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juusworld5728 · 3 years

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Lets talk about Azriel’s shadows...

I think that a lot of people seem to forget what Azriel’s shadows actually represent and what different reaction from them actually mean.

Lets start at the very beginning to his childhood... For the first 11 years of his life, Azriel lived in a cell with no windows or light. He was allowed to come out only for an hour a day, and to see his mother for one hour every week. There are many different ways that one can argue how Azriel came to acquire his shadowsinging abilities or whether it was something genetic (either way, its very rare). Rhysand did mention that he might’ve learned to speak to his shadows in the cell that he was kept in. Either way, his shadows are not something of his past that he necessarily wants to remember. Whether he’s appreciative of those shadows now does not reflect the fact that they were born out of fear and loneliness.

In terms of personality, it’s very important to note how he reacts to things and different people. The way that I see it, he uses his shadows as a defense mechanism. Whenever he’s in an uncomfortable situation, he tends to hide in a corner and his shadows surround him to block from sight. However, when he’s in a good situation or surrounded by certain people, they seem to go away. A lot of people see that as a bad thing, but his shadows are not only supposed to represent his powers, but also his very traumatic past. Soooo you might ask, what exactly do the shadowsinger’s shadows represent?

Well, here is my take. Those shadows in terms that are not power-based, represent that very same cell that he was locked in for the first 11 years of his life. I’m not talking about Nuala and Cerridwen here. I’m talking about his defense mechanism shadows. This wonderful male was trapped without social contact, friends, or anyone to rely on. So yeah, he will be introvert. He has a family, but that doesn't stop him from the fact that his social skills will not be the best in comparison. His shadows represent his loneliness that he feels he deserves and craves when he feels cornered. For the first 11 years of his life, that was ALL HE KNEW. When his shadows “brighten” or are nowhere to be seen, I can imagine that as being the hour he had out of his cell every day. That feeling of relief and freedom. Yes, he needs to learn to accept himself more and who he has become. However, that can be done in the sense that his shadows do not have to be around him ALL THE TIME.

Now, in terms of relationships:

Mor: His first love. At the young age of around 19. Only 8 years after he’s been let out into society and learned his way through. Does he even know how to handle love?? Probably not. He was born a bastard and probably saw his mother being treated like shit by his father and stepmother. So I doubt love is something he believes in at this point. However, he does fall in love with her. His reaction to that? What he knows best. Avoidance. That dark cell still very present in his mind. That feeling of being very aware of how broken you are but don’t know how to fix it. He does not want to put that burden on Mor. Everything that happens between Cassian and Mor probably makes him feel even worse. Throughout the years though, he can’t help but feel happy just to be around her and in her presence (hence why his shadows disappear). It can be argued that he's known that she hasn't been interested for a while. Maybe what he truly craved wasn't the actual love that he wanted from Mor, but the feeling of love that came from her that made his shadows go away. He craved it and wanted to be around her for that feeling.

Elain: The first time that Azriel meets Elain is in the human lands. She asks him if he can truly fly. He blushes and gets flustered, and why? Do you think that maybe a lot of people haven't bothered to see him in a certain light to ask those type of questions? I mean sure he has his family, but this human girl that is supposedly terrified of him because he’s fae, asks him such a simple and light-hearted question... Slowly but surely, in ACOWAR he beings to get more comfortable with her. She’s broken but at the same time, holding on. He takes notice of a certain light that she radiates as well as her seer powers a little bit later. The first time they’re brought over to the House of Wind, she calls his scars beautiful. The importance of this scene is very overlooked. She called the thing that makes him the most insecure, induces the most amount of fear, and creates his hatred... beautiful. This woman that barely knows him has already accepted every part of him. He further loves to glance out at the garden (a place of happiness that reminds him of Elain) and loves to look at that hidden light in her eyes that makes his shadows either brighten or disappear. It’s very similar to the feeling with Morrigan, but more direct and has incentive. Now, lets talk about truth-teller (the knife that always strikes true). That is one part of himself that he has never shared with ANYONE. Why did he give her truth-teller? Because Elain has already accepted every part of him. Truth-teller is an extension to himself in a sense. Something that belongs wholly to him and makes him feel safe. He trusts Elain enough to give her a part of himself. A very vulnerable moment never seen before by Azriel. In ACOFAS, When Azriel asks about Lucien, he truly does not want to spy on him. It could be for privacy reasons because of Elain but also because he’s afraid of what he’ll see from him in terms of Elain. His siphons gutter and he stutters over his words. Now, winter solstice was a very light-hearted moment but very important as well. As we can tell, Elain is the perfect gift-giver. She gives Azriel a potion for his headaches which is perfect and very hilarious since he laughs (he’s never laughed before in Feyre’s presence). It’s very telling to Elain’s personality as being a very attentive person which amounts to her really caring about Azriel and what’s going on with him. He tends to be pretty hidden and keeps a poker face most of the time, so for her to notice the little things like that is very important. I rest my case..... for now.

Gwyn: I honestly cannot say much about this ship. What I can say are from pages I have been sent and trends I have been seeing through Azriel’s personality. It seems to me like Azriel is the least tense around people he considers his friends and brothers. Even though he's usually pretty serious anyways, the bat boys seem really comfortable with each other. When Mor was around (especially in ACOMAF), he would get worried. However, when she wasn't paying to him, his shadows would disappear (similar things happened with Elain). It seems to me like Gwyn has an outwardly fun personality and Azriel has no problem with that because he is not worried about anything happening. The most I’ve seen from the books between them is simple banter that included the rest of the friend group. When either of them talk, what I’ve seen from Azriel is amusement. That amusement results in Azriel’s shadows dancing around HIMSELF. Not anyone else. No, the shadows did not dance around Gwyn or any other person. I currently see this as a friendship and would need more build-up for me to even ship it. It seems like Azriel seems fine acting like this with people he is not worried about catching feelings with.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#acosf #acotar #azriel #azriel meta #biggest wingspan #azriel's shadows #elriel #elriel vibes #pro elain #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #morrigan #the gentle grower of things #elain archeron #acosf spoilers

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benmiff · 6 years

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The Ghost And The Teacher

Shorter story this time around. Introducing some new characters (one of which will probably be somewhat important going on).

This story takes place between The Dress And The Ball and The Flame And The Worm.

Andreas

You would assume that I would have become jaded and accustomed to the repeated behaviours of those I have encountered across the long years, but it never ceases to astound me how many people elect to place their trust in me just because I happen to match their expectations for the appearance and bearing of an honourable and steadfast individual. Admittedly, their House loyalties run deep and often have not yet been weathered away by time or tragedy; most of them are young and hungry for any advantage no matter how slight to elevate their position above their compatriots, but it would not be all too difficult to realise that I am not the helpful House Opala tutor that I portray. Nor am I the helpful priest who sets other ghosts to eternal rest with the aid of my prayers and divine artefacts, and I am most certainly not the kindly old man that just happened to be passing and witnessed whatever latest tragedy has befallen yet another victim, helpfully explaining just what I heard and saw. A few carefully chosen questions would soon reveal me, but no-one even thinks to ask, considered that since I am present I must clearly belong there since if I did not then I would not be in attendance.

Perhaps I am being unkind. My abilities are admittedly not the most conventional, even amongst those of my kind; we all share some similar advantages apart from mortal folk, not least our not being restricted by corporeal form. So very many spirits are obsessed with their death or their emotions or some other unfinished task, after all, and I do not behave in the traditional manner associated with such haunts. My talents in life proved themselves numerous times before lords and ladies possessed of razor sharp powers of scrutiny and deduction, and even before my death I could appear in the guise of any role I chose thanks to a combination of skilled disguise (achieved through both mundane means and a limited amount of alchemy) and my talents as an actor. I never did achieve a full transformative thanks to insufficient time to truly refine the alchemy required, and that still rankles, but now I have all the time in the world to complete my research even if my death has imposed additional obstructions in my path that I must overcome first.

My greatest obstacle was the lack of a proper body, for holding a form other than the one given me by my death was quite tiresome and could only be done for a few hours before I would be forced to revert. Such limitations were why I had agreed to aid my master with the interminable task I now found myself committed to, and I found myself yet again projected myself in solid form in much a similar manner as many other nights over the past fortnight. (I would not be so idiotic or desperate as to attempt to bind myself inside a body – that way laid only madness and decay, at least with the current understanding of binding.) This time, I had taken the identity (and life) of a kindly dwarven lady who I had named Jorrea, and once again I had discovered another promising young gentleman and animist suitable for the experimentation we wished to carry out; promises that I would teach him secret techniques that would advance his comprehension of animating inert cloth and metal were all it took to bring him under my wing once we explained that we kept such things secret to avoid the risk of any rival stealing them. House Opala’s speciality in animated embroidery meant such individuals were not uncommon or particularly troublesome to find; each of them jostled for position, demanding a display of astonishing brilliance or skilled manipulations if they were to rise above the masses clamouring for respect from their betters. Such an environment was perfect for me and my work; the constant self-promotion made it easy to spot a promising candidate, and I could easily pick between the prospects to find those who were willing to endure a little risk and a little danger if it meant that they could leapfrog their rival apprentices.

My latest “apprentice” went by the name of Tallis, and in the short time I had known him he had showed himself to be in most respects a competent student; he stayed attentive to whatever I told him no matter how dry the material, carrying out any further study I assigned him between our lessons promptly and without complaint. His family was not all that important, some minor name whose only real claim to any significance was a family tradition for the illumination of texts; we had been careful not to choose anyone too important so that we did not have much risk of being noticed by any interests that would prove dangerously powerful. Still, it meant he had a grounding in the magical principles involved thanks to having helped at home as he had grown up with some of the simpler moving calligraphies; it was these skills that he had brought to clothing in an attempt to expand the fields in which the family was known. It was a commendable initiative doomed to failure; he did not have the natural talent and unique creative spark to force such a shift solely by himself, and he certainly did not have the charisma and force of personality to lead others to support his striving towards greatness. I had been given further orders by my master, and we were approaching what was likely going to be the height of his capabilities and the denouement of his study.

“Tallis,” I said, limping into the room as my portrayal of Jorrea always did, a simple carved oak walking stick (for I was not stupid enough to risk iron of unknown manufacture) supporting me as I went. Tallis was busy working as he often was this late into the evening, the room lit only by guttering candles that cast shadows across the cloth figure he had prepared. It was a fine piece of work with carefully stitched edges and skilful fine detail to suggest at musculature, but the lad did not trust himself, and I had little doubt that he had already spent many hours poring over it for signs of failure and corrections he would need to make before he presented it to me. It was too late for any further alterations as soon as I had arrived for we needed to move onto the next stage of the work; Tallis knew it even though his heart still troubled him that there was some error he had overlooked and so with difficulty he stopped fiddling with the figure and turned to me to present the work.

“It’s not quite right, is it?” he asked, concern plain on his face.

“It’s absolutely fine. Cease worrying and come – we’ll need space for this binding,” I replied, leading him out of his cramped study into a nearby workshop, now empty with its workers home for the night. We had more room here and could both get around the table, though I would only be guiding the boy – he would do all the work himself. Reaching down into a “pocket” that was merely part of the guise I was projecting, I plucked the small fetter I had been carefully carrying and placed it on the table in front of Tallis, careful to shake off any lingering ectoplasm before he got a proper look at it.

Tallis knew exactly what the corroded dagger was, but his timidity meant that he still felt compelled to ask, uncertain of his own knowledge. “Is that the fetter? What kind of ghost is it, exactly?” he pried, poking at it with one of the cutting tools still left on the table as if touching it would let the spirit bound within free reign to act against him in some manner. He had no real way of knowing his concern was wasted – my master had previously commanded its ghost to sleep, not wanting a vengeful spirit to cause any unpredictable results that might distort the results of our experimentation. I tapped it with a finger, safe in the knowledge it was only a cheap tin alloy of iron rather than the cold forged iron that would pose a danger to me, and allowed a small smile to creep onto my face before I explained.

“It’s a minor spirit of the vengeful type, not uncommon after a murder in the back alleys. It has sufficient strength for our purposes, and it’s better for your first practical lesson to use as weak a spirit as will achieve the desired effect. Have you got the restrictions prepared?” I asked, and Tallis shuffled a number of his papers in response, pulling out the relevant stack and setting them by the table. Each page was covered in line after line of spidery script, and each needed to be cut in strips and be woven into the binding, preventing the spirit from lashing out and harming him. No-one had yet written a binding that would allow a spirit the right mix of independence and restraint to create a bound animate that could carry out assassinations or other such deeds, for the ability to kill or harm others unprovoked gave the inhabiting spirit too much free reign to assault its owner as part of whatever task they were initially given. Despite that, not all violence was impossible and we intended to skirt the edges of what was feasible; defensive violence was much more achievable even if one had to be very careful in how one worded the various restrictions. It was still worth treating any such animates with the utmost care, however, and one needed to keep in mind various considerations such as not letting any pets near the defending animate; animals were easier to harm within the usual restrictions that were in common use, and several promising researchers in the early days of the spectral sciences had been permanently persuaded to choose a safer discipline when they discovered loved cats and dogs nailed to their workbenches or torn apart and strewn across their libraries.

Despite the pressure that such things were sure to be exerting on him and his nervous disposition, Tallis worked diligently in laying out all the binding materials, and soon had the fetter sympathetically linked across a number of arcane bonds that would be used to draw the spirit into the cloth figure and out of its fetter. I think he was more afraid of disappointing me than of what a failed binding would mean for him, concerned I might leave and he would return to being just another unknown. The restrictions he had written seemed sound, shaped by my advice to get them in the form we wished to test that night; I am by no means a skilled ectomancer but I had been told what to look for by my master, a man who does possess such a distinguishment. One last check, and then we were ready for the dangerous part of the rite – the transfer of the haunting spirit itself.

As soon as Tallis started to activate the bonds, the ghost inside the dagger woke up and flowed into existence above the table we were working on. He had died exceptionally violently, dozens upon dozens of stab wounds all over his manifested form, and he roared in anger and reached to us, his fingers morphing into daggers that were replicas of the one that killed him. Before he could even begin to draw close, the restrictions lit up and glowing script flowed off them and around him to restrain him against the table; he struggled furious against the magic, pushing and wrenching at the text and contorting his shape as he writhed against the magic but all to no avail as the bindings stopped his breaking free. Our spell’s beginning had delivered a shock to his existence that penetrated through any simple magic such as the spell keeping it asleep, and Tallis was now committed to finishing the binding successfully if he did not want the spirit to break free and tear him apart. My apprentice gripped the table, clearly under strain from the ghost’s rage and resistance; my master had deliberately chosen quite a weak spirit to bind, but even weak spirits had impressive willpower and Tallis was struggling to keep all the limits he had woven intact and fulfilling their purpose. Small strips of paper wound around the dagger and the cloth figure each held a single limitation, scribed to be identical and paired across the two items; the arcane lettering chaining the ghost still had one end of each piece of writing in each of the slips of paper, and as Tallis struggled the first pair of paper ribbons disintegrated into dust and drifted away, their associated chains shattering and casting glowing letters that faded as they crossed the room. He was clearly losing his battle, and the rate at which his restrictions were breaking was only accelerating, more pieces of paper becoming nothing but fragments of fibre drifting on the eldritch energies crackling around the table.

It was obvious that Tallis was lost, and with that clearly it was time for me to leave and to return to my master waiting with my fetter a couple of streets away. Such losses meant little, as everyone involved in our venture except for our “apprentices” knew that we operated this way so that any failures would only harm the latest fool we had swindled into taking the fall for us; we could feel safe from any of the wider repercussions as well as any unleashed vengeful ghosts would be a problem for House Opala rather than us given our home was several districts away. Returning was not difficult even with the magic sparking around the room, for my fetter was my home and what kept me from moving on (or so my master had explained to me when he had explained how I did not really have a choice in carrying out his orders now he had woven his commands into it.) I merely blinked out, reappearing next to the fetter, but I did catch sight of Tallis’ shock in the last couple of seconds as I faded away; I think the surprise and the realization of betrayal was the last strike, for all the rest of his restrictions turned to ash at once as I went.

- - -

Lord Keppington

My spirit returned to his fetter a little after midnight, much as expected. Andreas was one of my more useful servants, and had been in my possession for many years; most would have been repulsed by his vile appearance but I could see past such things to the value beneath. In his innate form he was monstrous to behold, manifesting as a poisonous rotting figure that constantly flowed and shifted between all the different people he had pretended to be in life, bubbling flesh and running humours all contributing to the overall effect that proclaimed he was long dead and had died poorly. I turned the glass vial that was his fetter over and over in my hand; he had been obsessed during his life with being able to be anyone he wished to be, and this had led him to drinking poison in the erroneous belief it was an elixir that would let him shape shift freely. That obsessiveness had bound his ghost to the now empty vial he had drunk from, and made his strong without condemning him to a single overwhelming emotion that would have inevitably led to madness. He obeyed me from the magic, of course, but he had retained his intelligence and I liked to think he obeyed me because he wanted to as well; I had promised him that our research would one day result in techniques that would grant him a proper body once more, his need to prove his talent demanding that he show he could also sculpt corporeal form. I had little doubt that day would be unlikely to come, as binding a ghost into something meant that they served only because they had to – the pain of being forced into something that did not fit you right and then being denied any ability to strive towards whatever animating will or desire brought you back meant that all such bound spirits were little more than hateful intelligences consumed with an urge to be free and an urge to punish those responsible for or complicit in their binding or failing that anyone else within their reach.

We had returned to my house exceptionally late, given we had around an hour of walking before we reached it. The house was nestled safely in House Borado territory, and I was deeply tired by the time we arrived; Andreas’ report could easily wait until morning, and I had no other urgently pressing matters to attend to. Still, some decorum was required, and I changed into nightclothes with the aid of one of my spectral servants before I settled into bed, fast falling into a deep restful sleep.

- - -

The news reached me early next morning, a missive from an interested friend prompting a ghost to wake me early and still slightly groggy to thrust the missive into my hand. House Opala had been struck once more by ectomantic treachery, with some young apprentice found in a workshop with a broken dagger and a torn cloth figure giving all the signs the investigators needed in order to declare it was a botched ghost binding that had gotten out of control. The fellow had been stabbed a grand total of one hundred and thirty seven times, and another three unfortunate victims had been found with one hundred and thirty seven stab wounds apiece as well; it was difficult to know which elements of their death the ghost I had chosen would fixate upon without seeing it in action, but the precise count of stabbings was clearly the central element and would be how the investigators would track deaths to this particular haunt. Those in the know said that clearly the ghost had been a lesser spirit to have been stopped after only four murders, no doubt completely immersed in re-enacting its death and unable to comprehend reality; nobody had reported that they had stopped a ghost of such nature, though, and so the House had already called in specialists to deal with it when it re-emerged the next night for further killings, tied as it was to the night hours it had probably died in. There were mutterings about banning the binding of ghosts entirely once more, but I had little faith that it would ever get anywhere – House Opala had too many skilled animists, and those who dabbled in such things would not countenance a reduction in their capabilities just so that a few of their lessers could feel a little safer.

My House were a little disappointed in the results given that we did not develop our particular field any further; the experiment had failed without even a single binding faulty or otherwise to show for it. That said, we had sown some real difficulties for a rival, so talk soon pivoted to how we could take advantage; perhaps we could play on fears that House Opala was unsafe for new recruits as a means of stealing promising candidates away? Such discussions went on for much of the morning, and by the end of them any residual disappointment was mild and defanged of any real teeth. The talk around House Borado was that my position was still seen of value, and that there was no need for it to be downgraded following such a minor upset; my work was still held in respect by those who were permitted to know about it, and they made sure the rest of the House knew what I did was worthwhile even if they couldn’t share any specific details of what it was I actually did.

I retired to my private chambers to gather a more detailed picture of the night’s events before anyone else wanted to question me about my activities; it was a simple act of will to summon Andreas to me by his fetter, and he appeared dutifully as always. “Report,” I commanded.

“The spell failed, obviously. The apprentice was far too weak-willed, couldn’t hold even a minor spirit. The first few restrictions went up, and from there he had no control,” Andreas replied. “No information was discovered – the experiment did not run for a sufficient length of time to learn anything of any use.”

“I see. Unfortunate.”

I tapped his fetter absent-mindedly with a finger as I considered the next move to make; House Opala would no doubt be on their guard in case the dead apprentice was not the only one practising dangerous magic without proper supervision, but I wanted to get some reliable results by the summer and there were precious few weeks left before then.

“Find another apprentice. We’ll retry in a week.”

#dressverse #ectomancy #ghosts #binding #author:benmiff #character: andreas #character: telesforo keppington #character: tallis

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