#Fable Unbound | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bestworstcase · 4 months

Text

okay

let's talk about alchemical readings and rwby.

as the resident crank it would be remiss of me not to begin this little jaunt with a very important disclaimer: like all esoteric lenses, alchemical philosophy is an analytical framework that relies quite heavily on symbolism, and because of that it is really important to be mindful of how you're engaging with the text. symbolism services narrative, not the other way around, and you should always let the narrative guide your understanding of its symbolism. if that doesn't make sense to you, don't worry, because there will be lots of examples to illustrate what i mean.

before getting into the weeds, we're going to lay out some basic alchemical concepts.

in simple terms, the core philosophical idea of alchemy is a gradual process of transformation from base material into the sublime; conceptually the transmutation of lead into gold is also the perfection of human body and soul. alchemy is about change, refinement, rebirth, wholeness.

the prima materia—first matter—is the perfect and formless primordial matter of which all forms of matter are derived. if you're familiar with certain other alchemical readings of rwby you'll have seen it defined as the "raw material" that is transformed into the philosopher's stone through the alchemical process; that is not inaccurate but it must be stressed that the idea here is that ordinary matter comes from the prima materia and the philosopher's stone IS the prima materia, made perfect and whole again through the great work.

<- rwby directly invokes this idea in 'all things must die' ("all bonds dissolve/infinite matter/will always evolve").

yliaster is another name (coined by paracelsus) for the prima materia, which he described as "completely healed human being who has burned away all the dross of his lower being and is free to fly as the phoenix."

the great work is the actual process of alchemy. it is classically broken down into four (or three) stages, each represented by a color:

nigredo, black, involves putrefaction and charring—symbolically, death. decay. rot.

albedo, white, involves purification and separation. the undifferentiated mass of the nigredo stage is clarified and divided into two opposing principles.

citrinitas, yellow, is the "dawn" or reawakening.

rubedo, red, involves coagulation and recombination after the separation undergone in albedo.

citrinitas is not always treated as a discrete stage, instead sometimes being combined into a single stage with rubedo or understood as the transition between albedo and rubedo. hence "four (or three)." there are also a great variety of other stages, mostly given in sets of seven or twelve and listed in myriad sequences, but for our purpose this four-or three-stage model is the most useful.

now!

ordinarily with an alchemical reading, we would begin by finding a narrative pattern of symbolic death and rebirth, but for rwby we first need to interrogate the goliath in the room, namely:

YES, IT'S ABOUT SALEM.

there is a tendency in alchemical readings of rwby to interpret salem's immortality as a lifeless unchanging stasis, and thus to read her as an embodiment of the anti-theme, and surprising absolutely no one i find this to be… well, just not right at all.

rwby initially sets up the pattern through the mantra pyrrha recites when she awakens jaune's aura: "for it is in passing that we achieve immortality. through this we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death. i release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee." 'rising' explicitly calls back to this ("we are paragons of virtue and glory/death can't bind our endless story/infinite and unbound") and 'indomitable' reiterates the idea ("when we strive, we transcend/even death cannot end our climb"); this is important to note because the repetition correlates with revelations about salem's story.

the key thing to understand here is that 'the lost fable' is narratively structured around salem's deaths:

first, the god of light bites her and she's drowned in the fountain of life (notice her last breath leaving her mouth; she chokes for air and her eyes rolls back as she loses consciousness, sinking into the depths)…

…and then the god of darkness brings the moon down on her head and she wanders in a haze until finding her way back to the pool of grimm, where she seeks her own destruction and is created anew.

the brothers cast salem into the fountain of life, which pools under the roots of a tree and appears to be infinitely deep. she drowns as she sinks into its darkness—then abruptly reawakens hitting the water again, now only a reflecting pool, and the water-light of aura shimmers over her hands as she rises.

"for it is in passing that we achieve immortality…" the reprisal of "infinite and unbound" in 'rising' draws a line from pyrrha's mantra to the lost fable for a reason; it's to help us understand the truth behind the story jinn is telling. it is not even subtext—it is text. especially after volume nine, which clarifies the symbolic meaning of the tree growing above the waters.

through death, salem became immortal—infinite—and the infinite waters of life and creation became finite.

that water was the prima materia of the brothers' world; it combined with salem—the prima materia changes itself and combined with all imperfect bodies that it touches—and thus she herself became yliaster, "the perfectly healed human being who has burned away all the dross of his lower being and is free to fly as the phoenix."

the dross in her case being the brothers and their divine order, she rebels against them, and they destroy their world. she is all that remains. they leave salem behind in the end of all things and, phoenix-like, she rises out of the ashes of her destruction. yliaster is the prima materia; it contains everything, is everything, and everything is released when it is broken apart.

"this force of pure destruction could not destroy a being of infinite life, so it created a being of infinite life with a desire for pure destruction." destruction exists within creation exists within destruction: salem embraces death, throwing herself into the "blackened pools of annihilation" in the land of darkness. nigredo.

she's torn apart and reborn, and remnant is born with her, a pure-white being clambering into a revitalized new world she cannot touch; after a long separation, her partner returns to her and she experiences love, connection, freedom for the first time in years, until she learns that he seeks the destruction of this world and a return to the old and they burn each other alive in a violent parting. albedo.

salem's arrival in atlas literally at dawn incites the struggle between herself and cinder, which culminates in salem beginning to relinquish control and as her true feelings come to the surface. citrinitas.

thus, what remains of her story is rubedo: reconciliation with cinder, reunion with ozma, peace between humans and grimm (<- unity of opposites), and finally symbolic transcendence over death by convincing the god of light to ascend, with "death" being specifically the threat of annihilation represented by the divine mandate.

ozma's arc, of course, mirrors hers very closely: the god of light breaks him apart, the god of darkness burns him (nigredo)—his reincarnation divides him very literally into two, and symbolically divides him between duty and desire (albedo)—he awakens with the dawn, reconciles with oscar, and begins to face the truth in atlas (citrinitas).

as alchemical readings go, this one is not difficult or arcane or remotely ambiguous. it isn't even symbolic; the deaths and resurrection are explicitly literal and occur onscreen with the accompaniment of helpful explanatory notes. the goliath in the room is making aggressive eye contact.

but we are not done here yet, because i never do anything by halves and we have symbolism to talk about.

THE GREAT WORK.

salem, you will recall, is yliaster, the prima materia of remnant. you will also recall that the prima materia is the formless primordial matter from which all other matter is formed, and thus it is both the raw material of the great work and the philosopher's stone. yes? good. rwby interrogates this contradiction through the idea of balance, which the god of light conceives of as an inviolate order that must be designed and enforced. but, as the blacksmith explains, his understanding is a limited falsehood:

"balance is not two forces locked in never-ending battle. balance is an ecosystem, an organism, a living, breathing thing; thus balance cannot be restored by force or calculation. it only requires love and the patience to see things through to the end."

here is where i think a lot of the fandom—not people doing alchemical readings necessarily, but in general—miss the mark by interpreting this to mean that opposition and balance are antithetical to each other, that a system with two opposing forces is inherently out of balance. rwby's metaphysics are grounded in hellenistic philosophy, plato in particular (<- neoplatonism had a significant influence on the western european alchemical tradition), and the philosophical ideas undergirding the ever after follows herclitus.

(i recommend perusing the category pages for λόγος, justice and strife, the harmony of opposites, φύσις, ψυχή, cosmology, fire, water/the river, life/death, and waking/sleeping—i know that sounds like a lot of reading, but it isn't, as what we have of heraclitus is only fragments and the summaries provided are brief and accessible.)

the two key ideas we're interested in here are flux and strife. the world exists at rest in a continual state of change; a river is always the same river, but its flowing waters change from moment to moment. this conception of the world—"changing, it rests"—is flux. strife incites change through the tension between opposing forces. strife is not discordant but rather harmonious: "men do not know how what is at variance agrees with itself. it is an attunement of opposite tensions, like that of the bow and the lyre." (B51) just as a bow could not fire and a lyre could not sing without tension on the strings, so the world could not be without strife.

this is what the blacksmith means by balance. true balance is not war; it is strife. not two forces locked in never-ending conflict, but opposite tensions in harmony with each other. destruction and creation are opposing forces, but each exists within the other and they are both interdependent and inseparable.

salem embodies this theme. through death, she became life, and by destruction she was created. human and grimm, light and darkness, creation and destruction. she seeks to tear down the huntsmen academies and incite revolution in pursuit of a new world. she is balance—and the god of light inflicted his punishment upon her not because she failed to understand the importance of life and death, but because her dedication to change challenged his false and hollow conception of what balance means.

this guides the alchemical reading of the wider narrative in significant ways. salem is the prima materia of remnant—yliaster, broken apart to release everything contained within—and thus both the subject and the aspiration of the great work. when we examine other characters through this lens, it is in relation to her.

we'll begin by discussing the narrative's big symbols: the rose, the broken moon, the tree, grimm, silver eyes, and fire.

traditionally, the rose symbolizes rubedo. in most alchemical readings of rwby, ruby rose is accordingly presumed to represent this stage for obvious reasons—however, if we pay attention to how the narrative itself symbolically identifies the rose:

ruby's emblem, which she inherited from her mother, is a burning rose.

our first sighting of it is on summer rose's grave, above an epitaph—"thus kindly i scatter"—taken from a poem which uses the death of a rose as a metaphor for the speaker's loneliness and despair.

"red like roses fills my dreams and brings me to the place you rest," and "red like roses fills my head with dreams and finds me always closer to the emptiness and sadness that has come to take the place of you"

adam's emblem is a withered rose.

"the moon will sadly watch the roses die"

"maybe red's like roses? maybe it's the pool of blood the innocents will lay in when in the end you fail to save them"

"the rose will grow to be a seed, from every life another leads" (<- evokes an image of deterioration, rot; the rose going to seed)

"some roses will never bloom, some dreams will rot on the vine"

in rwby, the rose represents death. it burns, it withers, it dies, it is scattered, it never blooms; thus, it does not symbolize rubedo but rather the death and decomposition of nigredo. why then is ruby's primary color red? we'll get to that in a little while.

the moon traditionally symbolizes albedo, which is a process of separation, reflection, and illumination. the god of darkness shattered the moon as he departed after slaughtering humanity, and:

"the moon will sadly watch the roses die"

"the sky is turning black, light is fading fast, but we don't surrender; shattering the night, radiant and bright, armored in splendor, shining forever […] we're rising like the moon"

salem falls into and through the reflection of the broken moon when she casts herself into the pool of grimm

the broken moon symbolizes the death and resurrection of humankind, which—as noted—is the beginning of the albedo stage in salem's story.

so in rwby the broken moon does indeed represent albedo.

the tree, obviously, represents the whole circle of life-death-rebirth, with its symbolic meaning on remnant following its actual function in the ever after, where it is the cosmic tree, the river, and the ever-living fire. thus cinder and salem falling into pools of water at the base of a tree are symbolic (and in salem's case, also literal) rebirths.

grimm are "manifestations of anonymity," "the darkness," hates and feared as soulless monsters, destruction incarnate, thought to have no purpose other than to exist as "mankind's greatest foe." rwby is consistent in using the grimm to symbolize ostracism, persecution, fear of the other or the unknown, and salem's exile is justified (in ozma's mind) by her grimmness. which is to say, the grimm represent the separation undergone during albedo; they are the darkness to humanity's light. (hence, the narrative building toward coexistence between humans and grimm, exemplified by the faunus.)

silver eyes are described in opposition to the grimm and likewise represent the separation of albedo; the light to grimmkind's darkness. salem's experimentation with combining them into one being is a faunus for good reason, and i do not think it is coincidental that cinder has become less vulnerable to the glare as she finds balance with the grimm arm. and speaking of her:

the phoenix is another traditional symbol for rubedo, which naturally calls to mind associations with fire. citrinitas, similarly, is represented by the dawn or the "solar light," overtaking the moonlight of albedo, which again connotes fire. in rwby, fire is used to symbolize hope and wrath, which are thematically intertwined (hope ignites fire -> loss of hope incites wrath -> wrath ignites fire, and is thus a form of hope):

"even the smallest spark of hope is enough to ignite change […] nature's wrath in hand, man lit their way through the darkness"

"a simple spark can ignite hope, breathe fire into the hearts of the weary…" becoming "i can't wait to watch you burn"—salem seeks to smother ozma's hope, and thus rekindle her own.

"the light of hope is taken and discontent is the contagion; the blinding eyes that burn a yellow flame, the embers that remain will light the fuse of condemnation"

"we were destined to light the flame of revolution; consider this the spark" + "i think father may have just provided the spark that's going to set this kingdom on fire"

flame imagery used in relation to cinder and salem in the volume eight opening and jaune throughout volume nine.

cinder being… a spark…

as i noted, the paradigm shift between salem and cinder in atlas represents the transition from albedo to rubedo through the dawn. in rwby, the kindling spark symbolizes citrinitas and the changing flame that follows is rubedo. the role cinder will play in reigniting salem's hope is obvious, and the symbolic use of fire to reawaken first jaune and then neo in volume nine only underscores this meaning. in combination with the dust and ashes motif going on with salem and the grimm, the fire becomes specifically phoenix imagery.

now!

why, if the rose is nigredo, is ruby red?

in order to explain this, we first need to examine team STRQ, because the answer is that the great work is cyclical.

in team STRQ, we have:

summer rose, whose red-and-gold interior is masked by her white exterior

taiyang xiao long, who is all yellow

raven branwen, who is an amalgam of red and black

qrow branwen, who is mostly white except for his red cape

the branwen twins also transform into corvids, traditional symbols for the nigredo stage; qrow's scythe harbinger and raven's allusions to the morrígan underscore their symbolic association with death.

if we consider these color associations through an alchemical lens, the pattern that emerges is—by design—muddled and strange, but not actually that convoluted:

raven "tried to leave," but couldn't. she became the spring maiden by mercy-killing a girl whom she loved as her own family, and never having dealt with that grief or guilt, is trapped in nigredo whilst projecting a hollow image of rubedo—her pretense of strength. she runs away from her feelings, rather than challenging or examining them; what she needs instead is to separate and reflect honestly on herself.

summer did leave. her white outer shell—the phantom she left behind—suggests albedo, but her true colors are what she wears beneath the cloak: red trimmed with gold. she found salem, listened to her and awoke to the truth of this world, and then joined her. but in order to do that, she had to separate from her own family, joining salem exile; thus her individual rubedo brings her into alignment with the grimm in salem's albedo.

qrow, shattered by the dissolution of his team, is undergoing his own albedo. like his sister, he wears the trappings of rubedo—he is the one left standing, ozpin's most trusted agent—but this is a false projection which crumbles once it challenged by the revelations of ozma's deceit. his drinking and reluctance to be around people for fear of bringing them to harm make it impossible for him to move forward until he finds new hope and decides to try again. like his onetime mentor, he experiences citrinitas in atlas and the beginning of his transition into rubedo is marked by the introduction of maroon (desaturated red) and tan (desaturated yellow) into his atlas fit.

tai, lastly, is interesting because in one sense, he is citrinitas in isolation, a dawn with nothing to illuminate because his team left him behind, but in another sense, tai mediates the generational transition between team STRQ (albedo) and team RWBY (rubedo). he is yang and ruby's father and—crucially—he raises both in idealized casts of their mothers. ruby feels compelled to live up to the fairytale idea of summer rose; tai tells yang that he sees all of raven's good qualities in her and warns her to be wary of being too much like her mother, in almost the same breath.

ruby's red and yang's yellow represent the culmination of what tai wishes could have been; the summer rose who returned whole and alive, the raven branwen who chose reflection and reawakening instead of running away. but both colors are only things projected onto them—false images.

in truth, ruby represents nigredo. her scythe and the burning rose both connect her to death; her semblance disassembles her into a swirling formless mass of rose petals; her own identity is lost beneath the idea of summer rose and the first nine volumes of the story are devoted to the long, slow journey to her symbolic death at the roots of the tree.

only with her ascension has she begun to undergo albedo (notice the greater emphasis on her silver eyes and the flaring white light as she comes out of the tree; also, "otherside, did you mean to leave me half or whole? will i ever be complete? when will i become all of me?" and "what is left? i know it's you and i when i look inside"—she is beginning to separate herself from the imaginary paragon.

weiss represents albedo—her story is fundamentally about separation from her family, leading to self-reflection and growth, and in the process she has become an emotionally intelligent, insightful person who consistently helps others draw out and clarify their hidden emotions. her mirror motif and her knight summon further represent this: the self and the reflection.

blake represents citrinitas—her golden eyes, her association with the black king, her identity as a faunus, all support this reading. her time with the white fang was her albedo (she lost herself, gradually began to see herself in a new light, and finally separated herself from everything adam represented) and her personal moment of citrinitas is the removal of the bow and meeting with sun after she reveals herself as a faunus, after which she begins her journey of rediscovering herself and reintegrating with her faunus heritage.

finally, yang represents rubedo—her fire, her red eyes, "scathing eyes ask that we be symmetrical, one-sided and easily processed, yet every misshapen spark's unseen beauty is greater than its would-be judgment," "feel like i'm finally unbroken, feel like i'm back from the dead," the whole thematic conceit of bumbleby being the catalyst and the flame, the dawn and the sun, and so forth, two-in-one, "we're protecting each other."

the team collectively represents rubedo in relation to salem, in that they will be the ones primarily negotiating with her and this will obviously not begin to happen until ruby has her personal moment of citrinitas, which is to say not until ruby meets the real summer rose.

as a final point of interest, the four qualities (and relics) of destruction, creation, knowledge, choice map neatly onto the four-or-three alchemical stages—destruction as nigredo, creation as albedo, knowledge-then-choice as citrinitas-then-rubedo—and given the parallelism between yang and cinder, blake and raven, and weiss and penny+winter, it is probably a safe bet that the summer maiden is a) not summer rose, and b) a character foil to ruby, which i think adds some weight to the gillian theory.

anyways.

the philosopher's stone is ozlem.

#to be clear i think the alchemy thing is more convergent evolution from plato than deliberate use of alchemical structure #but neoplatonism did significantly influence western european alchemical philosophy so there is a lot to work with #and putting it in alchemical terms can be a clarifying analytical shorthand #as long as you don't. ignore everything the narrative spells out wrt salem #ANYWAY. HERE. TAKE IT.

30 notes · View notes

slaanxsh · 1 month

Text

Daemons are creatures of expression, of emotion, unbounded. They have intrinsic natures. The great red beasts of Khorne cannot live without violence. The festering hosts of Nurgle cannot abide cleanliness. And the Dark Prince’s cohorts tremble with anticipation, craving, desperate need… she wants to rend my flesh, to thrash the dignity from my bones… and more than that, she desires my secrets. And she desires them freely given, as a sacrifice. As I have said, the Neverborn are creatures of pomp and theatre, childlike in their rages and their pleasures. How could they, knowing that, resist a story, a nightmare-fable of their hated foe?

A Pleasant Conversation With A Keeper of Secrets

#warhammer fantasy #slaanesh #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k

6 notes · View notes

redacted-scrybe · 2 months

Note

//Hello, fabled Lord of Bones! It is I, Arch, the Scrybe of Stars! // I thought of our talk the other day while tending to my astrolabe. How terribly lonely you must be, alone with that wretched Data. // And I wished to ask if you are sequestered to your hidden chambers often, or if you can come and go as you please? // Is your service passive, or are there unseen binds around your cloak?

As with all who find me, we will always meet again. Salutations, Scrybe.

I can roam the map of Inscryption as I please, yet I am both a bound and unbound entity. Worship me, and you worship it.

I don't suppose you're here for a game? Or truth? Red, or blue?"

#Bone Lord speaks #Inscryption rp #Inscryption #Inscryption Bone Lord

4 notes · View notes

caligoascendant · 7 months

Text

Another begins.

He then spoke.

"Hello, everyone...It's ever so good to see you all gathered here on this most special of days." Low resonant voice carried over air and crystal both, so perfectly crafted as all gathered could hear every word without issue. "Not only special in celebration of the Scuttler's birthday...or the founding of this fair city. Not just special for the day this realm was made...or the very day I decided would mark when I came to be." He trails off, a hand moving into the air, a ephemeral flow of glittering gold to be seen. "No...this day will carry one weight of significance." "One that I ask for all of you to share, as you've shared your own lives and stories with me." As the gold flows, it grows larger and larger still. It then displays a story, cast for all to see. A story of hope and pride. Of a stranger in a strange land finding out who they were, with bountiful proclamation as they conquered those who'd strike them down and forged onward. A crown then formed at the end of the story and placed itself between the Overlord's glowing 'horns', before the entity spoke. "My story is a long, vast, and terribly detailed one...but it's beginning was that of hope, pride, and worry all in kind." "Long have I proclaimed myself as The Accursed Eldritch Overlord, Fatescar...not really stopping to think of the why other than how it was who I was..." With care present in his voice, he looked out over his many loved ones, all those cherished souls who sought to join him. To fight him. To befriend him. To try and surpass him. To love him. "It was because I felt that my story would fade away if any others happened to be the same...or even similar. I guarded that title with the ferocity of a dragon, bullying and hording it, tying my story up...and tying all of you up in it with the restraint." "For eons, as I wandered and watched, explored and lived my life...I've grown to feel restless. It took a long while to realize why, and the why is...I'm more than I was, now...and it's all thanks to you." He spread his arms wide in appreciation, a grin wide and beaming. "No longer do I find myself haunted by the little doubts of being forgotten...No longer do I think I need to bind my story and bind all of you with it." He sighs, laughing, turning on around as he faces the gate. "Some say that restriction breeds creativity, but that's only when it seeks to burst free of it's ties. So this act, this significant towering gesture you see before you...is just that!" In presentation, the Overlord flows and flies, speaking of the Gate with excitement clear. "You see, this gate here is to be the symbol of me setting free my story. Not just to tie all of you up, but to flow out into the world beyond, into countless other places!" "Across countless different times!" "My story will be free and unbound, with all the consequences that come with it...but with all the hope that comes with such fantastical change!" "So as my story becomes free and I, too, change the very title you all know me as...will you all continue to share your stories with me?" He asks, finally coming down, a clawed hand pressed to his chest as he asks again. "Would you all tell your stories with mine?"

The silence...was mercifully short. Shouts, cheers, proclamations and challenges issued forth like a wonderfully terrible wave. In that same sweeping momentum, the Overlord turned and let his power surge, transforming that support and his own enthusiasm into a flowing crashing luminous whorl. It crashed into the gate and slowly, steadily... The doors were opened. The whorl flowed out over the Tower and into the sky, whirling and weaving among the very stars above. The chapter that was of The Accursed Eldritch Overlord, Fatescar...was now over. Now began a new story from the last. That story was of... Fatescar! Fabled Overlord of Stories!

#Duskham Tales #Tales of the Overlord #Posted OOC #Part 2 #Story post

4 notes · View notes

boundlesshart · 2 years

Text

girl wake up! we got work to do

There are no reliable records on how Riegan came to be bonded to Failnaught. As House Riegan tells it, master archers had tried and failed to tame this bow, and every arrow shot from it missed its mark by a wide margin. Only in Riegan's hands did it come alive and strike true every time for its chosen master. When Saint Seiros officially bequeathed this bow to his care, Riegan named it Failnaught. The loyal bow would never leave its master's side until it was time for him to rejoin the Goddess.

While it remains a reliable bow for every Crested descendant of the original Riegan, there are fables of it missing its mark. Of course, House Riegan has categorically denied these claims. But that hasn't stopped crestologists from pondering if Failnaught's accuracy is related to the potency of Riegan's blood in its wielder's veins, or if the bow simply refuses to recognize any master other than the very first, even centuries after his demise.

— Regalia of the War of Heroes, Book I

Failnaught may have failed in his hands already, but Claude is still determined to tame the beast. Drabble for unlocking Awakened Failnaught.

Heroes’ Relics are beyond mere weapons, Fódlan and Almyran tales agreed. They are not mere tools to be used as one pleases. They have wills of their own and shall not suffer a foolish master.

Failnaught, now unbound from its chains, glows in response to Oswald’s touch. Delight? It couldn’t be, not for a weapon, but for some reason Claude recognizes it as such. According to his grandfather, Failnaught has not seen battle in over a decade. Godfrey preferred swords, and Oswald grew too weak to provide the strength the bow demands from its wielder.

Claude is the only one here fit to wield it. He’s known this, but seeing Failnaught in front of him, overwhelming in power and presence, heightens the reality of this moment, the gravity of history in the making.

"The velvet cloth I gave you—you better not have dropped it. Drape it over your hands and hold them out in receiving. Keep still.” Claude nods, following orders out of curiosity in spite of his uncertainty, not knowing what to expect but still keen to find out. A Relic-passing ritual never came up in all his research. Is this a House Riegan thing?

Claude holds his tongue. Oswald whispers some kind of prayer, lowering his arms and allowing more and more of Failnaught’s weight to rest in his grandson’s hands. The moon-crested stone set near the handle glows an ominous red for a few moments before fading away into a state of rest.

After the ceremony, Claude finally speaks his mind. “I didn’t know there was a ceremony for passing down a Relic.”

“There isn’t,” Oswald replies, his frank tone softened by a faint smile. “But I thank you for humoring me regardless. I prayed to our ancestor Riegan to watch over you in battle. That when you wield his bow, he would draw the string with you and let Failnaught strike true.”

That’s not all, he knows it isn’t. And, after some silence, his grandfather goes on. “To tell you the truth, I would have waited longer to give you this. Even Godfrey did not have access to this until he was older than you are now. But... From what I understand... you are going through dangerous times. If you... if you die because you did not have a weapon strong enough to defeat your enemies, because I did not you give you what you needed to survive... I would never forgive myself for allowing such a thing to happen again.

“Hear me Claude.” A frail body doesn’t stop Oswald Prospero Riegan’s voice from being any less authoritative, any less firm in spite of the worry lurking in his words. “Wield Failnaught wisely, and you will always be protected. By the light of the fallen star...”

___

It only takes a day for Failnaught to fail in Claude’s hands.

His father and Nader and every other Almyran warrior with an opinion imparted the same message onto him: It is never the bow’s fault. The archer maintains the bow, repairs its cracks and oils its strings. The archer procures the arrows, ensuring all pass muster. Only the archer’s actions determine how an arrow flies, while a bow merely conveys your will. Of course, they’ve never wielded a bow like Failnaught before. His grandfather never says anything like that to him, not where Failnaught is concerned. The bow possesses its own will. Never forget this. Be patience and stand your ground, and Failnaught will work alongside you.

Claude tries. This is all me. I’m not losing to a bow. But the frustration still lingers. He feels Failnaught’s power flowing through his arms, his fingers close around the grip as though he’s held this thing his whole life and not just a day. There’s no words to describe this, not in Fódlan’s language or Almyra’s. Only that something clicks when he holds this bow in his hands, and to see proof of its rejection stings like nothing else.

___

Failed again. The hangover doesn’t help any—that’s on Claude, not the bow. But he grits his teeth and tries again, nocking a new arrow, breathing in as red light gathers to his hands, Failnaught’s power setting in once more. Claude may not be its true master, but it lends its power faithfully regardless. That trust is all he needs for him to launch this shooting star, aglow in blood red light, into the torso of yet another unknown enemy.

___

And again. It strikes true, consistently, but it’s not enough. An enemy pierced by its arrow stands long enough to kill yet another classmate, another ally, another friend. That monster’s attack nearly ends Claude himself, barely hanging onto life through his own will. Is he still lacking, after all this time?

There’s no time to dwell on his misery, to give voice to self-pity. Failnaught’s power burns in his hands, screaming to fight. To have its bowstring pulled, its arrows nocked, for its power to build into this shot and let the arrow fly in an explosion of light and magic, a red comet that streaks through the night sky. Giving up isn’t an option for either of them. It never even crosses their minds. Only the will to live, and be obstinate in the face of death.

___

My dear grandson...

...It is a bittersweet feeling. Hearing that you are doing well with Failnaught fills my old heart with pride. Yet the thought of you fighting in so many battles when the Officers Academy is supposed to be a safe place to learn haunts my every dream. You are well aware of House Riegan’s circumstances and my own feelings on this matter, given what happened with Godfrey. Don’t be foolish in battle, and be wise to the enemy. I will not suffer another loss of an heir.

My words may come harshly, but know that I share in your joy, Claude. I have wielded this bow as well. The thrill of loosing an arrow from Failnaught, to feel such power under your control, is a feeling unlike anything else in the world. I’m glad to hear it has found itself in capable hands once again.

All my love. And for the love of the goddess, please stay out of trouble.

— Oswald Prospero Riegan, Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance

#claude von riegan #failnaught #launching this one out #no plot no thoughts no plans just vibes with the mans

13 notes · View notes

clxbsport · 1 year

Text

Wrap Weekends #10: Lotus Emira

Wrap Weekends is back for NFS Unbound with our 10th entry in the series: the Lotus Emira!

for any car enthusiast out there, it's always a sad day when a company revered for its roaring engines switches to full electric. this model serves as Lotus' swansong for the internal combustion engine, before they proceed to go the route of the EVs, as seen with their Evija and Eletre. this wrap commemorates the iconic color scheme seen on some of the company's most fabled cars, from the Seven all the way to the Evora.

it's sad to see Lotus ICEs go, but boy did they go out with a banger. and with this banger of a wrap too that we can ogle in the virtual world!

#nfs #nfs unbound #need for speed #need for speed unbound #lotus #emira #lotus emira #livery design #automotive

6 notes · View notes

maverickcalf · 4 months

Note

multiples of 3 for the video games asks

3. 1-3 games you’ve played in the past 12 months that you really enjoyed

Oxenfree

Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom

Littlewood

6. A series you’ve enjoyed since your early days of gaming and still enjoy to this day whether it still has games coming out or is one you return to

Spy Fox. Been playing that for ages!!!!

9. A game you played completely blind with no prior knowledge of and enjoyed/loved

There are a few who fit this bill, but I am going to give to A Space for the Unbound! Really powerful and has a great pixel style that made me feel like I am playing an snes game. Made me cry 10/10

12. A character you particularly like in the game you’re currently playing

Vi from Bug Fables has really grown on me

15. Do you have a backlog and do you keep track of it? If so, how?

I mean... there are a few games on steam i haven't played but no I don't really... really I just play what games i remember or if I want to play put them on my wishlist on the switch

16. A game location you really like

So this is a real life place but I have played it in a few games and I want to go there so day (which most likely won't happen because I don't speak Japanese...) But it is Shibuya! (From NEO The World Ends With You)

21. A boss that was disappointing

THAT ONE BOSS FIGHT IN Baten Kaitos: Eternal Wings and the Lost Ocean, like yes it is easy to cheese in the remake but the fact you could get soft locked here from being underleveled.... in what is supposed to be a very important fight and just make it too hard because you can't leave? BOOOOOOO!

24. A game with a cool art style

It was a replay but... Beacon Pines!

27. A game you love the atmosphere of

Spiritfarer!

30. Game you think you’ll finish next?

Need to finish up the post game of Bug Fables! After that who knows.

#long post #video games #blu calf thoughts #roch

1 note · View note

hagi-music · 1 year

Text

Japanese Traditional Music Shigin xiè [siːe]

What is xiè?

xiè is a unit comprising the poetry reciter and dancer, Keisei, and the sound designer, Hagi. Keisei’s superb recitation techniques and expressive ability are made one with sound through Hagi’s meticulous programming, creating a vast and highly detailed soundscape. Poetry recitation is a traditional Japanese art, known as shigin. Shigin is usually performed accompanied only by the koto (zither) and shakuhachi (bamboo flute).

xiè’s fusing the voice with computer programming-generated ethnic and ambient sounds is therefore a first, giving rise to a new style of the art.

Also, while shigin is based mainly on Chinese poems (kanshi), and Japanese poems (waka and haiku), which are intoned according to Japan’s native musical scale, with Keisei’s ideas xiè expresses a poetic world unbound by conventions.

The name “xiè” is derived from the legendary creature of Chinese fable, the xièzhì, which is said to be able to discern the good and the bad in all. Likewise, xiè seeks to convey the very heartbeat of music, and make it felt profoundly in all who listen.

CONCEPT

Reviving shigin poetry recitation - the rarely heard echoes of Japan.

Not even many Japanese are aware anymore of shigin and its tonal colors.Hagi, Xiè's sound creator, himself began knowing little of it. But on first encountering the sigin recithed by Keisei, his notion of shigin as drab and monotonous was completely turned on its head.

In fact, he was moved to tears by the power, beauty and evocativeness of their very Japanese tones and echoes.Keisei's desire is to bring the beauty of shigin to as many people as she can, Hagi's desire is to bring this evocative art to people in new, exciting forms. And from there, Xiè came into being.

The new sounds of Xiè will surprise home audiences, and stir those new to things Japanese.In 2013, the shakuhachi player, Soh Tanomura, joined Xiè, further enriching the unit's sound. And Xiè's sound is set to evolve further as more artists join, growing in beauty and power.

Shigin Unit xie

#japanese traditional music #shigin #japanese culture

0 notes

hueieve · 1 year

Text

he was bound to be debiliated by years of raging wars against evil gods; whose take was to rob him his innocence and gentleness by forcing blood thirst into his hands until he was left astray alone with the weight of his sins. the remnants of their grudges stayed close to the mortal realm and this shall never depart from his frail figure too. where the moon shines the least, he conquers every evil spirit with his strength kindling from the dead embers of his truth.

bane of all evil.

he was referred as that in his millennia-long experience while shouldering the burden of protecting the land of liyue. his power is highly looked upon by other adepti and brings out intimidation to the eyes of the clueless, defeating every awakened cursed and evil manifestations in this world for only combat is what he can use for to repay his debt of gratitude to the geo archon— the liberator of his cruel old days.

" in the fables of another world, the name xiao is that of a spirit who encountered great suffering and hardship. he endured much suffering, as you have. use this name from now on. "

and slowly he was rid from his ignorance to being serene. yet the evil gods still held immense power, their vengeance diluting those who opposed them. he relentlessly fractures their manifestations until these fragments of hatred soiled the yaksha's soul. accepting the karmatic debt was the only way to unbound him from shackles but the magnitude of karma he has accumulated all those years are enough to consume his flesh, soul, and all the alike. limitless hate flows through his senses that engraves him into a bed of anguish.

yet he showed no sign of antipathy against it. having lived for two thousand years, karmatic dept constitutes nothing but a fleeting memory. his battles were never in vain but nor is it called a won war either. after all, he is ultimately wrestling with himself.

0 notes

ulfwolf · 2 years

Text

Touched by Angels -- Musing 287

Lay Down Your Weary Tune— Surely this is Bob Dylan moved by angels

From his very first (1962) album “Bob Dylan” through (1966) “Blonde on Blonde” I not only admired Bob Dylan; I not only listen to all his records, constantly; I not only learned how to play his songs; I not only memorized his lyrics; I deified him.

To me, then a northern Sweden teenager, the U.S. phenomenon called Bob Dylan brought the remote, real, important outside world to my cold, snowy, and by comparison unimportant doorstep.

New York, to me just a step or two above myth and fable (though it was, it must be said (since I am Swedish), the town where Ingemar Johansson, on the 26th of June, 1959, scored a third-round knockout against Floyd Patterson in their first World Boxing Champion title bout—I, along with the rest of my country, was awake at two in the morning or thereabouts (on the 27th), to hear Arne Thorén deliver the play by play, or blow by blow rather, on Swedish radio), this mythical city and all its magic was sung into my northern universe by this nasal American who spoke for a generation, though he always denied this.

Later in life, I came to wonder if some of his songs were not actually amphetamine-induced streams (nay, rivers; nay, floods) of consciousness. Dylan’s close friend Bobby Neuwirth once said that “Like a Rolling Stone”, still a very long song, originally sported fifty-odd verses—that’s a flood that just kept on flooding.

Apropos of which, I have remained amazed all my life at how Dylan remembered all the words during live performances.

But fast forward some years and all was no longer well in my Dylan universe. A friend of mine had told me that Dylan had stolen “Blowin’ In the Wind” from some unknown upstate New York folkie (my friend also happened to be from upstate New York). I did not believe her when she told me, and I’m not sure I believe her now.

HOW-ever, I had found out that Dylan was not beyond helping himself to available non-Dylan fare and then serving it up as his creation.

Clearest case in point: the traditional “The Parting Glass” (to listen: see below) which Dylan lifted almost wholesale and recorded and released as “Restless Farewell” on his “The Times…” (to listen: see below) album. This is so clearly a rip-off that if History could sue, it would have filed its complaint ages ago, and won hands down.

But then, as if to make up for this and set everything right in my Dylan universe again, there’s “Lay Down Your Weary Tune” (to listen: see below).

This song, which actually never made it onto an official Dylan Album—it was an outtake from the “The Times They Are A-Changing” sessions—is such a magic pearl of a song that I can only conclude that Dylan was moved by angels.

Many others agree. The Byrds recorded it on their second album “Turn! Turn! Turn!” (to listen: see below) and Billy Bragg championed the song as well.

Dylan was 23 when he released “The Times…” but when you listen to “Lay Down Your Weary Tune” you are listening to a much older man, perhaps an immortal one.

Lay down your weary tune, lay down Lay down the song you strum And rest yourself ’neath the strength of strings No voice can hope to hum

Struck by the sounds before the sun I knew the night had gone The morning breeze like a bugle blew Against the drums of dawn

Hearing this, I’m hearing Rimbaud singing, I am hearing Rumi laughing. Unearthly. I’m listening to Robert Frost or Walt Whitman or Denise Levertov. I’m hearing the Nobel Prize committee giving serious thought to awarding Dylan that most coveted of all literary prizes. Oh, yeah, that’s right, they eventually did just that.

The ocean wild like an organ played The seaweed wove its strands The crashin’ waves like cymbals clashed Against the rocks and sands

I stood unwound beneath the skies And clouds unbound by laws The cryin’ rain like a trumpet sang And asked for no applause

Hearing this, I’m standing by my own Pacific Ocean shore and I can hear the organ play, I can see the seaweed weave their strands and the rolling waves of incoming tide horses crashing on the sand; and I wonder, how did he know?

The last of leaves fell from the trees And clung to a new love’s breast The branches bare like a banjo played To the winds that listened best I gazed down in the river’s mirror And watched its winding strum The water smooth ran like a hymn And like a harp did hum

I hear Robin Williamson’s “October Song” (Dylan, by the way, said he loved The Incredible Sting Band), I see Swedish October forests, and I can smell their sweet autumn decay settling in for their long, snow-covered slumber. And so he adds, by way of leave-taking the final round of refrain.

Lay down your weary tune, lay down Lay down the song you strum And rest yourself ’neath the strength of strings No voice can hope to hum

I was in my sixties when I decided to learn how to play this song. It was a labor of love performed by stiffening fingers and leaky memory. But I learned it and I played it, even recorded it (privately) as a tribute to the immortal Dylan.

And to this day I remain convinced that poetry is the language of the angels.

To Listen:

https://youtu.be/2Sql9X4H0VY

https://youtu.be/8gt1Dy13yd8

https://youtu.be/0rKqY8S__sc

https://youtu.be/2bnBQ4FnexM

P.S. If you like what you’ve read here and would like to contribute to the creative motion, as it were, you can do so via PayPal: here.

0 notes

morpheuslikestodream · 3 years

Text

PUCKER: a Sandman Universe fanfic

*The following is extended and lifted from the Sandman: Seasons of Mist storyline. This is a mere writing exercise and honorary gesture to play within the confines of the world created by Neil Gaiman and all creators, with honor and respect. :)

There was a woman who achieved glory upon a vent of gushing air. Of course, she had already gained fame, and fortune, but it was the image, the stance – legs slightly bent, knees inverted, arms locked and hands clasping her dress – that cemented itself in the collective. Poor, tragic Marilyn, her fists securing that white ivory cocktail dress as it danced in the wind, like a skinned swan or a hungry lily attempting to devour its host.

Go on. Visualize it. The dress and the damsel wed together over that gushing vent. She would always be tattooed in the eye of your mind, a girl symbol, caught in a flirtatious up-shoot of tragedy. You’ll see her, the image, in commercials and magazines and the chronicles of filmography. She’ll be immortalized in wax. You’ll smile at her as if she were an intimate friend or fond crush from a bygone youth or a pretty face you wish you had, all fulfilled vicariously in that bombshell visage.

And if you could envision her, so could they.

“The gods have come for you,” Susano O-No-Mikoto addressed her coldly, like an art collector attaining their next commission. His hair was black, pulled back into a bun, and he possessed a thin, wispy beard that sharpened into a point. He wore a scarlet robe, delicate and silky, and his eyes, which scrutinized her with an impersonal fondness, appeared to be of some Asian nationality. “As a private individual for the pantheon of my mother, the Queen Izanami, it is a grace, Miss Monroe, to be welcomed into our collection. There is a special wing that exclusively houses Americana and Western iconography.”

Marilyn didn’t understand any of this.

And she couldn’t speak, her mouth failed to beg for clarity. It was the lips, frozen, puckered lips. And the wind, blowing perpetually beneath her, danced her dress like a rabid beast. While the robed man continued, Marilyn’s focus was consumed by the dress, and here she had to convince herself she was more than this accoutrement.

“Come. Follow,” said the god. And while he spoke, she strived to recall who she was. She had entered the world as a woman, yes, and she had taken her grand exit as a star, in the same City of Angels. She had been an actress, the wife of a playwright and a baseball legend and maybe mistress to dead presidents. She was a person, goddammit, of flesh and blood, of rumor and glamor.

None of that mattered at the moment, not in her current situation.

Because Marilyn couldn’t move. She had tried. She really had, but her body refused to budge. She was alive, or she was dead. She was on-stage, or off. There were cameras in the shadows and spotlights from oblivion. Eyes in the flashes of light. And she couldn’t move because, again, her legs were bent, the knobs of her knees pressed together, arms rigid, hands taming the white bastard dress, and that cold, cold air licking her from underneath.

And lips, puckered.

Marilyn felt no trace of self here – wherever here was. Had she died? Was she being punished, because your savior was revoked if you did that act, even if that wasn’t for certain? Whatever had happened had stolen her humanity. Marilyn might have been a wax statue, a fixed caricature, someone’s midnight wank. And perhaps all those were true; after all, she was an icon now, and icons could be many things. Despite that, whoever they were now cared nothing of the personal touches, no, the gods regarded her as a pretty face in the American collective. That’s what mattered.

Puckered lips.

Susano O-No-Mikoto escorted her through his mother’s underworld, strange halls cluttered with armors and museum props. She spotted a display of a toilet that perhaps once sat the rear of a king. In his rambling, he used words like eclectic and hybridization and efficiency. His words were bloated with pride, like an uppity hunter who sought and attained the rarest treasures. But those words meant nothing to Marilyn. She still hadn’t forgotten the kind visage of the woman with raven black hair with the shadow filled with the flapping of wings in flight.

“…we hope to continue down this line,” continued the god, “acquiring you, we can acquire others. John F. Kennedy is in Hell. But his effigy is strong in the artifacts of his demise. Lee Harvey Oswald could be ours. The grassy knoll itself harbors a sentience all its own as well. The prospects of our ambitions are limitless. It is said…”

And when Marilyn refocused, Susano had stopped to inspect her, his breath – scented with the promise of storms – was cold and brutal, and a pointy finger tapped his lips, the vaguest hint of a smile on his arrogant face. She felt no love from him, no real love. Not like the love Jesus and the Lord promised her as she grew. And she had been a good person; she deserved better than to not have love. And yet the man, who might’ve been a god, cared nothing for her as the person. He only desired the spirit of what she was. But a transcendence within a certain collective didn’t change her stature. It wasn’t her. All the little details of who she was were sprinklings upon a personal mythology that only bred the impersonal. The world, cultures come and gone, could only see her in the stars.

And as for the little details, did those matter?

No, not to him.

And then he was gone.

When Marilyn was alone, “They have you too,” rumbled a deep and heavy voice from the room. “You are beautiful, as I was, although you are not as beautiful as the one I carried to the top of the world.”

Marilyn winced, startled.

“Be still, woman. We are family now, and I will protect you if I must. If I can.”

“Where am I?” Marilyn piped.

“The assimilation of the American Pantheon. The Underworld. Hell. Who can know for sure?”

“Who are you?” Her voice trembled. “Who’s there?”

“You remind me of her,” said the deep voice.

“Of her? Who?”

“You look like her, in your fashion, a pair of eyes and pretty hair. The one I carried to the top of the world. I was king there, before I fell, before I was forced to fall, although I confess I attained immortality in that moment, I think. At least, I’d like to look at it that way. The tragedy, the descent.”

“Are…are you…the devil?” Marilyn stammered.

Ignoring her, “They can fear you and love you and cry for you. When the tears are shed is when we become idols.”

She needed to see the face. She had to. “Oh, Mister,” she pleaded, “please come forward.”

And the beast revealed itself.

Marilyn would’ve screamed if her lips were puckered, if they could ever alter. Her frozen stance did not permit. Instead the dress blew more frantically. * “I must take my absence. Opportunities abroad bless us. The gods of Nippon and her highest majesty, the Queen, my mother Izanami, must not squander the chance in attaining most fruitful grace. If the key belongs to our kingdom…” the Asian man in his fancy gowns who smelled like a thunderstorm or a coming rain shower departed from the room through an entrance that didn’t really exist. In the silence of an attic filled with antiques from Atlantis or Wall Street or Hollywood, the white-haired star with her puckered lips kept her gaze down, until sheepishly she dared to lock eyes with the gorilla. And the gorilla rested his black hands upon his massive ape pecs and exhaled forcefully from nostrils that flared out in angst and boredom.

“I would have found the stars,” King Kong said after some time.

Marilyn raised an eyebrow, oh?

“I could have climbed forever.” Kong drummed his fingers on his chest. “It wasn’t me who was limited; it was only the ladder in which I ascended. Just me and her, the one that wasn’t you. I would’ve reached for the moon, then the stars themselves, and whatever is above that. I was limited by them, because a monster could only ascend so far and then they fall, and then they love you. In death you gain humanity; a posthumous flavor of idolatry and what you represented. You become your fall because that’s how people remember you. Not the details. It’s all what you could have been; all the what-ifs. And that’s how a star is born. That’s how idols rise.”

And the gorilla was done then, crossing its arms, and saying no more. In the silence, Marilyn felt a quiver in her lip, a tear in the corner of her eye. If she could unpucker her lips she would’ve smiled fondly at the beast and his words. After some time she glided towards him, her hungry frilly dress shooting up around her, and she moved next to him and the two touched, so slightly. Time faded then. It came in and out in waves and blurs. And sometime a hole opened in the world and a vast shadow filled the space for a moment. The sound of wings beat around them.

“Hey, down there!” called a perky voice that was kind, yet filled with urgency. “Things are a mess around here. It’s a Hell thing. Anyway,” the girl trailed, “I’ve got lots of work, you know, and, well, if you wanted to perhaps transition in a sense, I’m here. I’ll always be here, even if I’m not. Ok? But the doors open. Mister O-No-Mikoto’s dreams of attaining Hell are dead. I took them when the fiery torch was passed on to another pair of angels. And besides the mighty storm god of Nippon is in a bit of a predicament. Sorry. Talking too much.” Like that she was gone.

After a moment, hesitantly, King Kong moved to his feet. He climbed the walls and reached towards the ceiling exit. And before he departed, he looked towards her. “Come. You are not her but I can carry you to the top of the world, again.” And he took Marilyn in his grip and they ascended together towards the stars. “The winds are on your side,” said the King, “and he was a god of storms. Perhaps there’s irony in that. Or perhaps we shall rise as high as the gods allow.”

#neil gaiman #Sandman #sandman universe #vertigo #fiction #creative writing #mythology #books #fanfic #fantasy #fables #Fable Unbound

1 note · View note

bestworstcase · 4 months

Note

Can you pleeeeease elaborate more on Silver Eyed Warriors being psychopomps, pretty please, thank you in advance, hands you a chocopie

right ok for the uninitiated, a psychopomp is a spirit or deity or creature or other entity responsible for guiding the souls of the newly dead to the afterlife.

i’ve talked about this part before but: silver eyes are associated with death (and grief) in many ways, both symbolic (reaper imagery) and material (the glare arises from the drive to protect the living, and ruby’s memories of people she’s grieving inspire hers, and the glare destroys the hand cinder used to kill pyrrha).

but why do i say psychopomps, specifically?

when people on remnant die, their souls pass through the liminal white void ‘between’ realms, as we see with ozma (who returns from the afterlife through the white void) and penny (who meets winter there) and arguably fria (the white flash at the moment she dies) and ruby (who returns from the tree—a metaphorical death—in a burst of pure white light, unlike the white-gold we see with afterans). so the white light released by the glare at least resembles the white void which bridges the gap between the living and dead.

right?

now consider this sequence of events:

ruby witnesses pyrrha’s death.

white light bursts from her eyes like wings, petrifying the wyvern, burning pyrrha’s killer, and leaving ruby unconscious.

months afterwards, ruby either begins to or continues to experience dream-flashbacks to pyrrha’s final moments (“do you believe in destiny?” “yes.” <- ruby wasn’t there.) which alternate with pyrrha calling out for jaune (in apparent fear or desperation, so it’s not simply the recording intruding on her dreams)

after ruby voices her own grief for pyrrha (V5) and learns more about her eyes from maria (<- while surrounded by butterflies the symbolism is very unsubtle), jaune is ‘found’ by an autumn leaf (<- symbolizing pyrrha) that leads him to pyrrha’s memorial, thus allowing him to release his own grief and make peace with her death.

#4 is akin to salem transforming in the pool of grimm and the resurrection of humankind in that a literal causal relationship isn’t explicitly shown but the symbolism and narrative structure suggests a meaningful connection; salem was alone until she was reborn and returned changed to a world that had likewise been reborn and changed, ruby carries pyrrha’s unfinished business forward with her (the dreams!) until she understands the true nature of her eyes whereupon pyrrha’s spirit (symbolized by that leaf) finds peace by helping jaune let go.

a similar thing happens in volume nine. ruby wakes up hearing echoes of penny’s voice in her head calling her name, and she’s haunted through the ever after by penny’s sword—a representation of penny’s soul and a symbol of ruby’s grief. this is only the beginning of grieving penny, so the arc is not complete yet, but thus far it’s on the same general track.

thennn there’s ‘guide my way,’ which is about summer rose from ruby’s perspective and, well, the title. it invokes the imagery of a psychopomp explicitly—“guide my way out of this place”—which reinforces the subtler imagery used in ‘indomitable’ (“i’ll meet you there/when we strive, we transcend/even death cannot end our climb”)

the twist is that silver-eyed psychopomps are meant to guide the living through grief as much as they are meant to guide the dead into death; they do not bridge the divide only in one direction. this of course befits a world where death is apotheosis (“for it is in passing we achieve immortality; through this we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death,” “our souls transcend death,” everything the lost fable does with salem’s deaths and resurrections, ruby’s experience in the tree, etc) and merely part of an unending journey rather than ‘the end.’

there’s also (gestures vaguely) whatever is going on with the hounds, which i do not think was as simple as salem ganking a silver-eyed warrior and making a grimm out of him; she’s experimenting with the boundary between life and death in some way, because of what ruby’s glare did to cinder.

32 notes · View notes

hownot2doit · 3 years

Text

… references (or: “a few books I read”) …

Andersen, Arnold, MD, with Leigh Cohn “Stories I tell my patients: 101 myths, metaphors, fables and tall tales for eating disorders recovery” Anderson, Laurie Halse “Wintergirls” Antieau, Kim “Mercy, unbound” Apostolides, Marianne “Inner hunger: a young woman’s struggle through anorexia and bulimia“ Ballard, Alexandra “What I lost” Beard, Amanda “In the water they can’t see you cry: a memoir” Brown, Harriet “Brave girl eating: a family’s struggle with anorexia” Bruch, Hilde “Eating disorders: obesity, anorexia nervosa, and the person within” Bruch, Hilde “The golden cage: the enigma of anorexia nervosa” Brumberg, Joan Jacobs “Fasting girls: the history of anorexia nervosa” Chepaitis, Barbara “Feeding Christine” Claude-Pierre, Peggy “The secret language of eating disorders: how you can understand and work to cure anorexia and bulimia“ Cohn, Leigh “Eating disorders: a reference sourcebook” Daniels, Lucy “With a woman’s voice: a writer’s struggle for emotional freedom” de Rossi, Portia “Unbearable lightness: a story of loss and gain” Eliot, Eve “Insatiable: the compelling story of four teens, food and its power” Forrest, Emma “Your voice in my head” Garfinkel, Paul, and David Garner “Handbook of treatment for eating disorders” Gold, Tracey “Room to grow: an appetite for life” Gottlieb, Lori “Stick figure” Greenfield, Lauren “Thin” Gura, Trisha “Lying in weight: the hidden epidemic of eating disorders in adult women” Hanauer, Cathi “My sister’s bones” Hautzig, Deborah “Second star to the right” Henke, Roxanne “Becoming Olivia” Hollis, Judi “Fat is a family affair” Hornbacher, Marya “Wasted, updated edition: a memoir of anorexia and bulimia” Johns, Nicole J. “Purge: rehab diaries” Kaslik, Ibi “Skinny” Kinoy, Barbara P. “Eating disorders: new directions in treatment and recovery” Kirkland, Kelsey “Dancing on my grave” Klein, Stephanie “Moose: a memoir of fat camp” Lerner, Betsy “Food and loathing: a lament” Levenkron, Steven “Anatomy of anorexia“ Levenkron, Steven “The best little girl in the world” Levenkron, Steven “Kessa” Levenkron, Steven “Treating and overcoming anorexia nervosa“ Liu, Aimee “Solitaire: the compelling story of a young woman growing up in America and her triumph over anorexia” Liu, Aimee “Gaining: the truth about life after eating disorders” Lott, Deborah A. “In session: the bond between women and their therapists” McClure, Cynthia Rowland “The monster within: overcoming bulimia” Medoff, Jillian “Hunger point” Miller, Caroline Adams “My name is Caroline” Moisin, Laura “Kid rex: the inspiring true account of a life salvaged from despair, anorexia and dark days in New York City” O’Neill, Cherry Boone “Starving for attention: a young woman’s struggle with and triumph over anorexia nervosa” O’Neill, Cherry Boone “Dear Cherry: questions and answers on eating disorders” Orbach, Susie “Fat is a feminist issue” Osgood, Kelsey “How to disappear completely: on modern anorexia” Palmer, Catherine “The happy room” Pershall, Stacy “Loud in the house of myself: memoir of a strange girl” Pierce, Bethany “Feeling for bones” Price, Nora “Zoe letting go” Rabinor, Judith Ruskay “A starving madness: tales of hunger, hope, and healing in psychotherapy” Raviv, Shani “Being Ana” Reindl, Sheila M. “Sensing the self: women’s recovery from bulimia” Rio, Linda “The anorexia diaries: a mother and daughter’s triumph over teenage eating disorders” Ronen, Tammie “In and out of anorexia: the story of the client, the therapist and the process of recovery” Ryan, Joan “Little girls in pretty boxes: the making and breaking of elite gymnasts and figure skaters” Sacker, Ira M. “Regaining your self: breaking free from the eating disorder identity: a bold new approach” Sacker, Ira M. “Dying to be thin: understanding and defeating anorexia nervosa and bulimia — a practical, lifesaving guide” Sargent, Judy Tam “The long road back: a survivor’s guide to anorexia” Schmidt, Randy L. “Little girl blue: the life of Karen Carpenter” Sey, Jennifer “Chalked up: inside elite gymnastics’ merciless coaching, overzealous parents, eating disorders, and

elusive olympic dreams” Sigler, Jamie-Lynn “Wise girl: what I’ve learned about life, love, and loss” Smith, Chelsea “Diary of an eating disorder: a mother and daughter share their healing journey” Snyder, Anne “Goodbye, paper doll” Spechler, Diana “Skinny” Taylor, Kate M. “Going hungry: writers on desire, self-denial, and overcoming anorexia” Valette, Brett “A parent’s guide to eating disorders: prevention and treatment of anorexia nervosa and bulimia” Wheeler, Kathleen (Editor) “Psychotherapy for the Advanced Practice Psychiatric Nurse” White, Kate “So pretty it hurts” Woolf, Emma “An apple a day: a memoir of love and recovery from anorexia” Yalom, Irvin D. “The Gift of Therapy: An Open Letter to a New Generation of Therapists and Their Patients” Yalom, Irvin D. “Love’s Executioner” Zgheib, Yara “The girls at 17 Swann Street”

#binge eating disorder #eating disorder #eating disorders #eating disorder treatment #eating disorder recovery #anorexia #bulimia #osfed #arfid #ed treatment #ed therapy #ed recovery #River Centre Clinic #Toledo Center for Eating Disorders #anorexia recovery #bulimia recovery #osfed recovery #binge eating disorder recovery #arfid recovery

38 notes · View notes

jaicarbonilla · 2 years

Photo

Two Dark Reigns and Five Dark Fates by Kendare Blake

Synopsis of Two Dark Reigns:

Queen Katharine has waited her entire life to wear the crown. But now that she finally has it, the murmurs of dissent grow louder by the day. There’s also the alarming issue of whether or not her sisters are actually dead—or if they’re waiting in the wings to usurp the throne. Mirabella and Arsinoe are alive, but in hiding on the mainland and dealing with a nightmare of their own: being visited repeatedly by a specter they think might be the fabled Blue Queen. Though she says nothing, her rotting, bony finger pointing out to sea is clear enough: return to Fennbirn. Jules, too, is in a strange place—in disguise. And her only confidants, a war-gifted girl named Emilia and her oracle friend Mathilde, are urging her to take on a role she can’t imagine filling: a legion-cursed queen who will lead a rebel army to Katharine’s doorstep. This is an uprising that the mysterious Blue Queen may have more to do with than anyone could have guessed—or expected.

Synopsis of Five Dark Fates:

After the grim confrontation with Queen Katharine, the rebellion lies in tatters. Jules’s legion curse has been unbound, and it is up to Arsinoe to find a cure, even as the responsibility of stopping the ravaging mist lies heavy on her shoulders, and her shoulders alone. Mirabella has disappeared. Katharine’s reign remains intact—for now. When Mirabella arrives, seemingly under a banner of truce, Katharine begins to yearn for the closeness that Mirabella and Arsinoe share. But as the two circle each other, the dead queens hiss caution—Mirabella is not to be trusted. In this conclusion to the Three Dark Crowns series, three sisters will rise to fight as the secrets of Fennbirn’s history are laid bare. Allegiances will shift. Bonds will be tested. But the fate of the island lies in the hands of its queens. It always has.

Review : (Contain Spoilers)

*PURELY MY OPINION, AND I UNDERSTAND IF YOURS IS DIFFERENT FROM MINE.

As soon as I decided to return back to reading after almost 3 years of not reading at all (except for mangas and webtoons), I figured I should finish the series that I put on hold before I start and read new series. I remember reading Three Dark Crowns and One Dark Throne��like immediately as soon as it was available in the bookstore where I used to work at. I fairly remember liking both of them enough to make me still know that I have yet to finish it and here I am, finally done with this series.

I’m going to review both of these books as a whole because I have very little to say about Two Dark Reigns, and I figured well I can just do Five Dark Fates with it. (Spoilers ahead)

First of, I remember rooting for Mirabella since the start, not because she was more powerful than her two other sisters, but because she was definitely queen material, and she was intelligent and cared for the people and the island as much as she can, but then again she loved her sisters more.

I have glimpses of memory of the first two books but I know the plot enough to remember where I left off when I started reading Two Dark Reigns. This book starts of with Katherine as Queen Crowned, who is inhabited by the dead queens when she fell in the Breccia Domain, then you have Mirabella and Arsinoe in the Mainland with Billy, hiding since they abdicated their rightful claim to the throne.

The plot basically is just a build up for the upcoming war, I mean, yeah, we get this Queen Illiann and Daphne / Blue Queen backstory, but that’s about it that excited me. I do like, however, Jules’ role, how she is this Legion-cursed but people still believe enough in her that they make her the Queen of this rebellion that would like to overthrow the triplet queens line. So that’s Two Dark Reigns, in summary Katherine is reigning in Fennbirn where she deals with the revolting mist that is actually Queen Illiann, on top of the dead queens trying to ultimately control her, and the fact that the people are starting to get uneasy enough to finally question her ascend to the throne, and then you have Jules reigning as the legion cursed queen for the rebellion.

Then you have Five Dark Fates, the last book in this series, thank God. I’m sorry, it was just very tedious to go through the two books, I’m just happy enough that I finished it and now I can just move on.

What can I say...

So they discovered how the mist can be stopped, and how they can get rid of the dead queens in Katherine. Mirabella sets off to be with Katherine because she still believes in the goddess and the triplet queens line enough that she was not ready for Jules to be the one on the throne, she believed that she can save Katherine and ultimately stop the war and the mist, but she doesn’t really know how to I believe she never got that knowledge till the end.

Then you have Arsinoe who was at the beginning trying to heal Jules with low magic or her poisoning gift, I don’t remember, from the legion cursed that was broken by the death of Madrigal. When she finally realized that Mirabella was gone, she didn’t believe that it was on her own choice, so as soon as Jules was up they set out to free Mirabella.

What was Katherine doing at this point... I believe she was unravelling the Blue Queen’s secret, and Arsinoe and her both discovered the way to stop the mist like at the same time, but both of them did not want to do it, since it required the sacrifice of an elemental queen, which in this case is Mirabella.

Then a lot of shit happens, Pietyr, Katherine’s love, tried to get rid of the dead queens using low magic but failed and was in a comatose because of it, Billy got captured by Rho Mutra who Katherine shared the dead queens with, and then the shittiest shit happened when Mirabella died. I’m biased, I know that, because I was rooting for her, but damn, I wanted her to at least have an extravagant ending, no matter what it was, like I didn’t care if she was going to be sacrificed, I just wanted it to be good, like fitted for her, I mean I get the point, it fairly follows the plot but the way it was executed could have been better, could have been more dramatic. I just didn’t like the execution of her death that’s it.

So past the ongoing war, where you have Jules and Rho fighting off each other which is basically, I guess, the main face off there. You have Arsinoe, Katherine, and Pietyr in a standoff, well not really because Katherine was willing already at that point which is a good arc for her character. Some shit happens and then the only redeeming factor for me was the end of the dead queens, because by then you have the redemption of Kathrine when she sacrificed herself for Arsinoe, and then you have the mist which has Queen Illiann, Daphne, Mirabella (I hoped it was a greater comeback but good thing I expected less), and Katherine at that point finally getting rid of those dead queens.

That’s it, I mean you have this epilogue where weeks past the war has everyone trying to rebuild everything and then you have Arsinoe by the end going back to the mainland to try and fix things with Billy. Yeah.

3 stars. I just didn’t like it enough, but it was enough for me to get through the series. So some plots were good, some were not, and in the end it was just... meh.

#the bookgoddess #the bookgoddess reviews #the bookgoddess book reviews #two dark reigns #five dark fates #kendare blake #queen arsinoe #queen mirabella #queen katherine #jules milone #book review #booklr #booklr community #book blog #book blogger #3 stars

8 notes · View notes