“Do you know why our city is called Pryde?”
There was a moment of silence as Hyst pursed her lips, the crickets around them filling the nothingness with their songs.
“I assumed it was egotism, honestly.” She shrugged, staring up at the blanket of stars above them. “The Pride of Humanity, the Pride of this world— and so on.”
A soft chuckle rumbled from Darcy’s chest. “Yes, most theorize as such,” he mused, “I suppose our haughty nature only reaffirms that stereotype.”
Hyst smiled faintly, rolling onto her side to regard her travelling companion. “What do you think, then?”
A small spark of joy seemed to alight in Darcy’s eyes at the question as he stretched a hand to the heavens, caressing the constellations as though they were within his reach. “My theory is… a bit more poetic. You’re from Pryde, you know what history is like. The ebb and flow of changing tides, forever caught in the same repeating patterns. Empires rise and grow, but eventually they always fall. Monarchies become anarchy, crumbling as their knowledge is lost to time. Everything falls eventually, but we,—“ his chest swelled up in pride as he spoke of the historians, “—we preserve that knowledge. We’re there, every time, salvaging the history before the palaces collapse. We come before the Fall, and as long Pryde stands, the Fall can’t touch those we protect.”
“Pryde comes before the Fall,” Hyst mumbled softly, and Darcy nodded.
“Exactly.”
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More of You and Less of Me
Back to my face-plant coming into the final yards of the 5K that I walked/ran/jogged on Saturday. Yesterday my blog included the beauty of the 18 of us taking on the Alamo Run to raise funds for the EMwomen Hope House. It was a complete success with many sponsors kicking off the efforts.
However, complete success doesn’t describe my “run” efforts. Mine wasn’t a pain-free, accident-free run. I…
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Also, Ludinus’ declaration that the gods left Exandria because they were afraid of mortals is genuinely funny because like…why? The gods ended the calamity in tact (albeit trapped in the case of the Betrayers) while the Age of Arcanum was wiped out. Kinda hard to claim you’re a threat to something when the one time you went head to head, you got wrecked.
That’s why, even during the Age of Arcanum, they kept having to bring up the Raven Queen, because she is literally the only one who succeeded, every other attempt ended abysmally. Hell, even Vecna couldn’t do what she did, he had to find a way to ascend that didn’t involve challenging a god.
‘Average archmage has chance of killing a god’ is a statistical error, the Raven Queen, literally the only person in history to succeed, is an anomaly and should not have been included. And honestly, if only one person’s ever been able to do it, you gotta wonder if it’s less to do with her and more to do with the god she challenged.
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It’s interesting, immediately after telling Nero he shouldn’t let his feelings compromise the integrity of the mission, Lucci does just that. Yes, Nero trying to kill Franky was a big no-no, but at that exact moment Nero was no longer a threat to Franky, and killing him here limits CP9′s already extremely limited force. Both for this mission and any missions to come. It’s that short-sighted, bloodthirsty villainy that Lucci (and by extension the World Government excels in).
And for what? To satisfy Lucci’s bloodlust? Payback for the slight of claiming to be “superhuman” without knowing all Six Powers? Lucci might murder with a stone cold look on his face, but rankled pride is an emotion, and one that ultimately gets in the way of the mission’s success
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In this chapter, Guxart takes care of Cedric and has to come to terms with his thoughts - and Brehen.
I hope you enjoy it and have a great Sunday! Thanks for all the clicks, kudos and comments so far :)
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📼
send 📼 / ‘cassette’ to see a memory of my muse's
Something had seemed off about the window. The pane didn't sit flush with the frame, leaving a gap wide enough to cause a draft to slip through, rattling the glass whenever the wind picked up. Harried by this mild inconvenience, Miguel had risen to his feet, labcoat sweeping around his tall frame as he moved to inspect the window.
Up close, the problem became more evident; the glass wasn't just crooked, it was falling out of the wall, leaning forwards at a precarious enough angle to be concerning. To him, it was a prime example of a poor installation, a rare blemish in a building that exuded opulence and corporate greed at every turn.
Filing the matter away for a future complaint, as he stood and watched his reflection crumple into an annoyed scowl before him, he could still call to mind the list of co-workers that put forth their names for consideration for this hotly contested space. Men like Delgato, Williamson, Boone and McDade, all expressing their collective outrage when the access key was personally handed to O'Hara by Stone himself. Vicious vipers squabbling over meaningless scraps that Miguel could care less about.
For this place, the shoddy window, and the view of Nueva York's sprawling expanse that accompanied it, hardly mattered. He knew it for what it really was, mere window dressing that masked soulless intentions, bribery by any other name in a bid to make him stay.
Hmm. As if his genius could be bought that easily.
And yet, despite being in the know, he remained, a prized contributor in several projects, with word recently coming across his desk of a new enterprise currently in the works. A programme that would take inspiration from the Heroic Age, it required the guidance of a steady, competent hand to shape and mould it. Something that Miguel, with his proven record of accomplishments could provide...for the right incentive.
After all, the trouble with brilliance was, it afforded him the chance to be picky. Why should he settle for an office with shoddy furnishings when he could ask for so much more? Grabbing the carrot off the stick!
Indeed, the prospect tempted him, a feeling further encouraged by the presence of the faulty window that continued to taunt him with its inadequacy. In a world of mediocrity, he was a masterpiece surrounded by mere sketches. The shoddy window, much like his jealous co-workers, was yet another reminder that, even in the lap of corporate luxury, he was the one shaping the narrative, bending it to his will, one crooked pane at a time.
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bragi’s a 10 but he gets overly competitive in chess and will loose it if you win
They're a 10, but...
"Anybody would get heated after such an intense game! People who aren't good at chess simply wouldn't understand!"
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i'm in an otolaryngology residency program and one of the doctors has his dad's Soviet era tonsil guillotine, clamps, and adenoid curette (tastefully) displayed in a shadowbox frame with some other stuff and a photo of himself as a little kid smiling while sitting in the Trauma Chair. the doc says it makes a lot of his pediatric patients feel better to see that he got through the surgery alright, but later admitted his papa told him it was a routine exam situation. "I thought it was open say ah, but it was open scream aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah"
OH MY GOD, I'M NASTY CACKLING! That's exactly how I got got. My great-aunt was a nurse and let me play with her old medic kit, so visits to the hospital were field trips where I could see my close, personal friends Stethoscope and Blood Pressure Cuff and receive a good grade in Doctor Visit for being such an agreeable child. On the day of the operation, I had no idea anything was up when the nurses situated me in The People's Otolaryngology Chair. Even when they started to tie my foot to the chair leg, I wasn't afraid, I was indignant...like, did they not get the memo that I was the rock star who only sniffled a little before thanking the doctor who'd stuck a needle in my left asscheek when I got sick last month? The nurses agreed that the restraints were absolutely unnecessary, a formality that was mostly symbolic, and thanked me profusely for indulging them. I have never been as smug as I was on that day when, after all that fuss, they told me to open and say "ah".
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