasn’t staying around long enough to find out. I snagged the lockpicks and headed out of the cell.
On the table at the top of the small flight of stairs was a key, on a table. I rolled my eyes. How long had freedom been this close? I snagged the key and went looking for the way out. As I passed a cell, I heard a moan.
The new prisoner. I wonder if he’s in any shape to move.
I entered his cell and noticed two healing potions. Sick bastards! No wonder this guy lasted as long as he had. As I stepped toward him, he spoke.
“When I get out of here, I’ll kill you all myself.”
“Sure you will. You’re in no position to make threats here.”
He looked at me, surprised. “You’re not with the Thalmor, are you?”
“You think those Altmer snobs would have anything to do with Dunmer? Who are you?”
“Kaidan. My name is Kaidan.”
“Tell you what, Kaidan.” I start unchaining him as I speak. “I’m in the mood to make our warden’s day miserable. Care to join me?”
“I wouldn’t say no to that, but, well, would you be willing to help me get my sword back?”
I quirk a brow and hand him a healing potion. “You can’t walk and you think you’re going to fight?”
Kaidan downs the potion and smirks at me. “You’re unarmed and you’re going to start a fight with a bunch of magic users?”
“Fair point. Lets see what we can scrounge up. Maybe we’ll find your sword.”
Killing people should come in two flavors. It’s either satisfying or you’re getting paid enough to make it worth the hassle. Cyrellian was neither. We found my gear and Kaidan’s sword. While Kaidan was putting on his armor, I removed the patch proclaiming my allegiance to the Morag Tong from mine. It’s what got me in trouble in the first place. I didn’t want that happening again before I found my mark.
“Hey, uh, I owe you my life.” Kaidan says from behind me as I’m strapping on my daggers.
“Think nothing of it.”
“It doesn’t quite work that way. If you ever have need of me, you need only ask.”
I cinch my chest piece closed and look at Kaidan, actually look at him for the first time. This man is far too earnest… and good. I almost shiver at that. I wouldn’t say I’m evil, traditionally speaking, but I don’t think I could ever pull off the look he’s giving me right now.
“I’d be glad to have you travel with me.” What? What did I…. no! No I wouldn’t.
“I am, your sword and shield.” Kaidan says with a small salute. Fuck.
The journey was mostly uneventful with the two of us lost in our thoughts and killing any wolf who decided it was a good day to die. For the record, far too many wolves in skyrim feel like it’s a good day to die. Kaidan stuck with ranged, which was fine by me. I needed to work of some frustration on the front line with my swords.
We came upon pair of towers with a bridge stretched between them. Looked respectable. As we started to pass, a woman stopped us.
“This here’s a toll road, see. You’ll be needing to pay, say 200 gold if you want to pass”
Kaidan and I both roll our eyes.
“Seems like half of Skyrim has become bandits. By Zenithar, get a trade” he grumbles, under his breath.
I almost snort at that. I fix the woman with a glare. “How about you let me pass and I let you live?”
“Big talk for someone whose about to –” she didn’t finish her sentence. As soon as I saw her reaching for her weapon, mine were in my hands and I was moving.
That’s all it took to alert the rest of the bandits in the tower. Kaidan and I split up and cleared them out. At least the loot this time was respectable. I could sell the armor for some decent money.
We got to the top of the second tower and I noticed there was a small ledge sticking out over the water.
“Hey Kaidan,” I say as I hop over the rail and out onto the plank, “ten septims says I could hit the water from here.”
“My life debt does not extend to jumping off this plank for you. Come back here.”
I turn around, toss him a look over my shoulder, and jump.
There is nothing more thrilling that the momentary sensation of freedom as you jump from a height right before you land in the water. When I surface, I’m laughing. It was wonderful.
Kaidan comes running out of the towers. “You’re a mad woman!”
I climb out of the water, still laughing. “I’ve been called worse. Come on, I need to pick up the trail of the bounty I’m after.”
“There’s a major trade hub across the water. Whiterun. They’re likely to know something. If not, I have some contacts I can ask to see if we can find leads.”
I debated popping this here and thought about putting it in my main blog, but this is still a piece of my writing, even if it's not part of my worlds (The Paragon/Limbo) it's a bit of a ramble but one that gives me comfort to re-read from time to time.
It is based on Egyptian mythology, and you know how I do love to twist mythology, so read that how you will
Outdoors, the air is warm but not uncomfortably so. The meeting place is not unlike a gazebo. Octagon in shape and made of a rose quartz stone. There is warmth to the materials. There are pillars at each of the points of the octagon – Greco roman columns. There are vines of ivy using the columns as supports and the flowers in the garden surrounding the structure are in bloom. The smell of Plumeria and orchid makes for a heady brew. The floor is covered by a thick rug. The designs are reminiscent of Persian rugs and the design no less grand. There are two low divans in here that invite one to stretch out and relax. They promise comfort but do not invite sleep. It is a place for a weary traveler to find solace and comfort before resuming their journey. Between the divans there is a table with fruits – grapes, pears, mangos, apples and peaches sorted on a platter. There is also a tea set. It’s ceramic but brown with deep designs etched and inlaid. The pattern and influence does not ring a bell with me but it is beautiful nonetheless. There is music in the background – "Kai" I think – sort of a grand joke in and of itself. Classical meets techno – somehow I feel it is appropriate.
It’s nighttime. The moon is rising in all her glory and she is full. She signs a soft and inviting light into the gazebo and I start to lay out the chess board. While setting the pieces I ponder the pawn. Some people despise being the pawn. The word alone conjures up so many negative connotations – disposable, too many rules, least valuable. Yet the pawn is the only piece on the board that can transcend itself and become more that it was. It is the only piece that can become one of the others. In that sense it is the most valuable but the mutability needs to be used carefully and the road will be tough.
A cool breeze stirs and I know he has arrived. “Greetings Father.” I say, slowly standing and turning to se him. He is not one easily missed though, at the same time he is. Deep ebony skin and powerful presence. At first he seems impossibly tall, but as I get closer he seems to be just perfect. His presence is that of a comforting parent – a long time relative returning for a welcome visit that has been too long in coming. He is as I see Him, Ibis head, headdress, traditional dress, barefoot (shoes are not allowed in this place) and missing his papyrus and quill.
“Greetings Daughter, may I enter?” His voice is rich and deep. A baritone I think. It could ring off the walls should he wish it, yet he is soft-spoken.
As we enfold one another in a hug I hear myself saying “Be welcome in this place. Be at peace, know happiness and find comfort within its walls. You never need my permission to enter.”
“Ah! I know I was just being polite”
I find myself smiling “You are incorrigible, mischief maker to the last! I’ll never hear the end of it! Making my own father ask permission to gain entrance into a place”
With a wicked gleam in his eye he replies “It will be our secret,” and he winks at me. “Come sit, let’s talk.”
“I have so many questions; I don’t know where to start. They seem to trip over themselves wanting to be answered.”
“You will never learn if you do not ask, but also do not promise answers. I am a teacher, but I am also a parent. It is not my job to guide your through life’s trials and point out each stumbling block or pothole. It is my job to let you make your own mistakes and to be there to provide you with insight when it is most needed.” His voice takes a bit of a stern and chiding tone. “Nor Tasebi, will I force you to see what I have laid before you, should you turn from my guidance, such is your choice.”
My gaze turns to the floor as I study its pattern “That was indeed a painful lesson. Not one I’ll soon forget I assure you.” As I turn to look at him, his face has taken on the countenance that I relate to his “fatherly demeanor”. It seems that I have been forgiven my previous trespasses.
As I start to serve tea I have one question that I cannot stop “Why me? Why not one of the others? What is it that I have done or have yet to do that makes this duty mine?” As the last question is spoken I hand him the tea and for the first time look into his eyes.
“So many questions. Like a child you are. Always “Why” and when you get the answer it is only to ask “Why” again. Can you not accept that this is something you needed to do? Why not you? Do you doubt yourself so much? Do you find so little value in that which we have brought together that you question your own worth?”
“….No, not really. But I’m scared. I don’t know. I don’t understand. I’m overwhelmed and …. I’m frightened.”
"Ah! And therein lies the truth of the thing. That is the first intelligent thing you’ve said. You fear. And to reduce or eliminate that fear you seek to define it, give it parameters – limits if you will. But it does not work that way. Fear is. Period. It exists, and no matter what you do to make it fit into this neat little box you construct for it – it will expand, slip and move outside of it. The only way to conquer fear is to face it – and overcome. You fear because you do not believe in yourself. Listen on this - *WE* believe in *YOU*. When all else fails and there is nothing but your fear and the bleak desolation around you - *WE* are there. And we would not have asked you to do this thing if we thought it was more than you could handle. You will face this fear and you will grow. It is a scary prospect now, but once you grow you will wonder why you ever feared in the first place.” He pauses for a minute before he continues “Child, do you think you do this alone? Do you think that I would leave you alone? Do you think your Mother would? We may not be able to walk this path for you – but we are ever with you. Your … “Aunt” and “Uncle” are as well (he seems amused by the titles I have assigned to Aset and Set). You are loved, beloved and cherished by more than you”
I grin at myself “Knowledge will make me soar?”
“It may. You might indeed, but before you can fly you must walk. Ah ah – I see it now.. the “Why?” forming again. The natural way of things must be. You have to accept that.”
“But the natural way of things is not. There are too many things that have happened or that I’ve seen that show that I’m… well weird! I’ve studied. It’s frustrating to know the fourth step of a process innately but not to know the first three.”
“Then you have forgotten.” This was said calmly and with finality “There is no one to blame when you have forgotten but to remember, it is a struggle. You will face this frustration, you will study you will desire to learn and sometimes what you read will be remembering, but other times it will be work so difficult it is not unlike walking through a knee deep mire. It will not be easy, nor will it be fun, but you will be grateful for it when it is through.”
“I don’t have the patience, Father.”
He laughs “That’s your mother speaking. You are here are you not? You have taken time and have made this place. You have the patience when you want to have it. Now you must convince yourself that it is needed.”
I take a seat on the divan across from him and sip at my tea for a moment. “I want to know more about you. I refuse to believe the image of an emotionless instructor in from of a class of students with ink stained fingers ever writing on parchment.”
“There is not much to know”
“There is less that you want known father”.
He looks at me with his unblinking stare and I could almost swear he arches an eyebrow.
“Sorry – guess that’s Uncles influence.”
"You are more like him than you care to hear child. You fancy yourself to be more like me – perhaps it’s that you wish you were like the image you so thoughtfully toss away but know this – People find in Us what they most need to see. Those that flock to my banner do so because they see in me what they most value. For instance, Why ibis? Why not baboon?"
I instinctively know that he is referring to the form and the statues I have. “Because an Ibis is cuter than a baboon and it doesn’t throw its own poop”
I’m rewarded with a laugh and a wicked gleam in his eye. “Perhaps you are more like me than I would like to admit. But you see you prove my point dear. You came to me at first, before you found the house, because you liked knowledge - you needed it you craved it – and I represent it. Of all the images of me, you chose this one. It is where you find comfort and solace. You want to know more of me, but let me ask you, and think carefully before you answer – who is to gain when all the information is out there and public? For instance, If we were to shout from the rooftops all of our powers, knowledge and abilities who would benefit? What would be the gain? Who do you have to impress that you want everyone to know everything about you? Would it not be more poignant to keep some information close and hidden to draw upon like a wellspring in times of need? Or to tie this in to our conversation earlier – would you fear if you had knowledge and wisdom to draw from? Those who seek knowledge off times have the wrong impression about it. There is the belief that all knowledge should be set forth and spread to the masses, but think!! How many times has your pursuit of truth brought you pain? People make this “Truth” into a shining god to be sought after – *IN WORDS ONLY*!! The phrase “the truth hurts” has its roots in reality. If truth in this sense is equated to knowledge than you must realize that just as surly as a scythe cuts the fields, so does knowledge cut away from a person. Knowledge demands that a person cut away a part of themselves. People are a sum of their beliefs and ideals – when knowledge or truth forces a change in those beliefs or ideals than it hurts.”
“But isn’t growth good? Isn’t knowledge, when used for the purpose of personal growth, a benefit?”
“You ask me this, you who fear growth and who fear the tasks that you have been charged with? Why don’t you answer that – Is growth good? Can you see the benefit of it when you are facing the fear and the desolation?” there is silence for a time before He continues “I see you understand. Knowledge should be gained and it *should* be used for personal growth. But knowledge should not necessarily be spread out and tossed to the winds. It needs to be guarded because not everyone will use knowledge for personal growth, some will use it to hurt and then who have you benefited? If used improperly, knowledge can cause the very fear that you feel with lack of it. Then it could be sought out and destroyed then where would we be?”
“My head hurts…”
He laughs deep and rich, “Come, sit with me.” I move over to the divan with him and I stare out over the gardens, the sky is the blue of predawn “Know that all I have told you has not been said to bring you grief. But think, just imagine what would happen if you tried to realize all truth at once.”
A realization dawns and I look up at Him, “They are one in the same aren’t they? Truth and knowledge? But they are both colored by our perceptions. That’s why there so many versions of them. That is also why people fear it or turn from them both, right.”
He looks out to see the colors of the rising sun painting the sky…. And I think I see a hint of a smile.
“I can be taught Dad” I grin as I look up at him.
“Shhh…. Watch the sunrise.” He places his arm around my shoulders and says softly “I know you can, you wouldn’t be my daughter if you couldn’t be”
Lust presents as the pursuit of physical pleasures almost to the exclusion of all else. Unlike Sloth which seeks to fill a void of feeling with anything that will bring sensation, Lust is refusal to face unpleasant emotions.
The Avatar of Lust, at their core, has some deep and unresolved pain that they refuse to face and work through. To that end, they find ways to ignore the pain. Anything to ground them in the here and now so they don’t have to acknowledge what is waiting just below the surface.
Lust can sometimes present as Greed or Gluttony but only insofar as things that bring physical pleasure. The finest silks, the softest furs, the plumpest pillows, the most lavish parties. Lust has them all in abundance. Enter a dimly lighted room filled with the smell of sex, shadows of bodies and the sounds of pleasure filling the air and you will find the avatar of lust somewhere in the middle.
Lust will rarely destabilize a realm unless the mantle is born by a planar leader. Indeed, if borne by someone else and then leveraged, one can find Lust to be a powerful tool.
Pride is subtle. It’s quiet. It is not bold or gregarious. Pride isn’t arrogant. Rather its delicate nature makes the sin all the more insidious. The prideful never see themselves as such. Indeed, often the avatar of Pride has the most selfless of motivations, on the surface at least.
If one stops and looks deeper, pride will always be found. The avatar of pride will find every reason to justify their actions. When presented with evidence of their Prideful nature, they will laugh it off or graciously state they can see how their actions could be interpreted that way, however…. and off they go explaining it away.
They touch the edge but never really cross over to the self-realization needed to break themselves free.
As a general rule, the avatar of Pride is rarely “true evil” as personified by a denizen of Tiene. Their conscious motivations rarely align with that plane. Nonetheless, a shrewd opponent can easily manipulate the prideful into being a pawn for a more nefarious plot if they can leverage the avatar of pride’s conscious motivations to their own ends.
me: metatron is walking with Elohim in the garden
My brain: Is Metatron a spear fighter?
Me: What? WHO THE FUCK KNOWS? Why is this important NOW?
My brain: points at the first chapter you better figure it out fast.
Me:
This starts the FOURTH rewrite from scratch for this book. Last time I got a full half way through the story before I trashed it all and started again. I think this is a better tale. Wish me luck! If I can make it, I believe the book will be close to complete!
Gods in the Shadows - An Original Story by Naiya Bladesinger
Content Warning: There are mentions of abuse and allusions to self-harm in the beginning chapters. I have tagged it that way in case people are trying to curate their own experience.
These short Vignettes are meant to show the character's primary motivation and where it came from. Once the story itself starts, you will be able to read that without reading the vignettes
Premise: Gods exist. All of them. And they are being systematically murdered. They need to find out who is killing them, and stop them before the scales of balance tip. Their only hope lies in a mortal woman who doesn't believe gods are real. Can they convince her and gain her help before the last of them dies?
Vignette 1 - Age 6
Light from the windows hit the pale green accent wall in the small bedroom suffusing it with a soft glow. A small girl with black hair pulled back into two french braids on either side of her head sat on the floor facing a small table laden with plastic cups and saucers and an ornate plastic tea pot in the center.
She was not alone. Her favorite toys sat in chairs around the table. A stuffed doberman pinscher, ibis, and Siamese cat were joined by a doll with long, ornately braided black hair, dressed in a simple, but colorfully decorated linen dress.
“No Sutekh, I don’t understand at all. It doesn’t make sense.” Her voice held a note of exasperation but she paused, seeming to wait for an answer.
She pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes in annoyance. “Then why didn’t he just say that, Djehuti? Setekh, sometimes I think you like to fight just to fight.”
“Talia! What are you doing?” Talia flinched at the sharp deep voice that cut through her “discussion”.
“I’m… playing, daddy.” Her once firm and certain voice faded into a mousy wisp of sound.
“What did I tell you about your ridiculous habit of “imaginary friends”?” She flinched again and looked at the floor.
“Answer me when I ask you a question!” a large hand grabbed her shoulder and hoisted her to her feet.
“You said…. I was… too old for pretend.” the words were barely audible.
“And still you disobey me! Do you like making me angry? Do you enjoy forcing me to discipline you?”
Talia flinched at each question but said nothing. Her father shook her trying to force an answer from her but the only sound she made was a whimper.
“You’re determined to disobey. Go cut the switch.” Talia moved forward, her feet scuffing the floor. “Be quick about it and get a good one or you’re going to get it worse! Every minute I have to wait is another minute of spanking”
Talia took off running. No one but the toys saw the wicked smile on her fathers face.
A short time later, the sound of a willowy stick slapping bare skin was heard followed by muffled whimpers.
Later that evening, as she laid face down on her bed, her step mother rubbed salve on the welts on her legs, bottom and back. The toys, table and tea set were missing
“I don’t know why you insist on making your father angry, love. He just wants the best for you. ‘Children, obey your parents in everything, for this is pleasing to the Lord.’” When Talia made no reply, she sighed in resignation. “We will go to confession in the morning and ask for penance so you can learn to be obedient.”
Talia nodded into her pillow letting the soft coverings catch her tears and muffle her sobs.
Her step-mother placed a delicate kiss on her head before she stood to leave. She stopped at the door and in a softer voice she called back to Talia. “Just tell yourself over and over again, they don’t exist. They’re not real.”
As the door closed, a woman in an ornately decorated linen dress with long, braided black hair faded in, appearing by the head of Talia’s bed. She ran her hand over the sobbing child’s head.
“They’re not real. They’re not real…” the soft mantra continued until the woman faded from view and Talia fell asleep
